Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  Marilyn squinted at the darkening skies that indicated the leading edge of the storm. “Good luck.”

  “Should be chasing me home,” Justin said. “On that note, I need to get going. It could be a long night.” He shook Marilyn’s hand and gripped his roller case as if sheer determination could get him back to Melody any faster.

  But his optimism proved to be futile. As soon as he reached the terminal, he was informed that not only were there no standby slots available, they were bumping ticketed customers in order to get flight crews out of Atlanta before the storm. Already, the cascade of delays from Florida cancellations were lighting up the arrival and departure boards in a sea of blinking red.

  Justin settled in to wait with a mediocre commissary salad and a Big Gulp–size cup of coffee. Time to look at alternate options. He pulled out his phone and saw that he had several text messages from Pete.

  Check your e-mail! BIG news! Others followed with variations on the theme.

  A flash of lightning cracked open the twilit sky, followed by a boom of thunder. Almost instantly, a sheet of rain poured down, bringing up a roar on the airport roof and pelting the windows with a force that sounded more like pebbles than water. Justin ignored the texts and e-mails and dialed AvionElite’s dispatch.

  “Hey, Rebecca. Justin Keller. I’m at ATL and I need out tonight. Commercial’s not going to work. What can you do for me?”

  Rebecca was one of the senior dispatchers; from the noise he heard in the background of the command center, all hands were on deck. She tapped away on a keyboard. “You’re in luck. I’m repositioning a Phenom from AHN to BLV. If you can get there by 8 p.m., you can ride along. But I’m not holding it for you.”

  “Thanks, Rebecca; I’m on my way.” He grabbed his bag, tossed his coffee and the remainder of the salad, and hightailed it from the terminal to ground transportation. In good weather, Hartsfield-Jackson to Athens-Ben Epps took about ninety minutes, a drive he’d made a handful of times in his tenure at AvionElite. He had three hours until wheels up, and when Rebecca said they wouldn’t wait for him, she meant it. Even then, it only got him to St. Louis, from which he’d have to find a seat back to Denver. But at least he would be out of the path of the storm. Surely twenty-four hours was enough time to make his way from Missouri to Colorado, even if he had to rent a car and drive.

  On his third try, he found a taxi willing to take him to Athens in the rain, then pulled out his phone to text Melody. He changed his mind before he could press a single button. No point worrying her unnecessarily. He’d call her when he got to St. Louis and give her an update.

  Instead, he went back to the e-mails the rain had interrupted. The one on top was from Pete, a forwarded version of the e-mail immediately below it. The original was from Luis Garcia’s business broker.

  Justin read the message, and his whole body went cold, his stomach adding a new collection of knots. The message was phrased diplomatically, but the gist was that the other sale had fallen through and Garcia was making a counter to their initial offer.

  He scrolled up to Pete’s message. If he meets us halfway, I say we go for it.

  Justin dropped his head back against the seat, too stunned to send a reply, looking out instead on the pelting rain. He’d been so happy a mere few hours ago, but now it felt like everything was conspiring against him and Melody. It was bad enough he might miss friends-and-family night. Even worse that he was going back to tell her the dreams they’d begun to share, the ones that involved a life together, were never going to happen. Though if he missed the biggest night of her life, it wouldn’t matter. She’d never want to speak to him again.

  Progress was slow, the rain coming down hard enough to make him doubt both his and his taxi driver’s sanity. He gripped the handle of the door as the car plowed through standing water, sending up a spectacular rooster tail to wash his window. At this speed, he’d be lucky to make it by midnight.

  And yet somehow, they pulled onto the AHN property at five minutes before eight. Justin hastily paid the driver, grabbed his suitcase, and dashed into the rain, water immediately soaking through his uniform slacks and turning the wool from navy blue to midnight black. He knew he must look like a maniac rushing through the double doors, then running to the FBO’s desk, drenched to the skin, rivulets running from his hair to his face.

