Chapter Nine

Naomi

I slam a large wad of dough against the metal counter in my back kitchen. The resounding thwap is comforting, and I do it again four more times. The malleable dough flops against the silvery, floured surface, and it spreads in my hands as I prepare for another good toss.

“Rough night?” Paul strolls in and crosses his arms as he looks at me. I’m sure I look terrible. I was up half the night after having a nightmare about the masked man on that stupid yacht. He’s officially haunting my dreams, and I hate him even more for it.

Why did I have to pick that boat? Why couldn’t I have left well enough alone? I didn’t even get what I’m sure were outstanding pictures I took with my soggy, broken camera. He took those from me, too. If he hadn’t been pointing that gun at me, I wouldn’t have had to jump for my life.

“Just some bad dreams,” I reply. I don’t want to burden Paul with the intricacies of my own sordid affair. He’s got enough on his plate as it is.

He watches me for another moment or two and then shrugs. “I get those sometimes. I hear chamomile tea helps.”

I grin. What a chef thing to say, recommending a food-based remedy. Paul is one of my favorites.

“I’ll have to try that tonight, though I imagine I’ll crash the instant my head hits the pillow. It’s going to be a long day.”

“What can I get started on?”

I point to a basket of clams I purchased this morning, fresh off the boat. “Shucking?”

“You got it.”

Paul never gives me lip. He never questions any order I give. He always nods and gets right to work, and he works well. I’m so grateful I found him. I couldn’t ask for a better sous chef.

We spend the rest of the morning preparing our fare for the afternoon and evening menu, and the gentle sounds of productivity echo across the kitchen. I pull out a massive block of cheddar cheese and a grater and take out the rest of my morning frustration shearing bits of cheese to put in my biscuits. After giving them away for free, I’m hoping they become a bit of a trademark to the place. Don’t miss Naomi’s place—the cheese biscuits are to die for!

Yeah. That’s what they’ll say.

I wipe my brow with the sleeve of my forearm and lift the grater up. A massive pile of cheese tumbles down, and I mix it into my dough. I hope I wasn’t too rough on it. I want tonight’s biscuits to be as light and fluffy as ever.

“Hey, party people. What’s on the menu tonight, and when do I get to start sampling?”

Katie strolls in, her blond hair in a ponytail with tiny braids tucking into it on either side. She’s adorable and trendy, everything I am not at the moment. A white spray of flour covers my brown apron. My hair is in a messy bun, tangled and in complete disarray.

I didn’t think about dolling up before dawn as I was outside by the docks. Fishermen seem easier to haggle with when one tones down one’s femininity. They like talking to me as if I’m one of the guys. I’m happy to comply when it means more sleep and less effort on my end. I have more important things to think about—like how to make my food the best in town.

I shove a pan with globs of cheddar biscuit on it into an oven then pull a thick chunk of lobster meat out of a pot. I set it on a white plate, pour a butter sauce on it, and slide it across the counter to Katie. She pulls a fork from a nearby drawer and stabs the succulent meat, bringing it to her lips and taking a bite.

She takes her time tasting it, and she chews slowly as her eyes move about the room. “Nice. That’s weirdly creamy, even though the sauce is butter-based.”

I grin, proud of my own ingenuity. “Good. That’s what I was hoping for. Here are a few of the specials for tonight. You know the regular menu.”

“I do. Also, you look like hell. Did you have… a good night?”

She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and my gaze darts to Paul to see if he reads her hidden meaning. He lifts the ladle to my New England clam chowder and examines the contents, presumably to see if it’s hearty enough. He gives no indication that he’s onto our secret conversation.

“No, I didn’t,” I say.

Her lighthearted expression fades. “What happened?”

I shrug and scoot another plate with a sample scallop on it over to her. She samples it as she did the first.

“Bad dreams,” I say, and I leave it at that.

“Mmm, this is outstanding. I’m going to push this one.”

“Do, because the scallops go bad after today, so the more we can sell, the better.”

“You got it, boss. I’m going to get everything ready for open. Someone’s got to hold the rush back.”

I peek out of the kitchen to see the view from the front windows. Not a single person walks by.

“Try not to overexert yourself,” I say, my tone dry.

“Hey, we’re still new in town. Before you know it, there will be a line down the block.”

“Here’s hoping.”

