South Main and Gentry

by A. D. Ellis

  “I appreciate your humility. The addition to the menu wouldn’t have anything to do with Mitch having avocados and zoodles down at his place, would it?” Travis eyed me over the glass as he took a sip of his water.

  “Total coincidence.” I tapped the pen on my leg. “Hadn’t even heard about South Main’s new dishes until some customers mentioned it.” And Lord had they mentioned it. Over and over. They praised Mitch like it was the best news since Santa Claus decided to deliver gifts on Christmas Eve. And so ironic—the folks gushed over Mitch and me changing up our menus at the same time.

  Travis smirked. “It’s too bad I’m not a romance writer. This plot keeps getting better and better. Maybe I should write my best guess at the next twist, and we can check later to see whether I was right.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have your food right out.” It truly was a coincidence. I had no advance warning that Mitch would try modernizing his menu. I opted to audition some comfort food items on mine as a fully independent decision.

  A couple of days later, I left the end of our lunch rush in my employees’ capable hands and headed down to South Main in the beautiful sunshine. A walk through downtown always seemed to perk up my energy level and make me feel better. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was going to Mitch’s place, but I figured at the least, I could check out the new menu items I’d heard so much about all week.

  The tomato soup and grilled cheese I’d offered at Gentry’s Java drew a raft of compliments, and I knew I’d bring the meal into my regular rotation. Even though it rankled me somewhat, I saw that adding some old-fashioned comfort food could expand my customer base. I was currently plotting weekly down-home specials along with the city food that first made my name in town.

  As a soft breeze ruffled my hair and the sun warmed my face, an errant thought flitted through my mind. If I were honest with myself, it irritated me a bit that Mitch was modernizing his menu. Maybe he should leave the latest, more upscale dishes to me.

  Like you could leave the tomato soup and grilled cheese to him?

  I shrugged to no one in particular, feeling grumpy now that I’d reached South Main. I yanked the door open and glanced around. My brow furrowed into a scowl. Hell, if I’d known this many people wanted zoodles and avocado toast, I would have made them regulars on my own damn menu.

  “Tanner, nice to see you. Are you here for lunch?” Mitch eyed me up and down as he grabbed a menu. Do you have to be so smug and eager to serve me?

  “Heard all the talk about your menu additions, and I thought I’d come to see what the fuss was about.” I found it difficult to separate my frustration about menu items and competing restaurants from my attraction to Mitch and my genuine desire to spend time with him. It would be nice to connect with him, free from the constant tension.

  Mitch narrowed his eyes. “Dan’s been working hard, so don’t try to steal his recipes.” The admonition sounded like it was supposed to be a joke, but it was almost too close to serious.

  I chuckled. “Spiralizing zucchini and smearing avocado on toast aren’t exactly recipes, but okay.” As if I’d need to steal recipes.

  Mitch rolled his eyes and turned toward a corner table.

  He placed the sticky, crusty menu in front of me. “You want water? Tea?”

  “Water.” Seriously, how long had it been since he’d updated these menus? They were laminated, but new items were written on the plastic with a dry-erase marker while old items were marked out.

  Mitch returned with my water. “What’ll you have?”

  “I’ll have the cheeseburger and a side of zoodles.” I sipped my water as Mitch took my menu. “Take a break and eat with me if you’re not too busy.” Where those words came from, I’d never know. Maybe they sprouted from the memory of Mitch’s hand on my leg during the interview.

  Mitch raised his brow. “Food will be up in a bit.”

  No mention of taking a break to eat lunch with me.

  I checked my email and calendar while I waited for my meal.

  Jenny Jenkins appeared and stopped by my table. “Tanner, it’s so nice to see you. Isn’t it funny how Mitch is trying new foods, and you’ve been serving an old favorite?” She took a seat, and I suppressed a groan. “The best part of it all is that you and Mitch are such great cooks that no matter what type of meal either of you makes, it’s going to be amazing. Maybe y’all should combine your powers. Wouldn’t that be something? You’d be unstoppable.”

