Page 5

Pascal

After a couple of days of cooking for myself, I’d had enough. Oliver Creek boasted restaurants and food trucks of every kind, and I wanted to try some of them out. First stop on my list was the diner. I chuckled to myself as I approached it. The owner had named it The Lot, which was perfect for a place that served Australian and American diner cuisine. I’d been to Australia several times and was excited to try some favorites and some new things.

No place on earth had coffee like Australia.

I went inside and was seated at the counter since I was alone. Fine by me. I liked to look at the opening between the counter and the menu and watch the cook hard at work.

“What can I get for you?” a young man wearing a shirt with the restaurant’s logo and name on it and a folded paper hat atop his head.

“One of the meat pies and…” I slid my gaze over to the American part of the menu. “The blueberry cheesecake pancakes, please.”

“Coming right up.”

While the waiter put my order in, I picked up a sheet of newsprint from a stack on the counter. With no price in sight, they appeared free for the taking.

I’d been right before. The Oliver Creek newspaper had turned into a newsletter, and I had one in my hand.

There were postings about new openings. Gossip about certain real estate being grabbed up as well.

But the bottom part of the page zoned me in. A whole article about the Trash Panda.

“Here you go.” I looked up to see the server slide plates across the counter in front of me. “Meat pie and blueberry cheesecake pancakes. Sure I can’t get you a coffee?”

I nodded. “Yes, please. I forgot to order that.”

While he poured the cup, I showed him the article. “Have you heard of this place? The Trash Panda?”

“I haven’t.” The waiter walked away to take another person’s order.

An older gentleman to my left spoke up. “The Trash Panda is the new thrift store in town. Owned by a sweet man named Rue. Have you been there?”

“I haven’t yet but I’m wanting to visit. Have you?”

He nodded, sipping his coffee. “I have. Donated a bunch of stuff too. Things gathering dust in my attic. It’s for a good cause, you know?”

“What cause?” I asked. Maybe he was confused. This was a thrift store. Not a charity auction.

“Rue donates a percentage of his proceeds to the Omegas in Need fund. It’s for postpartum omegas who sometimes don’t get the best care for one reason or the other.”

Postpartum omegas not getting good care was a damned shame. They gave birth. They were the lifeline of our kind. “Rue is the owner you said?”

“That’s what I just said,” the man laughed. “He’s a raccoon shifter. Lovely young man. And he has a program too.”

“Program?”

The older man shifted his weight and nailed me with a stare. “You repeat things, huh? Yes. A program where if there is an omega in need or a couple in need, he gives them everything that the omega and the baby will need once they are born. He even donates money to the clinic so that omegas in need can get their prenatals for free. All around good guy, that Rue. He only movedinto town a few months ago, but he sure is making waves. Good waves. This world needs more positive.”

“He sounds like a saint.”

“Sure is.”

“Is he single?” I asked, making the man laugh.

“I’m not trying to date him or mate him at my age. Can you just imagine? I have no idea, but if anyone is interested, they’d better snap him up. He has a heart of gold. Not easy to find these days.”

We talked a few more minutes, exchanging names and general background, before he reminded me to eat before my food got cold.

I tore into my meat pie and pancakes with gusto as Lance went on about what Oliver Creek looked like when he was young. A lifelong resident. Somehow, we hadn’t crossed paths.