16. Chloe
sixteen
It’s impossible to resist Shane’s easy charm, so moments after saying I was going home, I step through the pub’s backdoor and into its kitchen. The space is calm and orderly, all gleaming surfaces and neatly stacked plates and clean pots hanging by size. Nothing like the madhouse that the restaurant kitchen always seems to be, even when it’s empty.
A heavenly aroma envelops me, and my mouth waters. The one slice of quiche I had on my porch was delicious, but it’s clear it wasn’t enough. At least not compared to what’s cooking here.
The swing door to the dining room bounces open, the low hum of conversations suddenly spilling into the quietness. “Ohmygod, you’re here!” Haley shrieks. “It’s Chloe!” she tells Shane as if I’d just materialized in here on my own.
He smiles at her. “I know.” He grabs a bowl, then dips a ladle in the simmering pot. “How are we doing over there?” he asks Haley as he hands me a steaming bowl of chili. I wrap my hands around it, its warmth giving me inner comfort.
“We’ll need a refill soon, but we’re still good. I was just wondering where you’d disappeared to.” Then turning to me, she adds, “Follow me, m’kay?”
We enter by the side of the bar, which is laden with food in an assortment of dishes. “It’s a potluck, but Justin always provides a main dish,” Haley explains. “He can’t help himself. Soft drinks are also free during Community dinners.”
As we make our way through the crowded dining room, Haley stops in front of a middle-aged couple carrying their empty plates toward the bar. “Mom, Dad, this is Chloe,” she says with a smile my way. “Restaurant Chloe,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows.
I dart my eyes around, ready for anything. They’re Justin’s parents too. Maybe they know about the persona non grata order. Maybe they’ll tell Haley she has no business—
“Darling, we’ve heard so much about you already but not enough. I’m Lynn,” Haley’s mom says. She’s tall, thin, and fit, just like her husband, and unsurprisingly, considering the looks of their children, they’re both blond. “And this is my husband, Craig, and we’d love to catch up with you, but we hold farmers’ hours, and it’s well past our bedtime,” she explains with an apologetic smile. “But you must come to Sunday dinner next week.” Turning to Haley, Lynn strokes her daughter’s cheek with her free hand. “Princess, you’ll make sure she comes, right?” She smiles at her daughter like she’s the most precious thing on Earth—to her, she clearly is.
“I will,” Haley answers, giving each of her parents a soft peck on the cheek. Craig has stayed silent, I notice, with a dreamy smile on his face as he watches the interaction between his wife and daughter.
My heart warms at their easy happiness.
Haley guides me to a table where Grace and Autumn are seated with another woman I don’t know.
Grace smiles at me. “You came!”
“Hey again!” Autumn says.
“I’m Kiara,” the third woman says with a wink. She has delicate features and a pixie cut that makes her look harsher than she needs to, and makeup that’s a little too heavy for my taste. But her gaze is full of good-natured mischief. “I heard you had quite the welcome committee here the other day. Glad we’re past that now.”
Just then, appearing out of nowhere, Shane reaches over to set cutlery and a glass of wine in front of me. He gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze and leaves before I have a chance to thank him.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer Kiara, glancing toward the bar against my better judgement. Justin’s unhappy glare is on me. Seriously! What’s up with him?
Haley slides her own glass of wine my way. “Try this first, and tell me what you think.” I take a sip from her glass. “So?” she asks expectantly.
“It’s good!” I’m not a big wine connoisseur, but I know what I like and don’t like. And I like this wine.
“It’s blueberry wine!” Haley exclaims.
“Meaning…?”
“Not made with grapes, but with blueberries.”
“That’s… interesting. It tastes just like a… different wine.”
“I know!” She starts telling me about her plan to create a vineyard on the farm, and her current explorations into the different forms it could take. Including a cidery. And blueberry wine. Or a straight-up blueberry farm within her parents’ farm. “I’m just struggling with the concept. I don’t want to exclude anything. I want to explore. But I can’t call it a winery if I’m making beverages that are not from grapes. Right?” She looks around for help.
Grace widens her eyes.
Kiara says, “Just get started. Once whatever it is you’re doing comes into existence, you’ll find the name.”
“I don’t know,” Haley mutters. “I feel like an all-encompassing name would help.”
“How about a fermentory,” I suggest. “‘The Fermentory,’” I add with air quotes. “The King’s Fermentory.” Ideas start flowing. “The Princess Fermentory.”
