by Drea Stein
She hadn’t felt like that since . . . when? Never. Sure, there had been other relationships before Will the Manipulative, but nothing like how she felt when she was with Sean. A little dangerous, a little sexy, like she was dancing over a live wire. And that was just from his kisses. They’d barely gotten past first base and she was obsessing over him, wondering what he was doing, wondering if she even had the right to think that there was something developing between the two of them.
The bell above the door rang, yanking Darby back into the here and now.
“I’d like an iced coffee please.”
Darby sprung back to life. “Sure thing, Mrs. Sampson.” Darby managed a big smile, thinking that this was her lucky day. Mrs. Sampson was head of the Historic Preservation Committee and did not approve of change. Her family had been part of the community since Queensbay’s beginning as a seafaring town, something she never let anyone forget. If you wanted to change a paint color or re-do a sign you had to get her blessing.
Unfortunately, her blessing was usually pretty hard to come by. Mrs. Sampson was one of those people who prided herself on being hard-nosed. She took pleasure in saying no, in reminding people how the character of the village must be preserved at all costs.
Darby was all for preserving character, but when you were told that Dusky Yellow was too yellow a shade to paint your clapboards and to try Eggshell White instead, it was enough to make you want to tear out your hair out and paint your house black out of spite.
Still, Mrs. Sampson’s approval counted for everything, so it did pay to be nice to her.
“I wanted to say thank you for sending that tray of cookies down to the Maritime Museum. I barely got to enjoy one myself before they were all gone.”
“Oh my pleasure,” Darby said, trying to conceal her smile. “I just remembered how much you loved them when I used to make them for the annual bake sale.”
She had sent the cookies knowing that Mrs. Sampson’s adherence to good manners would ensure she stopped by to say thank you.
“Would you like a pump of mocha in that?” Darby offered with what she hoped was her most charming smile. “On the house, of course.”
Mrs. Sampson dithered, back and forth, saying she shouldn’t, but in the end the lure of chocolate won out.
“I see it says here that you’re going to be closed for a few days due to renovations.” Mrs. Sampson pointed to the sign Darby had put up once she started to put her plan into action.
Darby passed Mrs. Sampson her iced mocha, making sure she had wiped off any drips.
“Yes, just some inside work. A fresh coat of paint, really,” Darby said, trying to sound nonchalant. “We won’t be touching the outside.”
Mrs. Sampson pursed her lips and looked around. “Your front door is peeling. And the trim is getting a little dirty. I keep reminding your father that we all need to do our part to keep the village looking spry.”
“Oh, I know, but he’s awfully stubborn,” Darby hedged, wondering where this was going.
“Oh, I do know, dear. Your grandmother was quite the same. But your father is always so generous, sending over bagels and coffee for the Committee’s meetings that it hardly seemed fair to bother him about it.”
Darby thought for a moment, trying to sense what Mrs. Sampson’s angle was. Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, she said, “Well, even though we’ll be closed on Wednesday, I am sure I could have the bagels and coffee over to you, no problem.”
“Why that would be wonderful dear, I knew you Reeses wouldn’t let us down.”
Darby smiled, and as Mrs. Sampson made her way to leave, she said, as casually as she could, “I suppose if I’m having the painters in this week for the inside, it might make sense to have them do the outside too? The clapboards are looking a little dingy, now that you mention it.”
Mrs. Sampson stopped, looked as if she were considering. “Well, any exterior painting is supposed to be approved by the Committee, and well, that could take a month or two, my dear.”
“Hmmm,” Darby did her best to look distressed. “Dad will be back by then, and I know he’ll just say he’ll get to it, and before you know it, another winter will have gone by.”
“True,” Mrs. Sampson said, slowly. “I suppose I could arrange it with the Committee on Wednesday, get them to make an executive approval decision without all the paperwork. It would be a special case, but I do see your point of striking while the iron is hot.”
“Yes, definitely,” Darby agreed, shaking her head solemnly.
“And you’ll make sure it’s white? And the shutters will stay black?”
Darby nodded, fighting the impulse to throw her arms around Mrs. Sampson and hug her.
“Well, then, it seems like we have a deal.”
Mrs. Sampson left and Darby heaved a sigh of relief. She had been wondering just how to finagle getting the exterior of the building painted without her father getting involved. He had been ignoring it as a manner of principle, saying that it was his building and that no one else had a right to tell him what color to paint it. But now, with Mrs. Sampson taking care of all the approval, it would be a fait accompli.
Darby smiled. The Golden Pear was starting to become a reality.
Chapter 24
Scrubbing refrigerators was never that fun, but it was tedious enough that it allowed for some thinking. Plus, it kept the noise from the radio and the power saw in the distant background. Work on the newest incarnation of The Dory was going just fine.
Jake had been true to his promise, redeploying himself and a crew to work on The Dory, and things were starting to move along.
All she needed to do was track down some affordable tables and chairs, come up with a new menu, finish designing a logo, order some new signs. She took a breath, trying to calm her racing mind and sort through all the things she needed to accomplish.
