by Emma Belmont
“Mi amici,” he said, giving Maris an air kiss on each cheek. “My friends,” he said to Cookie doing the same. “Welcome and thank you for coming.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it, Chef,” Cookie said to him and handed him the pot. “Some oregano from our garden.”
“Oh,” he gushed. Then he pinched his fingers together, and made a show of kissing them. “Fresh herbs. Nothing is better. Nothing.” He bowed to her. “Thank you.”
“Heather,” Maris said to her. “I see there are some changes taking place at the hardware store.”
She lifted her hands with a shy smile. “It’s my only source of income. I’m going to see if I can turn it around.”
“Maybe start a new chapter in your life,” Maris said smiling. “I can highly recommend it.”
Heather glanced at the hand truck and box. “What have you got there?”
Maris stooped down and opened the box. Max was just returning from setting the oregano in the front window when she pulled out one of the bottles of wine and a corkscrew.
“Complimentary wine,” the B&B owner said. She set them down on the shelf table to the side. Then she took out the plastic cups. “Courtesy of the Pixie Point Bay Lighthouse.”
Max blinked at her, then the wine, then back at her. “I am astonished,” he gasped. Then he held out a hand. “Not at your generosity, Bella, but what about your guests?”
She gave him a sly smile. “They’re just parking.”
As she opened the first bottle, Cookie said, “Oh, there they are.”
Patricia and the Yangs seemed to be chatting as they approached, all of them holding the tri-colored coupons. Maris greeted them with cups of wine on the serving tray. “Good to see you.”
Although the Yangs paused to each take a cup, the food critic proceeded directly to the man in the chef’s uniform. “This smells positively divine.” As she fell into an animated conversation about the menu, Maris caught Cookie’s eye.
“It’s getting a little crowded in here.” She nodded to the door. “Shall we?”
Mac was the next to arrive, carrying the small folding table that Maris had requested. He was looking particularly dashing in the black evening jacket, matching trousers, and crisp white dress shirt. “Table for two?” he said, smiling at her.
“Sounds perfect,” she said, grinning back at him. Once it was set up, she put the tray of wine cups down on it. “Help me get the wine?”
In another few minutes, the wine box was on the sidewalk outside, with the table and tray.
“The forensics crew should be here any minute,” he said.
Maris stopped pouring and looked up at him. “Forensics?”
He chuckled a little as he set down the empty plastic cups. “For good eats.”
Cookie chuckled, and Maris sighed with relief. “Good,” she finally said. “Good.”
“Is that Jude and Fabiola?” Cookie asked. “What is that they’re carrying?”
They were crossing the plaza from the direction of the Oriental gazebo, and walking too far apart. But then Maris saw that they held something strung between them. Only when they reached the sidewalk did Maris see what it was—a string of little paper lights. Jude had a coiled extension cord slung over his shoulder.
“Oh goodness, you two,” Maris said to them. “What a great idea.”
Fab flashed her gorgeous model smile at her. “It’s not a party without party lights.”
Jude took off the extension cord, glancing at the pizzeria. “Then let’s get it started.” He sniffed the air. “Wow, that smells great.” He exchanged a look with his wife. “Let’s hurry.”
The growing group on the sidewalk attracted a couple who seemed hesitant but interested. Maris took the tray of wine over to them.
“Welcome to Pizza del Popolo’s grand opening,” she said. “Complimentary wine on the house.”
“Oh, thank you,” the woman said.
As the man took a glass as well, Maris regarded the brightly lit restaurant and nodded to it. “So far, the Calzone Vesuvio is my favorite. It comes with all the toppings you’d expect—and some wonderful ones you don’t. Well worth a try.”
“Thanks,” the man said, as he and his companion made their way to the restaurant.
“Maris,” said a familiar voice. “Are you serving wine?”
She turned to see Delia and Eugene Burnside approaching. Both were carrying a stack of white plates.
“Aren’t your customers going to need those?” Maris asked, smiling.
“Of course,” Delia said, “and they’re right behind us. We’ve decided to close for the evening.”
As they passed, Eugene winked at her. “Keep your pepper dry, young lady.” Then his head snapped toward the pizzeria. “My that smells enticing.” The two of them waded through the growing crowd.
Mac brought more cups and had opened another bottle of wine. As he poured, the street lamps came up, bathing the surroundings in a beautiful glow. But when the Toussaint’s party lights went on, draped between the restaurant and the nearest lamp, there was a murmur of appreciation—followed by the noise of the crowd ratcheting up a notch.
Someone touched Maris on the shoulder and she turned to find the owner of Plateau 7.
“Bonsoir,” he said to her.
“Etienne,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
He eyed the crowd in the pizzeria. “I think I have arrived just in time,” he said, hardly pausing. “Let me see what I can do.”
As the event grew larger, it attracted more people—just as Maris had hoped. As she and Mac circulated with the wine, people were eating and laughing, and simply having a good time. Lucille and Sefina were in the growing crowd, as were Alfred and Minako. She hadn’t seen any of them arrive. But everyone that she had called on for help had delivered above and beyond.
“Speech,” someone called out. “Chef Cuore! Speech!”
More calls for Max sounded, and finally he emerged from the restaurant. The crowd immediately burst into applause and there were shouts of “Bravo!”.
Max clasped his hands together over his head, shaking them, and then over his heart. When his gaze landed on Maris, he quickly waved at the crowd for quiet.
“Speech,” someone yelled. Someone else answered, “Let him speak!”
As quiet slowly spread, Max lowered his hands, and someone handed him a cup of wine. He held it to his heart as he looked around him, grinning madly.
“Mi amici,” he started, then shook his head. “No.” He gazed around looking at each of them, and even from the edge of the crowd, Maris could see that he was misty-eyed. “Mi familia. How truly, truly lucky I am. I…I don’t know what to say.” He held out his plastic cup. “Except…grazie mille. Thank you. A thousand times over, thank you. This…” His voice broke a little. “…would not have been possible without you.” He looked directly at Maris, his eyes gleaming. Then he raised his wine high in the air. “To Pixie Point Bay.”
As the crowd answered with a hearty and loud reply, Maris and Mac smiled and lifted their cups as well. “To Pixie Point Bay.”
Dedication
For Mr. Bee’s Knees
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 Emma Belmont
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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