The Chesapeake Diaries Series (263 page)

She shook her head.

“So you haven’t made any investment yet.”

“Not financially, but emotionally …”

“Sell it to me.” He grabbed her hands. “I’ll give you five thousand dollars more than what you paid for it.”

“No.”

“Ten.”

“Are you crazy? No. This is going to be my restaurant.” She pulled her hands from his. “And what would you do with it? Knock it down so you can stash more piles of stinky, dirty soil stuff?”

“Of course not. That was going to be my shop. Retail. I plan to have a full nursery here. Trees, flowers, pots …”

“Wind chimes and garden gnomes?” she scoffed.

“If my customers want them, yes. Sophie, I’ve been dreaming about this for months. I started making plans to buy this vacant lot the first time I saw it. My plan all along was to buy the adjoining parcel and have my business go retail.”

“Why can’t you build a place on your own land?”

“Because this is where I’ll be growing things and
parking my equipment. Backhoes and trucks and tractors. There’s no room for a shop here.”

“I’m sorry that I threw a wrench into your dream, but I have dreams, too. And my dream is to renovate that place next door and open my own restaurant.”

“What’s wrong with being a lawyer?” he asked. “I thought you liked it.”

“I do like it. I’ll like owning my own restaurant better.”

“Why can’t you find another place for your restaurant?” he persisted.

“Because this is where I want to be. Why can’t you find another place for your shop?”

“Because my business is already here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, if you took my offer, you could find another place. You could make a nice little profit without even lifting a finger.”

“I don’t want to sell, and I don’t want to look for another place. I’ve found my place, and that”—she pointed across the fence—“is it. I’m planning to put tables outside. I can’t have people sitting down to eat with that stench in the air. You’re going to have to move that stuff.”

“What do you propose I do, Sophie? That’s several tons of mulch and topsoil, and yes, mushroom soil. It’s not exactly a shovel-and-wheelbarrow job. Sorry, but it stays where it is until it’s sold.” He paused. “Besides, what difference do you think it would make if I move it another hundred or so feet away? It’s still going to smell.”

At a standoff, they stared at each other.

Finally, he just shook his head, muttered something about someone having unrealistic expectations, then
turned and walked away, right to his pickup. He got in and drove off without looking back.

“Fine. Just … fine.” She walked through the gate and across the broken macadam on her side of the fence.

“Fine,” she repeated as she got into her car and turned the key.

She was still muttering to herself when she arrived at the Realtor’s office for the closing. She forced a cheeriness she genuinely would have felt if not for her argument with Jason. He could move that pile of stinky mess if he really wanted to. And he could build a little something over there on his own property if he really wanted a small shop. He didn’t need her place to sell his plants and his pots and his damned garden gnomes. Why couldn’t he be happy growing his plants and designing landscapes for his customers? And why did he need a shop, anyway? From everything that she could see, he was plenty busy enough as it was.

Sophie signed her name where she was supposed to and made polite chatter with the lawyer for the seller and the Realtor, but as soon as she received her packet of documents, she was out the door. Cameron was bringing his electrician and his plumber at one, and she intended to have the place open and ready for their inspection at twelve fifty. Jason Bowers could go sulk until he grew up and accepted the fact that she was as entitled to buy that building as he was, that her dreams were just as important as his. It wasn’t her fault that she got to Enid Walsh before he did—okay, so maybe she had a little help with that, but still, she had no way of knowing that he’d had his eye on the place all this time. How could she have?

Too late now
, she thought.
What’s done is done
. Jason was just going to have to come around or live with the consequences.

And so, a little voice inside her whispered, would she.

Chapter 20

The electricity in the former Walsh’s restaurant had been turned on as per Sophie’s request, and Cameron had removed the boards from the window, so in spite of the gray clouds that blocked the sun, there was ample light inside. Sophie had dusted off a few chairs and a table, and now Cameron sat across from her, his clipboard in one hand.

“So we already talked about the windows. I’m suggesting we go for the most energy-efficient ones you can afford. I’ve listed prices for several different grades on the estimate, and you can look them over, make your decision, and let me know so I can order them right away. We might even want to put a rush on them. Now, the floors are going to have to be refinished—I have a guy I use who does a terrific job, I can bring him in if you want—you’re going to want to use a really durable finish, like a bar top, or the stuff they use on basketball floors.” He glanced up at her. “Feel free to stop me at any point if you have any questions.”

“What?” She tuned back in. For a moment, activity on the other side of the fence had distracted her, and
for just a split second, she’d thought that the pile of mulch was being removed. It was, but only as much as filled the pickup, which then drove through the gates and sped away.

“I asked if you had any questions so far.”

Yes. Why are men such jerks?

She paused to consider that someone as well educated as she should be able to express herself more articulately. But seeing that fetid pile of mulch rising like Vesuvius on the other side of the fence seemed to bring out the worst in her, so under the circumstances,
jerk
was the best she could come up with.

“Not so far.” Sophie made an effort to sound pleasant. It wasn’t Cam’s fault that Jason was being so hardheaded about his stupid, reeking piles of rank soil. What had he called it?
Mushroom
soil. As if giving it a name made it less offensive.

“Okay, then.” Cam continued. “The plumber’s coming back tomorrow after the water’s been turned on. I think the pipes look fine, but you’ll want him to check it out, and the municipal code changed within the last six years, so we’ll have to make some changes in the plumbing and the electrical systems to bring everything up to code. You need new fixtures in the bathrooms, so make a trip out to Snyder’s on the highway and pick out what you need. Doesn’t have to be fancy, but you want things to look nice and to be serviceable. I’ll call out there before you go and let them know to give you my discount.”

