Second Chance Cafe

by Brandy Bruce

  “I’ve got bad luck when it comes to relationships, Maggie.”

  “In the past that was true. But this guy could be the one.”

  “I’m on a dating break.”

  “Good grief. You choose to take that break the minute a gorgeous fireman walks into your life?”

  “Technically, he was wheeled into my life.”

  With a huff, Maggie grabbed her stack of clipboards and left to check on patients.

  Isabella leaned back in her chair, rubbed her shoulders and stared at the roses. They were beautiful. Just like the last batch of spring flowers he’d sent. And the card had read the same: “Isabella, I’m still waiting. Ethan.”

  Isabella smiled at the thought. She liked Ethan’s persistence, if truth be told. But after a string of failed relationships and two disastrous attempts at online dating, she had no intention of diving into another disappointment.

  Before he’d even been discharged, Ethan had asked her for her phone number, which she’d declined to give him—though she hadn’t been entirely against it. There were rules against nurses fraternizing with patients, even firemen with gorgeous blue eyes. She’d encouraged him to concentrate on his recovery. A few days after being discharged, he’d requested her friendship via online social networking, which rather impressed Isabella. The guy wouldn’t give up. Isabella felt comfortable extending at least electronic friendship to him. So they’d chatted regularly over the past couple of weeks while Ethan endured bed rest and limited mobility. Isabella had grown to enjoy their witty banter online, but a real date?

  She looked back at the flowers.

  Maybe.

  As the sun rose, Isabella’s shift ended. With a yawn, she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked out to her car, enjoying the sunrise and balancing her bouquet of flowers in her arms. Summer had come early to Colorado, and Isabella couldn’t have been happier about it. She loved the warm sunshine.

  Isabella stopped in her tracks at the sight of Ethan Carter standing stiffly by her car.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, then inwardly reminded herself to be nice. He had just sent her flowers, after all. At the sight of his hopeful smile, she eased up even more.

  “I’m wondering if I can take you to breakfast.”

  Isabella squinted up at Ethan. The guy must have been six-three, and at just five-four Isabella felt tiny next to him.

  “How’s your back feeling?” she asked.

  He looked at her with those cool blue eyes that she found just a little unnerving. “It hurts.”

  She knew he wasn’t asking for pity, and she appreciated his honesty.

  “Come on, Isabella. It’s only breakfast. You saved my life. I owe you that.”

  Isabella was already putting her keys back into her pocket. “I didn’t save your life, Ethan.”

  “You helped,” he insisted.

  “I already have plans. Sorry,” she said, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.

  “You already have plans? Really? Cancel. What I’m offering can’t be beat.”

  Curiosity got the better of her. “What are you offering?” she asked.

  “Monday mornings they serve pancakes at the fire station.”

  “Hmm.” She looked down at her flowers. “What about these?”

  “Leave them here. Let the staff enjoy them all day.”

  “Okay. Wait for me,” Isabella said as she turned back toward the E.R. entrance.

  “That’s all I seem to do lately!” Ethan called out after her. Isabella grinned from ear to ear.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later Ethan sat across from Isabella Romano, relieved beyond belief that she’d actually said yes to breakfast with him. They sat at the end of the long dining table at the fire station. He drenched his short stack in syrup and listened to the guys pepper Isabella with questions. He had a feeling she could hold her own with the rowdy crew of Company 51.

  The guys had been thrilled to have him stop by. He’d known they would be. The men who made up Company 51 had been his support system, taking him to doctors’ appointments during those first weeks when he couldn’t drive. A few of the firefighters’ wives had brought over meals. He missed the camaraderie even more than he missed the work. But as he sat with difficulty in the folding chair, he couldn’t ignore the ache in his back. The doctor hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was a bad fall. Ethan hated feeling so confined by his injury. The medication didn’t seem to be enough to eradicate the pain.

  “Ethan?” His attention jolted at the sound of Isabella’s voice. “Are you okay?”

  He paused for a moment, distracted by her. Her curly shoulder-length dark hair framed her face. Her chocolate-brown eyes focused on Ethan in a way that made him struggle to speak. And even though she was obviously tired, she seemed completely present and glad to be with him.

  “I need to get back to work. Staying home makes me crazy,” he told her.

  “You know it will be a while,” she responded.

  Ethan stabbed a forkful of pancakes and didn’t answer.

  “Did you always want to be a nurse?” he asked, ready for a change of subject.

  Isabella didn’t seem to mind. “Well, since college. I didn’t really want to go into the family business, and medicine had always intrigued me.”

  “Family business?” Ethan echoed.

  Isabella sipped her orange juice. “My father owned a big restaurant in Los Angeles when I was a little girl. He moved our family to Denver when I was in middle school—we had extended family living here—and he opened a second restaurant. They were both very successful. A couple of years ago he and my brother opened a third restaurant in downtown Denver. It’s a little bit of a departure from the first two restaurants, but it’s done well. Sadly, my father suffers from Parkinson’s. So he sold the Los Angeles restaurant to my uncle, and my older brother took over both Denver restaurants.”

