by Maria Geraci
Carlos looks at his paper and frowns. “It says here that I have to purposely keep a few customers waiting for a table even though there’s one available. Or am I reading this wrong?”
“Oh, you’re reading it right. Like I said, we want conflict and drama.” Tara’s eyes gleam with excitement. “Imagine how angry those customers will be when they see an empty table and they aren’t being seated. Maybe we can even seat some customers ahead of them. Yes, that’s even better. Gilly,” she says, “I hope you’re getting this all down because if you aren’t ... ” The unspoken threat hangs in the air.
Gilly snatches a large black binder out of a bag, opens it up and begins writing furiously.
“But that doesn’t seem fair,” Juanita sputters.
“No worries,” Tara says. “Your conflict will come later in the episode when you ‘accidentally’ spill a plate of sizzling fajitas on a customer and one of your sons will have to call 911. Oh, and he’s going to accuse you of being senile. Forgetting orders, stuff like that.” She points at Gilly. “We need research on sudden-onset dementia STAT. Call the network medical staff if you have to.”
Gilly scribbles it all down.
Juanita clutches her chest. “Madre de Dios! I will not spill hot food on anyone. And my mind is just as clear as yours!”
“Don’t be such a ninny. The customer we pick will be wearing a special vest so they won’t actually be burned. We’ll get them to sign a waiver. Trust me. No one is getting sued on my watch.”
The room goes silent. We’re all in a state of disbelief, although after being around Tara this past week, nothing should surprise me. The woman is a complete piece of work.
“Pick up your jaws, people! Welcome to the world of reality television. Don’t worry, every restaurant will have its share of drama,” Tara says, making air quotation marks on the word drama. “But in the end, everything will be fair and square. Only the best restaurant in Whispering Bay will be the winner.”
Great. I can’t wait to see what kind of drama Tara and her team have in store for The Bistro.
Just then, Allie and Roger come trudging down the stairs with all their equipment. “Thanks again for the interview, Lucy!” Allie calls out.
Paco barks happily as if he’s saying goodbye to them.
Tara watches them with a steely eye as they walk out The Bistro door. “What was that about?”
Sarah comes back into the dining area with a pot of coffee and a tray of muffins. “Lucy did an interview with The Whispering Bay Gazette,” she answers. “They took pictures and everything.”
Tara’s head snaps around to meet my gaze. “An interview?”
“Sure, what’s wrong with that?” I ask.
“What’s wrong with that is that your contract expressly forbids any press interviews without clearing it with the producers, aka me.”
“Good to know, but my interview wasn’t about the show.”
“So you didn’t mention the show at all?”
“Well … ” Rats. I did mention the show, but it was such a tiny part of the interview I didn’t think it would matter. I really don’t want to have to confess to Tara that I made a mistake, but I have no choice. “She asked me a few questions about the show, so I answered them, but it wasn’t—”
“Unbelievable!” Tara screeches. “You do know that what you’ve done is a breach of your contract? I should kick you off the show for this.”
It’s like someone lit a match inside me, making me go hot from the tips of my toes all the way up to my eyelids. It’s too much. It really is. No amount of publicity or prize money is worth putting up with Tara’s abuse.
“And I could kick you out of The Bistro. As a matter of fact,” I say, pointing to the front door, “Go! Go right now. I’m officially calling this meeting to an end.”
Paco barks as if to say, It’s about time!
Sarah makes a face.
Tara’s eyes bug out even more than normal, making her look like Susan Sarandon on steroids.
I glance around to see a room filled with stunned expressions. Even the camera guys seem shocked by my outburst, and Gilly appears as if she’s going to faint.
Uh-oh. I might have gone a little too far. But really? Has no one ever stood up to this tyrant?
“Fine.” Tara sniffs. “If that’s the way you want it.” She turns to Gilly. “Obviously, I’m going to have to rethink The Bistro’s place in this competition.” She glares at the other competitors. “As for the rest of you, expect our cameras bright and early Monday morning.”
