by Seana Kelly
Until I could think about dating a woman without breaking out in a cold sweat, I had no business starting anything. Maybe someday I’d be ready for another woman in my life, but it wasn’t now. Of course, by the time I was ready, Katie would probably be married to Bear with a couple of kids. The thought made my chest ache.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kate
I WALKED UP and down Main, looking for a job. Any job. It was the off-season for Bar Harbor. Every place I tried told me to come back in the late spring, when they’ll be hiring and training for summer. How the hell would I survive for seven months with no job?
Mom’s check arrived by FedEx’s one-day delivery, thank goodness. I cashed it immediately. I’d planned on opening a bank account with it, but I wanted to be able to do that with Gallagher as my last name, not Cady. The woman at the bank was kind enough to tell me where I had to go to file the paperwork for my name change. I also figured it would be good to contact my lawyer again—maybe she could expedite the process.
My salivary glands went nuts when I stepped into a cupcake shop. Oh, my goodness, everything looked gorgeous and delicious! My stomach rumbled, and I slapped a hand over it.
Just then a woman walked out of the back room. “Afternoon, hon. What can I get for you? The white chocolate raspberry are amazing today.”
My stomach rumbled again, louder.
She laughed. “I heard that. Which one looks good to you, and would you like a drink to go with it?”
My face flamed. “Sorry. Honestly, they all look delicious, but I’m here for a job. Are you hiring?”
Her smile dropped. “Oh. Sorry. This time of year it’s too slow to afford more help. I can handle things myself. Try again in late May. I usually hire a part-time helper then.”
Nodding, I said, “I understand. Thanks, anyway.”
As I turned, she said, “Are you sure you don’t still want one?”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” I lied, as I stepped out the door.
I stood on the sidewalk and took in the gorgeous park and harbor. The trees were aflame in red and gold. I may starve, but I’d do it in picturesque surroundings. There was that.
I was just about to dash across the street, to try my luck with the shops on that side, when someone yelled.
“Yo, Red. You wanna dog?”
I spun, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. A man was leaning out of a food truck, his arms braced on the counter, watching me.
I walked over and stood before his counter. “Actually, I wanna job.”
He shrugged. “Buy a dog and we’ll talk about a job.”
Squinting, I took in his blotchy face and bloodshot eyes. “Really? Or are you just trying to sell me a hot dog?”
He laughed, before taking a large gulp of water. “Oh, I’m definitely trying to sell the dog, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a job, too.”
I went up on tiptoe and tried to see inside. “It’s clean in there, isn’t it?”
“Not as clean as it’s going to be once you get to work. Now, do you want that dog?”
“How much?” I was calculating how long the money I had would need to last.
“Five bucks.”
Stepping back, I looked around. “What is this, a baseball stadium? Five bucks for a hot dog is robbery. No wonder I’m the only person standing here.”
I turned to leave, but he held up his hand. “For that five bucks, you get a dog, a drink and a possible job. Seems like a good deal to me.”
He had a point. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled again. He sniggered, pointing. “Gotcha! Now, whaddaya want on it?”
I gave up the five bucks and ordered a dog with chili, cheese and jalapeños. When he handed it to me, I was hit with the overpowering stench of sour, stale booze. Either he bathed in it, or it was seeping from his pores. Given his rough appearance and bloodshot eyes, I was going with the latter.
I had to stop myself from inhaling the hot dog. I opened my mouth to take a bite and then thought better of it. “Do I want to know how many days you’ve been reheating this chili?”
“No,” he said, before taking another gulp of water.
My mouth was watering. E. coli be damned. I took a huge bite, closed my eyes and stifled a moan. Truly, this was the food of the gods! I opened my eyes to study the man and his food truck. If I worked here, at least I’d be able to eat.
As if reading my mind, he said, “You can have one free dog per shift.”
I took another juicy, spicy, smoky bite, wishing I had three more waiting for me. I swallowed and asked, “What would my job entail?”
