It was the beginning of May and mere weeks from the full-on tourism season. To prepare, the Bluebell Cove City Council arranged for a meeting for all tourism-adjacent business owners to discuss the summer season, as well as this year’s Christmas Festival, which was going to be bigger and better than ever. It boggled Theo’s mind to think of Christmas. He wasn’t sure his restaurant would make it through summer, let alone all the way to December.
He guessed that many residents of Bluebell Cove felt the same about his restaurant, The Dockside. He’d heard more than one person say they were surprised he’d kept it running this long. A few others had said, “Oh, I thought that closed down years ago! I should really make it back in.” But they never did.
The meeting at city hall was set for seven o’clock on a Sunday evening. Because his manager and part-time chef Ben had plans that evening, Theo decided to close early—disappointing nobody, he knew. The walk from The Dockside to city hall took no longer than fifteen minutes, and as he went, he spotted several other tourism-adjacent business owners headed in his same direction.
A few of them waved at Theo, but nobody came over to walk along with him. Theo guessed that his bad luck and lack of business prowess felt like a disease to them. They didn’t want it to rub off on them. He felt his shoulders slouch forward but told himself to stay strong.
When he reached city hall, he glanced rightward to find Celia Harper, of all people, standing with her boyfriend, the biologist Landon. Celia brightened when she spotted him. Although she was a good deal older than he was, he remembered going over to the Harper house as a kid, scrambling around the living room and the backyard of the Bluebell Cove Inn, making a mess of things with Juliet. Celia and Ivy had always kept tabs on them, looking worried and older than their years should have allowed. Losing their mother so young had affected them greatly.
“Theo!” Celia said, shaking her head and coming over to shake his hand. “I can’t believe I haven’t run into you yet.”
Theo smiled. The truth was, he’d spotted Celia several times over the past year since James Harper had died and pulled the Harper sisters back together again. But he hadn’t dared get too close, for fear of seeing Juliet. He wasn’t the kind of guy to put his heart at risk, not with such a volatile woman, not after everything that had happened.
“Good to see you. I love the work you’ve done on the Eco-Lodge,” Theo said.
Celia blushed. “I can’t believe I’m back in town. It’s been a whirlwind. Even Ivy and I get along these days. Can you believe that?”
Theo laughed, remembering Ivy and Celia’s screaming matches on the back porch of the Bluebell Cove Inn. Their father had always reprimanded them, telling them that they had to behave themselves in front of the guests.
“That’s wonderful,” Theo said.
“Juliet’s been in and out,” Celia said timidly. “But we haven’t heard from her in a little while.”
“That’s her way, I guess,” Theo said.
Celia shrugged. “She’s a wild card. Always has been.”
Theo wanted to say that that was a nice way of putting it, but he decided against it.
“Listen,” Celia said. “We were thinking of having a family dinner somewhere soon. Do you have space at your restaurant?”
Theo wanted to curl up and die. He hated thinking of himself as a charity case. But he also wasn’t in a position to reject restaurant reservations.
“I think we can arrange something,” he said. “When were you thinking?”
Celia thought for a second, then said, “Around the end of May, I guess? I can give you a call when I know more details.”
“Perfect.”
It was time for the meeting. Theo followed Landon and Celia inside, where they grabbed seats and listened to a very long introduction from the mayor of Bluebell Cove. