Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1) (13 page)

Keeping it from Posey’s and the twins’ parents was difficult, as well. We kept the brown paper over the windows at the restaurant until the last possible minute, but neighbors were starting to notice the noise we were making, as well as the lights that were suddenly blazing behind the papered glass.

Luckily, the kitchen required no renovation. Since the restaurant closed, my grandparents, and more recently David, had kept the kitchen running, making the sandwiches, baked goods, and fudge for the café.

Speaking of David… “How’s it going?” I asked on Saturday afternoon, trying to peer over his shoulder at whatever was simmering on the Viking range.

“Iris.” There was a warning note in his voice. The same note I’d heard the last few times I asked, come to think of it.

“I just wanted to make sure you don’t need anything.”

He stirred whatever was in the pan before turning to me. “You’re making me nervous,” he said, the familiar scowl back on his face. It was funny, that scowl didn’t make me feel half as self-conscious now.

“Why?” I asked, a shot of panic running through me. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” He was clearly reaching the end of his patience with me. He turned to take the pan off the heat before he faced me again. “Look, cooking for twenty people is never a simple thing, okay?”

I nodded. We’d invited the entire family, as well as David, of course, and a few of our grandparents’ closest friends. We knew they’d prefer to share their happy night with the people they loved. It was their way.

“And your grandfather’s recipes…” David shook his head, running his hands through his hair.

“Do they make sense?” I asked, still feeling a little panicky. “Can you read them?” We’d worked so hard this week, but the twins had been right. None of it would matter much if the food wasn’t right.

“They make perfect sense,” he practically snarled. “They’re just complicated.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t done this kind of cooking in a long time,” he admitted, sounding a little scared himself. “And your grandfather…” He shook his head. “He’s a legend, Iris. He was classically trained, in France, with some of the best chefs in the world. He could have worked anywhere. He was…” David shook his head again, seemingly at a loss.

“He was amazing,” I supplied.

“He really was,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s just… It’s a lot of pressure, doing his recipes justice. Knowing he’s going to be eating what I prepare!”

“I had no idea you looked up to him so much.”

David looked uncomfortable. “I worked here, you know. Senior year.”

“I didn’t know that.” It made me feel a little strange, that he had worked here with my family after I left.

“Your grandfather was an excellent teacher,” he murmured, his eyes unfocused. I got the sense he was deep in some memory I had no part in. “He’s the reason I became a chef.”

“Hey.” I might not understand exactly how good my grandfather had been, from a chef’s perspective, but if there was one thing I got, it was the pressure that came with wanting to impress your mentor. “You’re doing an amazing job, David. I know it will be fantastic.”

He shook his head a little, his eyes focusing on my face, lips starting to turn up in a smile. “You do know that you’ve never tasted my cooking.”

“I’ve tasted your sandwiches.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

I nodded. “No. But I really don’t see how someone can care as much about the food as you clearly do and not be successful.” I had a sudden image of my grandfather puttering around the kitchen back at the house. “Food is all about love,” I quoted, remembering him saying those same words dozens of times. I looked up and realized David was watching my face closely, and immediately felt embarrassed. “That’s what he used to say, anyhow,” I said quickly, hoping he didn’t notice my blush.

“I remember,” he said. We stood like that for a long moment, my grandfather’s words echoing in the space between us. Finally, David cleared his throat. “Love or not, there won’t be any food if I don’t get back to this,” he pointed out. “So leave me alone, will you?” But he smiled when he said it, and I found myself grinning back, looking up into those grey eyes.
You could get lost in eyes like that
, I thought vaguely, the room seeming to melt away around me—

Until the quiet of the kitchen was interrupted rather abruptly by a shout of dismay from the dining room. “Oh God.” I groaned, giving myself a mental shake. “I better see what’s going on.”

I hurried down the staff hallway from the kitchen, freezing the moment I set foot in the doorway to the dining room.

Edward was standing there, stock still, completely covered in some white substance.

The
entire room
was covered in a white substance. At his feet was the culprit, an industrial size bag of flour, now empty.

“It just exploded,” he wailed.

“Because you dropped it,” Andrew shouted back.

“Why were you even carrying it?” Posey asked.

“David asked me to bring some over from the café store room. For the gravy!”

“Fifty pounds?” Andrew asked.

“It was the only bag I could find!”

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Posey moaned. “Look at the chairs! Look at the table! Fudge sticks!”

“Can you not with the preschool cursing, Posey?” Andrew snarled.

“Look at the walls,” Greg grumbled. “It’s
everywhere
.”

“My walls,” Andrew practically moaned. “Do you know how long I spent polishing that paneling?”

I tried to push down my rising panic, unable to find a single encouraging word. “We can fix this,” Posey said, but her voice wobbled. Even Zane, normally so controlled and together, was looking around the room like it was hopeless.

