Sugar And Spice (Main Street Merchants Book 7)

by Amelia C. Adams

  By the time one thirty rolled around, he was ready to fall over from exhaustion, but there was also a sense of pride that came along with it. Taci had brought him some compliments from the customers, and that meant a great deal to him. If he could manage to keep this place open and running so Eddie wouldn’t have anything to worry about, that would be amazing. And, he had to admit, maybe he wanted to impress Sloane. Just a tiny little bit.

  ***

  Sloane opened the door to her apartment and grinned when she saw Toby standing there holding up a carton of chocolate ice cream.

  “It was too late to get flowers,” he said as he came in. “I figured ice cream was the next best thing.”

  “No, ice cream is the best thing,” she replied. “I was glad to get your text—you’re always welcome to come over, just so you know.”

  “Well, I know it’s late, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She shook her head—that hurt less now. “You can’t disturb me if you’re bringing ice cream. It’s not possible.”

  She showed him into the kitchen, and he scooped them each a big bowlful. Then they went into the living room and sat on her fluffy couch.

  “How’d things go today?” she asked, tucking her feet up beneath her.

  “I think they went really well. I was nervous at first, but I got in the groove. Have you talked to Taci? How does she think it went?”

  “She had nothing but praise for you. She said you were quick and efficient, and the food looked great.”

  Toby made a show of mopping his brow. “Phew. That’s a relief.” He took a bite of his ice cream, then said, “Taci’s great, but I have to say, I’d been picturing the two of us working together. I missed having you there.”

  Sloane ducked her head and pretended to study the swirl of marshmallow in her dish. “You have no idea how much I wanted to be there. It was killing me to stay away.”

  “I overheard people asking about you just as much as they were asking about Eddie. Seems they’re pretty used to starting their days off with you.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a comfortable routine, one I love. I miss them when they don’t come in too.” She took another bite. “How was the restaurant tonight?”

  Toby exhaled long and loud. “Tense. Frannie was crying in the office by seven thirty. Chef Avery asked me to send you his regards.”

  “I’ve received them, thanks, but I have no idea what to do with them.” Sloane reached out and set her dish on the coffee table. “That man lives and breathes drama. Life is crazy enough without piling more onto it, don’t you think?”

  “I do think.” Toby finished his ice cream with a series of quick bites, then put his empty bowl next to Sloane’s half-empty one. “So, about tomorrow. Do you think you’ll make it in, or do you need another day?”

  “I might not be very frisky, but I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” He reached out and touched her hand where it rested on the back of the couch. “Things just aren’t the same without you.”

  “Then I’ll be extra sure to come in,” she replied. It was a little hard to pull in a breath—that simple touch was doing things to her lungs. Not unpleasant things, though—not at all.

  “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He let himself out, and she remained on the couch and stared at their ice cream bowls for a long, long time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sloane’s phone rang as she crossed the street toward the diner. She fished it out of her pocket and answered. “Hello?”

  “Are you taking good care of my diner?”

  “Eddie!” She paused on the sidewalk. “How are you?”

  “Doctor says I’m in great shape for what bad shape I’m in. Now, how’s my diner?”

  “It’s going great. Toby learned your recipes, the customers seem happy—I think you’d be proud.”

  “Good. And how are you? Heard you had a little incident with a car and a mountainside.”

  “Who told you that?” She hadn’t wanted him to worry.

  “I have my ways.”

  Well, that wasn’t a very good answer, but she supposed that’s all she was going to get out of him. “I’m fine, really. Toby’s insurance got him a rental car, so he can still get around, and everything’s under control.”

  “Good.” Eddie paused. “Listen, Sloane. I don’t think I’ll be able to put in such long hours in the kitchen anymore. What would you think if I ran the place from the office and turned the hard stuff over to you young people? I can’t sell—it would break my heart—but this kind of change, I can do.”

  Sloane pressed her lips together for a moment before answering. Taking Eddie out of the kitchen? That sounded like the worst thing that could ever happen. But if he was still there, in the office, and it kept him healthier . . . “Sure. I think that would be fine.” She tried to sound cheerful and supportive, but she was afraid that she mostly sounded like she was about to cry. Which she was.

  “Thanks, Sloane. I know it’s not easy. Please talk to Toby and Taci about it, all right? I trust Toby with my kitchen, and Taci’s a good girl. You’re the one I’m depending on the most, though.” He hung up before she could figure out if he sounded a little teary too.

  Sloane unlocked the diner and went inside, and Toby arrived just a couple of minutes later. She didn’t know how he managed to look so energetic—he’d worked at two restaurants the day before, plus he’d come to see her. He must be worn out, but he didn’t look it.

  But now that she thought of it, she’d never seen him look bad.

  Hmm.

  “Glad you’re here,” he said, giving her a one-armed side hug. “And I bet Taci was glad to sleep in today.”

  “She would have kissed me through the phone when I called her, if that was possible. She’ll be here at ten to help with lunch, though.” She thought about telling Toby about Eddie’s call right then, but no—that would be a longer conversation, and they’d need to have it later. It was time to get to work.

  When the customers started coming in, Sloane was kept busy answering questions about Eddie and also about herself. It warmed her heart to see how much everyone cared. She was also pleased to see how well Toby kept up with the orders. She’d trusted Taci’s evaluation, of course, but seeing it for herself was important, and he was right on top of things. She couldn’t help but notice how he glanced up to meet her eyes whenever she put a new ticket on the order wheel, and how that made her almost ridiculously happy. Good grief—she barely knew the guy. She had no business feeling all ooey and gooey around him. She was a waitress, and she needed to concentrate on her tables.

  A customer asked for a new bottle of ketchup, and she headed back into the kitchen to get one. As she pulled it from the shelf, she almost ran right into Toby, who had just come out of the fridge. She went to step around him, but he went the same way. They went back and forth like that for a second, laughing, and then her eyes met his, and her laugh died off.

  She’d never noticed what beautiful eyes he had.

  He reached out and stroked a finger down the side of her cheek. She pulled in a breath, closing her eyes without making a conscious choice about it, and then he brushed a brief kiss across her mouth. Just a little one, just enough to make her wonder if she’d imagined it. Then he pulled back, and her eyes opened.

  “Um, ketchup,” she said, holding up the bottle.

  “Cheese,” he said, holding up the package.

  Neither one of them moved, looking into each other’s eyes until the bell over the door rang again, snapping her out of her trance.

  She stepped around Toby and headed out to the dining room, delivering the ketchup before turning to greet her new customer. It was Quinn from the bakery across the street. “Hey, Quinn,” she said. “What can I get you?”

  Quinn tilted her head to the side and looked at her curiously. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”

  Sloane raised a hand to her cheek. Sure enough, it was hot, but she’d have to blam
e that on Toby. “I’m fine,” she said. “But you know what—you might be able to answer a question for me. Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure,” Quinn said. “What’s up?”

  Sloane looked over at Taci, who had arrived a few minutes before, and gestured that she’d be taking a break. Taci nodded and went back to her customer.

  “You took over the bakery this summer when Mr. D’Angelo got sick,” Sloane said. “How has that been?”

  Quinn frowned. “Is Eddie going to be all right? I heard he was on the mend.”

  “Oh, he’ll be back.” Sloane lowered her voice. “He’s just thinking that he’d better run things from the office instead of the kitchen.”

  “That’s a relief.” Quinn leaned back in the booth. “My situation’s a little different because I’ve become the owner of the bakery, but I’m still trying to run things the D’Angelo way. Has there been family involved? I think Eddie has a brother, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah, Sal. He came and worked here one day right after Eddie’s heart attack, and it was a disaster. He really isn’t suited for the diner business and doesn’t want to be here.”

  “That will make things a little easier for you, then.” Quinn smiled. “All I can say is that I’m glad Eddie has you.” She glanced over at the kitchen. “Who’s your new cook?”

  “His name is Toby. He’s a waiter at Frannie’s.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know Toby. I didn’t know he cooked, though.”

  “Neither did I for a while.”

  Quinn nodded. “If you run into any difficulties, let me know. I might not have all the answers, but I can feed you a cookie.”

  “Sometimes cookies are all I need. Thanks, Quinn.” Sloane slid back out of the booth. “Now I guess we’d better get around to what you came in for. What would you like?”

  “It’s gotta be the pumpkin pancakes,” Quinn replied. “And a side order of scrambled eggs.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She hung up the order, but then paused and leaned against the doorjamb leading into the kitchen. “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” Toby replied. He waggled his eyebrows at her, sending her right back to that moment by the fridge, and her heart pounded.

  She cleared her throat. “Can you come over again tonight after work?”

  He grinned. “Out of ice cream already? I thought I left almost half a carton in your freezer.”

  “You did. It’s something else.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “All right. Is something wrong?”

  “No, not at all.” She swallowed against the lump that had risen in her throat. “Nothing. I just need to talk to you.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  She watched him for another moment before turning back to the dining room, remembering all the times she’d stood there just like that to talk to Eddie. Retiring him to the office was going to be hard, but she wasn’t losing him altogether, and that was a good thing. It was just the end of an era, one she had loved and been proud to be a part of. Why did things have to change?

  ***

  Sloane would have told him if he was doing something wrong, wouldn’t she? She’d always been pretty forthcoming—why was she having him come over after work instead of just telling him straight out? Maybe she was firing him and didn’t want to do it publicly. That thought struck him right in the center of the chest. He’d only been a part of the diner team for a short time, but he loved it. Even when he had eight tickets on the order wheel and he was racing to catch up, he thoroughly enjoyed what he was doing, and Sloane and Taci were a lot of fun to work with.

  Especially Sloane.

  He grinned as he remembered their brief kiss that afternoon. It had certainly taken him by surprise—he’d just followed the spirit of the moment, and wow, what a moment that had been. But that was probably why he was being fired. He shouldn’t have pressed his advantage like that, and definitely not at the diner during a meal shift.

  Toby groaned as he finished buttoning his white shirt. He’d been too spontaneous. He should have waited to kiss her—or maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her at all, ever. He’d most likely misread the little sparks that had been flying back and forth. Maybe he was the only one who felt them, and she was just being friendly.

