Sadie comes back in the kitchen and I stop talking. Sam takes her over to the prep station. Apparently Clover already has Sam training her. That’s… well, it’s efficient, I’ll give them that. Sadie meets my eyes again. They’re huge and pleading with me, as if she knows she wasn’t hired under normal circumstances.
Clover sidles up to me and nudges me with her elbow. “Besides, isn’t she cute?”
“What?”
“She’s cute, right?”
I tear my eyes away from Sadie. She’s not just cute. She’s beautiful. “That’s beside the point. You can’t hire people without telling me.”
“I didn’t,” she says. “I just told you. And why is that beside the point?”
“It doesn’t matter whether I think a server who works for me,” I say, emphasizing the words, “is cute.”
“Good, then I’m glad we agree,” Clover says.
“Agree on what?”
“That she works for you,” she says.
“What?”
“She is cute, though. Even you have to admit that. But we can’t stand here talking in the middle of a service. We’re getting behind. Come on, chef.”
I gape at Clover, wondering what the hell just happened. Sadie comes back into the kitchen with Sam. I guess we do need another server. Although if she can’t hack it, I’ll have to be the bad guy and let her go.
She glances at me with that same worried expression in her eyes. I look away and get back to work. She’ll either sink or swim.
Although it’s odd how quickly I feel a little spark of hope that she does indeed swim.
I keep my back to her and focus on the meat I’m searing. Beautiful or not, she’s just another server. The last thing I need is to get caught staring at my new employee. I’ll have to talk to Clover again later about not hiring people without my permission.
Dinner service goes by without any issues. The last guests leave, the door is locked, and we get things cleaned and prepped for tomorrow.
I finish wiping down the last counter when I notice Sadie shouldering a handbag. She pauses and meets my eyes.
Clover appears out of nowhere, shaking out her curls with her hand. “Oh, good. You guys met. Officially, I mean.”
Sadie blinks. “Oh, not exactly.”
Clover sighs, and I can tell her exasperation is meant entirely for me. “Gabe, this is our new server, Sadie. Sadie, Gabriel Parker. Geez, Gabe, I thought you would have done this earlier.”
“Earlier? Clover…” I stop because sometimes reasoning with Clover is an exercise in futility. “Did you get Sadie’s paperwork squared away?”
“Of course,” Clover says. “And I have her mirroring Sam’s schedule so he can keep training her.”
“All right,” I say.
“Night, chef,” Clover says with a smile. “Night, Sadie. Awesome job tonight. You did great.” She looks at me with raised eyebrows, like she expects me to say something.
“Yeah, thanks, Sadie.”
Sadie’s eyes dart between the two of us a few times. “Thanks for the opportunity. This came at the perfect time. I really appreciate it.”
I look down. Those green eyes are stirring something inside of me. I’m afraid if I keep looking at her, I won’t be able to stop staring.
“It was fate,” Clover says, matter-of-fact.
“Sure,” Sadie says, her voice echoing the skepticism I feel. “Good night.”
Sadie leaves, but Clover hesitates beside me, her hands on her hips.
“What?” I ask.
“What’s up with you?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I head for my office but I hear Clover’s footsteps behind me.
She follows me in. “I’m texting Cody to tell him I’ll be late.”
“Why? We’re finished early. You can go home.” I take off my chef coat while Clover types. I don’t bother waiting for her to leave before I pull off my t-shirt. I learned a long time ago that Clover doesn’t have the same sense of propriety that most people have. And since she’s married to my sister’s brother-in-law, she considers me more of a brother than a boss. Which, in Clover-land, apparently means I can change my shirt in front of her and it’s not weird.
“Because we’re going out,” she says. “You need a drink.”
I put on a fresh t-shirt. “Do I?”
“Clearly,” she says. “Come on. I’ll buy.”
My friend Finn’s Irish Pub is mostly empty. A small group sits at a table and there are a couple people sitting at the bar. Clover picks a table and hangs her coat over the back of her chair.
Finn comes over, wiping his hands on a white towel. “Bourbon?”
“That works,” I say.
He turns to Clover and hesitates. “Normally I’d say Corona with lime, but somehow that seems wrong. What can I get you?”
She smiles at Finn. “Just a club soda with lemon.”
“You got it,” he says.
“Okay, grumpy man,” Clover says as soon as Finn is out of earshot. “What’s going on?”
“Grumpy?” I ask. “I’m not grumpy.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Well, you’re always a little broody. But it seems like something is going on with you lately.”
Finn brings our drinks and I take a sip of my bourbon. It slides down my throat, leaving a trail of warmth. I stare at the table for a long moment, then take another drink. But I still don’t answer Clover’s question.
“Fine, if you don’t want to talk about you, let’s talk about the menu,” she says. “It’s been eight months since we changed anything. Don’t you think it’s time?”
It is time. Well past it. But talking about the menu is touching on all the things I don’t want to think about—let alone talk about. But I should say something.
“We do need to switch out a few menu items. We’ll keep some of our mainstays. Maybe we can just go back to last year’s entrees.”
“That’s… interesting,” she says. “Don’t you think we can come up with some new ideas?”
