Page 9 of Hush (The Seaside Saga #25)

KYLE’S BEHIND THE BIG STOVE.

It’s right where he likes to be—cooking up a storm at the Dockside Diner.

If all’s busy and good here, the rest of his life feels good, too.

As usual, Rob’s covering the burger orders this Wednesday lunch hour.

Kyle’s grilling sandwiches and making wraps.

He’s got it down to a science. The ingredients are all lined up at the sandwich station behind him: baby spinach leaves; chopped tomato; sliced tomato; shredded cheeses; mayonnaise; mustard; breads.

Anything his hands need is within easy reach.

Including the biscuit cutter. He grabs it now, lays out two slices of bread and cuts holes in the center of each. After melting a tablespoon of butter on his griddle, he drops on both bread slices. While they brown, he reaches for his spatula and flips chicken grilling for more sandwiches.

The whole time, there’s just the sizzling stovetops and clattering pans and waitress voices and spatulas dragging over the cooktops—all as the din of customers’ eating and talking is a constant background hum.

“Yo, Bradford,” a familiar voice says then.

Kyle turns to see Jason leaning into the kitchen doorway.

He’s got on a gray crewneck sweatshirt with an untucked white tee beneath it, all over black cargo pants—from which he’s pulling his dinging cell phone from a side pocket.

“What’d you do, Barlow?” Kyle asks, checking to see if his holed-bread is lightly browned. “Use that spare key I gave you?”

“Sure did. Came in off the loading dock,” Jason distractedly says while reading some incoming voicemail or email or text.

“That key’s really meant for when the place is closed, dude,” Kyle informs him, breaking an egg into each bread-slice hole.

“You know, if after hours I’m busy in my office or the freezer and don’t hear you knocking.

” He glances over at Jason, then salts and peppers his eggs frying on bread. “Or for emergencies.”

“Hell, there was an emergency. There’s absolutely no parking out front—which is good for you, I suppose. Not one open spot.”

“No shit, really?” Kyle leans out and glances toward the packed diner, where every booth looks full.

Then he lifts the cast-iron grill press from a sandwich toasting beneath it, slides the spatula beneath the sandwich and drops it onto a waiting dish.

Loads it with a scoop of macaroni salad from a nearby tub, adds a pickle, then sets the dish on a shelf for waitress pickup.

“Yeah. Place is packed,” Jason says, pocketing his phone now. “So I parked in the rear. Hey, guy.” He steps closer to the stove and peers at the toasted bread oozing with fried egg. “That looks sweet. What’s cooking?”

Kyle’s busy adding a cheese slice to each piece of bread. “Egg-in-a-hole grilled cheese sandwich. Adds a shot of protein to lunch.”

“Can you cook me up one of those?”

“Yeah, no prob.”

Jason knocks on the doorframe and turns away. “I’ll be at the counter.”

***

Out in the diner, hurricane lanterns sit in the booth-side windows.

Orange harvest lights frame the entrance doorway and are strung between faded buoys dangling from the ceiling.

Jason walks past a cornstalk tied with rust-colored ribbon and leaning against the Dockside Diner’s Specials chalkboard.

Finally, he snags one of two open stools right at the counter.

In no time, Kyle’s bringing out his lunch and setting it down.

“That looks amazing,” Jason tells him of the diagonally cut toasted sandwich oozing with fried egg and thick, melted cheese.

French fries are mounded beside it. A pickle spear, too.

When he looks up from doling out some ketchup on his dish, Kyle’s filling a tall glass with soda and sliding that over, too.

“Hang on,” Kyle tells him, then hurries off and hurries right back with a plate of his own.

There’s a double-decker grilled cheese half-sandwich on it, plus fries laced with ketchup.

Still wearing his white apron over black pants and black tee, he leans against the back counter, presses an arm to his forehead, then digs into that half-sandwich .

“Hey, man,” Jason says, pulling a few napkins from a stuffed silver dispenser. “You got time to be out here?”

