by Terri Osburn
“Once she learns how long you were there, she has to give you a chance.” Jackson had worked in that kitchen for fifteen years. He knew how to keep the line going, handle unhappy customers, and could work every station from sauces to expediting. She’d be an idiot not to bring him back.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, man. It isn’t looking good.”
Unwilling to let his friend suffer, Nick said, “I’ll talk to her.”
Jackson’s eyes went wide. “You know her?”
“I’ve met her,” Nick explained. “Mia did some work in the dining room last week and I was there to see it. The woman’s a hard-ass, like every other ambitious chef, but she’s going to need good people. If she isn’t willing to bend on this experience bullshit, she’ll be running that kitchen by herself.”
“Mona and Deborah are the only two who meet the requirements,” his friend pointed out. “I have to wonder if their personalities are going to mix with hers.”
Like Nick, Mona Bradwell had spent years in restaurant kitchens from Charlotte to Raleigh to Atlantic City. Along the way she’d developed a resistance to hotheaded chefs. Jackson was as calm and fair as he was kind, and after six months in his kitchen, Mona had declared that she’d never work for anyone else.
Deborah Prince had arrived on the island around the same time as Nick. Like Chef Riley, she was classically trained but in pastry instead of straight culinary. That didn’t mean she couldn’t hold her own at any station. Where Mona enjoyed being on the line and managing the chaos, Deborah preferred to be left to her own duties, away from the others and out of the noise.
Nick had no idea how Lauren Riley would run her kitchen. She didn’t seem like the type to scream and curse through a service, but he didn’t see her as the nurturing type either. If she planned to hold her staff to Boston fine-dining standards, then she’d better be ready for some serious turnover. Or have a lot of friends willing to come work on a remote, Outer Banks Island.
“Have you talked to either of them?” he asked.
“Not since getting the email, but a week ago they both intended to go back. They also assumed I’d be there, so their intentions might be different now.”
Nick bolted to his feet. “You’ll be there. I’ll see to it.”
No doubt the woman would balk at his interference, but someone had to talk some sense into her.
“I appreciate anything you can do,” Jackson said as he rose more slowly to his feet. “I haven’t told Denise about the email yet. I don’t want her to worry.”
“We’ll get it worked out.” The two exchanged a handshake and Jackson tapped Nick on the shoulder.
“I hope you’re right. I’ll owe you big-time if you can change her mind.”
“Keep me stocked in Denise’s clam chowder and we’ll be good.” The woman refused to tell Nick her secret recipe and all his attempts to replicate the flavors had failed.
“You’ve got it.” Stepping back, Jackson said, “See you, Annie,” to the waitress at the end of the bar.
“Bye, Jack.” As Nick passed on his way to the kitchen, she asked, “Is everything okay? He didn’t look like his normal happy self.”
Nick didn’t feel it was right to share his friend’s private business. “He’s fine. Just a little problem I said I’d help him with.”
“Can I do anything?”
When he’d first come to Anchor, Nick had taken the islanders’ constant offers of assistance as small-town folks butting into their neighbor’s business. He knew better now. Whether from forced proximity or shared experiences due to the often turbulent weather that came with living on a barrier island, the locals here operated more like a family than a bunch of individuals who happened to share a zip code.
There was dysfunction at times, like with any family, but they had each other’s backs when it counted, and if helping Jackson required going toe to toe with Lauren Riley, then Nick was more than willing to do so.
“I’ve got this,” he said, “but thanks for the offer.”
Lauren pressed the button on the measuring tape and it snapped back into place. This time she managed not to pinch her finger.
“I could put two tables that way, or three tables this way.” She turned with arms extended, trying to imagine the setup. “But this way there wouldn’t be enough room for the servers.”
Teeth clenched on the tip of her thumbnail, she spun again, trying to see the area from multiple angles. Both the number of seats and the configuration of the dining room were crucial components to a successful restaurant. Tables could be moved, of course, should the original layout prove too cumbersome—or the opposite, far too spread out—but Lauren liked to get things right the first time.
“I wish we could get rid of this half wall,” she mumbled.
“Who are you talking to?”
Lauren jumped at the unexpected question, dropping the measuring tape on her big toe.
“Son of a bitch,” she growled, bending over and grabbing her injured digit. Jumping around on one foot, she shot Nick an angry scowl. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you,” he said, sliding a leather jacket down his arms and draping it over the hostess stand. “Are you okay?”
She set her foot back on the floor and straightened. “I’m fine. Who said you could come in? We aren’t open yet.”
Nick glanced around the empty dining room. “Really? I’d never have known.”
Strolling across the restaurant, he came to a stop closer than Lauren was comfortable with, but stepping back would be a sign of weakness. She’d learned long ago how men treated a weak woman.
“If you want to keep people out, then you should lock the door. We need to talk about these requirements for your staff.”
“How would you know what my requirements are?” she asked, using the excuse of picking up the tape measure to put distance between them.
“It’s a small island. People talk.”
Of course they did.