“We have
two
hours,” Greg said, dusting a smattering of flour from his arm. “Two hours! We were supposed to be setting the table and lighting the candles. Now we have to clean this, too? There’s no way.”

“We can’t just give up!” Posey yelled at her brother.

“Posey, it took us five hours just to dust this place,” he cried. “That flour is everywhere. The linens will have to be cleaned, the chairs… God, how do you even get flour off of upholstery?”

“Well, we have to try! Sage is picking them up in two hours.”

“It’s no use, Pose,” Edward said, trying without success to rub the flour from his eyes. “There’s just no way.”

I wanted to argue with him, wanted to agree with Posey that there was a way to fix this. But I just couldn’t make myself see past the mess. All of our hard work…

“Excuse me,” Posey suddenly called out, sounding more than a little bit like Mimi herself. “You’re all just going to give up? Are you kidding me?” She crossed her arms, looking each of her cousins, including me, in the eye. “The last time I checked, we were Powells.”

“
We’re
Powells,” Edward clarified, pointing at himself and Andrew. “You’re a Conley.”

“Oh, shut up, you know what I mean,” she snapped. “We are the grandchildren of Rose and Francis Powell. And we do not just fall apart under pressure.”

“But Posey—”

“She’s right,” I interrupted. Something about her little speech had snapped me out of my horrified stupor. I’d dealt with problems bigger than this in my career. One time, the kitchen had caught fire an hour before an important investor meeting at a restaurant the firm was developing. What was a little flour?

“Look,” I said, stepping away from the doorway into the dining room. “All I’ve heard about this place since I was a kid is what a close community it is. How everyone helps everyone else, right? Isn’t that the nonsense you’re always spouting?”

“I wouldn’t call it nonsense—” Posey began, but Zane put a hand on her arm. “Shh, dear, she’s building up to something.”

“So start calling up your community!” I cried. “Take advantage of some of that neighborly help and get a few more bodies in here. Someone has to have clean linens we can use. And… I don’t know, vacuums. And if we can’t get the flour out of the upholstery, we’ll just have to bring down more chairs and get those cleaned up.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Finally, Edward shook his head, sending an avalanche of soft white flour off his shoulders. “Man. I thought Posey sounded like Mimi.”

“Iris is right,” Posey said, moving to the door. “Libby and Chrissy were already coming to the dinner. I’m sure they’ll come early—”

“And bring vacuums,” I added.

“And bring vacuums,” she said. “And Cora is coming to tend bar for us. Maybe she has some linens at the pub we can use.”

“Good,” I said, happy to see my cousins start to break into action. Maybe there was hope for this night, after all.

“Uh, Edward,” I said, as he frantically tried to rub flour from his shirt. “I think you’re probably going to need a shower.”

He sighed. “I know. I can’t wait to walk home like this, let me tell you.”

“Maybe you’ll inspire a ghost story,” I told him. “Scare a few bratty kids.”

He grinned. “That might be fun.”

Once they’d all gone in search of friends and cell phones, I looked around at the mess in the dining room. “We can do this,” I said to myself, clenching my fists. We had to.

W
e worked right up
until the last possible minute, and somehow managed to pull it off. When Sage, Greg’s wife, texted to say they were approaching the square, Zane was just finishing placing the last of the silverware on the table. He had a streak of white flour in his hair, which Edward, now free from flour himself, managed to wipe away just before the front door opened.

“What in the heavens?” Mimi murmured, staring around the room as if she wasn’t quite sure where she was.

“Happy Anniversary!” my cousins and I chorused, along with a scattering of my grandparents’ friends, including Libby, Cora, and David. My mother, aunts, and uncles crowded into the entryway behind Mimi and Pops, peeking over their parents’ heads to stare around the room in surprise.

“What is this?” Mimi asked, clutching Pop’s arm as he clutched his walker.

“We wanted to welcome Pops back to the island in style,” Andrew said.

“And celebrate your anniversary in a place you both love,” Posey added.

“So we reopened Rose’s,” I said, gesturing around the room. “One night only, just for you.” My heart was beating fast, a strange, prickly feeling in my skin. I never got nervous during a property opening. By the time we got to this part, to the unveiling, I was usually running purely on adrenaline, knowing that all of my hard work over the previous weeks would power me through. But tonight felt different. Because tonight wasn’t about my own success. It was about making my grandparents happy.

Which I seriously wondered if we’d accomplished the moment my grandmother broke into noisy tears.

“Mimi!” Posey cried in dismay. “What’s wrong?”

“This is so… so… Come here!” She released Pops and opened her arms wide to us, Posey running over immediately. “All of you,” she commanded even as she wrapped her arms around Posey.

