Flavor of the Month

by Georgia Beers

  “Oh, of course,” Amber said. “I’ve asked Mr. Robertson if he can hold off on any potential renters until next Wednesday, so you’ve got a few days.”

  Like a jack-in-the-box on the very last musical note was how Charlie felt, waiting to spring open and let her excited anticipation explode, and though she managed to remain calm and somewhat professional, she couldn’t seem to prevent herself from bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. Sandy noticed and laughed softly.

  “You know, if we do this, I’m going to need your help, big-time.”

  Charlie nodded but said nothing because she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Staying in Shaker Falls was not part of her plan. It never had been. She wanted to go back to New York or to Boston or Philadelphia or some other big city as soon as she could find a way to do so.

  Didn’t she?

  Sandy looked at the space again, turned slowly in a circle, and Charlie tried to picture what she was picturing.

  “I like that it’s not huge,” Charlie said, back in the present. “Amber told me the boutique that was here before wasn’t that big.”

  “Right. I remember it,” Sandy said, wandering slowly.

  “And the small size is a good thing because it won’t look or feel as empty during lulls, like it would if it was bigger.” Charlie moved to the shared wall between the empty space and the bakery and slapped a palm against it. “So, we open this up.” She walked over to the back. “The counter goes here, the machines and brewing stations, and I thought you could even look into roasting some of your own beans down the line, if you wanted to get into that.”

  “I do love good coffee,” Sandy said, almost to herself.

  “Right?” Amber agreed.

  “There’d be a ton to learn.” Sandy was still speaking softly as she slowly wandered the small, empty space, and Charlie could almost see the ideas flitting through her head, like butterflies in a field of wildflowers. They were likely the same ones that had bombarded Charlie when Amber had let her into the space two days ago.

  “This could be such a cool space,” she said, the thoughts that had pelted her as she researched bubbling back to the surface. “The J-Cup is the only other coffee shop in town. Their coffee sucks, and the atmosphere there isn’t warm and welcoming.” She glanced at Amber. “Has Bob’s attitude changed since I’ve been gone?”

  Amber snorted. “He’s still the grumpiest grump that ever grumped. People want to grab their coffee and get the hell out as fast as they can.”

  “Not here,” Charlie said, turning back to Sandy. “Here, they want to sit. On couches and comfy chairs. Chat. Work on their laptops. Meet up with friends. Hold their book club.”

  “Like Starbucks,” Sandy said quietly, her eyes wide as she spun in a slow circle.

  “But with way better baked goods.”

  “So much better.” Sandy held Charlie’s gaze for a beat as she reached out and grabbed her hand. “You’ve given me…a lot to think about, Charlie. So much. I can honestly say that when I asked you to look into how we could maybe, possibly sell coffee at The Muffin Top, this was not what I expected. But it’s amazing. Thank you so much.”

  The feelings Charlie experienced right then—the excitement, the satisfaction, and, most of all, the pride—were part of the reason she’d gone to B-school in the first place. The rush of coming up with a new, viable, profitable idea was something she lived for. And as she stood there, Sandy gripping her hand in gratitude as the scent of possibility wafted through the air just like the aroma of her lemon cookies, she understood just how much she’d missed the feeling.

  And just how much she wanted it back.

  * * *

  Steady. Emma couldn’t ask for more than that in a Friday night dinner rush. It was the way she liked it. Yes, being mobbed was great for business, but it could be rough on her and her staff. The pace was killer, and the stress levels were high. She had worked in enough restaurants to have learned that steady was better. Which didn’t mean she didn’t love an occasional night where they were slammed. But steady was better.

  The other benefit of things being steady was that Emma was able to find time here and there to go out into the dining area and visit tables, make sure her customers were satisfied with their meals, show her face. It was something she’d learned from Gabe in class, and then in practice when she’d been a sous chef in Burlington: customers liked to see who cooked their food. That personal touch went a long way toward keeping them coming back again and again.

  It was the tail end of the dinner rush, and she put the finishing touches on a plate of grilled halibut before handing it over to the waitress. She wiped her hands and turned to Alec. “You okay if I make the rounds?”

