Waterfront Café

by Mia Malone

  “He’s also happily married since for-fucking-ever,” Brody muttered.

  “I know,” she said. “He brought Letitia. I liked her.” She chuckled, and added, “You must have heard her squeal when Shelly shared what we labeled her husband?”

  Oh, Christ, they’d told the man’s wife that they thought he was hot?

  “We’re meeting for coffee this weekend after her shift at the hospital,” Marie added.

  Okay then. Hearing how other women came up with lewd nicknames for their man was apparently appreciated. He wondered if they’d put a label on him but decided not to ask.

  “We haven’t.” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “You were wondering if we have a nickname for you, and I haven’t heard one. Letitia shared what Pat is called though.”

  He waited.

  “Not saying,” she stated primly. “That would be weird, and also embarrassing.”

  “Why?”

  “Do not want to talk about anything below your brother’s waist.”

  What in the –

  “Babe,” he said. “What the fuck?”

  “I know,” she chirped. “I laughed so hard I thought I’d pee my pants.”

  Brody closed his eyes briefly, decided that he did not want to hear whatever description the women of the wider Bakersville area were using regarding his brother's dick, and asked, “Which friend called?”

  “Gauche-moustache.”

  “Really? What did he want?”

  “Yes, really. He asked me if I wanted to make a proposal for what to do with a small place he bought.”

  Aha. Doug Jaeger was one of his guest chefs, and the man had shared several times that he was envious of Brody’s set up at the Café, so it made sense. It also made for some serious competition.

  “Where?”

  “Outskirts of Boston somewhere. He didn’t want to share the exact location, but he wanted me to come down and take a look at the place.”

  “That’ll be fun, won’t it?”

  “I don't know...” She made a face and looked down on her lap. “I'd need to find a hotel to stay in, and it would be... I don't know.”

  “If you want to go, you should, baby. You could stay a few days with Thea and Jonas, they'd love to have you. We could time it so I could come down when the Café is closed, and we'd spend a few days there together.”

  “Okay,” she said, but still didn’t look happy about it. “I’m not a professional, though. Maybe he should hire someone –”

  “Babe,” Brody cut her off. “It'll be your third job, and one you would actually get paid for. I'd say you're a professional.” She still didn't look convinced, so he added, “If you don't want to do it, then don't. But don't hold back because you're nervous, honey. Make a proposal, give it to him. I've known him for years, and if he doesn't like it, then he will absolutely tell you. Then either you back off or you work with him until you’ve got something he likes.”

  “It’s scary.”

  “I know.”

  “It was easier to be an account manager.”

  “Yeah, but did it make you feel alive?”

  She jerked her head up, and he saw her blue eyes soften.

  “You’re right,” she murmured. “It didn’t.”

  “Always am,” he retorted and got the giggle he’d aimed for. “I have another thing I’ve been thinking about,” he added. “Wanna make a cookbook with me?”

  “What?”

  He really needed her for what he had in mind and weighed his words carefully, hoping he'd manage to explain his thoughts.

  “That woman, the one who got my first Thermidor in the Café? She said she had my book but didn’t use it. Said she only looked at the pictures, and I think I got her point.

  “The book is gorgeous,” Marie protested. “I love looking at it, and the things you've created are pieces of art.”

  “Yeah, babe. But would you actually cook any of it? The photos are nice, absolutely. But for someone who isn’t a trained chef, they’re also intimidating.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. I want to make another one. A good one, with good food. Real food that people can do in their own kitchen.”

  “You want me to help you judge what recipes to pick?”

  “Yes, but more than that, I want your art.”

  “My –”

  “I don’t want photos. Don’t want to tell people exactly how to cut the veggies or plate the food. I guess...” he paused, feeling a little embarrassed, but pushed on, “I guess I want to inspire them to be creative. So, I want you to illustrate it.”

  Her eyes lit up in a flash, and he felt her body tense. Yeah, he thought. That's it. That rush of adrenaline.

  “Oh, yeah, Brody,” she mumbled. “I'd do watercolors. Not detailed. Just enough to see what it is, and use the colors to pick up the mood we want. We could do chapters by season. Or by type of occasion. Or –” Her gaze flew to his and they grinned at each other. “We could sell it in the Café,” she added.

  “Babe,” Brody snorted.

  “What?”

  She knew about his background but still hadn't understood what that background meant.

  “We should absolutely sell it in the Café, but I’ll ask around, see if I can’t get us a publishing deal.”

  “You could do that?” she asked.

  “I’ll talk to my agent,” he said calmly.

  “You have an agent?”

  Yeah. She had in no way understood.

  “Used to have one for the book I did six years ago. She might want to pick also this one up. If not, someone else will,” Brody explained.

  “I’m totally going add this to my bucket list.”

  He'd seen her bucket list again, and she'd crossed out several things on it but added quite a few new items. It was a living thing that bucket list of hers it seemed.

  “Babe, if you do, it becomes a to-do list,” he told her.

  “True,” she said and leaned into his shoulder. “It’s long enough as it is, anyway.”

