They were gathered around the round table, all six of them. They were evenly spaced, man, woman, man, woman – each sitting between people that were family, friends, lovers. They’d barely settled when the waitress came over—Janice—greeting them the way you greet people you’ve known for years, with a fondness she didn’t bother hiding.
Coffee for everyone except Pete, who ordered his usual Pepsi. Even at breakfast.
It was cold out, colder than the forecast had promised. Snow wasn’t supposed to start until afternoon, but the wind had come early, slicing down the street. Inside, though, the café held a soft, lived-in warmth. Between that and the company, the chill didn’t stand a chance.
A few locals whispered into their mugs, nodding toward the round table. No one pointed—this town wasn’t rude, just nosy—but everyone knew who they were watching. The six at the table gave the impression of being oblivious. They weren’t.
You’d think, after all these years of sitting in this same café at this same table, being served by the same waitress, the rumor mill would’ve lost interest. But no. Not here.
Brenda and Jack were the newest additions to the trio of couples, just a bit over a year now. At first the attention made them feel like fish in a bowl. Eventually they realized the judging was mostly noise—some of it even curiosity, though those would never admit that to their fellow neighbors.
Brenda had spent most of her life under the radar, not used to anyone watching her, let alone knowing her business. Now everyone seemed to know everything. She was still adjusting, but Jack didn’t mind any of it. His attention was always on her. And her devotion to him blended seamlessly into the culture of the house—the patience and forgiveness, the acceptance, the tiny sacrifices that made the whole thing work. Not always easy, but always worth it. Dana and Lind, Jason and Natalie… they made it look easy most days. Brenda and Jack were finding their footing.
Janice always waited on them. Even when the table wasn’t hers. The other waitresses let her have that, though they suspected she knew more about these people than she ever let on. Janice never confirmed anything. She just brought refills and kept her mouth shut.
She wandered back when she saw the menus folded on the table.
She stepped up beside Jason’s shoulder. “So, what’re you having?” she asked. “Let’s start with you, Jason.”
He smiled, picked up the menu, and pretended to need it. He asked her a question he already knew the answer to. She caught the game immediately, grinning as she leaned in. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, her order pad tapping the page as she explained—again—that he could substitute tomato slices with grits.
Natalie leaned in too, close enough that her shoulder brushed Janice’s hip. They both felt the contact. She pointed out other possible swaps on the menu like she was doing him a favor.
Dana and Lind kept their noses in their menus, though Lind’s mouth kept twitching. Brenda bit her grin back, remembering the previous weekend at the farm—when Janice had been there, when there’d been a lot more touching and a lot less clothing.
Brenda glanced toward the kitchen. No eyes on them.
Jason picked his order at last. Janice circled the table, taking each choice with her usual quiet efficiency. Then she smiled, said she’d be back with more coffee, and slipped away.
The Snow Came Early
Not heavy—just a steady sift of white sweeping past the windows, enough to make people rethink unnecessary errands. The parking lot was thinning out by the minute. A handful of regulars lingered over their breakfasts, but no one new braved the wind and cold. The café felt quieter than usual, softer somehow, like the whole town had pulled a blanket up to its chin.
It meant Janice had time. More than she was used to.
She drifted back to the round table with their refills—Pete’s Pepsi, the others’ coffees—letting herself hover a little, leaning one hip against Natalie’s chair, as she set the coffee pot down near Lind. “Looks like you all might be snowed in a bit,” she said, wondering if they had places to be, and offering them to stay longer if they wanted.
Brenda laughed. “We all drove separately. Figures the one day we split up is the day the weather decides to be dramatic.”
Jack shook his head. “We’re still heading over to the kids’ place. I’m not missing a chance to see those grandbabies.”
“You just want an excuse to buy them louder toys than the last visit,” Natalie said.
Jack didn’t deny it.
Dana nudged her mug toward Lind for a refill he reached for the pot and topped off her mug. “We’re supposed to pick up an extra heater for the greenhouse after this,” she said. “If the roads are slick, we’ll just have to take it slow. The plants need more heat in this weather.”
Jason added, “And we’ve still gotta swing by the supply store for the new water filters for the main line. The water is starting to have a taste. If the snow sticks a little? Even better. No crowds.”
Janice rolled her eyes. “Only you people get excited about fewer people at the store.”
“It’s a lifestyle,” Jason said, straight-faced.
