by Karina Halle
And neither can I.
“Absolutely. We’ll go tomorrow. Make a whole day of it.” Will shoots me wink. “Just Jackie, you can come too.”
“Oh, well thank you.” Honestly I’m amazed Will is putting himself out there like this. Does he not realize how absolutely insane it will be on a Saturday? Does he not realize he’s going to be dragging a kid around? And me. Whom he considers a kid.
“Mommy doesn’t like dinosaurs,” Ty admits.
“Is that so?” Will asks.
“That is not true,” I say, strangely defensive as I stab a piece of broccoli with my fork. “I’m a big fan. I know almost as much about them as Ty does.”
“You know, Ty,” Will says to him, “when I was your age I went to Science World all the time.”
“Did your father take you?”
Loaded question. Everyone seems to stiffen.
Will just gives him an easy smile. “No. My father died when I was young. I went with my Uncle Pete. We had a great time. I haven’t been back since, but I can tell you’re going to love it.”
“How young were you when he died?” Ty asks, obviously fixated on this now. To be honest, I’m curious too, though I don’t want Will to be put on the spot.
“Ty, it’s personal,” I chide him softly.
“No, no,” Will says to me with warm eyes. “It’s quite alright.” He looks at Ty. “I was five years old. I grew up on Vancouver Island, in a small town called Tofino. Lot’s of surfing. Big waves. It’s very wild, very beautiful.”
“How did he die?”
“Ty,” my mother warns.
Will goes on. “He had an accident. So my mother raised me.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes she is,” he says. “She and her new husband run a campground. She loves it. Maybe you’ll get to visit one day.”
Ty looks at me with big eyes. “Can we go camping?”
“Finish your dinner and then we’ll talk about it,” I tell him, giving Will a look. If he’s been amused by me all week, I’m certainly amused by him right now.
After dinner, the desert comes out—homemade cherry pie—and then the adults retire to the living room for their digestifs. Even though my mother insisted I drink with them, I honestly just want to call it a night.
When I’m done saying goodnight, I head up the stairs and down the hall toward Ty’s room, where he’s probably reading his dinosaur book again, since he made a beeline for it the moment he was excused from the table.
“Jackie,” I hear Will’s deep voice from behind me.
I pause and turn around to see him at the top of the stairs.
“Hey,” he says, keep his voice low. “I hope I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes.” I shake my head, walking closer to him. The hall is dimly lit and his face is half-shadowed, the strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw highlighted.
I stop in front of him and have to crane my head back slightly. He’s almost a full foot taller than me, and right now he somehow seems even taller.
He licks his lips and I can’t help but watch his tongue. “I understand if it’s completely inappropriate for me to take Tyson. I just . . .felt for him, that’s all.”
Oh my god.
My heart is doing a backward summersault.
Even his own grandfather doesn’t seem to feel for him, though I know that thought isn’t exactly fair.
“That’s fine,” I manage to say, clearing my throat. “Thank you. I was just worried you didn’t mean it. He’s had so many heartbreaks lately . . .”
“I mean everything I say,” he says to me, his voice sliding over my skin. “Always. If you don’t know that already, you’ll know it soon.”
I swallow hard. It feels so different, being with him alone in this hallway, him without his suit, without the office lights, without a million people around us. He seems so much older somehow, not in age, but just . . . such a man. His large, focused presence around me like this nearly tips me off balance.
“Well, again, thank you,” I tell him, making myself feel awkward. “You really don’t mind if I tag along?”
“As long as you don’t mind having spent Friday night and Saturday with your boss,” he says, a sly grin spreading across his face, “then I insist.”
Boss.
He’s your boss.
Don’t forget it.
Your father’s business partner and friend.
Don’t forget that either.
I nod. “Great. What time?”
“Eleven too early for you?”
“Not at all,” I say.
“Good. I’ll swing by here, pick you guys up.”
Is this really happening?
