He shot her a skeptical look, swiping back some thin hairs on a head that wasn’t bald yet, but would be in a decade. “We’ll see about that.”
“Oh my, have you had a bad experience in a similar restaurant?” she asked, gesturing for him to follow her. “Because we have excellent service and some of the happiest customers in town. Have you seen our Yelp reviews?”
He snorted. “Like I care what you pay people to say.”
Oh boy, he was a tough nut. But Summer was undaunted, taking him to a table next to the front window in Karyn’s station. “Not only do you have a view of our bustling patio dining area here, you can also have a glimpse into the kitchen, as you requested. Of course, if you’d like to meet the kitchen staff and take a tour—”
“No,” he said sharply, shutting her up. “I don’t want anyone to…” He caught himself as he sat down. “No special attention, please.”
Sorry, Mr. Big-Time Investor, but you are about to get showered with so much special attention.
“Of course.” She handed him the menu, opening it with a flourish. “Can I answer any questions? Greek food is a world all its own, you know.”
He gave her a sharp look. “I’m familiar with Greek food.”
“Then you’ll appreciate the quality of ours. The spanakopita is—”
“Not what I’m here for,” he said, glancing at the menu, then up at her. “Water? Coffee? What does one get here?”
“Whatever one wants,” she said with a cheery tip of her head. “I’ll get Karyn, your server, and bring you water and coffee right away, sir.” She couldn’t help leaning a little closer, remembering the other night at dinner when John said one of the keys to franchising was making everything “replicable.”
“The kagianas are Greek eggs, as I’m sure you know. They are amazing. And not that difficult a recipe, since even I’ve learned to make it.”
“Simple is sometimes best,” he agreed, giving her a punch of pleasure to know he was thawing.
“I’ll be right back.”
She breezed away, then launched into the kitchen, torn between announcing the news to the staff who would serve him and running to tell John that his investor was here. His door was closed, meaning he was probably on a call, so she made a game-time decision and rallied Bash, Karyn, and the rest of them to share the news.
“I get to wait on him?” Karyn said excitedly. “Perfect. Don’t give me anyone else for a while, Summer.”
“You got it.”
“Sell him the fetoydia,” Bash said to Karyn. “The bread is perfect today.”
“Mmm.” Summer nodded, remembering the Greek-style French toast she’d had earlier in the week. “Great choice, but he might want lunch.”
“I got it, I got it,” Karyn said, smoothing her hair. “Let me serve table six first so I can concentrate on him.”
“I’ll get him coffee and water,” Summer said with one more glance at John’s door. “Oh, and do you have one of those breakfast pastry trays, Bash? We can start him with that. It’s so impressive.”
They all moved with choreographed speed, and a few minutes later, she was on her way back to the table, doing a double take when she saw Secret Shopper taking pictures with his phone.
This was so definitely him.
“Here you go.” She set the water and poured some coffee. “Are you from around here, sir?”
He shot her another icy look. “I’m from…here and there.”
She smiled. “Well, welcome to here. Can I tell you a little bit about our town? Or this wonderful restaurant?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “How much do I want to know?”
“The history, which is colorful and long, the family who started it, and the amazing man who owns it.”
He lifted a brow. “Amazing?”
Okay, maybe she’d gone too far. “Well, the staff loves him, and his attention to detail brings customers back over and over. Details that you don’t find anywhere else. But could.” If it was franchised.
He lifted a packet of sugar and shook it, dismissing her with a nod.
She stepped away and headed back to the hostess stand to seat a few locals she already recognized. As she took them to their table, she spied Secret Shopper furiously tapping notes into his phone. Of course.
After she chatted with the new customers, she walked past, hearing him give Karyn an order for fetoydia. And kagianas. And lalagites! He wanted to try everything, just like John had said.
Bursting with the news, she darted once more into the kitchen, practically pirouetting into John’s office when she saw the door was open again.
She was breathless by the time she threw herself into his office. “He’s here.”
John looked up from his laptop and blinked at her, as if the information was too much for his incredible brain to process. Or she was. All week, he’d looked at her that way when he thought she didn’t notice. Like he was…crushing.
Welcome to the club, Nice Man.
“Who’s here?”
“The secret shopper guy. Your buddy Tom. He’s here, in Santorini’s, right now.”
“What?” He shot up. “Tom Barnard came in for breakfast?”
“He came for everything, it seems. He ordered three different meals. And he’s alone.”
“Oh.” He came around the desk, fully focused on this news now. “Where’d you seat him? Who’s his server? Does Bash know? Wait. How do you know it’s him?”
“Table six, Karyn, yes, and I suspected when he walked in and looked at everything on the hostess stand like he might find a speck of dirt or a menu upside down. Which he didn’t, by the way. And after I sat him, he pulled out a camera and took a picture of the table setting, and then he was furiously typing notes into his phone.”
“Yeah, that could be him.” John started toward the door, but Summer sidestepped and blocked him.
“Hang on for a sec,” she said, putting both hands on his chest because she needed to stop him. And it felt so good. “First of all, you can’t let him see you. He’ll know we’re on to him.”
