Chapter 19
For a full day after hitting Juliet with the kitchen door, Theo moved through the world in a state of shock. Their argument, as strange as it had been, had activated something in him. It had drawn him back through time, demanding more of his heart and his memories than he cared to admit.
When, the day after Juliet’s accident, Theo had a surprise lunch rush, he nearly wasn’t ready for it.
There were four tables with fifteen guests in total, and he nearly ran himself ragged, operating five different skillets, melting cheese on burgers, and stirring up cocktail after cocktail.
The guests, all of whom were from out of town, laughed at him, their faces bright from sunburns they’d gotten on the water.
“You don’t have anyone to help you?” one of the guys asked, guffawing. “You ought to get some staff around here, my man!”
Theo laughed and said he’d let his only staff member off the hook today. “It’s such a beautiful day, I felt guilty keeping her inside,” he lied.
Of course, the guests were sort of miffed about Theo’s lack of menu, about his disorganization, and about how messy his restaurant was.
But as soon as he brought food out to their tables, as soon as they’d tasted what he’d made, all their confusion fell away.
Like anyone else who’d ever tasted Theo’s food, they suddenly got his artistry. They got what he was trying to do.
“Have you considered, um,” one of the women said, wiping her mouth of sauce. “Have you considered fixing this place up a little bit?” She winced, as though she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But it was impossible to, at this point.
“It should be busier than busy!” her husband said brightly. “It should be on the cover of every magazine about Maine!”
“I don’t know about that.” Theo blushed.
He did his best to be personable, to converse with these out-of-towners in a way that would, hopefully, make them tell their friends about his restaurant.
(Of course, by the time friends of theirs came to Bluebell Cove next summer, he imagined that there wouldn’t be a restaurant for them to come to.)
All at once, after scraping their plates clean and finishing their cocktails and glasses of afternoon wine, the four tables moved on for other Bluebell Cove activities: kayaking and swimming, snacking and sunning.
They waved goodbye and sang, “See you soon, I hope!” They left Theo with dirty tables, dirty plates, and so much to do.
He was grateful for something to keep him occupied, anything that helped him to forget about Juliet.
By dinner time, it was clear that the lunch rush had been a fluke that wouldn’t repeat itself.
Theo sat at the bar, staring at a document he’d titled “business plan,” remembering that he needed to get this to Calvin Parish sooner rather than later, if he was going to stay afloat.
It stung to remember that Juliet had been hard at work reviving his branding.
She pitied him. He didn’t need her pity, nor the pity of anyone else. He needed to find the will to go on.
Just then, the bell over the door jangled.
Thinking it was an ordinary guest, Theo turned to find none other than Nellie Strong, sauntering through the door like she already owned the place.
She wore an awful smirk and threw her purse on the table nearest the big window.
“Theo Maddox,” she said, her voice delicious and sensual. “Long time no see.”
Theo got up from his stool. He was seeing red. The first and last thing he wanted to tell her was to get out of his restaurant, to leave him in peace. But something stopped him.
He was frightened of her. He was frightened of her business prowess, of her unending belief in herself. He was also embarrassed, truly, that he’d wanted to date her so badly for so long. Via text message, he’d told her things about himself and his soul that he wished he could take back.
That was the thing about dating: it put you at the mercy of someone else.
And Nellie had never wanted to protect his heart, nor his business, nor his sense of self. She was always out for herself.
Nellie sat primly at the same table where she’d thrown her purse. She folded her hands on the table and continued to smile at him. Theo felt ice in his stomach.
“Aren’t you going to give me a menu?” Nellie asked. “Or no. That’s right. You don’t have any, do you? You make things up as you go along. You do everything on the fly.” She snapped her fingers, making fun of him.
“Isn’t cooking meant to be a creative act?” Theo asked. He was parroting a conversation they’d had together back in February and March, back when he’d thought they were really connecting.
“Maybe. But these days, I’m giving myself over to the beauty of cash, money flow, you know?” Nellie said. “I’ve heard you’re trying to do the same? Some kind of business plan for the city? Some kind of loan?”
It was impossible to know how Nellie had learned about the business plan and about the potential loan.
Maybe she’d inquired about the property and been given the facts by city council: that they’d much rather give the restaurant to her, as she was a prosperous restaurateur who could fulfill their Christmas Festival expectations.
Theo could imagine Nellie and Calvin Parish, chummily laughing about him. Calling him the loser he was.
“Tell you what,” Nellie said, when Theo didn’t say anything else. “Why don’t you make me the very best dinner you possibly can? After that, we can talk about the future of this place.”
It invigorated Theo to think of showing off his skills.
