Waterfront Café Read online

  “Absolutely,” I chirped, voice full of careless indifference. “I love dogs,” I added stupidly.

  When he had disappeared into Brody's house, I turned to look at the mermaid. If Dottie was anyway covering her up, it didn't matter that I had doodled on her, I thought with a sigh of relief. I could even add small bits and pieces every now and then if I felt like it. If I did it discreetly, and over a stretch of time, no one would notice.

  Brody

  Marie walked in with his dog looking clear-eyed and happy, which was a surprise. She had been tipsy and tired when he left her outside her door the evening before, and he had expected her to have a hangover.

  “Hey,” she said. “I brought Boone.”

  “I can see that,” Brody said, caressed Boone’s head briefly and watched the dog amble over to the corner outside the kitchen where he had a blanket to sleep on. “You look okay, considering last night.”

  He’d made the first drink with a kick, but the subsequent ones had been weaker, and Patrick had told him the last one she got had virtually no alcohol at all, which she hadn’t seemed to notice.

  “Thanks. A Tylenol or two and a walk cleared my head,” she said.

  “Lunch?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Coffee?”

  “God, yes.”

  Brody indicated the high chair next to the counter and turned to grab the pot and a mug.

  “Are you sure this won’t break?” she asked.

  “No,” he said honestly. “I meant to replace it but never got around to it.”

  “Okay.” She climbed up gingerly and wiggled her butt with a grin when the chair didn’t fall to pieces. It creaked, and she started laughing. “You should probably update a few things in here.”

  “I know,” he murmured. “I bought this place from my uncle, and he hasn't changed a thing since the seventies. Meant to upgrade shit but...”

  While he cooked, they talked about how he'd returned to Bakersville, and the restaurant he’d worked in before moving back. A few customers came in just as he plated her food and put it in front of her.

  “Here you go, Marie,” he said and turned to the family eyeing her plate. “What can I get you?”

  “I would like to have what she ordered,” the woman said and pointed at Marie’s plate.

  “I’m sorry,” Brody said immediately. “That was a special order. Allergies.”

  Then he indicated the menu - also from the seventies - on the wall behind him. They ordered fish and chips and sat down while they waited for the food.

  “I don’t have any allergies,” Marie said.

  “Yeah, you do. Against boring, tasteless food,” Brody said from beneath the counter where he was pulling out a bag of frozen fries.

  “What was that, boy?” a grumpy voice called out.

  Well hell. For the second day in a row, his uncle Jools had apparently decided to honor the café he’d run for the better part of for-fucking-ever with his presence.

  “Jools,” Dottie said, and gave her brother a glare as she passed him. “This is Marie.”

  “I don’t like picky eaters,” the old man huffed, and Brody’s temper got the better of him.

  Jools Martin was a grouchy old goat, and everyone knew it. Most of the time, Brody just stopped listening when Jools went off on a rant about something, but the look on Marie's face made him slam the bag of fries into the counter.

  “I decided what to give her, old man. If you’re pissed that I didn’t want to serve uninspiring lumps of boring cod with frozen fucking pieces of pressed potato-mash and a tartar sauce from a plastic bottle, then; Tough.”

  “This is a small café in a small town. The kitchen is tiny,” the old man snarled. “It is not possible to cook the frou-frou food you're used to, boy.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Brody said rudely.

  “You think you know better than me?”

  Brody rolled his eyes and growled, “I know I know better than you. You know I know better. The fucking universe knows I know better.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Brody stated decisively.

  He had worked as head chef all over the world in restaurants with Michelin stars. Plural.

  “Prove it.”

  Brody stared at the angry old man in front of him, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

  “I don’t need to prove any-fucking-thing to you.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  Well hell. Jools was baiting him, and with Marie and a group of wide-eyed customers watching, Brody couldn’t back down.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the family who by then looked like they wanted to leave. “Would you mind if I played around some with your fish and chips?”

  “Uh,” the man mumbled and glanced at his wife.

  “Mom says you shouldn’t play with your food,” the daughter suddenly said into the silence, and Brody grinned at her.

  “And she’s right. I meant that I’ll make you something you’ll enjoy.”

  “Okay,” she said, and whispered, “I don't like fish, so I was just gonna eat the fries anyway.”

  “Okay,” Brody said, already planning what to do.

  Then he ignored the room and started pulling food out of the fridge.

  While he cooked, he heard his mother apologize for his language, and Marie said something to Jools who didn't respond. A glance confirmed that the old man was standing to the side, hands on his hips, watching Brody's every move.

  The young girl and her brother got a less spicy version of the fish taco's he'd made for Marie. The woman stared at the lobster halves on the plate in front of her, and her husband's mouth fell open when he saw the fish and chips in Brody's hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Brody muttered. “The fries are not made from scratch, but we were out of potatoes...” He set the plate down with unnecessary force and glared at his uncle, adding acidly, “Unfortunately.”

  The place was completely silent, and then the girl squealed.

  “Tacos!” She stuffed food in her mouth, and kept talking, “Mom, look! The ginormous man gave us tacos. And they are yummy!”

