“Do whatever you have to do. We’ll stay out of your way,” Melissa says.
Ricky’s conscious. Tolk and Lindsay decide to drive him the half-hour to the hospital in Minot rather than wait for an ambulance. Picnic offers to follow with Lucy in her car. Wylie takes over behind the bar, and I return to the restaurant to ensure the kitchen gets closed and locked. I come back to check on Melissa a couple of times. The first time, she’s having a discussion with Kat; she smiles at me across the room before she waves me away. The second time, she’s involved with something on her phone.
An hour later, things have calmed down. We get a call from Tolk saying that Ricky’s been admitted and Lucy is spending the night. I finish in the restaurant and finally have a minute to talk to Mel.
She holds up her hand. “Two minutes,” she says. “What’s your email address?”
When I tell her, she signals me to wait again. “One second.” Then she smiles and puts her phone on the table. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to be here a while. I need to talk to Mason about closing the restaurant for a few days. We can transfer some of the waitstaff to the bar, but everyone else is going to be out of work for a while.” I don’t mind the logistics of planning it, but the Lonesome Bar and Grill is a big employer in town. We have over twenty people on staff. Shutting half of it is going to have an impact on a lot of families.
“Close the restaurant? Why?”
“Ricky’s our cook. We can’t ask Lucy to work double shifts while her husband is in the hospital. No cook, no restaurant.”
“I’ma cook, Duck.”
“In Chicago. And you’re flying back there tomorrow morning.”
“As of two minutes ago, I’m licensed in North Dakota with a valid state Food Handling Certificate. I sent it to your email. If you have a printer, I can start immediately.”
“What are you talking about, Trouble?”
“I’ll be your temporary chef until you find somebody else. It’s the least I can do while you’re helping me out.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. “I can’t ask you to do that, Mel.”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Besides, what else am I going to do while I’m on vacation? Watch talk shows and day drink?” She pats the chair beside her, so I sit. “Obviously, I don’t know your menu and I’ll be on my own, so you’ll have reduced service for a few days, but we can do this. It’ll keep things running till you find another replacement.”
This is good. Really good. I call Mason over and explain Melissa’s offer. His eyes narrow. “This is a grill, not some fancy restaurant. Can she handle it?”
“Yes,” we say at the same time.
“Give me a couple days to at least try,” Melissa says. “Show me around the restaurant tomorrow morning, and by noon, I’ll have a menu ready to go.” When my brother hesitates, she looks him square in the eye. “I’m not here to screw you or Duck, Mason. This is literally what I do for a living. Give me a chance, brother-in-law.”
I shake my head. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Absolutely not, sugar daddy.”
“I give up. Mason, yes or no?”
He is not happy, but he carries the same responsibilities that I do. We can’t afford to turn down the help. “Fine. We’ll try it. One day,” he agrees.
After he leaves, Mel turns her stare on me. “Trust me, Duck.”
Like I said on the cruise ship, “I do.”
CHAPTER 9
MELISSA
Usually when Istep into a restaurant as a replacement chef, I’ve had some time to learn the systems, the recipes, and the people. Today, I have none of that. But we’ll survive. Wade called some of the staff in early to help me with prep. After looking at the menu, we’ve created a scaled-back version I can handle.
The Lonesome Grill has a gorgeous kitchen. It’s much nicer than I expected from a small town restaurant. It has almost everything I’d expect from a kitchen in a city. If I was here full time, I’d make a handful of changes, but I can survive for a week. Wade told me that the place is only ten years old. When they kitted it out, they did it with new, solid equipment. Nothing super fancy, but good quality. I’m not surprised. Wade always looks after his people.
I don’t expect a ton of business. Mason assured me that mid-week meal services are relatively quiet. He was wrong. I guess the town decided to show up in support of the restaurant, or they came to get the latest news from the wait staff about Ricky. Either way, the river of orders does not slow from when we open the doors at four till the bar food orders stop at eleven. It’s midnight by the time I get the kitchen cleaned and closed. Wade parks me in a booth in the bar with a glass of red wine whilehe locks the restaurant and ensures the dining room is ready for tomorrow.
I must doze off because I open my eyes when I feel the glass being lifted from my hand. “Hey, Duck.”
