5. Gia
5
Gia
“So, everything was going fine, right? We’d been on five dates, and I was like… I can really see being with this guy for a long time,” Abigail says as she slices cherry tomatoes in half. “But then we were out a couple of weeks ago, window shopping downtown, and there was a girl walking around with a purse dog. You know. I’m sure you have a lot of those in L.A.”
I laugh and lean on the kitchen island across from her. “Trust me, that’s an entire breed of dog in L.A.”
“Right!” Abigail says, gesticulating with her knife in a way that makes my nerves stand on end. “Like it’s cute! But Kyle was all like, ‘Women who are obsessed with their dogs are such a red flag.’”
“Oh no .”
“And look, it doesn’t take a lot for me to get the ick,” Abigail says, leaning her head to the side, her long blonde ponytail hanging down like a waterfall. “I’ve been around the block. I know every ick in the book. And I used to try and push through them, think something is wrong with me, but?— ”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Exactly. It just was a gut feeling. So I asked him, what’s wrong with a girl who loves her dog? Like that should show a guy she’s nurturing and loving and compassionate. And you know what he said?”
“I don’t know, but I feel queasy.”
Abigail sticks her knife into the wooden cutting board, so it stands up like a monument. “‘Girls like that will always choose their dog over you.’”
“Ew.”
“Ew, exactly. So I’m sensing some deep-seated trauma, and I ask if that happened to him. And, ding ding ding! He’s got doggie baggage.”
I laugh.
“Apparently, he told his ex, ‘It’s me or the dog.’ And shocker ? — ”
“She chose the dog.”
Abigail picks up a whole cherry tomato. “As she should,” she says, then pops the tomato into her mouth.
I groan. “Abs, I’m sorry, I thought this guy was a good one.”
“Yeah, no.” She sighs heavily. “I don’t do people who do ultimatums. And I don’t do smokers. Or boys who don’t know how to do laundry. Or cook for themselves. Did I tell you about the guy who thought because I’m a chef, I would cook for him all the?—”
“Yeah, I remember that one…” Along with every other one of Abigail’s failed ventures in romance.
“Dating shouldn’t be this hard!” she exclaims. “But it is. But it shouldn’t be!”
I smile sympathetically at my friend. Abigail and I became thick as thieves when my parents hired her. Every visit to Blue Flag includes a lot of time right here in the kitchen, talking about life and love and everything in between.
There’s nothing I want more for her than a happy relationship. “You deserve the best, Abigail. Don’t settle.”
“All the good ones are taken,” she says, grabbing another cherry tomato and bringing it up to her mouth. She pauses. “Except…”
“Mr. Buff Bodyguard,” she says with a grin, nodding toward the kitchen door. I introduced the two of them earlier, and Abigail’s jaw nearly unhinged. “He’s gorgeous. Where have you been hiding him?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Not hiding, just…” Thanks to his dislike of our hometown, Kade has never accompanied me on my trips to Blue Flag. Every visit I’ve made has been an official vacation for Bryn and him. In the past, I’ve hired a temporary bodyguard for my trips. Luckily, Blue Flag is quiet, and people, for the most part, are respectful and keep their distance. “Why? Are you interested?”
“I mean, yeah, but I don’t think he’ll care about me when you’re standing here.”
I shake my head, though something like hope bursts inside me. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Why? He literally can’t take his eyes off of you.”
“Uh, yeah, you’re right. He literally can’t because he’s paid to look at me.”
Abigail smirks. “That’s not what a bodyguard does, and you know it.”
“I suppose there’s something to that. But we grew up together. Bryn was my tutor for math class, and she and I became good friends, and then Kade and I…”
I can’t say we’re friends because that feels unjust. Friends don’t look at their friends the way I look at Kade. And if I’m totally honest, it’s a feeling I’ve had since the beginning. He was the handsome jock; I was the weird band kid. We never spoke, but when my parents hired Bryn to help me with math, we started crossing paths, and then we became friends. Sort of. His being nice to me surprised me since I knew all his friends whispered about me when I passed them in the halls.
We’re close, but I don’t think we’ve ever been ‘good friends’ per se. The label eludes me.
“Oh my gosh, you’re secretly dating,” Abigail says, her eyes shooting wide.
“What?! No! I didn’t say that!” I reply defensively.
