Chapter 1 #2
Tom Norris leaned back and stretched, letting out a long groan that made him sound like some kind of good-natured bear. His back wasn’t what it used to be, that was for sure. Maybe it was time to bite the bullet and buy himself a pair of those supportive shoes that Allison was always raving about.
Around him, the air was filled with sizzling sounds and the appetizing aromas of fried garlic, onion, and cheese. He took a deep breath, thinking to himself with a smile that he was creating magic, as he did every day. The kind of magic that went hand in hand with real life and made it better.
He wiped his greasy hands on a towel and picked up the water bottle that he had resting in a corner of the kitchen counter. He took a long, refreshing drink. The kitchen was always a little too warm, even though they had the windows open at the moment, letting in a cool spring breeze.
He caught sight of himself in a decorative antique mirror that was hanging on the wall and chuckled.
His salt and pepper hair needed a trim, that was without question.
He used his fingers to comb it back a little and then almost laughed out loud when he thought to himself that he looked like he was trying to be a movie star or something, with his hair all slicked back like that.
His deep-set blue eyes twinkled back at him, crinkling at the corners with merriment.
“You ready for the dinner rush?” Allison, one of the other cooks at The Lighthouse Grill, asked him with a grin.
He and Allison were great friends. Cooking with someone day in and day out was a bonding experience, even though at the very beginning—so many years ago now—they had butted heads about how to do things.
Tom had gone to a prestigious culinary school, and he’d been sure that what he’d been taught was the best practice in every case.
Allison had soon proved him wrong, though, since her background of working in a family diner as a teenager had prepared her for how to handle a truly hectic rush.
Together they’d figured out how to speed up their cooking without cutting corners on taste or quality, and they’d become a dream team.
“Oh, sure. I’ve been eyeing those day-old brownies in the refrigerator. Once it’s all over, you want to eat some brownie sundaes with me?”
“Deal,” Allison said. “But only after we’ve eaten real food. I’m already hungry and it’s only five o’clock.”
“Eat an apple or something,” he told her.
“Apples always make me more hungry,” she complained.
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a lost cause. We just have to tighten our belts and push through until we can dig into something greasy and delicious.”
“A tuna melt,” Allison said, her tone somewhat dreamy.
They both grinned at each other and went back to work.
Tom was so used to preparing all of the menu items at The Lighthouse Grill that he could have made most of them in his sleep.
He didn’t let that make him complacent, however.
He was always trying to add new twists to the dishes that he served the regulars of the pub.
He always got the permission of the owners before doing anything drastic, but Vivian Owens and her daughter Julia, who helped manage the restaurant, were happy to let him experiment.
Vivian had told him many times that she trusted his judgement.
He smiled to himself as he sprinkled spices into a saucepan, where he was just bringing a new sauce that he’d been concocting to a boil.
He turned it down and inhaled the creamy, spicy aroma that wafted up at him.
He felt a tiny shiver in his spine when he smelled it, a sure sign that he’d hit on something excellent again.
He felt grateful that Vivian let him experiment like this.
Frank Owens, who had owned the pub with his wife Vivian before passing away, had been kind and energetic and a great man to work for, but he hadn’t put the same amount of trust into Tom that Vivian did.
The Owens are such great people, he thought, turning to his cutting board and beginning to attack an onion with his knife. I’m so glad I ended up here instead of some high-end restaurant in the city.
When he’d first graduated from culinary school, he’d expected himself to end up somewhere like that.
That’s what his friends were doing, and it seemed like the logical choice.
After all, the paychecks were impressive, and the prestige was no laughing matter.
But he’d accepted an invitation from his grandmother to stay with her in her cottage in Rosewood Beach the summer after graduating.
He’d decided to pick up a summer job at a new restaurant in town, The Lighthouse Grill, and he’d never looked back.
Rosewood Beach had completely captured his heart, and he’d soon realized that simple, small-town life was perfect for him. He knew he didn’t need a big paycheck as long as he had enough money to live comfortably, surrounded by people that he truly cared about.
Besides, he thought as he added a dollop of peanut butter to the stir-fry he was making, working here allows me to be creative. I would never have this much freedom if I worked in one of the big-name restaurants somewhere.
He finished the stir-fry and dished it out into a couple of plates. “Order up!” he bellowed good-naturedly, and a moment later, Alexis Bennett appeared, with her baby Cash strapped to her back.
“Smells awesome, Tom,” she said, picking up the plates and loading them onto a tray.
Tom made a happy face at Cash, who gurgled and wiggled his feet ecstatically. “How’s the little mascot holding up?”
Alexis laughed. When her baby had first been born, she’d taken a break from waitressing, but once he was older, she’d adopted the method of waitressing with him strapped to her back.
Customers and employees alike adored the arrangement, since Cash was as cute as a button and always entertaining.
Personally, Tom thought it put Alexis on a level with Wonder Woman, but she always seemed to have plenty of energy.
Alexis was one of the Owens siblings, and she loved The Lighthouse Grill as much as they all did.
“He’s happy as a clam,” Alexis said, wiggling her back a little, which made Cash giggle. She laughed with him and then disappeared again. There was no time to stay and chat when a dinner rush was going on.
More customers arrived, and then a party of ten showed up.
Allison and Tom worked at lightning speed, trying to get all ten dinner orders ready at approximately the same time.
Finally, four cheeseburgers, a grown-up grilled cheese, two lasagnas, a slice of meatloaf, and two orders of the pastrami sandwich special were ready, and Alexis and two other servers teamed up to bring them to the party of ten.
“Whew,” Allison said, wiping her forehead and leaning against the counter for a moment. “That was a lot.”
