She wouldn’t visit. She would call. And thank him for encouraging her to serve lunch—and sending her all those customers. It was the decent thing to do, she decided.
But when Avery called the rival restaurant, a polite, unfamiliar voice answered. Mike was not around, and no one knew when he would be back. “Do you want to leave a message?”
“Um, no. No, thank you,” Avery replied.
She hung up, feeling deflated. She would catch up with him soon and tell him in person. She realized that in all this time, she had never even been inside the Lazy Tuna. She had only seen it from the outside, full of customers.
It was high time to visit him on his own turf, Avery decided. But even though it was fun to think of Café Peregrine and the Tuna as rivals, Avery was finding it impossible to think of Mike that way anymore.
* * *
IT took Avery a few days to work out a lunch menu. She consulted her cooking files, online recipes, and food websites, and even got help from Claire North at the inn. Little by little, she was starting to realize that she wanted the café’s offerings to compliment the setting, the natural beauty of the island and the relaxed, fun atmosphere of the beach and boardwalk.
When she had first formulated her ideas for the café, maybe she had been a bit of a food snob. She could admit that now. Perhaps living out here these past few weeks had changed her. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but she was willing to try dishes she would have once called too simple. But simple, well-prepared, high-quality ingredients could be very elegant. Like Claire’s cooking, for example. People raved about her fried oysters with homemade tartar sauce and her grilled scallops with citrus marinade. Even her fresh corn pancakes were delicious. Any cook could learn a lot from Claire. Of this, Avery had no doubt.
She worked on the lunch menu a full week, though her staff was chomping at the bit to work the extra hours. Finally, the last Monday in July, she went to the café early and tested out the recipes, preparing each one, so her staff could sample them and give their opinion.
She hadn’t seen Mike or heard from him for over a week, since the senior invasion. And she hadn’t had the courage to walk up to the Tuna and say hello. It never seemed the right time for that.
But she kept a vigilant eye out, waiting for him to pass, and as she assembled the sample lunches, she was rewarded. She caught a glimpse of Mike walking down the street toward the Tuna, and she called out to him from inside the café.
He turned and peered inside, then walked to one of the open French doors. “Hey, Avery. Catching up on the ironing today?”
Avery shook her head. “I’m thinking of sending the linens back to the laundry service. I should be able to afford it, once I start serving lunch.”
He looked very handsome, she thought, in a burgundy polo shirt and khaki pants. And I don’t look so bad either, she reminded herself. She had hoped to see him and was wearing a nicer-than-usual outfit, a periwinkle blue tank top and a long skirt with a pale blue paisley print.
“So, you’re opening for lunch. What in the world ever gave you that idea?” His amused expression more than made up for his sarcastic tone.
“It’s a funny story. Some crazy guy sent a busload of seniors over here the other day, around noon. So what could I do? I had to feed them . . . They came, they ate. They talked about cholesterol . . . Amazingly enough, it worked out fine.”
She was pleased to see him laugh. “I hope that crazy guy learned his lesson. Now you’ll really put him out of business.”
“No chance of that. His restaurant has an equally crazy but loyal following. I’m just hoping I can carve out a nice niche for myself down here.”
He smiled at her. “So when does this lunch service start?”
“Possibly tomorrow or Wednesday.” She waited and watched his expression. “What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing much. Just wondering if that mariachi band books daytime gigs.” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “Only kidding. I thought you might be starting today. It smells so good in here. What’s cooking?”
“I made sample dishes of the menu so my staff could taste test. I want them to be able to answer the customer’s questions and make honest recommendations.”
“How about the competition? Do they get to taste test?”
Avery had already considered inviting him back to the kitchen. “Why not? I’m always interested in your opinion,” she said in a half-teasing tone.
He laughed at her. “I’m not sure that’s true, but you know I’ll always give you my opinion anyway.”
A few moments later they were standing side by side at the worktable. Mike surveyed the dishes Avery had prepared then started on the fried oysters. His eyes widened with surprise and delight as he savored the cool sauce and the warm, crunchy bite of oyster that had been dredged in a special mixture of panko and cornmeal crumbs Claire had recommended to her.
“So what do you think?” she asked eagerly.
“Is this what they teach in those fancy cooking schools?” He stared at her, trying to keep a straight face. There was a drop of sauce on the corner of his finger and he licked it off, smiling again at the taste. “I don’t know . . . I think I need to have a few more of those to tell you what you’re doing wrong.”
It took her a full five seconds to realize he was teasing.
“That bad, huh? Well, maybe I should just chuck this whole platter and start over.” She lifted the platter of seafood and held it over the garbage pail.
Mike leaped out of his seat to rescue the food. “Are you crazy?” He grabbed back the platter with both hands and carefully set it back on the table. “I was only joking. For goodness’ sake, if the rest of the food tastes that bad, you’re really going to put me out of business.”
“I doubt that, but my mom always says it’s important to have goals,” she teased him back. “Try the other dishes. See what you think.”