“Then what was with the—” Abigail lifts her hands and lets silence linger in the air. “The dot-dot-dot, what was with the dot-dot-dot?”
I laugh. “I just—he’s my friend too.”
“Okay, but you’re totally lying!”
“I’m not lying, I’m—” I scrape my fingernails through my hair in frustration. “Look, I need you to not act weird or scream or anything like that, but?—”
Abigail squeals and rounds the island toward me. “Secrets, secrets, tell me, tell me!”
I blush and glance toward the kitchen door. Right outside is the common area. I know the kitchen isn’t soundproof. If someone really tried to listen to our conversation, they could. “I have a crush.”
“Of course you do, he’s chef’s kiss! And I should know. I’m the chef!”
I try to laugh, but it comes out strained and ugly. “I haven’t said this aloud to anybody.”
“Um, why wouldn’t you go for it? You’re gorgeous and talented and?—”
“He’s my best friend’s brother, for one. And for another, he works for me. Two conflicts of interest. ”
Abigail scoffs. “I feel like those ought to cancel each other out.”
A hissing sound comes from the stove. Abigail leaps to attention and rushes to attend to a pot that’s boiled over, cursing under her breath to herself. I give her a moment to get things back under control before going to her side. “Well, they don’t. I could ruin a lot if I crossed the line. And besides… he’s so serious and measured. I think he thinks I’m too much.”
“Oh, please, that’s ridiculous. He works for you! He’s known you since you were a kid.”
“So? That doesn’t make a love match.” Did I really just say the word love in relation to Kade Bennett?
Abigail returns to the cutting board of cherry tomatoes and pours them into the big salad bowl. Then, she moves to make a dressing, looking like a mad scientist, as she collects different bottles from the cabinets and pours them into a mixing bowl. All the while, she speaks clearly without missing a beat. “I think people who know us from that time in our lives want to protect us. They want to see us happy. Don’t you think Kade wants that for you?”
“Yes, of course, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be a part of that.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Abigail looks directly at me as she pours the dressing over the salad. “Fine. I’ll drop the subject for now, but don’t think for a second that I’m done with it. Now, help me plate.”
When I’m home, I always try to help out the way I did as a kid. The Lantern Inn used to be a family operation—as in me, my mom, and dad. They did everything, worked themselves to the bone keeping this place open because it was their dream. They’re the reason I’ve been as successful as I am. Not just because of their support but because I had amazing role models in never surrendering your dreams.
Dinner service is my favorite way to help out. I love getting to know the guests, especially because a lot of them don’t even know who I am. I’m not so egotistical that I think everyone in the world knows who I am, but it’s difficult to walk through life and just be normal anymore.
The Lantern is my home—it always has been—and I’m glad normalcy hasn’t been taken away from me.
“Coconut panna cotta for dessert,” I say as I put a dish in front of Harriet and Harold, an older couple spending the days leading up to Christmas with us before visiting their daughter’s family in New York City. The two of them recognized me because their granddaughter is a fan. I’ve had some merch expedited so I can give it to them before they leave.
“Wow, this looks like something they’d make on… what’s that show, Harold?” Harriet asks, pinching her eyes through her glasses.
“ Top Chef !” Harold replies.
“No! The one with Gordon!”
I smile. “Gordon Ramsay?”
“Yes, oh, he’s dreamy in a scary way,” Harriet says. “Tell Chef Abigail this is just like something Gordon Ramsay would make.”
I nod. “Will do.” I hate lying to guests, but I know Abigail disdains cooking shows.
I move onto the next table, a singular man with light brown skin. He’s been reading all through dinner. When I peered over his shoulder to get a look at the book, I realized it was written in a language I couldn’t identify with just a glance. I’ve been meaning to ask him about it but didn’t want to interrupt his solitude.
Now, though, as I set the plate down in front of him, he smiles and shuts his book. “What is this?” he asks, his voice tinged with an accent that, again, I can’t identify.
“Coconut panna cotta.”
He lifts his spoon. “No coconuts in New York,” he says through a chuckle.
“No, unfortunately not,” I reply. “Um, do you mind if I ask what language you’re reading? I’m not familiar with it.”
The man perks up and explains that he’s teaching himself the art of Lontara, a writing system used in Indonesia, where the man is originally from. However, he only lived there for a short time after he was born, before his South African father took him and his mother to live in Cape Town. That’s why his accent was so hard to distinguish. South Africa is a lovechild of British and Australian with some of its own hiccups.
