Читать книгу Harper's Wish - Cerella Sechrist - Страница 12
ОглавлениеDURING HER FIRST week at the Rusty Anchor, Harper learned to bite her tongue each time Connor asked her to do something. She became adept at offering him a forced grin and going about the most odious chores he assigned, determined that he would have nothing to complain about regarding her work. If he was looking for a reason to fire her as payback for that long-ago review, she’d give him none. And if he thought piling on the cleaning duties would cause her to give up, he clearly didn’t know her that well.
She did everything he required to the best of her ability.
The bathrooms sparkled. The floors were soon spotless. The stainless-steel counters and sink in the kitchen positively gleamed. She dusted, she scrubbed, she polished. She did the laundry and even ironed the linen napkins without being asked. And eventually, at the end of that first week, Connor ran out of chores.
“Have you cleaned the bathrooms?”
“Done.”
“Disinfected the waste bins?”
“Finished.”
“There were some dishes—”
“Scrubbed, dried and put away.”
He finally looked up from where he’d been studying an order form on his desk.
“The flatware?”
“Polished and the place settings laid.”
He opened his mouth, but she continued before he could speak.
“The napkins are ironed, the glasses are shining, the trash cans are empty, the floors are mopped, the salt and pepper shakers are filled, everything is stocked and I disinfected all the menus. Rafael and I finished cleaning the oven hood, and we organized the storage room like you wanted. I even helped Erin prep ingredients for the dinner crowd.”
Connor closed his mouth, and she felt a surge of triumph.
“Will there be anything else?” She knew her voice was a touch too syrupy by the way Connor’s eyes narrowed.
“All right, then,” he said grudgingly. “I suppose it’s time to teach you the menu.”
* * *
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Harper surveyed the multitude of dishes spread across the stainless-steel counter in the Rusty Anchor’s kitchen. Connor stood on the counter’s opposite side, sporting his chef whites with his arms crossed over his chest in what Harper could only label a defensive posture. She was more nervous than she’d thought she’d be, now that she was faced with learning the restaurant’s menu.
“So, we’re just tasting the dishes?”
Connor’s expression remained flat. “I’ll explain a dish, then you’ll taste it so you can make the appropriate recommendations to customers.”
She swallowed. “Okay. Where should we start?”
He pointed at the plate nearest to her. “Let’s begin with the fish. Pecan-crusted seared salmon with wilted greens and a maple balsamic glaze. Sides are either the wild-rice pilaf or sweet-potato pancakes, which is what I’ve plated here.”
Harper used her fork to flake into the fish. The salmon’s color was beautiful with a pale pink center. She scooped up a bite and popped into her mouth, all too aware of Connor’s eyes on her. The fish was cooked well, and the pecans lent a nice crunch. She wasn’t impressed by the maple glaze, which was a bit too sugary for her palate. She chewed and swallowed, trying to avoid Connor’s gaze as she twirled one of the wilted greens around her fork tines. Clearing her throat, she reached for a glass of water to wash down the flavors before cutting into the sweet-potato pancake. Still not looking toward Connor, she popped it into her mouth and was pleased with the crispy exterior followed by a meltingly creamy interior studded with bits of pancetta and the faint flavors of herbs. While she’d expected more of the sweetness she’d encountered in the rest of the dish, the pancakes were perfectly balanced with savory ingredients against the sweeter vegetable.
She swallowed and kept her expression neutral as she finally looked at Connor. She found him watching her expectantly.
“Okay, now what?”
He made a face. “Describe it to me. As if I were a customer.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really?”
“Really. And don’t forget, in the kitchen, the proper way to address me is Chef.”
Harper felt a flicker of annoyance. “Fine, Chef.” She cleared her throat a second time. “Pecan-crusted seared salmon, cooked to perfection but a touch heavy on the maple glaze. The nuts add a nice crunch but would be better if they had been toasted longer before being ground for the crust, in order to balance out the sweetness. I can’t recommend the wilted greens, given their soggy, overly saccharine taste, but the sweet-potato pancakes are deliciously crisp with a satisfying marriage of salty pancetta and the licorice touch of fennel.”
