by Maggie Gates
For an hour we sat there while the crickets chirped a gentle dirge and the water lapped against the shore. Steve laid back on the dock again, lacing his fingers together and slipping them behind his head. He closed his eyes and I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up the Poker Club group text. Melissa had already rallied the troops to get a meal train going and make sure that Steve had someone to stay with him until his family and Heather’s could make it in.
Maddie: I’ve got tonight covered. FYI- He keeps a spare key under the blue gnome by the garage in case any of y’all need to get in the house. Gotta be at the restaurant by 10am if someone can swing by then.
Hannah Jane: How’s he holding up?
Maddie: He lost her. How do you think?
Chase: A bunch of us from the department are gonna come by tomorrow. I’ll be there by 9 AM so you can get to work. We’ll cover dinner.
Melissa: Chase, repeat after me: I will bring Steve a well rounded meal and not takeout from Waffle House.
Hannah Jane: You can stop by my place and grab a casserole out of the deep freezer.
Chase: I’m a grown ass man, you know. I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself and/or others. Besides, Waffle House has salads. I think.
Kristin: We had a last minute cancellation at the inn. I’ll block it off in case he wants to stay here instead of his place.
Melissa: I’m off the next two days, so I can go with him tomorrow to start the funeral arrangements. B— do you think we can have the wake at the bar?
Bridget: Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll see what we’ve got on the schedule. Mad, how is he really?
Steve: I’m fine.
Chase: Cut the crap, dude. We know you’re not fine. None of us are.
Hannah Jane: What Chase is trying to say is that we love you, Steve.
Maddie: We love you, but you’re not getting out of bringing the beer to Poker Club. It’s still your turn.
Steve: Thanks, y’all.
8
———
LUCA
Robert led me down the stairs from the rooftop dining space to the main floor of the restaurant. I wiped the beads of sweat from my forehead and basked in the wave of cold air from inside. Thank God for air conditioning. The humidity here was no no joke. I’d been in North Carolina for—I glanced at my watch—just shy of five hours, and already sweat was pouring from places I didn’t know it could.
Revanche was impressive—no doubt about it. From the reclaimed wood floors to the exposed brick walls, the vines that ran up the many trellises and pergolas on the roof, the outdoor fireplace, the kitchen that was a chef’s wet dream—it was a sexy restaurant and I was still kicking myself that Robert wanted to sell.
“So, that’s uh, that’s just about it, Mr. DeRossi. Downstairs we have Mad’s kitchen, but between you and me, she doesn’t like anyone touching her space but her staff, so I stay out of her way. Girl works hard and kicks ass. The folks around here can’t get enough of her desserts. I just sit back and let her do her thing.”
“Call me Luca, please,” I grinned, shrugging my shoulders casually. I was more than a little giddy to see Maddie’s kitchen—I’d been dreaming about it ever since I put the pieces together. This business deal had been in the works for a while, but Robert had kept it on the down-low to avoid spooking his staff. It wasn’t just the restaurant that was valuable—it was the people who made the magic happen. A restaurant was just a building. I could build a hundred restaurants just as nice as Revanche, but the people in it were what made it valuable to me. A lot of restaurateurs in my position liked to overhaul the staff as soon as they had the keys to the door in hand. They’d clean house and then bring in their own people to run things. That’s not how I did business. I tried my best to keep everyone on. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it—right?
I glanced to the doorway that I assumed led to Maddie’s lair. “I’d like to see the pastry kitchen just for a minute.” Would she be down there? Her reaction to seeing me again was going to be less than optimum, but I still couldn’t help myself. I held my palms up and away in a show of good faith. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Chef Dorsey won’t even know.”
Robert snorted and just shook his head, “Maddie’ll know, but it’s gonna be your place soon, so she’d best be gettin’ used to someone else calling the shots. Girl’s a damn good pastry chef, but she’s stubborn as a mule. You’ll have your hands full for sure.”
