“If you stir in a circle it doesn’t let the oil emulsify with the vinegar. Try moving back and forth,” he says and then grabs my whisking hand. Together we beat the ingredients until the puddles of mustard, balsamic and truffle oil combine to make Tack’s signature vinaigrette. He takes a tasting spoon and dips it in the freshly made dressing and then brings it to my mouth.
“No, no,” I say playfully, turning to face him. “I cooked, so you taste.” He surrenders the tasting spoon from his hand to mine. “Open up.”
He closes his eyes and I gently slide the spoon in his mouth. His lips wrap around it and a smile appears. “Delicious. My compliments to the chef.”
“You are the chef,” I say, unable to take my eyes off his lips.
“Oh, right,” he says with an overexaggerated tone and I kiss him on the nose.
The door to the dining room pushes open and Anita rolls into the kitchen. “I think I liked it better when you two were playing at the emotional cage match thing. Will you give it a rest for five minutes? We are about to open.”
Tack takes his hands off my waist and I feel the disconnect like a candle that has been temporarily snuffed. “We’ve got everything under control. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s going to be great.” His voice doesn’t convey an ounce of stress.
We’ve been working together to make sure tonight is the opposite of what happened on Steak Night. Everything has changed. Instead of advertising New York steaks we have focused on farm to table food. Tack has helped me to make relationships with many of the area suppliers. More importantly, though, we have made a relationship with each other. I have to admit we’re working together well, and I’m enjoying it more than I’m completely ready to admit.
“How’s the crowd?” I ask Anita. I know we are prepared but success depends on more than just preparation. We need customers.
“Around the block,” Anita says proudly. I was nervous she wouldn’t be able to drum up business after we disappointed so many people in June. Building trust is an important part of any business and regaining trust is always an uphill battle. But with persistence, I’ve learned lately, it is possible.
“I’ll go help Anita at the door. We are officially open for business. Again,” I say and follow Anita out to the dining room.
“Wait, wait,” Tack says and walks over to me. “You can’t officially open without this.” He kisses me softly on the forehead.
I kiss him on the cheek and say, “You’ve got this.” Then head out to the dining room to greet our first customers.
* * *
“How did we do?” Tack asks after finishing in the kitchen and taking off his apron. The controlled chaos of under an hour ago has transformed to a peaceful respite. He walks over to where I’m sitting going over the receipts for the night and puts his hands on the space between my neck and shoulders and starts massaging my tired muscles. I take my hand off my calculator and raise it up to my shoulder to meet his. He holds it softly.
“These receipts don’t lie. It was an amazing night. Everyone was raving about the food. The vibe in the dining room was great.”
“Vince, I’m so impressed with what you’ve done.” Tack seeing me as successful means a lot to me. I take a half second to bask in it. “This place was struggling for a long time. Everyone was worried about it being bought up by some chain.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, trying to convey surprise in my voice. I should take this opportunity to tell Tack the truth. The fact is I was—am, definitely am—planning to sell the place. At least I’m pretty sure I am. I think I am or I might. I push the very thought of business and investments out of my mind because I don’t want to stop feeling the connection between us. I know I need to tell him before they make an offer or before the contracts come in but there is still time. It’s not like I told him I plan to hold on to The Hideaway forever. He knows I have a life back in New York but at this moment that all feels very far away. I know I need to get back to it but right now I’m not in a hurry. I just want to sit back and hear Tack go on about what a success I am.
“Yeah, but seeing that dining room full was amazing. Look at the number of dinners we sold tonight. You have done the impossible. You’re on your way to making The Hideaway Inn a success.”
“No,” I correct him. “I’m not.” I tilt my head back to look up at him standing behind me. “We are,” I say and pucker my lips. He reads the signal perfectly and lowers his lips to meet mine. “I loved watching you in the kitchen tonight. The orders came rolling in fast and you handled it all perfectly. No panic, just calm control. It’s very sexy.”
“How about you? I peeked into the dining room and saw you talking to the customers, making sure everyone was relaxing and enjoying themselves. I love seeing you as part of the community. It’s very sexy.” He moves to the chair next to me and plants another kiss on my lips. He lingers on my mouth and I hold his face in my hands.
“Wait,” I say, switching back to business mode and pulling away quickly.
“What? What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say and grab a pen from the table to make a note. “I want to make sure I remember to send flowers or do something nice for Evan and Kevin.”
“It was very nice of them.”
“It’s one thing to show up for the opening but to leave in the middle of their meal to go back to the farm to restock our supply of goat cheese was beyond nice. Who knew we would have such a run on your goat cheese appetizer?”
“Those things were flying out of the kitchen. We couldn’t have handled the second rush without them running back to the farm for a special delivery. We should have them over for dinner upstairs once everything is up and running. Maybe before or after their big party.”
“What big party?”
“Evan and Kevin always throw this big Halloween party the weekend of the High Heels Race. Jules loves it. They told me this year they want to go as a s’more.”