“Soggy? Overly saccharine?”
“It was like eating moss drizzled with honey.”
His jaw clenched, unclenched and clenched again. “I didn’t hire you to critique my food. I hired you to serve it. Serving it means you have to sell it. And if that’s your best sales technique, then I’m not sure you’re capable of doing this job.”
His words pricked her ego. “I am more than capable of doing this,” she informed him, trying to measure her tone.
“Then forget that you used to be a restaurant critic. There is no place for it in your position unless you can find only good things to say.”
“You want me to lie to your customers?”
He threw up his hands. “You don’t need to lie. If you don’t like the wilted greens, recommend they trade them out for a side salad. Or maybe the squash medallions.”
“With that salmon?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure that’s the best pairing.”
“Harper.” His voice had taken on a decidedly warning tone.
“Let’s move on to the next dish,” she suggested, by way of a truce.
He eyed her suspiciously and then gave a short nod. She picked up her fork and moved on to another plate. Reaching for a nearby knife, she sliced into the pork chop and piled some of the mango chutney onto the bite before lifting it toward her mouth.
Not bad, but again, the topping was sweeter than she liked. The au gratin potatoes were good enough, though, and the red pepper slaw added a nice spot of color and crunch to the dish.
“Grilled pork chop topped with a mango-pineapple chutney. The au gratin potatoes are layered with four different kinds of cheese including Gruyère, Jarlsberg, Parmesan and fontina, lending a nutty, almost caramel flavor that pairs nicely with the faint sweetness of the Yukon gold potatoes. The plate is rounded out by a red pepper and onion slaw, seasoned with spicy ginger and peppery cilantro.”
When she looked back at Connor, his shoulders had relaxed, and his expression lacked its previous tension. It occurred to her that perhaps he’d been nervous about what she’d say. After all, the last time she’d commented on his food, it hadn’t been a favorable experience for him. She suddenly felt bad for thinking only of herself in this tasting.
“How was that, Chef?”
“Better.” He released a sigh that sounded like relief. “Much better. There might be hope for you yet.”
And though a chef’s opinion had never mattered to her before, she couldn’t help feeling a tingle of pleasure at his words.
* * *
“YOU HAVE TO ADMIT, she’s not doing bad.”
Connor chopped through a row of carrots with unnecessary force in response to Erin’s words.
“I have to hand it to her, I thought she’d be out of here after you made her clean that grease trap.” Erin shuddered. “The girl’s tenacious. I admire that.”
“Whose side are you on?” Connor demanded as he scooped the carrots onto the edge of his knife and into a bowl.
“Don’t be such a grouch. I’m on your side, you know that. I’m just saying that she’s not what I expected her to be.”
“And what did you expect?”
“I don’t know, a simpering prima donna who refused to get her hands dirty? But she works really hard. Harder than Leah or Rafael or even me. These past two weeks she’s worked almost as hard as you do.”
He pierced Erin with a look, and she held up her hands in defense. “I said almost. But she puts in more hours than the rest of us, coming in early to help get ready for the day, and Rafael says she’s still here when he leaves at night. And somehow, I doubt she’s actually handing in a time card with all those hours.”
Connor stopped to consider this. He’d never thought about comparing Harper’s presence to the actual amount of hours on her time sheet. “I didn’t ask her to work without pay,” he protested. “I wouldn’t demand that of any of you, not even her.”
Erin’s voice softened. “I know that, Connor. You’re a good boss. But you’re riding her a little relentlessly, don’t you think?”
He turned back to his prep work. “We all share the chores around here. You know that.”
“I know, but I think you’re giving her just a little bit more than her fair share.”
He didn’t respond.
“Look, I get it, Connor. I do. I guess it just bothers me because she’s not the harpy I thought she’d be. And you...” She touched him lightly on the shoulder and then dropped her arm to her side. “You’re not the sort of man who takes revenge. What would your dad say?”
Of all the things Erin might have said to get him to ease up on his newest employee, she had to have known that this was the one he’d take to heart.