“Hey, team!” Vivian Owens stepped into the kitchen, smiling and looking cheerful. “How are things going in here?”
“Counting the hours until brownie sundaes,” Allison said with a wink.
“I’m always counting the hours until my next brownie sundae.” Vivian laughed. “Tom, people are raving about that new sauce you made for the pastrami sandwich special. Can you replicate it for next time?”
“You got it, boss.” He grinned, pleased. “I’m glad they like it.”
The hustle and bustle of the evening continued.
Tom had learned long ago how to enjoy the rush, as if it was a roller coaster of adrenaline that he was riding on.
His hands flew and his mind buzzed as he kept track of various cook times while starting to prepare new orders.
He and Allison had each other’s backs, and they were often calling out to each other, asking if the other could “flip over those hamburgers” or “lay out the toast for that tuna melt.”
When the dinner rush was finally slowing down a little, he saw two familiar faces walk past the order window.
“Hey, Hazel! Hi, Noelle!” he called out. “Get the pastrami sandwich special. I made a new sauce.”
Hazel Dorsey was another one of the Owens girls, and Noelle was soon to be a part of the Owens family as well.
Hazel had recently eloped with her high school crush and now faithful partner Jacob, and Noelle was preparing to marry Hazel’s twin brother Dean, who she was head over heels for.
Dean ran the local mechanic shop, and of all the Owens, Tom was the closest to him.
They’d gone on a few fishing trips together, and Dean had brought Tom’s thirty-year-old truck back from the dead more than once.
Noelle gasped eagerly. “I love pastrami! Thanks for the heads up.”
“I’ll taste Noelle’s,” Hazel promised. “I’ve been craving chicken pot pie all day, sorry, Tom.”
He laughed. “Suit yourself. I don’t blame you—our chicken pot pie is heavenly.”
He’d tweaked the recipe several years earlier and it was now a creamy, flavorful masterpiece encased in a flaky, buttery pastry.
The two soon-to-be sisters sat down together at a booth and Alexis scampered up to them, looking happy to wait on her family. A moment later, she glanced toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Tom!” she called to him. “Go tell Julia that it’s high time she came out of her cave. Hazel and Noelle are here to eat with her.”
“She’s still working?” he asked, surprised as he glanced at the clock.
Historically, Julia was a determined, hard-working woman who had stayed late at the pub many times in order to spruce up their marketing game and repair the finances that had been in shambles after Frank Owens’ passing.
Both the marketing and the finances were now in excellent shape, however, and Tom felt surprised that she was working so late.
Especially considering that she was pregnant and everyone, including him, had been urging her to take it easier and get more rest.
“Sure thing!” he called back, grabbing his water bottle and setting off in the direction of The Lighthouse Grill’s office. He gulped down water as he walked, since multitasking and dinner rushes always went hand in hand.
He knocked gently on the office door, which was ajar.
“Come in!” Julia called out. She didn’t sound stressed, Tom noted, just distracted. That was good.
“Hey,” he said, pushing open the door. “Your sisters are here wanting to eat dinner with you.”
“What?” she gasped and glanced at the clock. “Oh, man. Thanks for letting me know, Tom. I swear this baby has completely messed with my internal clock.” She looked down at her stomach as she said it, smiling in a way that implied she found the baby to be more than worth it.
“Why are you working so much today?” he asked as she stood up.
She was wearing a comfy-looking royal blue maternity dress, and her long dark hair was pinned back in a simple up-do with a gold hair clip.
Julia had lived in New York for many years before returning to Rosewood Beach to take over the pub’s finances after her father’s untimely passing, and her fashionable, put-together style still reflected her city life a little.
“Well, I’m getting ahead actually,” she said with a laugh as she changed out of a pair of squishy-slippers and put on loafers. “I wanted to finish up all of the work that I needed to do tomorrow so that I don’t have to come in. I’m just about finished, so I can finish the rest of it on Monday.”
“That’s more like it.” He grinned at her. “You take that three-day weekend, Mama-to-be.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks, Tom. I hear you’ve concocted another sauce worthy of being the talk of the town. I’ll have to try it.”
“You should. Does pastrami sound like it’ll satisfy a pregnancy craving?”
“Oh, yes. My cravings have been very savory. Pastrami sounds incredible.”
Tom and Julia left the office, and she scurried out to the dining room, where her sisters hugged her and ushered her into a seat as if she was ill and had been walking for hours.
He chuckled as he watched them all lean in and begin to discuss something excitedly.
As soon as he saw Hazel produce a notebook and start jotting things down, he felt sure that they were planning Noelle’s upcoming wedding to Dean.
He smiled quietly to himself as he went back to his work of chopping and mixing and stirring.
Although he felt thrilled for Dean and Noelle, to him, it was just another wedding in the books.
He seemed to be surrounded by new babies and weddings, and he knew there would be more soon.
Everything repeated itself over and over again, and he was more than okay with that.
He had long ago let himself slip into the natural rhythm of life, and it didn’t seem odd or dissatisfying to him that he got up and went to the same place almost every day, where he cooked the same meals over and over again.
There was a comfort, almost a pleasure, in the familiar, as if he was stepping inside a beloved story and living out the words on the pages, or putting on a comfortable sweater that made him feel just right.
Life here is predictable, he thought, smiling to himself. But I like routine. Who needs surprises, anyway?
He paused for a moment, wondering how he would feel if a big surprise did come his way. After a moment, he shrugged. There was no point in wondering. Nothing all that newsworthy ever really happened in Rosewood Beach, and that was just fine with him.