  “Have you been adding things again?”

  “Maybe,” she said and glanced up at him through her lashes.

  The look in her eyes told him that she had and that what she added likely was of a sexual nature.

  “Can I see?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ll figure it out,” he murmured.

  He’d also take a peek when she was out and about with Shelly or his mother or any of the other friends she suddenly seemed to have. Marie probably knew he looked at it anyway since she didn’t hide it better than having it folded on her nightstand.

  “I’m looking forward to that,” she shared primly, and he chuckled.

  Boone suddenly raised his head and got up to shake nothing at all off from his fur.

  “Babe, since you invited half the town, and they’re on their way in here, we should get cracking on dinner,” Brody said.

  “Only the family. It’s good to have Thea, Jonas and the baby here. Dottie loves that they asked if they could stay with her.”

  “Yeah,” Brody said. “I’ll get the door, you start with the veggies?”

  Patrick had brought a case of beer from a local micro-brewery that needed tasting, which Brody did with a baby in the crook of his arm. Jonas shared in a quiet mumble that he should remember to check Thea’s hands for rings, which he did and when he'd congratulated his daughter, he watched the group of women as they discussed the happy event and the party that would follow.

  “Can we have it here?”

  Brody froze and stared at Thea.

  “Here?” he echoed stupidly.

  “At the Café?” She bit her lower lip, and mumbled, “I know, Dad. It would mean you had to...” She blinked a few times and cleared her throat. “It’ll be family only, and I really want my father and brother to cook for my wedding.”

  “Sure,” he said, had to clear his throa
t, and added, “Does that mean your mother will come here?”

  “Yes,” she said, and added with a small wink. “She isn’t that bad, Dad. You just bring out the worst in her.”

  “Ouch,” he muttered. “Okay. For you, sweetie, I’ll make an effort to be pleasant.”

  “Probably better to stay in the kitchen,” Jag added.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “You do realize that my mother might come too?” Jag asked.

  “Fuck.”

  “We’ll be in the kitchen, Dad. No need for either of us to talk to them much,” Jag said with a shrug.

  “It will be fine,” Marie declared. “We’ll put them over by the window. Same table as Jools. He’ll keep them in check.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Jools said cheerfully. “I’ve always wondered about plastic boobs. Looks weird if you ask me, and it must feel funky to walk around with that. I’ll ask. They might let me touch them.”

  Brody tried really hard to hold his laughter back, but it was impossible. Damn it if he didn't look forward to that event suddenly.

  Then he cooked dinner for his family, with the help of a woman he hadn't expected to have in his life. The mood was soft and happy, and he liked listening to Marie as she talked to his daughter while chopping bell peppers into squares that were so uneven, he squirmed. She sounded happy and promised to let Thea know when they were headed toward Boston.

  “I wonder if Chef Jaeger asked me to look at his place because he liked what we did at the Café or because I’m your girlfriend,” she said, suddenly addressing him.

  “Huh,” he grunted and turned around to open a drawer. “You’re not exactly my girlfriend.”

  “What?” she breathed out.

  “Babe,” he said, and clarified, “I love you, but you're not exactly a girl anymore.”

  He turned to put a clean spoon in the pot to make sure the chicken casserole didn’t need more blue cheese.

  “Uh, Dad...” Jag murmured and nudged him until he turned around.

  Well, shit. Marie had tears in her eyes, and he realized that the words he’d used were not the best ones he could have picked.

  “I’m sorry baby,” he murmured and put the spoon down. “I didn’t mean that you’re old, but you know – fifty... ish.”

  Someone chuckled, and it was likely his goddamned brother, but he decided to ignore it.

  “Brody –” Marie started.

  “Being middle-aged has its perks, you know. We can float through life in a sexual haze,” he said, trying to explain in a way that made the tears go away. “Look at the kids, they're all fucked up left right and center. Stressed out and freaked out and divorced and broken up and shit. Babe, please stop crying.”

  “You love me?” she whispered.

  “Well, yeah?”

  “Okay.”

  He hadn’t told her before, but surely she knew that he did? A soft smile bled into her eyes, and he waited for her to say something. Preferably that she returned the sentiment.

  “Marie,” he said when he didn’t want to wait anymore.

  “Sometimes you look like a boy,” she said quietly. “When you sleep. And there are glimpses of who you were when you play with Boone. Sometimes when you laugh. But you aren’t one anymore.”

  “No.”

  “I love you too,” she said.

  Then she smiled that fucking amazing smile, the one which always settled in his gut like a warm ball of happy.

  Oh, yeah. He'd totally get married a third time. He wouldn't ask her in front of his goddamned family, but he would ask.

  “Okay,” he said instead.

  “Let’s put the food on the table,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed and grabbed two mittens. “We’ll move your things when we’ve eaten.”

  “What?”

  She had stopped with a big bowl of salad in her hands and stared at him.

  “Plenty of people here to help us carry shit.”

  “What?” she repeated.