3
Everyone except Sarah gets up to leave, mumbling their goodbyes. Juanita stops on her way out the door and takes my hand. “Lucy, get some sleep. You look tired, dear.”
Tired is an understatement. Why did I lose my temper with Tara? Sure, she’s the most annoying person on the planet, but that’s no excuse to practically get myself kicked off the show.
I wait till everyone has left. “I’m sorry,” I tell Sarah. “Don’t worry. I’ll apologize to Tara. I’ll make sure she doesn’t knock us out of the competition.”
“Maybe being knocked out of the competition would be for the best.”
“What? How can you say that?”
“Let’s face it, we only have a one in six chance to win, and we’re killing ourselves. At least, you’re killing yourself, and for what? We already have a thriving business. Sure, it would be great to win and be able to claim the title of Best Beach Eat in Whispering Bay, but—”
“What about the cash prize? I know you don’t need it, but I still owe Will money.”
When Sarah and I bought the place, I didn’t have enough for my share of the down payment, so I borrowed money from Will. I thought I’d be able to pay him back before now, but between my culinary school student loans and the big vet bill from when Paco was poisoned (that’s another story), I still haven’t been able to put a dent in what I owe him. And I hate owing anyone money. Especially Will.
“Lucy,” Sarah says gently, “I know you want to pay Will back, but he’s not in any hurry, is he?”
“Well, no, but … ”
“Does Will know how you feel about him?”
Even though I’ve never come out and told Sarah that I’m in love with Will, it’s clear that she’s guessed. Who am I kidding? Half the town probably knows. I might as well have Hopelessly In Love With My Best Friend tattooed on my forehead.
“You sound like Travis,” I mutter.
“Speaking of Travis, that man is mighty fine. You should go out with him.” I don’t say anything, but I feel my cheeks go pink, which is all the encouragement Sarah needs. “He likes you, Lucy.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s obvious to anyone with two eyes.”
“He … he sort of kissed me,” I admit.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It doesn’t matter, because Travis gave me an ultimatum. I have to sort out my feelings for Will before he’ll kiss me again.”
Sarah smiles knowingly. “Do you want Travis to kiss you again?”
Before I can answer, we’re interrupted by a hard knock on the door. Through the glass pane I see Will standing in front of the café.
Sarah follows my gaze and sighs. “I guess that’s my cue to leave.”
I wave to Will, who opens the unlocked door to come inside. “Hey, Lucy. Sarah,” he says, smiling. When Will smiles, the skin around the corners of his eyes crinkles up adorably. He’s tall with dark hair and blue eyes. He also wears glasses. Think geeky smart, like Clark Kent.
“Hi, Will, gotta run.” Sarah grabs her tote as if to leave, then stops herself. “I should probably pick up in here first,” she says, indicating the tray of muffins she’d brought out for the group.
“No worries. I’ll do it,” I say.
“Thanks. Oh, and Lucy, make sure to put away the leftover muffins in a tight container,” she adds.
“We have an ant problem,” I explain to Will.
“Want
me to spray the kitchen?” he asks.
“No!” Sarah and I both say at the same time.
Will raises a brow.
“I bought some ant killer, but after I read the label, I realized it’s pretty toxic. I don’t want Paco anywhere near that stuff. I’ve got a call in to one of those environmentally friendly pesticide companies. They’re sending someone out next week.”
“Thanks again, Lucy.” Sarah spears me with a meaningful look. “And I definitely think you should have that talk with you know who. Like right now. Bye!” She scurries out the door. Traitor.
“What’s that all about?” asks Will.
Luckily, I’m saved from answering by Paco’s enthusiastic barking.