* * *
HARPER POURED THE last of the dirty water down the drain and righted the mop bucket. She released a sigh of relief that the day’s chores were finished and moved toward the sink to wash her hands. As she lathered soap in her palms, she thought back on her shift. She’d had a handful of customers in the early evening, but the later hours had shown a noticeable decline in clientele. While on her break, Harper had walked from the docks by the Anchor on up to the main thoroughfare and noted that the other downtown restaurants were packed.
She had watched as several well-dressed couples waited outside one of the busier restaurants. Their designer clothes matched the building’s ultra-modern appearance. Was that part of the problem? Did the Anchor’s humble exterior prevent people from taking a closer look?
She’d mused on this as she headed back in the Rusty Anchor’s direction, and her curiosity had remained in the background of her thoughts as she finished up her shift. Now, with the tables cleared and the dishes put away, she had nothing left to do but head out for the night. But to her surprise, she found she wasn’t interested in leaving just yet.
Tossing the last of the cleaning towels into the washing machine in the back, she walked toward Connor’s office and found her boss totaling the day’s receipts.
“Hey,” she ventured and waited until he looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. His black hair was mussed and standing slightly on end. She had the overwhelming urge to run her fingers through it, to smooth it into place. This swell of tenderness surprised her, and she wondered if she felt a little bit responsible for Connor’s current predicament. It couldn’t be an easy thing, to bounce back from the sort of review she’d given him.
“I’m all finished.”
He gave a curt nod and looked back down. She felt the sting of dismissal.
“Is there anything else I can do?” she offered.
He looked back up.
“Anything else?” he repeated.
“Yes, I mean...” She shifted awkwardly. “...do you need anything before I go?”
“Oh. No, thank you.” He returned his attention to the receipts in front of him. She waited, but he gave no indication he intended to speak further. Dissatisfied with this, she moved from the doorway and farther into his tiny office, taking the seat on the other side of his desk.
“I just wanted to ask...” She took a breath. “Why did you give me this job?”
He didn’t say anything, nor did he look up.
She crossed her arms at his seeming indifference. She hated to admit it, but she felt a sense of obligation toward Connor. Though she didn’t feel it was fair for him to blame his first restaurant’s failure on her review, she also recognized she had done him no favors with that critique. He, on the other hand, had done her one when he agreed to give her this job. She’d never admit it to him, or anyone else, but she felt just a little bit indebted to him. And she didn’t like owing anyone anything, especially not this irritable Irishman.
“You gave me a job when no one else would. I know you needed a server,” she clarified, “but all the same, I want you to know...” She swallowed, struggling to force out the words. “I...well, I appreciate it.”
There. She’d said it.
He eyed her. She couldn’t guess at what he was thinking. He might have been touched by her gratitude...or more likely, annoyed by the distraction when he was trying to work. At her prolonged study of him, he dropped his eyes.
“I wouldn’t be giving me too much credit. I’m not sure my motivations were entirely...honorable.”
She frowned, suspicion surfacing. “Did you really need another server? Or were you just looking for a cleaning lady?”
His gaze shot to hers, his brow wrinkling with aggravation. He seemed about to fire back some insult, but then, unexpectedly, he dipped his head.
“I told you the truth when I hired you—that my previous server was out of commission, and I needed a replacement. But you’re right that my treatment of you the past two weeks may have been less than fair.”
“Less than fair? That’s one way of putting it.” She knew the admission shouldn’t have rankled her so much. He’d still given her the job, hadn’t he?
He sighed. “All right, I admit it. I loaded you up with chores. And I apologize for it.”
This unanticipated apology caused her to falter, and she floundered, trying to regain her feelings of injustice.
“Yes, well. It was pretty underhanded, if you want to know the truth—hiring me on with the pretense of serving and then making me your janitor,” she primly informed.
“I agree.”
He did look truly penitent, but she wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook just yet.
“And so was making me clean out that grease trap.”
His face remained completely serious. “But you did a great job on it. It’s never been cleaner.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve enjoyed this just a little too much, haven’t you?”
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun.”
His smirk was endearing, as much as it was aggravating. She didn’t know whether to be charmed or frustrated. “Does that mean we’re even now? For the review?”