“Here’s knowing,” Katie says. I’m grateful for her eternal optimism. If she knew how much we’re skating by, she might not be so sure. Her faith restores my own though, and I turn back to my oven to check on the biscuits while she prepares the rest of the house. She unlocks the front door, and I prepare for my first batch of customers.

Please let there be a first batch of customers.

The bells on the front door jingle. I pull a spoon and dip it into the vat of clam chowder, bring it to my lips, and give it a taste. The creamy broth soothes my soul and warms my heart, and the clam is perfectly cooked, a little chewy when bitten.

“You’re not supposed to be here!”

Katie’s tone puts me on alert, and I drop my spoon and head out to the dining room. There, standing over Katie, is Skippy the witless wonder.

What does it take for this guy to get a hint?

I wonder if he’s armed, and I consider stepping back into the kitchen to call Ben. As I’m considering, Skippy takes another step toward Katie, and that option goes out the window. My friend needs help now. I can’t wait for Ben to come to the rescue every time.

“God, your ass looks nice in those jeans. I’d love to get one more squeeze, maybe in the alley behind the joint. Come on, let’s go. No one’s here to serve except me.”

Katie steps back, and her palm lands on a nearby table. Her fingers are strategically placed near a silverware set—a knife fully within her grasp. If I don’t move fast, this is going to get ugly.

“Skippy! I thought that was you. You know you’re not allowed to come in here.” My tone is jovial, even friendly. I beam up at him, and he glares across the room at me.

“This doesn’t concern you. Your waitress and I are having a conversation.”

I hiss inward between my teeth in a that’s too bad kind of way and tilt my head at him with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Thing is, it does concern me because she’s on the clock, and also, you’re an asshole. I’m glad you’re here though, because I called the sheriff’s department, and I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have a legit reason to put you behind bars.”

I keep my voice steady, and my gaze firm. I’ve played poker a time or two. I know how to bluff. Now I have to see how good of a player Skippy is.

His glare deepens as he stares at me, but he doesn’t move. “Liar,” he breathes.

I shrug again, the picture of nonchalance. A couple walks by the place and looks at the menu posted outside. I notice the woman look in, glance at Skippy, then guide her partner on.

Now this asshole is losing me customers. Not fucking cool.

“Suit yourself. We can all have a good laugh about it once the officer arrives. Maybe a nice restraining order will help things, too.”

He stares at me again and I want to shiver. I hold my spine straight, and I don’t back down.

He looks at Katie one more time. “You’re losing out, you know that?”

“Leave me alone! I’ll have you arrested myself if you come in here again! Hey, is that the cop, Naomi?”

In spite of his tough act, Skippy’s head twists to face the window as he searches for the man in question. Katie and I exchange a glance, knowing we’ve won out this time.

“Stupid bitches!” he hisses at us. With wide strides, he makes his grand exit. I notice another couple eye him, eye my windows, then walk on.

Damn it.

Katie turns to look at me, and she’s pale. “Thanks. I don’t know how we’re going to shake that guy.”

“Well, now he at least thinks we’ve got the cops on his tail. Hopefully that’s enough. I thought this town was safe, but maybe I was wrong. This guy is chasing away all my customers before they even get a chance to try us out. We’ll go under for sure.”

Before Katie can console me, a group of five walks in, and we’re back to work. With my mind busy in the kitchen, I’m able to put away thoughts of Skippy for the rest of the day, but I can’t shake this feeling of foreboding. I’m fortunate that his presence hasn’t deterred the entire town from trying my food, but we’re still not busy enough.

I still have an entire vat of scallops at the end of the night.

Katie comes back and sets down a bottle of cleaner. “Dining room’s all set. We can handle one last table, but with five minutes left to go, I say we call it a day.”

“Go home. You were great today. I’m sorry you keep getting harassed here.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. We’ll shake that guy. Chin up, OKOK? Get some sleep tonight, and things will seem much better in the morning.”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

Katie gives me a salute.

“Bye, Paul.”

“Bye, Katie.”

She walks out, and the door jingles again. I look at Paul. He’s wiping down one of the stovetops to pass time, but we were prepared for close a while ago. Not enough customers to stay busy.

“You, too, Paul. Go home. I’ll close up here.”

“You sure?” he asks. I can tell he’s trying not to look too eager.

I nod. “Go on. Go out on the town. Have a night of it. I’ve got the fort handled.”

