Sugar And Spice (Main Street Merchants Book 7)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “So he’s going to come sit with you here,” Sloane continued. “This is where he really belongs.”

  Eddie opened his eyes and focused them on Toby. “Looks like I’m up a creek without a paddle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So. Will you help me?”

  Sloane looked between Eddie and Toby. What did Eddie mean?

  “I don’t know, Eddie. It’s been a long time.”

  Eddie didn’t answer for a minute. When he did, his speech was a bit labored. “That diner’s the only thing I’ve really had in my life. The diner, and the customers, and the waitresses.” He glanced over. “Sloane.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. This was horrible. Why did people have to get old and sick?

  “I need your help, Toby. Sure, we could advertise, but not a lot of people would move to a tiny town like Aspen Ridge to cook in a diner.” Eddie took a long breath.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. What do you need?” Toby asked.

  “Go upstairs and look in my bedroom—it’s the blue one at the end of the hall. In the nightstand is a spiral notebook. All my recipes are in there.”

  Sloane sucked in a breath. Eddie’s recipes? He was giving them to Toby? But Eddie never gave his recipes to anyone. And why Toby?

  “I’ll take good care of them, sir.”

  “I know you will.” Eddie looked over at Sloane. “Just run a breakfast and early lunch shift for a few weeks. Let Toby get to Frannie’s on time.”

  “Okay.” But why for a few weeks? What were they supposed to do after that? She didn’t understand, but if that’s what he wanted, that’s what they’d do.

  “Now let an old man get some sleep.” Eddie closed his eyes and didn’t open them again. Within seconds, he was snoring.

  Sloane and Toby walked out of the room. As soon as they reached the lobby, she turned to him. “What’s going on? Why is he giving you his recipes?”

  Toby grimaced. “Um, I think we need to talk. Let’s get the cooler out of the car and have a little picnic on the grass out there, okay? There are some trees . . .” He looked out the window. “Yes, I’d say this hospital has a definite picnic-friendly atmosphere to it.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And you’ll tell me while we eat?”

  “Yes, I’ll definitely tell you while we eat.”

  ***

  Toby took a handful of Doritos and laid them on top of the lunchmeat in his sandwich, then closed up the bun and took a big bite. He glanced up to see Sloane staring at him.

  “What?” he said after he swallowed. “Haven’t you ever put chips in your sandwich?”

  “Um, no,” she replied.

  “Well, you’ve got to try it. Seriously, you haven’t really lived.”

  “Speaking of seriously, you know it’s cold out here, right? You and this picnic idea . . .”

  “There’s no snow here. That puts it as fair game.”

  “And this is Colorado, which means, we’re in snow country.” She pointed upwards. “Those are snow clouds. That means it’s cold out here.”

  “Okay, okay. We’ll eat fast.”

  “And talk fast?” she asked.

  “Yeah. That too. But really, we could talk in the car afterwards—where it’s warm.”

  “Toby . . .”

  He sighed. He wasn’t going to get out of this no matter what he did. “All right. I’ll tell you the story, but you have to be very kind to me.”

  A look of concern crossed her face. “Of course.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, here it goes. I’m actually a chef. I went to culinary school and then worked at a restaurant for a year. And then something happened.”

  Sloane raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a little chef in your hat pulling on your hair, telling you what to do?”

  Toby groaned. “Come on. You said you’d be nice.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll be good now.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “All right. Well, one night, we were really busy, and my sous chef had let a pan bubble over in the oven. I told him to throw some degreaser in there and let it sit until after the rush. Well, one thing led to another, and some of that degreaser got spilled into a pot of soup I had going on the stove.”

  Sloane paused with her sandwich halfway up to her mouth. She didn’t move, but just stared at him while he kept talking.

  “He didn’t tell me about the spill. He just stirred it up and kept on working, and I had no idea. We served the soup to about ten people before we knew something was wrong.”

  She set her sandwich down, but kept staring.

  “And ten people were rushed to the hospital with lye burns in their mouths and throats.”

  “Oh, no,” she said at last. “Oh, my gosh, Toby.”

  “Yeah.” He looked away. “Well, of course they immediately put the restaurant under investigation. The sous chef confessed to what he’d done and that he didn’t realize it would hurt anyone because it was a small amount in a large pot of soup. He explained that I didn’t know anything about it, so they let me off the hook. I’m not sure what happened to him, but it was really unfortunate.

  “Well, some of the customers decided to sue the restaurant, which was an independently owned place and not a chain or anything, and they ended up losing their business. And my father, who had always hated the idea of me being a chef, decided that this was a sign that I never should have gone against his wishes, and really began coming down on me hard about it.”

  “And you moved, and decided not to cook anymore,” Sloane finished for him.

  “I just . . . even though I’m not ultimately to blame for it, knowing what those people went through—some of them couldn’t talk for a week—yeah. I’m sort of prone to guilt anyway,” he said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood, even though there was nothing light about this at all. As the chef, he was responsible for everything that happened in the kitchen. He should have given the soup one last taste. He shouldn’t have told the sous chef to use a chemical while there was an open pot on the stove. “There are so many tiny little things I could have done differently.”

