by Drea Stein
But the way she had looked at him, hand clenched around the handle of the knife. Like she had known exactly who he was, what kind of person he was—and hadn’t liked what she was seeing.
He’d gotten used to that. The recognition. He knew, truly, that he wasn’t famous. But even a few appearances on late night TV, plus that flattering profile by the reporter who wanted a good table at his last restaurant had been enough to get him “recognized.” And at first, it had been nice, the recognition. He had taken full advantage of it. He was a kid from a small town in the Midwest. The fame had been what he had always imagined it would be like, from the guys who were asking for a table at your restaurant, to the girls who wanted to get close to you. The money hadn’t been so bad either, but that had seemed beside the point when he’d been everyone’s darling. So what if he ran a tough kitchen. It wasn’t easy staying on top.
Then there had been a few of those not-so-flattering stories. About his late nights and how the food he cooked seemed to look better than it tasted. And there had been the rumors of his temper. Greatly exaggerated for the most part. Okay, so maybe that was the one part they had gotten right. And his fall had been just as swift as his rise. All of a sudden, people had looked at him with, what—a certain kind of wariness, like they expected him to start yelling and throwing things.
He’d seen the whisper of fear that ran through the staff at the Osprey when Chase introduced him. One of the waitresses had even quit on the spot, saying she wouldn’t work for a thug. Sean knew that he had a lot of work to do to repair his reputation. So far, things were coming along okay. His staff was starting to treat him like a normal person, and he found that he liked the pace here in Queensbay. He was calmer and that meant that he yelled less. He was able to focus more on the food, and that made him happier than he’d been in a long time. And since he was a partner, it turned out the money wasn’t so bad either.
His last dinner was served by nine, ten at the latest. He’d been going to bed at a reasonable hour, had even started to get up and go for a run along the beach in the mornings. He’d even been working on some new recipes and hoped to pull them together in a cookbook. The restaurant was starting to get a reputation for serving locally sourced, seasonal food. All things considered, life was going much better than he had hoped. So it made no sense that some girl who looked good in an apron should be occupying so much of his thoughts.
“What are those?” Sean sniffed, as one of the waitresses walked by carrying a pink-and-white-striped cardboard box. The aroma had caused a stir in the restaurant as most of the staff gravitated toward her.
“Cookies. From The Dory. Darby’s back in town while her parents are on vacation. She’s baking them for the store.”
Kevin was the first to scoop one up. “These are amazing. Remember when she used to make them for the football games?” There was a general murmur of agreement.
The Dory. Darby Reese. That meant she must be the daughter of the owners. Now that he knew a name, Sean tried to search his memory, to see if he could remember her. No, there was nothing. “Let me try.”
The staff cleared a path for him.
He looked in the box, saw it was piled high with chocolate chip cookies the size of his palm, studded with big, dark chips of chocolate. They were a perfect golden brown. He selected one and felt every eye on him as he took a bite. The chocolate and dough melted in his mouth. “Wow,” he said, surprised. “These are really good.”
The waitress flashed him a relieved smile. “Darby knows how to bake ‘em.”
“And she’s easy on the eyes,” said another waiter, a college kid with shaggy hair.
There was a nervous ripple of laughter as Sean let a hint of a smile cross his face before he shut it down. “That’s enough. Back to work.” Somehow the thought of that pimply kid commenting on Darby’s good looks unsettled him.
The staff scattered, and Sean worked with them, helping them with their techniques, identifying skills they needed to work on.
After an hour or so of talks and making notes, he stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. There was a view of the water, even here, from the back door of the kitchen. Queensbay Harbor was a huge indent on the coastline of Connecticut, ringed by beaches and hills, with the village at the very apex of it and houses fanning up and out on either side. The harbor, even on a weekday, was busy with the hum of motorboats and the snap of crisp white sails.
