Page 30 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)

Robin

It’s a great day to be in the kitchen at Counterculture.

We’re testing seasonal appetizers for July and August. Nothing sparks my love of cooking more than experimentation, and Jesse’s vegan restaurant is pushing me out of my comfort zone in the best way.

Until now, my flavor philosophy has been “There’s no such thing as too much butter or cheese. ”

Caro arrives to join the taste test just as we’re plating up our experiments.

Being in a relationship with a chef has excellent benefits.

Caro may not have graduated from culinary school, like Jesse did after he left the Hummingbird Inn, or gotten a crash course in culinary television like me.

But they’ve developed their palate beyond your average diner.

The first two dishes we tasted were no-goes: underwhelming avocado-radish gazpacho and off-puttingly slimy seaweed-wrapped enoki mushrooms. Fortunately, we saved the best possibilities for last.

“I love that it’s fresh and bright and vegetable-forward,” Caro says after trying one of Jesse’s ratatouille sliders, a stack of thinly sliced grilled eggplant, tomato, and zucchini seasoned and drizzled with an herby tomato sauce, served between two tiny buns.

“But the squish factor is high,” they say, wiping their fingers on a cloth napkin.

“Yeah, I think without the toothpick, all the components would slip right out,” Jesse says, turning his creation to examine it from all sides. He takes a bite and adds, “And it could use a crunch.”

“What if instead of sliders, you served it on a toasted baguette slice?” I suggest. “You can fan the veggies out so they’re less likely to slide. Or you could roll them into a rosette.”

Jesse snaps his fingers. “Carb genius Lasko strikes again.”

“What did you make?” Caro asks, turning to me.

“Jesse’s got me turned on to jackfruit, so…” I present a plate of golden-brown orbs and a bright pink sauce. “Jackfruit croquettes with a roasted beet coulis.”

We each grab a ball, drag them through the swirl of beet purée, and pop them into our mouths.

“I like it,” Caro says. “And the beet sauce is pretty. ‘Eighties bad bitch in a power suit’ vibes.”

“Could take a little more garlic,” Jesse suggests. “But it’s got great texture and a good punch of flavor in the sauce. Different from the other appetizers we have on the menu right now.”

“Would a little heat balance the sweetness better?” I ask. “Roasted habanero, maybe?”

Jesse nods. “Could work.”

“I’ll see what the line cooks and servers think after the lunch rush.” I pull back the croquette plate and swap it for a loaded serving board. “Okay, this last one is a collaboration,” I say. “Maitake paté.”

“Maitake is a mushroom,” Jesse clarifies for Caro.

“It went through a few iterations before we got to a flavor and texture we both liked,” I say. “Jesse made the seeded crackers and the crostini. I made the cornichons, marinated olives, and fig compote.”

We take a moment to build our perfect first bites and give them a taste.

“I’m not big on mushrooms or paté,” Caro says after swallowing, “but that’s actually really tasty. Savory and creamy. I like it with the crunch of the cracker.”

“I knew you’d be our toughest audience on this one,” Jesse says proudly. “If you like it, I think we got it right.”

“And all the other stuff makes the presentation feel fancy. Celebratory.” Caro pops an olive in their mouth. “Oh, Robin, those are delicious. Is there citrus in the marinade?”

“Orange and lemon peel.”

“This is definitely going on the menu,” Jesse says, loading up another cracker with fig compote and paté. “It’ll be our late-summer bestseller, I can already tell.”

We continue snacking as Caro tells us about the upcoming wine tasting they’re planning at their hotel. “I’m really going to focus on delegating this year,” they say after running down a head-spinning to-do list, almost as long as the one Molly and I made for the inn yesterday.

“That’s what you said last year,” Jesse says wryly. “And the year before that. And before that…”

“Yeah, but for real this time.” Caro gestures to me as if I’ve already taken their side.

“Robin knows how it is in hospitality. You’ve got to build trust in someone before you can hand over responsibility for guest experiences.

Especially when it’s one of your biggest moneymakers of the year.

Speaking of, how’s the reno going at the Hummingbird? ”

“It’s great!” I say, my chest puffing up with pride. “I learned how to use a power drill.”

Caro seems duly impressed, but Jesse says, “Just now? You’re telling me you knew how to use a sous vide machine before a drill? What kind of lesbian are you?”

“One with a wife who can build furniture in her sleep,” I volley back. “Er, ex, I mean.”

Caro eyes me through their curly bangs. “So you and Molly are getting along all right?”

