by Tina Kashian
This wasn’t going well. If things escalated, then Lucy would call Bill on her cell phone.
“Why do you think he should be disqualified?” Katie asked.
“His nephew created that.” Harold pointed to a sand sculpture of a sea serpent attacking a castle. “I glimpsed at his scores. He gave everyone lower scores and his nephew a ten. A ten! No one should get a perfect score.”
Lucy had already judged the sculpture in question, and she tended to agree. The face of the serpent was not detailed, and one wall of the castle was starting to crumble. It was average, certainly not a ten—not when the competition was stiff and there were a lot of spectacular sculptures.
“Is this true about your nephew?” Katie asked.
Archie shrugged. “Neil is an aspiring artist and happened to enter this year.”
Katie frowned. “Then as the head judge of the judging committee, I have to agree with Mr. Harper.”
“What? Why?”
“The judging agreement you signed specifically says no family members are permitted to compete,” Katie said.
“I didn’t see that in the agreement,” Archie protested.
“Maybe you should have read the fine print,” Harold scoffed.
Archie whirled on Harold. “Maybe I should wallop you.”
“You’re nothing but a bully,” Harold taunted.
“Mr. Harper, please.” Katie said, holding up her hand. She turned to Archie. “Mr. Kincaid, I’m afraid you have to step down as a judge. There is a five-thousand-dollar prize at stake, and we can’t afford an appearance of impropriety.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Archie looked at her in disbelief.
“No. I’m quite serious.”
Harold laughed, and a smug look crossed his face.
Rather than address his adversary, Archie stalked forward to stand toe to toe with Katie. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”
Katie was taken aback, but she didn’t back down. She placed her hands on her hips. “I’m not accusing you of anything, just stating fact. The agreement was clear.”
Archie jerked his head at Harold. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“Nope, but I sure am enjoying it,” Harold drawled.
Archie ignored the barb and turned back to Katie. “What if I refuse to step down as a judge?”
Katie raised her chin. “Then your nephew’s sculpture will have to be disqualified.”
Archie’s brows snapped downward like two angry caterpillars. “If you’d just keep your nose where it belongs instead of favoring Harold, lady, the rest of this judging would have gone without a hitch.”
Katie’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say to me?” Her fist clenched at her side, and Lucy feared her friend would be the one doing the walloping. Lucy was painfully aware that everyone’s attention was focused on the pair.
“Just calm down, Katie.” Lucy rushed forward to grab hold of her arm.
Lucy felt Katie’s muscles tighten. “Like I said, either you step down or your nephew’s sculpture will be eliminated from the competition.”
“Let’s move on,” Lucy urged. “We can report everything to the festival committee and let them toss out his scores.”
When neither seemed willing to break the standoff, Lucy tugged on Katie’s arm. A group of children, dressed in bathing suits and holding pails and sand shovels, had gathered to stand behind the adults and stare, mouths agape.
Archie had enough sense to look contrite, and he backed up a step. “If those are my options, then I’ll step down as judge.” He extended his clipboard.
Lucy sprang forward and took the clipboard rather than risk Katie hitting him over the head with it. Together they watched as Archie stormed off the beach.
“You okay?” Lucy asked after they’d moved on.
Katie rubbed her temple. “Yeah. I just lost my temper.”
“I don’t blame you. Archie acted like a jerk. But Harold was no better in my opinion. He really pushed Archie’s buttons. Why do they hate each other?”
“Like I said, they are boardwalk business neighbors. Harold called the township and complained that Archie’s using cutthroat business tactics.”
“How?”
“They both mostly sell T-shirts, boogie boards, bathing suits, all the other usual beach items. Harold claims Archie has slashed his prices below cost just to put Harold out of business. He claims Archie will turn around and raise his prices after Harold is forced to close his store.”
Lucy knew boardwalk business owners had a little over three months—from Memorial Day to Labor Day—to earn their yearly living. The beach town was bursting at its seams with tourists during the season, and there was ample business to sell similar wares. But at the same time, it fed a competitive business nature.
“What can the town do?” Lucy asked.
“Nothing. It’s a free economy.”
Lucy shook her head. “Both men are stubborn as mules.”
Katie let out a slow breath. “I’m just glad it ended before those two came to blows and one ended up dead.”
* * *
The industrial KitchenAid mixer whirred and mixed the dough to a creamy smoothness. Inside the oven, the first trays of date cookies were almost finished, and they released their delicious smell into the restaurant’s kitchen.
The oven timer dinged. “They look perfect,” Lucy’s mother, Angela Berberian, said.
“I need to make five more trays.” Lucy wiped her hands on a clean dishcloth and peered into the oven.
Angela reached for a white apron emblazoned with Kebab Kitchen’s name in green letters. “I’ll help.”
The restaurant would serve cookies and baklava for dessert at the upcoming wine and food tasting event. Their head chef, Azad, would prepare his own savory dishes. Azad was creative, and Lucy couldn’t wait to hear what he planned to serve.
