That sounded exactly like something Greyson would say. “If I were you, I probably wouldn’t go around advertising I drive a man van.”
Alex patted the steering wheel. “I’ll have you know I’m proud of my man van. This thing is top of the line. But if you really want to know, the van is great for catering gigs.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I turned over my shoulder. The van was kind of dorky, but with three rows and leather seats, it was way nicer than my beat-up Kia. “Do you do a lot of catering?”
“Not really, but I might. When Greyson’s mom was still around, we lived in New York, and the restaurant I worked at catered occasionally.”
Though we’d talked a lot about the girls, Greyson’s mother had never come up. I turned over the wordsstill aroundin my mind. What did he mean? But I didn’t feel it was my place to ask. “But then you moved to Florida.”
We made our way through a roundabout, and the ocean burst into view, sparkling beside us like a coin catching the morning light. Alex looked past me and out the window, the corners of his mouth turningdown a fraction. “Things got a little out of control when it was just me and Grey. After a few years we needed a change of scenery, so I got my first yachting gig, thanks to Xav, and it’s what I’ve been doing ever since.”
“What do you like better, working at a restaurant or being a yachtie?”
Alex shot me that almost smile. “You and your tough questions.”
“Sorry. You don’t have to—”
“It’s hard to say,” he said. “I have a complicated history with the restaurant business, but I loved it. Yachting has its pros and cons too. What I’d really like to do is open a place on the beach—like Benny’s, that brunch spot you told me about. You were right, they have the best chocolate chip waffles. Greyson loved it.”
I imagined Alex and Greyson at Benny’s, a stack of waffles between them as they watched seagulls out by the pier. “Why don’t you open a restaurant now?” I knew Alex had money. The rent across the parking lot wasn’t cheap, and the van looked brand-new.
“Don’t have the time. Running a restaurant is like having three full-time jobs, and I don’t want to miss out on being there for Greyson. Charter season is rough enough, but it makes it possible for me to only work twenty, twenty-five hours a week tops the rest of the year. In five years she’ll hopefully be off to college, and maybe that will be the right time.”
I imagined Alex running his own restaurant. It would probably be casual, like him, but a little quirky, perhaps with funky old Florida decor and an eclectic menu. “I envy your cooking skills. Mine are nonexistent. I’m a microwave enthusiast.”
Alex gave me a skeptical look.
“No, really. I caught boiling water on fire once. I live off of microwaved dinners.”
Alex shook his head. “That’s a sad existence.”
“I’m going to learn, though. I have to host a dinner party for my list.”
“Now that I’d love to see.”
“Consider yourself invited, but you aren’t allowed to judge. You have to leave your chef’s hat at the door.”
“I wouldn’t dream of judging.”
I took a long sip of coffee and watched him as he drove, head bobbing to the music. “Did you always want to be a chef?” I asked.
“Pretty much. Growing up in the RV, I got to try food from everywhere. It was hard always being a stranger, but food made it easier.”
“Greyson said your parents are musicians.”
“Yeah, that’s why we traveled so much. They play folk rock. They weren’t big or anything, but they had a following. Sometimes they had me and my siblings play too.”
“You play an instrument?”
“A few.”
“Such as?”
“Mandolin, banjo, guitar. Not very well. I was always more into food.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the road pulled away from the ocean, and we slipped beneath a canopy of mangrove trees. Shadow and light danced across the dashboard. The silhouettes of leaves flickered over Alex’s face, casting him in a green glow. I tried to imagine him as a little boy traveling the country in an RV with his musical hippie family. It explained a lot about him, really. It seemed like a life that would make a person relaxed, open to new people, and maybe a little weird too.
“And you?” Alex asked. “Did you always want to be a yacht stewardess?”
