Tasteless (13 page)

“There’s no running water and I forgot napkins so you’re out of luck,” he laughed back.  She shrugged. 
Oh, what the hell,
she thought, licking the chocolate off her fingers. 
I’m a mess now anyway.
  Before Rye even looked up, she could tell Sam had suddenly tensed in his seat.  When she finally lifted her gaze, she could see him looking away from her, rubbing the back of his neck.  She frowned, reaching forward to touch the back of his neck.  Sam jumped in his seat, turning back to her.

“Jesus,” he said.  “Don’t touch me with your sticky fingers.”

“I thought something was wrong with you!” she squealed.  “Sorry for being concerned, jeez.”  He laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he continued to eat.

“I’m fine,” he said.  “Sugar rush.  I’m getting a bit jittery from the cookies and caffeine.”  Sam looked out the window.  It was that time during sunset where the light fell so quickly that it got exponentially darker by the second.  “You sure you want to stay here all night?”

“Yes,” she said, running her hands along the wooden table.

“It’s going to get cold,” he said.  “And it’s already dark.”

“I know.  You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not going to leave you here,” he laughed.  “That’d be fucked up.”

“Really,” she insisted.  “You’ve stayed long enough.  You’re by no means obligated to stay any longer.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said, handing her the last cookie before getting up from his seat.  He ducked behind the kitchen counter, grabbing his backpack and removing some firewood he had apparently gotten from the house as well.  The fireplace was just across from where the hostess stand used to be, the area where customers would wait for their tables during the winter.  He threw the wood in, working to start a fire.

Once the flames got started, he went back to the kitchen area and out the backdoor.  Kicking it open with one foot, he reached outside to bring in a giant roll of fabric that Rye recognized to be the quilt from their Fourth of July celebration.  He laid it down in front of the fire, kicking it open before putting his hands out to the sides.

“Your room is ready, Miss Somerville.”

He retreated to the kitchen once again, plating up the second round of cookies as Rye made her way over to the setup.  She smoothed out the quilt, sitting beside the circular patch in the middle.  Sam returned with the cookies and two fresh cups of coffee, handing it to her before plopping himself down beside her.

“I don’t normally have coffee this late,” Rye said.

“Ooh, wild child,” Sam returned.  Rye shot him a dirty look.  “What? Are you afraid you’re gonna stay up past your bedtime?”

“I don’t plan on sleeping tonight.”

“Okay, good,” Sam said.  “So you can stand watch while I take a nap.”  He leaned back, stretching his long limbs across the quilt and putting his arms behind his head.  Rye allowed herself to quickly sweep her eyes across his body before she squeezed them shut, biting her lip in shame.

Rye hoped this wasn’t the beginning of a crush.  She hadn’t really crushed on anyone since Jeremy, mostly because Jeremy was such a traumatizing experience.  She had been emotionally tugged around by him for years and she definitely didn’t want to deal with that again.  And if normal, average, non-celebrity
Jeremy
was out of her league, there was no way that Sam was in hers.

“Maybe it’ll end up being something you like,” he said, his eyes still closed.

“What?” she asked, startled.

“The restaurant,” he replied.  “Maybe it won’t be so bad.  Maybe it’ll turn out to be something you will grow love to love as much as this place and something your grandfather would’ve loved as well.”

“Maybe,” she whispered.  “So what do we do while they build the new spot? Did my dad tell you anything else?” Sam opened his eyes, rolling onto his side and looking up at her.

“All he said was that we’d be getting the month off while they rebuild but I think he meant more like we’d be working from home,” he started.  “I still want to work a little on the main menu and maybe work on a dessert menu with some pastry chefs I had in mind.  And then there’s the wine list and starting up the press run.”

“You had planned to do that all on your own in the city?” she asked.  “It seems like a lot of work.”  He shrugged, pulling her down by the arm from her seated position until she was lying down beside him.  She stared at him as they reclined side-to-side.  There was a warm glow in his eyes as they darted around her face before settling back on her own gaze.  He reached around her waist.  Rye could feel her heart beating faster as his arms grazed her side.  But it was suddenly replaced with something cold and smooth.  She looked down to see he had set the plate of cookies in the curve of her waist and looked back up to see he had already begun eating another one.