“How can she still sound so bossy even when she’s weepy?” Edward asked, but he followed his brother over to our grandparents all the same. Mimi somehow managed to get all five of her grandchildren into a group hug, her hands patting the arms and heads of whoever she could reach, Greg pulling Pops in to join us.

“Thank you,” I heard her whisper, over and over again.

“All right, enough of the sappiness,” Andrew said, pulling away, but his voice sounded suspiciously gruff, his eyes more than a little wet. “We have a meal to eat here.” He kissed Mimi on the side of the head.

Zane had taken great care in setting the long banquet table. Mimi’s very best china was laid out, along with her antique candlesticks and real silver flatware from the restaurant’s collection, everything in its proper place. There were island-grown tulips in the cut-glass vases, and the mahogany table gleamed in the soft lighting of the restored chandelier. Delicate twinkle lights lined the windows while delicious cooking smells wafted from the kitchen. Watching Mimi and Pops take it all in as they sat sent a warm little thrill through me.
We did it
.

“Aren’t you joining us?” Aunt Deen asked when she realized my cousins and I were still standing.

“Who do you think is doing the serving?” Andrew asked, pulling off his sweater. We all copied his action, revealing the red button-down shirts and black ties that made up the Rose’s server uniform. Pops hooted with laughter, Mimi clapping her hands, and the grandkids filed back to the kitchen to pick up the plates David was setting out for us.

* * *

I
’d been involved
with enough restaurant openings to know that we had a total success on our hands. It wasn’t exactly like the opening of Blanco, one of the last properties I had developed in Chicago. That night, we’d thrown a party to end all parties, getting press coverage from all the local newspapers, as well as national food blogs and magazines. Gordon Ramsey had even been there—he’s a lot nicer in person than you might think. Clearly, our little one-night-only anniversary party hadn’t quite lived up to that. But I couldn’t help but think it was equally successful, in its own small way. All you had to do was take a look at my grandparents, and you would know we’d done everything exactly the right way.

“I can’t get over these scallops,” Pops said, for at least the third time since we’d served the main course. I couldn’t fault him for his enthusiasm. David had done something amazing with the butter and garlic sauce. I had already helped myself to seconds, and I was fighting an internal battle to keep from licking the plate.

“Ready for dessert?” Andrew asked, beginning to clear the dishes.

Aunt Deen groaned, rubbing her belly. “I haven’t been this stuffed since Thanksgiving,” she said. “Who knew David could cook so well?”

“He would give me a run for my money,” Pops said, and there was a note of pride in his voice. I wasn’t surprised to find that same bit of pride rush through me, as silly as it was. Just because I was the one who thought to ask David to help doesn’t mean that I had any ownership of his success. But all night long, I hadn’t been able to help the warmth that touched my cheeks every time I heard someone compliment his cooking.

I joined the rest of my cousins in clearing away the last of the dishes, and then we got to work helping David to plate the bittersweet butterscotch tarts. “This looks so good,” Posey practically whimpered as she held her plates up for David to hit with a final, perfectly placed drizzle of chocolate sauce.

“It should taste even better,” he said, almost with pride, his concentration fully on plating the dessert. I watched his face for a moment, so intent on what he was doing, his beautiful grey eyes focused, intense, slightly narrowed. Something about that expression had my heart rate picking up.

“Iris, can you grab that garnish?” he asked, and I almost dropped my plate in surprise. I shook my head slightly to clear it.
Stop mooning over David Jenkins
, I told myself, for what must have been the hundredth time since I arrived in Lilac Bay. Even if the sight of him cooking was one of the sexiest—

“Iris?”

“Right,” I mumbled, reaching for the bowl of pomegranate seeds that he had indicated. His fingers brushed mine as he grabbed a few of the seeds. I suppressed a shudder of pure desire. There was something about those big hands of his, performing such a delicate task. A quick mental picture of those same hands pulling up ropes on his boat, the muscles of his forearms flexing in the bright sun, crept into my mind. “You okay?” he asked, not stopping what he was doing but looking up to catch my gaze.

“Fine,” I squeaked out. God, what was my problem?

My cousins, their plates perfectly garnished, began to disappear through the swinging doors toward the dining room. “You should join us, David,” Posey said as he handed her a second dessert. “Come enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, shooting her a quick smile before turning his attention to the last plate on the counter. Posey shot me an unreadable glance as she slipped through the door, and then it was just David and I, alone in the suddenly silent kitchen. He finished garnishing the dessert and finally straightened, rolling his neck. “There.” I heard a note of satisfaction in his voice, and it was familiar to me. The feeling of knowing you’ve finished a job well done.

“You did amazing tonight,” I told him impulsively. “Seriously, David. I haven’t had food this good in… well, in years, really. Well done.”