She laughed, but something in her shifted—just a small tightening around her eyes—before she leaned in a touch closer to Natalie. “Speaking of lifestyles…” She lowered her voice, glancing toward the other servers. “My daughter called last night. She’s… figuring things out. Asking questions.”
Natalie’s smile softened immediately. “Good questions?”
“Curious ones,” Janice whispered. “Confusing ones.”
Dana nodded like she’d been expecting this. “That’s right around the age ours really started wondering. They’re a few years older than your girl, but they’re good listeners. If she ever wants someone to talk to who’s… outside the family but not judgmental? They’d be kind to her.”
Lind didn’t say anything—he rarely did in moments like this—but he dipped his head in agreement. The others followed suit, quiet and warm.
Janice touched the edge of the table with two fingers, gratitude in the motion. “Thank you. I’ll tell her. I’ll encourage her to reach out.”
It was that whispering, that leaning in, that caught the attention of the other waitresses. They never got close enough to hear words, but they saw posture. Saw comfort. Saw something that made their eyebrows lift and their mouths pinch narrow.
Janice saw it too. Her spine straightened almost imperceptibly. She shifted back a step, careful. She lived here. These were her neighbors. These were her coworkers. She couldn’t afford to give them the wrong idea.
She didn’t step away completely, though.
Because these six—well, they were her people in some quiet, almost-secret way.
Old Mr. Weller, two booths over, was pretending to read his newspaper. Dana saw the cut of his eyes over the top of the page and huffed. “He’s glaring again.”
Lind didn’t bother looking. “He’s consistent. I’ll give him that.”
Across the room, a married couple bent their heads together, pretending to look at a menu while absolutely not looking at the menu. Whispering. Watching.
Brenda leaned closer to Natalie. “What do you think—curious or judgmental?”
Natalie shrugged. “Little of both. You know how it is. They’re dying to understand but terrified of knowing too much.”
“That’s generous,” Brenda murmured.
“Generous is cheaper than therapy,” Natalie said, tipping her mug in salute.
Janice tried not to smile at that, but she failed.
She didn’t speak, though. She couldn’t be seen choosing sides. The town knew she liked these couples, sure, but liking wasn’t the same as… whatever the rumor mill suspected.
The table shifted gears naturally.
Brenda glanced outside, watching fat flakes drift sideways. “So… are we still thinking about doing the holiday potluck this year?”
Groans. A few laughs. A few exchanged glances.
“Oh God,” Dana said. “Half the town would show up just to stare.”
“Half the town shows up to stare whenever we go grocery shopping,” Jason replied. “Might as well feed them while they do it.”
Jack drummed his fingers lightly. “It might actually help. Let ’em see we’re just normal folks.”
Natalie arched a brow. “Normal? Speak for yourself.”
“Normal-ish,” Jason amended.
Lind leaned back in his chair. “It’s not the people that worry me. It’s the house. The barn. The greenhouse. The whole property. That’s our space.”
Dana nodded. “Once people start wandering, you can’t un-wander them. Next thing you know, Mrs. Pruitt’s poking around asking why we have so many bedrooms.”
Brenda bit her lip. “But it would mean a lot. Showing the town we’re… neighborly. Trying.”
Jason tapped the table lightly. “Privacy versus goodwill. That’s the whole debate.”
Jack shrugged. “We can set boundaries. Rope off the private areas. Keep everyone to the yard and the big room.”
Dana blew on her coffee. “Or we can skip it entirely and keep our sanctuary ours.”
Janice stayed silent, but you could see the tug-of-war in her face—caught between empathy for them and understanding exactly how the town would take it.
“You know what?” Natalie said finally. “Let’s think on it. If we do it, we do it on our terms.”
“Which,” Jason added, “means no one wandering into the upstairs hallway asking why there’s a shoe rack with twelve pairs that don’t match.”
Lind smirked. “Or asking why we have three sets of towels in one bathroom.”
“They’ll survive the mystery,” Dana said.
Time To Leave
The snow kept falling, slow and pretty. The café hummed with its small, familiar sounds. And for a little while, the six of them existed in that soft, suspended place—warm, known, comfortable.
Their plates had been cleared, coffee cups down to the last swallow. Outside, the snowfall had thickened to soft, drifting sheets—still gentle, but steady enough to coat the cars in the lot. The café felt even quieter now, the kind of hush that settled into everyone’s bones.
Jason pulled out his wallet and set his card in the middle of the table. “I’ve got breakfast.”
