Читать книгу Small-Town Fireman - Allie Pleiter - Страница 12

Chapter Three

“And that’s one half-decaf soy with extra cinnamon.” Karla set the final beverage in front of Dylan’s six fishermen as they sat at the coffee shop’s front table the following Wednesday morning. Dylan had phoned in their orders fifteen minutes ago, and true to her expectations, each man had requested a highly specialized drink.

She was proud of herself; they might not ever have ventured into Karl’s on their own, which meant her marketing idea had worked. Even at someplace as nondescript as Karl’s, she had a knack for finding customers and giving them what they wanted. The affirmation bloomed a wonderful optimism in her chest. Grandpa always said skills were one thing and anyone could learn them, but the “sense” to run an eating establishment was an inborn gift. Today told her she had that gift.

Karla smiled to herself. The first official Coffee Catch was an odd sight indeed. While Dylan referred to them as fishermen and requested she do the same—evidently Kaptain Koffee had a knack for customer service even if he did hate marketing—Karla found that a generous term. Calling the collection of well-groomed men in front of her “fishermen” was like calling a guest at a dude ranch a “cowboy.”

These six sure didn’t fit any image Karla had of guys who normally cast hooks into water. All in their forties and dressed in upscale sportswear, this crowd looked as if they belonged on yachts at some oceanfront resort. She practically needed a calculator to add up the premium logos, brand names and expensive gadgets these guys touted. If they fished, it sure wasn’t to put dinner on the table. Still, she was glad to have them in Karl’s. These were exactly the type of customers she wanted to serve when she opened her own place.

A man in a sky-blue polo shirt and preppy plaid shorts arched his eyebrows after taking a sip of his double-shot latte. “Hey, this is good.” Karla chose to ignore the surprise in his expression. Hey, she wanted to say, you have not left the civilized world that far behind. Which really was a case of the pot calling the kettle black—she’d had to drive forty minutes away to get all the supplies she needed to stock a full espresso bar and had been known to gripe about Gordon Falls’ “overwhelming quaintness” entirely too often. Hadn’t she just referred to her stint in Gordon Falls as “exile” last week?

“I told you I wasn’t exaggerating,” Dylan said, coming to her defense. His stained denim shirt looked especially ragged next to his current customers. His eyes were bright, even if his morning stubble gave him the scruffy, unkempt air. He smelled of soap and salt but still a bit of fish, as if he’d tried hard to clean up for his appearance in the shop but hadn’t completely succeeded. He tucked his hands in his jeans pockets and glanced around the group. “Not a bad way to end a morning on the river, don’t you think?”

“Makes up for the massive one that got away,” Mr. Double Shot said, pushing his expensive sunglasses up on top of his head to give Karla a million-watt smile. Had she seen him on television? One of those trial lawyers with commercials and 1-800 numbers? He had that look of a man in search of his next deal. Dylan said they came from Chicago. Maybe he could be a future customer—lawyers liked power breakfasts, right?

“Now who’s exaggerating,” Half Decaf goaded. “I could have fit that fish in my pocket.”

“Mixed luck out on the water?” Karla asked, setting a stack of menus in the center of the table. “Your coffee’s part of the catch, but we’ll whip up breakfast if you’re in the mood for a bit more.” She’d worked for ten minutes to come up with the perfect, nonintrusive way to hint that they might want to consider ordering breakfast.

“You cook as well as you pull a latte?” Double Shot asked, looking doubly charming as he extended a hand. “I’m James Shoemacher.”

“Jim Shoe,” Half Decaf cut in. “Call him Jim Shoe.” He said it again, pronouncing it like “gym shoe” and pointing to his gleaming white leather sneakers just in case she didn’t catch the joke. Shoemacher looked weary, as if years of repetition had rendered him immune to the gag.

The same way she’d grown wearily resigned to explaining, “No, that’s Karla with a K” over and over. She shook Shoemacher’s hand—one that didn’t look like the kind that had done any time with night crawlers and a hook—and felt an unlikely kinship with the man. “Karla Kennedy.” She nodded to the sign in the window. “Karl’s my grandfather. And I don’t do the cooking, but I can sure vouch for it.”

