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)
“It’s the pre-Thanksgiving rush,” Ivan replied, fussing with his apron string. “I’d better get back to it, but first…a teensy heads-up. Bryson Milligan was in earlier.”
“Boring Bryson drinks coffee,” I deadpanned. “So what?”
“He was chatty today. My polite query about Thanksgiving turkey led to pizza and….” Ivan cast a quick glance from left to right, continuing in a rush. “He happened to mention that the old pizza parlor in Pinecrest is going to be listed for lease.”
“Oh. Interesting.”
Ivan winked. “You’re welcome. Have a good one, boys.”
Riley spared me a curious look, then scanned the shop for an open table. There were none available.
“Follow me.” I held the door open for him and crossed the street.
We slipped into the side entrance off the kitchen through the gate leading to the garden. It was a small enclave behind the diner surrounded by majestic elms on one side and tall privacy hedges that shielded the garden from the wind and nosy passersby. Two benches were positioned opposite the elevated boxes of herbs and vegetables.
The trees had lost their leaves and the herbs and veg were mostly dormant for the season, but it was still a pleasant spot to sit with a cup of coffee or to escape before my temper got the better of me in the kitchen. There was another private garden with a table and chairs beyond the hedges that was even more private for our employees, but neither got much use when the temperature dropped.
I settled onto the corner of my favorite bench and patted the empty space beside me.
“This is a cool hideaway,” he commented, zipping his jacket to his chin. “Did you plant the garden?”
“Yes. Only the hardiest vegetation likes the cold, so it doesn’t look nice now, but I have an indoor vegetable garden too. We never have to go without fresh ingredients. I want to build a solarium. There’s enough room for one over there.” I pointed to a section of lawn covered in sodden leaves. “That way we wouldn’t be limited for space to make year-round farm-to-table cuisine possible.”
Riley shot a lopsided grin at me. “You’re very passionate about food, aren’t you?”
“Your body is a temple. You are what you eat. Clichés, yes? But they’re true. Five years ago, no one in Elmwood would have cared if their tomatoes were from Pinecrest instead of their own backyard, but now…I like to think everyone takes a little pride in knowing we don’t rely on rival towns for good produce.”
“Hmm.” He sipped his latte. “So what’s with the pizza parlor in Pinecrest? Are you thinking of expanding and showin’ ’em how Elmwood does it better?”
I bit the inside of my cheek and shook my head. I hadn’t planned on sharing this with Riley, but it seemed wrong to leave him in the dark, especially since Ivan the barista knew.
“Not exactly. I’m thinking of opening my own restaurant,” I blurted. “But this is top secret. No one knows and I may not do anything at all, so…shh, okay?”
Riley pushed his sunglasses down his nose and eyed me over the rim of his cup as he made a zipped-lips motion. “You can trust me. What’s up?”
I shifted closer to him on the bench and lowered my voice on the off chance anyone could hear us, then filled him in on my career dilemma.
“Elmwood can’t support two high-end restaurants, and that’s okay. I don’t want to compete with Nolan, but I also can’t wait for something he might not ever be willing to give me.” I winced. “That sounds like a bad love affair. Amour non réciproque. That’s not it. But I have to think about my future. I know my worth and I’m selling myself for…being shorter—”
“Selling yourself short?” he suggested, pulling his glasses off.
“That’s it.” I set my hand on his thigh and left it there. “I’ve talked to Nolan about this and I wouldn’t do anything without talking some more, but I’m not getting younger. If I got hit by a bus next year, I want to leave a legacy along with a corpse, you know?”
Riley shoved my biceps. “Shut up. That’s an awful thing to say. The bus and the corpse part—but I know exactly what you mean about a legacy.”
“I know you do.” I caught his wrist and planted a quick kiss on his knuckles. “Maybe everyone feels that way to some degree. We don’t have to be superstars or Nobel Prize winners, but we want our version of success. I was a mediocre hockey player and maybe a mediocre human too. I’m forty now and I’m still growing up. I don’t want to settle for mediocre. The diner is special, and I had a hand in making it that way. I want recognition or the opportunity to do it again…on my terms.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah. I understand.”