Rather than ask her about her preferences, he poured her a glass of wine that he knew suited the food he’d make, and then he burrowed himself in the kitchen, turning the radio on full-blast while he worked.
For her, he made an exquisite, juicy chicken and sweet potato hash seasoned with Chilean spices, with a glaze that wrapped the whole thing in a remarkably flavorful bow.
He delivered the plate, then remained standing by her table, his arms crossed, till she took the first bite.
As far as he knew, nobody had ever attempted a spice-and-flavor combination like this before.
He knew it was going to surprise her. And the look of genuine shock on Nellie’s face as she chewed her first bite thrilled him more than anything.
But she was good. She knew to fix her face, to control her emotions.
She set down her fork and folded her fingers.
“You know you’re good, Theo. You know you’re much better than this restaurant proves you are. ”
“I know I’m good,” Theo said darkly. “I don’t need to hear that from you.”
Nellie laughed. “Why the pride, Theo? You said it yourself. You’d love to go back to manning a market stall. You’d love to return to your love of food and food alone.”
“I was feeling nostalgic, sure. But that doesn’t mean I want to go back,” Theo said.
Nellie refused to respond. She was too focused on her food, digging into the kitchen, assessing the succulence of the meat and the glaze. Often, she had her eyes closed. “It’s not a pretty plate,” she murmured, maybe to herself. “But goodness. What are these spices, Theo?”
Theo, who was now behind the bar, staring at his spreadsheet and daring himself to make a plan, just shook his head. He would not lend Nellie any of his cooking tips or tricks. Not anymore.
When Nellie finished her plate, she drank the rest of her wine, stood, and pressed her business card onto the counter between them.
She also paid in cash—trying to give him 30 percent more than he asked for.
He shook his head and tried to give the cash back, but she blew him a kiss and said, “I think you need it more than me.” Before he could say anything, she called, “I know you’ll be in touch!
” And then, she was gone, headed out to her Mercedes that glinted in the sun in the empty parking lot.
Rage and shame stirred into the perfect tornado in his stomach. The little bits of his food that he’d taste tested during cooking threatened to come up, and he poured himself a glass of water and gave himself a pep talk to calm down.
The business plan on his computer remained blank.
His spreadsheet looked dire. And he could feel Nellie, grinning to herself on her drive back to her hometown, where she already owned more restaurants than he could keep track of.
She had her eye on Bluebell because it was lucrative and one of the more vibrant tourist spots in the state.
Also, Theo guessed, she was angry with him for some reason.
Maybe she was lonelier than she let on. Maybe she’d wanted to fall in love with him, just as he’d wanted to fall in love with her.
In the absence of feeling that love, she’d decided to destroy him.
It didn’t make a great deal of sense. But, Theo reasoned, humans almost never did.
That last evening at city council, Celia had cornered him with her idea: that Juliet help him with the next phase of his restaurant, that—just as they’d done as kids—they pool their ideas and build The Dockside back up again.
She’d given Theo Juliet’s number and told him to call her.
Theo hadn’t, but that hadn’t stopped Juliet from coming by anyway.
It hadn’t stopped her from, apparently, working hard, building something for him.
But why? Why had she done that? Was it guilt about the past? Was it boredom?
Theo clicked his way through his phone to find Juliet’s number, then bit his tongue. There it was: her New York City area code, her New York City phone number, the number she’d assuredly gotten during her years of fame and fortune.
There was something different about her, he knew. Life had trodden over her in a sense, the way it had with him. Curiosity fluttered through him, a curiosity he felt too weak to ignore, and he watched himself call her. If she answered, he had no idea what he would say.
But Juliet’s phone rang and rang and rang, until Theo gave up and set the phone to the side.
He figured this was just like Juliet. She’d dipped her toe back into their friendship, if only as a game for herself.
Now that she saw he was calling her, she’d probably realized she’d “won” whatever the game was.
She was the champion, yet again. She could go back to Manhattan thinking of herself as the queen of Bluebell Cove, the queen of Theo Maddox’s emotions.
She could return to the fashion world and let Theo melt from her mind.
Theo was even more ashamed than he’d been after Nellie left.
Throwing himself into closing up the restaurant, he scrubbed the kitchen counters and listened to loud, angry rock music and sang all the lyrics at the top of his lungs.
When he didn’t remember the words, he made things up on the spot, mostly about how much he hated money and business plans and his anxious, unorganized mind.
But when he packed up his backpack and retrieved his phone from the bar, he read a message from Juliet on the screen.
JULIA: Sorry I missed your call, Theo. I tried you, but I guess you’re not around? Give me a call later, or I can come by the restaurant tomorrow. No trouble. P.S. My nose is fine, haha. But good thing my modeling days are through, huh?