Will squats down to scratch my dog behind the ears. “Hey, boy,” he coos. “Nice to see you too.” He looks up at me. “Want to catch up on some TV?” Which is Will’s way of asking if I want to watch last night’s episode of America’s Most Vicious Criminals, which of course is recorded on my DVR. It’s our favorite show. Every Friday night we get a pizza from Tiny’s and watch it upstairs in my apartment, but I was so exhausted last night, I had to cancel. Will is the only person I know who doesn’t own a television set. He thinks TV rots your brain, but just like me, he’s addicted to the popular crime show.
“I can’t. I need to make some I’m-sorry-I-messed-up muffins for Tara.”
“Sounds like an interesting story.”
I head to the kitchen. “Follow me and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Does this mean you’re going to cook for me?”
“You wish.”
Will grins, then he takes a good look at me, and his smile slowly fades. “You look exhausted. Go upstairs and nap. I’ll take Paco for a walk.”
Walk is one of the words that makes Paco go bananas. He runs around in a circle, chasing his tail with excitement.
“I’ll take you up on the walk, but I can’t go to sleep just yet. Like I said, I need to make a special batch of muffins for Tara.” I tell Will about my argument with Tara and how I ordered her out of The Bistro. “My apple walnut cream cheese muffins are her favorite, so I’m going to make a super-special batch. Just for her. That ought to put her in a forgiving mood.”
“Okay, but promise me once you’re done, you’ll get some rest.”
“Promise.” I hand him Paco’s leash, and the two of them head out the kitchen door and into the bright, late-afternoon November sunshine.
I chop up a couple of apples and make the cream cheese mixture that makes up the heart of the muffin, mix up the dry ingredients and assemble it all into a tin that makes six extra-large muffins. I place it in the oven to bake just as Will and Paco return.
“Smells good,” Will says appreciatively.
I set the timer. “Twenty-five more minutes till they’re done and I can go to bed.”
“Why don’t you go upstairs now? I can take the muffins out of the oven for you.”
I hesitate because the idea of hitting my bed is super tempting, but I just can’t. “Thanks, but I need to follow through on these.”
I know it’s just muffins, and I’m sure they’ll turn out fine, but what if they need an extra minute or two in the oven to set just right? Will wouldn’t know the difference, but I would, and these muffins have to be absolutely perfect. I want Tara to take one bite and know deep in her heart that she’ll never eat another muffin as good as mine.
It’s complete vanity on my part, but I can’t help myself.
Will fills up Paco’s water bowl, then pulls out a stool and sits down to face me across the stainless-steel kitchen counter. “So tell me about your interview with The Gazette. When can I expect the story to come out?”
“Allie said it would be in next weekend’s edition. And the interview went okay, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I had to be careful not to give too many details, you know, on account of my gift.”
Will’s face fills with understanding. Will is one of the few people who know about my ability to tell when someone is lying. He also knows that Paco is a ghost whisperer. He didn’t believe me at first, but after our near-death experience with El Tigre, he’s totally on board the Paco train.
The one thing that Will doesn’t know, however, is that he’s the only person I’ve never caught in a lie. Not that Will doesn’t lie, because, let’s face it, we all lie.
I think the reason I can’t tell when Will is lying is because he’s my soul mate. Yep. That has to be it. Only he thinks I can tell when he’s lying, and I want to keep it that way because if Will knew he was the only person I’ve never caught in a lie, he’d figure out my feelings for him.
“I hear Betty Jean is practically begging you to come back to her book club,” Will says.
Betty Jean Collins is a regular here at The Bistro. She’s a member of the Gray Flamingos, a local senior citizens’ activist group, and is a real character. She hosts a weekly book club on Thursday nights, and I’m the only person under the age of sixty who’s ever been invited to join. She told me she invited me because she wanted to “shake things up,” but I suspect the real reason is because she wants free muffins. After I missed my first meeting (for totally legitimate reasons), she kicked me out of the club, but now that I’m semi-famous, she’s been after me to rejoin.
