by Tina Kashian
“Did you plug it in?” Angela reached around the machine for the cord.
Lucy felt her face grow warm, and she batted her mother’s hand away. “I got this, Mom,” She plugged the cord into the socket and tried again. The machine whirred to life. After a few minutes of blending, Lucy removed the lid. “It looks right.”
“Go ahead and taste it,” Angela said.
Lucy dipped a clean spoon inside the food processor and tasted the hummus.
Amazing. The blend of ingredients was smooth, flavorful, and just right. Her mother’s cooking always tasted the same, no matter the accuracy of her measurements. Lucy’s logical mind couldn’t comprehend it.
“Now that you know how to make traditional hummus, next time you can prepare it,” Angela said.
A streak of panic hit Lucy in the chest. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her mother untied her apron. “Why not?”
First, Lucy couldn’t cook. It was one thing to have her mother stand beside her and instruct her step-by-step. It was another thing entirely to prepare it on her own. Second, she wasn’t planning on staying in town for long. She knew family and food went hand in hand for her mother, and that making hummus would give her the wrong idea.
Angela poured the fresh hummus into a container and handed it to Lucy. “Put this in the walk-in refrigerator, swap it with the cold bin I made earlier, then refill the hummus bar in the dining room. Lunch service starts soon, and it will get busy.”
Lucy took the container and headed for the refrigerator.
“Oh, and Lucy?”
Lucy halted and glanced back. “Yes?”
Satisfaction pursed her mother’s mouth. “I’m glad you’re finally home.”
* * *
Waiting tables was like riding a bike. You may have to brush up on your skills, but you never forgot how to do it.
The lunch shift had a steady stream of customers, but Lucy knew better than to think it was busy. In less than a month, business would triple as the ocean town officially opened for the summer. Sweat beaded on her brow as she retrieved platters of shish kebab, pilaf, and cucumber salad from the warm kitchen and hurried to serve customers in the dining room. Working at a law firm might tax her mind, but it was nothing compared to rushing around to serve dozens of hungry locals.
Emma and Sally waitressed, too. Sally, who had been with her parents for years, reminded her of Olive Oyl from the Popeye cartoon. Tall and willowy with short dark hair, she was friendly and chatty and always remembered personal facts about the regular customers—the progress of a knee replacement, the birth of a grandchild, and who were selling their homes. She was like a walking encyclopedia of local folk, and customers loved her. Together, the three of them managed to cover the dining room, but barely had time to say a word to each other as they worked. Lucy’s dad manned the register and seated customers as they arrived.
The restaurant’s head line cook, Butch, was an African-American man who’d been working for her parents since Lucy was in kindergarten. He was large and tall, with a chest the size of a small armoire, and he always wore a checkered bandana on his bald head.
“Good to see you back, Lucy Lou,” Butch said as he slid a plate of stuffed grape leaves across the stainless steel pickup counter for her to deliver. He smiled, revealing a gold front tooth.
Lucy smiled back as she took the plate. He’d always called her nicknames and Lucy Lou was his favorite.
The new hummus bar was busy. Lucy’s mom kept running back and forth with clean plates and refilling the bins with fresh creamy hummus and raw carrots and celery sticks for dipping. Homemade white or whole wheat pita bread was served warm and soft from the oven and had to be ordered. The chick pea and tahini based dip was clearly popular.
Angela’s authentic recipes and unique variations with fresh ingredients drew the customers and satisfied finicky taste buds. Lucy had tried them all, but her favorite was what she’d helped prepare earlier in the kitchen—her mother’s traditional hummus.
Lucy’s feet were throbbing by the time lunch service died down.
“Sit,” Emma said. “I’ll wipe down the booths and change the used table linens.” She wrung out a clean rag from a small bucket of warm, sudsy water.
Lucy didn’t have to be told twice. She pulled out a chair, stretched her legs, and sighed in relief. “How do you do it all these years, Em?”