She pulled her head out of the metal box. She was almost done. She listened. It was quiet. She checked her watch. Not quite lunch time, but the guys must have knocked off for the mid-morning break. Either that or they were letting something dry and wouldn’t be back for hours.
“That smells pretty good.”
The voice startled her, so that she almost dropped the jar of pickle chips in her hand. She caught it just in time and took a step back.
“What are you doing here?”
Sean Callahan was back in her kitchen. She hadn’t seen him for a few days, not since she’d left him with Mandy. There had been one text, but she had decided to ignore it.
He was in his work uniform, the traditional checked pants of a chef with the neatly buttoned double-breasted uniform, his name, and that of the Osprey Arms, on it. It looked good, sharp, professional. She made a mental note to order one for herself. And maybe for her dad, too.
He was standing by her pot, sniffing it, and staring at her with a question.
“It’s a chowder I’m working on.”
His ginger beer-colored eyes danced, and she had to turn away to keep herself from being drawn into them. His gaze dropped, and then shifted away abruptly.
She put the pickles down and closed the refrigerator, aware that the cool air had been having a rather obvious effect on a certain part of her anatomy. She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping to distract him, but it was no good. His eyes had dropped for more than an instant before he looked up at her again, a knowing and sexy smile on his face. She decided that it wasn’t just the cold from the refrigerator that was making her anatomy spring to life.
“Can I taste?” he asked, politely enough.
She swallowed, knowing there was no way she could say no. “There are some spoons in that drawer,” she said, pointing.
With a smile and twinkling eyes, he pulled it open, found a spoon and dipped it into the soup.
She watched as he tasted, rolling it around on his tongue. His eyes closed, and she could see him thinking.
“Tarragon? Bay leaf? A hint of hot sauce?” he asked.
She nodde
d. He’d nailed all the flavors, but she wasn’t about to give away her secret recipe.
“It’s good. I might try a little paprika, you know, to mellow it all out.” He tossed the spoon in the nearby sink and turned to look at her.
“Thanks for the advice,” she said. She decided she could try and uncross her arms now. “It’s for the crew. I’m testing it for the new menu.” As soon as it was out of her mouth, she didn’t know why she had said it. Perhaps having Sean Callahan in her kitchen giving her advice was too big an opportunity to throw away.
There was a pause while he looked at her. “I texted you.”
“I’ve been busy,” she said, and let it hang.
He walked across the kitchen, peeked into the main part of the café. “I see. New floors, paint. Seems like you’ve got something cooking here. More than the soup.”
“Maybe,” she said, not wanting to give in to her desire to tell him everything.
“Hmm,” he said, coming back and leaning against the counter next to her, so close that her shoulder, bare in its tank top, brushed against the skin of his arm. She felt the shock radiate through her, an electric thrill that had her whole body doing a little dance, like she had been jolted by an electric eel.
She looked up, to see if he had noticed, and he was staring down at her, one eyebrow lifted. His golden blonde hair was in its usual tumbled, devil-may-care disarray, which she was finding charmingly sexy.
“Let me guess. It looks like you’re fixing the place up. And in a hurry. So, I deduce you want to get it done before your dad’s back in town.”
“Maybe,” she said again, cursing herself for not coming up with anything cleverer.
“And,” he said, snaking an arm past her and grabbing a sheet of paper, “this, if my expert eyes aren’t mistaken, looks a lot like a menu.”
He looked it over. “The Golden Pear. Classy. Soup of the day, French Dip sandwich, a quiche, and of course the cookies. I’ll take one of everything,” he said, handing the menu back to her.
“What?” she said.
“It looks great. It’s a great menu, and, well, I think that people will flock here. And not just for your cookies.”
“Really, you think so?” It came out so fast she wasn’t aware that she’d been holding her breath, craving his approval
“Well, you never know until you open, but you’ve got an established location, a proven track record. And as long as you keep a plain turkey sandwich on the menu for the old-timers, I don’t see how you can go wrong.”
She rubbed her hands over her face. “Well, my ingredients are a bit more expensive, but I’ve raised the prices, so theoretically my profit margins should stay the same. I studied my dad’s books, and you know, The Dory was doing okay. I mean, he was making money, but you can tell business has slowly been slipping off.”
“Probably because he wasn’t catering to the new clientele.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought. I told him that a year ago, but he just shook his head and said if people didn’t like his sandwiches, then they didn’t have to come.”
Sean smiled, took a step closer. “Got to admire a man who sticks to his guns.”
She looked up at him. “I sort of like a guy who can admit he’s wrong.”
“Nothing like starting over, is there?” His breath fanned her face, and she swallowed, almost reaching to him, but stopping herself.
“You know, Mandy is just who I said she was. She’s my publicist. She technically works for me.”
“And that’s all she ever was?” Darby had to ask the question but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“No,” Sean said slowly. “I won’t lie about that. She and I did date, briefly, a while ago, but that’s over. I haven’t been with anyone in months, since before I moved here. I don’t double-dip, Darby; you need to know that.”
“Not even when a model comes walking in our door?” Darby shot back. She didn’t know why she was feeling jealous, but she was. It wasn’t like she was some virginal high schooler. Everyone had a past, but she had to admit that being with someone whose past relationships had been a little more public was slightly unnerving.