He pats me on the arm, gives me another wink that makes me weak at the knees. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.”
I watch as his tall, muscled frame saunters down the hall, disappearing down the stairs.
Then I lean against the wall, trying to regain my breath.
4
“The restaurant is actually called Ohana Lounge,” Logan explains as he opens the heavy doors and we step inside. “Ohana means family in Hawaiian, by the way. But most locals call it the last stop.”
The area inside is actually a lot more spacious than it looked from the outside. Skylights adorn the ceiling, and the entire back wall of the restaurant has the amazing ocean views I had noted earlier. Even though the lights are all off, the place looks bright.
There's an empty hostess stand at the podium with a sign that says please seat yourself. To the left of us are the washrooms, just off the small waiting area. To the right it looks like the door to the kitchen.
I follow Logan further inside, the decorating similar to my new room, perhaps with more of a Mediterranean or middle-eastern feel. There's a bar to the left of us, small and rounded, with five bamboo barstools along it, and to the right is the kitchen, open slightly to the restaurant.
Charlie is already in there, smiling at me through the open section before he quickly turns away and busies himself once Logan catches his eye.
I turn back to the room and take quick stock of my new workplace, my eyes immediately taking in everything that needs to be improved. I can't help it.
“How many of these tables are used on a given night?” I ask Logan. “How often are you full?”
He leans back on his heels, strokes his hand along the beard on his jaw. My god, he has perfect hands. Wide, powerful—I'd forgotten about that. It was one of the first things I noticed about him, though when the wedding band went on his left hand, I stopped noticing all together.
At least, I should have.
“Not every night. There's never really a wait for a table until we get into the busy seasons . . . Christmas, the winter holidays, summer holidays. Autumn is the shoulder season, which is why Charlie and Johnny have been able to manage with just the two of them. But the closer we get to December, the busier it's going to get.”
“Well, my first thought is that the place is too cramped,” I tell him.
He frowns at me. “Too cramped?” He looks personally insulted. “Look at all this space.”
I shake my head. “It's spacious but the set-up is all wrong. You're crowding too many tables by the window.”
“But people want the view.”
“Then people will have to get here early or make reservations if they want the view,” I tell him. I jerk my chin to two four-seaters by the window. “Get rid of those completely. Stack them in storage for now, put them somewhere more accessible when the busy season comes, but for now they're an eyesore. People might want the view of the windows but they don't want to share it so closely with others. Since you say not many families come here, the four-seaters aren't needed, not there anyway. Kids don't give a shit about the view. I say, push the four-seaters up there in that alcove, and that can become the family area. Couples don't want children causing a fuss over dinner, believe me. And if this means that more people will have to wait to get a table, let them wait. People stay
at the hotel, they want to eat here because they're too lazy to go into town or they want to have a few drinks at dinner and don't want to drink and drive. So then you add a couple of more stools to the bar, there's room, and they can wait there. Maybe even serve drinks in the waiting area, or set up some tables outside. There’s a whole beach out there with an even better view; they can relax while they wait.”
I realize I've been totally rambling on and from the glower that Logan is given, I can tell my suggestions aren't exactly appreciated.
“Let me get this straight,” Logan says slowly, not looking away. “I have this restaurant up and running for years, never had more than a few complaints, have a bloody brilliant rating on Yelp, and then you show up, fresh off the boat, and immediately have something to say about it. You haven't worked here even for a minute, Veronica. Why the hell should I suddenly rearrange what's working just because you've said so?”
Right. See the other thing I remember about Logan is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch and you better not tell him his way is the wrong way. Unfortunately, I'm also a stubborn son of a bitch, but at least in this situation I know I'm right. He may own this restaurant and the hotel, but he doesn't know the first thing about cooking food, about serving, about running a place like this.
“She's right, aye,” a booming voice comes from behind me.