Emma moved sugar, salt, and pepper shakers aside to wipe a table. “You mean why did I stay here with Mom and Dad at the restaurant?
“Yes. You have a degree in fashion design.”
Emma leaned across the table as she tackled her task. “All the fashion design jobs are in the city and I prefer it here. Plus, Max handles most of the home sales and a large portion of the summer rentals in Ocean Crest. Waitressing gives me something to do when Max is busy.”
“It helps that you stayed around, married a local guy, and added a twig to the family tree,” Lucy said.
Emma grinned. “Mom and Dad don’t pressure me the way they do you. Have you seen Azad yet?”
Lucy stiffened. “No, and I’d rather not.”
Emma halted to look her square in the eye. “He’s changed, Lucy. It was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough. And you’re starting to sound like our parents.”
“Sorry, but you have to face him sometime.”
Lucky picked a piece of lint off her apron. “Only if I’m unlucky enough to run into him.”
“He’s working at a five star restaurant in Atlantic City, but he still visits Mom and Dad. You already know that he wants to buy Kebab Kitchen,” Emma said.
Lucy blinked. She was still processing the news that Azad had become a successful sous chef and that he wanted to buy the restaurant. Did it make a difference to her personally?
Nope. She didn’t want to see Azad. No matter how much her parents wanted them to get back together. Or how much Emma insisted he’d changed. She refused to go down the path to heartache.
Again.
Emma untied her apron and folded it into a neat square. “I’m off to run errands, but I’ll be back at five. You okay to stay?”
Lucy nodded. “I’ll manage.”
Emma waved on her way out. “I’m confident you can hold down the fort.”
Lucy stood with a sigh when she noticed that Emma had missed wiping down one of the booths. She picked up the discarded rag and started on the dirty table when the little bell on the front door sounded. Lucy’s first thought was that Emma had forgotten her purse. She turned around.
And stopped short as Heather Banks walked inside.
Lucy dropped the rag and headed to the hostess stand. “May I help you?”
Heather had exchanged the tight yellow pantsuit she’d worn at Mac’s Pub earlier today for a tight pink one, but she still wore the stilettos that gave her a four-inch height advantage over Lucy. The only other difference was that now she carried a clipboard. “I’m here on official business.” She began to tap her pen on the clipboard. “I’m the town’s new heath inspector.”
As if I could forget. Lucy couldn’t help but wonder if Heather had purposely shown up on the same day they’d exchanged words at the bar. Heather had said she’d see Lucy and her parents soon, but this seemed ridiculous and contrived.
Lucy eyed Heather warily. “I’ll get my parents.” She hurried into the kitchen to find her father chopping onions on a large wooden cutting board. “The health inspector is here.”
His knife halted in midair as he looked up. “Mr. Banks?”
“No. Ms. Banks. His daughter.”
He rubbed his brow. “Ah, I forgot she’d taken over.”
Lucy waited as he removed his apron and washed his hands. Together they met Heather in the dining room.
“I’ve always dealt with your father,” Raffi said.
“He’s retired.” Heather tapped her clipboard with her pen in an increasing staccato. “I’ve taken over his position.”
The full impact of Hea
ther’s power struck Lucy. If her father wanted to put the restaurant on the market, it had to pass inspection. Then again, in the thirty years her parents had owned the business, they had never once failed a health inspection.
Her father waved Heather forward with a cheery smile. “Please do your job, Ms. Banks. If you need anything, Lucy will help you. I have paperwork I need to see to in the office.” He headed to the storage room where his office was located, leaving Lucy alone with Heather.
Just great. Her dad had no idea of the animosity between them, and he clearly wasn’t concerned about passing inspection. Why should he be? If his past record was any indication, he had nothing to worry about.
Lucy turned to Heather. “Will it take long?”
Heather arched an eyebrow. “It depends on what I find.”
