Tequila Trouble - Nicole Leiren

by Danger Cove

  Once inside the spacious room, I noticed the table was set for three. My stomach rumbled, reminding me lunch had been a long time ago. Wait. I think I slept through lunch. Breakfast was a very long time ago. "Did we have dinner plans?"

  She brought out three plates from the oven and set them on the table. They looked like they'd been prepared by a gourmet chef. "Ummm, since when do you cook? Last I heard toaster pastries were your delicacy of choice."

  Bree laughed. "Says the woman who only knows how to steep tea. At least Pop-Tarts have some nutritional value." She turned to Mandi, "Are you going to let her talk to me like that?"

  Mandi giggled. "I've learned that ninety-nine percent of the time, you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself."

  Bree arched an eyebrow and smiled. "Ninety-nine percent?"

  "Everybody needs a little help."

  "I was only going to give myself a seventy-nine percent," Bree laughed.

  I decided to join the conversation. "I could use some help filling my one hundred percent empty stomach. Can we eat now? I'd even be willing to use my one culinary skill to make us all a proper cup of tea after we've eaten. How's that for taking care of my friends?"

  Bree shook her head. "You and Mandi are on your own there for tea. I prefer tea in the morning and coffee after a meal. Now please sit before all my hard work goes cold."

  We did as she instructed. This was quite a surprise. Now at least I knew what she meant by something I'd have to taste. Once everyone was seated, I grabbed my fork and dove into whatever version of chicken was up as the main course. The flavors assaulted my taste buds—and not in a good way. More like someone had detonated a grenade of nasty in my mouth. My gaze darted around looking for a napkin, something, to dispose of this vile bite of whatever Bree had prepared.

  I did a quick check of Mandi's reaction. Her eyes were wide as she chewed rapidly, I was sure in an effort to break down the dreadful food into pieces that would send the offending matter far, far away from her taste buds.

  Mandi had always been more polite than me—no way was I going to swallow this…this…nastiness. My gaze resumed its search for something besides my hand, though a few seconds more and I'd resort to that.

  After letting me suffer for several painful seconds, Bree lifted two paper towels in front of us. Mandi grabbed hers a scant second before I snatched mine. I sent the chicken on a return trip out of my mouth and then downed half the glass of lemonade she'd set out for me. Once I'd cleansed my mouth properly, or at least sufficiently until toothpaste and mouthwash could join the clean-up team, I met Bree's amused gaze.

  "So did you like it?" Bree asked with a barely concealed smirk.

  I was pretty sure spitting out food was a universal sign for I'd rather starve than eat this again. Even babies understood that simple gesture.

  "It was an interesting combination of flavors. It's…uh…not exactly…well, not what I normally eat." I struggled to be honest and still be kind. Sometimes those two were in direct opposition of each other. "Maybe your tastes are more refined…Yes, that's it. My palate is not as refined as yours." Under the circumstances, it was the best I could do.

  Bree's whole body was vibrating with her laughter now. I was glad she found this funny rather than being angry at me for not enjoying what she'd prepared.

  "I didn't cook it."

  That was a relief. "Thank goodness! Because if you had, I'd tell you not to quit your day job. Stick to breakfast catered in from Cinnamon Sugar Bakery."

  "Lilly!"

  Mandi's admonishment didn't dissuade me at all. We both knew I was speaking the truth.

  I gestured to the remaining food on Mandi's plate. "You gonna finish that?"

  Her adorable face scrunched up, smashing her freckles, and she shook her head. "Sorry, Bree."

  "That's what I thought. So where did you get it from?" I knew it wasn't anything Clara or Tara had prepared. Even Charlie's cooking was miles better than this, so she hadn't had it catered in.

  "They were leftovers from the meal Jonathan made for Allyson this evening before they left to visit Agnes on their way to Seattle for a date."

  I could only hope my expression properly conveyed the level of bewilderment I currently felt. "They ate this garbage?"

  "Jonathan savored it as though Emeril Lagasse himself had personally prepared the meal. Allyson was a little more reserved in her enthusiasm, but she smiled and finished the entire plate."