  “Wow! I’m taking a wild guess that you’re talking about the Romano’s restaurants.”

  Isabella swirled a forkful of pancakes through the maze of syrup on her plate. “The very ones.”

  Ethan took note of her measured response and filed that away for a later discussion. “That’s amazing, Isabella. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to own a restaurant.”

  “It’s a lot of hard work. Restaurant life is all-encompassing. Exhausting. Stressful.” Her tone said it all.

  “But that’s true of most jobs,” Ethan countered. “I would imagine nursing is exhausting and stressful.”

  Isabella looked thoughtful. “You’re right. I guess it’s just a question of whether it’s the kind of exhausting, stressful work you find invigorating and satisfying, versus just a job that wears you out and leaves you frustrated.”

  “So you don’t like cooking?” Ethan clarified.

  “No, I love cooking. I do. That seems to run in the blood of my family. I grew up in the kitchen, cooking with my mom and dad and Leo, my brother. And I worked in my father’s restaurants all through high school and college. Food is very important to my family. While I’m not crazy about restaurant life, I love food.”

  “Me too. I used to do most of the cooking here at the station whenever I was on shift.”

  “Really?” Isabella sounded surprised. “So what’s your specialty?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Whatever we’ve got in the kitchen. I can make a mean grilled tomato, chicken and cheese sandwich.”

  “Sounds good. Would you make one for me sometime?” Isabella asked.

  He winked at her. “Name the time and place, Isabella Romano, and you’ve got yourself a date.”

  She chuckled. “Good to know. I’ll get back to you on that.”

  Ethan liked Isabella’s tendency to joke easily and take things in stride. But he wanted
her to feel that she could share even more serious topics with him.

  He lowered his tone to avoid all of Company 51 hearing. “I’m sorry to hear that your father has Parkinson’s. That must be difficult.”

  Isabella looked down at the table. “It is. He’s always been so strong and able. It’s hard to watch him grow weak and frail. But he’s a man of faith.”

  Ethan’s eyes lit up. “He’s a believer?”

  “Yes. I am, too. Most of my family members are believers. What about you?”

  “About six months ago my friend Caleb introduced me to Jesus. My life has changed.”

  Isabella finished the last bite of her pancake and then glanced at her watch. “Wow, is it nine already? I need to get back, Ethan. I’ve got to get some sleep and then I have errands to run before my shift tonight.”

  Ethan sat quietly, watching her for a moment.

  It’s like she shut down right as we began talking about faith.

  He wiped his mouth and grabbed his keys. “Of course. I’ll take you back to your car at the hospital.” After a round of goodbyes from the firefighters, Ethan and Isabella made their way to his truck.

  The drive back to the hospital was filled with mostly light chitchat, though Ethan wished he could ask more about her family and her faith. He wanted to know everything about her, but Isabella seemed so guarded. He didn’t want to push too hard. She was the same way whenever they chatted online—she kept the conversation light and funny and short, rarely willing to go into deeper topics.

  “Thanks for breakfast, Ethan. I had a really good time.”

  “Does that mean you’re open to having dinner with me? Or should I push for lunch next?”

  Isabella laughed and the sound warmed Ethan all over.

  “I’d say lunch. Don’t press your luck.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, while wearing his back brace and feeling bored to tears, Ethan sat at the coffee bar at O’Brien’s, the small café next door to the fire station. He kept thinking over Isabella’s description of restaurant life. All-encompassing, exhausting, stressful—the same could be said about fighting fires, yet he thrived on it.

  There was no way that Isabella could know he’d harbored a secret dream of opening his own restaurant one day. The dream had started back in college when he’d worked at a diner for extra money. After he’d had a quick run as a busboy, they’d trained him to be a short-order cook out of sheer desperation. One of the cooks had quit and they’d needed help. While it was supposed to be only temporary, he’d loved being in the kitchen and had ended up working there until he’d finished school. Other than being a firefighter, it was the only thing that had ever

  really interested him. He’d even taken a few cooking classes at The Seasoned Chef in Denver.

  “Ethan, haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Ethan looked up as Mick O’Brien, the owner of the café, climbed up on a barstool next to him, groaning as he plopped into his seat. It was common knowledge that Mick had a soft spot in his heart for the guys at the firehouse. His own son was a paramedic in Fort Collins. More than once Ethan had joked with Mick about taking over O’Brien’s so Mick could travel the world with his wife, Kay.

  “How’s the back injury?” Mick asked.

  “I suppose it’s going to take some time,” Ethan admitted.

  Mick nodded. “But you think you’ll be able to go back to work?”

  “That’s what they tell me,” Ethan said with determination.

  “I see.” Mick called out to Annie, one of the waitresses, for a cup of coffee. She took her time bringing it over. Ethan thought, not for the first time, that the service at O’Brien’s left something to be desired.

  “How are things going for you, Mick?” Ethan asked, taking note that he was one of only five customers and it was lunchtime.

  Mick shook his head. “Days have been better. I need to sell this place, Ethan. You know that. I know that. Kay wants me to sell up and take her to Alaska. She’s been bit by a travel bug.”

