Pixie Dream in And here we go.

The restaurant and the bar are located in an isolated location. Far enough from the city qualify as a remote location, but close enough to the highway to be a regular stop for travelers.
Bar is open on three sides, a slanted shingled roof, with place for 10 bar stools under it. The thick wooden bar, dotted with coasters, the old wooden stools, with rusty nails.
The restaurant is a roofless outdoor kitchen with two large poles at each end that open up to be umbrellas covering the entire kitchen.

Two large fire pits at the front, counter tops at the back and cooks working in between them.
Seating areas are sprawled randomly in front of this setup. A horseshoe configuration, where the open part is the road that ends in between the two partitions of the sitting area.
Right side is exclusively for solo, couples or maximum of 4.

Left side is all large tables, small ones with 6 people capacity and large ones that can seat up to 14 people. To the back-left of this is the old house. A large brick and mortar construction, dating back hundreds of centuries. It must have been a modest chateau back then, now the house of the owner. Three stories tall structure with two towers at each end, numerous windows and large wooden double doors at the front. The courtyard walls are lined with storage units, table full of tools, butchers’ corner, bird cages and other restaurant running resources.

This entire establishment is surrounded by a thicket of pine, oak and sequoia trees. So thick even light has to trickle a way through.

The road between the trees is always littered with leaves, pine cones and small branches. Every morning someone has the task to sweep them to the sides, as far as they can go.
It’s early morning, around the time the sun has woken up and the rays have started to intrude into everything without invitation.

There’s a handful of patrons still there. The smell of dying fires, cigarettes and cigars fill the air, someone’s standing by the grills to stay warm, the grill is crackling to life as the chefs start to put on breakfast for the early visitors, there are always some.

A greying golden retriever appears from a doghouse by the far walls and tippy taps through the old brick pathway, going straight for the warmth of the grill. The thick carpet permanently glued to the floor, the morning spot for the dog.

A waiter walks out of the kitchen, a bowl of dog food in one hand and a beer in the other. The dog welcomes the waiter tail wagging and patiently waits as the food is set down right next to its water bowl. Dog starts munching down as the server enjoys a cold beer, even in this chilly morning.

The shutter of the main bar is closed and yet someone’s sitting there half asleep, hung-over on the counter. One eye open, looking at the trees; no one minds that dude, he minds no one. The sound of a roaring bike engine dominates over all other sounds as it makes dirt and leaves fly everywhere, making its way right to the end of the road. By the looks of no one even batting an eye, quite a common occurrence.

She parks the bike just before the cobbled path, and pulls of the helmet. Long wavy hair, big green eyes, a large tattoo on her chest barely visible through her half-zipped jacket, a leather backpack on her back.

She walks to the entrance and the waiter nods at her, she smiles. The dog leaps up and hugs her, she hugs the dog back and dog goes back to eating. She heads to the left, right past the bar shutter where the dude is passed out, pats his back, he looks up, grumbles, and waves and goes back to snoozing. She walks past the bar and the restaurant to the back, where this dude is working on moving some stuff around, preparing for the day. She stands in front of him, smiles and says hey, he smiles back at her, welcoming her. She gives him a quick kiss and heads inside, through the side door, straight up the spiral stairway into a room at the far end of the hallway.

She throws the helmet on the corner table, the backpack and her jacket on the bed, undresses, goes for a long warm bath, just looking at the sun through the tinted window, rising and getting warmer.

After enough time, she gets out, throws on a shirt, sweatpants, and crawls into the bed and passes out, tired, aching, just wanting to float away. She can do that, even with the door open, even in this house. Because it’s been promised to her. safety, warmth, comfort. She wakes up as the sun has reached its peak, blazing down, a crisp clean afternoon. She opens all the windows, letting the cool breeze mix in with the sunlight and light up her room and her mood.
She reaches for her phone and catches up on all her notifications, messages and news. She gets up and walks to the window over looking everything. She’s always loved this view, to see the road being cleaned, the tables being set again, dog running around chasing butterflies, and the muffled conversations so far away.

She opens the wardrobe and finds her own clothes, neatly dry cleaned.
She reaches for her backpack, takes out a book and lays down on the bed again, reading away.
The sun has now reached the horizon, almost gone, the darkness sweeps in. she gets up and closes the windows, the cold air is too much now.

She opens the wardrobe again and picks out a thick shawl and heads down.
The cold wind howls through the trees, people are gathered around the fires, two dudes playing Eagles on guitars, dog is intently watching everything, lazily lounging by the grills.
She goes to her favorite corner and sits here, no one actually ever sits there, too isolated, away from the crowd. It’s a hidden spot, just for friends and family.
And the fire pit is already there, roaring. She sits down and rolls herself up in the shawl just gazing into the flames.

Soon enough the waiter comes around and pours her hot black coffee. She sits there with the mug so hot it’s burning her fingers, just the way she likes it. The shawl so warm, she does not want to ever leave. He walks in with two plates of Beef BBQ and grilled veggies. They sit, they eat, and they talk about not where she’s been or how he’s been. They talk about this book and that song, this movie and that joke, the night grows old, the voices drown, everyone leaves. He gets up to clean and close it all down, she helps.

They retire to the house, he goes to his room at the edge of the staircase, the dog walks with her and goes to her room and passes out on the bed even before she does. Next morning, she’s working on her bike, polishing, fixing things, he glances at her, and continues to do his daily routine. She comes in later for a quick meal, gives him a kiss goodbye, goes to take her helmet, backpack and she’s off. The sound of bike roaring through the trees, away and away from that place as the dog chases after her but stops at the cold road.

Because that’s who she is, and that’s the friendship they have, the understanding they have.
The promise of a warm meal, a comforting bed, and good company, always, she’s always welcome here.