  “You love me?” he asked and put the huge pot full of chicken casserole on the table.

  “Yes.”

  “So, we move your things.”

  Their eyes held for a beat, and then she giggled and started moving.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve booked tickets by the way,” he added and walked back to get the rice.

  “Tickets to where?”

  “Copenhagen.”

  “Cop –”

  “I know you said you wanted to go to Oslo, but you don't want to go there. Stockholm is a nice enough place, but if you want excellent food, then you want to go to Copenhagen.” He grinned at her and added, “Got a buddy who opened up a place there a while back.”

  “Isn’t that where they have a statue of a mermaid?”

  “Yup.”

  She started laughing then and murmured happily, “Yay!”

  Marie

  I walked outside to let Boone run off for a quick pee or twenty and looked at the ocean. Spring had almost come to an end, and summer was right around the corner so soon enough we’d be able to hang out on the beach. There was a wedding to plan, and Joey was coming back for another visit in a couple of weeks. Brody had asked me if I thought the boy wanted to work in the Café over the summer, and I’d shared that I thought Joey would love it, so he’d said he’d ask. Amelia had called so many times I'd finally picked up, and she had apologized, but it had sounded stilted, and she was visiting her aunt again the coming weekend. I wasn't sure where we'd end up, and I had not talked to my sister yet, but I would. Over time, we would find a way, not back to who we used to be, but hopefully to something new which would be good too.

  I looked at the group of people inside and smiled when I saw Dottie get up and demonstrate a few dance steps. Jools suddenly joined her, and the others were laughing.

  I'd wanted to be a hippie and had dreamed about moving to Tallahassee, but Brody was right. Those were just words. What I wanted was something else, and perhaps I could have found it in Minneapolis, but I didn’t.

  I found it in a small town by the water in Maine.

  My eyes met Brody's, and we shared a smile through the window. We'd work on my silly bucket list, which he tried to hide that he checked every now and then to see what I’d added. We'd walk the dog and go to Copenhagen and create a cookbook.

  And he loved me.

  Yeah, I thought. I’d absolutely found it.

  A reminder –

  If you enjoyed the story, please, please, please remember to support the book.

  Put a short review of it wherever you can (The store you got it from, Goodreads, etc), tell your friends about this book, and keep reading (and pre-order whatever comes next)…

  Thank you heaps and bunches for your support!

  XOXO/Mia

  Now I’ll let you flip the page to read the first part of Waterfront Bar (and at the back end, Gibson, the Brothers book one)…

  Waterfront Bar

  Waterfront, Book Two

  The first crack

  It’s the whispers that tell you something is wrong. And the way people look away or talk about everyday things, just slightly too loudly. Too stiffly.

  I recognized what was happening but chose to ignore it because I didn’t have time to deal with it. Didn’t want to believe and didn’t want it to happen.

  But it did.

  I am highly intelligent, and I read a lot. In a way, I think books are more comfortable than people. They will only hurt you if you let them.

  I have three degrees but only use one of them. My professors assumed I would build a fantastic career in chemical engineering. They thought I’d do research and find the answers to so many unanswered questions. When I turned down the assistant professor position, they sent angry emails to their colleagues in the mechanical engineering departments, asking what they had been able to offer. I went away for a few weeks then because they didn’t under
stand. They still don’t.

  That I chose to teach literature at a small but renowned college shocked them speechless. Then I got married, and they blamed my husband. I knew Beau bragged about being more important than anything to the genius, and I let him.

  The truth? I just wanted peace. A blissfully normal life with no drama.

  Peace.

  And I had that. For a long time, life was easy. I went for long walks on the weekends and grocery shopping. Held lectures and graded papers. Submitted snippets of research and wrote a few articles.

  I used the basement in our big, old house for the lab work I couldn’t seem to stop doing, and nobody knew. Why would they? It was none of their business.

  Beau walked with me, and we talked and laughed as he helped me carry the groceries.

  He didn't anymore, and I'd started to wonder if he was carrying someone else’s too thin plastic bags. Or perhaps they used eco-friendly reusable ones made from recycled fabric? I wasn't sure, but I thought there was someone else who asked him to reach for the items from the top shelves.

  Because people whispered. They snickered. And they looked away when they saw me.

  I asked Beau, and he said that I shouldn’t be ridiculous. I stared at him then because he knew that I’m never ridiculous. He had also not denied it.

  I didn’t know what to do, and I always know what to do so my stomach hurt, and I woke up at night to stare into the darkness for hours. I heard him snoring in the other room and tried to figure out how long it had been since he came to me. It was more than a year ago, maybe longer.

  When darkness shifted into gray, I got up and left for another day at the busy campus area where I tried to ignore that people whispered.

  Cut open

  Beau said it was my fault, and maybe it was. I’m not easy, and I’m pretty but not gorgeous. Or, perhaps not even pretty anymore because I’ve lost weight and when I look at myself in the mirror, I can see clearly that my body is too bony, and I have more wrinkles than I should have.

  I’m only forty-five. Already forty-five? Is forty-five old?