Chapter 14 Now #2
He sees me as he’s shaking hands with a man wearing a GREETINGS FROM ASBURY PARK, N.J. T-shirt. I wave … and get a curt head nod in reply. He doesn’t smile, and the look in his eyes tells me: A) he wasn’t expecting to see me here; and B) he’s not necessarily thrilled by the surprise.
In the shuffle of greetings and another round of drinks we lose track of Theo and Andre, and Maren and I somehow wind up in a conversation about British versus American humor with our high school PE teacher and his wife.
I keep an eye on Bubba and Sebastian in my periphery, watching for an opportunity to say hello, but they never quite make it to our region of the dining room.
I vacillate between thinking this is intentional and thinking that I’ve really lost it.
Bubba finally spots us a little while later, at the dessert table. She pulls me into a hug, and I breathe in her familiar scent: rose perfume and coconut shampoo.
“Happy birthday, Bubba,” I say as I pull away. “You might remember my friend Maren Murphy?”
“Of course. Your other half!” She hugs Maren, too. “Your parents still come in for dinner. They told me all about your fancy London job. They’re so proud of you.”
“This has always been their favorite place in town,” Maren says. “They’re going to miss it terribly.”
I feel a pang in my chest. At the end of this summer, Bubba’s will be gone, a Diamond Group restaurant in its place.
The food will probably be more impressive—or at least more complicated—and the prices will almost certainly go up.
But the biggest change, I realize as I look around this room, will be the absence of Bubba herself.
She not only remembers her regular customers’ orders, but also their stories.
When I worked in the dining room I remember her frequently making rounds, catching up on everyone’s news.
She always remembered whose son or daughter was about to get married or have a baby, and who was one month closer to retirement or finally planning a bucket-list trip.
Without her at the restaurant, who will keep tabs on what becomes of us?
Who will track our milestones and report on our accomplishments big and small?
I mean to ask Bubba if she knows where Sebastian went, but by the time I quiet my thoughts she’s being whisked away again.
“He’s avoiding us,” Maren says, offering me a spoonful of her gelato. I accept and follow her gaze to the open kitchen door, through which I see Sebastian, hunched over a prep table while scrolling on his phone.
“Glad I’m not imagining it,” I say. “What I can’t really understand is, why?”
Maren takes the spoon back and taps it against her lips, thinking.
“Maybe this is all just a lot for him. His mom being sick. Selling the restaurant. It’s a lot of change.
I’m sure a night like this makes it hard to ignore all that.
And he definitely can’t ignore it while talking to you.
” She points the spoon at me. “You know him.”
“I used to know him,” I correct. “He’s different now.”
“I don’t know, Leens. People change, but not as much as you think.”
Theo and Andre wave us over when Theo’s wife and daughter arrive a few minutes later, and we spend the next hour taking turns chasing little Esther around and asking way too many questions about what life with a toddler is like.
Maren and I are well into appropriate child-rearing age, yet neither of us can imagine taking care of anyone but ourselves.
Hana jokes that she’ll happily let us watch Esther for an hour or five for research purposes.
At one point Sebastian’s eyes catch mine again, and he immediately diverts his gaze, as if even his vision doesn’t want to risk touching me with a ten-foot pole.
I must look as disappointed as I feel, because Maren steps closer to me, lowering her voice. “Hey. He’s being a total jerk, but don’t let that make you regret coming here tonight. It isn’t a waste.”
She nods toward the bustling dining room.
I know she’s right. Even if I don’t get the answers for my column—even if I never see Sebastian Nikolaou again—I know that this night won’t have been for nothing.
I’ve missed this place, these people. Not just Bubba and Omar, but all the regulars who still know me by name.
When Hana and I exchanged numbers, she said she couldn’t believe someone Theo had grown up with was living nearby all these years and they’d never run into me.
Brantley Beach is a relatively small town, but I’ve been so busy working and avoiding the past that, clearly, I’ve missed out on a lot.
When Theo and Hana announce they’re leaving, I assume Maren and I will be close behind.
Across the room I see the windows have darkened, and guests have started saying their goodbyes.