New ideas. How do I tell her I’m out of ideas? That I haven’t had a decent, fresh concept for the menu in a year? And somehow, I can’t seem to make myself care.
“Maybe you should work on that,” I say. “You like to experiment.”
Clover opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but closes it. She twirls a curl around one finger and looks away.
This isn’t like Clover. Normally she just says what’s on her mind, no matter what it is. This pensive thing she’s doing is odd.
“What’s up?” I ask. Then it hits me. I bet she got another job. I have her working some of my off nights, leading the kitchen, which is a step up for her. But she’s talented; I won’t get to keep her forever. My heart squeezes a little at the thought of losing her. I know, deep down, she’s the main reason my restaurant hasn’t suffered. She brings her fresh ideas and her constant enthusiasm to my kitchen. Without that, I don’t know where we’d be.
I don’t know where I’d be.
“Well, I kind of have something to talk to you about.” She runs her finger around the rim of her glass.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I knew I’d lose you eventually. Where are you going?”
“Lose me?” she asks. “Gabe, it will only be temporary. Are you saying I can’t come back?”
“Temporary?” I ask. “Why would you come back if you got a head chef position somewhere else?”
She stares at me for a second before her face breaks in a wide smile. “Head chef? No, I didn’t get another job. I’m going to need maternity leave. I’m pregnant.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Pregnant? Clover, that’s great. Congratulations. Of course we’ll work it out.”
She smiles that huge smile of hers, but there’s an odd sinking feeling in my gut. Obviously I’m happy for her. Clover is family. And this shouldn’t be a surprise. The Jacobsen clan has practically exploded with babies over the last couple of years. Ryan and Nicole’s daughter Madeline is a
toddler now, running around and starting to talk. My sister and her husband Hunter had a baby boy, Sebastian; he turned one a few months ago. Melissa and Jackson aren’t actually Jacobsens, but blood relationships have never mattered much to that family; their little girl Skylar is three and Melissa is pregnant again. I’m actually surprised Cody and Clover haven’t started a family before now. They’ve been married for a couple years.
And that’s the thing. I’ve been inundated with weddings and babies. And they’re all people I love and care about, so it should be great.
“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been a little nervous to tell you.”
“You shouldn’t have been. I’m happy for you.”
She pushes my drink closer to me. “Pound that and then tell me what’s going on, though. Because there’s something and I’m not leaving until I know what it is.”
I toss back the rest of my drink. “I don’t know if I want to talk about this.”
“Listen, we’re not at work. I’m basically your sister. So you can tell me stuff.”
Whether it’s Clover’s knack for getting what she wants, or the bourbon starting to do its thing, I find myself letting it all out. “Everyone around me is moving on with their lives. Do you know how many weddings I’ve been to in the last few years? Ryan and Nicole… Melissa’s huge thing up in Seattle a few years ago… yours… my sister’s… Now my two best friends are engaged. I have to be a groomsman again. Twice.”
“Aw,” Clover says. “It’s like always being a bridesmaid, except groomsman.”
“Something like that,” I say. “I feel like I had my shot, you know? I was married, but it didn’t work. She didn’t want the life I did, so she left. And now all the people around me are starting their lives—starting families. And what am I doing? Working too much. I don’t know what that’s going to get me, besides a drinking problem.” I signal to Finn for another bourbon.
“Just because your first marriage didn’t work out, doesn’t mean you’re doomed to be alone,” Clover says, her voice gentle.
“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like,” I say.
“What?”
“To be the one guy who didn’t get the girl.”
Clover reaches across the table and gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze.
In a way, I’m the guy who hasn’t wanted to get the girl. At least not in the last few years. It’s not like I haven’t had opportunities. I’ve been divorced for years, and I’ve dated. But none of those relationships ever went anywhere, and I kind of stopped trying.
“Oh, Gabriel,” Clover says. “I just know fate has something in store for you. You’re one of the best guys I know.”
“Don’t inflate his ego too much,” Finn says as he slides me another drink.
The door opens and my friend Lucas saunters in. He notices us and does a fake hat tip as he approaches our table.
“Hey, assholes,” he says. “And Clover.”
“You can have my seat, Lucas. I should get home.” Clover stands and pats my arm. “I’ll see you later.”
Lucas sits down and Finn reappears with two beers. He hands one to Lucas and takes an empty chair.
“Aren’t you still working?” I ask.
Finn shrugs. “It’s dead in here. I doubt I’ll have any more customers.”
“Fair enough.” I take another sip of my bourbon.
“Is it just me, or does this girls’ weekend thing suck?” Lucas asks.
“What girls’ weekend thing?” I ask.
“Juliet and Becca went out of town with a friend and they aren’t coming home until tomorrow,” Finn says.
“Why does that suck?” I ask.
“I miss my girl,” Lucas says with a shrug.