  “AvionElite. Did I make it?”

  “You must be Captain Keller.” The man behind the desk looked at him sympathetically. “I’m so sorry. You just missed them. They barely made it out before they shut down the airfield.”

  Justin stared dumbly at the rep. Three hours in treacherous weather and significant cost to get here, only to miss his plane by mere minutes. And because Athens was a general aviation airport, that meant he’d have to go back to Atlanta or on to Greenville, South Carolina, to get on a commercial flight. Whenever that would be.

  He slicked his wet hair back from his eyes and, for reasons even he couldn’t explain, began to laugh. It was almost as if he were being punished for his sudden burst of optimism. Four hours ago, he’d been confident in his future with Melody, secure in his belief that he might actually be able to break the so-called pilot’s curse on relationships.

  He’d thought that God was distant, but until now, he’d never known He was cruel.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  MELODY DIDN’T SLEEP the night before friends-and-family night. Which, to be honest, wasn’t much of a change, because she hadn’t slept much since she’d come back from Silverlark. Between the difficulty of adjusting to a daytime schedule after more than a year on the night shift and her stress over the bakery, the best she could do was grab a nap a couple times a day before she woke with a panicked flutter in her stomach.

  It was not exactly what she’d expected on the day she was opening her own place.

  Then again, she knew all too well from Rachel’s experience that the mystique of restaurateur and proprietor was just that: mystique. The reality involved a lot of hard work and sleepless nights. The benefit was being her own boss, making her own decisions, getting to put her own stamp on the food they served. And she had a feeling the first time she saw a customer’s delighted smile when they tasted her éclairs or experienced truly good bread would make up for all of it.

  It had to.

  The morning was still dark and cold when she left her apartment and drove south through Denver to their Platt Park location, the stars like ice chips in the night sky. A few cars illuminated the dark with the glare of their headlights, but the city mostly still slept. Unsurprisingly, Rachel’s car was already parked in the alley behind the restaurant when she pulled up, light shining through the kitchen’s small clerestory windows.

  “Today’s the day!” Rachel exclaimed the minute Melody walked through the door. She was already hard at work at her prep station, plowing through piles of vegetables with quick strokes of her knife. “I figured you might like the company. I knew you had to get the baking going early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep either?” Melody pulled off her sweatshirt, then took her apron from where it hung outside the staff break room—really a closet that they’d appropriated for the required space. Somehow seeing Rachel in her chef’s jacket and dark pants again made her feel like something in the universe had been solved, like an essential wrong had been righted. She did notice that instead of the businesslike sprayed-and-pinned low knot Rachel normally wore in the kitchen, she had her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a headband holding everything back from her face.

  “I haven’t slept for days,” Rachel admitted. “Every time I try, I remember something else I forgot.”

  “Tell me about it.” Melody pulled out her prep list from her pocket and laid it out on the stainless-steel table, going over it one more time to make sure she had everything in the right order. First the ovens got turned on to heat. Then she’d get the autolyse started for her first batches, a simple process of mixing flour and water so it hydrated the proteins and develo
ped gluten bonds prior to adding leavening and other ingredients. While that was sitting, she would pull the pre-ferments from the refrigerator, the yeasted starters that would give flavor and depth to her finished bread.

  She was just beginning to mix the first batch of dough in the big Hobart when the back door opened. Melody looked up in surprise as Talia entered. “I didn’t expect you so early! You don’t need to be in until seven today.”

  “I know. But I thought you could use an extra set of hands.” Talia dropped her coat and bag in the break room, pulled on an apron, and rolled up her sleeves. “What do you want me to do first?”

  “Cream puffs, éclairs, and shortbread.”

  “I’m on it.” Talia went to scrub her hands and then wasted no time bringing together the dough for the French pastries and the shortbread that would be the base for Melody’s lemon curd bars.

  Rachel sent a smile over her shoulder that clearly conveyed approval of Melody’s choice.