“Shoemacher Realty. Industrial properties.” Hmm...real estate. How fortunate was that? “And I’ve been up so long,” he went on, “it feels like I ought to have lunch. Can you do a panini?”

“Sorry, no panini maker here, Mr. Shoemacher. We don’t really do a lot of lunch fare.” She almost laughed, picturing what Karl would think of the uppity term for a grilled sandwich. “But I’m sure I can set you up with a grilled cheese.”

She expected him to grimace, but he smiled instead. “Do that,” he replied. “But call me Jim.”

As she pulled out her order pad, Karla decided she might have to eat her words about never making any business contacts in Gordon Falls. “Okay, one grilled cheese for Jim. Any of the rest of you need something more than your coffees?”

Half the group ordered a full breakfast, while three of them made a big show of checking their watches and smartphones, too busy to dally over eggs and toast.

“If you three need to head out, I’ll go get your cleaned catches wrapped up and iced for the trip home.” Dylan had told Karla he was adding that extra service—and evidently it had been a good idea.

“Dave’s will fit in his coffee cup, I bet,” one of them snickered.

“Hey, at least I caught something,” Dave replied. “So far all you caught was grief from your wife.” That brought a laugh from the whole group.

“Dylan, we enjoyed our morning,” pronounced Half Decaf, who had introduced himself as an accountant from a big firm Karla only barely recognized. “I’ll have my assistant set us up for another later in the season.” He sent a smile Karla’s way. “And I’ll be sure to leave time for breakfast.”

Dylan shot Karla a grinning thumbs-up as he headed out the door with the exiting half of the group. So far, the first-ever Coffee Catch seemed to be a success.

“Dylan said this was your idea?” Jim asked when Karla brought their food orders to the table. At Grandpa’s suggestion, Karla had asked Emily to come in a bit early so that Karla could give the fishermen her nearly undivided attention, only slipping out to make the all-too-occasional coffee drink for another customer. The executives seemed to enjoy the exclusive service—which had been the point all along.

“Seemed a nicer way to end an early morning than just getting back in the car,” Karla replied. After a second, she quipped, “The espresso machine is too heavy to roll down to the dock.”

“Smart and funny.” Jim nodded to his two companions. “And all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m from Chicago, actually,” Karla explained. “Just finished culinary school. I’m helping my grandfather out while he’s laid up from hip surgery.”

“Culinary school. That explains a lot. So, Karla, what do you want to do after you finish helping Grandpa out?”

It seemed like a hundred years since anyone had asked her that question. Everyone in Gordon Falls only inquired how long she planned on staying—nobody seemed to care that she had shelved big plans to do time behind the counter. “I want to open a downtown breakfast eatery. A coffee shop like this, only a bit less...” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence without seeming to put down her grandfather’s beloved establishment.

“Rustic?” Jim finished for her.

Karla felt her face flush. “Well, yes.” She didn’t want to insult Grandpa’s place, just wanted to explain—especially to someone like him—that her dream had a lot more style and sophistication.

“It’s a well-used real-estate term. Useful when explaining grilled cheese to the panini crowd.”

She managed to laugh at that. “I get it.”

“It’s a very good grilled cheese,” Jim added. “Takes me back, you know?”

“I’m glad you liked it.” She looked at the other men. “Your breakfasts all okay?”

The other two nodded behind full mouths. “Hmm.”

Jim pulled out his wallet and handed Karla one of those top-level charge cards. “I’ll get this, boys.” He also pulled out a business card. “When you get ready to open that place, Karla Kennedy, you give me a call. I’m good at spotting people who will go far in this world.” He pointed at her. “You may just be the best catch of the day.”

Karla slipped the business card in her pocket and smiled. She’d been moaning to God in her prayer journal last night that being cooped up in Gordon Falls was feeling like a colossal detour. This morning, however, felt like God’s personalized reminder that she could pursue her dream even while out here. The card in her pocket—and the contact it represented—served as a deposit on the future she had beyond the counter at Karl’s.