“Really? I bet they will make a fantastic s’more.” Jules is an amazing kid. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know them. Tack gets to see them a lot, and since the Fourth of July festival I’ve been included in many of their summer outings. Jules has a wildly creative mind but they’re also so unafraid of the world. I wish I was that way as a kid. I wish I was more that way now.
Then it hits me. Halloween is, of course, two months after Labor Day. That had been my deadline for getting out of here and back to New York. If the opening is any indication of projected income, The Hideaway could get a very substantial offer from FunTyme.
On the other hand, maybe I don’t have to flip the inn. Maybe the profits would be enough to give me a decent living here.
“You don’t understand,” Tack says, unaware of the machinations I’m hosting in my head. “They want us to be a s’more. Jules has claimed the marshmallow, of course, but they want us to join them. Do you want to be the chocolate bar or the graham cracker?” He rubs my dark scruff with the back of his hand. “I think you’re more of a chocolate, but whatever you’re feeling.”
“Oh, us,” I say and a smile instantly appears on my face. Us. This is a different kind of us entirely. I’ve surrendered to the fact that Tack and I are, at the moment, an us but I hadn’t considered the us that includes Jules. I thought I would immediately bristle at the thought of being part of a family unit in that way. It’s never something I thought I wanted. But quite the opposite feeling takes hold. I feel a sense of harmony that comes from a place I didn’t know existed. Spending time with Jules has made me feel connected to both of them in a profound way, so being part of their us feels really good. I’m touched that Jules would want to include me and honored that Tack would invite me.
I look at Tack and see his eyes smiling back at me and think about how I would look dressed up as a chocolate bar.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tack’s clothes, books for schoo
l, toiletries and various charging cables are still in his room across from the living area. Tack, however, is in my room, specifically, my bed. At first we pretended that the air-conditioning unit was stronger in my room so it was just more comfortable for him to sleep with me. I was concerned about how it might look for the owner to have the chef sleeping in his room, not that anyone would know. After the way I left the corporate world, I’m more conscious of the power dynamics in the bedroom.
But the dynamic between us isn’t boss and employee at all. It feels like we are partners in every sense of the word. We handle completely different tasks downstairs yet we need each other to make the whole operation run. It’s the same upstairs. I always thought Tack was his best outdoors but it turns out he excels in both the kitchen and the bedroom. We couldn’t have the restaurant doing as well as it’s doing without his talent and we couldn’t have my libido as satisfied as it is without it as well.
Tack is still in bed when I get up and unfortunately a sheet is covering up some of his best parts. I consider jumping into bed and picking up where we left off last night but the dining room was packed from open to close and I know he almost passed out after receiving one of the best blow jobs I’ve ever given. Giving him the opportunity to release after such a busy night felt like more than just getting off. It felt like connecting and that made it even hotter.
I grab the package I need for my errand and close the door gently so Tack can rest. As soon as I am out of the inn I see Steve, the contractor working on the rooms.
“Vince, we have to talk,” he says.
“Uh-oh. Did you need to replace those pipes?” I ask. He showed me a section of plumbing a few weeks ago that looked like it had been installed before plumbing had been invented.
“No, actually. That worked out. The place is solid. It’s one of my guys.” Steve wipes some sweat off his forehead with a bandana. “His kid has to have a surgery. Nothing major but it is urgent and he needs to be off the job for a week or two. Maybe more. I could replace him to finish on time but I know he needs the money for the bills and he’s my best guy. I said I would talk to you because it would mean a delay. I know I promised you Labor Day.”
A year ago if a contractor came to me and said there was a delay because of the personal life of one of his employees. I’d have fired the whole crew and found one that could do the work without issues. But I can’t even imagine doing that here and now.
“Is it Manny?” I ask since I’ve seen his kid with him at work a few times.
“Yes, his son. He’s been on the job site.”
“Tell him I’m very sorry. Let’s see what we can figure out.”
* * *
The bells above the door at the bookstore ring as I enter. Toula is behind the register reading. Her hair is different than it was when I saw her at the start of the summer. She has a bigger curl and longer bangs. She turns the page of her book and I can hear the orchestra of wooden bracelets she is wearing make a hollow cascade of notes.
“Well, now that you are making a success of it I was hoping I would see you more. I just turned the kettle on. I’ll bring you a cup,” Toula says, coming out from around the register. It’s the middle of August and should reach near a hundred today but Toula would never take a visitor without tea. I go to sit in my chair. “Anita tells me there have been some good reviews on social media and that Tack is creating some delicious masterpieces in the kitchen.”
“He is. You should stop by. His food is really incredible,” I say. She grabs a tray with the tea service and sits across from me. I look out the window and New Hope is just beginning to stir. It’s a weekday so it’s mostly locals taking care of errands and some day-trippers playing hooky from work. I see Arthur, the owner of The Beautiful Things Shoppe, unrolling the awning in anticipation of a sunny day. Toula waves to him and he waves back.
“He’s turning over the shop to Danny.” Toula sighs. She pours me a cup of tea and I can smell the bouquet of chamomile immediately.