Haley looks at me with awe. “Put a pin on all that. I looove it. It’ll be called The Fermentory.” She makes a big sweeping gesture like she’s seeing the sign already. “And we’ll have vintages or reserves that will be “The King’s, The Queen’s, The Princess’s, etc. Woohoo!”
“So when is this happening?” I ask.
Haley’s shoulders sag. “Someday.”
Kiara rolls her eyes. “Right now, only in her dreams,” she tells me. “You’re not getting any younger,” she says to Haley. “Get on it, sister.”
Grace has a small smile. “I can’t imagine the work and the investment that must be.”
“I can visualize it now. You know what that means? It will happen,” Haley declares.
“Does that mean if I visualize the restaurant’s street seating it will materialize?” I half joke.
“It might,” Autumn says. “What are you seeing?”
I think about this. “I don’t yet have a vision—literally—for what the place should be. I’d want something relaxed but with a chic feel. Laid back but still making people feel special. It would help if I knew the area a little better.”
“Makes sense,” Haley says. “I’m your guide if you want to explore.”
“Careful! I’ll take you up on that.”
“I sure hope so.”
The rest of the evening goes by real fast. People stop to say hello to the girls and welcome me to Emerald Creek. Everyone wishes me success. At some point Grace and I slide out of the booth to use the restrooms. As we’re washing our hands, I notice a wooden box with a sign that reads, “Leave what you can, take what you need.” Curious, I open it and see bills—some folded, some rumpled, some crisp—and loose change.
“What’s up with the cash in that box?” I ask Grace.
She adds a bill to the small stash. “It’s Justin’s way of helping people who are too proud to ask,” she says like it’s no big deal.
“Wow, that’s…” Thoughtful. And helpful. I settle for, “clever.” I dig into my handbag and add my own contribution. “No one steals anything?” I ask as we leave.
“Why would they do that? It’s neighbors helping neighbors without making them look like a charity case. Anyone who would take from those boxes without needing it would have a meeting with karma real quick.” She says that like it’s common sense, and god it feels good to hear. It restores my faith in humanity.
And maybe a little bit of my faith in Justin, for doing that.
“The nursery at Dewey’s Hollow is having a summer sale,” Haley tells me when we get back to the table. And after that, we could hit The Grange.”
“What’s the Grange?”
“Oh I loooove the Grange,” Autumn says. “Always great finds there. Let’s all go tomorrow!”
“I’ll have to pass,” Grace says. “Everyone’s booking facials and pedicures. Getting all spruced up for summer.”
“Let’s meet up at The Growler when we come back,” Haley says to Grace.
Our plans set for the next day, we stack our dishes and bring them back to the kitchen where Trevor and Ryan are manning the commercial dishwasher.
Then I slide out to my car, both relieved and disappointed that I”ve managed to avoid talking to Justin again.
The next day, Haley, Kiara, Autumn, and I pile in a pickup truck Haley borrowed from her parents’ farm. Kiara feeds us scones, and I make them stop at Easy Monday on our way to buy us all a round of Road to Heaven.
The nursery is having a sale—all their annuals for a dollar each—so I splurge. Autumn helps me select them according to orientation (morning sun only), shape and color. We combine English ivy, impatiens, fuchsias, and a couple little white trailing things I promptly forget the name of. It’s romantic and colorful. “It’s so… chic and laid back at the same time,” I comment as we load them in the truck bed next to the big bag of soil I purchased. Just looking at the flats of plants, I get a happy feeling deep in my gut.
“Grange now?” Kiara asks.
“Grange now,” Haley answers.
“Last time I was there, they had these adorable metallic window boxes that would look stunning for the restaurant,” Autumn says. “What do you think of metal?”
Metal would look awesome. “Oh, whatever’s already there is fine, but thanks. That was a great idea.” I’ll put a coat of paint on the chipped wooden boxes affixed under the windows. It won’t look stunning, but it will look clean. It’ll blend in.
Of course, it won’t stand out like metal. Won’t make a statement.
But it’ll cost almost zero dollars.
Five minutes after we pull into the place, I get lost in the alleys, gaping at treasure after treasure. Haley follows me, occasionally taking pictures of things for sale. The Grange only sells items salvaged from old buildings. No knickknacks or piles of refuse from estate sales. Instead, pedestal sinks, antique claw-foot tubs, children’s school desks, antique lamp fixtures, antique doors, stained glass windows, mantels, and even cast-iron radiators. The occasional set of furniture from a hotel. Kiara disappeared in the upper level.
