Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Boiling water hissed on the stovetop, the floor was littered with garlic skins, and the chatter around the prep island had a manic quality that didn’t bode well with three hours of service to go.
“Hey, are we short on the special tonight?” Nolan asked, sashaying through the kitchen door.
I glowered. “Un peu. We should have ordered more. We’ll sell out within the hour. On the bright side, we can serve your burgers and fries. Anything else?”
He frowned. “Yeah, uh…can you take a break?”
“Now?”
“Two minutes.” He held up two fingers and headed to his office.
I gritted my teeth and counted to ten before following him. I wasn’t angry at Nolan. It was simply bad timing. But the entire night felt like bad timing, so what the hell?
“What is it?” I folded my arms and leaned on his door.
“Nothing. You need a minute away from the stove, so this is me looking out for you.”
“Ah, that’s sweet of you.” I glanced at my watch. “Are we almost done?”
“Not till you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nolan, I have a kitchen to run and—”
“Two minutes, JC. Talk to me.” He perched on the corner of his desk, casually elegant in khakis and a blue oxford shirt.
The thing about Nolan that set him apart from the crowd was his innately kind heart. He was a problem solver, a novice therapist for anyone who needed a friend, and while I appreciated his concern…timing.
“Okay. The pot-au-feu is popular tonight. I should have known it would be, but it’s Monday and for some reason pork chops usually do better because this is Elmwood. Tonight, it’s beef. Live and learn, eh?”
“Yeah, whatever. It’ll be fine.” He pursed his lips and sighed. “Hey, I wanted to—”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “You have one minute now.”
“Forty percent.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Forty percent. I own eighty percent of the diner and I can offer you half of that. It’s the best I can do today. My mom owns twenty, and yeah, she’s a silent partner, but this place has been in our family for a century so I can’t ask her to cede a portion of her—”
“Forty is generous,” I intercepted.
“So…is that a yes?”
I scrubbed my hand over my jaw. “Is it okay if I get back to you?”
He didn’t quite hide his surprise, but he nodded politely. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.”
“I have some things on my mind, and my kitchen is on fire behind me, but—”
“Take your time. I just didn’t want you to think I’ve forgotten, ’cause I haven’t.”
“Thank you. I—”
“And I’ve thought about the place in Pinecrest too.”
“Oh?”
Nolan nodded. “It makes me nervous. Vinnie’s into it. He loves the idea of investing in our rival community, but I’m still on the fence. I don’t want to rely on my husband’s money for something I’m not convinced we can pull off. The diner comes first for me. It’s family, and this is my town. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested. I just need a little more time to think. I asked Bryson for first right of refusal and promised we’d have an answer by the end of the first week of January. That way we can get through the holidays and put together a rough business plan instead of rushing into something. I mean…if that’s cool with you.”
“Yes, that’s very cool. And it’s a lot to think about,” I replied softly.
“Ha. I know. Sorry. I didn’t intend to hit you with all that at once, but you were so cranky out there and I don’t want you to think I’ve been stringing you along. I respect you, I care about you, and I know for a fact that I owe you a huge debt for helping me put this diner on the map. So this is me telling you I get it and I want to do what’s right, JC. I think we make a great team.”
I inclined my chin. “Merci.”
“You’re welcome.” Nolan hugged me, knocking a newspaper from his desk. It wasn’t an awkward embrace, per se, but it had the potential to carry weight neither of us was interested in sorting through. He bent to retrieve the paper, laughing as he pointed at the cover photo. “Oh, check this out. We made the front page. And if you squint real hard, you’re in the background too.”
I took the paper and glanced at the photo of Vinnie, Nolan, and Riley from the juniors’ game the other night. They smiled broadly for the camera, exuding athletic prowess and pride—two professional hockey players and a fit local coach. And yes, the shadowy figure lurking off to the side was me. I stabbed a finger at it, rolling my eyes before reading the caption, directing readers to the sports page for more information regarding the Eagles’ exciting win.
I unfolded the paper and read the headline,