“Are you looking to apply?” she asked, maintaining a neutral expression while her body tightened at the idea.
Not that she was afraid of him, exactly. There was just something about him. An air of confidence and the look of a man used to being in control. Lauren knew herself well enough to know she lacked the grit required to stand up to him in the kitchen. At least she did right now. Once Pilar’s was launched and successful, she’d be more confident.
“You’d be lucky if I did, but no. This insistence that cooks have experience in multiple restaurants is never going to work.”
Refusing to let him rile her, she kept her voice level. “Says who?”
“Says reality. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re on an island. A small one. There are plenty of people here who can handle whatever you need in that kitchen, but you have to be willing to give them a chance.”
“Last I checked, I’m the person opening this restaurant, not you. Pilar’s is not going to be a bar and grill. We’ll be serving more elevated food.” Lauren pointed at him with the tape measure. “So you stick to what you do, and I’ll do what I do, and we’ll stay out of each other’s way.”
Finished talking, she marched off toward the kitchen, but Nick’s next words stopped her cold.
“You’re messing with people’s lives.” When Lauren turned around, he continued. “I told you before. We take care of our own. Jobs aren’t overflowing in a place like this. Jackson Moore ran that kitchen long before you ever touched a knife. Dismissing fifteen years on the front line because it all happened in one place isn’t just shortsighted, it’s mean.”
She’d had no idea how long the previous staff had worked at the restaurant, nor had she done her homework to find out. A confession she kept to herself.
“Are you finished?”
“Are you going to give these people a chance?”
Nodding toward the door, she said, “I have a dining room to design. You saw yourself in. You can see yourself out.”
His jaw twi
tched but he swallowed whatever argument would come next and stormed over to his jacket. As he shoved his arm in the sleeve, Nick offered one last parting shot.
“Maybe you’ve never struggled to make ends meet, but life is different here. If there’s an ounce of compassion in that cold heart of yours, consider what you’re doing. Otherwise, you’ll be running that kitchen all by yourself.”
He was wrong about one thing. Lauren knew struggle better than most. But he’d gotten the cold heart right. That heart protected her. Kept her safe. If this Jackson Moore person knew his way around the kitchen, as Nick claimed, then she would give him a chance. Not because Nick Stamatis had demanded she do so, but because she wanted experienced people on her team.
Leaving the tape measure on the pass, she turned toward her office, knowing exactly who to call for details on the previous staff. Roxie would likely require a second meal as payment, but at least Lauren would have someone to try her new dishes on.
3
In the two days since he’d paid Chef Riley a visit, Nick hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. She hadn’t known about Jackson. She hadn’t known about any of the people who had worked in that restaurant before she took over. Proof that she’d never run a damn kitchen before.
That would have been his first question if he’d been offered a job like that. Who do I have to work with? Yet the thing he really couldn’t get out of his head was the fear in her eyes. She hid it well. That icy facade covered a lot, but that facade had slipped for mere seconds and the truth had shown through.
Lauren Riley was in over her head.
Nick had never been the stalker type, but doing an internet search on a fellow chef wasn’t the same as digging up dirt on an ex. The few facts he had going in—hometown Boston, attended Le Cordon Bleu—were enough to narrow down the search. The lack of info available confirmed his suspicions. She’d never run a kitchen before. As far as he could tell, she’d never even been second-in-command. Or third.
What had possessed Will Navarro to hand her this restaurant?
Hopefully, she’d worked under some quality leaders, but based on her current methodology for picking staff, he had to wonder.
“Just the man I came to see,” Jackson called out as he crossed the restaurant toward the bar where Nick was taking a break. The big man set a sealed plastic container on the counter. “I’m here to pay up.”
Unsure what he’d done, Nick examined the bowl. “Pay up for what?”
“You did it, man. I got the email this morning. The new chef is giving me an interview.”
Not what he’d expected. “That’s good. I’m glad she came around.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll get my job back, but at least I’m in the running.” Jackson tapped the lid of the container. “Denise’s clam chowder, as promised. I’ll bring another helping next week.”
Rising up on his stool, Nick reached over the bar and snagged a spoon. “The perfect meal on a chilly April day.” The first bite was heaven. The second even better. Cooking was all about flavor and balance, and Denise somehow managed to add the perfect amount of acidity without throwing off the taste. “How much vinegar does she put in here?”
Jackson laughed. “You know I can’t tell you that. Besides, I’m not sure I know myself. She keeps this recipe under lock and key and won’t let me anywhere near the kitchen while she makes it. She says what makes it so good is in the cook, not the cooking, and since I have to live with her, I’m not going to argue.”
Nick wasn’t going to argue with her either. There were mystical elements at play in the making of amazing food, and whatever powers his friend’s wife possessed, he was just grateful that she used them for his benefit.
While enjoying the chowder, Nick asked, “What exactly did the email say?” Lauren’s parting shot about running things her own way had not seemed like a concession to his demands.
“That due to my long history with the restaurant, I was being invited to interview. I don’t know what you said, but it worked.”
