thing to bringing him with me, and I cringe to remember smirking at his big, durable boots and the button-down flannel, him wanting to change his stripes. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to change his stripes? He can have spots, too, if he wants. I open the closet and find two pairs of coveralls: his, and a much smaller one. It’s an initiation into his secret society.
On the drive to the campground, I repeat comforting phrases that remind me there’s no use worrying about decisions not totally in my control. If it’s meant to be, it will be. If they don’t want to hire me, that’s their loss. Everything happens for a reason. I’m lying to myself, but at least I feel better.
As the road rears up to pass the lifeless shell of the Junk Yard, I prepare for the usual twinge of anguish, but it’s peppered with surprise when I spot my car in the parking lot. Or Leon’s car now, I suppose. God, I miss that Saturn. If I were Nicholas, I would never let me live that down. The fact that I no longer assume it’s a pulled punch he’s saving gives me hope. We’re making progress.
Maybe it’s muscle memory, but I turn on my blinker and pull into the parking lot. A friendly face appears at the window and waves. I wave back.
“Hey!” Leon calls from the back room when I trundle into the shop.
“Hey, yourself!” I revolve in a circle. The store’s gutted. There are rows of stains where shelves have sat without budging since the 1970s. A ghost of the Junk Yard still clings in the form of an aluminum sign on the wall above the register. It’s been there since before I was born, I’m sure: a picture of a little girl bending to feed a mouse a wheel of cheese. Underneath it says It’s the little things. “Wow. This place is empty.”
“I know.” He comes out of the back. “Weird, isn’t it? Somehow it looks even smaller now that everything’s gone.”
“What are you still doing here?” I ask him. “Mr. and Mrs. Howard got you on cleaning duty until the place sells?”
“Nope! As of three o’clock on Wednesday, this place is officially sold.” He leans against the counter and waggles his eyebrows, giving me a big, cheesy grin. “I was actually going to text you and ask if you wanted to swing by today or tomorrow to see it. I swore Nicholas to secrecy because I wanted to see the look on your face when you heard who bought it. I know you doubted me.”
I gasp. “No way.”
“And there’s the look.” He folds his arms, nodding. “You’re standing in Backwoods Buffet. Coming this spring.”
“Backwoods Buffet?” I repeat with a laugh. I can’t believe Nicholas managed to keep this a secret. A few days ago Leon came over to fish in the pond with Nicholas and when I walked up on them to say hi, they clammed right up even though until then they’d been gabbing a mile a minute. Naturally, I assumed they were talking about me and I’m not entirely wrong.
He beams. “I’ve got other names if Backwoods Buffet sounds bad. The Grizzly Bear. Fireside. Timber! With an exclamation point, like you know how loggers used to yell …” He stops because I’m still laughing. “Hey, Timber!’s a good one.”
“It is.” I nod. “Fireside sounds cool, too.” I gaze around the place, trying to imagine tables and chairs full of people eating. “This is so awesome, Leon. I’m really happy for you! I’m trying to envision what it might look like, and in my head it’s like Bass Pro Shops. Where’s the kitchen going to go?”
“Got to have one put in when I have the addition built. I have a few uncles with their own construction business who are going to help me with that. Right now I’m working on rounding up a staff, which I was hoping you could help me out with …” He opens a drawer and pulls out a laminated plastic badge, placing it on the counter with a light thud. When I read it, I clap my hands over my mouth.
HELLO MY NAME IS NAOMI
“Are you serious? Would you really give me a job here?”
Leon grins. “Of course! If you want one, that is.”
“Hell yeah, I do! What would I be doing? I don’t know much about restaurants, but I can learn. I’ll learn how to cook anything you want. I’ll listen to cooking audiobooks and