He hesitates, and I shoo him away with my hands. “Goodnight, Paul.”

Finally, he nods and removes his apron. “Goodnight, Naomi.” He turns, then looks back. “I hope you sleep better. You’re a great cook. Great cooks attract people. It just takes time.”

My heart twists at his comment. My sous chef shouldn’t have to comfort me. I should be the strong leader they believe in, not the feeble woman they have to lift up.

I smile at him. “Of course it does. We’ll be starting a chain in no time.”

He nods again, then leaves. I turn to look at the kitchen, but there’s nothing that needs to be done. All I have to do is lock the door and go to bed. It’s a depressing thought. One does not want idle hands in this industry.

The bells on the door jingle again, and I freeze. My whole staff has gone. Am I getting a last-minute customer? I step out of the kitchen, prepared to go into waitress mode, but my heart stops.

Ben stands in my doorway. His shoulders are slightly slumped, his clothing rumpled from the day’s work. Good lord is the man attractive. I remember that I don’t like him. Right? Right. Ben me no likey. He meets my gaze, and that thought flies out the window.

“We’re closed,” I say. Self-preservation must win out. This man can’t be trusted. He doesn’t trust me, does he?

He sighs, and I find myself aching to touch him. I want to comfort him, and I don’t even know why. The man’s an adult. He can take care of himself. “That’s a shame. I’ve been telling everyone that it’s the best new place to get a bite in town.”

“Is that before or after you give them a speeding ticket?”

The corner of his lip twitches at my comment. “Before. Stings less when they don’t know how much they owe.”

“That’s considerate,” I say, and he nods.

“Anything to help out. I guess I’ll leave you be.” He turns, and something in me bubbles up to the surface to form a word I shouldn’t say.

“Wait.”

His broad shoulders turn back, and when his azure eyes gaze into mine, I’m glad I said it. I tilt my chin back toward the kitchen. “You can eat here, but we are closed, so you’ll have to help me cook your food.”

“A gourmet meal and a free cooking class? I should show up here at closing time more often.”

“I suppose it’s repayment for your help yesterday,” I mumble.

“I’m sorry, was that gratitude, maybe a hidden apology?”

“Don’t get cocky, or you’ll get yesterday’s spoiled seafood before I can toss it to the sharks.”

He puts up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I could use a good meal after today.”

“Rough day at the station? Too many squirrels getting into rafters?”

My joke falls flat, and the stress in Ben’s shoulders doesn’t lift as he leans against my prep table. I frown and pull out some of my scallops and a pan. I remove some of my premade sauce and turn on the burner.

“I’m in some pretty hot fire for this yacht robbery. All the rich people are beside themselves with worry about their property.”

I flip the scallops. “Next to the big fridge, to the left.”

“What?”

“The wine fridge. Pick whatever bottle you want. Glasses are over there.”

“I thought this was a cooking lesson.”

“It is. Rule number one, make sure you and the chef are properly hydrated.”

He chuckles, and my belly flutters. I managed to cheer him up a little, and I try to ignore how pleased I am about it. The scallops take only a few minutes, and I have them off the pan and plated before he can pour two glasses of red wine. He slides one across to me, then moves to stand beside me as I hand him a fork.

“Scallops. Best in Maine, I’m told.”

“By whom?” he asks.

“My mom?”

He laughs again. He’s so close I can smell that clean soap scent, that light, masculine deodorant again. It awakens a craving in me that I’ve had for him since our last session. He cuts a scallop and holds it up for me to take a bite.

“Ladies first,” he says. His eyes are intense as they lock onto mine, and I don’t look away from him as I take a bite.

“The point is for you to eat,” I say.

He shrugs. He’s so close the heat radiates from him, and I crave that warmth.

“I wanted to see what you look like putting something in your mouth,” he says.

I should be offended. I should kick him out. Instead, I grab a fork and spear the other half of the scallop and hold it up for him. “And what about you?”

“I think you already know what that looks like.”

His gaze finally leaves my own as it drifts down to my lips, and I’m ready for his kiss. He pulls me close, and his mouth claims mine, his tongue flavored with passion and warm butter. I lap it up, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I press my body against his, and his erection prods me through his jeans.

“Wait,” I say again, and he pauses, staring down at me with pure lust.

“Not in here.”