  The sous-chef showed up about an hour later, also ahead of schedule. Rachel introduced them to Samantha Caldwell, pretty and dark-skinned with wide brown eyes and a brusque attitude that seemed in total opposition to her Disney-character looks.

  “An all-female kitchen,” she said when she shook Melody’s and Talia’s hands. “I like it.”

  “We didn’t specifically seek to hire only women,” Rachel said, “but I’m not sorry that’s the way it worked out.”

  The extra time turned out to be a blessing, because while both assistants were perfectly capable, it was going to take a while to acclimate to Rachel’s and Melody’s styles and expectations. They both found themselves taking time out to teach and instruct, to move supplies around the kitchen when the arrangement turned out to be inconvenient, to swap out menu items when something wasn’t coming together properly. This was why they started with a friends-and-family night. Not only could they get opinions from people who loved them and would therefore be tactfully honest, it gave them the opportunity to work out the kinks before they opened for real.

  Around noon, Sam cooked them lunch, a delicious pasta-and-vegetable soup to which Melody contributed half a loaf of bread. Their normal hours were such that they wouldn’t have a regular family meal like in a restaurant, but today was going to be a long and tiring day.

  As they sat at the long counter-height table in the dining area, sopping up the last bit of the broth with their bread, Rachel asked, “Justin going to be here tonight?”

  Melody detected no reservation in Rachel’s tone. Maybe she was coming around. “He said he would. He was supposed to get home last night, but I haven’t heard from him.” She didn’t say that she’d been checking her cell phone at every opportunity to see if he’d replied to her half-dozen texts. “How about you guys?”

  Alex would be there, of course, and Sam’s boyfriend and sister, but Talia just shook her head. “I grew up in Colorado, but I don’t have anyone around anymore.”

  Melody didn’t press, but there was something in the tone that told her there was more to this story. Maybe that’s why Talia was so anxious to get a job. When baking was the only thing you really did well, it made a handy substitute for a real life.

  At least that’s what Melody had been telling herself. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Then it was back to work. Rachel and Sam prepped things like stock and demi-glace that would be used in dishes later tonight, bubbling away in huge pots on the range. Melody batched bread in and out of the oven, until the baskets behind the counter out front spilled their bounty. Talia inserted tray after tray of baked goods into the case. At last, Melody and Rachel stepped back near the front door to admire their handiwork.

  Bittersweet Café was at last a reality.

  “It’s beautiful,” Rachel said with a happy sigh. “You did an incredible job on the design, Mel. I can’t imagine having a prettier place.”

  Melody slid an arm around Rachel, and they hugged, the tension of the past weeks slipping away in the face of what they had accomplished together. It was rather impressive, hip and modern with touches that suggested old-fashioned European bakeries. When they hadn’t been able to get the tile for the original “rug” in front of the counter, Melody had found an artist to instead create a mosaic that showed the Front Range skyline with its buildings and craggy mountains behind. And above it all hung Melody’s funky chandelier, now transformed into a vintage showpiece, casting pools of light on the space below.

  Melody glanced at her watch. “Four o’clock. Mark will be here in a few minutes to work the front, and then we’ll open. Are you ready?”

  “More than. We’re just killing time now.” Rachel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s silly to be nervous, isn’t it? This is a tiny menu and a tiny kitchen compared to what we’re used to. We’ve got this.”

  “Of course we do. Doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m going to throw up.” Melody grinned at Rachel and they hugged again. “Now let’s take one more look around.”

  Mark, their bearded, twentysomething cashier, showed up promptly at four thirty. The irony of having a man out front and all women in the back was not lost on Melody. Mark was sharp, with barista and retail experience, and he clearly liked the idea of being in charge of the front of the house. He’d taken to the point-of-sale system immediately when Rachel trained him over the weekend, but since they weren’t charging for any food tonight, the order-taking process was largely for communicating to the kitchen and making sure they didn’t have any kinks in the computer system.