  “I’m not sure Mitch and I are suitable for that type of teamwork, but that’s a very kind thing for you to say.” I glanced toward the kitchen and willed Mitch to bring my food. Maybe Jenny would take the hint and leave me to eat in peace.

  As if he’d heard my silent prayer, Mitch burst through the swinging doors with a tray of food and made a beeline to my table. He placed plates in front of me and then a plate in front of Jenny. “Sorry, Jenny, I’ve got to hurry you out. Tanner and I were going to have a working lunch.”

  “Oh dear, yes. I’d hate to interfere with such talent. Let me get going.” Jenny stood and patted me on the shoulder before doing the same to Mitch. “I’ll leave you boys to it then. I’m sure a lot of creative business ideas will be born today.”

  Mitch smirked as he sat across the table from me.

  I whispered, “Thank you.”

  Mitch laughed. “No problem. I saw her swoop in and figured this was the best way to shoo her away so you could eat.”

  I pointed to Mitch’s plate. “But you’re eating with me, right?”

  “Might as well.”

  “Gee, try not to sound so excited. I’ll have you know; some people enjoy my company.”

  Another rumbling laugh emerged from deep in Mitch’s chest. “So, you came to check out my new menu items, but you opted for a good ol’ cheeseburger?”

  I bit into the massive burger and smiled around a mouthful. “Sometimes, a burger is all that will hit the spot. The zoodles are healthy. I decided that they would cancel out the sins of the cheeseburger. I don’t need to try the avocado toast. Surely, no one could screw that up.”

  “Not sure it works that way.” Mitch chuckled as he forked up his zucchini noodles. “These are good. Not going to pretend they’d fool me if I wanted a big plate of spaghetti noodles, but I love the flavor and texture.”

  I took a bite and fought against a moan. “They are excellent. Zucchini is super versatile. I love it in noodle form.”

  “I think I’ll let Dan play around with recipes. I’m picturing these zoodles in a nice salad with some cubed avocado and vinaigrette.” Mitch took another bite.

  “That would be tasty,” I agreed with Mitch’s assessment as I took another bite of the burger. “Maybe think about…” I let my words trail off. It wasn’t my place to advise, and Mitch hadn’t asked.

  “Think about what?” Mitch frowned as he wiped his mouth.

  I gestured around the restaurant with my fork. “Maybe you should update your decor if you’re trying to breathe life into your menu. And speaking of menus, was I even born the last time you updated those things?”

  Mitch puffed up his chest and crossed his arms.

  “I’m just saying—they’re sticky and crusty and stained. The dry erase marker isn’t exactly a classy touch.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about my restaurant?” Mitch’s nostrils flared.

  “I’m not trying to start anything. It’s only constructive criticism from a friendly competitor.” I finished my burger. “Maybe you could incorporate some different seasonings or sauces in your day-to-day meals. Make things a little less run-of-the-mill.”

  Mitch nearly snarled. “In other words—you think I should be more like you? Is that what I need? Is my only hope as a businessman to turn into you? Is that my only chance at success?”

  I held my hand up to protest, but Mitch barreled on, raising his voice.

  “I’d been doing just fine until you came waltzing into town and wooed the folks with your big-city p
romises. I’ve been the longest-running successful restaurant in Willow Springs for almost as long as you’ve been alive.” Mitch stood up. “I’m pretty sure I can handle my own damn seasonings and spices.”

  Wow. I hadn’t meant for anything like this to happen. “Mitch, I’m not putting you or South Main down. I’m merely offering some observations from the standpoint of a man with a business degree. Sometimes it’s easier for an outsider to see things that need fixing. Maybe you’re too close to it—South Main is your baby.”