There was the faint tang of salt and something else—seaweed, he guessed, because until he’d come to Queensbay, he’d never been this close to saltwater. The town was cute, hugging the Connecticut shoreline and was filled with houses and stores that had been built over two hundred years ago and, except for new paint, looked like they hadn’t been touched. Everything had a look of prosperous self-assurance about it, as if Queensbay and the people in it were sure of their place in the world. All in all it had a simple and quiet feel and was just what the doctor, or rather his publicist, had ordered.
Get out of the city, keep a low profile. Be successful, keep his nose clean and then, just maybe, he’d get another shot at the big leagues again. So far things were going according to plan. His publicist planned to have him back in the city by September, but now, standing here looking at the broad expanse of the harbor, at the dark green hills that ringed it and the sapphire-blue sky, overhead, he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t miss the place just a bit.
He was about to go inside, thinking it was time to give the staff a lesson on mushrooms, when his phone beeped. It was an alarm. Chase had asked him to go to the Chamber of Commerce meeting, something about getting more established as a businessman in town. Sean had seen right through that. There was no way Chase wanted to sit through a meeting on a glorious summer afternoon, so he was pawning the obligation off.
He sighed. Another freakin’ meeting. He’d much rather be in the kitchen.
Chapter 5
Darby was running late, mostly because she wanted to change out of her work clothes, but she couldn’t help taking a moment to enjoy the sunshine as she walked the few blocks that separated The Dory from Village Hall. She waved at people she knew—friends of the family, men and women she’d known all of her life. She caught sight of a pair of cute earrings in the window of The Garden Cottage and made a mental note to pop back in later to try them on.
It felt nice, right, to be here, even if it was under false pretenses. For just a moment, she let the sun warm her cheeks and took in the sight of the harbor spread out before her. She had missed the water, she admitted to herself. Four years of college, three years of law school, and three more working—and every day, she had missed being able to see the water. It would be perfect to be able to wake up to this every morning. Surely, her dad would be able to understand her need to come home, if nothing else.
Queensbay had always been a summer town, a haven for boaters. They docked at the marina or anchored in the harbor, creating flotillas of party boats. Other sightseers came by train or car to grab a room at the Osprey Arms and spend a day or two poking around the antique stores and knickknack shops, exclaim over the neat, well-kept houses behind white picket fences, hear a live band play along the waterfront, and have dinner while watching the sun set over the harbor. Though small, Queensbay always felt just busy enough, never too small or too big.
And it didn’t end with summer. Fall was soccer and apple picking time, time for pumpkin carving and leaf pile jumping. Almost as much as the summertime, she loved that season, when you could build a crackling fire indoors, when it was time to lay on the soup and casseroles, to hunker down and pull out the sweaters and cozy up. Queensbay was her home and everything that meant. Some part of her had known that she would always wind up here, no matter how many times her dad had told her to go off and spread her wings.
The town, too, was growing. It was no longer quite as sleepy as she remembered from childhood. The relocation of a few big companies and the expansion of the local hospital meant that more people were discovering the c
harming little village on the water. It was now home to folks year round, both young families with kids and to double-income, no kid, executive couples.
Her dad complained about them, saying they were too fancy, with gourmet tastes. All of a sudden, pastrami on rye with a side of slaw wasn’t okay anymore. These customers wanted fresh chicken with pesto mayonnaise on a crusty roll, topped off with a cappuccino and biscotti.
She shook her head as she walked, noting all around her the signs that Queensbay was changing. There was a new designer boutique on the corner and a fancy ice cream shop that served a cone as big as a dinner platter. She’d suggested to her dad that maybe it was time to update things a bit; fix The Dory up, add in a few new menu items. But he’d only sniffed and muttered, saying if his sandwiches weren’t good enough for them, then they could shove off. Since The Dory was the only deli in town and apparently had the profits to prove it, she knew her dad didn’t have much motivation to keep up with the times. Still, she hoped to show him that a little change could go a long way.
