Ana couldn’t be prouder.
If she were truthful, she was also a little jealous. She might be good at her job, and she was certainly well paid, but there was an allure to the idea of working with her best friends, being surrounded by delicious food and baked goods. Too bad she had absolutely no culinary talent. Her mom had made sure she could cook rice properly and prepare Filipino dishes like adobong manok and kaldereta, but her skills stopped there. Considering the fat and calorie content of those foods, she’d left her childhood meals behind in favor of an endless stream of grilled chicken or fish over salad.
The smaller two- and four-person tables had been pushed together into one large rectangle in the center of the main dining area, chairs set at each place. Stacks of square salad plates sat on the counter, along with bins of flatware. Ana did a quick count. Twelve tonight. Friends-and-family night tended to be smaller and quieter than the regular supper clubs, which were now running sixteen to twenty-four guests. Even that seemed a bit much to Rachel, but she had expanded the invitation list simply because she hated constantly turning people away.
Ana carried a stack of plates to the table and set one precisely in front of each chair, making sure the square edge of the dish was parallel to the edge of the table. Each piece of flatware was placed as carefully as the plate: two forks to the left, a knife and a spoon to the right, dessert fork horizontally above. She had to search a bit for the napkins, but she finally found them in a plastic bin behind the counter.
“Ana,” Rachel called from the kitchen, “can you unlock the front door and put out the private-party sign? Alex just texted me. He’s looking for parking.”
“Sure,” she called back. She found the chalkboard A-frame sign beside the counter, flipped the lock on the door, and carried the board out onto the sidewalk. Someone—Melody, most likely—had hand-lettered the message Closed for private party. Visit us tomorrow beginning at 6 a.m. They were always closed in the evening, but a full house and an open door had a tendency to attract the curious.
Ana was surveying the table, trying to decide what it needed, when the bell on the front door jingled. She turned, a greeting for Alex on her lips, then froze.
Alex wasn’t alone.
“You’re back.” It was a dumb, obvious thing to say, but as she looked over Bryan Shaw, she wasn’t sure she’d have recognized him on the street. His usually short hair was shoulder-length, now pulled back in a ponytail, his typically clean-shaven face covered by a short beard. It was Bryan, but not.
“Hey, Ana.” He approached her slowly with a smile, and they did that awkward thing where they tried to figure out whether a handshake or hug would be more appropriate. Apparently, he voted hug, because before she could decide for herself, his arms were around her. She gave him a squeeze back, inhaling deeply and then wishing she hadn’t when the whiff of his familiar cologne put a tremor in her middle. “When did you get back in town?”
“So, I’m just going to go say hi to Rachel,” Alex said, “since no one has noticed me anyway . . .”
Ana laughed, and a flush heated her cheeks. “Sorry, Alex. I promise, if you disappear without a trace for eight months, I will give you the same greeting.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Alex looked between both of them with a smile and then pushed into the kitchen.
Bryan watched his friend go with a self-conscious laugh. “I got back yesterday. I asked Alex not to say anything because I wanted to make a grand entrance.”
“Then you’re about a half hour too early.”
He gave her his trademark half smile. “No, I’m not.”
Ana let out a laugh. “Whew. For a second there, I thought you’d come back from Colombia a different person. Nice to see the Bryan I know is still in there.”
Bryan looked inexplicably pained by the statement, but he shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “You look good, Ana. How have you been? Still saving the world one publicity crisis at a time?”
Ana leaned back against the edge of the counter, bracing her hands beside her. “More like saving people from their own stupidity one publicity crisis at a time. You remember that coffee shop in Five Points with the image problem?”
“The one that had to close because of their insensitive sign? I actually saw it on Westword while I was gone.”
Ana shook her head. “No, the other one.”
“What other one?”
“Exactly.”
Bryan threw his head back and laughed. “I missed you. I missed all of you, in fact.”
She let the pleasure of the words wash over her for a moment before she shut down the feeling with methodical brutality. It had always been like this between her and Bryan. A little flirtation, a little mutual appreciation, always dancing around the fact that whatever they might think or feel about each other, they’d never act on it. It was one thing to bring new people into their group—Alex had become part of it, as had Melody’s boyfriend, Justin—but she and Bryan were owed equal loyalty from everyone else. Should they get together and it not work out, it would make things hopelessly awkward. Had they learned nothing from watching Friends? The last few seasons, the plotline between Rachel Green and Ross Geller had been downright painful to witness.
Ana gestured to the table. “Come have a seat and tell me all about it. Unless you want to wait until everyone gets here.”
The door chimed before the words were fully out of her mouth.
“Tell us what when everyone gets here?”
Ana laughed as Melody’s impossibly good-looking pilot boyfriend entered the café. “Hi, Justin. Come on in. Melody’s in the kitchen.”
Justin smiled at Ana; then his eyes fell on Bryan. He extended a hand. “You’re back.”
