Dune Drive Page 8

  “Where else?”

  “Once when I was hiking in the Rockies, and another time when I was camping in Maine.”

  “You’re just a regular magnet for these things, aren’t you?” She leaned forward and whispered, “Maybe you’re actually an extraterrestrial.”

  “Maybe I am.” He smiled.

  “You’re a good storyteller, I’ll give you that.”

  Dana brought their food, and after she’d served them, asked, “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I’m good,” Chrissie told her.

  “You could do a little karaoke while we eat,” Jared suggested.

  “Oh, you.” Dana laughed. “You’ll never let me live that down.”

  “Nope.” To Chrissie, he said, “Dana does a mean ‘Proud Mary.’ ”

  “That’s the problem with small towns,” Dana said as she turned away from the table. “You have one night you’d like to forget, but no one will ever let you.”

  “Hey, you were entertaining,” Jared told her.

  “Glad you thought so. Enjoy your lunch.”

  “Where do they have karaoke around here?” Chrissie asked.

  “The Blue Claw, out on the highway.” He grinned. “You interested?”

  “Oh, dear God, no. That would be the last . . .” She shuddered at the thought of getting up in front of a roomful of strangers and singing. “Nope. You?”

  “Well, I guess you’d have to come out to the Claw some night and find out.” He winked, then turned his attention to his lunch.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Chrissie watching as he attacked the oyster stew like a starving man.

  “How is it?” she finally asked.

  “Amazing. The best. If I don’t have Sophie’s oyster stew once a week, I go into withdrawal.”

  “Really?” He had her attention. “What’s in it? What makes it so great?”

  Jared shrugged. “I don’t know. Oysters.”

  “Well, is it herby? A lot of butter? Chopped celery, carrots, potatoes? What’s in it?”

  He reached across the small table for the spoon at her place and scooped some stew onto it, then handed it to her. “Here.”

  She tasted the stew. It really was delicious.

  “Tarragon.” She licked the spoon. “Very buttery, and the oysters weren’t overcooked. Very nice.”

  She looked up to find him staring at her, his eyes narrowed.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “So . . . you’re a chef?”

  “I wouldn’t call myself a chef, but yes, I’ve been a restaurant cook.”

  “How come you’re not now?”

  “Well, for one thing, since I came back to the island, I’ve been helping out Gigi in the store.”

  “Who helped her before you?”

  “To hear her tell it, no one. But I know Owen and Lis both looked in on her and helped her out.”

  “So why does she need full-time help now?”

  She put her fork down. “She’s one hundred years old, Jared.”

  “She looked pretty lively when I saw her at the inn a few weeks ago having lunch with Grace.”

  “Gigi aside, I needed to work through some things. Being around the store helped me to put things into perspective.”

  “You okay now?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “So why aren’t you”—he waved his fork around—“cooking in a restaurant?”

  “You’re really nosy, you know that?” She dug into her quiche, which was getting cold.

  “I have been accused of that many, many times in the past. I’m just a curious guy.” He took a bite of his burger, and when he’d finished chewing, he said, “You know, just because someone asks you a question doesn’t mean you have to answer.”

  “I know. It just seems rude not to.”

  “Not if the question was rude. Which I guess mine was.” He put down the burger. “I didn’t mean to be.”

  “Just curious?”

  He nodded.

  She turned her attention back to her lunch.

  “So what’s in the quiche?” he asked, and she laughed.

  “The obvious: goat cheese, green onions, asparagus, chives. As advertised.”

  “No hidden ingredients to discover?”

  She laughed again. “No. It’s pretty straightforward. Really good, but no surprises.”

  “By the way, did you get to see the St. Dennis wall before I came in?”

  “Cass mentioned that. What is it?”

  He pointed across the room to a wall covered with photos and what appeared to be newspaper articles.

  “Old photos of the town and some of the people who live here. Stuff going back seventy-five years from the local newspaper, which maybe you know Grace owns. Birth announcements. Weddings. Obituaries. It’s a real who’s who in St. Dennis. Take a look when you’re finished. It’s like a history lesson on the wall.”