The date cookies were a family favorite. Lucy’s ten-year-old niece, Niari, was a typical picky tween eater. She wouldn’t touch a date, let alone eat one. But the family recipe had fooled her. Niari had bitten into one of the soft cookies, mistakenly believed they were chocolate filled, and loved them. When Lucy had told her that they were stuffed with dates, not chocolate, Niari’s eyes had widened like disks and her mouth had formed a perfect O, then she’d simply shrugged, and finished her cookie.
“Remove the trays before they overbake,” her mother said.
Lucy reached for silicone mittens, pulled the trays out of the oven, and set them on the worktable to cool on racks. They smelled like heaven and her mouth watered at the sight. Each cookie was slightly brown and looked like a half-moon stuffed ravioli.
“Perfect,” her mother said.
Lucy beamed. Angela Berberian didn’t hand out praise easily. Her mother was the former chef of Kebab Kitchen and was a tyrant in the kitchen. At only five feet tall, she was tiny, but formidable. Anyone who’d ever worked with her knew better than to underestimate her culinary skill or to serve a dish that didn’t meet her high standards. Angela wore her hair in her signature sixties beehive and the gold cross necklace she never removed.
Lucy had always believed life had played a cruel trick on her when she’d been born into her family. Her parents had opened Kebab Kitchen thirty years ago, and other than Lucy, every member of her family could cook. Her sister, Emma, could whip up a family meal for her husband, Max, and their daughter, Niari, in little time. Her father, Raffi, grew up knowing how to marinate and grill the perfect shish kebab.
Lucy had been the only one who couldn’t boil water or scramble an egg, let alone prepare a tray of baklava. She’d gone to law school instead and had worked at a Philadelphia firm for eight years. But since returning home and taking over management of the restaurant, she’d been determined to learn.
It hadn’t been easy. Lucy had spent hours in the kitchen with her mother learning how to make baklava, hummus, grape leaves stuffed with meat and rice, and other savory Mediterranean dishes. Frustrated and often overh
eated, there were times she wanted to quit, but she’d stuck with it, and she’d surprised everyone, mostly herself.
Her dishes came out not only edible, but good.
Not as good as her mother’s or Azad’s, but Lucy was more than pleased with her success. Plus, it wasn’t as if she was taking over as head chef anytime soon. Lucy liked managing. Nothing was more satisfying than when the kitchen and dining room ran smoothly, and their customers enjoyed their meals.
The timer dinged again, and Lucy took out a second batch of cookies. She’d had to make small batches by herself, but with her mother’s help, they could roll, stuff, and bake much faster.
Her mother reached for a chunk of dough covered in plastic wrap. “Did you let this dough rest?” her mother asked.
“Thirty minutes.”
“Good. You remembered.”
Lucy reached for a rolling pin and joined her mother at the worktable. Adding a pinch of flour to her work surface so the dough wouldn’t stick, Lucy started rolling. Once they rolled out the dough, they cut two-inch rounds with cookie cutters.
As they worked side by side, Lucy’s mind turned back to the events of the morning. Angela had been in business in Ocean Crest for years and knew almost everyone in town. Maybe she’d have information on Archie or Harold.
“Hey, Mom, what do you know about Archie Kincaid?” Lucy asked.
“The owner of Seaside Gifts? He came to town about a year ago with his nephew and bought old man John’s shop on the boardwalk. Why?” Angela continued cutting the dough with the cookie cutter as she spoke. She worked quickly, and Lucy had often admired her for her efficiency and endurance in the kitchen. Her mother never seemed to tire.
“Archie was a judge of the sand sculpture contest and never told the festival committee that his nephew was one of the sculptors. Archie gave Katie a hard time before he finally withdrew as a judge.”
Her mother shrugged a slender shoulder. “I’m not surprised.”
“You’re not?”
Angela reached for a bowl of pitted and chopped dates that Lucy had prepared. She placed a tablespoon of filling in the center of each cut-out circle of dough. “Archie can be stubborn. His nephew, Neil, is a vagrant, and Archie tries to help the boy.”
“Vagrant? What’s that supposed to mean?” English was her mother’s third language and sometimes she chose the wrong word to convey her meaning.
Angela waved a flour-coated hand. “You know. Wanderer. Bum. He says he’s an artist, but never sells anything. He surfs all day and doesn’t work. He needs a haircut and a shave.”
Lucy chuckled as she finally got her mother’s meaning. She thought negatively of any unshaved male with long hair. Old-school thinking for sure, but Lucy could almost picture Neil Kincaid based on her mother’s description. “Mom, bum is not a politically correct term.”
“Fine. Neil isn’t homeless, he’s lazy. He could get a job if he wanted. Instead, he spends his days on the beach. He lives with his uncle, Archie, above their store.”
“Yes, well. Archie argued with Katie. But Harold Harper instigated it.” After adding the filling, Lucy folded the dough to make a half-moon shape.
“It’s no secret that the two dislike each other,” her mother said.
“How do you know that?”
“Once, they happened to be in the restaurant at the same time. They started shouting across the dining room and drove poor Sally crazy. She threatened to kick them out if they didn’t behave.”
