Chapter 11
11
A job at the Myrtle Café wasn’t in her future.
Shoulders slumping, Emma let the door of the eatery close behind her and slowly trudged up Main Street.
Kind and empathetic as the manager had been, if there were no openings, there were no openings.
And the Myrtle was the only restaurant in town.
After passing the coffee shop where Bren had come to her rescue, Emma paused at the tempting array of truffles in the window of the adjacent business. Inhaled the intoxicating scent that wafted out the door of Chocolate Harbor behind a departing customer. Battled the temptation to go inside and indulge in a decadent treat.
But her budget had no room for such luxuries.
She kept walking.
At the corner, she hung a right and walked until the road dead-ended at Dockside Drive, stopping to take in the scene that had soothed her yesterday.
Boats bobbed in the gentle swells of the marina that was protected by a long jetty on the left and a pair of rocky islands on the right. Overflowing planters filled with vibrant flowers were spaced along the sidewalk above the sloping pile of boulders that led down to the water. Inviting benches offered a view of the harbor, and the horizon beckoned. On the other side of the street, charming storefronts faced the sea, adorned with awnings and brimming flower boxes.
And at the end of the wide, two-block-long street that dead-ended at a river, the food trailer Bren had told her was home to Charley’s tacos was parked beside a pocket park with a white gazebo.
It was picture-perfect.
Too bad she couldn’t say the same about her life.
As that depressing thought settled over her like a dark, sun-snuffing cloud, Emma gritted her teeth. Straightened her posture.
An attitude adjustment was in order.
The Myrtle might not be hiring, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other jobs in town. She’d just have to expand her horizons. Maybe the Gull Motel had an opening for a housecleaner. Or perhaps the inn she’d seen a sign for as she drove into town could use another pair of hands. There might be a shop in town that needed a clerk.
All wasn’t yet lost.
She trekked down the street, reading the signs as she went.
A law firm, a newspaper office, and a bait and tackle shop were in the mix, but none of the businesses sounded promising for someone with her limited skill set and experience.
At the corner, she stopped as the heavenly aroma from the taco stand across the street tickled her nose and set off a growl in her stomach.
She studied it from a distance, lower lip caught between her teeth.
It would be a thoughtful gesture to provide lunch for Bren today, after all the woman had done for her. A restaurant meal was out of the question, but how much could two orders of tacos set her back? And Bren wouldn’t have to feed her tonight if they had a hearty lunch. The way she’d hunkered down over that pile of wedding invitations as soon as she’d gotten back from her run this morning suggested she’d be hard at it most of the day.
Another whiff of the savory aroma swirled by, and her salivary glands vaulted into overdrive.
Decision made.
Emma crossed the street and strode toward the stand.
As she approached, the customers at the serving window took their order from the guy with a long gray ponytail who was inside, then ambled down the waterfront.
“Good afternoon. Or should I say morning?” The taco man flashed her a welcoming smile, the weathered skin beside his eyes crinkling. “Sometimes the two blend together when you don’t wear a watch.”
“It’s afternoon. Barely.”
“An ideal time for tacos. One order?”
“Um ...” She gave the area around the window a discreet perusal, but there didn’t seem to be a menu—or prices—displayed. “Are there, uh, different size orders?”
“No. One size fits all at Charley’s. The fish of the day is sturgeon, and there are three tacos per order.”
“Do you, um, take credit cards? I don’t carry much cash.”
“No. There’s too much plastic in the world as it is.” He pointed to a Cash Only sign tucked into the far corner of the window.
She’d have to ask outright about the price.
“How much is an order?”
“That depends.”
She gave him a wary look. “On what?”
“On whether you’re Emma.”
Her suspicion meter spiked, a tingle of unease zipping up her spine. How could this man know her name? “Uh ...”
His smile broadened. “I ran into Bren this morning. She told me she had a houseguest who was dealing with a car problem. You fit the description she gave me.”
Oh.
Her pulse slowed, and she exhaled. “Yes. I’m Emma.”
“In that case, your order is on the house.”
What?
“Why would you give me free tacos?”
“First order for newcomers is always complimentary. It’s my way of saying welcome to Hope Harbor.”
“But I don’t live here. I mean, I’m looking for a job, but so far that hasn’t worked out. I was hoping the Myrtle would have an opening, but they don’t.”
He began pulling fish fillets out of the cooler beside him. “Did you want more than one order?”
“Yes.” If hers was free, she could definitely treat Bren. “Two. I’m taking lunch home for Bren.”
“She’ll like that.” He set several fillets on the grill and began chopping an avocado. “There may be other job options in town. We have quite a few businesses here.”
“All I have is a high school diploma, though.”
“Not every job requires higher formal education. Sometimes experience makes up for a lack of academic credentials.” He reached for a jar on the shelf by the grill and sprinkled the fillets with whatever was inside.
“I don’t have much experience, either. My only job was with my stepfather’s grocery chain.”
“There’s a market up near 101. They may need some help.” He set half a dozen corn tortillas on the grill and flipped the fish. “There’s a gift shop and a bookstore and a florist in town too ... and lots of other places to try.”
“I guess I’ll wander through street by street.” What else did she have to do while she waited for her car to be repaired? Worst case, she’d try Coos Bay up the coast once she had her wheels back. There would probably be more possibilities in a bigger town. And she could always sleep in her car again if necessary until she had enough money saved to rent a small apartment. There were rest stops scattered along 101 where overnight parking was allowed.
Charley chopped up a handful of red onions and tossed them onto the griddle next to the grill. “Can’t hurt. And I have a feeling it will pay off.”
“I hope so.” She pulled out her wallet as he began assembling the tacos.
