The only thing I’m going to have is regret.
I forced myself down the stairs. Mel was out on the deck with a few servers. She was patting them on the back and looking like she was about to pitch herself over the railing and into the cove. Most of the kitchen staff was busy inventorying the contents of the walk-in fridge or cleaning already-spotless prep counters while casting cautious glances at the chef. For his part, Bartholomew was muttering to himself in French while sipping cognac out of a ramekin.
Good to see we were all well on our way to a breakdown this afternoon.
The black sedan was still parked out front.
Since I wasn’t prepared to deal with the remaining staff yet, I went outside. A Black man sat in the sedan, aviator sunglasses low on his nose, his dark tie yanked loose, and a folded newspaper resting against the steering wheel.
After a minute of glaring at each other, I knocked on the window. He paused for a long moment before rolling it down.
“This cove is an ecological preserve home to dozens of species which rely on clean air and water to survive,” I said. “It’s bad enough we have ocean temps rising to a level that interrupts entire life cycles of critically endangered species, but we have microplastics and carcinogenic chemicals seeping into the groundwater at an alarming rate too. At the very least, turn off the gas guzzler. We don’t need you pumping exhaust directly into the oxygen supply of my oyster farm and this food chain for hours a day.”
The agent nodded slowly as he studied the cove. He turned off the car and stepped out. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Loew. I’m Special Agent Naeem Price.”
“Given the circumstances, you’ll understand that I can’t say the same.”
With a broad grin, he dipped his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the sedan. “And you’ll understand that I have to tail your ass until we locate your mother or confirm beyond a doubt that you are not concealing her whereabouts.”
“I don’t have a damn clue where my mother is or how she became separated from her friends. But if I did, I’d arrange for her to turn herself in so we could get those charges dropped as soon as possible.” I flung an arm toward the restaurant. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, are you hungry? Need a cold drink? I have a chef who is going to pop a blood vessel and filet the first person to cross him if he doesn’t cook for someone soon.”
Agent Price inclined his head toward the crowd at Naked. “I was thinking about checking that out. They were offering samples of basil lemonade earlier. It looked like seaweed water but it was really good. Weird butgood.”
I jabbed a finger toward SPOC. “If you’re going to be up my ass until we get my mother back home, you’re going to do it without polluting this cove or stepping foot in that café.”
He pushed away from the sedan. “It doesn’t work that way, Loew. You call none of the shots. But I’m hungry so I’m gonna let it slide.”
“Smart choice.” I held the door open for Agent Price as he stepped into the oyster bar.
At the same moment, Sunny emerged from Naked Provisions, another loaded tray in her hands. She caught me staring and held my gaze, tipping her chin up. The challenge came across loud and clear. She wasn’t backing down today or any other day. I arched a brow in response but that only seemed to strengthen the steel in her spine.
Our wordless exchange grew thick and heavy like a summer storm. Her stare cut straight through me and lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. I wanted to march right over there and resurrect our argument from earlier in the day or invent an entirely new argument just to tease out that wicked grin of hers again, and I was ready to step away from the door to do exactly that when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I blinked down and this battle was over.
Her lips pulled into a smile as she shifted away from me, moving through the line and handing out more green lemonade.
My life, it never stopped fucking me.
chapterfive
Sunny
Today’s Special:
A Salted Spread of Big Dock Energy
Callme crazy but I thought soft launches were supposed to be soft, not the championship round of an ultimate fighting competition. The good news was that we survived, even if my feet hadn’t hurt this much after climbing Machu Picchu, and we’d sold out of everything hours earlier than our most ambitious projections.
Meara Monahan, folks. Her marketing magic was real.
The biggest win was getting through the weekend with unbelievable crowds and doing it without waking the troll next door. The troll being Beckett Loew of course. Though we did see him pacing the parking lot on several occasions, usually while yelling his way through a phone call or eyeing the line outside the café like it was about to morph into a dragon and swallow the whole town in one roaring gulp. I was certain nothing would make him happier. Drama and destruction had to be his favorites.
As for me, I loved waking up early on bright May days, especially when I got to set up the café for our first Monday in business. I did not love turning down Succotash Lane and slamming into a massive traffic jam.
In all our months of planning for Naked Provisions, we’d never devoted more than a few moments of consideration to parking issues, and somehow, that was now the source of all my problems.
Today’s crisis was courtesy of all manner of construction equipment including acraneclogging the space between the café and Small Point Oyster Company. There wasn’t a single parking spot to be had, barely even room to weave my bike between the trucks and equipment.
Whatever this was, it couldn’t continue.