Lucy watched as Heather walked through the restaurant, taking notes on her clipboard. She inspected the sinks in the kitchen to ensure proper hand washing stations were in place for employees and that surfaces used for raw meat were not also used to prepare ready-to-eat foods like fruits and salads. Lucy wasn’t worried. Her parents were stringent when it came to cleanliness.
Her confidence didn’t last long.
“Why only three sinks?” Heather asked.
Lucy’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“There should be more. At least four total,” Heather said as she scribbled on an official looking carbon copy paper pinned to the clipboard.
“The kitchen has always had three, and it’s been more than sufficient in the past,” Lucy argued. “Plus, your father never said otherwise.” She added the last statement to back up her reasoning.
Heather’s head snapped up. “Times have changed, and I’m not my father. The restaurant should add another sink.” She pointed to a corner with a long, red fingernail. “Over there would be best.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Lucy planted her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t make sense to install a sink there. All the food is prepared near the prep table where a sink already exists. Also, there’s insufficient space and no plumbing where you’re pointing. You know how much that would cost?”
Heather tossed a lock of red hair behind her shoulder. “Cost is irrelevant to me. I’m the health inspector, not the owner of the establishment, remember?”
Lucy wanted to throttle her. Heather pivoted on her stilettos, and headed toward the kitchen’s overhead exhaust. She studied it from below. “This looks ancient. Is this up to code?”
“Yes,” Lucy snapped, pointing to an inspection sticker displayed prominently in the corner. “The fire chief has never had a problem with the exhaust system.”
Heather grunted. Lucy had the distinct impression she would have marked that down on her clipboard if it was within her job scope.
But the worst was yet to come. As she went along, Heather scrawled notes for additional violations in the walk-in-refrigerator, freezer, and the commercial dishwasher. Finished with the kitchen, Heather wandered into the back storage room. The shelves were loaded with cans and dry goods—flour, salt, bags of rice, lentils, bulgur, and exotic spices—the essentials of Mediterranean cuisine. Heather checked each shelf to ensure no pests were present. By the time she made a few more notes, Lucy was fuming.
Heather left the kitchen and returned to the dining room where she spotted the new hummus bar in the corner. She studied it for a long moment and walked its perimeter. “What type of salad bar is this?”
“It’s not. It’s a hummus bar,” Lucy said. “All different varieties. Customers love it.”
Heather pulled out a measuring tape from her purse. She scribbled dimensions down on her note pad. When she was finished, she looked at Lucy. “The sneeze guard is too low.”
“Too low? I thought the only concern was if it was too high and people could accidentally sneeze into the food.”
Heather shot her a haughty look. “We’ve revised the regulations. And I personally dislike salad bars.”
“Like I said, it’s not a salad bar.”
She snorted as she tore off a carbon copy from her clipboard and handed it to Lucy. “See that all these violations are immediately remedied.”
Anxiety spurted through Lucy as she studied the paper. “These are all absurd!”
Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“These are bogus violations and you know it.”
“I know no such thing.”
“Is this because of our little tiff today at the bar or does it go way back to our high school years?”
Heather’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting.”
“Kebab Kitchen hasn’t been cited for a single health violation in thirty years,” Lucy snapped.
Heather’s lips curved into a malicious smirk. “There’s always a first. See that the violations are remedied or I’ll have the place closed down. You have seven days.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the restaurant.
Lucy’s heart hammered as she stood clutching the carbon copy in her fist. She barely heard Butch approach.
“What’s wrong, Lucy Lou? Is it the inspection?”
She shook her head. “I’ve dealt with a lot of difficult clients over the years, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve wanted to strangle someone.”
“That bad?”
“What’s so bad?” another voice chimed in.
Lucy and Butch turned at the sound of her father’s voice.
She dreaded telling him the news. “We didn’t do so well with the new health inspector.”
Raffi held out his hand for the inspection report. “Let me see.” His olive eyes widened and his face turned a mottled scarlet as he read. Lucy met Butch’s eyes, and they both held their breath for her father’s expected burst of anger.