  “And you’ve learned from it, from what it sounds like,” Sloane said. “I’m so sorry, Toby. That’s a cook’s worst nightmare—making their customers sick.”

  “Yup.” He paused, trying to shake off those memories. He hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for weeks after that. “But I guess maybe I’m being given a chance to redeem myself. I cooked a few dishes at Frannie’s last night.”

  “You did? That’s impressive.”

  “Yeah, I had to because Chef Avery was throwing another temper tantrum and walked out for ten minutes. But I have to admit, it was fun, and I realized that I’ve missed being in the kitchen.”

  Sloane took a sip from her water bottle, then said, “I thought Chad was going to behave himself.”

  “I thought so too. He did apologize last night, though.”

  “Well, yeah, but if he’s just going to turn around and do it again, that’s not much of an apology.” Sloane glanced at her watch. “Can you come back to the diner with me and get the notebook before you have to go to work? And when should we re-open—I imagine you’ll want a couple of days to study the recipes.”

  “Yes to both. Why don’t we re-open on Tuesday? That way, the food supplier can deliver on Monday, and we’ll be in good shape.”

  “All right.” She studied his face. “How can I ever thank you? I mean, you’re definitely getting paid for this—no getting out of it—but this is so much more than a job. This is saving a man’s livelihood.”

  “And knowing that is all the thanks I need,” Toby said. He picked up his sandwich and took a big bite. Talking to Sloane this way, telling her about his past—he felt better than he had for a long time. It was so nice to open up to someone, even if it meant being vulnerable. He hadn’t been able to talk to anyone in his family this way, and there h
adn’t been someone else to turn to.

  Sloane looked at him with admiration in her eyes. “You’re possibly the coolest guy I’ve ever met,” she said. “Except for Eddie. No one can top Eddie.”

  “If I have to come in second to someone, I’ll gladly come in second to him,” Toby replied.

  “So how did Eddie know you’re a trained chef?” Sloane asked.

  “I told him,” Toby said, heat coming to his face as he realized how that sounded. “I didn’t mean not to tell you—”

  “It’s okay,” she cut him off. “Sure, I’m mortally wounded that you left me out of such an important revelation, but I understand why. You had a past to live down. And I hope that you’re able to do it now.”

  “You know what, Sloane?”

  “What?”

  He grinned. “You’re possibly the coolest girl I know. No exceptions.”

  Chapter Ten

  They parked Sloane’s car in the employee lot, and she found the right key on her keychain. After she unlocked the door, they stepped through into the back of the diner, but instead of going through to the kitchen, she led Toby toward the left and up a flight of stairs.

  “This is the apartment where Eddie and Sal and their parents lived,” she said, finding another key on her keychain. She paused before using it, though, and knocked. She hadn’t seen Sal’s car outside, but she didn’t want to take the chance of barging in on his privacy. When no one answered, she unlocked the door and they went inside.

  “Whoa,” Toby said. “It’s like going back in time up here.”

  “Crazy.” The whole place was a definite throwback to the sixties and seventies. Sloane didn’t think a single thing had been updated since the Marino family had moved in—all the money had gone into the diner. She’d never been up here. Eddie had given her a key in case of an emergency, and she’d never needed to use it.

  “So, he said his bedroom was this way,” Toby said.

  “You go,” Sloane told him. “He invited you back there, not me, and I feel . . . well, kind of like I’m trespassing on his territory.”

  “I’m pretty sure he won’t mind,” Toby said, but she shook her head.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” He went down the hall, and she amused herself by looking at family pictures on the wall. Those were some wild hairdos . . .

  Then she heard Toby cry out, and he came running back into the living room, clutching the notebook to his chest, his eyes wild. “Run! Run!” he yelled. “They’re after us!”

  Sloane didn’t even pause to ask who he was talking about. She turned for the door and started to run down the stairs, but stopped when she heard him laughing behind her. She walked back up, feeling mighty suspicious.

  Toby was right where she’d left him, doubled over with laughter. “You should have seen your face,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “You just scared the life out of me. You think you’re crying now—I’ll make you cry,” she told him.

  “I just . . . I just . . . you were so freaked out about being in Eddie’s apartment, I knew you’d fall for it if I said something creepy was going on.” Toby finally got his laughter under control. “Oh, that was awesome. Okay, we can go now.”

  She scowled at him. “I’m going to get you back. You realize this will happen. It’s not Halloween anymore, buddy—it’s not time for stupid pranks.”

  He practically danced past her and down the stairs. “It’s always time for stupid pranks.”

  ***

  Toby paused before entering Frannie’s that afternoon. It was becoming harder and harder to show up for work—being around Chef Avery was like working with someone who had a split personality. He could do this—he really could. He just needed to keep his head down and do his job.

  Chloe met him just inside the door as soon as he walked in. “It’s bad,” she whispered. “It’s really bad.”