“You were blocking the plate,” he said.

“Oh,” she frowned, exhaling before reaching down to take a cookie for herself.

“You make a lovely table,” Sam laughed.  She held the cookie in her mouth, freeing her hand to smack him on the shoulder.

~

They left the next morning as soon as Rye could hear Michael’s grumpy voice yelling from outside.

“Are you out yet?” he asked, his voice charged like he was ready to fight again.  She jumped to her feet, waking Sam as she did so.  As much as she hated doing it, she went out to meet Michael face-to-face, apologizing for her behavior the day before.  She realized none of this was technically his fault and that he had not been prepared to encounter the angry young woman who had gone after him and his backhoe.

It didn’t feel necessary to see the thing she loved being demolished and so Rye returned back to the house, leaving Sam behind to handle the logistics.  As she took a much-needed shower, she surprised herself by being unable to cry over what was happening.  The water was enough to drown out the sounds of the diner’s destruction, all those horrible crunches and crashes and irritating beeps.

An hour later, she found herself still in the shower, sitting in the tub as the now cold water continued to fall on her bare skin.  She had spent the night recounting her favorite stories of Somerville Diner to Sam who happily listened to it all.  She told him of the time that Basil stuck his plastic toy racecar in the oven for no discernable reason during the last hours of her grandmother’s slow-cooked roast, ruining a meal meant for ten.  Then there was the time that Poppy and Sage had a double date at the restaurant when the producers of
Days of Somertime
convinced them to do so, only to learn that their dates were hired actors.

“I’m glad they turned out to have no trouble with boys,” she had told him.  “Because that would definitely be something traumatic enough to hold onto.”

She told him about how happy everyone was the day that they signed the contract for their reality show, thinking it would be exactly what the family needed to be brought closer together – everyone under one roof, working at the same place for the first time in ages.  And it was as happy and perfect as they thought it would be for the first season and a half.

Rye made a lot of these realizations as she said them, knowing now that she had painted over many of these memories with a glossy finish.  Even though most of her memories with her grandparents were as positive and beautiful as she had remembered, there were still those days where her grandpa and her father would argue so loudly they could hear it from inside the house and the image of him quickly deteriorating after his wife’s passing.

“It’s also my grandpa’s birthday tomorrow,” she had whispered to Sam as they began to drift off to sleep.  “My dad scheduled to tear down my grandfather’s restaurant on his birthday of all days.”  Rye could hear Sam’s breathing become steady and even as he fell asleep.  She could feel tears running down her cheeks.  Warm under the rolled up quilt, she didn’t bother to wipe them.  Instead, she closed her eyes, thankful that Sam was asleep now so she could cry in privacy.

As she leaned back in the shower, she realized that it was possible to cry until there was nothing left.  It was the only explanation she could think of for feeling so numb now.  Her grandfather would have only been seventy-five had he lived to this day.  And though he was healthy up until the day her grandmother died, it seemed he couldn’t bear the thought of a life without her.  Their love for one another had created a partnership and bond so strong that Rye grew up thinking it was the norm.  Her parents quickly proved that theory wrong, but it never stopped her from hoping for such a partnership for herself.

She turned off the water, stepping out of the shower and drying herself off.  Rye wasn’t sure what her responsibilities would be in the month without the restaurant.  There would be truly nowhere for her to go.  She got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and pajama pants before wrapping her wet hair in the towel.  As she made her way back to the room, she could hear someone moving around downstairs.

Rye made her way through the hall and down the stairs, catching a peek of Sam tinkering around in the kitchen.  She was suddenly overwhelmed by the aroma of caramel and coconut, much like the scents of the German chocolate cake her grandmother used to make.

“That’s so weird,” Rye said, snapping Sam’s attention from his cooking.  “My grandmother used to make German chocolate cake for my grandpa’s birthday and whatever you’re making smells exactly like that.”  She stepped into the kitchen, spotting the shredded coconut and pecans strewn across the counter.  The Somerville Diner recipe book sat beside it, opened to the page with her grandmother’s recipe.