He glanced around, confused. “What I just did. Weren’t you paying attention?” He downed the rest of the water bottle. “I’m not really impressed with your attention to detail, kid.”
“I’m a good cook. Would I be making anything besides hot dogs?” I ate the last bite, stuffed after so many days with little to eat. I was thinking about those warnings to starving people not to eat or drink too fast for fear of it coming right back up. I put my hand on my stomach again, willing the dog to stay right where it was.
He looked me over, speculation clear in his eyes. “You can cook, huh? Now, that is interesting. What kind of stuff—food-truck stuff—can you make?”
“Well.” I crumpled the napkin in my hand and tossed it in the nearby garbage can. “I can make better chili than this from scratch. And if you grilled the jalapeños first, they’d taste better. I also do amazing grilled cheese sandwiches—”
“Sweet. That asshole Jimmy runs the grilled cheese truck. He’s only around in the summer months, though. You’d have a couple of months to build a loyal following, so when he shows up, we can put him out of business.” He smiled broadly, transforming his hangdog expression. “What else ya got?”
I shrugged. “Anything, really. I can make cheesesteaks, burgers, corn dogs. Whatever.”
There was a gleam in his eye when he said, “You’re hired, kid.”
My heart leaped, but wariness followed close behind. “How much will you pay me, and what are my hours?”
“Enough, to my way of thinking, but probably not to yours. And as many as I need. Jeez, you ask a lot of questions.” He wiped down his prep area. “So, you want the job or what?”
I needed a job to survive and I could make this work. It’d be like my own personal, tiny restaurant. Thinking about the dark recesses of the food truck, I amended that description to a tiny, filthy, possibly rat-infested restaurant. I’d be a fool not to say yes.
“You need to give me an actual dollar amount and a general idea about my hours before I can agree.” Standing my ground, I looked him in the eye and waited.
“Fine. Fine. But I’ll fire your ass if you do a lousy job.”
“Agreed.”
“Seven bucks an hour, and you’ll be working the lunch shift—ten thirty to about two thirty. But weekends will be longer hours. And if you can make something people want to eat for breakfast, something that pays for itself and you, you can open earlier and sell that, too.”
“You do know that seven bucks an hour is below minimum wage, right?”
He grumbled a few choice words. “It’s my damn truck. I get to decide what to pay people, not those worthless politicians.” He paused for a second, studying me. “This is all under the table, too. I’m not paying for any insurance or withholdings or any of that crap. You work an hour. I hand you seven bucks. Deal or not?”
I thought about the quickly dwindling bag of dog food in the pantry. “Deal.”
“Good.” He opened and closed a drawer, then held up a key. Tossing it to me, he said, “I don’t want to deal with you today. My head is killing me as it is. Get here tomorrow at nine and you can clean up before you begin cooking.” He turned his back and walked toward
the front of the truck.
“Wait! Why the key? Won’t you be here to train me?”
“I’ve got a second truck I take to Bangor. There ain’t enough people in the Harbor this time of year to make much of a profit.” His voice was muffled as he continued, “You can cook, right? Figure it out.” The engine rumbled to life.
I ran to the front of the truck, but my new boss was already looking the other way and pulling out onto the road. “I don’t even know your name,” I shouted at the back of the moving food truck. “And your service panel is open!”
Great. If a drunk hires you, are you really hired?
I trudged back up the other side of the street on my way to my car, but stopped at the window of a clothing boutique. The periwinkle, watered silk cocktail dress on display called to me. It was ethereal and lovely. It felt emblematic of a better, more serene life.
A light tinkling sound came from overhead as I entered. Mesmerized by the play of light on the iridescent silk, I slid a finger down the skirt.
“Would you like me to find your size?”
I spun to find a tall, stunning, dark-haired woman waiting for my response. “Oh, no. Thank you. I just—well, it’s beautiful.”