He leaned down, smiled at her, “I have a strict one model at a time policy, sugar.”
She didn’t say anything, not trusting herself. Suddenly his expression turned solemn as he eyes roamed over her face. “Listen, Darby, I’m serious. A lot of those people you might have seen me with were just photo ops. Things to raise my profile or the other person’s. At the end of the night, we all went our separate ways. Mandy orchestrated it all. And to be honest, I do owe her. Without her, I’d probably still be some hick kid from the Midwest chopping vegetables in the kitchen. She really helped launch my career, got me on TV, got me my first big job, and made sure my star was on the rise.”
“And now what? Is she looking out for your next job?” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but Caitlyn’s words about Sean’s motivations haunted her. There was no reason a small town chef needed a publicist.
“She did have some business to discuss. But that’s all it is with Mandy, business.”
She looked at his face, searching but decided, no, needed, to think that he was telling the truth.
Before he could say more, there was the bang of the swinging kitchen door, and Jake was in the kitchen. He didn’t seem at all abashed to have caught them like that, but Darby still took a good step back from Sean.
“Oh, man.” Jake wiped his hand on his shirt and looked at Sean. “I heard you were in town. I love that piece you do on The Night Show. You know, the Get Laid piece.”
Darby’s head dropped down, and she all but groaned. She shot a murderous look at Jake, but he seemed immune to it, moving enthusiastically over to Sean, clapping him on his back, and holding out his hand.
“That’s not really what it’s called, you know,” Sean said, hesitating for a moment before he took Jake’s hand.
“I know, but I mean, man . . . that’s what it’s about, right?”
“Sort of.” Sean shifted uncomfortably, as if he didn’t want to remember it.
Darby stepped in. “Sean, this is Jake Owen, an old friend. He’s a contractor and agreed to bump me to the top of his list.”
“Yeah, all it took were some of her cookies.” Jake put a friendly arm around Darby, and she fought the impulse to shrug it off. She’d known Jake since they were kids, and he had always been a bit like an overly affectionate puppy, which normally she found endearing. Now it was annoying.
Sean looked between the two of them, his eyes unreadable. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to it, then. Nice to see you again.” Sean left the way he had come, the screen door of the kitchen slamming shut.
Darby untangled herself from Jake’s arm. “Why did you have to do that for?” she said, irritated that Sean had walked away.
“What do you mean? Putting my arm around you?” Jake said, his eyebrows wiggling up.
“Yeah, exactly. You pretty much ran him off,” she said. It seemed like she and Sean were always just this close to having something happen between the two of them. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
“Because now he’s jealous,” Jake said, reaching for the tray of cookies she had set aside.
“And that’s good how?”
Jake wiggled his eyebrows again. “You know how little boys are. We always want the things we think we can’t have. Right now he’s walking away, kicking himself, wondering if he’s too late and he’s getting all worked up. And in about three seconds, he’ll be back.”
“What are you talking about?” She rolled her eyes. Jake truly was the annoying big brother she wished she never had.
There was the sound of the door opening, and Sean poked his head in.
“By the way, Darby, it seems like your big plan deserves a celebration. I’m off again tonight. Maybe I could make you dinner? Your place, sevenish?”
She felt her mouth flap open, and then she quickly shut it, throwing on a
smile. “That would be great.”
“It’s a date then.” Sean sent Jake a cool nod, and then he was gone again.
Darby turned to Jake, who was smugly eating a cookie. “How did you know?”
“Because it’s what I would have done. And, you’re welcome. Are we even yet?”
She shook her head. “Not even close.”
Jake just shook his head, took his cookie, and headed back into the dining room. “Oh well, it was worth a try.”
Chapter 25
“And what are you so happy about?” Chase Sanders strolled into the kitchen of the Osprey Arms, hands stuffed into the pockets of his tailored khakis, a pressed golf shirt on, looking more like a champion sailor than a businessman.
Sean pulled his head out the freezer and glanced over. “Happy?”
“You’re humming. And is that a smile? Wow, has hell frozen over? The terrifying Chef Sean is about to do a happy dance.”
“So?” Sean shrugged, feeling self-conscious. He hadn’t realized he’d been humming. He was just pulling together the things he wanted to take over to Darby’s house.
“Well, when you first came here, you were scowling and shouting a lot.”
“Shouting?” Sean said.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s one way to motivate your team,” Chase said, looking around. “The place looks great. Must have had the crew cleaning. And dinner last night was great. Ran into a few people in town and they can’t stop talking about the special pasta of the day. And it looks like you have another one cooking.”
“Something like that.” Sean paused, and then decided he didn’t mind sharing, perhaps getting a little intel. “Heading over to Darby Reese’s house. I was going to make her dinner, sort of a celebration.”
“Ah,” Chase said, leaning against the counter, looking completely at ease. “The buzz is out on that. Everyone’s talking about the work going on over there. Seems like Darby’s pulling a bit of a switcheroo on her dad. Good for her. She’s a good lawyer, but I think she’s a better baker.”