Yes-fucking-please, I thought. There hadn’t been a minute since our date in L.A. that I hadn’t thought about having my hands full of her particular brand of ornery beautiful. I chuckled and followed him down the narrow staircase. Going up and down over and over again must be a bitch for the pastry team during dinner service. I briefly contemplated if putting in a dumbwaiter would be an option. I’d have to call in a contractor, but it might be worth the hassle. The steep stairs opened up to a brightly lit kitchen that was so clean I wanted to weep. Stainless steel tables sparkled. The three-compartment sink was spotless. Rolling pins, spatulas, whisks, and other utensils were in uniform rows on hooks and shelves. Everything was labeled—everything had a process. The meticulous organization was enough to give me a semi.
Robert motioned for me to have a look at the kitchen, and I didn’t hesitate to poke around. I yanked open the handle to the walk-in freezer and shivered. Rows of Cambro bins lined the shelves. I snooped a little further and pawed through the bins of shaped and frozen croissants that were ready to proof and bake off. Containers of house-made gelato stood lined up like soldiers. I poked around the walk-in fridge. Health inspectors probably bowed to her organizational and sanitary prowess.
I glanced at my watch again and knew that we needed to head up to Robert’s office before his management team showed up for the big news. I secured the door to the walk-in and followed him upstairs, flipping the lights off behind me.
When we made it into the office, a short lady with her jet black hair pulled into a tight bun was already waiting. “Carol, good to see you, hon,” Robert smiled as he settled into the chair behind his desk. He looked up at me, “This is Carol Hong. She’s my front of house manager. Been with me since the early days.”
A man just a little older than me knocked on the doorframe and gave me a cursory glance. “Scott Christensen,” he said with obvious confidence.
I offered my hand and shook his, “Luca DeRossi.”
Scott turned to Robert and said, “Mad called me and said she’s running a few minutes late. Heather Pelham passed last night. Maddie’s on her way. Stayed with Steve last night until someone could get there to be with him this morning.”
The room suddenly felt heavier. Carol and Rob both grimaced at the news. Maybe that’s why Maddie hadn’t returned any of my texts. I wasn’t trying to annoy her into talking to me, but I figured she’d at least want a heads-up that I was about to buy Revanche.
It’ll be fine, I hoped. Maybe Maddie had cooled down since the competition. She might even be glad to see me. The thought of that made my heart do funny things.
I rarely stuck around when I acquired restaurants as successful as Revanche. Typically, I’d put in a general manager to oversee the day-to-day and make sure that things were running smoothly. I liked making the existing staff feel confident that I wouldn’t come in and bulldoze the place or make changes left-and-right.
Not this time.
The Pastry Throwdown competition had been kismet. Apart from the fact that I had one hell of a date with Maddie, I got to watch her in action. As soon as I’d put two and two together and realized that the girl from the gym who had put me under her spell faster than you could say abracadabra was the pastry chef who had grown Revanche’s reputation enough for me to take notice and put a generous offer in, I knew I’d stick around and oversee the transition myself.
“There she comes,” Rob said, nodding toward the entrance.
Here we go. I turned to face the door and crossed my arms as it swung open. I hardened my expression to reinforc
e the grumpy-judge-face I'd practiced for this very occasion.
“Hey, sorry I’m running la—” Maddie stopped dead in her tracks and locked eyes with me. She looked three degrees away from boiling over.
Carol, Rob, and Scott exchanged confused looks. The tension was as thick as the humidity outside.
“Hey, sweetie,” Robert cleared his throat and waved Maddie inside. “How’s Steve holdin’ up?”
Maddie never took her eyes off me. She locked her jaw and hissed through gritted teeth, “He’s hanging in there.”
“Well, let’s get on with this so y’all can go enjoy your Memorial Day,” Robert said, sighing as he pressed his hands to the desk and rose to his feet. “I’m selling the restaurant.”
Well, he ripped that Band-Aid right off, I winced.
Robert scratched his bald spot nervously before continuing. “Y’all know me and Sandra have been wanting to move to Greenville so we can be closer to the grandkids and, well, Mr. DeRossi made me an offer I can’t refuse. We’ll sign the papers once we’re done here, and he’ll take over from there. Effective immediately.”
Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably.
“Just like that?” Scott asked, eyebrows raised.
Robert nodded and looked at me. “As far as I know, Mr. DeRossi and his group are planning to keep the whole team. Might even bring in some new staff. His plans look solid, and I trust that Revanche will be in good hands.”
Maddie’s temper went from boiling to lava. She stomped across the office in those tiny denim shorts of hers and grabbed a sheet of paper out of the printer tray.
“Maddie—” Scott cautioned.
She grabbed a pen off the desk and scribbled a few lines across the blank sheet of paper. Silently, she looked at the calendar, wrote down a date and then another, signed her name at the bottom, and handed it to Robert.
“What’s this?” He asked.
“That’s my notice,” she snapped. “Just pretend I gave it to you two weeks ago.” She leveled me a searing look and stormed out the door.
I didn’t waste a second. I was on her tail like smoke on fire. “Maddie,” I called after her as I followed her through the empty dining room, snaking around the tables that had chairs flipped with their legs in the air. “Maddie, stop.” She didn’t. Then again, I didn’t know why I actually expected her to listen to me.
She cut through the main kitchen and went out the back door. The daylight was blinding and I tripped on the gravel as she stomped out to the back parking lot. “Maddie!” I shouted. She stabbed her key into the lock of her Wrangler and twisted so hard I thought for sure it’d break. I closed in on her and grabbed the door handle to stop her from getting in. “Mad—”
“Don’t fucking touch me, Luca,” she spat. Those gray eyes that had been haunting my dreams were anything but docile.
I had no intention of backing down. If she would just speak to me. Before I could say anything else, the rough grip of a hand on my shoulder pulled me backward.
“Look boss,” Scott Christensen said as he turned me around, “I don’t plan on losing my job, so don’t do something stupid that’ll make me have to punch you in the face.” He was loyal to his team, even if it put him in the crosshairs of the person paying him big bucks. I respected him for it. That’s the type of guy I’d want on my team.
I gave him a curt nod and took a step back, my hands raised in defeat. “I tried to text you, Maddie. I tried to give you a heads-up. You never responded.”
“Wait,” Carol piped up, “You two know each other?”
“Yes,” I said, realizing that she and Rob had followed us outside as well.
“No,” Maddie countered.
I turned my attention back to her and eased forward slowly. “I don’t accept your resignation.”
“Well that’s not my problem. I tendered my resignation to Mr. Mullon.”
“Maddie, you’re one of the reasons I looked at buying Revanche in the first place.” She opened her mouth to retort with something undoubtedly snarky, but I beat her to the punch. “Before California.” I was shouting and I knew I needed to reign it in. Coming from a big, Italian family, it wasn’t uncommon for the DeRossis to shake the windows when we got into it. Still, I needed her to respect me as much as I respected her. “I told you in Los Angeles—I know who you are.” The three pairs of ears behind me were probably chomping at the bit for a morsel of juicy gossip to sink their teeth into, but I wasn’t going to give it to them. I pressed my hands together and took a breath to keep from saying something stupid. When my temper lowered to a simmer, I looked at her and dropped my unamused judge’s face on. “You have twenty-four hours to decide if you want to keep your job or move forward with your resignation.” I glanced at my watch and noted the time. “I’ll expect to hear from you by 10:34 tomorrow morning. I want you on my team, Chef Dorsey, but the choice is yours.” I let a sly smirk slip up the corner of my mouth before I added on, “You have my number.”
That went well. I heard Maddie’s Jeep door slam shut and I turned and headed back into the restaurant to finish signing the papers with Robert as she spun tires and kicked up gravel on her way out.
Maybe I had been going about this thing with Maddie all wrong. Maybe I should have tried to hunt her down before I went to meet with Robert. Hell, maybe I should have told her about the buy-out when she was in California. Maddie had a short fuse and, apparently, I had lit it a long time ago.