  He nodded and tried to hide his smile—she knew he loved when she left the kitchen because he was in charge. He was a fantastic sous chef, efficient, talented, organized, which meant Emma would lose him eventually, just as her chef in Burlington had lost her. Nature of the beast.

  The dining area was about half full at this point in the evening and the bar was nearly at capacity. Sabrina was busy, which was good because she didn’t have time to corral Emma into talking—which they really needed to do, but Emma had been avoiding it for days now. She’d sent her mother home at four. After a particularly bad evening a few months ago, they’d made a deal that her mother wouldn’t hang at the bar during the restaurant’s busiest times. That had been an uncomfortable conversation, but so far, her mother had abided by her wishes with only a little bit of occasional fuss.

  Someone who was at the bar: Maddie, a girl Emma had spent a couple of nights with on and off over the past month. She had that hopeful look in her eyes as she lifted her wineglass in a subtle salute. Emma gave her a nod but looked away quickly, annoyed at herself. Having Maddie and Sabrina within ten feet of each other was surreal, and not in a good way. Her worlds colliding. She stifled a groan and headed for a table.

  “Hello there, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins,” she said, smiling widely at the middle-aged couple who were rapidly becoming a weekend fixture at EG’s. “Are you two here again?” She winked.

  “Apparently, we cannot get enough of your food,” Mr. Jenkins said, his green eyes bright.

  “The osso buco was absolutely divine,” Mrs. Jenkins said, closing her eyes as if in memory.

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for coming.” Emma moved on to another table, had a very similar discussion. She looked up from those customers and her gaze landed on a table in the far corner. The Stetkos sat there, as they often did, but this time, Charlie was with them, and suddenly, Emma was whisked back a good ten years to sitting at the Stetko dinner table, joking and laughing with Charlie and her family. The warmth. The openness. The acceptance and the love. Not that Emma’s mother didn’t accept her sexuality, but it had taken her a much longer time to come to terms with it than it had the Stetkos with Charlie’s.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Emma steeled herself, then let it out slowly and headed toward the table.

  “Emma,” Mrs. Stetko said, her voice a bit louder than normal, probably from the glass of wine she always allowed herself at dinner. Before Emma could respond, she stood up and wrapped her in an embrace. Over her shoulder, Emma met Charlie’s eyes, but her expression was unreadable. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You, too, Mrs. S., Mr. S.” Emma bent down and kissed Charlie’s father’s cheek. She glanced at Charlie, met her eyes again. “Hey, Charlie.”

  “Hi, Emma.” Charlie’s smile was surprisingly tender, and she glanced down at her plate almost shyly.

  “How was dinner? Everything okay?” Emma glanced at the plates to see what everybody had. “Your rib eye, as usual,” she said as she pointed to Charlie’s dad’s plate.

  “Cooked perfectly, as always,” he said, then patted his stomach in satisfaction.

  “The halibut special.” Mrs. S. was next, and she nodded. “The asparagus?” Emma asked as her eyes moved to Charlie’s appetizer plate. At Charlie’s knowing nod,
Emma pointed. “And the Gruyère mac and cheese.” There was a healthy portion of it left in Charlie’s dish, and she grimaced as they made eye contact again. “Too rich?” She had worried it might be, but during tastings, the staff said it was delicious.

  “God, no, it’s amazing,” Charlie said, her voice adamant. “I just didn’t have a lot of room left after I wolfed down the asparagus and egg.” Then she did something Emma hadn’t seen her do in ages: she blushed. It was so many things for Emma right then. It was cute. It was complimentary. It was infuriating. It was damn sexy. “I have never been able to fry an egg exactly right. Either the yolk isn’t runny enough or the whites are too runny. I just can’t manage to get it as perfect as you do.” Then, as if realizing she’d said too much, her blush deepened, and she snapped her mouth closed.

  “Well.” Emma clasped her hands behind her back and studied her shoes for a moment. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “I can imagine.” Was there curiosity in Charlie’s eyes just then? Or was that imagination, wishful thinking on Emma’s part? No. No, not going there.

