Chapter 4
“She left,” David yelled from the kitchen.
“Mhm,” Porter answered, well aware of what was coming.
David walked into the little office, which was still a mess of boxes and papers. Porter’s desk was a meticulously neat spot among the clutter.
He leaned against the door frame.
Porter glanced up from under his glasses. “What?”
“Fiona’s pretty.”
“Hadn’t noticed,” Porter answered, suddenly intensely focused on their inventory list.
“Liar,” David told him, before walking back to the kitchen.
Porter rolled his eyes. If it wasn’t David trying to set him up with someone, it was his friend Jen, or worse, his mother.
Porter opened the spreadsheet on his computer where he organized all the hiring information they’d collected. They had their kitchen staff hired, thanks to David’s connections. But the front of house staff was a little shakier. They needed three more servers, and they had to be good. Training would be starting in a few weeks, and so far they weren’t having much luck.
Porter ran a hand through his hair, forgetting Fiona had just cut and styled it. He didn’t usually take the time to style his hair, but he had to admit it looked good. He’d chosen Norm’s that day for convenience, but he was pleased with how his haircut turned out. He would need to book an appointment for right before the restaurant’s opening. He wondered if he could request Fiona again next time.
Porter blew out a breath, pulling his attention back to work. He pulled up the master list outlining everything they needed to do before they could open.
They’d spent months getting all the required licensing and permits, securing the location, fixing it up with the contractors, ordering appliances and hiring staff. David’s wife, Kim, owned an antique shop in town, and she’d been a huge help in pulling together furniture and decor.
The logo, website and menu design had come together beautifully, thanks to Porter’s friend and former roommate in New York.
The idea that they were coming to the end of this list was nearly impossible for Porter to grasp. It seemed insurmountable at first, but thanks to his friends in the industry, he felt confident that they could pull this off.
David stepped back in the office.
“I’m heading out, need me to do anything else?”
“No,” Porter told him, shaking his head. “Thank Kim for delivering those plates today, okay?”
“Will do,” David said, hitting the doorframe as he went. “Don’t stay here all night,” he yelled over his shoulder.
David and Porter had grown up more like brothers than cousins. Porter’s father had been a surgeon, and was around so rarely that he and his mother spent many of their weekends and evenings at David’s house. Their mothers were sisters, and they had their sons only two months apart. David’s father owned a grocery store, so David had spent most of his life working in the food service industry.
Uncle Joe. Porter smiled. He was so proud of them for what they were creating. He’d been more of a father to Porter than his own dad had ever been.
Porter glanced at the clock, deciding it was probably time to call it a night. His mother would wait up for him if he was late.
He packed up, turned off the lights, and got in his car to drive the five minutes to his mom’s apartment. She’d been adamant about living in the historic district, and Porter could understand why.
At night, the streets of Savannah had a spooky romance about them. The spanish moss hung from above like specters, and old mansions stood guard over the squares. There was a darkness and a beauty here, Porter thought, and it had drawn him in almost immediately.
Porter parked on the street and got out. His mother had found a condo on Oglethorpe across from the Colonial Park Cemetery. That had been a selling point for her. She loved the history, the forlorn beauty of it. But frankly, it gave Porter the creeps.
Porter and his mother were a team. They always had been.
Martha Dawson was a fighter. She fought for a baby. She fought for her marriage. She fought for a career when her husband insisted otherwise. As soon as his father died, it was like another part of Martha came alive. She sold her floral shop and moved to Savannah to be close to her sister.
Porter had visited from New York to help her move in and get settled, and he felt it then; the unmistakable feeling of home.
He moved into the guest bedroom of his mother’s apartment and worked any odd job he could in the best restaurants in the city.
Savannah, dripping in Southern romance, knew food and hospitality. Porter was blown away by the quality of restaurants here. He was intimidated to start one of his own, but urged on by his mother, he started drawing up plans and looking for the right spot. And now, it was all coming together.
Porter let himself inside the condo quietly so he wouldn’t disturb her, but there was no need: his mother was wide awake, a reality show on the TV and a plate of cookies on her lap.
“Hello, baby,” his mom called out.
“Hi, mama,” Porter said. He set down his water bottle and keys and left his shoes by the front door. “What’d you do today?” he asked, joining her on the couch.
“Well,” she said, offering him a cookie, “Mary and I had breakfast at the new place on Bull Street this morning. Then we did our walk in the park. She had to get to the hospital after that, so I stopped by Louise’s to help out.”
Porter’s aunt Mary still worked as a nurse, and his mother had sold her flower shop just a year before. She worked at a local florist now, content to put together arrangements part-time.
“Nice haircut,” she said approvingly. “Did you go to Norm’s?”
He nodded. “They were able to get me in this afternoon.”
“Good,” she said, turning her attention back to the TV. Porter sat and watched with her for a while, enjoying her commentary about the women on the show. But it struck him as odd that he wanted to tell her about Fiona. He knew better than to mention a woman to his mother. On more than one occasion, he’d found himself accidentally on dates that she had orchestrated.
After his mother went to bed, Porter stayed up to shower and eat a late dinner of leftovers. The apartment was small but cozy, with modern updates throughout. The french doors in the living room opened to a pretty brick courtyard that he knew his mother would cover with pots of flowers in the coming months.
Porter’s room was small, with just enough space for his bed, a desk and his old dresser. He’d moved in here to help his mom get settled, and to save money while he got the restaurant up and running.
He knew he’d have to move out soon. It would be awhile before the business turned a profit, but he had the money his father left him if he needed it.
The problem was, he thought as he changed his clothes and climbed into bed, that he didn’t want to use it.
His father had been a surgeon, and he’d left a small fortune to Porter and his mother when he passed. Porter was 22 when it happened. At the funeral, it felt like he was saying goodbye to a stranger. His parents had stayed married until the end, but everyone was aware of George Dawson’s infidelity.
Porter pressed a hand to his forehead, where the tension collected throughout the day. At night, when he was forced to be still, Porter felt the pressure he was under. He wanted to build something of his own, something he was proud of. Something he knew damn well his father would have disapproved of.
No matter now, Porter thought. The old man was gone. He and his mom would be just fine without him, like they always had been. With that vindication in his head, he fell asleep.