I whirl around to see a round, jovial-looking face staring at me from the kitchen. He smiles broadly, his teeth blindingly white, albeit slightly crooked, against his dark skin. “Hey, I'm Johnny by the way. You can call me Big J. Least that's what the habut calls me.”
“Johnny is just fine,” I tell him, feeling eternally grateful for this friendly face in the presence of the ha-boo-t.
“What do you mean she's right?” Logan asks, his voice on edge.
Johnny shrugs. “I mean she's right. Just because you have a good Yelp rating, doesn't mean people don't talk. Especially locals, aye? They won't write reviews but the word still spreads. And I'm the head cook, which means I have to hear about it. Not you.”
I look back to Logan. He seems like he's ready to blow, his jaw is set in a tense line, his fingers are tapping against his arm, agitated. “What are they saying?” he asks carefully.
“Nothing you should worry about,” Johnny says. “But I can tell you that people don't come here to eat for the ocean view. It's too crowded. Like she said. And having a wait isn't a bad thing. Most diners are our guests. If there is a wait, they can go back to their room. Or the beach. And adding some extra seats at the bar doesn't hurt at all.”
I watch Logan, my breath in my throat. I'm afraid he's going to lose it on me or Johnny, not that Johnny seems to care, which makes me like him even more.
Finally, Logan's eyes meet mine and I see nothing but animosity in them. Something tells me that I made a big mistake speaking out like that.
I expect him to say something else that would shoot down my idea but eventually he lets out a ragged breath and says sternly to Johnny, “I have to check on the pool. I trust you'll get Veronica up to speed?” He glances at me. “Your first shift starts tomorrow. Come to the office later, I have papers for you to sign.”
Then he turns on his heel and leaves, his hulking body pushing open the doors and disappearing into the bright world outside.
“So Charlie tells me Shephard's your brother-in-law,” Johnny says, making me turn my attention back to him. “I thought he'd for sure treat you a little easier but I guess it's fair across the board here.” He gives me a quick wave. “Come on back here, let's introduce you to your new home, little wahine.”
I take in a deep breath, trying to shake off Logan's attitude, and head into the kitchen.
My first thought is that it's small. Barely big enough for three cooks and a dishwasher, assuming they have a dishwasher. I've heard a lot of the smaller places don't.
“She ain't much, but she makes good food,” Johnny says. He comes over to me holding out his hand. “Now it's official. Johnny.”
“Ronnie,” I tell him as he takes my hand in his, his palm damp. He's a huge guy, tall and round, and yet despite the big jiggling stomach, he somehow exudes strength, like he could bench press you at any given time. “You can call me Ron if you wish. Or even hey you.”
He grins at me and it lights up his face like a child on Christmas Day. “Nah, I don't think we'll call you hey you. Ronnie is just fine. Or little wahine. That’s Hawaiian for pretty lady, you know.” He lets go of my hand and twists around him to look at Charlie who is at the back of the kitchen, chopping up bok choy. “You didn't tell me she was cute.”
“I don't have to tell you everything, Johnny Cakes,” Charlie says without looking up. “And wahine means woman, Ron, so he’s just trying to butter you up.”
“I’m a cook, of course I’m trying to butter her up, I put butter on everything,” Johnny says with a wink. “So now that you've seen the place, I guess you're figuring out where everything is. I'm pretty organized so you'll get the hang of things really quick and soon it won't feel like work at all.” Charlie snorts at that but Johnny ignores him. “The only thing that will test you is trying to work with this haole over here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie says, heading over to the fridge and rummaging for something. He looks totally different now that he's in his white uniform. I always found that the uniform gives an air of respectability to anyone, even someone known for not wearing shoes. And to be safe, I look down and notice the skate shoes he's got on. Not exactly good protection if he drops something on it but good enough for Hawaii.
“Any questions?” Johnny asks me.
I raise a brow. “Um. I have a ton of questions.”
“Let's hear it. I've got a few minutes before I have to get back to work. I keep myself on a tight shift.”