“Hent! She’s crazy! In all my years here, I’ve never seen a report like this.”
Lucy couldn’t have agreed more. “You’re right, Dad. But there’s not much we can do but comply. She has the power to shut the doors when she comes back.”
Raffi’s brows drew together. “She has to be the one to come back?”
For the first time she noticed how her father was aging. He looked . . . well . . . older and almost fragile. The wrinkles around his eyes and the downward slope of his shoulders didn’t sit well with her. He was still a large, robust man, but she could see how the daily stress of running the restaurant was taking its toll.
She also sympathized with her father’s dread regarding the new health inspector. Lucy hoped she wasn’t there when Heather came back. Something about Heather Banks . . . and something about this place . . . made Lucy act irrationally. She’d always prided herself on her control. She’d never lost her temper in her legal practice no matter how difficult a client or adversary.
She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes.
Heather had been in the restaurant for only twenty minutes, and Lucy felt as overheated as a radiator about to explode. Was she becoming hotheaded after just two days back? What would happen after a week? A month? Was anger management in her future?
CHAPTER 3
The following afternoon, when Lucy showed up for her shift, the aroma made her mouth water as soon as she opened the door. Butch announced the day’s specials—grilled halibut kebabs, and stuffed peppers and tomatoes with meat and rice, a traditional Armenian dish called dolma. Lucy’s mother encouraged her to taste each dish in case their customers had any questions. Lucy had been more than eager to comply. The halibut was fresh, flaky, and divine in a lemon, cumin, and garlic sauce, and the dolma was hearty and full of spices and flavor. She’d wanted to consume both plates.
Lunch service started soon and quickly grew busy. Butch put out dish after dish. Her mother was busy seating customers and covering the cash register and her dad was in the back office working on payroll.
Close to three, came the usual lull before the dinner hour. Only a few straggling customers remained, sipping coffee while talking and enjoying an extra p
iece of baklava. Emma and Sally left, and, with no place else to be, Lucy agreed to stay. She began to refill the salt and pepper shakers.
“Thank you for staying,” her mother said, kissing her cheek. “Payroll is due on Friday, and I need to help your father in the office.”
“No problem, Mom.” Lucy could easily handle a stray customer or two.
The pepper made Lucy’s nose itch, but she found the simple task relaxing. She hadn’t thought of the law firm much in the two days she’d been home. She knew she needed to update her resume soon. What would the law partners and her colleagues think if they saw her in her bright red apron surrounded by dozens of salt and pepper shakers? They probably wouldn’t even recognize her and would just hand her a tip on their way out the door. The thought made her laugh out loud.
Lucy’s back was to the door when she heard it open. She reached for a menu to welcome a late lunch customer when she froze at the sound of a long-ago, but not-so-forgotten masculine voice.
“Hello, Lucy.”
Lucy turned, and her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of Azad Zakarian in the entrance.
Oh, no.
He was even better looking than she remembered. With his dark hair, coffee brown eyes, and bronzed complexion, his features no longer held a soft, youthful appearance, but were chiseled into a man’s. A very handsome man. He’d always been athletic, but his shoulders were broader and his chest more muscular beneath his button-down shirt. Well-worn jeans encased his lean legs. The familiar scent of his cologne wafted to her, unleashing unwanted memories.
The last time she’d seen him was two years after college graduation. It had been at the boardwalk, at the town’s family-friendly amusement pier. Their eyes had briefly met through a throng of tourists waiting to ride the Ferris wheel. For an instant, an electric current had passed between them and burned as hot as the billion watt bulbs lighting the Ferris wheel, but they’d both looked away. Their past break-up was too fresh.
That had been a long time ago, and she was different now. She was a successful attorney, no longer a lovesick college student with stars in her eyes.
Lucy’s chin shot up a notch. “Hello, Azad. My parents are in the office.”