She brushed nonexistent dust off the back of the dress. “It certainly is. And it’s done its job, bringing you in.”
The shop was deceptively large. It appeared quite small and narrow from the street, but it was long, allowing for different sections within the store. There were light, feminine dresses near the window, but I spied jeans and sweaters, coats and gloves, even shoes farther in.
I noticed the woman looking me over. She smiled and said, “I thought that was you. Welcome back, Katie. I was wondering when you’d stop by.”
I stared a minute, not able to place her. “I’m sorry.” I shook my head, embarrassed.
“It’s Maureen Cavanaugh-Howard. Mo.” She grinned. “My grandfather dated your grandmother.”
“Oh, of course, you’re Aiden’s sister.”
The bell on the door tinkled again, and we both turned. Speaking of Aiden, that brunette who liked to touch his arm walked in.
“Hi, Nancy. How are you today?” Maureen gestured toward me. “Do you remember Katie Gallagher? She spent summers here growing up. She was the one who tossed out condoms at the Fourth of July parade all those years ago.”
Snickering, I remembered. I’d been fifteen, and the local paper had just published an article on the rise of STDs, especially among teens. I was fulfilling my civic duty.
“Gran had never been so angry with me.” I smiled, recalling her thirty-minute lecture on my inappropriate behavior. That poor woman did her best to keep me in line.
“Is that why you stopped visiting?” Mo asked.
“No, my dad died two months later.” And my wild streak died with him. An era of fear and uncertainty took over.
Mo took my hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She turned to that Nancy woman. “Did you two know each other?”
I stared blankly at her. “I don’t—”
“Sure. We know each other. Your friend Daisy’s little sister was my best friend. We hung out at the lake with you sometimes.”
“Oh, of course, yes. It’s so good to see you.” I think she could tell I was lying. Her expression turned flinty.
“Maureen, I’m here to look for a gift for my mother. I’m just going to browse around.” She gave me a brittle smile before wandering to the back of the store.
Maureen, like her brother, was gorgeous. I shook my head. “What is it with you Cavanaughs? I just about fell off my chair when I realized that skinny, knobbly-kneed Aiden had turned into tall, dark and angry. And you, just beautiful.” I rolled my eyes. “I remember you used to move so fast, it was hard for my eyes to keep up, running, swimming, diving, arm wrestling.” I shook my head, marveling again at the woman.
She laughed, a joyous, inclusive laugh that said all was right in the world. “I forgot about that. I kicked everyone’s butt arm wrestling. I may have been skinny, but I was strong.” She brought up her arm and flexed.
“Do all Cavanaughs grow into stunners? Because I’ve got to tell you, speaking as a mere mortal, it’s starting to piss me off.”
She laughed again. “Aw, you’ve made my day. I was feeling a little crabby and out of sorts today, and now I don’t feel anything but tickled.” She looked over my clothes, not judging, just assessing. “So, are you shopping today or getting the lay of the land? Pops told us you were back, so I hoped I’d see you soon.”
“Are your parents still living in Bar Harbor?” Mr. Cavanaugh hadn’t mentioned his son and daughter-in-law.
Mo pushed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “No. By us, I meant my husband, Gary, and our son, Patrick. Wait...” She pulled a phone out of the pocket of her tweed slacks. “Here he is. That’s my little Paddy.” She turned the phone around to me.
I reached for the cell, my insides twisting. “Oh, Mo, he’s so beautiful. He looks just like you.” My finger traced his chubby cheek and dark, wavy hair. “He has your eyes.” I looked up to return the phone. “Congratulations.” My longing must have been obvious because she gave me a surreptitious squeeze on my arm before pocketing the device.
She walked farther into the shop, drawing me with her. “My parents, however, have said a fond farewell to frozen winters. My older brother Caleb—do you remember him?”
I nodded.
