“I’ll just have an ice water, thanks,” she told him.
Toby’s smile seemed a little practiced. “Chef Avery suggested a nice red wine. We have two that would suit the meal perfectly—”
“I won’t be drinking, but please tell him thank you for the suggestion.” Sloane gave him a smile in return, hoping she wasn’t making his evening difficult, but she just wasn’t a drinker, and it would be an especially bad idea when she didn’t know her date very well. She didn’t want her judgment clouded.
“I’ll let him know, and I’ll be right back with your water.” Toby gave her a little bow and moved away. It was almost comical, the contrast between his demeanor now and the casual conversation they’d had earlier. She guessed that a certain level of behavior was expected at Frannie’s, although she’d never noticed the wait staff being so uptight before. Oh, well. Probably just a new policy or something.
A moment later, Chef Avery appeared at the table, his white coat spotless. “I’m so glad you could join me tonight, Sloane,” he said. “I understand you’re not drinking tonight.”
“That’s right.”
He seemed a bit unsettled by this, but moved on. “The meal will miss the accompaniment of the wine, but we’ll make it delicious nonetheless. We’ll start with a salad of arugula topped with baby mushrooms . . .”
Everything sounded delicious, especially when contrasted with the frozen pizza she’d had for dinner the night before. “And we’ll finish up with a light and fluffy cherry chocolate mousse,” he said with a flourish of his hands. “How does that sound?”
“Wonderful,” she replied. “I can’t wait.”
“I’m glad to hear it. If you’ll excuse me, I must return to the kitchen, but your waiter will be right out with your salad.”
He disappeared, and Sloane was left to contemplate the view outside the window all by herself.
The stars were particularly bright, and she liked how she could see them peering through the window slats, like they were determined to be noticed regardless of the obstacle. Then she chuckled. Her mother had always teased her about giving thoughts and feelings to inanimate objects, but she couldn’t help it. Everything in the world deserved to think and feel, didn’t it?
“Your salad, miss,” Toby said, sliding a beautifully plated dish in front of her.
“Oh, thank you. It looks great.”
“Fresh ground pepper?” He held up a mill.
She didn’t actually know if she wanted pepper on her salad, but it seemed rude to ask him to wait while she tasted it. “Yes, please.”
He twisted the mill and put a nice sprinkle in the center of her plate. “A refill of your water?”
“Yes, please.”
He produced a pitcher as if by magic and topped off her glass. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Again with the curious little bow, and he was off to see to the next table.
She liked Frannie’s—she always had, but she was grateful that things at the diner were more casual. Working there, she had the chance to get to know her customers, to shoot the breeze with them while they drank their coffee and read their newspapers. Oh, well. The diner served one purpose, and the restaurant, another. It wasn’t fair to compare them.
Her salad really was delicious. Toby must have been watching her from some super-secret waiter hidey-hole because as soon as she was finished, he whisked her plate away, refilled her water, and brought out her main dish. “Chef Avery asked me to apologize. He’s had a small emergency in the kitchen and will join you shortly,” he said after delivering her food.
“That’s all right,” Sloane replied. Truth be told, she’d actually forgotten that she was supposed to be on a date.
The filet mignon on her plate was cooked to perfection, and the tiny rosemary potatoes were better than potatoes really had a right to be. The mixed vegetables were a little limp, which surprised her, but they were still tasty. She was enjoying them when she heard a commotion from the kitchen.
“Idiot! How could you be so stupid? How many plates went out this way?”
A mumbled response, and then a crashing sound, like several plates hitting the floor all at once.
“You will fix them! Every one of them! Now!”
Everyone in the restaurant had frozen, staring at the kitchen doors, Sloane included. Seconds later, Toby appeared. “Chef Avery has requested that I return your plate to the kitchen and bring you a better selection of vegetables.”
“You may tell Chef Avery that I’m enjoying my vegetables and would like to finish them.”