“Five minutes. Got to fill up my tank. Rob’s covering for me.” Kyle takes another bite of his hefty sandwich. “Why you here on a Wednesday lunch hour, anyway?”

“No time to pack my lunch this morning.” And Jason seriously didn’t have time.

Not with being at Shane’s at the crack of dawn and hearing the story of Heather’s incinerated letter, then delivering Celia’s staging items, then going straight to filming at the Fenwicks’ and at Cliff’s trailer.

“Thought I’d grab something at home until Maris called me.

” Jason dips his sandwich in ketchup, then takes a bite.

“She’s at the outlets over in Clinton, and wants me to meet her there. Got to try on some clothes.”

Kyle plucks a few French fries off his plate. “You’re lucky. Maris has that fashion eye. You’ll be in and out of there in no time,” he says, tossing the fries in his mouth, then moving aside for a passing waitress carrying a tray of food. “Picking up something for Cliff’s recital tonight?”

“Nah.” Jason bites off a hunk of that pickle spear, then slides over the ketchup bottle to the couple asking for it beside him. “Try shopping for our Christmas card picture,” he informs Kyle.

“What?”

“I kid you not, bro.”

“Dude, it’s only October . You’re rushing the season.”

Jason shakes his head, then has a drink of that soda. “Not according to Maris. She says it takes a long time to pick out the clothes, get the photograph, the card. You know.” Jason motions to the glass pastry case. “Are those your famous frosted pumpkin squares? ”

“Yeah. Just restocked. Take one for your better half, too.” Kyle grabs two of the frosted squares, puts them on a napkin and sets them down near Jason’s plate.

“And listen, man. I’ll tell you what I do know,” Kyle says, pressing the last of his toasted sandwich into his mouth.

“Once word gets out that you guys are plotting your Christmas card?” He nods while finishing chewing.

“All the ladies of Stony Point will follow suit. Which means Lauren will be after me next. She’ll be micromanaging the entire Bradford-clan picture extravaganza .

The outfits, the haircuts, the locations! Oh, brother.”

“’Tis the season,” Jason says, then finishes the last of his fries, stands and leaves a few bills on the counter to cover his tab. He also grabs up the two frosted pumpkin squares, takes a bite of his and gives a wave on his way out.

***

When Jason gets to the outlet stores, he finds the shop where Maris said she’d be. Inside, he hurries to the men’s department. On the way, shelves of blue jeans catch his eye, so he stops and lifts a dark pair first, then a stonewashed pair.

But he quickly moves on when he spots Maris in the men’s accessories department. She’s got on a soft gray sweater, cropped jeans and black loafers. Her hair’s in a low ponytail; his blue topaz studs glimmer on her ears. And she’s lifting a dark green pocket square from a stack near the neckties.

But then he sees it. Her toppling shopping cart.

“Maris,” Jason says, approaching and giving her a light kiss. “You said you found an outfit for me.”

“I did.”

“But…” Jason motions to her cart. “Your whole carriage is full.” He picks up a flannel shirt, black corduroy pants. “That’s a mountain of clothes there.”

“Yes. It is. We need options for our photo shoot. And we have to coordinate.”

“But I’m on my lunch hour.”

“As am I, Jason. I have to finish my chapter this afternoon. I hope Kyle packed me a goodie to keep me going.”

“There’s a frosted pumpkin square in the truck.”

“Perfect.” She starts wheeling that overloaded cart toward the dressing rooms. “Now—let’s really focus,” she tells him over her shoulder. “And be methodical.”

***

Methodical.

Disciplined.

Precise.

Whatever you want to call it, Maris has it down pat.

All three of her outfit options are on and off in no time. With each one, she steps out of the women’s dressing room area to where Jason waits. Then she gives a little spin, a little pose—and looks great in everything.

Everything .

Jason? Not so much.

Hell, he’s methodical, though. There’s a methodical blur of him in and out of the men’s dressing room, all right.