  With a quick shake of her head, she squeezed Mrs. Stetko’s shoulder. “Make sure you guys get dessert. I hear the strawberry rhubarb pie is to die for.” Did she wink at Charlie just then? Seriously? What was wrong with her? Emma clenched her jaw and headed off to another table, needing to get away from Charlie and those eyes as quickly as possible.

  What the hell is this about?

  Emma didn’t understand it.

  She made the rounds, greeting customers, smiling, listening to their comments about their meals. All the while, in the back of her mind, sat Charlie. Just sitting there. Just waiting. And she was so conflicted about that. Half of her hated it. Charlie had torn her heart from her chest, tossed it on the floor, and stomped on it. The other half of her, though, settled right in to the familiarity that Charlie represented, because—surprisingly—Charlie hadn’t seemed to have changed that much. She had a little bit of a big city air about her. But mostly, from what Emma had seen so far, she was just…Charlie. More grown-up, but still her Charlie.

  And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

  The relief she felt when she was back in her kitchen wasn’t lost on her. With Charlie, Maddie, and Sabrina all in the dining room, the kitchen was her safest bet. Plus, she could throw herself into work and not have to think about anything else but steak and chicken and fish and seasonings and herbs and presentation. So that’s what she did for the next two and a half hours. The kitchen stopped serving food at nine. The bar stayed open until eleven.

  At ten thirty, she ventured back out. The dining room was empty, but the bar still had a handful of customers. Jazz played softly over the hidden speakers, and not for the first time, Emma wondered if she shouldn’t try live music. Not anything big and loud, but maybe a pianist. Or a duo. It was something she’d been bouncing around for a while now.

  Maddie still sat on her barstool, the glass of white wine in front of her half empty, the print from her lipstick clearly visible. She was very pretty—blond, petite, tan. She looked at Emma with expectation in her big green eyes.

  They’d been together three times. Never at Emma’s. Always at Maddie’s place. Emma didn’t bring women to her place. Too complicated. But she was pretty sure that’s why Maddie had been sitting at the bar nursing a single glass of wine for the majority of the evening. Emma nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment, then walked over to stand next to her.

  “Hey, listen,” she said, her voice low. “I still have some stuff to take care of in the kitchen and I’m really tired.”

  “That’s okay.” Maddie smiled, but there was a hesitancy in it that was unmistakable, and Emma’s guilt seeped in slowly because Maddie deserved better. “I can be quiet and not bother you. I’ll just lounge on your couch.”

  Sabrina was subtle enough not to come stand right near them, but not subtle enough that Emma didn’t notice her eavesdropping.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so. I really have a lot to do.”

  Maddie blinked at her. Emma could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, and she watched as the pieces clicked into place. “I see.”

  Emma hated this part. She was always very clear up front that she wasn’t looking for something long-term, just some temporary company. And they always seemed to understand, but then sometimes this happened. And Emma always felt like an asshole.

  Maddie downed the rest of her wine in one large gulp and set the glass on the bar. Then she retrieved her purse from the hook near her knees and slid off the stool. “Have a nice life, Emma.” She turned on her heel and was gone.

  Sabrina was wiping a glass with a white rag as her gaze followed Maddie out the front door. Then she turned to look at Emma, and the judgment on her face was clearer than if she’d had a neon sign flashing above her. Then she just shook her head slowly, but Emma could see a ghost of a satisfied smile on her face.

  “Goddamn it,” Emma muttered, then fled back to the safety of her kitchen.

  * * *

  When Charlie and her parents returned to the house, Sherry was there, home from a long day at work, apparently.

  “We gonna do this fire pit thing?” her father said, clapping his hands and then rubbing them together.

  Sherry held up a bag of marshmallows.

  “You remembered,” her mother said, taking the bag from her daughter.

  “There’s a fire pit?” Charlie said, unable to hide the surprise in her voice.

  “Has been for three years now,” came Sherry’s reply, the ever-present tinge of irritation obvious.