  Jared’s phone rang, and he took it from his pocket to look at the number.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I should answer this.”

  He got up and walked outside. She watched through the front window as he paced, stopped, paced, stopped. She liked watching him move. He was graceful for a man his size, his movements fluid and smooth as a dancer’s, but masculine at the same time. There was something in his gait that reminded her of Owen’s, and she wondered if somehow divers all moved in a similar fashion. Because of the way they moved underwater, maybe?

  He was sliding the phone back into his pocket as he came back in.

  “Well, this has been fun, but I gotta scoot.” He picked up the burger and took a last bite.

  “Everything okay?”

  He nodded. “Peachy. See you around, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t forget the wall.” He turned and flagged down Dana, who met him at the cash register. He paid for his lunch, then walked out without looking back.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what the emergency was.

  “So, if I could ask—not that it’s any of my business—but are you and Jared . . . ?” Dana began to clear away Jared’s place.

  “Oh no. We’re just friends. Really. My cousin works with him,” she felt compelled to add, as if that would explain the casual relationship. “Why, you interested?”

  “If you’re not, you’re probably the only woman in town who isn’t.” Dana laughed. “It’s hard not to like him even if he is a huge flirt. Not that you’d want to get involved with him in any serious way. He’s not a serious person. At least, not when it comes to, you know, dating. Women. He’s sort of a playboy, actually.”

  “He does look the type.”

  “I know, right? Not that I’d ever fall for him, but still, he’s adorable in his own way.” She finished picking up his plate and the soup bowl. “I bet he’s more fun to have as a friend.”

  Before Chrissie could respond, Dana had turned away and gone into the kitchen.

  She finished her lunch, making notes of the flavors in the salad dressing—honey, orange juice, balsamic—and imagining what changes she might make, should she have the chance. Skip the balsamic and use apple cider vinegar? Toast the almonds before adding them to the salad? And the quiche—maybe use a mild jack cheese instead of goat?

  Dana returned and asked if she’d like dessert, and Chrissie hesitated.

  “We have bourbon brownies with roasted pecan ice cream today.”

  Chrissie groaned. “I want to, but I can’t. There just isn’t an inch of space left.”

  “I understand. We have the combo on the menu maybe once every other week since it’s a favorite of our customers, so maybe next time.” She glanced out the window. “Actually, we always have it when Dallas MacGregor is having a meeting at her place down the road. You know those old warehouses? You can always tell when all the staff is there because you’ll see more than half a dozen cars. So if the lot is full, chances are there’s bourbon brownies and roasted pecan ice cream.”

  “I will keep t
hat in mind.”

  Dana handed her the check, and Chrissie rose, but instead of going to the cash register, she went to the wall Jared had previously pointed out to her. The tables closest were unoccupied, so she could take her time looking at the photos. Except for a photo of Ruby standing in front of the store that might have been taken within the past ten or fifteen years, she had no idea who the others were, but Jared’d been right. It looked like a history of the town in photos.

  “See anyone you know?”

  Chrissie turned to find Sophie standing behind her.

  “No. I was just thinking that other than my great-grandmother Ruby Carter, I don’t recognize anyone in any of these pictures.”

  “I’m sure you know this family.” Sophie pointed to a photo where a tall man stood behind a much shorter woman and three young children, two boys and a towheaded girl. “I’ll give you a hint. She’s still really blond.”

  “Is that Lucy?” Chrissie guessed.

  Sophie nodded and pointed out the others. “Grace and her late husband, Daniel, then Dan, Lucy, and Ford.”

  She went on to point out several other photos, ending with one of her own family. “My grandmother Rose Enright and my grandfather Curtis on their wedding day.”

  “Jared told me she was one of the women you named the restaurant for. She was beautiful.”