Village Hall appeared before her, an impressive brick building that anchored the downtown portion of the village. Well over a hundred years old, the building was a familiar local landmark. All charm, however, ended at the front door. Inside, it was like any government building, with beige walls and gray carpet.
She took the wide steps up to the entrance, pushed through the double-height door and onto the first floor. She had to climb the stairs up to the second-floor conference room where the Chamber of Commerce meeting was to be held. The room was only half-filled, and she breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn’t late. Apparently, a Chamber meeting in the middle of a summer afternoon wasn’t on the top of anyone’s priority list.
“Well, well, Darby, you’re looking quite well.” Mayor Peyton came over and gave her both a kiss on the cheek and a handshake. He was about the same age as her father but with an impressive set of jowls that was a testament to his politician’s “man about town” status. Mayor Zander Peyton was the type of man who never cooked at home when he could eat out, who never drank alone when he could buy a round, and who never turned down a cup of coffee even if it meant hearing the gripes of the populace of Queensbay. He’d been the mayor for a record four terms and counting, and when not running the business of the village, he was a high school science teacher.
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. It’s nice to be back in town,” she said, genuinely glad to see him. He had been her science teacher too, and until he pointed out the comparisons between cooking and chemistry, she’d dreaded the class. Since then, she had appreciated the technical aspects of cooking as much as the artistic side.
“Glad you could make it to our meeting today. It’s always nice to have some fresh, young voices around the table,” he said, giving her shoulder a final, friendly squeeze.
Alone now, she surveyed the scene. The conference room had a gray-beige rug, a fake wood table, and serviceable chairs. The room was starting to fill up with the members of the council: all the men and women who owned businesses in the village proper and in the outlying commercial areas. More than a few nodded and waved to her.
Joan Altieri, the owner of The Garden Cottage, came over to her, sliding into the chair one over from her, her hair bleached and styled in a pixie cut for the summer. “How are you holding up with your parents out of town?”
Darby’s mom and Joan had been friends for years, and she was sure that her mom had asked Joan to check up on her.
“Just fine,” Darby answered. “Made it through the breakfast rush without a hitch.”
She nodded, trying to sound like she was in control. Lunch had been easy, too—slow, almost, compared to the crush she was used to from her jobs at restaurants in the city. And maybe, if she were honest with herself, a bit slower than the way she remembered lunch at The Dory had been. It might be time to look over the books at The Dory, to see if things were really as sunny as her father kept saying they were.
“I keep telling Reg you missed your calling going into law,” Joan said.
Darby froze. “What do you mean?”
Joan squeezed her hand. “I hear you’ve been making your cookies again. I tell you, the whole town just waits until you get a chance to stop by and bake us up a batch. Seems like you could make yourself quite a fortune if you just concentrated on making those cookies.”
Darby managed a nod, hoping that the panic didn’t show. As a lawyer, she’d grown pretty good at keeping a poker face, but it was harder to do that around people she had known all her life. She certainly wasn’t ready to let anyone besides Caitlyn know that she had quit her job and was planning to convince her dad to let her join him in the family business.
“Who knows? Maybe your dad will bring us back some new recipes. All of a sudden, I feel like Queensbay is becoming so cosmopolitan,” Joan said. “Why, my sales are up twenty percent this season alone—and not just because I raised my prices, mind you. Used to be we had more browsers than tourists, but now I feel like we’ve got our own little bit of fancy. I mean, you’ve heard what they’ve been doing to the Osprey Arms?”
Darby looked at Joan, whose eyes flickered behind her half-moon glasses. “What are they going to do?” she asked, her mind still thinking about what Joan had said.
“You haven’t heard then? Chase Sanders bought the Osprey Arms and got himself a partner to run the restaurant. They want to turn it into a real steak and seafood place. No more baskets of fried shrimp.” Joan said it with a bit of a sigh, like she was going to miss the old menu.
