French Roast (27 page)
Authors: Ava Miles
Tags: #romance, #contemporary, #small town, #New Adult, #foodie romance
And then proceeded to describe the whole incident.
Jill stepped away from her and started pacing.
“I’m not saying he wants to go back to her or is doing anything questionable right now,” she said.
“God, Mere, I don’t know what to do. I think we have enough votes for the hotel, and I really want to work for Mac. If I do, that woman seems to be Brian’s only chance of regaining the career he wants in Dare. I want him here. We’ve been doing so great, Mere. Should I set aside working with Mac and open a place with Brian? It’s the only way to keep Brian here and happy without that tart being involved.”
Her sister put her arm around her shoulder. “But you said you and Brian didn’t want the same things in a restaurant. Jill, I don’t know what to tell you. You won’t be happy if you settle for something you don’t want.”
Her heard throbbed in time with her heart. “God, this is terrible. I don’t see how this can work out. But I told him I’d respect his decision, and he mine.”
“What if you’re pregnant? What then?”
Jill looked down. “We agreed to make our decisions before we find out for sure. I have to know he’s staying with me for the right reasons. Now, I’m afraid I won’t know if he decides to open a place with that bitch.”
“I know you love him, but deep down, can you really see yourself trusting him with that woman?”
“I don’t know. We’ve had a few bumps, but it’s working between us. I guess I’d give it a try.” Her fingers touched the smoky quartz necklace at her throat. “Being a chef is his goal in life. He loves me, Mere. I know that. I just don’t know if he can choose me over everything. Am I asking too much?”
“No, we all deserve to be someone’s priority. Trust me, one thing I learned from my last marriage is that marriage won’t work any other way. And I trust that’s where you want this to go with Brian?”
“Yes.”
Meredith circled the desk and hugged her close, holding her for a long moment. The phone rang four times, filling the silence.
“If he decides to go into business with her here, I guess I’ll have to trust him. It wouldn’t be fair of me to say no if I don’t want to pursue a business with Brian.”
Letting go, Meredith cupped her shoulder. “But you need to share your concerns about the French chick. There has to be an open dialogue, especially if he’s blind to her plans.”
Boy, wouldn’t that be a fun conversation? “Can I ask another favor?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“I need moral support for PolarFest tomorrow, more than just Mac and Peg. It’s going to be the first one without Jemma.”
Another email pinged. “Sure, but I’m bringing Tanner along. I’ve heard Pete’s professor crowd from the university can get a little frisky.”
Understatement of the century once the hot tub antics started. “Yeah, they can. Thanks, Mere.”
Another hug warmed her heart. “Jill, I’m here for you. I always will be. Whatever happens, okay?”
Jill tunneled her hands into her hair, massaging the tightness in her neck. “That means a lot. I need to get back to work and let you do the same.”
Meredith bumped her with a hip. “I’m glad we’re okay again, sis.”
“Me too.”
Even though the reconciliation was a relief, it didn’t erase the worry in her solar plexus. What in the world was she going to do about Brian and the French chick?
Chapter 35
W
e have a problem,” Mac announced when Jill took a chair next to him in the coffee shop on Friday morning.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as Margie put her Americano in front of her.
His hand slapped the paper onto the table. “Read it. Peggy is suggesting she found something in my background that might give council members pause. She’s not saying what, which is damned smart of her and irritating as hell. There’s also a group that’s mobilized at the last minute to stop us.”
Her mouth gaped. “But everything was fine yesterday.”
“Welcome to the fast lane.”
The Western Independent’s
story was about a concerned citizens’ group called FOLD—Friends of Limited Development. The article outlined FOLD’s concerns, citing statistics about the interrelationship between crime and gambling.
Peggy’s quote rocked her back in her seat.
Hotels with gambling like Mr. Maven’s statistically attract criminal elements such as prostitution, loan sharking, and drunk and disorderly conduct. There’s no question Dare Valley could use the financial boost his hotel would generate. It’s what comes along with it that makes me think it’s wrong for our community. Additionally, I’ve come across some information about Mr. Maven’s background involving the law that has me seriously questioning his character. I plan to share that information in person at the city council meeting.
“Take a deep breath,” Mac suggested when she looked up from the article. “I can almost see the steam coming out of your ears.”
How could Peggy take it this far? “Do you know what she’s talking about?”
“Stuff involving the law? It’s so vague I could run a truck through it.” He smoothed his tie with calm hands, but his eyes burned with repressed rage. “That’s the genius of it. She’s a regular Machiavelli.”
Funny, how Jill had always liked that about Peggy until now. “Can we make her tell us?”
His brow shot up. “Are you serious?”
Snorting would have been unprofessional. “Right. She’s like steel.”
“I’ll have to handle it at the city council meeting. Now tell me about FOLD’s spokesperson.”
She blew on it and then took a sip. “It’s that damn Florence Henkelmyer. She’s tight as a screw when it comes to money and hates seeing people with it. And who came up with the name like FOLD? Definitely not Florence. She’s not that creative.”
“If they’re willing to meet with us, I’d like to try and convince them the hotel’s not evil incarnate.”