Autumn slides next to me. “You getting a vision now?”
“Totally.” Just, not doable by me. But I know how I could sell the place to potential buyers. I know how the restaurant could look. “Where are those window boxes you were talking about?”
“They’re gone,” she says with a shrug.
“Oh. Alright.” I shouldn’t get so excited, so quickly. Over a concept. An idea. A vision.
I need to tamp things down. I’m only here to run the restaurant for a while. I’m not in charge of giving it the new life it deserves.
“Found an awesome mirror for my place. I loaded it in the truck,” Kiara says, her forehead blackened.
“What do you think of these for the sidewalk?” Haley is pointing to a set of round metallic tables with matching folding chairs.
They would be perfect. They’re cheap. But they’re rusted. “I guess I could throw a coat of paint on them.” I’m not sure how good I’d be at that. That would require sanding, I suppose? I don’t have a sander. I can’t buy a sander, that wouldn’t be a wise expense. And what do I know about painting metal? I’d need pillows for the chairs. That’s an additional cost. And the time it’s going to take me? I have more pressing things to do. I’ll have to settle for some standard issue restaurant furniture. “I’ll think about it.”
We pile back into the truck and stop at a small café alongside a brook. We order sandwiches and eat them sitting on the grass, our bare feet dipped in the cool water rushing down the hill. Then we lie on our backs, the hot summer air getting the best out of us while the hum of insects acts like a lullaby, at least for me. I close my eyes, the sound of Kiara cleaning herself in the brook the only thing occupying my thoughts. Turns out, her arms were dirty too, all from the mirror.
“How is your space coming along?” Haley asks her.
“Ugh. Slowly. It’ll be awesome. Someday,” her voice drifts to me.
“Are you doing a float this year?” Autumn asks her.
“It’s up in the air at this point. What with Chris being closed.”
A float? “A float for what?” I mumble, half asleep.
“The parade.”
The parade? I lift my head and squint at Haley.
“On the Fourth? There’s a parade on The Green,” she informs me. “With floats, the high school band, and carriages. It’s awesome! You should come and check it out. It gets crowded, but I’ll talk Justin into letting you go to his rooftop, since you’ll be closed anyway,” Haley says.
I sit up straight. “Not anymore I’m not.”
“It’s a Tuesday,” Kiara observes.
“I decided to open. We’ll serve small bites.” No need for a chef. “Fruit punches.” More profit.
“Cool! When did you decide that?” Kiara asks.
“Just now.” The sidewalk will be crowded.
Autumn claps her hands. “I love it!”
“Good for you! Will your staff be good with that?” Haley asks.
I’ll find out soon enough. “Worst case, it’ll just be me. Whatever I can do will be better than nothing.” Now that I know there’s a parade right in front of us, attracting maybe hundreds of people, I am not letting this opportunity pass.
“You have to get the tables and chairs. Come on. We’ll help you paint them,” Autumn says, getting to her feet.
I jump up. “Let’s go.”
Half an hour later, I’m paying for the furniture while the girls arrange everything in the flatbed.
“I’ll never have those ready by the Fourth,” I mumble as I hop back into the truck.
“I’ll make the cushions,” Autumn says. “I have leftover fabric from the resort renovations last winter. And Kiara will talk to Colton, right?”
“Sure, but why me? He’s not my brother.”
“You’re the Colton whisperer,” Haley says.
Kiara stays silent.
“Colton is Grace’s brother,” Haley explains to me, “and he’s also a bit of a grump.”
“He also owns a fabulous garage where they do custom works. So he’ll have all the paint and buffer stuff you can dream of,” Autumn adds.
“Are you sure?” I ask. That feels very imposing to me.
“Believe me, he’ll be thrilled,” Kiara says. “The guy lives for that kind of stuff. He’ll do your tables and chairs with one hand while he redesigns the interior of a vintage convertible for his next client.”
“He has those kind of clients here?”
“Canadians. Second homeowners.”
“Call it third homeowners,” Haley giggles, rubbing her finger and thumb together. “Money, money.”
I didn’t realize there was that much money in this small, sleepy town. It explains the quality and abundance of shops. It also begs the question: why isn’t the restaurant doing better? The market seems to be there.
