Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“ I ’m pretty sure he can find his way around. Besides, these lobster claws won’t break down themselves,” I said, gesturing to the pile in front of me.
“Steve will take over,” she said with a smile wider than I’d ever seen. I looked between Mom and Jared, not trying to hide my disdain.
“Um, I’m pretty sure Mr. Wallace would like to enjoy the Food Fest solo,” I said.
“I wouldn’t mind a tour guide,” he said, leaving me without a clue how to respond. Of course, my unhealthy brain chalked it up his eagerness to either politeness or some sort of plotting.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Give me a minute to clean up.” I glared at my mom as I turned and walked out the back of the booth, but she ignored me, already picking up a conversation with Jared Wallace.
Inside the restaurant, I pulled off my gloves and scrubbed my hands under scaldi ng water before taking off my apron and jacket. I pulled my long, brown hair out of the bun and tossed it around until it laid mostly flat with a cute beachy wave. I fixed my mascara before assessing myself in the mirror. I would have put in more effort if I had known this was where the night was headed. But it would have to do.
I hurried back out to find Jared laughing effortlessly at something my mom said. She looked happier than she did in the wedding pictures with my father, which only made my rage burn brighter. The audacity of this man to show up to the Food Fest and effortlessly charm everyone. I didn’t trust him even a little. There was no way a guy from the Wallace family was just enjoying the atmosphere.
I stood to the side of the booth, not sure if I should interrupt or not. Jared saw me and turned his thousand-watt smile in my direction causing a brief short circuit before I remembered that I hated him.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep,” I said. He held out his elbow like some strange Victorian gentleman. “Alright, I guess we are doing this,” I said as I put my arm through his, but I made sure my face let everyone around us know exactly what I thought it all. The action brought me incredible close. My shoulder brushed against his bicep, and my hip pressed against his. The heat from our unexpected contract moved through my body, ending with my cheeks that were definitely bright red.
“Where to first?” he asked.
“You know, I have no idea. I’ve never actually had an opportuni ty to walk through Food Fest. I’ve always been working,” I said.
“I guess I should be the tour guide then.”
“Have you been to the Food Fest before?” I asked. We walked slowly, aimlessly following the flow of the crowd.
“Of course,” he said. “See, over there is the convention of the Hawaiian shirt dads.” He pointed to a cluster of middle-aged men who were, in fact, all wearing brightly colored Hawaiian shirts.
I snorted a surprised laugh despite myself. This guy was a walking contradiction that I couldn’t make heads or tails of. Definitely not what I expected from a rich and famous guy, but the night was young, and he was practiced at charming everyone he came across.
“Over there are the wanna-be influencers.” He pointed to a group of teens taking selfies.
“You must really like the Cape Shore Food Fest if you know it this well,” I said.
“Yep,” he said. We walked arm in arm through the crowded cobblestone streets to the accompaniment of the cover band singing “Don’t Stop Believing” that caused various groups of people to break out into a sing along. The warm air swirled around us, and for a moment, I felt like I had been transported into some alternate life. Some fantasy storyline filled with glittering lights, warm summer nights, and a steamy romance.
“Is the rest of your family here?” I asked.
“I hope not,” he said with a lift of his eyebrows as he quirked his lips up in a half-grin .
“Do you answer anything with a straightforward answer?”
His eyebrows furrowed momentarily. “Well, I would answer no, but that would be straightforward and make me a liar. Kind of a conundrum.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure if his affable attitude was charming or infuriating. He certainly wasn't anything like the guys I had ever met before. I had a tendency to find men like me: serious, driven, responsible.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Not yet. On nights like this, I don’t normally eat until everyone else has,” I said.
“The drawbacks of being a cook,” he said.
“Do you like it?”
“What?” he asked as he guided me gently toward the Taco Hut.
“Being a cook.”
He thought about it longer than he should have given his fame doing just that. It occurred to me that maybe he felt about cooking the exact same way I felt about The Lobster Tail. Did he somehow feel stuck? Before he could answer we were in front of the Taco Hut.
“What are you having?” he asked.
“I guess I’ll take a taco.”
“So edgy and unpredictable,” he said with a laugh, and my cheeks burned.
Sometimes I worried that I was the most boring person in the world. I spent so much time asking questions and listening, t hat I worried I didn’t have anything of my own to say.