He circled her wrists with his index fingers and thumbs, using a light touch to remove her hands quickly. “I’ve never met him. He has no idea what I look like.”
She poked his chest again, this time where his name was sewn into the Santorini’s shirt he’d worn because he’d had a meeting with a vendor early that morning. “Just another John who works here?”
“Okay,” he relented. “But I need to go in the kitchen.”
“We have this well under control. Karyn and Bash know. They are going to serve him the greatest kagianas, fetoydia, and lalagites he’s ever had.”
“Pancakes, French toast, and scrambled eggs? Bash can do—”
“Stop.” Once more, she used the excuse to put her hands on his chest. “He’s got fresh coffee and a view of the square. I’ll check on him. You need to relax.”
“I’ll relax in the kitchen,” he said, moving his whole body away from hers, something it seemed he’d spent the better part of the past week doing, even though it was the opposite of what she wanted him to do.
“John.” She crossed her arms and looked up at him. “You’ll make Bash nervous. You’ll make Karyn cranky. You’ll make me crazy. Well, you do that anyway, but your staff are professionals. Let them do their job.”
“I make you crazy?” he asked on a laugh.
Of course, he said it like…she made him crazy, too. “You make me crazy when you come out to the floor when I’m running the front,” she said quickly. “But you’re the boss, though, and that’s your job.”
“Fine. I’ll stay here. But come back and tell me everything.” He gestured for her to leave, then suddenly put a hand on her shoulder. They both had developed a habit of constantly giving in to small, casual, unimportant touches. Which felt anything but small or casual or unimportant. “Wait. Are you sure it’s him and not just a guy eating alone who likes to take pictures and text?”
“Well, do you know what Tom looks like?”
>
“No. He’s incredibly private. I’ve never seen so much as a picture of the guy.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s him. I mean, how many men come into Santorini’s alone, take a picture, inspect everything, write notes, order three meals, and ask to be served by the busiest waitress?”
“Really? Of course. He wants to find a weakness.”
“Which he won’t.” She took a step back. “Now let me go be your eyes and ears out there and engage him in more conversation. I want him to know how many regulars we have and how you inspire the staff and how authentic your Greek family is.”
He dropped his head back and closed his eyes, something spinning in that brain of his, but she had no idea what it was.
“No? Nothing about the family? I can tell him—”
He put his fingers over her mouth, stopping her avalanche of words and worry.
“I’m sure anything you say is going to enchant him.”
“Really?” She gave a clap and shimmied her shoulders in a little victory dance. “Then let me, not you, go out there and see what he’s doing, eating, thinking, everything. You sit right there and work.”
“As if I could.”
“Do it.” She gave him a nudge. “You need to be ready to take his money and franchise this business, John.”
As she took a step to back out the door, he reached for her hand, a deliberate move that sent a shiver over her.
“Anything else I should do?” she asked.
“Just…” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Know how much I appreciate this. You. All of…you.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe he said that. “All you’re doing, I mean.”
She shot him a quick smile, casual and friendly, the way she’d tried to keep every interaction they’d had since the night at the fire pit. Sadly, there’d been no more wine and fire and long talks, just some softball with Destiny and a few shared dinners. After that, she’d headed upstairs, and after Destiny’s bath and book and, finally, sleep, Summer would slip Mav through his sliding glass doors. She hadn’t even bothered to borrow the microwave to warm her tea.
No tea. Maybe that was the reason she was getting such rotten sleep…and hot dreams.
“I’m just doing my job,” she said, waving off his compliment. “Now, let me go before someone comes in and it looks like we can’t manage the front of the house.”
She slipped away, dashed through the kitchen, and just as she reached the door to the dining room, she glanced back at his office. He was still standing there, watching her, his expression as bewildered as…well, as she felt.
Had they made the right decision? What…they? He’d made the decision after hearing her story, exactly as she’d suspected.
Pushing the thought away, a skill she’d mastered this past week, she checked the front and then took a pass through the restaurant, where Tom Barnard—she preferred thinking of him as Secret Shopper—was diving into his meals, though not before taking more pictures and writing additional notes in his phone.
He seemed content, so Summer went back to work, seating new arrivals, dropping out on the patio to check on everything there while also keeping an eye on their VIP guest. After a while, as he neared the end of his meal, she took another walk around the floor, catching his eye as she passed.
“How was everything, sir?” she asked.
He frowned, then beckoned her closer. “I have a question about your suppliers. All local, or does inventory come from around the country?”
She had no earthly idea. But maybe it was time to bring out the boss. “Our owner, John Santorini, is in the back, sir. Can I bring him out to answer your questions?”
“No!” The response was surprisingly vehement. “Please don’t bother. It’s not that important.”
“But every question is important,” she said. “Let me—”
“Please don’t,” he insisted. “I’d rather he not know I’m here.”
“Oh, of course. You want to be…incognito.”
He gave a very tight smile. “Sometimes, in my business, that isn’t easy. But I would prefer to maintain my anonymity, if I may, Miss…” His eyes dropped to her name tag. “Summer.”