His brows lowered, all humor evaporating. “I hardly think a bit of mild hazing makes up for the damage your words caused me years ago.”
“Mild hazing? Is that what you’d call it?”
“Well, what would you call it?”
“Juvenile. And petty.”
The darkening of his eyes warned her she’d gone too far. “Petty, is it? Do you have any idea what your review cost me? Do you even care?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “It was one review.”
“No, it was the only review that mattered. I was an up-and-coming chef. I had backing and positive buzz. And your criticism tainted all that.”
“You can’t expect to open a restaurant and not receive a little harmless negative feedback?”
“Harmless?” Connor rose, knuckles planted on his desk as he leaned forward. “Do you even know the circumstances of the night you visited? Did you even bother to come back a second time to make sure we weren’t having an off night? I wasn’t even there when you ate at Éire. Do you know where I was?”
She knew better than to respond.
“I was here, in Findlay Roads. My father had a heart attack, and I rushed home to be with him. My sister, Rory, was across the country on a music gig, and she couldn’t get back right away. But I dropped everything and came because that’s what mattered. And because I wasn’t there at my restaurant, things weren’t running as smoothly as they should have been. My sous chef was filling in, and it was the first time he’d had to run the kitchen without me. It was a rough night.”
He eased back, seeming embarrassed by this outburst. The anger dissipated, and he dropped back into his chair, running a hand over his face. Harper heard the stubble of his jaw rasping against his palm, and she wondered what it would be like to feel the rough grain of his cheek against her fingers. Her palm itched at the thought, and she squeezed her hand into a fist to refocus.
He made a good point. She should have paid more than one visit to Éire, but she’d been under a deadline and only interested in her own career, not some unknown restaurant owner’s reputation.
“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything at first.
“I apologize for piling so many chores on you since you started here, but you’ll still have to do your fair share. With business so slow, everyone pitches in where necessary.”
Harper felt a twinge of embarrassment at this. It was true, she’d only been doing the tasks that someone else had done before her.
“If that’s going to be a problem—”
“It isn’t,” she assured him.
She wanted this job. It represented independence, her ability to take care of herself even when the worst had happened. She may have lost her critic’s job, but she could still find work.
And it wasn’t just that. Something about this restaurant reassured her, made her feel as though she belonged here. Connor still held her at arm’s length, but the rest of her coworkers had embraced her, even Erin, and made her feel they were friends.
“Then...truce?”
She released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Truce,” she agreed.
But as she gathered her things, she wondered if she and Connor would ever really be able to find a state of peace between them.
* * *
TRY AS HE MIGHT, Connor wasn’t able to get his conversation with Harper out of his mind. Days after their chat in his office, he was still conflicted about his newest employee. It seemed unbelievable that the woman he’d blamed for destroying his first restaurant was now working for him.
And even more unbelievable was how well she was doing at the job. Since he’d apologized, she’d accepted each task he’d given her with an air of agreeability. He’d eased up a bit, spreading the chores out among all of them, himself included, and she’d pitched in, continuing to pull her weight and seamlessly becoming one of the team. It grated on him a little, he realized, how his crew had accepted her. Even Erin, who had initially been uncertain about taking on the infamous restaurant critic, now greeted her pleasantly each day. Rafael had taken to teasing her with the occasional flirtatious overtones he was known for and Leah, at a mere seventeen years of age, looked to Harper with something akin to hero worship. She was forever asking Harper about life in the city and her time working at the newspaper. Thankfully, Harper always steered the conversation away from her career, at least when Connor was nearby.
He was still musing on Harper as he tossed a handful of sliced shallots into a pan and swirled them around as they hissed after making contact with the oil. A fragrant cloud of steam surrounded him as the shallots caramelized, and he lifted the towel draped over his left shoulder to wipe at the sweat dotting his forehead.
“You know, every time I smell onions, I think of Gavin,” Erin remarked as she worked at the prep counter, peeling potatoes.
Connor grunted with amusement as he added a pinch of salt to the sauté pan.
“That’s not something you often hear a woman say about her husband.”
