Page 110

Will stabbed a scallop with slightly overdone violence. “I could take him,” he said.

“What?”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “He’s a small man.”

“Maybe compared to you.” Charles was very compact, it was true. “But he looks very fit.”

Will scowled, looking down as if to inspect his own fitness. I was surprised he didn’t flex right there at the table.

“I can’t believe you’re insulting his size,” I whispered. “He’s completely average height. Besides, I’ve known plenty of attractive men smaller than you.”

Will gaped.

Yes, having fun with him was the right choice. I spread a pat of butter on another baguette slice.“Anyway I’d have thought you’d be more focused on his kajillion dollar suit.”

Will harrumphed. “Yeah, size small.”

I nearly choked on my bread.

Then, somewhere in the kitchen there was a loud crash, followed by the sounds of someone yelling. It quickly quieted—I could just imagine what was going on in there. A moment later, a furious-looking man in a white chef’s coat stormed through the dining area next to us into the foyer, followed by an even angrier looking man in a suit. The owner, I imagined. Reese ran out behind them, her face hard with anger.

The patrons murmured to each other and Charles waggled his brows at us. He was clearly here for this—the restaurant imploding would only help his potential offer.

All three of them came back through a few minutes later, none of them speaking but at least calmed down enough to continue working. Reese had probably been the only reason the chef stayed.

“What happened back there?” I asked Reese when she came by with our food shortly after. She looked flustered, her hair still windblown.

“The head chef walked out!” she said. “Our owner was breathing down his neck about how to cook the duck—completely outrageous given his twenty-year history as a blue-ribbon chef. I only managed to talk him into staying because half the tables haven’t been served. He hates people going hungry. I’m just so—”

As if on cue, the owner appeared in the doorway.

Reese saw me looking and turned.

The man, red-faced, jerked his head toward the kitchen.

Reese took a calming breath. Then said, “I’m sorry if we’re ruining your night.”

“Not at all,” Charles said, eavesdropping.

I could see Will restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He’d picked that up from Remy, or maybe Emma, I was sure. I would have laughed except for Reese’s stress.

Reese stalked out.

With the drama apparently over, we dug into our food, talking about how everything could look if I ran my own place. “You could run a restaurant any way you want,” Will said. “Be an arms-length advisor. Hell, get another person wanting part-time work to project manage the opening with you. A retiree, maybe?”

I thought of Mom with her charts and lists. How much she missed work.

“Actually, that brings me to my news,” I said. “I finally convinced my parents to move!”

Will smiled, taking my hand. He knew how important it was for me to have them close. Then his eyes sparkled. “Does that mean you’ll need to find a place for them to live? Like, say, a cottage on Amethyst Lake?”

Will had been trying to talk me into moving in with him since the moment we got back to Jewel Lakes after New Year’s. It made sense, given we spent almost every night together anyway.

“Maybe,” I said. It would actually be perfect—Dad had even talked about getting a dog, now that they were moving to the country. I could just see him walking a rambunctious puppy around the lake.

Reese had just brought us our tiramisu when I realized Will hadn’t shared his news.

“Well,” he said, as Reese was walking away, “I had a meeting this week with Barbara Chambers.”