  Maybe I'd just entered the Twilight Zone (not the kind with vampires that glittered in the sun—the kind where weird stuff happened to everyday people), but I couldn't fathom a universe where two people with refined palates could eat and enjoy this. "I don't understand. He's supposed to be the top chef, according to Tara."

  Bree cleared the plates and fed the garbage disposal the remnants of our meal. That felt like a better fit than my taste buds and digestive tract. She popped a couple Pop-Tarts in the toaster and poured a glass of milk for each of us. "Dinner's on me tonight, unless you have plans with a certain hottie."

  The thought of Tan and I not having a date tonight filled part of my empty stomach with despair. Normally, we'd hang out together every night we could. But I'd not heard from him since our argument yesterday. "Nope, no plans. What flavor are you serving up?"

  "I believe in offering a variety to my guests, so you can pick two from the selection of chocolate fudge, apple pie, s'mores, or cinnamon sugar."

  Now she was talking to my inner food critic. "You certainly know how to spoil a girl. As I know how much you like chocolate, I'll be happy to accept the apple pie and cinnamon sugar pastries."

  "Excellent choice!" She turned to Mandi. "And for you, ma'am?"

  "S'mores, always and only s'mores."

  Bree made a big production of making our selections and then plating them. This time when she sat the food in front of me, I knew I'd enjoy every bite. A few minutes later, we'd finished off the first of our two tasty treats. "Five stars, my friend. You're top chef in my book." Thinking of Tara and her possible departure, I amended, "At least for tonight."

  Bree refilled our milk glasses before turning serious. "Clara and Tara have nothing to fear from me. Though, I feel like I could give Chef Jonathan a run for his money if I gave it even half an effort. We have a world-famous chef here in Danger Cove that apparently can't cook. I'm open to theories."

  Now that I'd pushed aside painful thoughts of Tan to a back room to deal with later and my tummy had been temporarily mollified, I focused on what I knew of Chef Jonathan. "The brunch he prepared for Agnes, me, and our guests yesterday was delicious."

  "Did he make a chicken dish? Maybe poultry isn't his passion." She stopped, lost in thought for a moment. "Or, maybe the chicken I had in my fridge was nearing its expiration date—either is a possibility.

  I thought back to the different meals served. "Yes, no chicken yesterday. There was a cinnamon raisin bread with custard and fresh berries and then eggs benedict with artichokes, I think. I'm not a fan of artichoke, but Agnes devoured it as though it were her last meal." I tried not to think about the fact that it had been Rico's.

  Bree shrugged. "Then I've got nothing. Maybe he was just having an off day."

  "That doesn't explain Allyson eating it without saying a word."

  "I know they say love hurts, but this is ridiculous." That was the extent of my explanation at the moment.

  "You don't cook very often, do you, Bree?" Mandi asked.

  She had her thinking cap on. Hopefully, she could come up with something where we'd failed.

  The corner of Bree's mouth quirked into a grin. "You could say that."

  "Maybe the spices you have in your cabinet have lost their potency. I don't have the statistics on how long that normally takes, but I can find out if you believe it will be helpful."

  Bree shrugged. "No need. It's not like I'm going to be using them anytime soon. I'll start replacing them slowly, as they can be very expensive. Not being Martha Stewart, would bland spice
s normally produce such a strong taste? I'm not disagreeing, just asking."

  "Honestly, I don't know. I'm just sharing possible, not necessarily plausible, theories."

  I took a long sip of my milk as I thought about what other reasons could explain this away. Finally, I looked at my friends. "We'll go with that for now, but my Pop-Tart-filled gut tells me there's something rotten about Chef Jonathan…something besides his cooking."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Morning came entirely too early. With it, the start of another work week. I'd tossed and turned enough to convince myself that my morning workout routine had been completed. For someone who'd been an adventurer most of her life, I couldn't figure out why the thought of people in my life—myself included—picking up and moving on created such a knot in the very center of my stomach. Or maybe that was the brief taste of Chef Jonathan's food that Bree had forced me to eat yesterday.