He looked up at her again, waiting for her to say something.

“Sophie?”

“Oh. Okay.” She nodded.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, what you said.”

“Nice try.” Cameron repeated what he’d just said, then asked, “Where are you, anyway? Just so excited about buying this place that you can’t focus on the nitty-gritty?”

“I guess.” She nodded. “I am pretty excited.”

“Want me to go over the rest of this later?”

“No, let’s finish up. I guess I need the bottom line on the renovations sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t have final numbers until after the plumber finishes his inspection tomorrow, but this is how it’s shaping up so far.”

“Seriously?” She blinked. “I thought it would be a lot more than that.”

“The structure’s good and the roof is good, two big items right there. There is work outside—painting and the windows—but most of the work is going to be confined to the kitchen. I won’t start that until after the exterminator’s done his thing.” Cam paused. “You did call the exterminator, right?”

“He’ll be here in about an hour.”

“And remember that none of this,” he tapped the clipboard, “reflects any repairs or replacements you might have to make on the appliances.”

“The repair guy’s coming tomorrow. I couldn’t find anyone local, so I called the manufacturer and they gave me some names. I did find a repairman from Annapolis who was able to fit me in tomorrow afternoon. As far as the refrigerator and the freezer are concerned, I called the refrigeration guy you recommended. He’ll be here on Thursday morning.”

“Sounds like you’re all set, then.” He removed a
copy of his estimate from the clipboard and passed it over to her. “Call me after the exterminator is finished and we’ll go from there.”

“Thanks, Cam.” She stood at the same time he did, then walked with him to the door. “I really appreciate all your help.”

“Oh, you wanted that sign taken down.” He went out to his truck and returned with a ladder, which he set up under the sign. Five minutes later, he brought the large wooden oval into the restaurant and asked Sophie, “Where do you want this? It’s pretty heavy.”

“Over there is fine.” She pointed to a space along the wall. “Thanks, Cam.”

“Anything else you need while I’m here?” he asked from the doorway.

“No, I’m good. Thanks. For everything.” She walked outside.

“Call me if you think of something you want done.”

“Will do.”

Sophie watched Cam jump into his truck and waved as he turned around before driving onto the roadway. She glanced over at Jason’s lot while pretending to ignore it, but his truck wasn’t there, and neither, she assumed, was he. She went back inside, her emotions still a jumble. She wished she could leave the doors open to air the place out, but the smell from the other side of the fence was too strong. She made the decision right then and there that the mess on the other side of the fence wasn’t going to ruin this day for her.

Sophie was delighted to have this place, to have an opportunity to prove to everyone—as well as to herself—that she could make this restaurant work. She touched each chair as she passed by and turned
on every light switch. With a broom that she found in the ladies’ room, she swept the dining room floor to pass the time while she waited for the exterminator. When she finished that chore, she sat at a table and read over Cameron’s preliminary estimate. She got a bottle of water from her car and took a long drink, standing next to the SUV and pretending not to be watching for activity on the other side of the fence.

It was so annoying that he wasn’t there to see her ignoring him.

The exterminator arrived on time, and she declined his invitation to follow him around to view his findings.

“That’s okay, but thanks.” She forced a smile. “You just go on and do your thing, and I’ll just sit here and do mine until you’re finished.”

She sat at the window table with a pad of paper in her hand and wrote out the menus for opening week. Breakfasts would be just as Shelby had suggested, hearty fare to entice the early risers who made their living on the water, lighter fare after eight
A.M
. The watermen could expect a simple menu: eggs scrambled or over easy, bacon or sausage, home-fried potatoes, toast. She wondered if anyone local had homemade jam for sale.

Saturday night at dinner, after Pop had announced to Jesse and Brooke that she was going to be a part-time lawyer and a part-time cook, Brooke told her to call Clay ASAP and make sure he’d have enough eggs from the flock of chickens he and Lucy were raising to supply her on a daily basis. Maybe if needed, he could buy some extra hens. Sophie had caught up with him at Cuppachino yesterday, and he
promised to meet with her to go over what organic vegetables she thought she’d need. He gave her the name of another local farmer to contact in the event he couldn’t supply her with everything in sufficient quantity, but promised if her place did well, he’d plant with her in mind next year. As a brand-new business, she didn’t anticipate much in the way of customers for the first few weeks, but it was gratifying to know that someone thought she might do so well that one supplier wouldn’t be able to keep up with her demands.

She doodled a few daisy-like flowers, then started the breakfast list she’d start serving around eight. A different specialty omelet each day, maybe crepes occasionally. Breakfast meats might not be a big item with the film people, though turkey sausage might work out, and definitely the fruit and yogurt she’d previously thought about. Somewhere she had a fabulous recipe for granola, if she could remember where she’d put it. Muffins, of course, but she’d buy them from Brooke. Maybe pancakes or waffles in the cooler months.

The lunch menu would be more extensive, but still simple: a signature soup—she’d have to work on that—plus a soup of the day in season: corn and crab in the summer, pumpkin or butternut squash, clam chowder, or oyster stew in the fall and winter. For a moment, it crossed her mind that if things didn’t go well this summer, she might not be here to see the winter, but she dismissed the thought immediately. No point in inviting negativity into her new little world.

Salads would vary with whatever was fresh and
available: strawberries, goat cheese, and candied walnuts with spring mix in early summer, a Cobb or tossed salad at the height of summer to take advantage of all the fresh produce, and Waldorf late in the season when apples would be plentiful.