This makes me sound like a dick, but life was easier when Finn and Lucas were still single. There was a sense of brotherhood; we were three guys who were in the same place in life. In one way or another, we’d all sworn off relationships. Finn wasn’t opposed to meeting someone, but he’d decided he’d never get married. Personally, I thought he was smart. And then he met Juliet, and within months, he’d changed his tune. Now his wedding is a couple of months away. Lucas was happy with casual sex and no ties to anyone—until he met Becca. I can admit, Becca’s a sweetheart; Lucas didn’t stand a chance with her. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he told me a few weeks ago that he’d bought a ring. Then last weekend, they came back from surfing and she’s wearing it. The two of them are disgustingly happy all the time. Just like Finn and Juliet.
“He’s grumpy again,” Lucas says, jerking his thumb at me.
“Fuck off,” I say. “I’m not grumpy. Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“We need to get him laid,” Lucas says. “Or at least do something fun. What about an early bachelor party? We’ll get wasted, watch strippers—”
“I already told you, no strippers,” Finn says.
“You really won’t let me get strippers for your bachelor party?” Lucas asks.
“Will you let me get strippers for your bachelor party?” Finn asks.
“Fuck no,” Lucas says. “Becca would hate that.”
Finn stares at him with an open mouth, his beer lifted halfway.
“You realize you’re a huge hypocrite, don’t you?” I ask.
“Yeah, so?” Lucas asks.
“How is having strippers at his bachelor party any different than having them at yours?” I ask, but I wave my hand to brush off the question. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need strippers. Or to get drunk with you assholes.”
“Well, you need something,” Lucas says.
I take another sip of my drink. He’s right. I do need something. I need a reason to fucking care. But I have no idea what that should be.
3
Gabe
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
I breathe out a long sigh when I hear the voice. Linda, my business manager, stands in the doorway of my office. I look up from my desk. “I’m just following up on a few things.”
“It’s your day off,” she says. Her dark hair is peppered with gray and she keeps it short in a pixie cut. She raises her eyebrows at me and puts her hands on her hips. “You told me to chase you out of here on your days off.”
“Actually, I think Clover and my sister are the ones who told you that.” I turn my attention back to my laptop.
“Fair enough,” she says. “But they’re right, you know.”
“Probably.”
“Well, since you’re here…” She walks in and sits in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. “The people from Simple Pleasures will be here in a few weeks. I just want to make sure it’s on your radar now so you don’t get bent out of shape when they show up.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Simple Pleasures is a national lifestyle magazine and website. They did a short feature on me a while back, and came back to us recently, wanting to do a more in-depth story. “Tell me again why this is a good idea?”
“Gabe, you can’t buy this kind of publicity,” she says. “Remember how much business we got last time? And that was a short piece. They want to do something much bigger. The attention you get from this could easily double our business.”
I do remember how much business we got. I also remember what it was like to be scrutinized, questioned, prodded, and photographed. It wasn’t a pleasant experience for me. I wanted them to focus on the food, and they wanted to focus on me. I had to deflect numerous uncomfortable questions about my personal life.
Of course, Linda is right; it will be good for business. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll be cooperative. But I’m not answering their questions about my relationship status.”
“You know they’re going to ask,” she says. “You’re an attractive, successful, single man. Their readers will want to know what’s up.”
“What’s up is that I’m a chef,” I say. “That’s all they need to
know.”
Linda sighs. “Just be cooperative. And try to be… pleasant.”
“I can be pleasant,” I say.
“I know you can,” she says. “Whether you will is another issue. Now get out of here. Enjoy your day off.”
I smile and close my laptop. “All right, I’ll go. Have a good night.”
“You too,” she says.
I swing by the store and pick up a few things before heading home. As usual, my house is quiet and dark. Aside from the brief time my sister Emma stayed with me when she first moved back to Jetty Beach, I’ve lived alone since my ex-wife Amanda left.
Every once in a while, I think about selling the house. Over time, I’ve gotten rid of most of the things Amanda didn’t take. But the house itself is a stark reminder of what I once had, and what I lost.
However, I’m not home very much. Whenever I consider the work it would take to sell the house, then pack up and move, I usually just pour a drink and push the thought aside.
I set the groceries on the counter and pull things out of the bags. Coming up with new ideas for the menu used to be my favorite part of being a chef. When I first took over the restaurant, I’d experiment at home, in this very kitchen. New flavors. New textures. New combinations. I was all about pushing boundaries, and finding ways to excite the taste buds.
Amanda was always my first taster. She had an excellent palate and good instincts—plus enough honesty to tell me when something didn’t work.
And she loved my cooking. I met her when I first moved back to the States after going to school in Europe. Even though I was working insane hours, apprenticing under an absolute tyrant of a chef, I still loved cooking for her at home. So much of our relationship revolved around food. Shopping together, cooking together, eating together. Even though I devoted an enormous amount of time to my career, she was always supportive.
Until my career went in a direction she didn’t like.
She saw herself as the wife of a prominent chef in an exciting place like New York or Los Angeles. So when I got the opportunity to return to my hometown and take over the Ocean Mark, she thought I was crazy. That wasn’t what an up and coming chef was supposed to do. She wanted me to carve out a place for myself somewhere trendy and important.
Could Be the Reason: (Gabe and Sadie) (A Back to Jetty Beach Romance Book 3) Page 2