  “Okay, everybody go get their fire clothes on, and I’ll get things started.” Her dad went out the back door, and it slammed behind him.

  “Just put on something ratty,” her mom said with a grin, then headed upstairs, presumably to change.

  Sherry opened the fridge and pulled out several bottles of beer. She moved them to a small cooler on the table and arranged them to fit as she asked, “Do they even have ratty clothes in the big city?”

  That was it for Charlie. She had had a couple glasses of wine at the restaurant, and seeing Emma, having Emma wink at her the way she did, it had nudged Charlie off-balance, and she hadn’t been able to right herself since, felt off her axis. Sherry’s ire just felt like more pushing, and she’d had just about enough of it.

  “What is your problem?” Charlie snapped the words in a hissed whisper, and they came out harsher than she’d intended.

  Sherry had the good sense to look surprised for a split second before her eyes darkened. “My problem? Mine? What is your problem, Charlie? You leave and don’t come home for, what? Two fucking years?” She lowered her voice on the curse and then joined Charlie in the angry whispering. “Do you know how hard it was on Mom and Dad to never see you? And suddenly you’re back, but only because your rich girlfriend dumped you? And what do our parents do? They make you a fucking apartment in the basement and welcome you back like you’re the princess returning home from a long trip. As if I haven’t been here the whole fucking time.” She scooped some ice from the tray in the pull-out freezer and tossed it on top of the beer bottles.

  Charlie didn’t know what to say, so she stood there, blinking and absorbing her sister’s words, as she watched her snap the cooler shut, grab the handle, and head out the back door. Shock. Anger. Hurt. Regret. Guilt. So many emotions rolled through her then. Her eyes welled up and a lump formed in her throat as she stood there, but when she heard her mother coming down the stairs, she turned quickly and headed down to the basement, her steps slow as if she wore cement shoes.

  Once down there, she tried to busy herself by finding clothes suitable for sitting around a fire, but the lump stayed, uncomfortable and almost painful, as did the almost-tears. Sherry’s voice, her eyes, had held such…venom.

  She sat down on the bed, an old T-shirt in her hands, and stared at nothing. For the first time in months and months, she had no choice but to think hard about the choi
ces she’d made, and who she’d hurt with them. The list was long, and it sucked, and she didn’t like the way it made her feel. But she sat there and forced herself to deal with it all. She cried quietly, guilt and shame pouring over her.

  She hadn’t wanted to come home. She didn’t want to be here.

  But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? She was here. And—dare she say it?—she was happy. Ish.

  The plan had always been to go back to the city, to find a way. A job, a place to live, some extra cash, and she’d go. That was the only goal she’d had her eye on since her return. Everything here was temporary. Her job at the bakery. The friends she’d reconnected with. Seeing Emma. All temporary, right? She didn’t want to be here, had no intention of staying. All she’d wanted after school was to see this town in her rearview mirror. She hated Shaker Falls. Hated it with a passion.

  Didn’t she?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Another Sunday, and Emma felt like she always did, like she was supposed to be doing something. She’d had to make a rule for herself: she wasn’t even allowed to enter the restaurant on Sundays because if she did, she would inevitably find some work to do and would end up there for hours. Danielle had come by one Sunday and literally grabbed her arm and dragged her out the door to keep her from working anymore.

  So on this particular Sunday, getting herself a latte and heading over to the Summer Fest in the park sounded absolutely divine, the perfect way to spend the morning. She had her Kindle and a blanket tucked into her small backpack, and she was going to find a nice shady spot under a tree where she could relax and read until the live music started up in the afternoon. Then she’d find some wine or a beer and just chill to the tunes. The weather was forecast to be the perfect end-of-June day: low eighties, sunny with a light breeze.

  The J-Cup was mildly busy, the two college-age kids behind the counter taking their sweet time filling orders, probably wishing they were anywhere else. The coffee shop was no Starbucks, and its menu was pretty limited. Coffee or tea, lattes, cappuccino. That was about it. Emma tucked her phone into her back pocket as she stepped up to the counter and placed her order with a bored-looking young man.