“Have you visited Sweet Dreams Bakery yet?”
“No.” If there was a bakery in town, perhaps they were hiring. “Where is it?”
He motioned across the street. “You’re almost there. They’re famous in these parts for their cinnamon rolls, but if you want to pick up dessert to go with the tacos, Bren is partial to their brownies.”
Shading her eyes, she shifted sideways to examine the shop. If she’d walked to Charley’s on that side of the street, she would have passed by the small storefront.
Very small.
What were the odds they’d be hiring?
“Do many people work there?”
“No.” Charley began wrapping the tacos in white butcher paper. “It’s a mom-and-pop operation. Alice handles the front of the store and Joe does all the baking. On the rare occasion Alice is out, she finds someone to fill in behind the case. But she and Joe shut down when they go on vacation. Two weeks every year, in October, to visit their daughter and her family in Idaho. Like clockwork.”
The odds they were hiring dropped from slim to minuscule.
But she could spring for a brownie if Bren liked them.
“I’ll stop in before I go back to the cottage.”
“You won’t regret it.” He slid the last taco into a brown bag and set it on the counter.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Reduced rate today. I was getting ready to close down and go to my studio, so I’m glad I was able to use the last of my sturgeon. Otherwise, it would have gone to waste.”
The price he quoted seemed super low, but why question her good fortune?
She pulled out a bill and passed it over the counter. “I can’t wait to try these. Bren says they’re amazing.”
“What a wonderful compliment.” He flashed her a smile. “Please thank her for me.”
“I will. And now it’s off to Sweet Dreams for me.”
“Indeed.” After giving her a wave, he began rolling down the cover on the serving window.
She picked up the bag and started toward the bakery.
The closer she got, the more certain she was that a job query there would be a dead end. The shop was super small, the awning had faded, and the lettering in the front window needed sprucing up.
It didn’t look like the kind of place that had the budget for extra help.
One step inside confirmed that conclusion.
The bakery counter and display case were on the left, and there was room for no more than a double row of customers on the right. A couple of ice cream chairs and a tiny table were squeezed into the back corner. The walls were painted a dull beige, and the offerings in the case were limited. Nothing like the elaborate treats she’d dealt with in the upscale bakery for her stepfather’s small chain of high-end markets.
“Afternoon.” A woman with a cheery demeanor came out of the back room. “Welcome to Sweet Dreams. What can I get for you?”
Emma pointed to the display of generously sized brownies that was front and center. “One of those, please.”
“Smart choice. They’re our second-best seller, next to the cinnamon rolls. But those are gone for the day, as usual.” She took a brownie from the tray with a square of white bakery paper and slid it into a bag. “Anything else?”
“Not from the case, but I was wondering ...” Emma swallowed. “Are you by chance in need of any help in the store? I’m looking for a job.”
“I wish.” The woman rolled her eyes as she rang up the purchase. “Much as I’d like to have more free time, we’ve always run a lean ship here. Helps keep us in the black.”
“I understand.” Emma paid for the purchase. “I don’t suppose there are any other bakeries around, are there?”
“No, but there are a couple up in Bandon. Have you had experience in a bakery?”
“Yes. I worked in one for four years at an upscale grocery store, helping the baker. He trained in France, and he taught me a lot.”
“France.” The woman’s eyebrows rose. “That’s impressive. Do you know how to make French pastries?”
“Yes. He did most of the baking, but I filled in for him while he was on vacation this spring.”
“I told Joe years ago that we should upgrade, add a few fancier items to our case, but he was content with the tried and true. Not that he was qualified to make French pastries, of course. The closest we ever got to France was Paris, Missouri, years ago, to visit an aunt.” She chuckled, then grew more serious. “But I wish we could tap into your skills. You might add some pizazz to our humble little shop.”
Emma forced up the corners of her mouth. “It sounds like you’re doing fine the way you are. I hear your cinnamon rolls are legendary.”
“To tell you the truth, those and the brownies are what keep us in business. People are crazy about them. I suggested to Joe last year that maybe we should concentrate on those two items, but he said that would be too boring. And since he’s the baker, he calls the shots in the back room. We did cut back a bit on the variety, though.” The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Alice, by the way.”
Emma took her fingers and introduced herself.
“You new in town, honey?”
“Yes. My car broke down here. I only intended to stay as long as it took to fix it, but I like the town.”
“Couldn’t find a nicer place to live.” Alice tipped her head. “You’re the one Bren took in, aren’t you?”
Good grief.
Did everyone in this town know everybody else’s business?
“Yes.”
“Fine young woman. You were lucky to cross paths with her.”
“Trust me, I know.” She picked up the bag. “Thanks for the brownie.”
“You’re welcome. And for the record, if we had the budget, I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”
“I appreciate that. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
She retraced her steps to the door and pushed through but came to a halt when a raindrop plopped onto her nose.
A quick scan of the sky revealed dark clouds surging in, blotting out the blue that had dominated the expanse earlier.
The weather here was as mercurial as Nebraska’s winter storms, when snow could change to ice in the blink of an eye—and vice versa.
But water was much easier to deal with than either of those.
As she headed toward Bren’s cottage, the rain intensifying with each step, Emma picked up her pace.
She’d share her job-search strikeouts with her hostess over lunch to make it clear she was actively seeking employment, then hit the streets again this afternoon. Someone in this town must need help with something .
And until she turned over every stone and knocked on the door of every business that offered a reasonable potential for employment, she wasn’t giving up.
Because the notion of staying in this town that had welcomed her with coffee, lodging, tacos, and kindness was becoming more appealing with every hour that passed.