Frog Hollow (Witches of Sanctuary Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

make my way up the street.
    Not even a block north, I spot a window with a giant blue rooster painted on it. I hesitate. The stranger knew if he mentioned it, I would find this place. I sneak a quick look inside. The familiarity of every restaurant that has ever been stares back at me. Why was this one different? I pull the heavy wooden door open to the sound of people chattering.
    The place is busy. The young girl working the hostess stand runs back and forth, calling out names off her notepad. I wait at the stand for her to return from taking a family of three to their table. I haven’t even sat down, but I already know I like the place. It isn’t one of those fancy restaurants where you feel you have to dress up. It’s casual with its dim lighting and rustic furniture. The art on the wall is impressive, not something you find in your upscale snobby art gallery. It’s all local folk art.
    The girl finally returns, dashing a smile despite her frantic appearance. Her brown, curly hair is stuck out in all directions, only to be pushed out of her face by a canary yellow headband. “How many?” she asks, pen ready.
    I glance around, deciding what I should do, but then my stomach growls. A girl has to eat. It might as well be here.
    “Just me, I’m afraid.” I lean in closer so she can hear me over the noise of the crowd. “Can I eat at the bar? I’d sure hate to take a table all to myself on such a busy night.”
    She glances over her shoulder, following my eyes to the dining area behind her. There are only a few tables open, and each of them could fit a family of six. “Sure, sure.” She waves for me to follow her.
    Straight off to the left is a small bar made from rusted tin and driftwood. I have difficulty sifting through the people to follow her. Everyone around seems to be watching the TV mounted above it, as indicated by the synchronized yells of triumph and disappointment. The girl leads me down to the end of the bar and points to an open seat. I quickly take it as she motions for the bartender. “She’s eating at the bar tonight,” she yells at the lady pouring drinks. “Treat her right.”
    The bartender gives her a quick nod, and the girl vanishes. I look around, not knowing what else to do, and then I see a white napkin slip under my arm. “You look like you need a drink to go with that dinner.”
    I do a double take as I reposition the napkin. The woman doesn’t possess any of the qualities I normally associate with a bartender. She’s older, early fifties, I’d guess, and wears glasses that look like something from the eighties. However, her hair is cut in an exotic crop pattern, giving her a more contemporary look. Her smile is amazing, to the point I find myself grinning back at her. I guess a good personality is all you need to serve drinks. “Just the food and water for now.”
    She hands me a menu and returns with a glass of ice water. She shoots me a wink. “The water is on the house.”
    After ordering, I find myself people watching, which turns out to be very enlightening. It’s funny how close, but completely different, two places in the same restaurant can be. A young family sits not ten feet away, the toddler climbing in and out of his seat, while the parents talk casually over their food. It’s like there is some kind of invisible force field separating the bar from everything else. Maybe people in this town only see what they want to see. Hopefully that means no one will see me, or at least the real me.
    I turn my head reflexively as the bell over the door rings. I notice how the girl immediately perks up at the sound and runs by me with her notepad in hand. It’s an older couple with two teenagers who they probably dragged out for a family night. The boy dips down to catch a glimpse of the game over the bar while the girl types rapidly on her cell phone. A sting of jealousy hits me as I watch the kids walk to their table, the boredom evident on their faces. What I wouldn’t