“Who?”
“Oh, this very nice young man who collects all sorts of unusual things like toys from something called a Happy Meal. Do you know what that is? It sounds divine. A happy meal?”
“Yes,” I chuckle. “Everyone knows what that is.” Toula’s world is books, ideas and love. She doesn’t really have a relationship with fast food promotions. “I got you something,” I say and show her the small brown package I have tied up with string.
“I knew you were still that sweet boy.” She smiles at me gently as I take a sip of tea. I don’t feel the need to repel any mention of sweetness. I realize she is trying to pay me a compliment and I just take it in and ask her to open her gift.
She uses one of her aqua painted nails to break the string and then quickly tears open the brown paper. Presents are not usually my thing. I’m not great at remembering to give them and I hate receiving them. I never know how to react and I’m always scared the giver is going to see through any fake reaction. Toula squeals with a giggle and I know her reaction isn’t fake.
“Oh, dear boy, you have no idea how much I need these poems right now.” She runs her fingers over the cover and slowly touches each word in the title, The Open Skies by Barbara Guest. I know Toula loves Guest. She’s one of my favorites as well. First editions of her books are rare so when I saw this at the used book tent at the Fourth of July festival, I grabbed it.
“I wanted to apologize for the last time we saw each other,” I say sheepishly. I walked out in anger and Toula didn’t deserve that. I’m truly embarrassed by my behavior. She was trying to help me like she always has and I was too stubborn to see it.
“Pish-posh,” she says, waving her hand away. “You were acclimating. It’s part of the journey.” She dives back to the book. Toula knows exactly how to forgive someone. She accepts people for who they are so she doesn’t have to draw it out or get defensive.
“You know,” Toula begins as if she is about to tell me a secret, “Barbara Guest said the most wonderful thing about how poems are created.”
I know exactly what she said. Toula has told me at least a hundred times but I want to let her tell me again. “What?” I ask.
“She says that the poem finds itself through the writing of the poem.” Toula almost giggles she loves this idea so much. “Our lives are about living through them. We too must find ourselves.”
I nod and let the thought enter my mind. A customer from the back brings a short stack of books to the register. Toula gets up from her rocker but it doesn’t stop her from continuing our conversation. “Now tell me about you and Tack,” she says as she rings up the sale and hands the customer back her credit card. I cringe thinking about this stranger knowing anything about my personal life. I wait for the woman to say thank you and leave before responding.
“There is no me and Tack,” I say. At best this is a summer fling. I still haven’t told anyone that I plan to have the inn listed for sale by Labor Day. Getting along with the guy who I live with is better than being at odds with him all the time but that doesn’t mean I should change direction now. Does it?
“What are you talking about, dear boy? There has always been a you and Tack. Now it just happens to be a bit more tangible than back then, but it has always existed,” she says, refilling my cup with tea. “I’m glad you aren’t wearing that armor you paraded around in when you first came back. I think it’s wonderful.”
I know exactly what she’s talking about but I’m too embarrassed to admit it. The truth is I feel a thousand pounds lighter than I have in a long time and I’ve smiled more the past few weeks than I have over the past few years.
She puts her hand over mine on the small tea table. “You have to see this thing with Tack through this time. Just be open to it. Don’t run away.”
“Toula, look, there is no thing with Tack,” I say but it feels like more of a rehearsed response than a genuine thought. My plan has a
lways been to have the inn ready for sale by Labor Day. Nothing has changed that. I’m having fun with Tack. It’s a fling down memory lane not building a bridge to the future. Isn’t it? I take a second to reset. This is Toula. She deserves my honest feelings. “We are getting closer again. That’s true. His kid is great, really great, and the time alone is great, really great too but I don’t want to name it or call it something that it isn’t.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe there is a thing with Tack.
“I understand, but just make sure you aren’t acting out of fear.”
“I’m a grown man. I’m not scared of anything,” I say, bristling just a bit.
“Maybe the grown man isn’t scared but the child Vince is always there. He’s scared of suffering the rejection again from all those years ago. You’re worried that if you say there is something between the two of you and it doesn’t work out that it will hurt as much as before.”
Toula chuckles softly and puts her hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about that. It won’t hurt as much as it did last time.” She takes a sip of tea and then puts her cup down. “It will hurt more.”
“Toula!” I say and steady myself on the chair by grabbing the armrests. She doesn’t say anything; she just keeps looking at me with a knowing look in her eyes. She’s letting me do the work myself and I can’t stop the images from flooding my mind. It would be awful to leave right now. To give up what I have with Tack? Not feel his arms holding me when I wake up? Not stealing little glances during the busiest moment of dinner service that tell each other how proud we are of what we’ve built? And what about Jules? Could I really walk out on them? We’ve definitely established a connection. Could I handle not being able to be a part of their growing up? Doesn’t it feel like Tack has already welcomed me into his heart and invited me to be part of their family?
The Hideaway Inn Page 14