Chapter 18
If my life was a song, it’d be that old Alanis Morissette number about irony.
Because a month ago, I was avoiding home (and Blake) because I couldn’t stand him.
But now, I’m avoiding it because five nights ago, I let him kiss me—and haven’t been the same since. It’s seriously all I can do not to think about it.
To not think about doing it again.
So here I sit on a Saturday morning in Winona’s office, working on a business plan. Yes, I—Lucy Reynolds, with no college degree and no expertise of any sort except knowing how to keep a customer smiling—have spent the week working on a Green Robin business plan like Blake suggested, using the one he sent over as an example.
And I’m not saying it’s good, but it’s a start. A way to maybe make some sort of progress. The BOGO coupons have helped a bit, but it’s still not enough.
Basically, until Blake’s truck leaves, we’re in trouble. And Winona has been texting me daily for updates. I’m afraid she’s going to pull the plug on her trip—and I can’t have that.
My phone vibrates on the desk, and I glance up. How long have I been here, staring at my computer? A few hours, at least. I grab my phone and see that Chloe’s texted me.
Chloe: I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! But we’re still on for Wednesday, yeah?
Crud. What’s Wednesday? Tomorrow’s Father’s Day, so I know I’ve got time with the family all afternoon after the lunch shift. But what’s later in the week? I flip to the calendar app on my phone and groan. Right. A spa day for the twins’ birthday in Morro Bay, which is about thirty minutes from Hallmark Beach. I really shouldn’t take the time off, but I could use a girls’ day. Chloe isn’t the only one I haven’t spent quality time with. Sure, I was on the beach for the impromptu volleyball game last night, but left after an hour or so to—you guessed it—work on this stupid business plan some more.
Besides, I said I’d go. And my friends are everything to me. I have to be there for them.
Lucy: I know, I miss you! Yep, I’ll be there Wednesday. Can’t wait!
Setting my phone down again, I rub my temples and try staring at the business plan some more. What am I doing? I’m seriously no expert. Maybe I should just let Winona come home. This is her restaurant, after all.
But then a memory flashes—the last day of third grade. I came home from school, expecting Mama to be on the couch asleep or listlessly watching a soap opera like she had for the past year after Daddy had died. Instead, when I climbed from the bus steps and got to my house, she was waiting on the stoop.
She jumped up, and the first thing I noticed was her hair. She’d gone to the salon, had it cut and colored a bright red to match the pants she was wearing, along with a polka-dot blouse that made her look so pretty. She pulled me into a hug and asked if I was ready to go on an adventure.
My mouth fell open. “Really?”
“Yes, baby girl. I’m tired of being sad. And maybe that sadness is always going to be there. Maybe it’s just a part of us now. But you know what? We’re gonna ignore it from now on. We’re gonna make lemonade out of the lemons life’s given us.” She took my backpack from my shoulders and slipped her arms around me and pulled me close so I could smell the vanilla and cinnamon on her skin. Then she walked me into the house, where there were two ratty suitcases, all packed and ready to go. “We’re gonna outrun that sadness and start living our lives again.”
And we did our best.
That summer, and every summer after, until I was fifteen, we drove her beat-up Civic all over the United States, always ending in Hallmark Beach.
They were the happiest memories of my life.
And I know that Winona and Jessica are making their own happy memories. I can’t let them come home early. I can’t fail her.
Pushing away from the desk with renewed vigor, I march down the hall past an empty restaurant—we don’t open for another thirty minutes—and into the kitchen, where Tiny has already started working on a few dishes for the day.
He grunts at me. “You’re here early again, Boss.”
“I’ve told you.” I saunter over to the first large stockpot and peek inside. Mmm. Chili. “Don’t call me that.” I grab a spoon and stick it inside and then laugh when he growls his displeasure.
“Don’t go critiquing my food like you do that boy’s.”
Great. How did he hear about me helping Blake? I take a bite and smile. “No need. It’s perfect.”
