Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Aria
“ T hree orders up,” I called through the window. The morning had been busier than expected. The fog had burned off early, and it left behind a crisp, pleasant fall day, apparently reminding customers that it was pumpkin pancake season at the café. Isla had helped me develop the special recipe based on one that Nonna used to make. We’d updated the flavors with a touch more nutmeg in the batter and a whipped maple butter to top them. I flipped over the six pancakes I had on the griddle.
“I can’t manage all the tables by myself,” Linda complained behind me. She tended to be a bit whiny, but this morning she had every right to complain. Our second server, Terry, had called in sick, and Linda and I were running the whole shebang. I desperately needed to hire that cook. After the morning rush, I’d take the time to comb back through the applicants. Maybe I’d missed someone with potential.
“I’ll be out in a second to take some orders.” I noticed the three orders were still in the window. “Get the food to the table before it gets cold.”
Linda huffed loudly and moved with plodding footsteps toward the order window. I pulled the last pancakes off the griddle and turned down the heat. We were nearing the end of the breakfast rush, thank goodness. Since most of the regulars had come through for breakfast, I expected a slow lunch hour. And I was happy about that, which showed just how badly I needed a cook. As the owner, I should have been hoping for a busy lunch hour, not a slow one. I yanked off my apron, tucked some of my fallen hair strands behind my ears and grabbed a pen and pad.
Linda was delivering food. There were still two tables with menus, which meant two tables that had not placed their orders. The first was a table with June Nelson and her two best friends, Pauline and Karen. They were retired schoolteachers who’d worked together all their lives and now lived together in a beach house on the cove. Since the person at the other table was still sitting behind his menu, I stopped at June’s table first. “Morning, ladies. What can I get you?”
“Well, Aria, we’re debating whether to have the sausage or bacon with our pancakes,” June said.
“Only you are debating that, Junie,” Pauline said. “I’ll have the bacon.” She patted the menu with confidence. “No, the sausage, I think. Nope, the bacon, final answer.”
June laughed. “So glad you’re decisive this morning. I’m going with the bacon, too, and so is Karen.”
Karen opened her mouth to protest, but June tilted her head to the side.
“Remember, Aria is still looking for a cook, and she’s running the kitchen. The least we can do is support her by streamlining our orders. Three orders of pumpkin pancakes with a side of bacon.” June was always the leader, so the other two just nodded along.
“Coming right up. Do you need more coffee?”
“Actually,” Karen started.
June put a hand on her arm. “We’re fine, dear.”
“Thanks. I’ll bring the pot when I get a chance.” I winked at Karen.
“Two more orders of pancakes. Sides of sausage,” Linda said as she scurried past to the coffee station. So much for the streamlined orders.
I hurried across to the other table. The man lowered the menu at the sound of my footsteps. We both stared at each other as if the other was an alien from another planet. A flannel shirt was stretched tightly across his shoulders. “Well, good morning, Rocky. Small world. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
I was immediately on defense, straight posture, lifted chin and all. “And why not?”
He shrugged. “Just thought you seemed more the business type, you know—highly efficient in a pair of high heels and pencil skirt.” He shrugged one massive shoulder, stretching the flannel shirt even more. “I’m enjoying the pencil skirt vision.”
“Well, you were wrong.” I didn’t feel the need to mention my first career as an uptight businesswoman in high heels and a pencil skirt. “And the funny thing about that is I pegged your type exactly.”
He put down the menu and smiled up at me. “And what type is that, exactly?”
“Drifter. Troublemaker. Always ready to stir things up.”
“You might be right about some of that. Now, can I order food, or do you reserve the right to deny service to a troublemaker?”
I pressed the pen hard against the pad. “What would you like? The pumpkin pancakes are very popular.”
“Hmm, I was thinking an omelet with avocado and cheese. Wheat toast on the side.”
I found it hard to look at him, because when I did, I always managed to get pulled into that green gaze. Losing focus was the last thing I needed this morning. “Coffee?” I kept my eyes averted and on my notepad.
He didn’t answer until I looked at him. There was that caffeine flutter again. I really needed to slow down on the coffee.
“Yes, please. Black.”