  Toby could hear how bad it was from where he stood. Pans were being thrown around, yelling—and the only two customers there for a late lunch were getting up to leave. When they came to the front to pay, Frank gave them their meal for free and apologized for all the commotion, but Toby didn’t think those two particular people were ever coming back.

  When Toby stepped into the office to punch in, Frannie was in tears. “Chef Avery’s upset because we got another bad review,” she said. “He tried to blame it on your cooking, but you didn’t prepare a pork chop, did you?”

  “No, I did some chicken and a steak.”

  Frannie wiped her cheeks. “He’s in there threatening to leave.”

  “And you’d really like him to stay?”

  “Of course I would!” She sniffed and tried to smile. “He will calm down again though, right? I mean, he throws these fits, and then it’s like he gets everything out of his system and he’s okay for a little while?”

  “Kind of like food poisoning?” Toby suggested, unable to help himself. “You throw up for several hours and then you’re fine?”

  “Exactly,” Frannie said, totally missing his sarcasm. “We’ll just ride this out, and everything will go back to normal.”

  Toby had to bite his tongue. “Normal” with Chef Avery wasn’t something he wanted to aspire to.

  He put the dining room to rights, tidied up the lobby, went outside and picked up trash in the parking lot—he did everything he could think of to procrastinate entering the kitchen. But he was running out of things to do, and the things he was supposed to be doing weren’t getting done. Finally, he stepped into the kitchen, taking a deep breath to steel himself for whatever was to come.

  What he wasn’t expecting was to be completely ignored. Not like everything was fine, but like he wasn’t even there.

  Chef Avery walked toward him as though expecting to pass through him like a wall of mist, and Toby had to leap out of the way. He didn’t look at Toby or acknowledge him in any way. When Toby brought back his first order, Chef didn’t even indicate that he’d heard it, although he did prepare the plates.

  “What’s going on?” Toby finally asked Peter under his breath.

  “You are apparently beneath his notice,” Peter said. “I wish that would happen to me.”

  “It’s not that hard,” Chloe said.

  “Oh, I make him mad all the time. He’s just never flat-out ignored me,” Peter clarified.

  That evening was one of the strangest Toby had ever spent at the restaurant. He’d seen people give each other the silent treatment before, but never a grown man, and while he figured this was better than a tantrum, he recognized that it was a different kind of tantrum—Chef Avery was still seeking to control the kitchen with his emotions.

  He could hardly wait to get back to the diner.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Monday morning, Sloane opened the door to the diner and stepped inside. It was quiet, eerily quiet. All the machines, with the exception of the fridge and freezer, were off. Plus, she was used to Eddie being in the back when she arrived. She paused in the dining room and just listened to the stillness.

  She’d placed a food order online, and it was scheduled to arrive in an hour. That would give her time to walk around and remind herself what needed to be done. She hung up her coat and got to work, starting with the refrigerator.

  She and Toby had thrown out everything they knew would go bad over the weekend, but there were a few things she hadn’t been sure about, so she checked them now. Yep, those strawberries couldn’t be used, but everything else was still good.

  Of course, thinking about cleaning out the fridge with Toby got her thinking about Toby, and when she heard his voice calling out from the dining room, for a second she thought she was just imagining it. Then he came in the kitchen, and she smiled at him. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he replied, leaning against the doorjamb. “Heard from Sal or Eddie?”

  “Yeah, Sal called me just before I got here. They’ve scheduled Eddie’s surgery for this afternoon.”

  “I guess the fact
that they didn’t rush him in immediately is a good sign then, right? They would have done it as soon as he got there if it was that bad.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sloane replied. “Sal mentioned something about how he was now stable enough for the surgery.”

  “Oh. That does sound pretty serious.” Toby pressed his lips together. “So, where should we start?”

  “I thought you could take a minute and look around, see where everything’s kept,” Sloane said. “I need to make some signs and update our Facebook page to let everyone know our new schedule. We’re just doing breakfast and early lunch, so I’m going to print out some menus that don’t include the dinner specials.”

  She left Toby puttering around in the kitchen while she stepped into the tiny office and flipped on the computer. The desk chair had a perfect indentation in it from all the time Eddie had sat there writing checks or placing orders or any of the other countless things he’d done after hours. He hardly ever got a break while the diner was open, which was probably a good reason for his heart attack.

  She logged on to Facebook, then posted the new hours. Now serving breakfast and early lunch only, she typed. Diner closes at 1:30. She understood why Eddie had asked her to change the hours, but why had Eddie said to run it that way for a few weeks? What was he expecting to change in the meantime?

  She pulled up the menu file and deleted the dinner options, saving that under a different name so she wouldn’t lose the original, then printed out a stack of them. She was inserting the new sheets into the menu covers when Toby came out of the kitchen.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got where everything is. I did move the knives over a little bit—hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. It’s got to work for you.” She smiled up at him. “I think we can pull this off. Do you feel comfortable with the recipes? Did you want to try any of them out before tomorrow?”

  “I was confused about a few, but I tried them out at home and figured them out,” he replied.

  “Thanks for doing that.” She was about to say more, but the food delivery arrived just then, and she and Toby got to work putting everything away.