He starts with only shirts, sweaters and jackets over the cargo pants he’s worn all day. Maris doesn’t want him trying on any pants until they get a really solid idea of what will work with the right top.

“Then we’ll pick a few pairs—jeans, corduroys—and try them at home,” she decides. “It’ll be easier that way, hon. With your prosthesis and all.”

So Jason methodically pulls sweaters over his head, buttons shirts up his torso, cuffs sleeves, tucks in shirts, loosens cardigans, unbuttons shirts, pulls his arms from sleeves.

There’s a methodical blur of him standing at the narrow mirror in his dressing room. A long tubular light is mounted on either side of the glass. Seeing the shirts up close like that, he’s not sure about any of them.

So there’s a blur of him walking to where Maris sits on a padded bench outside the men’s dressing room area.

Decisions are quickly made. Jason returns the discarded choices to the dressing room rack—again and again—before taking another top from Maris.

Back to the dressing room; back to Maris waiting on the bench.

The tartan dinner jacket? Immediate toss.

Dark blue Fair Isle sweater? Maybe .

Gray herringbone jacket over an oxford shirt? Too stuffy. Toss.

Half-zip Christmas sweater with prancing reindeer and snowflakes?

When Maris tries to give it to him for a try-on, Jason just stands there, crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“I didn’t think you’d go for it.” Maris returns the sweater to her toppling cart.

“And you were right. Because here’s the thing, sweetheart. If we’re really doing this, I’d like it to be a classy Christmas card photo, please.” As he says it, Jason lifts an olive-green velvet blazer from her cart. “Hey, this isn’t bad… if I wore a denim shirt under it.”

“ Ooh , that’d be nice. Try it on.”

“Kyle told me he and Lauren will be doing this now, too,” Jason says as he slips his arms into the velvet sleeves and hefts the blazer up around his shoulders. “But I want our cards to be… the best .”

“Jason!” Maris steps back and eyes him in the velvet blazer over his white tee. “Are you actually… competing with Kyle?”

“What?”

“It sounds like you’re turning the beautiful, time-honored tradition of family Christmas cards into a tactless… competition?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason turns in front of a large three-way mirror outside the men’s dressing area.

The blazer has a slim fit with a shawl collar.

“Because, listen. Elsa will do her thing, I’m sure,” he’s saying while considering the blazer.

“Her cards will have that typical DeLuca flair. And heck, Celia has the baby for cuteness overload . And I feel like the Bradfords… well, they’ll take some homey, cozy photo in that house-on-the-bay they bought this summer.

Something to really tug at the heartstrings.

Or maybe they’ll take their family photo on the beach there.

So we’ve really got the heat turned up from all sides.

” Jason pauses, brushes a loose thread off the green velvet blazer, then shoves up the sleeves as he considers his reflection.

Next, he turns his head to the side and draws a hand down his whiskered jaw.

Sees his dark, wavy hair hitting the blazer co llar.

When he catches Maris watching him in the mirror, he shrugs. “I kind of want to outdo them.”

Maris squints at him. And suddenly, there’s a wicked grin on her face. “Me too, babe,” she whispers. Then she gives him a turn in front of that three-way mirror, slips off his velvet blazer and says maybe it’ll work for New Year’s.

But not Christmas.

Yep, now that they’re competing to have thee best Christmas card, they both seriously up their game.

They’re methodical with a razor-sharp holiday vision.

First? They’re precise in narrowing down Maris’ three choices to the one best.

Next come the whispered suggestions of what might coordinate with Maris’ Christmas card ensemble.

Huddled together then, the next hour passes with hangers being discreetly held up, with Jason shaking his head, with Maris giving a thumbs-up, with plaids and stripes and solids being scrutinized on Jason’s frame.

They even shop for a canine Christmas accessory for Maddy.

All of it’s top secret now.

All of it, kept under wraps.

All as a fierce Christmas card competition stealthily begins.