Mike eagerly helped himself to samples from the other platters, giving a thumbs-up all the way and offering a few insightful suggestions for fine-tuning spices or sauces.
When he was done, he patted his mouth with a napkin. “Since you’re not serving lunch today, maybe you’re free this afternoon? I was thinking of taking my boat out. I have it moored at the dock near the ferry, but I’ve hardly been on it all summer. It’s the perfect afternoon for a sail.”
The invitation took Avery by surprise. She needed a moment to think about it. Had he just asked her to go sailing . . . like on a real . . . date?
She was so surprised, she didn’t know what to say. She walked over to the sink, suddenly needing to wash her hands and get her bearings.
She had been secretly hoping their relationship would take some sort of step forward, even though neither of them really had time to date. Well, Mike seemed to think that they did. Like today. This afternoon. Right now.
She turned to him, drying her hands on a towel. “Gee, a sail sounds great. But I’m not really dressed for it.”
I didn’t just hear an excuse, did I? a little voice screamed at her. What are you making excuses for?
Because . . . I’m scared? she said to herself.
Mike looked surprised by her reply about her clothes. His gaze swept over her, from head to toe. “You look great to me. If you feel cold on the water, I’ll give you a sweatshirt.”
You look great to me? She liked the way he’d said that.
But was she really ready to take this step?
Ready, schmedy, a little voice said. If you don’t say “yes” you’re going to regret it. Avery knew that was true.
She bit her bottom lip and impulsively pulled off her apron. “Well then, I’ll just put this food away and meet you down at the dock.”
Mike looked pleased by her answer, but before he could reply, his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it f
rom his pocket and checked the number. He looked concerned and then amused as he spoke to the caller.
“All right, Mom. I get it. No, you don’t have to come all the way over here. I’ll come get them and drop Noah at his practice . . . It’s not a problem. I’m not even at the Tuna yet. Okay, see you in a minute.”
He hung up and shook his head. “My mom,” he explained, looking a little embarrassed. “She needs me to pick up the kids. She has to go to the library for her book club meeting or something, and Noah has a swim team practice. And they’re acting up on her today . . . but they’re really good, normally,” he quickly added.
“I’m sure they are,” she said. She sighed, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved by the sudden change of plans. Maybe a bit of both.
“Sorry the date didn’t work out. How about a rain check?”
“Sure, absolutely,” she said lightly. “Though we’re both so busy, I hope we don’t have to wait until after Labor Day.”
“I hope not, too. I go back to work in September. I only keep the Tuna open on weekends after that.”
She had forgotten that. “Oh, right. The summer sometimes seems like it will never end.”
“That is true, but it always does, Avery. Sooner or later.” He smiled briefly and pocketed his phone. “See you around. Good luck with the lunch shift. You’ve got a killer menu going there.”
Avery smiled and watched him go. She felt as if something very subtle had shifted between them. But she wasn’t sure what.
They almost had a date. He would ask her again. Or she could ask him. Avery wasn’t quite sure if she had the courage to make that move. Not quite yet. But she told herself to be patient. Just the fact that he’d asked her was a good sign, wasn’t it?
As Mike walked out, Gena came in. They waved and greeted each other. Avery hoped Gena hadn’t caught the wistful way she had been watching Mike’s exit. But as usual, little escaped the notice of her astute head waitress and friend.
“I haven’t seen Mike around here lately. Were you two having lunch together or something?”
It did look like that, Avery realized. Mike’s place setting was still on the worktable and all the platters of food were out.
“Not exactly. He was taste testing the new lunch menu. I wanted to give him fair warning. He’s been so helpful to—to the café,” she said quickly, though she almost said helpful to me.
Gena was changing her shoes and putting up her hair. “Uh-huh,” she replied, in an I am so not buying any of that tone. “So, what’s going on with the Tuna King? You guys dating yet?”
“Don’t be silly. Mike’s a great guy. And I really like him.” More than she ever thought possible when they first met. “But I have to focus on this business right now, Gena. You know that. Do I seem like someone who has time for a relationship?”
Gena smiled but still looked skeptical. She took out a fresh apron and tied the strings around her waist. “You’re the boss. Whatever you say. But you might want to make time for a guy like Mike. These things don’t always come along at our convenience.”
Avery glanced at her friend and sighed. Before she could reply, the kitchen door swung open again. Jack and Brittany walked in, holding hands, which was not the easiest way to make it through the kitchen doorway.
They were officially going out. They had both changed their relationship status on Facebook, Brittany explained, a ritual Avery knew little about. It had not taken them very long to figure it out, either. Why was she so slow at these things?
Jack was drawn to the platters of food on the worktable. “Hey, that smells good. What is all that stuff?”
“The new lunch menu. Help yourself,” she invited them. “I want to know what you all think. I’ll tell you the ingredients so you can answer questions.”
“Wow, this stuff looks awesome.” Brittany lifted the lid on a platter of crab cakes and pulled up a seat between Jack and Gena. Teresa had arrived and quickly joined the others. She didn’t want to miss the party.