  Tan was waiting at the back door of the tavern when I arrived. "Hey, Lilly."

  I dipped a toe in the emotional waters between us to see if the temperature was hot or cold. "Hey. You enjoy your day off?" I managed to keep from adding without me to the end of my question. Two points for me.

  He closed the distance between us while my fingers fumbled in an effort to unlock the door. The moment his arms slid around my waist and pulled me close, I gave up any pretense of trying and melted into his frame.

  "I'm sorry."

  The temptation to repeat his apology hovered dangerously close to the edge of my tongue. I didn't like conflict, especially not with him. And being in his arms felt so, so good. I wasn't sure, though, what he was sorry for. For our fight? For contemplating leaving Danger Cove? For the possibility of breaking my heart? I decided to try to keep the peace while still searching for the true meaning of his apology. "You should never apologize for following your dream."

  When his hand cupped my cheek and those intense blue eyes of his captured my gaze, I understood how dangerously close I was to jumping hand in hand off the love ledge with him. All of my reasons for doing so taunted me that love and commitment weren't bad things and that people successfully had normal, balanced relationships all the time. Just because my mother had taken it to the extreme didn't make it the only option. His lips were warm and soft, a blanket of contentment over my troubled soul.

  All too soon, he pulled away. "I'm not apologizing for following my dream. I'm apologizing for giving you an ultimatum. It was unfair of me to lay decisions about my future in your lap. You have to do what's best for you. I have to do what's best for me. If that happens to mean us not being with each other, then…"

  Though I was sure his words were meant to comfort and let me off the hook from his enthusiasm over taking our relationship to another level, I almost preferred the ultimatum to this Gandhi-inspired what will be, will be attitude. I put a little more distance between us. "Then what? We just shake hands, part ways, and be done?"

  "That's not what I'm saying."

  The desire to finally have this out and get it resolved, one way or the other, loomed large in my mind. However, I had responsibilities. The rest of the team would be arriving soon. The tavern needed to be prepared for opening. I sighed and modulated my voice to a lower, more reasonable tone. "I know. I'm just frustrated that we can't seem to figure this out. I don't want to put this discussion off, but there's work to be done."

  He increased the distance between as he shook his head. His lips pressed together, waiting a beat before responding. "Sure, no problem. Just don't put it off too much longer. Chicago expects a decision from me by the end of the week, and while I'm not basing my decision on what you do or don't do, I still value your input."

  This time my efforts to unlock the door worked like a charm. Too bad my efforts to unlock a little happiness again in my relationship with Tanner wasn't as effective. I nodded at his last statement and refrained from telling him my input could be summed up in two simple words: don't go.

  Freddie bounced in about fifteen minutes later, right after I'd started the coffee and hot water for tea. "Guess who got an A on his first exam?"

  I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Mandi?"

  He laughed. "Very funny, Boss Lady."

  I didn't feel very funny lately, but if anyone could make me chuckle when I was feeling down, it was Freddie. I'd tried to get him to stop calling me by that nickname, as it was the one I reserved for Hope, but today I decided to save my energy, as I felt it was needed in other areas. "That's great, Freddie. I'm so proud of you."

  The blush that covered his olive cheeks was adorable.

  "Thanks." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Okay, well, I'll go get started prepping the dining room."

  "Thanks."

  The rest of the team arrived with a little less enthusiasm. The tension between Tara and Clara was almost palpable. Not an angry tension—this was a band of sadness stretching between them. What was worse? I was at a loss for what to do to fix it.

  Drake looked bleary eyed as he grabbed a cup and stared down the coffeepot. I suppressed a chuckle and the desire to issue him a warning that a watched pot never brews. His demeanor didn't seem to invite playful warnings today. I tried not to think about how he might take it if I had to fire him. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. As Gram always said, "Don't borrow trouble from tomorrow. Today's is sufficient."

  Mandi looked better than the other three, but not by much. "What's wrong, Mandi? You didn't get sick from our meal yesterday, did you?"

  She slid her apron on and poured herself a cup of tea. "I didn't, but my mom is sick. She was up and down all night. Had to call in sick to work today. I think that's the first time in years she's missed."