Once again, Toby’s smile was fake. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a new serving?”
“I’m absolutely positive. In fact, if you try to take my plate, I’ll throw a bigger tantrum than he’s throwing in there.” She nodded toward the kitchen.
“Um . . . all right.”
A glance around the room told her that the other diners were also refusing to send back their plates, and Sloane couldn’t help but grin. She enjoyed stirring up some trouble of her own from time to time.
A few minutes later, Chef Avery joined her again, looking somewhat rumpled emotionally, but still neat as a pin. “I’m so sorry—you must be lonely, sitting here by yourself.”
“I’m fine, actually. This table has a lovely view.”
He leaned forward. “And I must apologize for Andrew, my sous chef. I have no idea what got into him tonight, sending the vegetables out that way. He won’t be working here anymore, and you didn’t have to eat that slop. You should have sent it back.”
Sloane blinked. “I’m sorry—you fired him because the vegetables were a little limp?”
“They weren’t merely limp—they were ruined. Desecrated. Inedible.”
“I thought they were rather good.” Sloane fought to keep her voice under control. This was absolutely crazy, like a practical joke. Did people really act like this? “And I’m not at all impressed that someone was fired because of them. That would never happen at the diner.”
“Oh, yes. The diner.” Chef Avery waved his hand. “That place has its charm, I suppose.”
Sloane closed her eyes so tightly that she saw little flashes of light. She wouldn’t lose her temper—it wasn’t worth it. She would not, however, continue this. “I’ll be leaving now, Chef. Goodnight.”
He held up a hand before she could rise. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you enjoying your dinner?”
“I am, quite a bit. But tell me. Do you have issues with straightforwardness, Chef Avery?”
“No, no, of course not.” He chuckled. “Why would I?”
“Since that’s established, I’ll give you just a bit more honesty, shall I?” She lowered her voice. She wasn’t going to make a public scene—it wasn’t her style, and she didn’t want to hurt Frank and Frannie in any way. They were two of the kindest people she knew. “I don’t appreciate what you’ve created here. The wait staff is stiff and uncomfortable, you have no right to fire someone because of some vegetables, and I don’t enjoy hearing you scream clear through the whole restaurant.”
She made another move to stand, but he put his hand on hers. “You haven’t eaten your dessert!”
“I’m not going to eat it.” He was still grasping her hand. “And you’d do well to let me go.”
He pulled his arm back as though it had been burned, and she walked through the dining room and out the front door. She didn’t even remember her coat until she was a quarter block away, but she’d come back for it later. The dress she’d chosen wasn’t very thick, but she wouldn’t freeze before she got home.
“Sloane!”
She turned when she heard her name. Toby was running toward her, carrying her coat. “You forgot this.” He held it for her while she put it on.
“Thank you,” she told him. “I left in a hurry.”
“So, what happened?” he asked. “Chef Avery’s not happy, whatever it was.”
“Oh,
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complicate things. Is he even real? He’s like a character from a bad movie.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think too. Are you all right? Did you get enough to eat?”
“I did, thanks, and it was delicious. I just didn’t want any more of what he had to offer—as a chef or as a fake date. I’ll head home and curl up with a book and be perfectly happy.”
“Are you walking?”
“I am. I live close, remember?”
Toby held out both hands. “Look around. It’s dark. I’m not going to let you walk home alone in the dark—I don’t care how close it is.”
“But your job . . .”
He shrugged. “They’ll survive without me for a few minutes. No more arguing—let me see you home safe.”
Sloane grinned. “I guess I’ll have to let you.”
“Thank you. Much appreciated.”
They fell into step, and their elbows occasionally brushed as they walked. “Eddie’s an amazing guy,” Toby said. “Thanks again for introducing me to him.”
“He doesn’t usually take to people so quickly. What did you say to win him over?”
Toby gave her a look of surprise. “Me? I didn’t say anything. I thought you’d buttered him up somehow.”