“Appears so.”
“Good trip?”
“I’m not sure I’d use the word good, but it was definitely illuminating.” Bryan’s expression became pensive. “No, I take that back. It was good. I’m just glad to be home.”
Ana nodded thoughtfully, sensing there was much more to this story than he was letting on, but she didn’t have time to ask before the door dinged and another group of supper club guests arrived at the café. Only then did she realize she’d missed her window to tell Rachel privately about the wedding venue problem.
* * *
Bryan hadn’t expected to see Ana at the supper club, which was somewhat ridiculous. She, Rachel, and Melody had been friends for years, rarely separated during their time off. Or at least that had been the case until recently. Rachel had Alex, with a wedding looming on the horizon. Melody had Justin, apparently—though before Bryan had left town, they’d broken up and Justin had moved to Florida to run a charter aviation business he’d purchased. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, other than the fact that Justin was here.
But Ana . . .
He’d been interested since he met her at Alex’s barbecue almost two years ago, and not in the way that he had been interested in most women. She was interesting: tough, abrupt, funny. Didn’t take his flirting too seriously, dished it right back in a way that said she saw through the act. And while there was unmistakable chemistry between them, she was just as reluctant as he was to see where things might go.
Back then, it had been because he knew she wasn’t the type to go for a casual hookup, and he’d been pretty sure Alex would destroy him if he slept with her and then broke up with her. Now, it was for a totally different reason. He was all too aware of his faults, all too aware of how easy it had been to abandon his values when he’d gotten his heart broken. Anything he had with a woman from here on out had to be a real relationship, something he was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to do since Vivian. Ana could not be his trial attempt at getting back on the straight and narrow.
Fortunately, the repeated chime of the front-door bell interrupted the questions he saw lingering in Ana’s eyes and turned their attention to greeting the stream of new guests. There was Dina, Alex’s younger sister, beautiful,
tattooed, and pierced—also with a perennial crush on him that he was careful not to stoke. She was a full ten years younger than them and far more innocent than her appearance suggested. Also brilliant, a bona fide Mensa-level genius, but that was something she kept carefully hidden from everyone but those who knew her well. She’d brought along her friend Danielle, an equally pretty Latina who was every bit as outgoing as Dina herself.
Then came Andrew, a tall blond man with strong Nordic features and a lingering air of arrogance, along with a plain, dark-haired woman trailing behind. Bryan sized Andrew up as he shook his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I used to be Rachel’s sous-chef at Paisley. I took over for her for a while after she left.”
“Only for a while?”
“Paisley closed late last year. You didn’t hear that?”
Bryan couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. When Rachel had been in charge, the Larimer Square restaurant had been a rising star, garnering stellar reviews and constant buzz . . . until a social media scandal caused her partners to fire her. He’d bet they were regretting that move now. “No, I’ve been in South America for most of the last year. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not,” Andrew said. “What Maurice and Dan did to Rachel was lousy. I felt bad taking the spot, but I had to make a living.”
Bryan’s attention moved to the woman. She held her hand out and smiled. “I’m Andrew’s wife, Laura.”
“Nice to meet you, Laura.” He instantly changed his opinion of her. She had ordinary features, but a look of undeniable intelligence. He could see she was sizing him up much like he’d done to Andrew a moment ago.
“So, what are you doing now if Paisley’s closed?” He shifted his gaze back to Andrew.
“I’m a corporate chef. I work for a food conglomerate, developing recipes using their products.”
“That sounds . . . interesting,” Bryan said politely.
“It’s okay.”
“He hates it,” Laura said flatly. “I’ve been trying to convince him to go back to restaurant cooking, but he’s stubborn. Thought he had to give it up for me when we got married.”
“I make a lot more doing what I do now, and I’m home evenings and weekends.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “But back then you were actually happy.”
Bryan repressed his smile and excused himself before pushing through to the kitchen. Laura really was the perfect chef’s spouse—most lobbied for their significant others to take corporate positions so they could have more time together.
Rachel was stirring and slicing, completely focused, while Melody tossed a salad in a gigantic stainless-steel bowl.
“Can I help?”
Melody’s eyes widened. “Bryan? You’re back!” She set down the salad and went to hug him, but it was mostly wrists as she held her dressing-coated fingers out of the way. “No one told me!”
“I asked Alex to keep it a secret.”
“Hi, Bryan.” Rachel smiled, more subdued . . . but then again, his appearance came as no surprise to her. “Good to see you. We’ve missed you.”
“Thanks, Rach. I just talked to Andrew. I had no idea Paisley closed!”
She nodded. “In November. It’s kind of sad, after all the work I put into that place. Is it bad that I felt a little vindicated that it went under without me?”
“Probably.” Bryan grinned, and she chuckled. “I don’t blame you, though. I’d say it’s nothing less than they deserve.”