At least her new dishes were a hit, and the café would soon be doing more business. A bright spot to focus on, Avery reminded herself, on this otherwise confusing day.
Chapter Thirteen
“LET’S be thankful it’s only a rehearsal dinner and not an actual wedding. There’s still a long guest list, the bride still wants a ton of flowers on the tables and in the guest rooms, and all kinds of special foods . . .” Liza had opened a thick binder on the kitchen table, the kind she used to keep track of big parties. She pulled out one of the sheets and looked over a list. “Oh, and a certain brand of organic soap and bath gel in all the rooms. I’ll put out our usual lavender goat’s milk soap, too,” she murmured. “I bet everyone likes ours better.”
Claire was making iced tea, large glasses with slices of lemon and orange. One for herself, one for Liza, and one for Jamie. He was still cleaning off the porch. If he didn’t come in soon, she would bring it out to him, she decided.
“Isn’t this the couple getting married in the village this weekend? I saw something about it in the bulletin.” Claire rolled an orange on the cutting board, to make the juices flow before she sliced it. “I think Reverend Ben is performing the ceremony.”
“Yes, they mentioned Reverend Ben. The groom, Jim Hatcher, grew up in Cape Light. Mari O’Hara, the bride, grew up in New York,” Liza clarified. “The O’Haras and most of the bridesmaids will be staying here the whole weekend. So we’ll be helping when they get dressed for the wedding . . . which reminds me, I need to buy a few new blow-dryers and another ironing board.”
The inn often hosted weddings. Everyone looked so glamorous when the curtain finally went up, but Claire knew that behind the scenes, the nuts and bolts weren’t nearly as pretty. But she did love to take part in a wedding, even if the ceremony wasn’t taking place at the inn this time.
Wednesday was often a slow day, even in high season. And they were having a little break in occupancy this week, since the entire inn had been booked by a bride and her family. Claire was relieved that Liza had given them two full days to get the place ready. She not only had to help ready the rooms but also do all the cooking.
“I think I’ll send Jamie out for a few things this afternoon. Where is he?” Liza asked, looking up again at Claire.
“Still weeding. He should be in any minute.”
Liza rose and went to the back door. “Thank goodness we have Jamie around. I’m not sure how we ever did these big parties without him.”
Claire was pleased to hear Liza say that. She thought Jamie had been a great help these past few weeks. More than just a helper, part of a team. While she knew that she and Liza could handle just about any challenge thrown their way, it was just easier to have another able worker around, someone they could depend on. And over the past few weeks, Jamie was proving himself to be just that. If the only thing she had done for him this summer was teach him a good work ethic, Claire thought she could be thankful. That was something he would take with him, long after this job had run its course.
* * *
THE next two days passed in a blur of preparation, and some anxiety, Claire had to admit. Though they had prepared for large parties and family reunions like this one many times, it was always stressful and there were always unexpected challenges and emergencies.
Fortunately, the shipment of expensive soap and bath gel the bride requested did show up on time. As did the special brand of protein powder for the fruit smoothies the bridal party needed at breakfast.
But on Friday morning, Claire was in the hallway, polishing the wooden side table when she heard her usually cool and collected employer go into a panic. Liza was on the phone with a florist in Boston, and it didn’t sound like good news.
“What do you mean, you can’t make the delivery until tomorrow? I was told that the flowers would be here already, by ten A.M.” Sh
e paused and listened a moment. “Why didn’t anyone call and tell me that? I would have made other arrangements,” she added emphatically.
A few minutes later, Liza walked into the hallway, looking pale and frustrated. She carried a sheaf of papers in her hand. The flower order from the florist probably, Claire thought.
“Where’s Jamie? I need him to go into Boston right away. Someone has to pick up the flowers. If he leaves now and doesn’t hit much traffic,” she added, glancing at her watch, “he could make it back by two thirty or three. The O’Haras will be checking in about the same time. I wanted the flowers in place by then. But what can you do? As long as we have them for the dinner tonight.”
It was half past ten. It was possible, counting two hours each way, if there were no traffic tie-ups and no extra stops.
“He’ll have to bring cash,” Liza added, checking the bill. “It’s a few hundred dollars.” She looked up at Claire. “We can trust him to do this, don’t you think, Claire?”
Claire felt caught for a moment, wondering if they could trust Jamie. Yes, he had been reliable and hard-working for almost a month now. He had spent a good part of each Tuesday, his day off, sitting in the library, studying for the GED and being tutored by Vera Plante. He had been saving his money and looking at school catalogs.
Could they trust him to drive into Boston with a large sum of cash? A few weeks ago, she would have said, “It has all the ingredients for a complete disaster.” Had he mended his ways since then? Claire felt guilty doubting him. But she had to be honest with herself. And with Liza. The temptation to visit his friends and goof off a bit might prove too much.
Oh, Lord, I hope not. Claire said a silent prayer. He’s been doing so well. Please don’t let him fall back. And please help me to trust him. If I can’t trust him completely, who will?
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