“Nope.” Curious. Maybe Eddie was developing some soft spots after all, but Sloane had to admit, if that was the case, she’d miss his crusty exterior. It was endearing in a way, probably because she could be pretty crusty herself when she felt like it was called for.
“Well, I’m definitely making that caramel sauce for Thanksgiving this year. My family’s expecting me to bring something awesome because I work at Frannie’s—like there’s some kind of connection. I think they’re secretly hoping that I’ll bring something from Frannie’s kitchen instead of making it myself.”
Sloane laughed. “You could, I’m sure.”
“I could, but where’s the fun of that? Thanksgiving’s about cooking for each other, or so I thought.”
“True, true.” Sloane nodded as though she totally understood where he was coming from, but she wasn’t going home for Thanksgiving this year. She’d had some car repairs and other things come up, and waitresses were hardly on top of the wage ladder in the first place. She’d stay in Aspen Ridge for Thanksgiving and go home for Christmas. That’s what made the most sense.
“Well, this is me,” she said as they approached her apartment building. “Thanks for bringing me my coat, and for walking me home. It was really sweet of you.”
He held out both hands and gave a little half bow. “I’m nothing if not sweet. Have a good night, Sloane.”
“You too.” She went inside and locked the door, but watched as he strode back up the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill. He’d brought her the coat she’d forgotten, but hadn’t grabbed one for himself. The dork.
But of course, she had to smile. He was a sweet dork.
Chapter Four
Closing time came, and to no one’s surprise, Chef Avery reminded everyone that he didn’t clean kitchens, and that he would return in the morning expecting everything to be pristine. He stalked off, leaving the mess to the rest of them. Because they washed everything as they went, the place wasn’t a disaster, but they had to mop the floors and wipe down the counters and so forth, and their previous chef had always pitched in. Those days were gone, apparently.
“Wasn’t he wonderful?” Frannie asked, pausing in the kitchen doorway with a calculator in her hand. “We’re really going to be put on the map now, aren’t we, everyone?”
The staff glanced up and murmured, and she took that as assent and headed for the office to add up the day’s receipts. Toby had heard her accountant trying to show her an easier system—with computers and everything—but she preferred to handle it the old-fashioned way, and she seemed to keep everything straight, so more power to her.
“I don’t know whether to feel sorry for Jen or happy for her,” Chloe whispered as she passed Toby. “Sure, she doesn’t have a job, but she’s got to be relieved not to work here anymore.”
Toby nodded. He’d had the same thought himself. He didn’t mean to be disloyal to Frank and Frannie, but if Chef Avery was going to stay, Toby Sands just might not. And he didn’t even work in the kitchen.
Things were no better at lunchtime the next day.
“I said to wilt the spinach, not destroy it!” Chef Avery sent a plate flying across the kitchen, where it shattered against the wall. Chloe jumped, and Toby shook his head. He’d come into the kitchen just long enough to deliver his order and pick up a basket of bread, and it looked like he’d arrived in time for the show. Peter, the spinach destroyer, looked near tears.
“I can’t believe the level of incompetence I’m seeing in this kitchen,” Chef Avery muttered as he grabbed another handful of spinach. “I have to do everything myself around here—the imbeciles.”
Toby stepped back out into the dining room. The people at the tables closest to the kitchen were whispering and nodding toward the swinging door, and Toby knew they’d heard everything. This was bad—this was really bad.
When the dining room quieted down after the late-lunch crowd, Toby went looking for Frank and Frannie, who were seated at their desks in the office. He knocked on the open door, and they glanced up and invited him to come in.
“I need to talk to you about something,” he said, feeling entirely out of his element. It wasn’t his place to tell them how to run their business. Well, it wasn’t Chef Avery’s place either, but he certainly didn’t mind doing it.
“Of course. What’s bothering you?” Frank asked.