  At 4:55, they flipped the sign on the door to Open. And three minutes later, the first guest stepped through the front door.

  In the kitchen, Melody had no idea who had shown up or who hadn’t; she only heard the tickets coming through on the printer on Rachel’s side. Rachel and Sam worked quickly and methodically, putting together dishes from the limited hot menu.

  “We need someone to run food and clean tables,” Rachel called over her shoulder. “I thought Sam and I could do it ourselves, but if we get this busy during lunch rush, it’s going to be a disaster.”

  “I’ll do it.” Melody gave a couple of quick instructions to Talia, then pulled her apron over her head, dusted off traces of flour from her shirt, and took the plates with the ticket.

  When she stepped out into the front, she paused, her mouth dropping open.

  She knew they’d invited a lot of people, but she hardly thought they’d all turn up, and definitely not at the same time. Every seat in the place was filled, and a line formed at the register and snaked out the door and down the street. She was suddenly glad they’d thought to put up a chalkboard sign on the sidewalk that said, Closed for private party.

  Melody wrestled her surprise under control and maneuvered to the table marked with a number 3. Since there was no table-side ordering, they had opted to use table tags instead.

  “Welcome!” she said brightly to Mitchell and Bryan Shaw. “Who had the pasta?”

  Mitchell raised a finger and she set it down in front of him, then placed the bowl of French onion soup in front of Bryan.

  “Congratulations, Melody,” Bryan said. “Have you met my father, Mitchell?”

  “Once in passing.” She extended her hand to shake the man’s. He was so unassuming and normal-seeming that one wouldn’t know he was one of the wealthiest and most influential real estate developers in Denver. “I really appreciate your coming. What do you think?”

  “It’s perfect,” Mitchell said. “Alex told me you designed the place. If you ever decide to get out of the kitchen, you could have a second career in restaurant design.”

  “Thank you. I can add it to my résumé, along with back waiter tonight.” She smiled at both of them. “Enjoy your meals.”

  She hustled back into the kitchen, pausing beside Rachel. “Mitchell and Bryan are here. They seem to like the place. Complimented me on the design.”

  “Did you see Alex yet? He said he was going to come before seven.”

 
“No, not yet. And no Justin either.” Maybe the two men had run into each other outside and were waiting until the rush wound down. She checked her cell phone, hoping to see a text to that effect, but the screen was still blank. Where was he?

  She didn’t have much time to dwell on it. She took food out to the dining room as fast as Rachel and Sam made it, noting the tables that had turned over. A quick look at the bakery case showed that the croissants, lemon bars, and chocolate dacquoise were the most popular tonight, though there had been a pretty significant dent in the macarons as well. Only time would tell if that became a regular trend. After she had a chance to analyze the sales from the first few weeks, she’d make adjustments to their menu, dropping the slow sellers and increasing the regularly sold-out items.

  On her way back to the kitchen, she felt a tug at the hem of her shirt. She whirled. “Ana!”

  Ana gave Melody a tight hug. “How’s it going?”

  “Very well. We might not have this volume on a regular day, but at least we know we can handle it. Rachel and Sam are already a well-oiled machine.”

  “And you?”

  “Done baking and pretending to be a server for the night. Have you seen Alex or Justin?”

  “No, but Bryan is waiting outside. He said you guys had a big announcement at the end.”

  “We’re just going to say a few words to end the night. Are you going to stick around?”

  “Of course. Just waiting for my food. Hop to it, girl.”

  Melody stuck out her tongue and disappeared back into the kitchen. “Hey, Rach, do you have some big announcement to make?”

  “Nope. You know I let my cooking talk for me.”

  Melody laughed. It was an automatic answer; Rachel’s mind was on her food and not her words. It was good to see her back in the kitchen—and not just in the kitchen, but actually cooking. She might have loved being at the helm as executive chef, but Melody could see by the brightness in her face and the energy in her body that she found something satisfying about the hands-on process.