“Yeah, Betty Jean wants me back all right, but I’m not sure if I’m going to take her up on it.”
“Oh?” Will asks, amused.
“I should turn her down, but to be honest, I’m having too much fun with her right now. I told her I’d join her book club on one condition. If she gets J.W. Quicksilver to attend a meeting.”
Will snorts. “Good luck with that.”
J.W. Quicksilver is the pen name of a reclusive best-selling author who writes spy thrillers. The whole town is obsessed with his books, including my parents. I’ve only read one, Assassin’s Honor, but it was a doozy—lots of action, lots of violence, lots of hot sex (which, yuck, is totally ruined for me now that I know my parents read it too).
According to Betty Jean, J.W. never makes public appearances, but she’s determined to have him at her book club, so she’s been emailing him nonstop. Poor man. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, because once Betty Jean makes up her mind about something, she’s relentless.
Strangely enough, when I first brought up J.W. Quicksilver, Will claimed that he’d never heard of him, but I think that’s a lie because how could you work around books all day and have never heard of a national best-selling author?
You know what I think?
I think Will was faking it when he told me he’d never heard of J.W. Quicksilver. As a matter of fact, I’m going to go out on a limb here and bet my last muffin tin that he’s read at least one of J.W.’s books, only he doesn’t want to admit it because Will is a book snob, preferring the classics over popular fiction.
I wonder if I can trick him into admitting it.
“So, what do you say? If Betty Jean can get J.W. Quicksilver to attend one of her book club meetings, will you come too?” I observe Will’s face carefully for any clues.
He stuffs his hands in his trouser pockets. “Sure. If Betty Jean can get this Quicksilver guy to attend one of her book club meetings, then I’ll come. If Betty Jean invites me, that is.”
“Oh, she’ll invite you. You’re a man, and you’re good-looking, so you’re a shoo-in.” The instant I say it, I wish I could take it back.
But instead of acting embarrassed or awkward, Will does something he’s never done before. He places his elbows on the counter and leans in toward me. “Lucy,” he says slowly, “is that your way of telling me you think I’m good-looking?” There’s a slice of humor there, but he’s also serious.
My mouth goes dry.
This is it.
I’ve been waiting twenty-six years for this moment. Well, not twenty-six, exactly, because I was seven when I first discovered my feelings for Will, so it’s more like nineteen years but almost the same thing.
I clear my throat and try to gather my thoughts. How do I start?
A knock on the kitchen door startles us both.
“Lucy! It’s me, Brittany!”
Will and I lock gazes.
“Lucy! I know you’re in there. I need to speak to you now!”
Will blinks, and the moment is lost. And here I was about to spill my heart out to him. I sigh. “Come on in. The door’s not locked.”
Brittany Kelly and a man I don’t recognize walk into the restaurant kitchen. Even though today is Saturday, she’s dressed in one of her business power suits (size 2) and heels. Brittany is the PR person for the Whispering Bay Chamber of Commerce and my ex-nemesis. The two of us went to school together, but we were never friends on account of way back in kindergarten, I accused Brittany of lying about stealing a set of brand-new paint brushes (which she did). Afterward I was labeled a tattletale. But a few weeks ago, circumstances made us look back on the incident in a different way. Apparently, all this time, Brittany has wanted to be my friend. So that’s what we are now. Friends.
I have to say, though, being Brittany’s friend requires a lot of energy.
The man is maybe in his early forties, medium height, with sandy-colored hair and the kind of bland good looks that belong to a bank vice president or a game show host. He’s wearing a Florida State University sweatshirt and smiles like he’s embarrassed by Brittany’s pushiness.
“Lucy!” Brittany nearly knocks me down with her hug. “I just heard the terrible news. How are you holding up?” She studies my face, then notices Will, and her eyes go wide.
Will has had a mad crush on Brittany since forever, and the two of them went on a date a couple of weeks ago. I tried not to act too gleeful when he told me the date was a bust.
