“And make sure that you win the game. A lot of peopleare depending on you. The parade needs to be a celebratory one, not a funeral march like every other year.”
I’d forgotten all about the parade. At least there might be a silver lining to throwing the game. They wouldn’t want the goalie who lost it marching in the parade, would they?
FOURTEEN
EVIE
The Saint Nicholascroissant was a hit at breakfast. We sold out before nine. Nick didn’t come in for breakfast, but that didn’t surprise me.
It was a small town. I knew that our paths would eventually cross, but it would never be intentional. “What do you think of today’s special?” Eugene nudged the half-eaten breakfast special across the line.
“It’s delicious, Eugene.”
“Really? You just kind of picked at it.” He turned off the stoves and started cleaning the cooking line.
“I’m just not all that hungry this morning, but I think that GJ will love the cinnamon bread French toast.”
Eugene beamed. “You don’t think that the cheddar cheese is weird?”
“Yes. I do.” I laughed. “But somehow it works.”
“And what about the name?” Eugene paused with a big mixing bowl in his arms.
“Hmmm.” I stamped the floor with my shoe and tried not to look at the dishwasher. When had Nick sneaked into the kitchen to fix it? And why hadn’t he told anyone that it was him? “Did you ever eat ants on a log when you were little?”
Eugene nodded. “I sure did. I was wondering if you were going to go that direction.”
I smiled. “My first instinct is to call themfourmitoast, but I don’t think that most people will get it, and if they do, GJ will throw a fit.”
“Is ‘fourmi’ French for ant?” Eugene took off his chef’s hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
“It sure is. What if we keep on with the festive theme and call them…reindeer turd toast.”
“Evie.” Eugene rested his hand on the steel counter and doubled over in laughter. “Are you trying to kill GJ?”
“Did I hear my name?” GJ strode into the kitchen. “I’m here to test tomorrow’s special.”
Eugene had a plate ready to go for GJ. “Let me get you some maple syrup.” He poured the amber liquid on the spotted toast and then gently laid a piece of cheddar cheese on top.
To my surprise, GJ smiled. “This reminds me of the pie Clarence used to eat. He loved cheddar cheese on apple pie.”
“Don’t you mean Grandpa Gary?” I rested my hand on GJ’s arm.
“No.” She shook her head. “Gary liked lemon meringue. Clarence was an apple pie man.”
Maybe GJ wasn’t losing it—she sure seemed to remember everything about Clarence. She took a bite of Eugene’s creation and nodded as she chewed. “This is good. What are you going to call it?”
I looked to Eugene and he tried to hold in his smile. “Oh no, you two. I can tell by the looks on your faces that you’ve named this beautiful dish something ridiculous. I’m going to call it the…” she paused and looked up, thinking, “how about the Saint Claire?”
“That’s perfect.” Eugene raised his eyebrows and shot me a glance. “Maybe tomorrow can be the Saint Anne.”
Anne was Eugene’s girlfriend. He’d clearly picked up on the naming strategy of the Newton women.
GJ finished the breakfast as I polished the cutlery. “What are you planning today?” she asked. “The Smith family’s room is all ready to go and we don’t have any other new check-ins. Once you’re done with the daily fresh-ups you should go check out some of the Christmas Carnival events.
“Maybe.” If I told GJ I was going to skip the outhouse race or the log sawing contest she would give me a hard time. “I’m pretty tuckered from skiing yesterday. It was a long day.”
She smiled. “True. Maybe it’s better for you to rest up. You don’t want to be tired for the game tonight. I’ve got tickets for the three of us.”