I rushed away so quickly, I forgot to pick up his menu. I didn’t have time to go back for it. And there it was again. That pitter patter in my chest. I needed to switch to decaf.
“Linda, get the customer at table six a coffee. I’ve got his order. I’ll be back on the stove,” I called to her. I was glad to disappear into the kitchen. Stupidly, I hadn’t even considered that the man would be a customer. There weren’t many places to eat in town, and his boat didn’t look well enough equipped for a decent kitchen.
Somehow, the stove and griddle felt extra hot and the kitchen, too. I stopped to drink a glass of water and then set to work on the omelet. Almost everyone else had ordered pancakes, so the omelet order threw me off my game. I dropped the first egg on the floor.
I was just picking up my stride again when I heard Linda behind me. “He’s asking where his first server went. I explained to him that you were also the cook and the owner and that I’d be taking over his table.” She moved closer. “He sure is handsome … and big.”
I didn’t look up from the stove. “There are some more orders in the window, and don’t forget to hydrate. It’s one of those mornings.”
I waved the spatula in front of my face to produce some kind of air movement, something to cool the searing heat in the kitchen. I flipped the omelet and was just about to put in the toast when Linda cleared her throat loudly behind me. For someone who was responsible for the entire dining room, she certainly found plenty of time for visits to the kitchen.
“What is it now, Linda?”
“Officer Tuttle is at the counter.”
“Really? He must be on an early lunch break.”
Linda shook her head. “He wants to see you.”
It was my turn to grunt. “Tell him I’ll be right there.” I dropped bread in the toaster. Officer Tuttle, or Owen Tuttle, went to school with Ella. In fact, he had quite the crush on her and even made her homemade Valentine’s Day cards. He also took his job very seriously, and while there was usually little crime in town, he always looked busy and official, like today. It seemed he’d spent extra time polishing his badge and belt buckle this morning. They gleamed in the light.
He smiled and took off his hat as I walked out. “Sorry to bother you, Aria, but I was wondering if you knew anything about the owner of that old tugboat in the marina. A few of the boat owners thought they saw you talking to him.”
My eyes slid sideways to table six. Dex had picked up the menu and was hiding behind it like a spy behind a newspaper. Only since there were no holes in the paper, his green eyes kept peering up over the top of the menu. Our gazes clashed and held. His seemed to be saying, “Please don’t rat me out.”
“Might have run into him while I took Oscar a sandwich. Has he done something?”
Owen always had rosy cheeks, and that hadn’t changed. He smiled shyly. “Now you know I can’t talk about police business.” He shrugged and leaned closer to talk quietly. “Just looking to talk to him for now. His boat isn’t registered.”
“Ah, that is a problem to be sure. I’ll keep my eye out for him.”
Owen put on his hat. “Thanks, Aria. I’ll be back for lunch.”
“See you then.”
Officer Tuttle’s policing skills weren’t great. He left the café and never once looked around.
I hurried back to butter the toast. Linda glanced through the order window. “Is that for table six?” she asked enthusiastically.
“Yes, but I’m going to deliver it myself.”
Her lips pursed in a pout as she grabbed the plates out from under the heating lamp. I put the toast on the plate and carried the omelet out to the dining room. Dex lowered the menu. I didn’t give him time to thank me for not pointing him out to Tuttle.
“Eat your omelet and, as my grandmother used to say, ‘sling your hook.’”
He sat taller with a smile, an annoyingly great smile. “No way. My grandmother used to say the same thing whenever we were hanging out too much in her kitchen. She used to make the world’s best Irish stew.”
“I doubt it,” I said.
His smile shrank. “You doubt that I had a grandmother? Even we drifting troublemakers have grandparents.”
“No, I doubt hers was the best Irish stew because Nonna—I mean, my grandmother, made the world’s best Irish stew, so your grandma’s would have been second best.”
His smile returned. “Well, what do you know? We’ve got something in common.”
“And that’s where the similarities end. Enjoy your omelet.” I walked away, chin in the air. I’d been doing that a lot lately. I also peeked back at him when I reached the kitchen. Another mistake. He was still watching me, and he threw in a wink.
I hurried into the safety of my extremely hot kitchen.