Page 66 of Happy Wife

Even though it was nearing dusk, I couldn’t bring myself to return to that cavernous, empty house just yet. So, I opted for a walk down Park Avenue and quickly spotted the sign for Lemon & Fig, Marcus’s restaurant. I had bumped into Marcus at Este and Beau’s a handful of times since the day we first met. I shouldn’t have liked running into him as much as I did. He was always so laid-back and easy to be around. And he was nice to me—something I never got from Will’s circle of friends. Something even Will didn’t have the energy for lately.

What’s the harm of going in? We’re friends. At least, I think we are.

I pushed open the trendy glass-paneled door leading into a dining room that was just like Marcus—cool and accessible. The warm-wood shiplap and a bright green living wall framed the wide-open restaurant. The atmosphere was a carefully curated encounter with all things earthy and fresh. Wood floors painted white kept the space from being too dark or heavy. There werelarge black-and-white pictures of beach scenes on the walls—waves at sunset, surfboards gathered in a row on a low fence, and sandpipers chasing low-tide finds.

By all appearances, business was good. The dining room was crowded and lively. I spotted a bar in the back with an empty seat and decided to post up there after confirming with the hostess that seating myself at the bar was allowed.

I couldn’t say why, but I felt awkward being there. We had only ever hung out at Este and Beau’s. Maybe Marcus was just being nice when he suggested I stop by.

Relax. You don’t even know if he’s here.

“Hey, Nora,” a familiar voice called from the back of the house.

Marcus was coming out of the kitchen in a white chef’s coat, holding two artfully plated dishes. “You came,” he said, and that boyish smile was on full display. “Let me run this food, and I’ll be right back.”

So, he’s here. Okay. You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s a restaurant.

He reappeared a few minutes later, this time from behind the bar. “Welcome to Lemon and Fig.”

“This is a great space,” I said. “How long have you been here?”

“Four years, maybe? We started doing pop-ups and some elevated food truck gimmicks to build word of mouth. But then Paul McCartney’s stepson posted something about us on his social media when he was at Rollins. We were off to the races after that.”

“Wow,” I said. “After the Beatles broke up at that hotel down at Disney World, I thought they were done with Florida for good.”

“But for the grace of Sergeant Pepper go I.”

I held back a laugh—fearful it could be perceived as flirting.

We’re just friends.

“So, what brings you in?” he asked. “Are you eating or just looking for a cocktail?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Everything.” He opened his arms, proudly showing off the space.

“I’m not sure I’m hungry enough for everything. What are you known for?”

“Fresh fish and local produce are the backbone of our menu. We’re a little bit of a farm-to-table, coastal fusion concept, leaninginto the Florida coastline and the Central Florida farmers that helped to make this part of the state what it is. You know what…” He grinned. “Let me make you a little bit of everything.”

“What does that look like?”

“Just trust me.” He winked.

Friends wink at each other. Probably.

A little bit of everything, it turned out, looked like four tapas plates that Marcus brought out all at once. Butter lettuce, avocado, and mango salad. Fresh snapper. Braised short ribs. Roasted potatoes.

“And to drink.” He presented a flight of four wines and started to explain which wine paired with what dish.

“What do you call all of this?” I let out a nervous laugh as he put the plates in front of me, intimidated by the bounty.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “It’s a new offering. How about the Dear Prudence special?”

I knew the Beatles song, a dreamy melody about Prudence being as beautiful as the sky. And when was she going to come out to play? The song was so full of longing. Was there something else to the joke?

No, Nora. You’re just starved for attention.