“He and his family live in San Diego. Mom and Dad have a little bungalow near them. Usually they don’t go until November, but Mom’s arthritis was really bothering her this year, so they went early. They tried to stay all winter last year, after Alice—” She cut herself off, flicking her hand as though that was enough of that topic. “They wanted to be here for Aiden, but Mom was in pain, so he sent them West.”
Mo walked to a nearby display table. “This would be gorgeous on you.” She held up a thick, intricately woven, turtleneck sweater in emerald green. “Not many can wear green without looking sallow. On you, it would be stunning. Come on, you’ll try it on.” She gathered items for me as we made our way to the fitting rooms. “You’ve been living in California, right?”
I nodded, looking everywhere at once. “Yes, but I can’t affor—” I gestured toward the front of the store. “It was just the dress. I’m not actually shopping for anything,” I ended lamely. “But if you’re hiring, I could really use a job.”
She dropped the clothes she was carrying onto the counter and strode to the back of the store, waving me to keep up. “I’m not hiring, unfortunately. The Harbor does all its business in the spring and summer. Fall and winter, it’s just the year-round residents. We can easily maintain our shops on our own. I wish I could offer you a cocktail instead of cold-weather clothes on sale.”
“Clothing stores should totally have liquor licenses,” I said, following in her wake.
“Preaching to the choir, sister.” She looked at my thin wool trousers and sweater set. “Maine winters are frigid. Do you have a good warm coat?”
I shook my head. “Just this,” I said, indicating the unzipped jacket I was wearing. “It’s one of Gran’s old parkas.”
Mo smiled. “I’m thinking you’re going to want to update that look.” She led me to the back, to the outerwear racks. She pulled a long, black suede coat with lamb’s wool lining off the hanger and held it up to me. “This is very warm and would look incredible on you, very dramatic.”
I ran my fingers up and down the soft suede. Justin’s voice tried to impinge, telling me black was too much for me, but I mentally shut him down and grabbed the coat from Mo. I slid into it and felt the warmth down to my toes. Mo shuffled me to the mirror and stepped back. It looked wonderful, my hair standing out like a flame against the night sky. There was no hiding, no blending in with a coat like this. I fel
t uncomfortably visible.
Feeling the price tag dangling over my hand, I lifted it up to read—$775. I sucked in a breath and held the tag out to Mo. “It’s gorgeous, but I can’t afford a coat like this.”
She glanced down at the tag. “No, that’s not the price. Here.” She pulled the coat off me. She turned it over to show me a large tear at the bottom. It had been repaired, but was still noticeable.
“I sold it to a tourist last year. She brought it back that same day, wanting a refund. When I told her I couldn’t refund a coat she’d ripped, she threw a hissy fit and stormed out. I held the coat behind the counter for months, assuming she’d come to her senses and want it back.” She rolled her eyes. “I waited one whole year and then got the repair done. It’s too small for me, but would be perfect for you. I’ll just charge you the price of the repair, okay? Forty-five dollars.”
I heard a gasp and turned to find that Nancy woman watching us avidly.
“I know. Right? Unfortunately, we’re both too tall for this coat, but Katie is tiny enough to make it work.” She turned back to me. “What do you say? It’s a sign. I just put it on the rack yesterday. It was meant for you.”
“I say I’d be crazy not to buy it.”
Nancy mumbled something, but I ignored it.
“Actually, I just got a job at a food truck. I need a super warm hoodie or something, too. Something I can throw in the wash every day. Anything like that? Preferably with a huge tear?”
Mo laughed, walking us back to the counter to drop off the coat. “Are you working for Chuck?”
I shrugged. “No idea. He didn’t tell me his name. He threw me a key, told me to start at nine tomorrow and drove off. I can cook, but I’ve never tried to do it in a truck before.”
She straightened a sweater on a display. “Chuck’s a good guy, but he has some problems—”
“He’s a drunk,” Nancy interrupted.
Mo turned her back to Nancy, talking just to me. “Yes, that’s one of them. He’s not a bad guy, though.”