The night is coming to an end. That Sebastian still didn’t materialize even when Maren and I spent half the night with his closest friends confirms that I was right: He has no interest in being friends with me—or even civil acquaintances.
He and Claire got what they needed from me and that was that.
I leave Maren to what I hope will be a brief final conversation with Andre about the state of menswear and take myself to the restroom.
The door to the snack bar swings open right as I’m passing it, and I crash into a hard body.
Thankfully I don’t hit the floor this time, but the stack of papers Sebastian was holding does, the pages fanning out at our feet.
“Dumb door,” I mutter.
“You all right?” Sebastian asks, bracing my shoulders to make sure. The feeling of his hands on my skin is more jarring than the collision.
“Fine.” We both bend down to pick up the papers, and I force myself to look him in those obnoxiously beautiful eyes.
They look … tired. My anger briefly shifts to worry, but I shift it right back.
He’s not mine to worry about.
We rise, and I hand him the stack I collected.
“What are these?” I ask. There’s some sort of drawing on the top page.
He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s debating whether he wants to tell me or not. But he ultimately nods toward the snack bar entrance. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
The snack bar looks exactly the same as it always has—cramped, chrome and outdated—so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at. Sebastian leans back against one of the steel counters, then pulls himself up onto it in one effortless motion.
“Take a look,” he says, offering me the papers.
Upon closer inspection I realize the drawing is a detailed pencil sketch with a layout that roughly resembles that of the room we’re standing in, though everything else about it is different.
The ancient ice cream maker and other unsightly equipment have been replaced with sleek, updated appliances: an espresso machine with dozens of knobs and attachments, a juicer, a built-in dishwasher (luxury!).
The customer window has been reimagined as a café counter with taps for drinks on draft and a row of barstools on the other side.
The pastry case, previously hidden in the back corner, has been moved to the front near the register, the basic bagels typically inside replaced by glazed scones and cinnamon rolls.
I shuffle to the next page, which turns out to be a menu for “Bubba’s Café.
” I smile as I read through. There are all of the usual modern café drinks—single-origin coffees, cold brew (hence the taps), lattes and cappuccinos and flat whites with various flavor options—and below that some quirky breakfast and lunch items. Better Than Your Packed Sandwich is a mix of almond and apple butters with sliced bananas and local honey on a cinnamon raisin loaf.
The Snack Bar Sampler is a shareable option consisting of sliders, housemade pigs in a blanket, truffle fries and onion rings with a side of spicy ketchup.
I look up at Sebastian, who I realize has been staring at me.
“This is amazing,” I say. “You came up with all of this?”
He nods once. For maybe the first time in his entire beautiful existence, Sebastian Nikolaou looks shy.
“When?” I ask.
“It’s something I’ve always worked on in my downtime. I think I first got the idea in high school.”
“You never told me.”
“I never told anyone.” He gestures to the sketch.
“At first it was just about upgrading what’s always been here—a layout that’s easier to navigate, more modern equipment.
But then in college my work study was at the campus coffee shop, which was honestly a pretty legit place.
I loved learning how to make all the drinks, what the differences were between lattes and flat whites and cappuccinos and cortados.
That’s when I started playing around with menu ideas.
And my current job is all about vendor logistics and efficiencies, so I have a pretty good sense of that part of the business, too. ”
“It’s a good idea,” I say, and I mean it. “Smart. With all the tourists coming in from the city, the boardwalk could use an elevated option. And to be honest, I think locals are craving something like this, too, especially the younger ones. All we really have in town are the chains.”
“Or the bagel shops,” Sebastian says. “Where the coffee is very much an afterthought.”
I drop my jaw. I’m very defensive of our bagel scene. “Sure—but there is something about a pork roll, egg and cheese with a vaguely burnt drip coffee on the side. And if it comes in a paper cup with a peel-back lid …” I press my pinched fingers to my lips: chef’s kiss.
“To each their own,” he says, sounding amused. “The thing is, there’s plenty of good coffee and espresso up and down the Shore. Offshore in Long Branch—”
“Booskerdoo in Asbury,” I jump in. “Coffee Corral in Red Bank.”
“Rook,” he supplies.
“Obviously—there’s one in almost every town now.”