“Now, yes,” I say. “At first I thought being there together was going to end with at least one of us dead, but we’ve reached an understanding.

” I don’t add that our “understanding” left a door open for more than redecorating.

I’ve been waiting for Molly to come back to the Zinnia Room to test our boundaries for the past two nights, but I think we’re both waiting for the right moment to see how far this reunion will go.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Caro says, looking at me like they read between the lines anyway. “It was hard watching what went down between y’all.”

“Almost as hard as dealing with the management company when y’all left,” Jesse grumbles. But before I can apologize again, he says, “It’s not on you, dude. Molly offered Caro and me the opportunity to manage the place, but we didn’t feel ready for that responsibility.”

“But whew, did we regret turning her down. We hated that management company,” Caro says with a dramatic sigh. “We tried to talk them out of ‘modernizing’ everything, but they basically told us we weren’t paid to have opinions.”

Jesse nods, frowning. “Switching to mass-produced heat-it-and-eat-it breakfasts was the last straw. If that’s all the experience I was going to get, I could have worked at McDonald’s.”

“And they shot down a dozen ideas I had for holiday celebrations and collaborations with other businesses in town,” Caro added. “They just wanted me to check people in and out, no big ideas. When I quit, they replaced me with an automated kiosk.”

Guilt is crawling all over my skin. I hate that I abandoned Jesse and Caro like that. And Molly. And now I’m thinking about all the restaurant employees that ended up jobless when my other businesses failed. Why did I ever let anyone rely on me for their livelihood?

Then I remember what started this conversation. The inn. That’s one thing I can still fix. “When we’re done with the renovations, we’ll leave it in good hands with Clint,” I promise.

“He’ll be great,” Caro says, patting my shoulder. “He always loved the Hummingbird.”

“And he’s got some serious business chops,” Jesse adds.

“You saw what he did with One More Round. He gave me some tips before I opened Counterculture too. Helped me pick out the paint colors and furniture and brass decorations at the bar. Suggested handing out free samples during some local festivals before I opened to build hype. A real hometown hero.”

An idea strikes me like lightning, and I nearly drop the paté-topped cracker I’m holding. I put it down and say, “Would y’all ever consider going back to run it with him?”

“Us?” Jesse says, clearly surprised by the suggestion. “Go back to the Hummingbird?”

“It could be killer,” I say, the gears in my brain turning.

“Clint can’t run it alone, not when he’s still got the bar.

Caro, you could be in charge of guests and property management.

And Jesse, you obviously know how to run the kitchen better than I ever did.

You could make it just like our glory days, after our feature on Inn for a Treat.

” I still remember that life-changing appearance on a travel show hosted by a gay comedian and his interior designer husband.

They visited and rated bed-and-breakfasts across the country.

Ours got their first ever ten out of ten mimosas rating.

The whole town turned out to celebrate with us at our watch party at One More Round.

“Remember our regulars?” I ask. “Our waitlist? How all the reviews talked about our amazing queer team? You two helped make the Hummingbird magical.”

“We loved the inn, but it was you and Molly who made the magic happen,” Jesse says. “Besides, what about the restaurant? And Caro’s job?”

“Part-time, maybe,” I say, realizing that Jesse and Caro aren’t leaping at this opportunity. “Consulting, even. Training the new team, finally making use of those suggestions the management company refused.”

Caro trades a look with Jesse before saying, “I don’t think we can go back that easily.”

“I’m sorry to throw this at you so suddenly.

It would be a big decision,” I say, trying to let go of the sparkling vision I just had of the inn’s future.

It feels so good to picture the bed-and-breakfast back in action with two people at the helm who I’d trust with my life.

Part of me wants to give them the hard sell, convince them, refuse to take no for an answer.

The other part of me has to admit that they both look pretty skeptical about the idea.

If it was to work, it would have to be their dream, not mine.

And even if they did want the roles, Clint would have to be the one to offer them, not me.

“I know you have your own career paths and lives separate from the Hummingbird now. But I can’t imagine a better team to run the Hummingbird than you two and Clint.

I hope you’ll consider it,” I say finally.

“We’ll think about it,” Caro says gently, tucking their unruly curls behind their ears. “Later. For now, I’ve got to get to work.” They lean over to kiss Jesse goodbye, grab another jackfruit croquette for the road, and leave through the back kitchen door.

I’ll also have to table the idea for now. The other line cooks are arriving, and hungry customers will be here soon. I turn my attention to the lunch-shift mise en place.