“Really? I can’t picture Sally losing it.” Sally was a longtime waitress at Kebab Kitchen. She had an easygoing personality and the locals loved her. As long as Lucy had known her, Sally had never lost her temper.
“Fortunately, both men have never been back to eat at the same time again.” Angela set down her spoon and glanced at Lucy’s workspace. “Be careful not to stuff the cookies too much.”
Lucy immediately scraped some of the date filling back into the bowl. Once each cookie was filled, folded, and sealed, she placed it on a tray. Last, she brushed all the unbaked cookies with egg wash and slid the rack into the oven.
“What smells so good in here?”
Lucy turned to see Azad Zakarian walk in the kitchen. Tall, dark, and lean, the sight of the handsome head chef always made her pulse pound a bit too fast. His hair was wet, making it look almost black, and Lucy knew he’d gone home after the lunch shift to shower and return for the dinner shift. He hadn’t yet put on his chef’s coat, and he wore a tight white T-shirt that showed off muscled biceps and a lean stomach. She tore her gaze away.
Get a grip, Lucy.
She was his boss, and she needed better self-control if they were to continue to work together.
Not long ago, Azad had left his sous chef job at a fancy Atlantic City restaurant to become head chef of Kebab Kitchen. Her parents no longer worked full-time, and she couldn’t have managed the place without him. It hadn’t been the smoothest transition. Azad had broken her heart after college, and she’d sworn never to fall for that charming dimple ever again.
But since her return to Ocean Crest, Azad had expressed interest in resuming their romantic relationship.
Trouble.
Lucy was hesitant about any kind of relationship with him outside of the restaurant, but time and his steady pursuit—along with a bout of hormones—was wearing down her resistance.
Lucy cleared her throat. “We’re making date cookies and baklava for the festival.”
“They look great, too,” he said.
Was that a compliment about just the cookies or was there more behind his words?
“What do you have planned for the festival menu?”
“I want samples that people can easily eat without utensils. I’m thinking of small wrapped gyros, bamboo skewers of lamb shish kebab, and grilled vegetable skewers of peppers, tomatoes, and onions. I also plan to make a meat bulgur sausage and falafel.”
“Mmm. It all sounds delicious,” Lucy said.
Azad flashed a grin, and the dimple in his cheek deepened. She was suddenly overly warm, and it had nothing to do with the heat from the ovens.
“Excuse me. We need more flour,” she said. Grabbing the half-empty container, she left Azad with her mother and headed for the storage room. She didn’t need more flour, she needed a break.
Shelves of dry items stacked the perimeter of the storage room. A tiny office was tucked away in the corner. She set the flour container on a shelf beside large bags of rice, bulgur, and spices—the essentials of Mediterranean cuisine.
Grabbing a bag of cat food on a far shelf, she headed out the back door to the rear parking lot. She shook the bag and seconds later, a patchy orange and black cat with yellow eyes sauntered from behind the Dumpster to wind around her feet.
“Hi, Gadoo. Where have you been?” She bent down to pet his soft fur and was rewarded with a rumbling purr.
Her mother had named the outdoor cat Gadoo which meant cat in Armenian. Not very original, but Lucy had taken a liking to the feisty feline and took over feeding him twice a day and making sure he always had enough water.
“I have your favorite.” She opened the bag of kibbles and poured some into his bowl which she kept outside by the restaurant’s back door. Gadoo looked up, blinked, then meowed.
“You want more?”
Another meow, louder this time.
“Spoiled kitty,” she said, then added more food to his bowl. “If you keep eating like this, you’ll have to watch your feline figure.”
He responded with a twitch of his tail, and then began eating.
The back door opened, and Azad stepped out. “Hey. I was wondering where you went off to.”
“I wanted to feed Gadoo.” Obvious answer since the cat was chowing down at her feet. How long would it take for her to get over this nervousness around him when they were alone?
It didn’t help that her parents had always wanted them to be together. “Keep the business in the family, Lucy,” her mother had often said.
It had always been enough to make her run for the hills.
But now she was older and wiser. And Azad had changed. He was no longer the young, college boy who feared commitment. He’d stuck around and helped her by taking over as head chef.
Azad had put on his chef’s coat, and he looked professional in the starched white jacket. Still, he shoved his hands into his pockets and a look of unease crossed his handsome features.
Maybe he was just as nervous as she was.
“Are you free Friday? There’s a new French restaurant, Le Gabriel, that I think you’d like,” he said. “Your mom is covering in the kitchen and your dad is managing then so it’s not a problem.”
He’d followed her outside to ask her on a date? “I’ve heard of Le Gabriel. It’s received excellent reviews by the food critic in the Ocean Crest Town News.”
“Are you free?” Azad’s dark gaze met hers, and her heart skipped a beat.
Maybe it was time to take a leap. If a door of opportunity opened, shouldn’t she step through it? “Yes,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Azad’s mouth curved in a sensual smile. “Great. This time, I promise nothing will get in our way.”