The massive tip Shoemacher added to the meager breakfast tab? Well that was very nice, as well.

* * *

“So.” Jesse Sykes, a fellow volunteer fireman at the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department, pulled on a gray T-shirt and shook his still-wet hair as they stood in the locker room later that afternoon. “How was the big rig gig?”

Dylan yawned—it was tiring to pull a shift as a volunteer firefighter right after a full morning of playing host to a bunch of city visitors. It was 3:00 p.m. and he’d been up for eleven hours already. “Not bad, actually.”

Jesse took one last swipe at his hair before tossing the towel he held into the large canvas laundry bin in the corner. They’d just finished a demonstration at the high school, so it wasn’t as if they’d just come in off a fire, but the heavy gear could make a guy sweat in January, much less June. “Today was the day you took them to Karl’s afterward, right? How’d that go?”

“It’s a nice perk—no pun intended.” Dylan rubbed his own hair dry. “Puts just the right cap on the morning, especially if the fish haven’t been biting, which they weren’t this morning.” One of the worst parts of the charter fishing business was that the satisfaction of his customers sometimes depended on the participation of Gordon Falls’ finned inhabitants. This morning the fish had not been cooperative.

“Came in empty-handed?”

“Not completely, but there’s always—” he made quotation marks with his fingers in the air “—the big one that got away.” He laughed. “A lot of them got away this morning. Makes it hard to keep the customers happy, you know?”

“I can imagine.” Jesse smirked. “Hey, I think the coffee thing’s a pretty clever idea, actually. A way to add to the experience no matter how the fish are biting—and a bit more sophisticated than coffee in a thermos. Anything you can do to pull in the high-end crowd is always a good thing, right? You’ve got bills to pay.”

Dylan shut his locker door and spun the lock. “Those boat loans don’t care that I’ve just about run through my savings getting this thing up and running. As for the coffee, the whole thing was Karla Kennedy’s idea, actually.”

“Karla? Karl’s granddaughter?”

“She’s studying restaurant management, or something like that. I’d have never thought of it, being a ‘coffee in the thermos’ kind of guy.” He smiled ruefully. “Although I did like whatever it was she made me the other day. Had cinnamon in it, and frothy milk. I gave up all that stuff when I stopped working downtown, but now I think maybe I might go back to some of it.”

“So you talked shop with clever little Karla Kennedy.” Jesse hoisted a bag over his shoulder. “There’s brains behind those big blue eyes.” He waggled one eyebrow at Dylan. “Reeling in more than the fishermen, are we?”

“She’s not my type and I don’t think I’m hers.” Dylan leaned against the locker he’d just shut. “Karla’s definitely a city girl. I get the feeling she can’t get back to Chicago fast enough. You should have seen her charming up my customers—she definitely prefers a high-end kind of guy.”

Jesse fished a watch out of his pocket and put it on. “You’re a high-end kind of guy. You just do it in a down-home kind of way now.”

“You just contradicted yourself, Sykes.” Dylan sat down on the locker-room bench and began tightening the laces on his work boots.

“Not necessarily.” Jesse tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, wait a minute—I thought you told me this morning’s fishermen were guys in their forties.”

“They were.” Dylan tied off the knot.

“So I highly doubt Karla was fishing for dates from them.”

“I didn’t say she was flirting with them.”

“Maybe not with words.” Jesse set his bag back down. “Look at you. You didn’t even realize you were jealous.”

“Cut it out, okay?” He was not jealous of the attention Karla had paid those businessmen.

“Likely she was just being nice. You know, making business contacts. You said she wants to open her own place back in Chicago, right?”

“She mentioned it a few dozen times.”

“So she talked to you. A lot. And she made you coffee. And you said she gave you a free lunch the other day. Do the math here, buddy.”

Dylan didn’t even bother to reply. He only shot Jesse a glare as he stood up to go.

“Man, we have to get you out more. You’re spending way too much time with fish instead of females.”

