Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Her parents, on the other hand, did not seem to have noticed the sea change in their sons’ attitude toward their daughter. They had all just sat down to dinner when her mother started in on her weight.
“Goodness knows, Martine, you went into the wrong business,” she fretted. “I swear you’ve put on at least ten kilograms. I hope you’re not sampling everything Olivia cooks.”
Tina refrained from rolling her eyes. She had been so busy in Riversend, and with the constant walking to and from the restaurant, plus regular yoga sessions with Lia, she’d actually lost weight. Not that it had been intentional—she had stopped actively dieting years ago. She would probably gain the weight back once she acclimated to life in Riversend. And that was fine too.
“As the owner, it would be a complete dereliction of duty if I didn’t know what every item on my menu tasted like,” she pointed out nonchalantly, happily picking up a bread roll to dip into her creamy corn soup.
Smith sniggered at her words.
“Don’t blame you—Libby’s cooking is amazing!” her brother enthused.
“Hmm,” Tina said around a mouthful of bread. “Her desserts are the highlight of our menu. We’ve started a dessert-tasting menu. Wednesday night is dessert night. People travel all the way from Plett for our desserts. It’s really boosted business.”
“When will you come to your senses about this, Martine? You’re not a restaurateur,” her mother fussed. “I don’t understand why you keep doing these things. This is such a waste of money. And this time, you have people depending on you. For heaven’s sake, how will it look when this falls through, and all those people find themselves unemployed?”
“Jeez, Mom,” Tina said, knowing her mother hated to be called Mom. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Martine!” the older woman gasped, casting an awkward glance at Harris, who was watching the exchange with a determinedly neutral expression on his face. But Tina knew him well enough to know his blood was boiling beneath that placid facade. “What has gotten into you? You know your father and I only have your best interests at heart.”
“Do you? Dad? You haven’t said much tonight. What’s your opinion on this matter?” Tina asked, with a challenging tilt to her jaw. Her father, as tall and handsome as his sons, coughed and took a sip of water before self-consciously dabbing his napkin over his lips.
“Well . . . ,” he began, casting a nervous glance toward his wife. “You chose to dabble in a challenging business this time, Martine. And if it goes belly up, that’s your investment gone. There’s no recouping those losses.”
“And you’re certain it’ll go belly up?”
“Very few new restaurants survive their first year.”
“It’s not a new restaurant,” Harris suddenly said, and Tina shot him a warning glare. He acknowledged her look with a raised eyebrow.
“I told you before, don’t speak for me, Harris,” she reminded him between gritted teeth, and he nodded, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. Watching her with a lazy grin. “It’s not a new restaurant,” Tina repeated, aiming the words at her father. “I bought an existing restaurant in a small town. If you’d shown the slightest bit of interest instead of assuming it was another one of my doomed experiments, you’d have known that.”
“That’s no way to speak to your father, young lady.”
“God, Mother, she’s not twelve,” Smith pointed out, exasperated.
“Well, sometimes she behaves like she’s twelve,” her mother shot back, looking annoyed that her sons were not backing her up tonight. “It’s just been one disappointment after the other with her for years!”
“Starting with the way I looked, right? Way back at birth?” Tina glared at the older woman angrily and folded her arms over her chest. “And then I was that awkward teen without any real friends, except for the Chapman cook’s daughter.”
“Martine, that’s enough. We won’t speak of this in front of our guest.” Her mother cast another look at Harris, definitely uncomfortable that their dirty laundry was being aired in front of a Chapman.
“I don’t mind,” Harris said, his arms still crossed over his chest. Everybody else was staring at the unfolding tableau with a mixture of horror and fascination on their faces. Smith looked downright gleeful.
“I think it’s high time we speak of it,” Tina said. “High time we speak of him. My baby. Fletcher.”
“You stop this at once,” her mother said, turning an unbecoming shade of red.
“You never forgave me for that, did you?” Tina whispered. “For having him. For wanting him. For loving him. You were relieved when he died. I know you were.” She blinked, and tears angry and heartbroken escaped from beneath her eyelids to slide down her face.
Harris, who was sitting next to her, unfolded his arms and slipped a hand beneath the table to squeeze her knee comfortingly, silently reminding her that he was there for her.