“No you don’t,” Brenda said, dropping a twenty on top of it. “We rotate.”
“Yeah,” Lind added, slipping a fold of bills from his own wallet, “and last week was yours.”
Jason sighed dramatically, but he let them. Natalie reached for the pile, quick and efficient. “I’ll sort it,” she said. “But you’re all pitching in extra. Janice has been running on us all morning.”
Brenda didn’t argue. She’d already added a little more. Jack followed, shaking his head under his breath. “We’re going to spoil her.”
“Good,” Dana said. “She deserves it.”
When Janice came back with the card slip, Natalie slid the whole stack of bills into her palm before she could protest. “That’s for you,” she said softly. “Don’t give any back.”
Janice stilled for half a breath, her fingers closing around the tip. Her eyes softened, grateful in a way she couldn’t say out loud. “Y’all drive careful,” she murmured. “It’s getting icy fast.”
Chairs scraped lightly as everyone stood and reached for coats. Brenda’s was draped over the back of her chair, bright red and too thin for the weather. Jack held it open for her, murmuring something only she could hear. Her laugh was small and private.
Dana tugged on her thick knit hat, the one Lind insisted she hated but kept wearing. He helped her with her zipper, quick and unceremonious, then did up his own. Their hands brushed—just a press of fingers, nothing more—but it carried all the familiarity in the world.
Natalie wrapped her scarf once, twice, then pulled Jason’s collar straight before he could brush her off. “You never dress warm enough,” she muttered.
“It’s part of my charm.”
“Your lack of circulation is not charming,” she shot back, but her smile was indulgent.
They gathered at the doorway, all six bunching just long enough to say goodbye.
“All right,” Brenda said, buttoning her coat. “We’ll see you all at home later tonight.”
“Call when you get to the kids’ house,” Dana told her. “Roads look slick already.”
“We will,” Jack promised.
Jason dipped his head toward Lind in their easy, wordless way. “Text if the heater place is closed,” he said. “We’ll check the hardware store on our way back.”
“Same for the filters,” Lind answered.
Outside the glass door, wind whipped loose snow into soft spirals. They hesitated a moment, watching it, then exchanged a round of soft touches—nothing the town could latch onto. A squeeze to the shoulder. A warm hand hauled down a sleeve. A brush of fingers along a wrist. A brief, steadying contact at the elbow.
No kisses. Not here. But closeness all the same. A household disguised as three couples. A family pretending to be something simpler for the sake of the town.
“All right,” Natalie said, pulling her gloves on. “Drive careful. Everyone.”
“See you at home,” Dana echoed, glancing at Lind, then at the others.
They stepped out into the cold one pair at a time—Brenda and Jack already heading for the highway, Jason and Natalie cutting toward the back lot, Dana and Lind trudging side by side toward the truck.
The door shut behind them, bells chiming softly.
After a beat, Janice gathered the remains of their empty table, her movements slow, thoughtful. She could feel her coworkers’ eyes on her—the whisper from the corner, the sideways looks from the drink station.
Of course someone would ask.
They always did.
But she already had the perfect answer waiting on the tip of her tongue, innocent and so very close to the truth.
The Almost True Lie
Betty caught Janice at the drink station, folding her arms like she’d been waiting for her moment.
“What was that about?” Betty asked. “All that whispering over at your special table.” Her tone had that thin, sweet edge that small towns pretended wasn’t nosy.
Janice didn’t even blink. She’d rehearsed it in her mind already, almost amused by how close the truth and the lie rubbed up against each other.
“Oh,” she said lightly, reaching for the decaf pot, “Dana was asking if my daughter could help with a research project she’s working on.”
Betty’s eyebrows went up. “Research? Like… for school?”
“For her art,” Janice said, shrugging. “She said she’s interviewing a few young adults about identity, transitions, all that stuff. I told her my girl’s off at college for the semester, but she’ll be home on break in a couple months. I said I’d check with her and pass along contact info if she’s interested.”
Betty blinked, the wind going out of her.
“Oh. That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Janice said, smiling just enough to end the conversation without inviting more. “Nothing juicy. Just art kids being art kids.”
And Betty bought it. Of course she did.
Because it wasn’t scandalous.
Because it didn’t challenge the town’s delicate ecosystem.
Because it sounded exactly like something Dana would do — kind, curious, artistic, harmless.
And because it was, in its own way, true.
Inside the world of Dana's Loves 