“I guess I’m doing it right then,” Sam smiled.  Rye inched slowly towards him, peering into the bowl where he was mixing the coconut pecan filling.  The layers of chocolate cake were cooling beside him.  She was pretty sure he had fallen asleep when she mentioned her grandfather’s birthday, but clearly he was conscious enough to remember.

Because she didn’t have another tear to shed, even if it was for happiness, Rye let out a huge laugh.  She threw her arms around Sam, knocking the wooden spoon from his hand and the towel from her head.  Her wet hair fell around him, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Let me finish up here,” he said, laughing.  “You can help me find a candle.”

“Okay,” she smiled.  “Of course!” She stepped out to the dining room where they kept a box full of birthday paraphernalia in the cupboard, ready for the many birthdays that house used to hold.  As she did, she noticed something peculiar.  The dining table had been pushed aside.  In the corner were the two reclining chairs that had been dragged in from the living room, set about ten feet apart.  On top of them was the wooden tabletop of their family’s corner booth, apparently rescued from the diner.  It was propped on the back ends of the reclining chairs and somehow secured by what looked like rolls upon rolls of knotted twine.  Draped lightly over the tabletop was the quilt that Sam had bought from Mrs. McDougal.

She approached it, folding back the quilt to see that the inside of the makeshift fort was lit by the frosted globe lights from Zoe’s wedding.  Two pillows were propped up against the corners, side by side, and the footstool she had used with Basil was now sitting between them like a mini dining table.

“Find the candles?” Sam asked, coming out of the kitchen with the perfectly frosted cake.  Rye turned to him, rushing to embrace him.  “Whoa there, careful!” he laughed, setting the cake down on the actual dining table before hugging her back.  She looked up at him, unable to put into words how she felt about everything.  She wasn’t sure anyone had ever done anything so thoughtful for her in her entire life.

“Thank you,” she whispered, stepping on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.  She laughed, feeling as if the words and the gesture couldn’t come close to expressing how she felt.  “Seriously,” she continued, putting her hands behind his neck and pulling herself up again.  She brought her lips to his cheek before stopping just an inch away.  He turned his head slightly.  Rye could feel a sensation across her lower lip.  She couldn’t tell if they were actually touching or if she had imagined it.  Panicked, she moved her lips slightly to the side, kissing the outer corner of his mouth.  She could feel his strong arm slip around her waist, hoisting her up onto his hip with one hand as he grabbed the cake with the other.

“Alright, let’s do this!” he said, making his way to the fort and setting the cake down on the little stepstool.  He set her down, gesturing for her to sit.

“Happy birthday to the man who gave you the Somerville name,” Sam said.  He had found a single blue candle in the cupboard and nestled it atop the cake before striking a match.  “I’m sure he would be super proud to know that his granddaughter fights so hard to preserve his legacy.”

She could feel him slip an arm around her shoulders as they sat there in the fort, watching as the tiny flame of the candle danced back and forth before it dimmed, blowing out on its own.

Chapter 8

SOMERVILLE DINER TO PARTICIPATE IN “EAT-THE-FARM” FESTIVAL

Taste Buddies New York

August 9
th

The TBNY team has gotten word that Somerville Diner 2.0 will be participating in this year’s “Eat-the-Farm” festival, a mouthwatering demonstration and celebration of the farm to table movement held on Governor’s Island.

Though there will be over two-dozen vendors participating in this year’s event, we’ve heard the most chatter over the Hudson Valley revamp – thanks to word getting out about their secret hosting of Zoe Mercury’s July nuptials.

According to the event map, the Somerville team holds the most real estate with their booths about three times the size of the others.  We caught up with executive chef, Sam Laurent, to see if he’d spill what he has planned.

“Our setup is going to be a little bit more elaborate than what the festival is used to,” Laurent told TBNY.  “With our Dutchess Plains location still under construction, we’re going to treat our participation a bit like a soft opening for the new restaurant.”