Breathe, she told herself. “I’ll get on it. What about Peggy?”
“Leave her to me,” he replied. “She’s entitled to her opinion, but I won’t let her ruin this for us.”
His voice was a little too smooth, so she studied him. His cleanly shaven jaw looked tense, the dent in his chin more accentuated than normal.
“She’s coming to the party tonight. You can talk to her there.”
He slid files into his briefcase. “Fine. I have some calls to make, so I’ll head back to the hotel for a while. Call me when you have a meeting set up with these folks. I’ll clear my schedule.”
“Good I’ll see what I can do.”
When they stood, he patted her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Jill. The vote is Monday. They don’t have much time to put up a fuss.”
She gave him a brave smile, but worry ran rampant through her mind. Last minute campaigns had altered elections in this town. “What if they won’t listen?”
“Then I dust off my feet and leave. If I can’t convince them, I’ll stop caring what they think. It’s a waste of energy.”
God, she wished she could do that, simply stop worrying about what other people thought. Maybe there was a secret substance in Dare’s water that caused that malady, which is why Mac seemed immune.
She reached for her coffee cup. “Right. I don’t like any of the people who are quoted in this article anyway. Well, other than Peggy.” But not at the moment.
He tugged on his gray wool overcoat. “See. If they don’t see reason, we’ll just have to hope the others will.”
After he left, she thought about her options if the vote didn’t pass. She and Brian could figure out a way to bridge their creative differences and open a restaurant together.
And boot that French chick back to New York.
She headed behind the counter, needing the ebb and flow of customer orders and chitchat to distract her from the sadness she was feeling about the new threat to her dream job. She wanted to strangle her friend for muddying the waters.
Everything seemed to be up in the air once again. Maybe if she renamed her coffee shop Don’t Toy with Me like Brian had suggested, the Universe would get the message.
***
Brian lugged the bazzillionth cardboard box of brats and chorizo down the deck steps. Chili pepper lights lined the rails, reminding him he needed some red pepper flakes. “Dammit, Pete, you’d better shovel this snow. Someone’s going to take a dive and break their neck.”
Pete popped his head out the back door. “I’ll send someone out to take care of it.”
Thankfully, he did. Mike, the bartender at Hairy’s, scraped the snow off as Brian arranged his meat station a short distance away. One hundred pounds of meat. Four grills. And an open fire pit twenty yards off the deck where he would stake the chickens. Pete had bitched about the birds, but Brian couldn’t resist. Something about men and fire. If he’d thought about it in advance, he would have ordered a whole pig. Spit the thing with a brown sugar glaze. Now
that
would have been a party.
Feeling heartened, he rubbed his gloved hands together. Despite the gray day and the breeze, there was something uniquely enjoyable about cooking outside. Add in the hauling he’d done, and his body was plenty warm. He was glad he’d worn his ski shirt under his jacket so it could wick away his sweat.
The easy camaraderie of the volunteers who were helping set up for the party only added to his good mood. People had been a little standoffish at first, but after they’d all hefted a bunch of shit around together, that attitude had faded. He’d become one of them again.
He was dumping beer into the industrial container for the marinade when Pete shouted his name. Turning, he caught a shape like a red straw before seeing blond curls cascading out of a cap. Simca gave him a wave like she was royalty skiing at Chamonix-Mont-Blanc. He tossed the empty bottle into the garbage with a loud clack.
“Hey,” Pete said, “look who volunteered to help the other night. Having two professional chefs make the food. How lucky can I get? This is going to be the best party ever.” He headed back inside.
“Hi, Brian,” Simca said, her voice a soft purr.
So, this wasn’t her best idea, but since Brian didn’t want to be a dick and tell her to take a hike, he inclined his chin. Well, Jill had to start trusting him sometime. And this was as good a place to start as any. At least they were in public.
“Hi,” he replied, sensing a few people edging closer as they carried lights and Chinese lanterns by him. It was like Hairy’s all over again. Shit. He’d been way too optimistic.
She fingered a package of ribs. “That the marinade?” When he nodded, she squatted down and inhaled long and deep. “I’ve never used beer in a marinade, but I like it. It’s earthy.”
“Yes,” he replied, trying to tune out the attention they were attracting.
She stood and held out her hands, like she was ready to receive her marching orders. “Then let’s start. You can show me how Americans do cook outs.”
The role reversal was refreshing, and it erased his feeling of unease. “You’ll be a natural.”
They fell into an old, familiar rhythm, discussing the stages and steps—planning, tasting, and sharing.
He ripped off another bottle cap and poured more beer into his marinade. Assuming everything went through on Monday and Jill took the job with Mac, he would ask her how she’d feel about him working with Simca.
As the foam rose in the bucket, he realized it had to work.
He jerked guiltily when Simca’s hand brushed his.
“Let me stir,” she commanded gently.
“Sure,” he replied, stepping back, once again aware of the stares. He wasn’t in love with her anymore, but she clearly had feelings for him.
Why did the past always have to confuse the present?
Deep down, he knew Jill wouldn’t understand.
And maybe in that she’d be right.