  “I gotta get back to work. It’s probably best if you go ahead and finish up.” Mitch grabbed his plate and stalked toward the kitchen. I heard the bang of his boot on the metal door as he kicked it open. A tremendous clatter sounded, and I assumed Mitch tossed the plate into the sink with significant force.

  Did Mitch tell me to leave? Was I kicked out of South Main? Well, that was awkward.

  I tossed down enough money to cover the meal and tip. Attempting to act as if I were leaving because I was finished and not because the owner told me to go, I sauntered as casually as I could out the front door and headed toward Gentry’s Java.

  Shit. I screwed up.

  I made the suggestions in good faith, but I knew I could often come across as over-confident and cocky, especially when it came to food and business issues.

  I knew Mitch was sensitive about South Main. I shouldn’t have pushed. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, enjoyed the burger, and let him use crappy menus if he wanted to.

  Dammit!

  When I reached the shop, I said hi to the last few customers and set straight to work, cleaning up the remaining mess from the lunch rush. By the time my shift was over, I was beyond ready to head home.

  Later that night, I found myself flat on my back in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’d destroyed everything with Mitch.

  Was there even something to mess up with Mitch? Was the competition vibe between us just too much? Would Mitch ever let down his guard and not take everything I said as a put-down?

  I sighed.

  I wasn’t sure how, but I figured I needed to develop a plan to fix things—even if all it meant was that we could attempt to be friends instead of competitors.

  But was being just friends with Mitch all I had on my mind?

  For the time being, I decided an apology, truce, and efforts to develop a friendship would be my best hopes. Anything else would happen only if it were meant to be.

  Shit. I ran a hand over my face. Now I sounded like damn Travis.

  11

  Mitch

  I wasn’t in the habit of building walls between myself and other business owners in town. It was far too easy to end up isolated and seen as the enemy in a little town like Willow Springs. Still, most people knew better than to launch broadsides against my way of doing business—particularly the guy I’d once considered asking out on a date. Tanner was still a newcomer. He was the city slicker trying to tell us all what to do. It was one of the oldest games in the book.

  The rest of the afternoon, I took too much of my frustration out on Dan. I growled, “Why the hell does shit like avocados have to sell so well anyway? You sling burgers for me. I don’t pay you to put California on a plate.”

  Dan shook his head, but he used his words to try to calm the savage beast inside me. “Do you know what I think this all demonstrates?”

  “That Tanner’s screwing up a town that was fine before he arrived?” I banged pots and pans as I raged in the kitchen. Something about the noise calmed me down.

  “I think it shows that Willow Springs knows you’re a local treasure, and they are willing to follow you in almost any new direction. Few people in town have that kind of power.”

  “They’ll even follow me down a city guy’s rabbit hole?” I threw a hand in the air. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

  “Perhaps,” said Dan. “And you’re protesting a little too much about Tanner. At least that’s my humble opinion.”

  “Damn, what do you know?” Barry was the only one who knew anything about my previous intent with Tanner unless he leaked the information to others. I doubt that was the case. Deep down, Barry was a good man, and he knew the most critical times to keep his trap shut.

  “Maybe nothing at all, but why don’t you take the afternoon off? We’ll be slow for most of the rest of the day, and I can handle the kitchen. Binge on some TV or go hit up the bar, and you’ll be much better tomorrow. You work hard, Mitch.”

  I wanted to follow my first instinct to fight back against someone telling me what to do, but I had enough sense to know that Dan was probably right. I needed a drink, and I needed to think over the whole Tanner thing. I usually wasn’t rude to anyone unless they truly got under my skin.

  Al, the head bartender at the Second Stop downtown, was even more of a fixture in Willow Springs than me. He was at least ten years my senior and was still slinging drinks five days a week. Al didn’t work the evening rush period much anymore, but he could fix you up with an excellent basic cocktail any afternoon Monday through Friday. I was an Old-Fashioned man.

  As I took my first sip, Al said, “You know, I don’t think you ever come in for a drink in the afternoon unless something’s eating you up inside, Mitch.”