“I know.” The man rolls up his sleeves, revealing his beefy forearms with an anchor tattooed on one bicep like a real-life Popeye the Sailor Man. “What do you want?”
“Aw, don’t act like you don’t love me in here.”
“You in my kitchen spells trouble. Leave me in peace and quiet.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I snatch his chef’s hat and laugh when he simply grabs another off the fridge. He’s no fun. “Seriously, though, I was wondering if you’ve got any more good ideas for specials this week. That seems to be helping move the needle a bit.”
He stirs the chili and glowers at me. “I do, but you’re not gonna like it.”
“Oh? Why not? You know I’m open to anything.”
“Why so desperate?” He blinks at me. “We in trouble, Boss?”
I try not to sigh. “Of course not.”
“You think I’m dumb?”
“No.”
He harrumphs. “Then talk to me straight. I know a stressed-out Lucy when I see one.”
Aw, Tiny. I tap him on the chest with my spoon. “So you do have a heart in there.”
He grabs the spoon and flings it over his shoulder into the sink. It clangs, shattering the quiet. “I’m serious. I have an idea for a special that would knock that boy’s food outta the park.”
That boy, as in Blake. My blood heats at the thought of him. Ugh. I clear my throat. “I’m all ears.”
“You do still want to beat him, don’t you?”
“Yeah…”
“Because last I saw?—”
“Spit it out, Tiny.” I know what people in this town think, especially after Blake went and named a freaking sandwich after me. “My loyalty is first to the Robin.”
Though maybe I don’t want Blake to fail like I did a month ago. So sue me.
Tiny continues stirring, considering me. Then he nods and strides to the counter, where he’s got a stack of notecards—presumably recipes. He filters through the stack, pulls one card loose, and walks it over to me.
I stare at it. My gaze narrows. “Tiny, this is a grilled cheese recipe.”
“And it belonged to my sister, may she rest in peace.”
I never met his sister, but from his stories, he was close to her, and he remains close to his nephew, who is some hotshot hockey player that Tiny visits in New York at least once a year. In fact, that’s why he won’t be here for the Fourth of July.
“It looks delicious.” Four different types of cheese. A few spices, hints of garlic. Yum. “But we can’t serve grilled cheese. That’s Blake’s department, and he got his permit on the condition that he didn’t serve the same thing we did.”
Tiny shrugs. “We don’t have anything in our permit that says we can’t serve grilled cheese.”
I hand him back the notecard. There’s no way I’m doing that to Blake, even if he’s my competition. Because he’s also my friend. And besides, he’s only here for another six weeks or so. We have to find a way to survive—and thrive—with or without him here.
And definitely without sabotaging him in the process. “Tiny, we can’t do it.”
His scowl clouds the whole kitchen, and he waves his dirty spoon at me. “That boy’s gotten to you.”
“No.” My face heats, and it’s not the chili’s fault. “I just…”
“Lucy.” My teen waitress, Jenny, comes racing into the kitchen. “I need your help now. One of the toilets is overflowing in the men’s room. Help!”
Saved by a crisis! I press the notecard back into Tiny’s hands. “I love the initiative you’re taking. Keep up the good work in here. We’ll talk about this later, okay?” And we will. Mostly about how I can’t undermine Blake, even if it makes me look weak.
But no time to think about that now, because here I go again, rushing off to try to solve yet another disaster that I feel unqualified for—because what am I? A plumber?
Then again, maybe I’d make a better plumber than a businesswoman. Because a good businesswoman probably would have jumped at any chance to squash her opponent. She’d see a weakness, a chink in the armor, and dive right on into the fray, not caring one bit what happened to the guy who’d stolen all of her customers.
But then I think about those BOGO coupons sitting on Blake’s counter. About the way he helped me make baklava. About how it felt last night at the bonfire when he ignored me, trying to keep his distance despite the looks he kept sending my way.
And I know that my heart has already decided what my head can’t comprehend. That Tiny’s absolutely right.
And it’s possible my inability to not fall in love with Blake Moffitt will be the downfall of The Green Robin.