“It’s Chef Avery. He’s offending the staff, he fired Andrew for no good reason, he’s yelling loudly enough that the customers can hear him, and he’s really . . . well, I’m just going to say that he’s bad for business. We had a couple leave the other night because of him, and even the ones who stay aren’t having a good experience here. I think it would be a shame to ruin all the hard work you two have put into this place by letting him chase away the customers.” Toby took a step back and waited for their responses. They could just as easily fire him as hear him out, but at this point, he had nothing to lose.
Frannie handed him that morning’s newspaper. “Look,” she said, jabbing her finger into the arts and entertainment section.
Toby read it aloud. “‘I stopped in at Frannie’s in Aspen Ridge for lunch yesterday when I heard they had a new chef on staff. Finally, someone who knows how to cook. The rosemary chicken was so tender, it almost fell through the tines of my fork, and the pilaf was divine. Perhaps best of all was the amaretto cake I had for dessert. I’ve been waiting for years for Frannie’s to step into this century with their cuisine, and they’ve finally done it.’” He looked up. “This guy’s crazy! Frannie’s has always had excellent food.”
“But he’s a real critic,” Frannie said. “He studied culinary arts in Europe. People listen to him.”
Toby shook his head. “I don’t need someone who went to school in Europe to tell me what I like to eat.”
“We’re facing a tough situation, Toby,” Frank interjected. “The resort is taking a lot of our business. They have a French chef, so we need to do something to stay competitive.”
“But when people are leaving here because of Chef Avery, they’re going to the resort,” Toby pointed out. “We’re driving business to them.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I just don’t know what else to do.” Frannie gave him a smile. “Thank you, Toby. You’re a good boy. You’ve always had our best interests at heart. This will work out—I’m sure it will.”
Toby wasn’t at all sure, and as he walked back toward the dining room and helped prepare it for dinner, he was even more convinced that they were making a huge mistake.
Chapter Five
Sloane came into the diner extra early the next morning. She’d thought about calling her mom, but she knew that would only lead to an extra-long c
onversation about moving back to New Mexico if that’s how chefs in Aspen Ridge were going to be (which, of course, didn’t make sense, but very little about her mother’s arguments ever did), so she decided to talk to Eddie instead. She perched on the stool in the kitchen and watched him knead the bread dough. “It was so weird. One minute, he’s in there yelling and screaming at the staff, and the next, he’s talking to me like nothing’s wrong at all. And he seemed to think I should be fine with that.”
Eddie flipped the dough over to work it from the other side. He wasn’t replying, but she knew he was listening.
“But Toby made sure I got home all right. I forgot my coat, and he chased after me with it and walked me to my door. He’s so sweet.”
Eddie pulled off a little bit of dough, fashioned it into a donut shape, and plopped it in the fryer. Then he grabbed the loaf pans he’d already greased. “You like Toby?”
“I think I do. Is that crazy? We’ve spent so little time together, but yeah, I think I like him.”
“Doesn’t take long to form an opinion of someone. Too bad you don’t have a dog.”
“I know, right? Dogs are awesome at sniffing people out. I should get one just for that reason.”
Eddie took the donut from the fryer, tossed it in a bin of cinnamon and sugar, then handed it to Sloane. She grinned. “Thanks, Eddie. Need anything before I get to work?”
“Nope.” He was already forming loaves and putting the dough in the pans, head bent to his task.
Sloane ate her donut while she walked to the front of the diner. She flipped the sign to “open,” turned on all the lights, and plugged in the jukebox. It was rarely used anymore, but it lit up that whole corner, and it just made the place feel more special somehow. Yes, if they got rid of it, they could fit in another booth, but she was glad Eddie had decided to keep it.
The door opened and she glanced up, startled to see a huge bouquet of wildflowers being carried into the diner. She couldn’t see who was behind it—that’s how big it was. It made its way over to the counter, and then Gabe’s head popped out from behind it. “Special delivery,” he said with a grin.
Sugar And Spice (Main Street Merchants Book 7) Page 3