  “But –”

  “Enjoy,” Brody said. “Fish tacos for the kids. Lobster thermidor for you ma’am, and lobster stuffed tempura cod with lemon mayonnaise and the unfortunate chips for you, sir.”

  He marched back to the kitchen, grabbing Marie's empty plate on the way. She smiled widely at him, and he suddenly felt like laughing. Adrenaline rushed through him like it hadn't done in a very long time.

  He’d forgotten that rush.

  He’d taken shortcuts when he cooked, so it was probably the worst Thermidor anyone had ever eaten, but he’d enjoyed himself. He’d felt that addictive quickening of his pulse again.

  “Boy,” Jools grunted.

  “Jools.”

  “Brody,” Jools said.

  “You gonna admit that it’s perfectly possible to make something here which isn’t boring goddamned fish and –”

  “So why don’t you?”

  Jools quiet question cut into his smugness, and their eyes met.

  Fuck.

  He had been played.

  “Come on, Dottie. We're going to Wendy's, and I'm not coming back until the boy has fish tacos on the menu. Not eating that sissified fish and chips. Not eating the messed-up lobster. The tacos look good, though.”

  Then the old man walked out the door, and Brody's eyes met his mother's, which were calm, and a little smug.

  “He’s not half as stupid as everyone thinks, you know,” she said, didn’t wait for an answer and followed her brother outside.

  “Was that your father?” Marie asked.

  “Fuck no,” Brody said. “Dad died ten years ago. That was my uncle. Jools is Dottie’s brother.”

  “Ah.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  “You’re a lot alike,” she clarified.

 
“What?”

  Had she just compared him to the grumpiest man in the universe?

  “Are you changing the menu?”

  “Probably,” he conceded, deciding to ignore her view on his personality. “I'll have to get some new chairs and a new sign too.”

  Brody pulled a hand over the bandana he had on his head and sighed. He was a good chef, but decorating a restaurant was not something he looked forward to doing.

  “You should keep the sign,” Marie murmured. “Change the tables and chairs. Do a wooden wall, add some art. Build on the tradition.”

  She was looking around at the place with eyes that were suddenly sharp and focused. Brody recognized that look. This was the look of someone who was in their right element.

  “Can you make a proposal?”

  “Me?” she squeaked. “I am not an interior designer.”

  “I know.”

  She tried to protest, but he steamrolled her straight into coming up with a plan for how to upgrade his café, and he didn't feel bad doing it because he could see the excitement in her eyes. It was also a nice play, which was fucking good because he'd spent the morning thinking about the barely-there kiss he'd given her and had tried to figure out what to do next. All his goddamned brain had come up with was to throw her on his bed, or any flat surface really, and he'd surprised himself by grinning at the thought. He would absolutely not do that, though. If he hadn't jumped any girl giving him the eye back when he was a teenager and jacking off pretty much around the clock - then he sure as fuck wasn't going to do it at the age of fifty. Fifty plus, if one counted, which one didn't unless one had to.

  Working together meant they would spend time together talking and doing normal stuff, which he also wanted, a little bit more than felt comfortable.

  “Are you sure?” Marie asked for what felt like the tenth time.

  He gave her a look that he hoped communicated that he wasn't going to answer that question again, and heard his mouth murmur reassuringly, “Of course, I'm sure. Wouldn't ask you if I weren't.”

  “What if you don't like it?”

  “I'll just pretend I don't have a budget for the stuff I don't like,” he shared and watched her pretty face light up with humor that turned into a giggle.

  The family who had received his impromptu upgrade of the menu had finished their meal, and the woman walked up to the counter to ask for coffee.

  “Can I –” she cut herself off and restarted, “Are you... can I ask? Are you Brody Baker?”

  “Yup,” Brody confirmed.

  “Oh, God,” the woman murmured. “I own your cookbook.”

  “You use it?” Brody asked.

  “Sometimes,” she said, made a face, and added, “Not often. I like to look at the pictures.”

  “Fair enough,” Brody said and filled up their cups of coffee.

  Marie

  “Shelly, I need help,” I moaned into the phone, and winced when I heard the edge of desperation in my voice. “Do you have a printer?”

  “Sure,” she said without hesitating. “Huge monster of a color printer. Come on over, big house on the other side of the bay. You’ll see it from your porch. Go past Brody’s place and follow the road for five minutes. Turn left at the red mailbox.”

  I leaned out through the door to look out across the water at the white building.

  “Got it. Are you sure it’s okay I only need a few –”

  “Marie, please. Some printouts won't matter at all, just come on out here. We converted the garage into storage and office space so that's where I'll be, packing shit up for delivery. I'll have coffee done by the time you get here.”

  I thanked her profusely, shoved my Mac, some papers and a few other things into a bag, and drove up the road to her home, thanking the Lord for small favors in the form of a new friend who was the owner of a printer, and also lived close by. Shelly and her husband had started up a small business, buying and selling specialized parts for motorcycles. That had grown into a bigger business when they expanded it to cover specialized parts for just about anything. Then they had started selling online before anyone else sold things online, and things had really kicked off. That was the short story, anyway, and I hoped they were doing well enough to cover a few printouts because I had made the design proposal Brody asked for.