Maybe she was willing to listen after all. “I only pointed out that she was going to miss out on some great cooks. Did anyone else get the invite?”
“The whole staff, as far as I know. We could have the team back together in no time.”
Good news, but a development that would leave Lauren as the sole outsider. Another hurdle she likely wasn’t equipped to clear.
“That’s good. I’m glad I could help.” From the corner of his eye, Nick saw two women enter the restaurant. “Speak of the devil. Here’s the new chef now.”
Lauren and Roxie Chandler lingered by the door, and after a brief exchange, Roxie shuffled off toward the restrooms. Lauren looked around and eventually caught Nick’s gaze. He nodded in greeting, and she visibly tensed. A second before she’d looked like a kid walking into a new school for the first time. After seeing Nick, she looked more like a dragon ready for battle.
“Should I introduce myself?” Jackson asked.
Curious how she’d respond, Nick slid off his stool. “Definitely. Let’s go.”
The two men crossed to the entrance and Lauren’s body language gave off a fight or flight vibe as they did so. Sensing her unease, Nick stopped several feet away.
“Chef Riley, this is Jackson Moore. I’m guessing you recognize the name.”
Blue eyes shifted to his friend and her face softened. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Moore.”
“Call me Jackson,” he said. “I appreciate the opportunity to interview for the new restaurant.”
“After fifteen years of service, you’ve more than earned the right.”
“Thank you, Chef. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Lauren smiled, cracking the icy shell to which Nick had grown accustomed. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Jackson bid Nick farewell and left the restaurant, leaving him alone with Lauren.
“Thank you,” he said.
The cold front returned. “For what?” she asked, avoiding eye contact.
“You know what.”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I didn’t give him an interview because of you. As I told you once, I never said I wouldn’t hire locals. That was your assumption.”
“So you planned to offer them all interviews from the beginning?”
The flinch was telling. “They were with the restaurant long enough to earn at least that. Just like I told Jackson.”
Not an answer to his question, but Nick let her slide. “Either way, thanks for giving them a chance.”
“I’m back,” Roxie said as she joined them. “Hey, Nick. How’s it going?”
“It’s good, Roxie. You ladies need a table?”
“We’re waiting for the others, but we could sit and wait. Table for seven.”
He turned back to the bar. “Georgette, bring seven menus over to table nine.”
“On my way,” the waitress replied as Nick led the customers to a large round booth in the center of the room. “Here you go. Georgette will take care of you.”
“Thanks,” Roxie said, plopping onto the red vinyl seat as Lauren sat down on the opposite side.
Before leaving them, Nick bent to whisper something only she could hear. “I’m around if you have any questions.”
Lauren scooted farther into the booth. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
He’d extended the branch. That was all he could do.
Georgette arrived and spread the menus around the table. “Can I get you ladies some drinks or do you want to wait?”
“I’ll take an iced tea,” Roxie replied, flipping a menu open.
“Okay, and you, hun?” she said to Lauren, who ignored the menu in front of her.
“Water, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nick left the table with Georgette and once they were far enough away, the waitress whispered, “Isn’t that the new chef Will hired?”
“That’s her.”
“She seems so meek,” the waitress observed.
> “She isn’t,” Nick said.
Georgette scoffed. “If you say so.”
They parted ways at the bar and Nick took a left toward the entrance to the kitchen. In the doorway, he glanced back to find Roxie talking up a storm and Lauren nodding along silently. As if sensing his gaze, her eyes cut his way. He couldn’t read her expression, but he got the sense she was asking for something. What, he didn’t know. His help? His silence? His early demise?
She looked away first and Nick stepped into the kitchen with one thought in mind. If she went down, so did Will and Randy, and whatever kitchen crew she brought on board. He’d be an ass to let that happen when he could do something about it.
Lauren Riley may not want his help, but she sure as hell needed it. For her sake, and for everyone else’s.
“You don’t need to worry about Nick,” Roxie said, causing Lauren to nearly stick the paper straw up her nose.
She lowered her water glass back to the table. “Excuse me?”
“He hits on everyone.”
“He does what?”
Roxie shook her head. “He hits on every woman he meets. It’s his thing.” When Lauren stared blankly, she added, “Unless you’re interested. I mean, I wouldn’t blame you. He’s gorgeous as hell and that bad boy vibe is tough for any red-blooded female to resist. If I hadn’t broken that habit when meeting Alex, I might have taken a ride on the Nick train myself, but I’m immune to him now.”
Lauren felt as if she were the one taking a ride. “I’m sorry. What are you talking about?”
Heavily lashed brown eyes cut to the bar and back. “Whatever he just whispered in your ear.”
“That wasn’t—”
“You don’t have to tell me what he said.” She focused on her menu. “I mean, I can imagine. If you’re game, then I say go for it.”
“Who’s going for what?” Will asked as she scooted into the booth opposite Lauren.
“The newbie is into Nick.”
“Really?” said a woman with a head full of curly hair.
“No, I—”