by Vawn Cassidy
‘Hello?’ I step further into the restaurant, and all of a sudden, I can hear a raised voice, and the door to the back swings open.
A petite, middle aged woman with warm honey-blonde hair swings into the room, her brow folded, and her eyes burning with a mixture of anger and frustration as she holds a phone to her ear.
‘No, Scott, it’s not acceptable. There is such a thing a notice… no… hang on a minute… don’t you dare hang up on m…’ She breaks off, her small fist clutching the phone so tightly her knuckles turn white. She draws in a deep breath and for a minute looks as if she wants to hurl the offending phone across the room until her gaze lands on me.
‘Um,’ I begin inarticulately.
‘Can I help you?’ she finally asks, although her voice is soft, her eyes are still hot with anger.
‘I’m sorry, I’m intruding,’ I murmur. ‘It was raining, and I was looking for somewhere to get a cup of coffee until it lets up. The sign said you were open, but you’re obviously not, so I’ll just let you get back to…’
Her eyes scan my wet hair and damp hoodie.
‘Coffee I can do,’ she says patiently with a sigh. ‘Take a seat, you may as well wait out the rain.’ She glances out the window. ‘It doesn’t look as if it’ll last long, it’s just a shower, and then it’ll blow out to sea.’
‘Oh, well, if you’re sure,’ I reply. ‘I don’t want to be a bother.’
‘Trust me, it’s the least of my worries today.’ She shakes her head indicating for me to take a seat at the bar.
‘Rough one?’ I ask.
‘You have no idea.’ She heads behind the bar to a huge and complicated looking machine. ‘What would you like? Cappuccino? Latte?’
‘Straight up black would be good.’ I slide onto one of the bar stools.
She nods and lifts a plain white mug down from the stack lined up neatly on top of the machine and begins to fill it. A dark and heavenly smell fills my nostrils as she sets it down in front of me.
‘Thank you.’ I wrap my hands around the steaming mug, the warmth making my fingers tingle. ‘What do I owe you?’
‘Forget it.’ She shakes her head. ‘Like I said, least of my worries this morning.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’ I smile softly as I sip slowly, it’s strong, just the way I like it.
‘So, what brings you to the bay?’ she asks politely.
‘Would you believe I got on the wrong bus.’ I smile sheepishly.
‘Sounds like there’s a story to go along with that statement.’ She pours herself a coffee and leans against the bar.
‘I ran away from home,’ I joke as I smile over the rim of my mug, taking a sip before setting it down carefully, although it’s not really a joke, it’s actually pretty close to the truth. ‘It sounds pretty silly when I say it like that.’ I look up to find her watching me curiously. ‘You ever get the feeling your life just isn’t the way it’s supposed to be?’
‘I’ve felt that way a time or two,’ she admits nodding slowly as she studies me.
‘I needed a change,’ I admit honestly, not really sure why I’m boring this perfectly nice stranger with my problems. ‘But I didn’t know where I wanted to go, I just knew where I didn’t want to be.’
‘Sometimes that’s enough.’ She smiles holding out her hand. ‘I’m Melanie.’
‘Nat.’ I shake her hand gently, feeling the warmth in my belly when the name slides from my tongue so effortlessly and just feels right. ‘Anyway,’ I continue, it feels good to have someone to talk to even if it is a stranger. ‘I literally tossed a coin and got on a train, but the storm yesterday brought down a tree on the line. They put on a rail replacement bus service, but…’
‘You got on the wrong bus?’ She smiles warmly.
‘Yes,’ I laugh self-deprecatingly. ‘And I ended up here.’
‘There are worse places.’ Melanie sips her own coffee. ‘My mum, god rest her soul, always used to say everything happens for a reason.’
‘And do you believe that?’
‘Sometimes.’ She lets out a little frustrated laugh. ‘But there are days…’
‘I’m guessing this is one of them?’
‘The manager quit this morning with no notice, just up and left for some job in Devon.’ She frowns, looking up as the door to the restaurant opens, and a young woman with red hair and a nose piercing wanders in. ‘Can I help you?’ Melanie asks.