  “Aww, shit, does it show that much? I must have the words written right across my forehead, and nobody told me.” I savored the liquor. It was sweet but strong enough to have a nice little burn as it slid down my throat.

  “Is it over a guy?” Al wasn’t gay, but he knew that I was. He offered to listen to relationship issues regardless of the gender composition.

  I thought about the question. On the surface, I was pissed about the sudden competition from Tanner, but everyone who knew me well implied there was something more profound. Maybe I did care even more about Tanner than I was willing to admit. I couldn’t get the image of him challenging how I did business out of my head. Unfortunately, I used that pretense to throw him out of my restaurant. That was probably a perfect way to fuck everything up.

  I said, “Yeah, guess so.”

  “Have you talked it out with him?”

  Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Talked what out?”

  “Communication, Mitch. That’s all I’m saying. It’s the number one problem. If we all spoke up and said what was on our minds—all of the time—we could have world peace.” Al wiped the bar down with a cloth.

  It was simple advice, and, after one drink, I was out of the bar on the way home to make a phone call. I could have punched in the number while still at the bar, but I needed privacy and quiet if I were going to speak my mind. I was as nervous as a high school kid, and I wanted to make sure the comfort of my couch and my bedroom were immediately available if it all went south.

  I listened to the ringing on the other end. After four rings, Tanner picked up. His voice was tentative. “Mitch? Hey—something up?”

  “Hi, Tanner. Thought I’d make a call. Hope you didn’t take too much of my bastard behavior at the diner to heart.” I rested my head on the back of the couch.

  After a brief pause, Tanner exhaled audibly, and then he chuckled. “Oh, man, I thought it was me that was awful. You had a point. Heading into another chef’s restaurant and ragging him out for how he does his business is so not cool. That’s one of the first lessons to learn in culinary school.”

  It was an apology, and it was enough to warm any cold heart, including mine. I said, “Well, I thought I would ask if you could get away from the business on Saturday. I sometimes leave the diner in charge of my best people.” After I blurted out the words, I took a deep breath. I’d done it. I asked Tanner on something like a date—at least I was past the point of turning back. It was clear I had something in mind.

  Tanner adopted the tentative tone again. “I could think about that. Did you have something in mind?”

  “Do you like morels—the mushrooms?” I held a hand over my eyes.

  “Who doesn’t? They’re the kings of the mushroom world,
at least after truffles, which are overrated in my book. Have you got a good supplier for them?”

  I felt it in my gut. I had Tanner on the hook, and I just needed to reel him in. “The woods around Willow Springs are prime morel country. Some woods are better than others, but you can always find some. Ever gone mushroom hunting?”

  I heard wonder in his voice. “My grandma talked about it, but I was never here during the right times. Travis told me he likes to hunt them, but he thought it was still a little early. Do you know where to find them?”

  “I know where to look. Finding is another issue entirely. Does this mean you’re up for a trip to the woods on Saturday?” I held my breath.

  “Damn, hunting down morels with an expert? Count me in, Mitch. I’m already thinking about Monday’s menu in my head.”

  It was a gorgeous spring day. I stood with Tanner in a small clearing in the woods near the springs that gave our town its name. Dappled sunlight filtered through the tree canopy overhead. Many of the leaves were still only half their ultimate size.

  I had a pair of folded up brown paper grocery bags stuffed under my arm. As I pulled one out to hand to Tanner, he asked, “Are you serious about a big bag like this? There’s no way we’ll fill this up.”

  “It’s happened before. It just depends on the year. Sometimes Mother Nature has big surprises in store.” I waved the folded bag his way.

  “Don’t you go to the same place every spring and collect the mushrooms? That doesn’t sound complicated.”

  “Nope. It doesn’t work like that. They often pop up in similar places, but it’s never the same. Some springs, I’ve gone hunting and found none.”