I wonder if that's true after the comment that Logan made about him being all relaxed but I realize that I can't exactly take Logan's word for a lot of things.
“Well, for one . . . what's the menu? Who are the suppliers and how often do we get stuff in? Who handles that? Do we have a bartender? Who are the wait staff? Dishwasher? Is the menu always set or does it change from day to day? Do we do special events and if so, how do we handle those on top of the restaurant, considering there are only three of us.”
Johnny is staring at me so blankly that I'm afraid he hasn't heard me.
Finally, he nods. “Okay. I think I may need a beer after that one.”
“Yes, beer please,” Charlie says, not looking up.
I want to ask if drinking on the job is a regular thing but I don't dare. I've already shaken things up enough with my suggestions, I won't be asking them to change how they work today.
Johnny raises his hand and starts ticking off the answers on each finger. “The menu is posted on the wall behind, changes are seasonal. If we sell out of something, then we're out of it and it’s crossed off the menu. We have a local fisherman supplier for all the fish, and we use another supplier for a lot of the local vegetables and meat. Yes, we have a bartender. Daniel. He's also a real estate agent so he's going to try and sell you a condo, just warning you. May also try and get in your pants.” Johnny glances at the clock over my head. “He'll be here soon. On Sunday's we open at six, which is in an hour, in case you're still on Chicago time, rest of the week we open at five. We stop serving at ten, though we tend to prepare a few pupus ahead of time on the weekend, for people drinking at the bar.”
“Pupus?” I repeat.
He grins. “Yes. It means, like, tapas. Appetizers. Pupus are our selling point here. Lot's of variety and easy to prepare. People love pupus.”
“We even have a tee shirt that says ‘People Love Our Pupus,’” Charlie says with a laugh. “Which reminds me, we need to order some more in. Honestly there isn’t a pupu joke that doesn’t make me laugh.”
“Aye,” Johnny says. “Get Kate to do that. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. Pupus and fresh fish is what we're known for, and a lot of our food has a Medit
erranean slant to it. You know, meze platters and all that. Cheap to make, the health nuts love it. What else? Ah, Nikki. She's our waitress. She works every week night. Kate will run food if it's really busy, which usually means Logan takes over reception. I know he sounded like he's large and in charge with the kitchen but that's his ego talking. I'm the large one here,” he says, poking his thumb into his chest, “and I'm in charge. Logan doesn't step in here all that much, except to drink sometimes with Daniel, and frankly it makes the kitchen one of the best places to work at Moonwater.”
“Sounds like it. Who waitresses on weekends?”
“There are a few local girls, one in Hanalei, one in Haena. They're great for back-up too.”
“Hey guys,” a man's voice breaks in, the accent high and lilting. “And Ms. Locke.”
I turn to see Jin coming in, grabbing an apron off a rack and tying it behind his back.
“And Jin,” Johnny says. “He's the dishwasher.”
“It's a fascinating job,” Jin says dryly, giving me a kind smile to let me know he doesn't really mind at all.
“He's the backbone of our operation,” Johnny says. “And when he's not washing dishes, he's the hotel maintenance man. And sometimes the shuttle bus driver.”
I laugh lightly. “I'm starting to think that everyone here is a shuttle bus driver at some point.”
“Except me,” Charlie says.
“Because you took the bus to Hanalei beach and gave rides home to the surfer chicks,” Johnny points out.
“That was one time,” Charlie protests.
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Useless, I tell ya.”
After that I stay in the kitchen until the customers start coming into the restaurant. Just enough to observe how things are going without feeling like I’m inspecting them or getting in the way.
They have the music going on the radio, something with a ukulele and a soft singing voice akin to Jack Johnson, and all three of them seem to really enjoy their job. I can see how seriously Johnny takes his food, which is a relief, but he’s also all smiles and easy-going, which is also a relief. Your job is only as good as the company you keep in it.