Erin laughed. “It was, like, our fourth or fifth date, and I decided to cook for him. I settled on making steak with a balsamic reduction. But I was so nervous about what he’d think of the dinner that when I picked up the onions at the market, I got really strong, yellow onions. When Gavin showed up at my door, I was just streaming tears from chopping them up, and he thought I was getting ready to break up with him.”
Connor chuckled. “Poor bloke. What else was he to think?”
“I know, but then a couple years later, when I was pregnant with Kitt, Gavin was determined to pamper me, so he decided to make me dinner one night. He was going to make spaghetti, and he started frying up the onions, and the smell made me really, really sick. I walked into the kitchen and threw up all over the counter.”
Connor laughed loudly as Erin grimaced.
“That was the first and last time he ever tried to make me dinner.”
Connor shook his head and added the prepped carrots he had resting in a bowl nearby.
“How is Gavin, by the way?”
“Pretty good,” she answered, dropping a handful of peeled potatoes into a bowl of ice water. “He’s still stationed in Afghanistan, working on one of the army’s water sanitation projects. He’s enjoying it, but he misses home.”
Connor slid a glance her way and caught the frown tugging at Erin’s mouth. He hadn’t meant to make her melancholy.
“It’s no easy feat, being an army wife. Especially not with a son to raise.”
“You’re telling me,” she replied, and then she paused. “Kitt misses him. A lot.” She sighed and seemed to rally herself. “But it’s only for a few more years, and then we can be a family again.”
Connor felt a tug of both sympathy and envy for his friend. He knew it was rough on her, having her family separated. Gavin had moved his family into his great-aunt’s bed-and-breakfast shortly before his most recent deployment, and Connor knew how much Erin wanted them to be reunited under one roof. On the other hand, he felt the familiar pang of his own regret. Though he did his best to juggle the role of both mother and father to Molly, he sometimes felt as though part of their family dynamic was incomplete, as well.
Uncomfortable with this line of thought, he ladled some chicken stock into the sauté pan and watched as it hissed once more.
“Do you think you could get started on the corn fritters, after you’ve finished those potatoes?”
“Sure thing, Chef.”
And just like that, he and Erin resumed their roles of chef and sous chef. Sometimes he thought the titles sounded a little fancy for the restaurant his father had first started, but Connor had trained at one of the most prestigious culinary schools in the country. Erin’s skills were more of the trade-school variety, but they both observed the proper appellations in the kitchen.
He and Erin worked a familiar dance around each other, reaching for a pan or grasping a slotted spoon. They’d worked together at the Rusty Anchor for over three years now, even before his dad had passed on. It was long enough that they’d become comfortable with each other’s routines. And when Connor had taken over the restaurant following his father’s death, Erin’s loyalty had eased his transition to boss and owner.
Connor finished cracking half a dozen eggs into a stainless-steel bowl and began to whisk vigorously, the rhythmic motion requiring little thought and allowing his mind to wander. It was hard to believe Patrick Callahan had been gone for two years. Just the other day, he’d caught Molly squinting at the last photo he’d taken of his dad—he kept it on the apartment fridge. When he’d asked her what she was doing, she’d replied, “Trying to remember what Grandpa looked like.”
He’d experienced a swell of melancholy at this admission. In two years, Patrick Callahan’s image had already begun to fade from Molly’s memory. In another two, would she even be able to remember him at all without the aid of photographs? He missed his da, especially during the mornings when he first entered the restaurant. How many times had he stepped into this very kitchen and caught his father humming under his breath, singing snatches of Irish folk songs, as he began to prep ingredients for the day?
“Connor.”
He stopped whisking at the sound of Erin’s voice and realized the eggs were beginning to form peaks. He’d been agitating them for too long.
“Connor, the phone.”
He heard it then, the insistent chirp of the kitchen’s wall phone. Dropping the whisk and bowl onto the counter, he headed toward it.
“Let’s hope it’s a dinner reservation for twenty people.”
Erin snorted. “That’s about as likely as the Irish prime minister calling to schedule an afternoon tea.”
“Hey, a man can dream, can’t he? And you never know about the prime minister.”
Erin rolled her eyes, and he grinned as he grabbed the phone off its hook.