Maybe I like it that way. “Ever since you started ‘ring shopping’ with Charlotte, you’ve become impossible, Sykes. Well, more impossible than usual.” Jesse had been the firehouse’s most proclaimed bachelor until a pretty, young Chicagoan named Charlotte Taylor had bought a property right out from underneath him. Jesse got himself hired to help Charlotte renovate that cottage, and it was safe to say the relationship had gone far beyond contractor-client since then. “You going to pop the question soon?”

Jesse’s smile gave the answer even though he replied, “That, mister, is privileged information.”

“Good for you. Really, I’m glad for you.” He was—he and Jesse were good friends—it was just that the wave of happy couples in Gordon Falls was getting a little hard to bear. Starting with Fire Inspector Chad Owens, there had been four weddings and an engagement in recent years, and Jesse was about to make that number five.

Dylan hoped that would signal an end to the discussion, but no such luck. His buddy sat back down on the locker room bench. “Look, Dylan, you gotta put yourself back out there. You can’t let Yvonne keep doing this to you—I can’t stand to watch it. Just because she went after someone with deeper pockets doesn’t mean every woman sees you as short on cash.”

How many versions of this lecture was Sykes going to give him? Dylan glared at Jesse again, hoping to signal his reluctance to hear any more on the topic.

“I mean it. You’re doing fine for yourself. You are long on charm, buddy. Give yourself more credit. You’re a catch. There are other fish in...”

Dylan rolled his eyes and held up one hand. “Stop with the fishing metaphors. Please, I’m begging you.”

Jesse squared off at him. “Tell me you’re over Yvonne.”

“I am,” Dylan declared as he bent down over his second boot, trying hard not to sound as annoyed as he felt.

Jesse shook his head and blew out a breath. “Nope. Make me believe it.”

Dylan tied off his second boot so ferociously the lace broke. Determined to put an end to this once and for all, he stared hard at Jesse and growled, “I. Am. Over. Yvonne.” He tried to remember that the other fireman had his best interest at heart. Still, no one could ever call Jesse Sykes subtle. For all his good-hearted companionship, the guy was an interpersonal bulldozer.

“And Karla Kennedy is...” Jesse circled his hand in the air, cuing Dylan to finish the sentence.

Just say what he wants to hear and he’ll go away. Dylan shrugged his shoulders. “Kind of cute and very smart.”

“Very cute and super smart.” Jesse pointed at Dylan. “C’mon, you said she dubbed you ‘Captain’—that’s a dead giveaway right there. The woman has eyes for you.”

Of course it amused him that she’d begun to call him Captain, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Sykes. The guy needed no encouragement. “I’ve sworn off women with hard-driving ambitions. Besides, she’s going back to Chicago as soon as she can manage it.”

“Maybe not, if you give her some good reasons to stay.” Jesse slid his bag back onto his shoulder. “When’s the next Coffee Catch thing?”

He almost didn’t say, worried his pal would show up and do something everyone would regret. A talented tenor, Jesse had a regrettable habit of breaking into song at inappropriate times. “Next Tuesday.”

Thankfully, Jesse turned toward the locker room door. But not before calling “More fat-walleted businessmen?” over his shoulder.

“Nuns.”

Jesse spun around to stare wide-eyed at Jesse. “What?”

It was the truth, but Dylan immediately realized he should have made up something else. Jesse would never let something like this go. “The sisters of Saint Cecilia’s,” he explained, applying his “don’t get started” face. “They’re on retreat. They booked a fishing expedition and evidently they like good coffee.”

Jesse clapped his hands together, walking back toward Dylan. “Ha! Buddy, you’re in. Nuns. They’ll love you. Not a speck of competition in sight. It’s a sign from above, I tell you.” He laughed. “Fishing nuns. Only you, McDonald, only you.”

Dylan felt compelled to defend the good sisters. “Hey, they sound like nice people. They’ll probably be a lot less trouble than this morning’s captains of industry, that’s for sure. Those guys were high maintenance.” He paused and blinked. “Can a guy be high maintenance?”

Jesse picked at the denim shirt Dylan had on. “It’s not like you’d ever know.”