9
———
MADELINE
I tore out of the Revanche parking lot and didn’t even think about where I was driving to—I just drove until the familiar, ramshackle building came into sight. From the outside it didn’t look like much, but that was the point. Jokers was a locals-only bar. It was far enough inland that the summertimers never bothered to scout it out. The whole place looked like one big health code violation, but that was just part of its charm.
It didn’t matter that it was only eleven in the morning. It was a fucking holiday and I’d day drink if I wanted to. Because I wanted to. Not because seeing Luca DeRossi again had pushed me to the brink.
The creaky screen door let out a shriek, slamming behind me as I stomped in. Apart from a few barflies, Jokers wasn’t busy. The soles of my sandals snapped as they pulled against the inexplicably sticky floor. Behind the bar, Bridget was talking to some regulars who were in for lunch. She smiled at me and I did my best to return the gesture, despite my recent encounter with Satan.
“Hey, babe,” she said, wiping the oak counter clean with a bar towel. “Didn’t expect to see you in this early. How’s Steve?”
I shrugged and saddled up on a bar stool. “Quiet. People are over at his house, but he’s not really talking all that much.” I tossed my hair to one side to keep the sweat building up on my neck at bay and rested my elbows on the bar. “Funeral’s gonna be the day after tomorrow.”
Bridget pulled her phone out of the bedazzled back pocket of her jeans and smiled at a text before stowing it away and pouring me a tall glass of whatever she had on tap. “So, is there a reason you’re here before noon on a Monday or did you just wanna see me and tell me about Abs?”
“Abs?”
Bridget pulled up the hem of her shirt just an inch and did her best smolder before breaking out into a giggle, “You know—abs. Hot guy from California who took you out on a date and crashed the group text? You never told us what happened with him.”
As she finished teasing me about Luca, her phone buzzed again and it was in her hand before I could blink. “Seems like you have some news,” I said in between sips of the IPA. I nodded toward her phone, “Seeing someone?”
“It’s new,” she mumbled coyly.
“Uh huh,” I grinned. “Who is it?” Bridget smiled sheepishly as she shoved her phone into her pocket and grabbed a plate from the kitchen window. She set a platter of chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks in front of me and I groaned in delight. “Bee, if you had a dick, I’d marry you in a heartbeat
.”
Bridget giggled, “I’ll have to let Abs know that fried food is the way to your heart.”
“I pretend to be fancy, but I’m really trash,” I laughed. So I’m a professional chef. That doesn’t mean jack shit. I still loved pecan waffles from Waffle House, chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, and Cosmic Brownies.
“If things don't work out with your hottie we can always just be non-sexual life partners,” Bridget winked. “I’ll even let you let you leave your socks on the floor—won’t even nag you about it.”
I snorted and nearly choked on a mozzarella stick. I coughed and clutched my chest, fully prepared to throw myself against the bar to self-administer the Heimlich maneuver. She shoved my beer toward me and I took a grateful gulp, gasping as stale bar air finally filled my lungs. “That was some serious topic avoidance,” I pointed out. “Spill it, Bee. Who is he?”
She blushed and fingered the bar towel. “You, um, you remember Kyle Kingsley back from when we were in high school?”
The name sounded familiar. “I think so. Doesn’t he own a car dealership or something now?”
Bridget nodded, “Yeah, he runs the dealership on the corner of Highway 70 and 101 in Havelock.”
“So you’re seeing him?”
She shrugged as she wandered over and brought one of the other patrons another round. “Like I said, it’s new.”
“Well good for you,” I said as I inhaled another chicken finger. “‘Bout time you got some.”
Bridget smirked and tightened her blonde ponytail. “What about you? You getting any?”
I shoved another bite into my mouth.
“Did you hook up with your west coast beach boy?” She asked. I stabbed a mozzarella stick in marinara sauce and brought it up to my lips. Before I could take a bite, Bridget snatched it out of my hand and popped it in her mouth. “Tell me everything, Mad,” she mumbled.