“Rusty Anchor,” he answered.
“Mr. Callahan? Connor?” the woman on the other end responded.
His lips slipped downward at her sharp tone. “This is he.”
“This is Geena Evans.”
Connor’s heart sped up. “Molly? Is she all right?”
The lingering silence on the other end of the line caused his chest to tighten further.
“Is my daughter all right?” he repeated and was vaguely aware that Erin had come to stand beside him, her face pale with concern.
“She’s all right. However, I think it would be best if you came to pick her up. Now.”
The tension in his chest eased but was soon replaced by a prickling uneasiness.
“What did she do?”
“I’m not comfortable discussing it on the phone.”
Connor expelled a long sigh. “The lunch hour is about to start. Might there be a chance I could pick her up after it’s over?”
This time, the silence was loaded with irritation. He could sense it crackling across the line.
“I would really prefer if you would come get your daughter now, Mr. Callahan.”
He blinked. Whatever Molly had done during her playdate with Piper Evans, it must have been quite serious.
“I understand. I’m on my way.”
Geena hung up without replying. Connor stared at the receiver for the space of another heartbeat and then slid the phone into its cradle.
“That was Geena Evans. She’s insisting I go pick Molly up immediately.”
Erin’s forehead creased with concern. “Is she all right?”
“It seems so. Only she must have gotten into some mischief.”
The lines above Erin’s eyebrows deepened. “Geena Evans is an overprotective mother.”
“Mmm.” Connor didn’t know how to comment. Overprotective though she might be, Molly was a handful, even for him. “Do you think you can manage without me for a bit? I shouldn’t be gone more than a half hour.”
Erin waved a hand, unconcerned. “I’ll be fine.”
Connor hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, no problem. Besides, Harper should be arriving any minute now for her shift.”
The reminder of Harper put his thoughts squarely back where they’d been only moments ago.
“Go get that mischief-making daughter of yours.”
“Right. Call my cell if you need me. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
He began removing his chef’s jacket and braced himself to confront whatever sort of trouble Molly had gotten into this time.
* * *
CONNOR HELD HIS tongue as Molly swung her foot up and down, beating it against the glove compartment until he shot her a warning look. She dropped her leg with a sigh and looked out the window instead. It was a typically busy summer day on the main street of town, with plenty of people strolling the sidewalks and shopping in the many posh boutiques that had appeared in recent years. He noticed Molly eyeing a woman walking a pair of dogs, and she pressed her nose to the passenger window as he drove by. She turned forward and noticed the sign for the ice cream shop up ahead.
“Can we stop for ice cream?”
Connor looked at her but didn’t reply. As much as he wanted to give in, he knew he had to stand his ground. He couldn’t take her out for ice cream right after he’d had to pick her up for misbehaving at her playmate’s house.
“Pretty please?” she added, softening her voice to the tone that always turned him to putty.
He brought his attention resolutely back toward the road.
“Molly, this isn’t a Sunday drive. Mrs. Evans was very cross with you.”
Molly huffed and slouched in the seat, folding her arms over her stomach.
“It’s not my fault. Piper asked me to do it.”
He cast her a calculating glance, wanting to believe her but knowing her excuse was unlikely. Molly had a way of finding trouble, and no matter how much of that innocent charm she mustered, he’d learned to see through her words.
“I swear, Daddy! It wasn’t my idea!”
He turned his head briefly, caught her eye, then looked back at the road. He wasn’t buying it.
“Well, it wasn’t just my idea,” she amended. “Piper said she wanted me to do it.”
“Molly.”
She kicked the glove compartment again.
“Molly.”
“It’s not fair! I always get blamed.”
He sighed. “You cut off all of your friend’s hair,” he pointed out.
“But we were just playing! It will grow back.”
“Mrs. Evans liked Piper’s hair long. She was planning to enter her in a beauty pageant this spring. Piper has never had her hair cut. Ever. What made you think you should cut it all off?”
“I didn’t know about the beauty pageant,” Molly murmured, and he felt a twinge of uncertainty about his daughter’s intentions. “It’s not fair, though. Piper has hair just like Aurora’s in Sleeping Beauty