“That’s amazing. Thank you for sharing with me. I hope I didn’t offend you by asking.”
“Not at all!” he beams. “It is nice to be asked. By the way, I’m Ahmad.”
I like introducing myself. It’s a strange novelty these days. “I’m Gia. And I’d love to stay and talk, but I’ve got a few more desserts to deliver.”
His eyes widen as he remembers the coconut panna cotta in front of him. “Oh, yes! We’ll chat later.”
I smile to myself as I move on to the final two tables that have converged into one. At the top of dinner service, Bryn and Kade were sitting together, and a buff dude was sitting alone by the window. Now, the guy has pulled his seat up next to Bryn and Kade’s table, and… he and Kade ar e talking animatedly. That’s a rare sight for Kade, at least with strangers.
“Making fast friends, I see,” I say as I approach the table with three plates balanced in my arms. In another life, I could have worked in a diner.
Bryn looks at me with a smile. “Andrew is a SEAL.”
My eyes shoot to the guest. I should have seen it, what with all the muscles and the cropped haircut. But it’s the silver chain around his neck that does the trick.
“Kade spotted his dog tags,” Bryn says, gesturing toward the tag shapes embossed with letters and numbers.
Andrew laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Had it tucked into my shirt, too. He just saw the chain.”
“He’s also a Mets fan,” Kade grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.
I laugh. “Oh no, Andrew, you may have made an enemy. No one’s a bigger Yankees fan than Kade.”
Andrew grins. “I like to think of it as a friendly rivalry.”
I glance at Kade, who has gone a bit red in the cheeks and smile to myself. Kade doesn’t talk about that part of his life too often. On one hand, I think it’s hard to talk about, given the way things ended with an honorable discharge thanks to a nearly life-altering back injury. And on the other hand, I’m sure there’s a lot Bryn and I just don’t and won’t ever understand. It’s a whole other world, life in the military.
“Well, thank you for your service,” I say as I set down the plates. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.”
“More than you’d think,” Bryn says, leaning on her elbow and looking exhausted by the conversation.
I bump her with my hip. “Don’t be rude.” I turn my attention back to Andrew. “Are you headed home for the holiday or?— ”
“My girlfriend is stationed at Fort Drum, and I have a temporary leave. We’re meeting here for the couple of days we have a crossover since it’s closer than heading home to our families,” he says.
“That’s so sweet,” I reply. And I mean it, even if I’m split with a bit of jealousy. I miss having a someone . Although I know that I’d rather be on my own than have Mars as my someone after everything.
“Yeah, she’s going to flip when she sees you,” Andrew says. “She’s a big fan.”
“Oh, you’re too kind.”
Andrew picks up his spoon and gestures toward me with it. “And humble, too. Working while you’re home, I mean, that’s admirable. I would have assumed you’re a diva, if I’m honest.”
“She can be,” Kade says as he delicately dips his spoon into his panna cotta.
Andrew laughs like it’s a joke. I’m not sure it is, though.
I open my mouth to respond but pause. He’s upset with me about making him come to Blue Flag. That’s… fair. I don’t like that he’s upset with me, not at all. In fact, it aches more than I know what to do with. But it’s fair. “Okay, well, I’ll let you get on with it. Don’t want to be a diva and steal the spotlight.”
Andrew claps Kade on the shoulder. “Kade was just telling me about Operation Deep Shadow. I mean, that story is a legend around my platoon.”
I would love to hear about Operation Deep Shadow. I’ve never heard any of Kade’s military stories outside of his accident or stories about his buddies who are still on active duty. Sometimes, I forget that he hasn’t always been a bodyguard.
But my presence isn’t welcome now. I’ll leave them to it. Hopefully, sooner than later, he’ll soften to me again, and I can ask. I’d like to be an ear for all his stories. “Sounds spooky,” I say with a shimmy of my shoulders.
Seriously, Gia?
“Um. Anyway. Coconut panna cotta. Enjoy.”
I hurry back to the kitchen without looking back.
Abigail looks up from the dish she’s cleaning and raises an eyebrow. “What happened out there?”
I lean against the kitchen door with a heavy sigh. “Friendly fire.”