  Sophie nodded. “I never got to meet her when she was alive. Though I’ve been in her presence from time to time.” She smiled. “Everyone in town knows she never left the old mansion, even after my grandad gave it to the town for the arts center.

  “My grandmother was very fond of gardenias. Grew them in the greenhouse there, and it was the only scent she ever wore. She’s been gone for more than twenty years now, but sometimes you can still smell gardenias in the house.”

  “Because they’re still in the greenhouse?”

  “No. Because she comes back to be with my grandfather. Ah, I can see you’re a skeptic. I was, too, for a while, but I’ve experienced it myself so many times it hardly makes me blink anymore. The first time, I was freaked out. I was visiting my grandfather, and all of a sudden there was this really heavy fragrance. I went into every room in the house looking for a gardenia, or a plant, or even a diffuser, but there was nothing. When I came back into the room, my grandfather was in the rocking chair and he looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘She said you’re lovely and she’s proud of you.’ ”

  “I’d have freaked out, too.”

  “Yeah, it was a moment.”

  Sophie lowered herself into the nearest chair. “Thank God it’s a slow day. I’m exhausted and it isn’t even one thirty yet.”

  “I noticed on the menu it says you close at two.”

  “These days I’m hard-pressed to make it till two. Then it’s close up, clean up, prepare for tomorrow. And the worst part?” Sophie beckoned Chrissie closer. “I’m still having morning sickness. Try whipping up a big fat batch of eggs when you feel like . . . you know. My cook’s only here for the lunch shift, but she’s not going to be here much longer.”

  “You need someone to take over for you.”

  “It’ll take me months to find someone good enough.”

  Chrissie took a deep breath. “I could probably help you with that.”

  “You know someone?”

  “I’ve worked in restaurants for years. My last position was with a trendy café in northern New Jersey.”

  Sophie looked stunned. “Why didn’t I know this?”

  “It never came up in conversation. Not that we’ve had that many conversations since I got to town. But I’m good, and I think I’d be a really good fit for Blossoms.”

  Sophie looked away and seemed to stare into space for a long time. Finally, she looked up at Chrissie and said, “Come in around seven tomorrow morning and work with me. Let’s see what you can do.” Sophie pushed herself out of the chair and walked to the kitchen. “I hope it works out. For both of us.”

  “All right. Tomorrow, then.”

  Sophie disappeared through the kitchen door, her voice trailing after her. “See you at seven . . .”

  Chapter Four

  Gigi, think you could handle the coffee crowd tomorrow morning? I’ll be here to set up, but I have a chance to work with Sophie at Blossoms. She really needs someone to help her out, and—” Chrissie turned and was pinned by what she and Lis used to secretly call Ruby’s death stare.

  “Who you think be making the coffee before you?”

  “I know you did, but . . .”

  “There be no buts. You be at Blossoms when you supposed to be, and don’t be worrying about the store.” Ruby shuffled to her table, a book in her hand. “Wouldn’t hurt none if you baked up a little something for the early customers, though. Spoiled ’em. Seems they look for whatever treat you make.”

  “I’d planned on it. There’s no reason why I can’t bake at night like always.” And set up the coffee to brew and the water for tea and take care of the earliest of the early before I leave for River Road.

  You’ll always come first, Gigi. I promise. Whatever else I do, you come first.

  • • •

  WHEN CHRISSIE LEFT the store at 6:50 the next morning, the coffee was on its third pot, there were fresh tea bags in a basket, the pitchers had been refilled with milk, half-and-half, and 1 percent milk, respectively, and two trays of apple crumb muffins were displayed near the cash register. Her trip to Blossoms was held up several times because of the school bus she had the misfortune to be following, which made her three minutes late. She hoped Sophie wasn’t a stickler about such things, and she was grateful to find she was not.

  “What would you like me to do first?” Chrissie asked after she arrived in Blossoms’s kitchen.

  “You could start by making blueberry muffins.” Sophie looked relieved to see her. “The recipe is on the counter.”

  “I have one in my head,” Chrissie told her. “All right?”