  "I hope she feels better." I might not be able to fix things with Tan right now or bridge the gap between Clara and Tara, but this…this I could do something about. While Mandi got ready to start her shift, I grabbed a cup of tea and stood by Tara, waiting for her to finish writing up today's specials.

  "Hey, Lilly. What's up? This lineup look okay to you?" She handed me the paper.

  I offered a cursory scan of the document. Bottom line, I trusted Tara's judgment when it came to the kitchen. "Not okay—perfect."

  She grinned from the praise. "Thank you. Is there something I can do for you?"

  Don't leave me too…"I was wondering if you had time today, could you whip up some good ol' fashioned chicken soup for Mandi's mom? She's not feeling well."

  Tara nodded. "I'd be happy too. Best home remedy I know of."

  "Same here. If there's enough, I'll take some to Agnes too. She's been pretty sick lately as well."

  Her face scrunched up. "You don't think it's a bug going around, do you?"

  "I'm sure they're completely isolated incidents. We'll use extra hand sanitizer and bleach today, just in case."

  Tara smiled and nodded. She ran a tight and immaculately clean kitchen. There was a strict no-germ policy here. I left her to get started on all she had to do and headed to the bar. I might be acting manager, but behind the bar still felt like home. Today, I needed some of the comfort the routine offered me.

  Shortly after the lunch rush, one of my favorite people joined me at the bar. "Hi, Maura. How are things at the bakery?"

  Maura Monroe had moved into town shortly before I did. She'd fallen in love with the town and became somewhat of a local hero when she purchased the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery and reopened it. I knew I had found a great deal of happiness in her baked goods.

  "Hi, Lilly. What is the lunch special today? I've been working Heather really hard trying out new recipes. If I don't bring some real food back, you'll find us victims of a sugar crash."

  I could think of worse ways to go. "We can't have that happening. Where would I go for my sugar fix if something happened to either of you?" I handed her a menu. "Today's lunch special is pulled pork sliders, truffle fries, and summer slaw."

  Her lips curled into a smile. "That sounds delish. I'll take two of those to go and a Cok
e while I wait."

  After entering her order, I poured her drink. "Business good?"

  "Business is great. Hard to keep up with the demand, but you won't hear me complaining." She propped her chin on her hand. "Tell me about this handsome new gardener you have. He's rather dark and mysterious, isn't he?"

  Both qualities seemed to sum up Drake quite nicely. "That sounds about right. How do you know him?"

  "Blake insisted we go back to The Pelican Bar last week to commemorate all the excitement we had there when I first got to town. Blake had met him before at the hardware store and introduced himself, figuring he might need a place to stay since he was new in town. Anyway, when I saw Drake that night, he was sitting at a corner table by himself. Though a number of women were doing their best to attract his attention. It truly was quite humorous to watch."

  She'd piqued my curiosity. "What was he doing? Just drinking?"

  I worried that drinking alone at a bar, along with the bottle of alcohol I'd seen in the greenhouse, could indicate Drake had a drinking problem. Of course, it could all add up to my overactive imagination.

  "He was nursing a drink, but was studying something in his hand pretty intently. No idea what it was. Blake wanted to go up and say hi, but I've learned that when someone is giving off a don't-bother-me vibe, it's typically good to respect that."

  She was right. I just hadn't learned to respect those vibes quite yet. Some would argue that got me into a great deal more trouble than necessary. Wanting to change the subject from my gardener, I turned the conversation in her direction. "Speaking of Blake. How is he?"

  If my rumor mill fodder was accurate, Blake and Maura were somewhat of an item, even though Blake was a self-proclaimed bachelor. He was co-owner of Glover Rentals, a very popular business, especially during the height of tourist season.

  "Blake is good. Too busy for his own good." Her expression transformed for a moment to schoolgirl dreamy as her thoughts obviously drifted to him. A moment later, she was back to business. "You should reach out to him once your lease expires at Hazlitt Heights. If you're looking to buy, that is. He could hook you up with a nice rental until you decide on a permanent place."