Walking Walrus Cafe

From Chapter One:

...For now, the business was still predominantly serving the regular locals, but the percentage of outsiders was indeed starting to pick up daily. The man just walking in was case in point, Monya thought, as she watched Nina head over to the table the man selected.

He had a bit of a Paul Newman thing going on, from the watchful intelligence radiating from his blue eyes to his slim build and comfortable swagger. The man -- she’d put his age more Colour of Money than Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid -- might merely be sitting at one of her tables drinking coffee, but there was something about him that broadcasted power. He sucked up the energy in the room even without trying, and his was the kind of energy that drew a person in, not the kind -- like Thornbrau’s -- that repelled.

The table where he sat was next to Louisa’s booth, and Monya could swear the man was using the pretense of studying his menu to watch Lou draw. Perhaps, Monya decided, now would be a good time for her to take a break.Removing the apron she always wore when she cooked, Monya poured a glass of orange juice for herself and one for Louisa. She walked over to the booth at the back of the restaurant where Louisa had her artwork spread out and was happily entertaining herself with her colouring.

“Thank you, Grandma,” the girl said, practicing the manners her mother had been teaching her when Monya set down the juice.

“You are very welcome my little love,” Monya said, bending over to kiss the child. “Is this a new drawing, Lou?”

Monya looked at the multi-coloured forest her granddaughter was crafting. The colours were vibrant, although Louisa was definitely not going after hyper-realism with this work.

“Do you like it, Grandma? I’m making it for you.”

“It’s lovely. I particularly like how the sun is so bright in the sky.”

“Mommy showed me pictures by Mr. Go,” Louisa said proudly. “I drew the sun like him.”

It took Monya a moment, but then her granddaughter’s meaning clicked.

“Van Gogh, Louisa,” she corrected, “And yes, that is a marvelous job making the sun his way.”

“She has talent.”

“Yes,” Monya said.

She smiled at the man -- it was what hospitality demanded she do -- but her eyes assessed him, too. He was a stranger, after all, and he’d just commented, uninvited, on her grandchild.

He read the look behind the smile, seemed mildly amused, and pushed back from his chair. Once he was standing, he offered Monya his hand. She took it, let him shake her hand, and found herself surprised by the little thrill the brief contact stirred within her.

“I’m harmless,” the man said, still grinning, the lines besides those blue eyes of his crinkling in Monya’s direction. He reached into the pocket of the blazer he was wearing and pulled out a business card, which he handed to her. “I just tend to be drawn to talent.”

Monya glanced at the card briefly, then felt herself relax. His name, according to his business card, was Brett Grayson. Underneath the neat, black lettering announcing him, his occupation was listed as Art Dealer. Feeling slightly foolish, Monya offered her real smile as the man took his seat.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson,” Monya said. “This is my granddaughter, Louisa. Lou, say hello.”

The child glanced up from her work to spare him a glance, but evidently saw nothing of interest, since her eyes dropped immediately back to her paper.

“Hello, mister,” she said absently, her thoughts on her next colour selection.

Grayson’s grin widened, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth and a chin dimple, and Monya felt that surprising tug again. Paul Newman. Definitely.

“I assume you are the owner here?”

“Yes,” Monya said. “How did you know?”

She looked up into his blue eyes, felt her breath catch at the charisma radiating off him. This man, she decided, might not be as harmless as he claimed.

“Family feeling in here’s pretty strong,” Grayson said, the dark limbal ring around those blue eyes deepening as he smiled at her.

Monya looked away from her customer and glanced fondly at Louisa, acknowledging the physical similarities between the girls and herself with a small murmur. The girls had both inherited her eye colour and shape, and they both normally had her silky straight brunette hair.

There was more to it than just that, though. All three women were built slim and narrow-hipped with minimal curves and legs like ballerinas. No matter how much Monya ate, she couldn’t seem to put on an ounce of fat. That highly morphed metabolism was one more gift she’d given the girls.

She glanced back over at Mr. Drown-in-My-Blue-Eyes when he stood again, but this time his attention was on the slender blond woman with the exquisite features who was walking up to his table, the heels of her boots clicking across the worn plank flooring of the restaurant.

The woman was tall, dressed in that rock star chic look of stylishly ripped jeans and a white t-shirt that still somehow managed to look expensive. Over the t-shirt, she wore a single-breasted tan jacket that ended half-way down her incredibly long legs and was saved from monochromatic boredom by its sleet-grey sleeves and by the large black buttons marching smartly up its front. Monya looked away when Blue Eyes smiled at the younger woman, then leaned in and kissed her in greeting before placing his hand at the small of her back and gesturing for her to sit.

“Alicia,” she heard him say, “You look like you just stepped off the runway.”

She didn’t hear the woman’s reply, but she saw how the blond reached out and squeezed the man’s forearm.

Right. Break over.

“I’m going to the bank soon, Louisa. Do you want to be my helper again?”

Her granddaughter looked up from her artwork and nodded eagerly. To Monya, the child’s smile beat any model’s for beauty, and her heart filled.

“Okay, then,” she said, sliding out of the booth, and extending her hand to the child. “Let’s go get your coat.”

“Can I give the money to the lady, same as last time?”

“Of course,” Monya said, walking with the child toward her office near the back of the kitchen. She caught the eye of Mr. Grayson as they passed his table, smiled automatically when he gave her a slight nod, then she placed her hand on Louisa’s shoulder and focused on the child. “That’s what helpers do.”