Starting Over – By Christine Ashworth
STARTING OVER
BY CHRISTINE ASHWORTH
The party was loud and growing louder as the clock neared midnight in New York City. New Year’s Eve, and Skylar Rivera was finishing up in the kitchen.
She’d done double duty as caterer and partygoer for one of her best friends who lived in a trendy, renovated Chelsea building.
Since she didn’t have anyone to kiss at midnight, she had retreated to the kitchen and clean up duty.
She danced around, grabbing up empty bottles and putting them into a bag for recycling.
She washed the pots and pans she’d used; after midnight, everything served would be finger food. Chips, dips, two charcuterie platters, and a big bowl of apples. She readied everything, humming and twirling around the kitchen for her own enjoyment.
She was twenty-five; her next restaurant job was around the corner, she could feel it.
She’d sent her parents photos of the food she’d prepared and received lots of support.
She’d only been there for six months, but she was determined to make it work.
Her dream was to have her own bakery, here in the city.
A destination place, showcasing her signature glazed tarts, sourdough breads, and the three layer lemon cakes that would become the buzz of Tik Tok.
Customers would line up before she opened, waiting for the first early morning treat.
Skye did another twirl just as someone came into the kitchen. The collision was unexpected and took her breath away.
Not only because his chest bumped hers, but because he grabbed her before she fell backward. Pulled her close. They started to slow dance, to some swoony tune from the fifties now pouring out of the loudspeakers. Her body tingled everywhere they touched.
“Hello there, Dancer Girl. Where have you been all my life?” He had black hair, deep blue eyes. He wore a wool trench coat, unbuttoned.
Skye grinned up at him. “Working in the kitchens, sir. Where have you been?”
“I’m the shy sort. So I’ve been hiding in corners. I was hoping to sneak out the back door.”
The countdown began. They continued to dance, and anticipation rose between them.
“Four,” he said, “three…” he pulled her closer, touched her face. “Two, one…” and before she could respond, his lips were on hers.
Excitement flushed her face, fizzed in her blood, and she gave herself over to the kiss. Gods, it had been so long. Had anything so unexpected ever felt so perfect? She framed his face with her hands and kissed him back.
He eased away from her. “Are you here with a date?”
“No.” She shook her head. “And I’m not dating anyone, Shy Guy. What about you?”
“I’m single, Dancer Girl.” He kissed her again and she sighed, snuggled closer after the kiss ended. “Want to blow this pop stand, go somewhere quieter?”
Sparkling with joy, Skye nodded. “I’d love to.”
“You’re certain, now?”
“It’s a new year, Shy Guy. I’m ready to embrace a new adventure.” Skye slipped from his arms and went to grab her coat, scarf, and purse from the tiny closet. “Ready when you are.”
They went to Geri’s All Night Diner, had pie and coffee and talked deep into the early morning about everything and anything.
Skye heard all about his hopes to become a successful writer. Shy Guy heard all about her bakery aspirations, as well as how she was waiting to be accepted into culinary school.
Skye excused herself to go to the restroom.
She stared at her reflection, at the stars in her eyes, and knew that if he’d taken her to his apartment, she would have gone.
Would still go. She splashed water on her face and dried it with the paper towels before slipping back to their table in the corner.
Which was empty. Her stomach dropped.
Her coat and purse were there, but Shy Guy was gone; a couple of twenties had been tossed onto the table.
Their waitress came over, a tired woman with a nametag that said “Doris” on it. “Sorry hon, he looked at his phone and ran out of here.”
Bewildered, Skye just stared at her. “Do you know him, Doris? Is he a regular? Maybe I could leave a note, with my number or something?”
Doris just shrugged. “Never seen him in my life. He might be a regular in the daytime, but not after midnight he’s not.” She scooped up the cash. “You okay to get yourself home?”
“Yeah. Uh, yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll just…” she put on her coat and buttoned it up. “Thank you.”
“You take care now, hon. Be safe. Happy New Year.”
Skye left the diner feeling like the best thing that had ever happened to her hadn’t, in fact, actually happened. She hadn’t even learned Shy Guy’s name.
Happy New Year, bah.
Seven Years Later…
At four in the morning on what promised to be a beautiful day in May, Skye was already elbow-deep in dough.