  Or, proposals, really, because I was nervous, which was ridiculous.

  Brody knew I wasn’t a professional. He’d probably never seen a proposal from a professional either, so the butterflies in my belly were completely unnecessary.

  Shelly waited outside the big building and took one look at my face.

  “Coffee first,” she said calmly. “I don’t want to know what my cousin looks like naked, so you’ll have to refrain from sharing that, though.”

  “Shelly!” I squealed and felt an embarrassing blush creep up my cheeks.

  I didn’t know what Brody looked like in the buff but had tried to guess on more than one occasion. And, um... I had not been fully clothed myself on several of those occasions.

  “Come on,” she said. “I’ll close my eyes while you print out whatever scandalous photos you need to print.”

  I squealed again albeit completely unintelligibly and hastily babbled an explanation of what I meant to do. Shelly smiled, and I realized that she'd just teased me.

  “Shit,” I muttered. “I don’t know what it is about Brody. He makes my brain cells take a nap.”

  “I’ve been married for more than twenty years, honey. Hearing about someone else’s flirtations will be the highlight of my day, even if it involves my cousin,” she quipped. “Come on. Coffee and gossip.”

  I exhaled and smiled at her. Coffee and gossip.

  I could do that.

  Chapter Five

  Renovating

  Brody

  Brody Baker walked up to the small pink house in a good mood. He was looking forward to spending the evening with Marie, even if it was under the pretense of studying her proposals for the Café. Looking at some chairs would take five minutes, and then they could move on to something else as far as he was concerned. Thoughts of what they might do made him smirk back at the surprised stare from the mermaid on the wall. Even a painting as fugly as that one didn't look half bad on such a good day, although thinking that probably made him a sentimental fool. Or something, which he didn’t care about.

  The scent of whatever Marie was cooking hit him as he waited for her to open the door, and it seemed to be something with tomato and basil. He grinned because the way he saw it; there wasn't anything better to have for dinner than food he hadn't prepared himself, and he wasn't picky like some of his former colleagues. If someone made an effort to cook, he appreciated anything they put in front of him.

  “Hey, come in,” Marie said and smiled.

  Brody wished he'd brought a bottle of wine or something because it felt like a date, but she'd labeled it a business dinner so it would have been weird. She handed him a beer and moved toward the couch where a pile of binders had been placed on the coffee table, and she put her own bottle down next to it. Lemonade, he noted with a smile.

  “Okay,” she said. Her voice was calm and matter of fact but she fidgeted a little with her hands. “I have made three proposals.”

  Brody's tried to not look surprised, but he was and his brows went up before he could stop them.

  “Okay,” he echoed.

  “This one,” she put a red binder in front of him, “Is in case you have an unlimited budget. I would not do what’s described in it, but you should know what you could get.”

  He actually had a fairly unlimited budget, at least for the kind of space he had at his disposal, but he nodded and watched her place a green binder on top of the red one.

  “This is if you have virtually no budget at all. Minor changes, second-hand furniture, some fresh paint on the walls, that kind of thing. It would look nice.”

  “Okay,” he repeated.

/>   “This,” she held on to the final binder and paused. It was blue, which made him smile. “This is still not expensive, but it'll set you back a bit more than the green proposal. It's what I'd pick if it were my place, and I had the money.”

  “Right,” he said, stretched an arm out to snag the binder from her, moved the other two to the side and patted the couch next to him. “Come here and show me what we'll do then.”

  “Brody,” she sighed. “You haven't even looked at the other two.”

  “Show me,” he repeated.

  Her lips twitched and then she sat down to explain.

  There were new tables with mismatched vintage looking chairs in colors cleverly picked up from the old sign, which she'd kept. One of the walls were made out of what looked like crooked, whitewashed planks of driftwood and she'd put a few big pieces of art on it in simple black frames. The counter was the same whitewash but with a steel countertop. She'd kept the original floor but had written the word scrub in capital letters and underlined it twice. There were lists of details, color samples, proposals for lighting and as he flicked through the papers, he found a new menu board for the wall as well as a mock paper copy of the menu, with the words take out added to it. At the end was a financial summary, and the bottom line was a lot less than he'd expected.

  Brody stared at the pile of papers for a while and wondered if the woman had slept in the past few days.

  “You didn’t change the kitchen,” he said slowly.

  “Why would I?” she countered. “You know that part a lot better than me so I’m sure you can figure out what you need. Subway tiles would look nice, though.”

  “Marie...”

  “White,” she whispered and bit her lower lip. “Or, yeah. Turquoise.”

  Something loosened inside him as he watched her worried face. She had made several proposals, and not just pushed a high end and fancy one on him. And she hadn't touched his kitchen.

  “Say something,” Marie murmured.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I like it, so with a few conditions; Okay. We do the blue proposal.”

  “Conditions?”

  “You’re the project leader. Deal with purchases, carpenters, painters, all of that. I’d just end up yelling at them. And you sort out the art. Add that to the total, and we have a deal.”