She relaxed a little, so desperately wanting to help John. “I can tell you this,” she said. “I haven’t worked here that long, but the environment is just…perfect. Happy, solid, well run, and everyone is respected. And I’ve never seen so many satisfied customers or happy employees.”
He nodded. “Good to know.”
“Okay, I’ll back off,” she said with a laugh, inching away. “More coffee? Dessert?”
“I have dessert coming,” he admitted with a tip of his head. “I wanted to try as much as I could.”
“Totally understand. Enjoy.”
She walked slowly past the kitchen on her way back to the hostess stand, tempted to run back to John and tell him every word exchanged with the man who could make his franchising dreams come true.
But she had to stop flirting with John. Had to stop the random touches and quick encounters. He’d made it clear he didn’t want feelings, and she didn’t need any more guilt. But it was very hard not to feel like she’d blown it, and she had no one but herself to blame.
Chapter Fourteen
How the hell long could he go on feeling this…crazy?
John stared at the empty doorway, but instead of the corner of the kitchen and the bustling activity at the pass, all he could see was…silky hair and a blinding smile. Instead of Bash’s spatula scraping iron, he heard that throaty laugh that was his favorite sound on earth. Instead of a warm waft of spice-laden air from the ovens, he felt her light and frequent touch and the scent of citrus and sunshine she spread everywhere.
Citrus and sunshine? What the ever-lovin’ hell was going on in his addled brain? Blood loss, of course. It had all gone to a completely different place, now taking ownership of his being as hormones and hunger drove him instead of intellect and gray matter.
Still, he didn’t move, the inventory management report in front of him not nearly as interesting as sitting right here, waiting for Summer to come floating in again, all bright and brilliant, like he’d opened every window blind and let the sun pour into the room.
“Oh man,” he muttered, stabbing his fingers in his hair and shoving it back hard like that could pull all the wayward and constant thoughts—no, feelings—he had about Summer out of his poor, malfunctioning cranium.
For the better part of the week, he’d done nothing but battle those feelings. He’d second-guessed his decision to put the brakes on their escalating relationship so many times that it was fair to say he’d thousand-guessed it. He knew letting their budding romance die on the vine was the right, safe, nice thing to do. He knew it like he knew the derivative of sine was cosine or that changing speed affected velocity.
Except, all he wanted to do was…change his mind and kiss her until she melted in his arms…and into his bed.
Thankfully, his cell phone vibrated him back to reality. And the name on the screen jolted him back to his senses.
George Shipley.
They’d been playing telephone tag all week, although John had been relieved to get voice mail. Talking to George reminded him of Travis Shipley, the man Summer cared enough for that she’d hung on to his memory and driven hundreds of miles to apologize or for closure or…something.
“Hey, George,” he answered warmly. “We finally escape voice mail jail.”
“John, how are you?” The older man’s voice was always gruff, and today was no different. It wasn’t that he was unpleasant, but he had a cold, curt speaking style.
Was his son the same way? he wondered. Surely Summer didn’t fall for someone cold and curt. For the thousandth time in five days, he wondered just what Travis Shipley was like.
Shaking off the thought, he forced himself to focus. Forget the son. The father was the one considering a sales offer that needed to be inked before John could close the financing deal with the guy sitting out in his
dining room eating fetoydia and kagianas.
“So, are you ready to ink that contract I had my attorney send over?” John asked.
The silence lasted just a beat too long, and John gave the phone a look. He wouldn’t back out. He couldn’t.
“Well, we have a little issue, John.”
Okay. One issue. They could tweak the closing date or payment schedule. “What is it?”
“I’m looking at another offer.”
Another offer? The words shot him straight up as irritation slammed up his spine, but he kept his response steady. “I leased this property with an option to buy, George. My offer takes precedence over any others.”
“Not any others. Read the fine print.”
“I’ve memorized the fine print,” he shot back. “You can’t refuse my offer for another one unless the other one is twenty-five percent or more higher.”
“Like I said.”
John let out a whistle as he did the mental math. Twenty-five percent? “That is over and above market value for this property. My offer is more than fair.”
George was dead silent, which just ticked off John even more. Damn it! Tom Barnard was out there no doubt falling in love with the restaurant—and possibly the hostess—and putting together his investment deal…and George freaking Shipley was going to squeeze John out of the sale?
He had to have this flagship store up and running if he had any hope of securing the financing. Was there wiggle room? Maybe not twenty-five percent, but he knew how to dress up an offer with more benefits to the seller than just price.
“What if I send a revised offer?”
“I’d need it by the close of business.”
“Today?” He choked some disbelief at the game of hardball. George was brusque, but he wasn’t an asshole.
“Today,” George confirmed. “I need to make a decision over the weekend. And I’m warning you, it needs to match the price.”
Could he go up twenty-five percent? Maybe. If he knew the financing was coming in for sure. But how could he know, other than going out there and asking Tom Barnard if he was going to cough up a few million to help franchise Santorini’s? Well, hell. Why not? That was exactly what he was going to do. If Barnard said he wasn’t going to offer a deal, then John wouldn’t make the increased offer. If it was a go, he could afford the price.
Hush, Puppy Page 15