The yeasty scent of fresh bread filled the air of the Busy B Café and Restaurant.
Dough for their much-celebrated cranberry-orange, coffee cake, and chocolate muffins was all prepared and would soon be rotating their way through the ovens.
The quiet of the early morning hours when the world slept was her favorite time of day. It felt like the world slept. There was just her, the dough, the ovens, and way too much time to think about how she’d landed back home at the family restaurant.
She’d taken the job at the trendy SoHo eatery La Gallette Aux Folles , despite everything she’d heard about the chef and the new owners.
She didn’t make it past a month before the chef raged at her, knife waving in the air close to her face, because she’d made apple tarte tatin with the extra apples they had, instead of tiramisu for the evening’s dinner.
When the knife waved too close to her nose, she wrapped a bar towel around the knife, stomped on his foot, and uttered a string of obscenities in a French accent better than his own. Then she whipped off her apron, tossed her chef’s hat on the ground, went straight to the manager’s office and quit.
The manager had been sorry to see her go and cut her a check on the spot for salary owed. She was done with New York City; it was time to go home.
Skye pulled her mind out of the past when the line cooks, José and Fanny, came in, waved, and disappeared into the small employee breakroom. Soon they’d fire up the grill and check on the previous afternoon’s produce delivery.
There were no tantrums at Busy B Café and Restaurant, and after all the petty drama of restaurant life back east, to work here again felt like a benediction. A warm hug. A sweater that was a little too snug.
Skye sighed as she pulled pans out of the oven, added more, and filled the last of the muffin tins.
It’s not that she didn’t love her parents, because she did.
She didn’t even mind being in her old bedroom.
Well, not too much. She missed her queen bed, currently in storage.
Finding an apartment she could afford here was definitely on her list.
While she thought about her future, she filled the display case with muffins and the tarts she’d made and set out fresh croissants. Someone else would work the register, thank the gods, and a busboy would be in at seven.
It just felt like she’d traveled backward, rather than moving forward with her life. By thirty, she’d planned to have her own business, and have her sights fully set on the future with work she loved and with a family of her own. Instead, at thirty-two, she was back where she started.
She checked the clock and frowned. Six-thirty. Donna should have already been in, made coffee, and opened the front by now.
Skye hurried to the front of the café where a couple of people waited at the door, and let them in.
“Sorry, sorry. I’ll put a pot of coffee on right now. I’m not sure why Donna isn’t here yet,” she said, setting the door wide.
The two came in. She thought they were together, but the woman, whom she recognized as Paula James, their local crime and mystery author, muttered to herself and frowned direfully at the floor as she set her bags down at the front window table.
The man, attractive from what she could see of him, headed to the table farthest from the door.
Mentally shaking her head, she let the door swing shut. Saw both of them taking out laptops.
“First cup of regular coffee is on the house. Any takers? Paula, you in?”
Paula grunted. The man merely lifted his hand, while staring at his computer.
All righty then.
Once the coffee perked, she took a mug over to Paula. “Here you go.”
She didn’t look up. “Thank you dear. Happy to have you back.”
Skye grabbed another mug, poured, and took it to the man in the corner. “One coffee, on the house. As soon as Donna comes in, she’ll take your food order if you want breakfast.”
“Thanks.” His gaze never lifted from the screen; his ball cap shaded his face. His voice was low, rough. She didn’t know him, and she thought she knew everyone here at Hermit’s Cove. Hmm.
Skyler humphed and returned to the counter. Something about him niggled at her brain.
Behind lowered eyelids, Ethan Winters watched the waitress busy herself behind the counter and frowned. She was so familiar, but from where? He never forgot a face. A name? All the time. But faces were locked in for him, and he knew hers.
Creamy brown skin. Beautiful, tawny eyes. There was a curvy body under the chef’s coat and white pants; somehow, he knew that much. Her movements were graceful, almost as if she were dancing around the dining room.
Dancing…oh holy shit. It was Dancing Girl. Ethan pulled his ballcap lower over his eyes and dropped his head into his computer. He didn’t look up when she brought him his coffee. The last thing he needed right now was for her to recognize him.
“Good morning, Paula, Ethan.” Carla Rivera bustled in from the back. “Good morning, my darling daughter. Thank you for holding down the fort.”