He placed our order, and we stood off to the side.
“You didn’t answer,” I said.
He shrugged. “I like cooking.”
I nodded, noting that he hadn’t said he liked being a cook, but I didn’t want to push. He was a complete stranger, and I was just making small talk. If he wanted to maintain an air of mystery, he was welcome to. Most likely, he was just another vapid celebrity more concerned with his own self-importance than anything else, which wasn’t all that far off from most men I had dated. Well, all men I had dated. But this wasn’t a date, so it didn’t matter.
As much as my mother fell all over herself in Jared’s presence, I was less than impressed by all things Wallace Inc. I didn’t know why he deemed our little vacation town worthy of a visit, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t investing in The Lobster Tail. He wasn’t showcasing us on his family's reality show or countless press tours. At best, he was entertaining himself for a day or two, and then we would never see him again. At worst, he was scoping out our town for its potential as a new venue for his family’s chain. Therefore, I didn’t even owe him small talk.
“Do you like cooking?” he asked.
“Depends on what I’m cooking.”
“Good answer,” he nodded approvingly.
What the hell did that mean? And why did it make me feel so good that he approved? I looked at him sideways.
“Why? ”
He shrugged. “Most people fall all over me to give me the answer I want to hear. Yours sounds more genuine.”
“Maybe I am just better at reading you,” I said.
He turned to face me, the press of the crowd pushing us together until I worried my breasts would brush his chest if I breathed too hard. His eyes locked on mine, and despite the noise and the people, the intimacy of his stare reached inside of me and made my whole body run warm. I had been absolutely lying. I couldn’t read him at all. I was just answering honestly, but I didn’t want him to know that since he barely answered at all.
“Maybe,” he said. Then his name was called, and he turned to grab two baskets of tacos, ending the strange moment. “Alright, tour guide, lead me to where we can eat these.”
“That’s a tall order,” I said. “We might have to change zip codes to find an open bench.”
“Lead on!” he said, motioning forward with the two paper baskets of tacos that must have been burning his hands. I had no choice but to weave through the slow-moving people with Jared tight on my heals to a little spot off the beaten path. The wide alley between the Surf’s Up and The Sweet Shop had a bench. People used the alley to walk from one street to the next, but thankfully, no one occupied the bench.
“Ta-da,” I said.
“And she does magic too,” he said.
I shrugged. We sat and he passed me my taco. As soon as I smelled it, I realized that I was hungry. The taco place always delivered on fresh and authentic. We ate in silence, as I wondered what this man was thinking about.
“Why come to the Cape Shore?” I finally asked. Cape Shore was a pretty popular vacation destination amongst East Coasters, but if I remembered correctly, the Wallaces had a private jet and could go anywhere they wanted.
“I heard great things about it,” he said. I lifted my eyebrows and rolled my eyes. “You don’t believe me?”
“Of course not,” I said. Normally, I would have lied, or at the very least, found a way to cushion my critique in politeness, but I didn’t have it in me to coddle some rich, famous guy.
“Tough crowd.”
“I think you are just used to adoring fans.”
“Like your mom?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said.
“You don’t like me?”
“I don’t like what you stand for.”
“What’s that?”
“Out of touch celebrity. Big money without any accountability. Giant chains that push out family-owned business.”
“My family does lots of research every time they open a restaurant. They aren’t ignorant to the local people.”
“That’s market research. How many smaller places have you put out of business?”
“That’s capitalism,” he said. “How could it be avoided?”
I snorted a divisive laugh and shook my head. It was pointless trying to explain these things to him. He clearly didn’t care about his impact so long as his pockets were lined .
“If it makes any difference to you, I am not always a fan of my family’s steam roller approach. I’d love to do something outside our brand.”
“No, it doesn’t really make a difference to me.”
“Tough crowd,” he said again.
I shrugged, crumpling up my little paper basket and crossing the alley to the garbage. “Well, this has been fun, but I’ve gotta get back.”
“I’m sure your mom can spare you a little longer. You didn’t finish showing me around,” he reminded me.
“I’m sure she can’t.”
“And if I told her that you weren’t a gracious host?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow and a smirk.
I glared at him. As much as I wanted to pretend it didn’t bother me, it did. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine. What else do you want to see?”