“I feel sorry for my staff. Fortunately, there’s a massive shortage of line cooks in Denver, so I’m sure they didn’t have any trouble finding positions. I just happen to know I was paying more than everyone but the most exclusive restaurants. Part of my employee-retention policy.”
“Which is why you were so successful, I’m sure. That and your amazing cooking.”
Rachel smiled. “I’ve already said I’m glad you’re back, Bryan. You don’t have to suck up.”
“I’m just hoping you’re still going to let your husband come out and play after you’re married.” He sent a smirk toward where Alex leaned against the wall and slung an arm around Rachel’s shoulder. “What can I do to help? If I’m sucking up, you should take full advantage.”
She inclined her head toward Melody’s station. “As soon as she puts the salad in serving bowls, you can put them on the table for me. And fill water glasses. There’s a couple pitchers of ice water waiting over there.”
“It would be my pleasure, Chef.” Bryan dropped his arm and retrieved the water pitchers, then pushed through the door back into the dining room. He carefully filled the water glasses, pouring from the side to fill them with ice, then from the spout to top off each glass with water.
“You look like you’ve done that more than once,” Ana observed.
“I used to wait tables in college.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have thought you needed to work your way through school.”
“I didn’t, at least not how you mean. But my parents were pretty clear that my climbing trips and my extracurricular activities were on my own dime. And I made a killing in tips.”
“I bet you did.”
Bryan sent her a curious look, wondering about the subtext to that statement, but Ana’s face didn’t give anything away. She had the best poker face of anyone he’d ever seen, hands down. No wonder she was such a good publicist.
Alex came through holding two big white ceramic bowls filled with salad. “You’re making me look bad, Bryan. Rachel put me to work.” He set them down on the table and backed off. Ana stepped forward and arranged them so each was equidistant from the plates surrounding it.
Bryan and Alex stared at her. She shrugged. “What? Rachel would have done the same thing.”
“Probably true,” Alex said.
The door dinged once more and admitted an elegant brunette followed by a tall man with a shock of red hair. “Sorry we’re late,” the woman announced.
Bryan didn’t recognize her until Alex said, “You’re right on time, Camille. Come on in. I think you know everyone?”
Ah, Camille. She used to be the front-of-house manager at Paisley and was probably the closest thing Rachel had had to a work friend. If he recalled correctly, Camille had dated Andrew at one point. That could make tonight interesting.
But she greeted her old flame with a friendly smile and hug and then made the rounds introducing her boyfriend, Chuck. When she got to Bryan, she shook his hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too.” He shook her boyfriend’s hand before turning his attention back to her. “What are you doing now?”
“Insurance.”
Bryan blinked.
“I know, it’s boring, but it’s stable and it pays well.” She shrugged. “Couldn’t stay in the industry forever, I guess.”
It looked like everyone had moved on except him, even Andrew and Camille. But that wasn’t really true. He’d moved on in a big way, quitting climbing and buying a coffee farm. He was simply in a holding pattern until he collected the funds to open his roasting business. Which needed to be soon—the timeline in his head, ticking down to his bean delivery, had two fewer days left on it, just since he’d been back in Denver.
Alex disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later. “Since everyone’s here, we can all take seats.”
They shuffled into place. Bryan attempted to anticipate where everyone was going to sit so he’d end up near Ana, but they still landed on opposite ends of the table and he couldn’t reshuffle without drawing too much attention to himself.
Melody came out first, bearing three baskets of bread, which she staggered with Ana’s perfectly placed salad bowls, putting them down with just as much precision as her friend. So maybe they were all perfectionists when it came to table settings. She took a seat at the end of the table, and then Rachel came to stand behind the free chair at the head.
“Welcome, friends. I’m so glad you could all join us tonight.
We’re starting with a mesclun salad and fresh sourdough bread. Then we’re moving on to a braised lamb chop over parmesan risotto. This is one of the few times that I decided to do a plated meal rather than family style, so I’ll go in the back and get them going while you enjoy the salad.”
“Oh, join us, Rachel,” Dina said. “We hate to eat without you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to miss the lamb chops. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Conversation hummed around the table as baskets and bowls were passed and the group helped themselves to the first course, but it was only light and meaningless. They were just finishing their salads when Rachel poked her head out of the kitchen.
It was a signal, apparently, because Melody immediately rose and began busing their dirty dishes, stacking them in a precarious balance on one arm. As soon as the table was clear, Rachel appeared with the first of the plates.
The food was beautifully arranged as always, its aroma making Bryan’s stomach rumble even though he was already half-full from salad and bread. Melody helped Rachel put the dishes down, and everyone had a plate in front of them in surprisingly little time.
Bryan wasted no time attacking his, closing his eyes in happiness at the first bite of lamb. Colombian food had been good, hearty and flavorful. But he’d missed his friend’s cooking and his favorite Denver restaurants. It was a different world for sure.
The Solid Grounds Coffee Company Page 6