  Ethan chuckled. “What about you? Have you been bit by the retirement bug?”

  “Bit? Try swallowed up. I’ve been ready to retire for years. We had a few good years here, but times have changed. I’m not even breaking even. If I can’t sell this place, I’m afraid it’s going to ruin my retirement plans.”

  Ethan nodded soberly. “Why not breathe some new life into this old café? Hire new people, change up the menu, redecorate… Maybe that would help.”

  Mick peered at him with interest. “That’s exactly what it needs, Ethan. New life. And you’re the one to do it. If I invest any more money into this place, I won’t be able to take Kay to Alaska.”

  Ethan shook his head. “I couldn’t take on a business like this, Mick. Look at me. I’m wearing a back brace.”

  “You won’t be for long. I think you could make something special of this restaurant, Ethan. And what are you doing right now, anyway? You can’t go back to fighting fires at the moment. You can sit around and wait for your back to heal, or you could take on a new venture while you wait. It might work, Ethan. You might make this café a success again.”

  He’d heard the words before, but for some reason, this time they sunk into Ethan and the notion took root.

  “I doubt I could get a loan,” Ethan said, though he wasn’t sure. He didn’t make all that much as a firefighter, but he was pretty good with investments and had a healthy savings.

  “I’ll sell it for a fair price, Ethan. I’d rather you have this place than anyone else.”

  Ethan felt a catch in his throat. Over the years, Mick and Kay had sort of adopted the guys at the fire station. Kay brought over cookies and sandwiches every now and then. And Mick always took time to sit and talk with the firefighters who came into the café. And Ethan, who had almost no family to speak of, didn’t take those things lightly. He cared about Mick and Kay.

  “You take some time to pray about it, Ethan,” Mick said after a moment. “And Kay and I will pray about it, too. Call me in a few days if you’re interested and I’ll have a price for you. I’ve got a feeling this is right, but you’ve got to feel it, too.”

  Someone in the back called for Mick and he lowered himself from the barstool, patting Ethan on the shoulder as he passed by. Alone with his thoughts, Ethan let himself consider the idea of owning his own café. He gazed around the small restaurant.

  It needed fresh paint; that was for sure. And new decor. The menu could use some sprucing up, too. A more energized waitstaff wouldn’t hurt, either. But the bones of the old place were good. And the location alone gave the café potential. Mick had only ever served breakfast and lunch. Ethan would want to continue that system.

  I could still work evenings at the firehouse once I’m cleared for duty.

  A new name…new management… Ethan wondered if maybe he really could breathe life into this little place. He could make it his own. Owning a restaurant was a dream he’d given up.

  Maybe it was time to take it back.

  Chapter 3

  The kitchen at the Franklin Street Romano’s location buzzed with activity. Isabella walked through the back door, sidestepping waiters, dishwashers and cooks. The smells of marinara, Alfredo sauce and garlic inundated her senses as she quickly navigated through the kitchen maze to make her way to her brother’s office. She tapped three times on the door before opening it.

  “Leo?”

  Her brother looked up in surprise. “Hey, sis. Are you on the schedule for tonight?” he joked. She sat down in the chair across from his desk.

  “Very funny.”

  “So what’s up?”

  “How’s Mandy?” Isabella asked, wondering about her very pregnant sister-in-law and hoping to put off the questions about why she’d dropped by.

  “She’s o
kay. Uncomfortable, but it won’t be for much longer.”

  “Two more weeks, right?”

  “Yeah. She thinks the baby will come early.”

  “It’s her first. He will probably come late.”

  “That’s what I keep telling her.”

  “She’s a pregnant woman, Leonardo. Don’t argue with her right now.”

  Leo grinned. “Now you tell me.”

  Isabella picked at a stray string on the chair she was sitting in and didn’t say anything.

  “Like I said, Isa, what’s up? You never stop by unless you want me to feed you or you need to talk.”

  Isabella glanced up sheepishly. “I know.”

  “So which is it?”

  “Both. Can I get an order of spinach lasagna to take with me?”

  “You know you can. Now tell me what’s going on with you.”

  Isabella sighed. “I had breakfast with a firefighter today.”

  Leo’s eyebrows rose. “So, you’ve come to me with your boy problems?”

  “Leonardo,” Isabella warned, and Leo held up both hands.

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m all ears. When can I meet him?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not serious or anything. It was the first time we’ve hung out together in person. We chat online sometimes.”

  “But you like him,” Leo said after a moment, studying her. “Why?”

  Isabella crossed her arms. “I don’t know. He just had a really bad back injury and yet he still tries to stay positive. He’s persistent, which I like. I can’t stand measly guys who won’t go after what they want. But he’s not forceful. He’s laid-back, but he’s capable. And he likes me, which I like.”

  “And which tells me he has good taste.”

  Isabella gave her brother a grateful look.

  “He’s a Christian,” she finally said. Leo nodded, then stood up and moved to sit in the chair next to her.

  “That’s a good thing,” he said.

  “I know,” Isabella agreed.

  After a moment of silence—Leo knew her well enough to know not to press her—Isabella laid her head back in the chair.