‘I work here.’ The young woman frowns in confusion. ‘Where’s Scott?’
Melanie sighs loudly as the girl approaches the bar and studies the pair of us. ‘He left, and he’s not coming back,’ Melanie says matter of factly. ‘Now, who are you?’
‘Rachel,’ the girl replies a little uncertainly.
‘Okay.’ Melanie nods holding out her hand. ‘I’m Melanie Ainsley.’
‘I know who you are.’ Rachel nods. ‘You own the restaurant.’ It was more a statement than a question.
‘That’s right,’ Melanie answers contemplatively. ‘Where’s Judith? Is she on the lunch shift or the evening?’
‘Um.’ Rachel shifts uncomfortably. ‘She doesn’t work here anymore.’
‘What?’ Melanie frowns in confusion.
‘Scott fired her a couple of months ago.’
‘What about Charlie and Joe?’
‘I don’t know who they are.’ Rachel shakes her head.
‘How long have you worked here?’ Melanie’s eyes narrow.
‘About six months.’
‘And who else works here?’ Melanie asks suspiciously.
‘Um, well, other than Scott, there’s me. I usually cover the lunch shift. Then there’s Lucy, she covers the lunch shift on my days off and sometimes an evening shift. There’s also Ben and Stacey who work evenings. Penny does alternates and weekends.’
Melanie blinks as she rounds the bar to stand in front of her. ‘That’s it?’ she replies incredulously as Rachel nods. ‘But there’s usually at least fifteen members of staff. There’s the head chef, plus two other cooks, three bar staff and a full complement of wait staff, not to mention the cleaners, and that’s not even at the height of the season when we usually take on summer workers.’
‘Not anymore.’ Rachel shakes her head. ‘There’s no cleaning staff. Scott said it’s part of the waitresses job description. He put it in my contract when I started, and there’s a cleaning rota. There isn’t any bar staff anymore, we serve the drinks ourselves, and there was only one chef.’
‘How the hell did you manage?’ Melanie bursts out, confusion etched into her face.
‘It just doesn’t get that busy.’ Rachel shrugs.
‘It doesn’t get that busy…’ Melanie repeats faintly, sinking onto the bar stool next to me. She sits silently for a moment before turning her purposeful gaze on Rachel. ‘So, if I’m understanding you correctly, there are only four other members of staff other than yourself.’
‘Yes,’ Rachel confirms.
‘Okay.’ Melanie draws in a breath. ‘I want you to call them all and tell them to come in now.’
Rachel fumbles in her bag, withdrawing her phone. ‘You got it, Mrs Ainsley.’ She nods as she heads toward a door labelled ’Staff’, already dialling the first number.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Melanie turns toward me with a frown. ‘How can she not know her own staff if she owns the restaurant.’
‘That’s not what I was thinking at all,’ I say sympathetically.
‘My husband died last year,’ she says quietly, and I can hear the grief in her voice, still so fresh. ‘It was… very sudden, and in the end, it felt like we had no time. Scott began managing the place when Sully fell ill. After the…’ she hesitates, and I see her swallow back another wave of grief. ‘After the funeral, it was just too hard to be here. For me and the kids. So, I left Scott in charge of what was, at the time, a thriving business. I thought I could trust him. I just…’ She shakes her head with a frown. ‘I needed to take a step back and try and figure out
who I was without Sully. We’d been together since we were teenagers, and suddenly, he was gone… This is my fault; I should’ve kept a closer eye on things.’
‘This is not your fault.’ I know I don’t know her, but I can feel the pain radiating from her, and it tugs at something deep inside me. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I offer impulsively, feeling the urge to soothe her in some way.
‘Pfft,’ she huffs out a frustrated laugh. ‘Not unless you can magic me up a chef in the next hour.’
‘A chef?’ I swallow hard.
‘Yes, a chef. Scott wasn’t just the manager, he was the bloody head chef, and as it seems he fired the other two cooks, he was the only one we had.’
‘I can cook.’ My heart starts pounding, and I can’t believe what just came out of my mouth. Everything happens for a reason…
‘You’re a chef?’ She looks at me sharply.