Darby could almost agree. The Osprey Arms, like The Dory, was an institution, with a menu that never changed. People didn’t go there for the food, really; they went because there were white tablecloths and heavy duty silverware and a bar where they could order real drinks, all while looking out over the water. She had celebrated her high school graduation at the Osprey Arms, where she had had a stuffed flounder filet and her father had ordered the shrimp scampi with a side of pasta.
“And it’s some chef . . . oh dear, I can’t remember his name, but my Ben tells me that he’s a hit with all the cool kids, or whatever you say.” Joan shook her head and continued. “I never heard of him or whatever show he’s on, but he’s quite something to look at. All dark eyes and blonde hair and boyish charm.” Joan nodded authoritatively.
Darby felt her heart sink as she realized she’d just discovered why Sean Callahan was in her town. Apparently, just about everyone could fall for that easy charm. But she could personally attest to what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one of his tirades. Her dismay turned to anger. The bastard didn’t even remember me, she seethed on the inside.
That just made the fact that she’d felt a pull of attraction toward Sean Callahan all the more irritating. She knew he had a temper and a reputation as a bad boy. And there was no way, she, Darby Reese, budding business owner, was going to fall for the likes of Sean Callahan. Just because a guy had cute dimples and great upper body strength, didn’t make him eligible bachelor material. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. She was so over bad boys.
After all, when a guy had showed up on a late night talk show with his own segment, titled “Date Night Delight,” where he taught whatever pretty young thing of the moment how to cook something, you knew that he had to be trouble. The subtext wasn’t all that subtle, since that was how Sean had gotten his Chef Sexy nickname. If she just remembered that and focused on her own agenda, then she should be able to steer clear of Sean Callahan. No need for him to ever figure out where they’d met before.
“Order, order.” Mayor Peyton had taken his seat at the head of the table and banged his small gavel. The room hushed quickly as people rushed to fill the seats.
She only half-listened, trying to ignore her annoyance at knowing Sean Callahan had invaded her town by trying to remember where she had seen a recipe for an avocado salad. It might be something that she wanted to try out on the menu this week, if only she could dig it up.
A
murmur ran through the room, and she looked up to see him standing in the doorway, politely pushing his way into the room. Once again, Sean Callahan looked as if he’d walked out of an ad for a men’s clothing magazine rather than the kitchen. He still wore his black t-shirt, paired with dark jeans. She was suddenly very aware that his arms and the rest of his body were as well-muscled as his shoulders. His blondish hair was windblown, more disheveled than it had been that morning, and he wore a lip-curling grin on his face as he maneuvered around the legs of chairs and eased himself into the cramped space between her and Joan Altieri.
His dark eyes raked over her, and a shiver ran through her. It took her only a moment to recognize it for what it was and only a second longer to tamp it down and tell herself that it was just an obvious reaction to a man who had all the parts nicely arranged. There was no way she could ever be attracted to Sean Callahan, not after their history—even as forgettable as it was to him. Still, she was happy she had managed to run home and change out of her work clothes into something more benefitting a hopeful small business owner.
Mayor Peyton, in the middle of something about a noise ordinance, nodded politely at the newcomer but kept on with his droning. She felt the familiar heat on her skin as Sean Callahan’s arm brushed against hers. She moved it quickly, but not before she knew that the red splotches of embarrassment were shooting up her arms, across her neck, and probably onto her cheeks. It was a problem with having the coloring of a redhead. Most of the time, she was able to minimize it, but her body’s internal temperature was spiking at her nearness to him.
She felt his eyes on her, and she dared to turn her head quickly. He had the audacity to wear a smile—a comfortable, I-am-in-command type of smile. He gave her a quick nod and a grin as if the tirade in her kitchen—her kitchen!—had never happened.
She tried for a frosty glare, but that only seemed to amuse him, as if he enjoyed the challenge. He looked at her for an instant, and when she didn’t return his smile, he gave her a wink and settled himself more fully so that his elbow brushed hers. She retracted her arm as if she’d been scalded, but that only made his smile grow even wider.