After we offload the flowers at the restaurant and the mirror and my furniture at Kiara’s place, the girls drop me off at the cottage and we make plans to meet up with Grace in a couple of hours.
The Growler is an event space lost in the hills, with food, several bars, a stage, outdoor seating, and games. It’s still light out when we meet up. “Let’s keep this low-key for tonight,” Grace says as she points to the outdoor seating area. “This place can get a little rowdy.”
“You’re right, sis. It’s only Monday,” Kiara says. “’Member when we brought Alex here for the first time?” She chuckles.
As they reminisce, my attention drifts and I take in the moment. The dipping sun creating a gold halo on the hills. The sound of music drifting from within. The crispy yet soft, hot, and tangy nachos hitting my tongue, chased by a maple margarita.
It’s a perfect evening after a perfect day with girlfriends. I bask in the easy happiness, shoving down the thoughts of Justin that threaten to ruin it all.
On Tuesday, I wake up late, make a quick stop at Easy Monday, and get to the restaurant mid-morning, dashing straight from my car to my office through the back entrance.
I email David about my July 4th plan for the restaurant. Surprisingly, he replies quickly, and he agrees to work that day. He even suggests some fruit punches and specialty cocktails we could offer to up our margins.
We’re on the right track.
Next, I email Samuel, feeling karma on my side, but I don’t hear back from him. I call Corine and tell her my plan. “I can’t make it Tuesday. Mom has plans already, and I won’t be able to find a babysitter on such short notice. But if Samuel can’t help out, I’ll do a bunch of prep for you on Sunday and Monday. Next year, for sure, I’ll make myself available!” My heart pinches at the idea that I won’t be there to witness it next year. But I store the information that she and David have no problem working more.
Finally, I text Trevor and Ryan to find out if they’re available to work next Tuesday. “No problem,” Trevor answers, just as Ryan texts back, “We’re working at the pub that day.”
“Never mind! Thanks :)” I text back.
These are just minor setbacks, I decide. Not everything can go according to plan. I post on Echoes that I’m looking for extras on July 4th, but I’m not holding my breath. People either have a job lined up or fun plans.
To make myself feel better, I grab the trowel I found under the sink at the cottage and set out to fill my window boxes with all the flowers I bought yesterday. As I hit the sidewalk, I stop in my steps. The wooden flower boxes have been replaced with vintage aluminum boxes that seem to come straight out of a home decor magazine. They create a stark contrast to the building’s exposed brick, giving it a retro-hip look.
It looks awesome.
And so nice of my friends!
I send a frenzy of excited group text messages and set out to garnish the boxes.
An hour later, I send them pictures of the finished product.
Once the tables and chairs are done, the sidewalk is going to look fabulous. And that will signal the restaurant’s comeback.
I have a great feeling about that.
On Wednesday, Chef comes in and informs me that no, he won’t be working on Independence Day.
Not everything can go according to plan.
On Thursday, Colton and Autumn deliver the tables and chairs, and they are more than fabulous.
They are works of art.
The metal is painted a slate gray, polished to a shine, the flat surfaces of the tables reflecting the sky and clouds. The chairs have thick cushions in a yellow and cream stripe.
Once all eight tables are on the sidewalk, with the chairs around them providing a pop of color, Autumn sets the cutest flowerpots, painted in matching stripes of yellow and cream, in the center of each table. “I was thinking herbs would look cool, with a holder for a drink menu, but I’ll let you decide. Happy to brainstorm if you need!” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans.
Too stunned to talk, I lean into the impulse to hug her. Then I turn to Colton. Grace’s brother is tall, dark, and sinfully handsome. He takes a step back, hands in front of him as if to say, ‘I’m good.’ I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks so much for doing all this so quickly,” I tell him. “How much do I owe you? Lemme get the checkbook in the office.”
“Nah,” he says. “Was nothin’.”
“Oh come on, it was not nothing.”
He looks at Autumn and shrugs. “I gotta go.”
“Please. Let me at least pay for your time and paint.”
“Paint was left over from a job and time was… nothin’.” He ends this on a shrug.
Autumn gives him a friendly slap on the arm, and he slides into his truck. “He’s good,” she tells me.
That’s super nice. But also, it’s super embarrassing. How can I thank him?
The restaurant doesn’t even have a gift certificate system.
We need gift certificates.
Another thing on my to-do.