‘I, um.’ I swallow again my stomach jumping with nerves. ‘I have the current hygiene certificates.’
Which is true, I do hold valid certificates. I’d managed to sneak in some evening cookery classes without my father finding out and taking the health and safety, and food hygiene certificates had been mandatory. I also wasn’t lying when I said I can cook, I can. It’s my passion. I’ve been obsessed with it since I was a kid. I may not technically be a fully trained chef, but I learned from Carmella, our family cook. She was incredible. Her food was on an entirely different level, but more than that, she’d been so kind to me and Sophia. I would’ve loved nothing more than to train as a chef and open my own restaurant. It’s always been my dream job, but there’s no way in hell my father would have ever let me work in the service industry.
‘I can cook.’ I nod emphatically. Warming to the subject, now the idea has taken root. I’m surprised at just how much I want this opportunity. Okay, so I’ve never actually worked in a restaurant per se, but from what the waitress, Rachel, said it doesn’t get really busy at the moment as it’s off season, which will give me a chance to acclimatise. ‘I can do this. I can help you out until you find someone else, just let me… let me cook something for you,’ I suggest to Melanie who is studying me carefully. ‘It can be like an audition.’
Her lips purse speculatively as she studies me, the silence stretches out interminably, and my heart starts to sink. I can feel the heat on my cheeks as I flush in embarrassment. What was I thinking, of course she won’t want me.
‘Sorry, forget it, it’s a stupid idea,’ I apologise, feeling like a bit of a twat.
‘Mrs Ainsley.’ Rachel reappears. ‘I managed to speak with Ben and Lucy, and Lucy will call Stacey and get her to call Penny.’
‘Good.’ Melanie nods her eyes still fixed on my face. ‘Rachel put the closed sign on the door.’ Rachel hurries off to do as she’s told as Melanie slowly rises to her feet and walks past me. ‘Are you coming then?’ She pauses and looks back at me. ‘I’ll show you where the kitchen is, and you can wow me with your culinary skills.’
I slide off the seat, my stomach jumping with nerves even as my mouth stretches into a wide and genuine smile, but as I follow her toward the kitchen, I can’t help but wonder what the fuck I’ve just talked myself into.
Chapter Five
Beck
They say fate is a fickle and capricious creature, but sometimes, I get the feeling she’s just flat out laughing in my face…
Alarmingly, I let loose what can only be described as a giggle, even worse, it’s distressingly high pitched, and one that I’m certain any eight-year-old girl would be proud of. In my defence, I was more or less asleep, deeply immersed in a very pleasurable dream when I felt a slick wetness swipe the side of my face.
Sleepily, I shove that rough tongue away from my face, but my assailant, seemingly undeterred, licks me again, and I blearily crack one eye open to see Ursula’s wide smile as she turns happily, battering me in the face with her wagging tail.
‘Urse, cut it out,’ I snort trying to protect my face.
Rolling off the sofa... yeah, I didn’t make it to bed again, I admit it. I may as well just move my bedroom into my studio, it would probably make my life simpler. Yanking my t-shirt over my head I use it to rub the wetness from my face before tossing it on the sofa. Absently, I glance around for a hair band, and unable to find one, I opt to leave my hair hanging loosely around my shoulders.
Padding across the floor in nothing but my jeans I try not to trip as Ursula winds herself around my legs, dancing around impatiently. Reaching the huge windows, I unlock them and fold them back, opening the space to the outside and drawing in the crisp fresh air. Ursula races past me almost taking out my legs like a furry comet in a rush to relieve herself, and I stand for a moment, my hands braced against the frame and feeling the pleasant warm breeze ripple across my skin. The sun is reflecting off the water, which has changed from a gloomy grey to azure blue and making it shimmer like diamonds, and I can feel the first stirrings of summer.
Yawning widely and leaving Ursula to it, I head back into my studio. My gaze automatically falls on the piece which has consumed my thoughts for days, and my lips curve. I stare down at the face serenely tilted toward the heavens and trace the lines and contours faintly with my fingertips. I dreamt about him again. For some reason I can’t seem to get him off my mind. It’s been days since I’d pulled the stranger from the water, but I can’t stop seeing those intense blue eyes staring back at me as I’d laid on top of him on that storm lashed beach, his plump lips parted and panting gently against my face.