  Sophie considered for a moment, then said, “Sure. Show me what you’ve got.”

  Chrissie had the muffins mixed and in the pans in under twelve minutes. She turned to Sophie and asked, “What else?”

  “You can mix up the pancake batter. But I’d like you to use my recipe for these. My customers are mostly repeat this time of the year, and they expect their pancakes to taste the same way.”

  “Got it.” Chrissie followed Sophie’s pointed finger to the counter where the recipe awaited, and proceeded to mix the batter.

  “You can leave it there,” Sophie told her. “We’ll pour onto the griddle from the mixing bowl.”

  “Okay. Next?”

  And on it went through the morning’s prep time, Sophie directing and Chrissie following orders.

  At seven thirty, Dana arrived to admit the early risers, who came in for breakfast.

  “Hey, you’re . . . I don’t know your name but you were here yesterday,” Dana said when she saw Chrissie taking the last batch of muffins from the oven. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be working here?”

  “At the time I was eating lunch, I didn’t know I’d be here today,” Chrissie said. “And I haven’t been hired. Yet.”

  When breakfast hours had ended, Chrissie could see the fatigue in Sophie’s face.

  “Look, I hope this isn’t out of line, and I know you don’t know me very well, and if I were you, I’d be hesitant to leave my business in the hands of someone I’d only known a few months, but I think you should go sit for a while. Put your feet up, have something cold to drink, and just relax. I can get things prepped for the lunch rush.”

  Sophie appeared to think it over. She’d spent the morning chopping vegetables for omelets, turning ground beef and herbs into burgers, making turkey chili, and rolling out dough for the quiches.

  “You could keep an eye on the soups and maybe start prepping the salads until Joan comes in. She should be here in about”—Sophie checked her watch—“twenty minutes. Plenty of time for me to get my second win
d.”

  Chrissie warmed up the carrot soup that Sophie’d made the night before and added the cheese and veggies of the day to the pie crusts to bake the quiches. Joan came in right on time, and when she entered the kitchen, she was clearly startled to see Chrissie at the stove stirring the pot of soup. She stopped and stared at the newcomer.

  “Sophie didn’t tell me she’d hired someone.” Joan was tall and apple shaped with short brown hair that feathered around her face. When she moved from the doorway it was to tie on a Blossoms apron over her jeans and white T-shirt.

  “She hasn’t. Not yet anyway. I’m sort of on trial.” Chrissie turned to face her. “I’m Chrissie Jenkins, by the way.”

  “Joan Allen. Nice to meet you.” Joan brushed past her. “Now, let’s see what else we’ll need for lunch.”

  They were going over the menu together when Sophie returned to the kitchen.

  “Thanks. I feel almost like a new person.” She directed the comment to Chrissie. “Not quite new, but it’ll do. The first of the lunch crew is in the house, guys. Let’s get this done.” She went to the cooler and removed the large container of beef she’d earlier mixed for burgers. “Oh, and Chrissie? The blueberry muffins were delish. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. And thank you. Glad you liked them.”

  “There was just a touch of cinnamon in the batter. I liked that.”

  “Good. I’m happy to make them whenever you like.” Chrissie took the pan of beef and began to make patties.

  For the next three hours, the women worked tirelessly as Dana and a second waitress named Margarite brought in orders. Chrissie hadn’t moved that fast for that long since she’d left La Luna, and by closing time, her legs let her know how out of shape she was.

  When Sophie said they closed at two o’clock, she meant two o’clock. Dana locked the door and turned the sign to the CLOSED side. The last customer left at 2:17. Dana swept the floor and tidied the dining area while Sophie, Chrissie, and Joan cleaned the kitchen.

  “Let’s grab a cup of coffee while we look over tomorrow’s menu,” Joan said after they’d finished emptying the dishwasher for the third time.

  “Water for me, please,” Sophie said. “On second thought, make it iced. I’m dying. My body thermostat is out of whack today.”