Page 62 of The Strawberry Patch Pancake House

He was just her boss. A boss she flirted with. But nothing more.

He’d let this whole thing get away from him and he’d risked Olive’s mental health for it.

‘Just stand over there,’ he whispered to Iris before opening up the door and peeking out.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked Olive.

‘Is Iris in there with you?’

‘Uh…’

‘Here it is!’ Iris called loudly, pulling something off his dresser as she walked by him. ‘I was just looking for this … uh…’ she looked down at what she’d grabbed. ‘This men’s deodorant. The ladies one just doesn’t cut it for me. Oh, Olive, what are you doing up?’

Olive glanced between the two of them, him in just his sweatpants and Iris in nothing but a T-shirt, and Archer held his breath.

‘I’m thirsty,’ she said. Thankfully, her five years of life hadn’t provided her with any reasons why it would be weird for her dad and her nanny to be caught in the same bedroom together half naked.

‘Let me get you some water,’ he said, sighing in relief as he ushered her down the hall. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Iris sneaking back into her room.

Her little walk of shame down their hallway made him feel far worse than his tequila headache.

* * *

Archer was not the only Dream Harbor resident with a hangover. By nine o’clock, every booth was full, and everyone wanted hot coffee and greasy food. Archer’s new breakfast sandwich of eggs, country sausage, gruyere cheese in a croissant was a huge hit.

‘Another sandwich and two orders of the buttermilk pancakes,’ Maribel called out on her way into the kitchen. Archer had left several of his more successful pancake options on the menu and people were actually ordering them.

Cyrus poured four puddles of batter on the griddle and Archer assembled the sandwich. Despite his rough start to the day, the diner was running smoothly. Maribel and Jess were carrying out orders as fast as Cyrus and Archer could cook them up and for once, the customers seemed relatively pleased.

He’d only been beckoned out of the kitchen once and that was so the mayor could thank him for his input at the meeting last night and report that the townsfolk felt very pleased to have a say in what happened at their beloved diner.

More and more, Archer was becoming convinced that these people didn’t actually care all that much about the pancakes and instead were torturing him as some sort of hazing ritual. But if he was passing the test then all the better. Especially if it helped when it came time to reassess the custody agreement. Olive had called himDadthis morning. There was no way he was giving her up now.

At least one part of his life was going smoother, because the more he thought about Iris today, about how she’d felt lying next to him, the more confused he got. They’d nearly been caught and the look of terror on Iris’s face was enough to tell him she wasn’t at all interested in something serious with him.

Luckily, the breakfast rush flowed directly into the lunch rush and Archer didn’t have much time to think.

‘Two veggie sandwiches, one French onion soup, and one side salad, chef.’

‘One BLT on sourdough, one order of sweet-potato fries, and a hot coffee, chef.’

‘One stack of pancakes with blueberries, one veggie sandwich, and one tomato soup with grilled cheese.’

The orders kept rolling in and Archer and Cyrus’s rhythm picked up. Cyrus manned the griddle while Archer assembled sandwiches and salads, dishing up soups and making sure the plates looked presentable before being sent out. It was different from his previous kitchens, smaller and more intimate. With so few employees, they really needed to work together well and Archer had to admit, it was nice to work in a kitchen with so little drama. They just got it done.

By the end of the day, Archer was sweaty and covered in splashes of soup and salad dressing. Cyrus grinned at him.

‘Another good day, chef,’ the old man said, much more chipper since Archer had started taking more of his input.

‘It sure was, chef.’ Archer wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Cyrus beamed. He loved it when Archer called him chef. As far as Archer was concerned Cyrus was one. The man had been cooking for people for forty years. If that didn’t make you a chef, then Archer didn’t know what did.

‘Nice job today,’ Archer said to Maribel and Jess, and Holden, the new waiter they’d hired.

‘Thanks, chef,’ Jess said, grabbing her coat and heading out the back door.

‘Have a good night!’ Maribel called, following her out.

Holden was chatting with the dish-washer, Meg, and the way she was giggling made Archer hope he wasn’t about to lose his drama-free kitchen.