Damn it, I adjust myself in my jeans again. I keep wandering if he did take a room at the B&B or if he’s headed back to wherever he came from. Sometimes late at night, I wonder if he’s even real or if I conjured him from my fevered imagination to serve as my muse.
Okay, I’ll admit I may have passed by the B&B a couple of times in the hope I might run into him or even just get another glimpse of that perfect face, but I haven’t ventured inside or asked after him, just in case I’m veering into slightly stalkerish territory.
Besides, as pretty as he is, I’m sure as hell not brave enough to risk running into Ms Molly. We’re all terrified of the woman, she’s a nightmare. I’d be lucky to escape with my virtue intact, not that there’s anything even remotely virtuous about me, especially when I think back to the dream I’d been woken from.
I close my eyes, and the images once again slide across my mind smoothly like a film reel, images of him pinned beneath me gasping and writhing, stuffed full of my rock-hard cock as I fuck him deeply while he moans my name in that posh, hoarse voice of his.
Groaning audibly, I press my hand against my dick as it tries once again to demonstrate its favorable opinion of my little fantasy. For fuck’s sake, I rub my eyes in frustration. I really need to get laid, that or take another cold shower, especially if I’m obsessing over a man I met for all of five minutes days ago. The problem is, I can’t recall anyone ever capturing my attention so quickly or so completely.
The ringing of my phone startles me out of my pensive thoughts as Ursula trots contentedly back into the room. I glance down at the screen as I retrieve my phone and smile as my brother’s name flashes across the screen, accompanied by a rather unflattering photo of him passed out drunk wearing a Lei and a drawn-on sharpie moustache and beard.
He hates that I have that picture as it’s so wildly out of character for him. Most of the time he’s laced straighter than a Victorian corset, and of the two of us, he’s the respectable one with a proper job running his own veterinary clinic.
‘Hey,’ I greet as I answer the call.
‘Hey,’ he parrots, not stopping for breath but instead, launching straight into an inquisition. ‘Have you heard what that absolute bell end has gone and done?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific,’ I reply mildly, surprised by the uncharacteristic heat in his voice. ‘The term bell end, could comfortably apply to either of our other two brothers or both of our best friends.�
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‘Scott,’ he says flatly, referring to the utter tosser who was left in charge of our fathers’ restaurant.
‘That bell end,’ I mutter crossly as I pause holding a can of dog food in one hand. ‘What’s he done now?’ I glance down as Ursula barks indignantly.
‘What’s wrong with Ursula?’ Jesse asks in concern.
‘Nothing’s wrong with her,’ I reply. ‘She’s just complaining because I’m not getting her breakfast fast enough.’
‘Uh, I hate to break it to you, Beck,’ he snorts. ‘But it’s not breakfast when it’s four in the afternoon.’
‘It is for us.’ I shrug. ‘What can I say, we keep odd hours. Anyway, forget that. What’s Scott done?’
‘A runner,’ Jesse replies angrily, his temporary amusement evaporating.
‘What?’ I frown in confusion.
‘He’s done a runner,’ Jesse repeats. ‘He packed up and skipped town. No warning or anything. He just sent mum a message saying he’s not coming back and that he’d posted the keys to the restaurant through the letterbox.’
‘Fucking tosser,’ I mutter darkly. ‘I never liked him much anyway, but it was mum’s decision who ran the place. I stopped going in after…’
‘I know,’ Jesse cuts in softly. ‘We all did, it was just easier to ignore it after Dad was gone, but the fact is, we all contributed to this mess.’
‘What mess?’ Scott’s gone,’ I reply. ‘I say we celebrate. Ding dong the witch is dead and all that jazz.’
‘You’re mixing up your musicals.’
‘Whatever, the point is he’s gone, problem solved,’ I say mentally dusting off my hands. ‘Good riddance.’
‘Beck…’ Jesse says quietly, and I know there’s more he’s not telling me.
‘What?’ I ask suspiciously.