  All the way to Frannie’s, he rehearsed what he’d say to Sloane later that night. He was sorry, it wouldn’t happen again, he hoped they could still be friends. Sure, those were nice words, and probably the right thing to say, but he did want it to happen again, and he didn’t want to be friends—he wanted to be more.

  He set up the dining room for dinner, of course, and did all his other tasks, but he was distracted and didn’t talk much to the other employees. Sage asked if he was all right, and he said yes, but in truth, he wasn’t all right. He wished it was closing time right now so he could go talk to Sloane and get this thing resolved, whatever this thing was.

  When the dinner crowd began to wander in, Toby spotted the lady from the week before who had the parsley/garlic allergy. She was seated at his table, and he greeted her with a smile.

  “I enjoyed my dinner here so much the other night, I decided I needed to come back. Could you please have the kitchen make me the exact same thing? The lemon garlic chicken with no garlic, and no parsley?”

  “Of course. We’re so glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, I did,” she gushed. “The subtle flavors in the sauce were divine.”

  Toby smiled, trying to hide a bit of a smirk. “I’ll have that right out to you.”

  He entered the kitchen and walked over to the stove, where Chef Avery was tossing some shrimp in butter. “Chef, the lady from last week, the lemon chicken without parsley or garlic, is back and would like the same dish.”

  Chef Avery flicked his eyes at Toby, then went back to his shrimp. “Coming right up.”

  Toby paused. “Would you like me to show you how I did the sauce?”

  “No, I believe I can manage. Thank you.” His voice was clipped, and Toby stepped back.

  “Very good, Chef.”

  He prepared the plate with the side dishes, turned to get the chicken from Chef Avery, and could see at a glance that it wasn’t the same thing at all. He pulled in a breath and then exhaled, knowing he had little choice but to serve the dish. He had tried to fight Chef Avery in the past, and it had never gotten him anywhere.

  Toby pasted a smile on his face and headed out to the dining room, delivering the food and refilling the lady’s water. Then he moved on to his next table. He wasn’t surprised when not two minutes later, the woman was flagging him down.

  “I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but this isn’t what I ordered,” she said, pointing down to her dish. “I mean, it’s lemon chicken, and it doesn’t have any garlic or parsley, but . . . it’s not the same as it was last week. May I speak with the chef?”

  “Of course,” Toby replied, crossing his fingers behind his back that Chef Avery wouldn’t slice her head off with one of his very expensive knives.

  He stepped back into the kitchen. “Chef, a customer would like to see you.”

  Chef Avery turned from the stove, a smug grin on his face. “But of course.” He glanced down at his spotless white coat, grabbed a towel and dabbed his forehead, and followed Toby out to the table.

  “Are you the chef?” the woman asked as he approached.

  “Ah, my coat and hat must have given me away,” he replied jovially. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, it’s my chicken. It’s good—don’t get me wrong—but I’ve been looking forward to a second helping of what you made me last week.”

  Chef Avery flicked another look at Toby. “I’m sorry, ma’am—help me understand. Are you saying that you prefer the meal you were served last week to this meal before you now?” He waved his hand at the table.

  “That’s right. Last week, the sauce was creamier, and the chicken was more tender. Could you please take my plate and bring me some of that instead?”

  The
muscle in Chef Avery’s jaw began to twitch. “I could, but then I would be allowing you to eat inferior food.”

  “But if I’m the one eating it, aren’t I the one to judge which dish is inferior?”

  Toby hid his chuckle in a cough. You go, he thought.

  Chef Avery’s face was turning purple. Toby glanced around to see the other patrons watching on curiously. Frank came toward them, weaving through the tables, and asked, “Is something the matter?”

  “Yes,” the woman replied. “I was here last week and had a delightful meal. I just ordered the same dish, and there seems to be a problem with making it for me.”

  Frank glanced up at Toby. “Is this the meal that inspired the . . . discussion . . . last week?”

  Toby nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Frank turned back to the customer. “We’ll have your new dish ready for you in a few minutes. On the house.” Then he jerked his head toward the kitchen, looking at both Chef Avery and Toby.

  Once they were in the kitchen and out of earshot, Frank asked, “What’s going on here?”

  “I made the dish Toby ordered, and the customer isn’t satisfied with it,” Chef Avery said. “She seems to prefer whatever swill Toby made her.”

  “Then it stands to reason that Toby should make her dinner this time too,” Frank replied. “I don’t understand the issue. It’s simple logic.”

  “I am a trained chef. I have worked in some of the finest restaurants imaginable. This . . .” Chef waved his hand at Toby. “This has been working at the diner! I saw him as I walked past this morning.”

  “Nevertheless, he made the dish the customer wants,” Frank said. Toby could tell he was trying to keep his patience.

  “If that customer can’t tell the difference between pig slop and true cuisine, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that,” Chef Avery said, his eyes ablaze. “But I will not be rousted out by a diner cook.”

  Frank took a deep breath. “Chef, it’s your responsibility to give the customer a pleasant experience in our restaurant. You will step aside and allow Toby to make that chicken.”