He smiled at me, his face easy and relaxed and so unlike the expressions I was faced with earlier in my visit. “It felt good,” he admitted. “I forgot how… well.”

“What?” I realized that I was leaning across the counter toward him and forced myself to stand straight again.

“I just forgot what that was like,” he said, looking away. “Running a kitchen. Cooking food like that.”

“You miss it.”

He faced me again, his brows going up a bit. “I do.”

“You sound surprised. Obviously, cooking meant a lot to you or you wouldn’t have worked so hard at getting good at it.”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I guess I thought I had left this part of me behind.”

“In Chicago.”

He nodded.

“Have you been happy here, David?” I asked impulsively, knowing I was treading a dangerous line. He hadn’t reacted too well to my questions about his career choices out on the water. Sure enough, his face seemed to close off a little. “Working all these jobs,” I said, feeling a ramble coming on. “I mean, how many is it? The pub, the café, the Elks.”

“Iris—”

“No, I just wonder, because it seems like you might be, I don’t know, bored or something. And maybe that’s why you’re doing so many different things instead of—”

“Doing something I’m actually good at?”

I searched his eyes quickly, looking for offense, but he was merely looking at me, his expression mild. “Yeah.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think maybe I am bored. Other times, I think it’s just the price I pay to live here.” He shot me a quick grin, and I breathed out in relief, knowing he wasn’t angry with me. “I mean, it’s not like there are a lot of fine dining establishments on the island, you know?” He wasn’t kidding. Not counting Rose’s, there were only a handful of restaurants and diners on Lilac Bay and all but two of them closed in the winter. “Being a chef and living here just don’t seem to go hand in hand. So I work at the café and I enjoy it—making the sandwiches, helping Rose with the baking. And the pub—” He shrugged again. “It pays the bills. Keeps me busy.”

“There are plenty of fine dining restaurants on the mainland,” I point out. “You could easily commute to Traverse City.”

His eyebrows went up. “In the winter?”

He had a point. Not long after the summer tourists leave, the ferry service slows, eventually stopping entirely. Even those with private boats, like David, can’t always brave the weather of winter on the bay. Eventually, the lake freezes and the island remains largely isolated until the spring thaw, save for a small airstrip and the few weeks when the ice is strong enough to form a bridge.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he said, grabbing a towel from the counter and wiping his hands. “I knew what I was getting into when I came back.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. His eyes didn’t close up, not exactly, but they took on a searching quality as he meet my gaze, as if he was trying to figure out, once and for all, who I really was.

“Because it’s home,” he said simply.

What does that mean
? I wanted to ask.
What makes home so special? What does that feel like, to be so tied to a place that you’d give up a career? That you’d give up your family?
I thought of my mother, out in the dining room in her flowing bohemian skirt, and I wanted to yell. What’s so special about home?

But before I could ask any of those questions, David picked up the last two plates of dessert. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Let’s get out there. I’m starving.”

I followed him meekly into the dining room, stopping behind him when the room erupted into applause at the sight of him. He grinned, ducking his head a little, the sheepish shyness looking good on him. “Come sit down,” Pops called, gesturing for my mother to move down a seat to make room for David, who he then proceeded to question about all the techniques and ingredients he had used for every course. I couldn’t help but smile as I took my own seat across the table. There was nothing my grandfather liked better than talking food, and he seemed to have found a willing partner in David.

“This was really something else,” Aunt Deen said to no one in particular, looking around the room. Her eyes seemed to fill a little. “It’s all been so busy lately, and we’ve been so worried about Dad, I almost forgot…” She shook her head, wiping at her eyes. “I guess I forgot how much I’ve missed this place.”

“It is nice to be here,” Uncle Frank agreed, patting Posey’s hand since she was sitting closest to him. “You kids did a real nice thing for your grandparents.”

“For all of us,” Deen corrected her older brother. “This restaurant meant so much to the whole family.”

“It’s sad,” my mother added, her voice wistful, “to think of it going dark again after tonight.”

I glanced around the room, at the gleaming mahogany paneling, the chandeliers, the restored upholstery on the chairs. All of our hard work. And tomorrow, it would once again be covered with sheets, the brown paper back in the windows, the chandelier and the sconces dark. It brought a lump to my throat.

“All that hard work for one night,” my grandmother said, as if reading my mind, reaching over to take my hand. “It was absolutely worth it.” She sighed a little. “But still…”

“Pretty sad,” my mother said again.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be,” Edward said slowly, his eyes on Zane who smiled in an encouraging kind of way. “Zane and I have been talking, actually, about what it might take to get this place going again.”

I sat up straighter in my seat, a little buzz rushing through me. “What do you mean?”

My cousin shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Half of the table was watching him now, listening. “It just seems like such a waste,” he said, fiddling with his dinner napkin. “This whole restaurant sitting empty.”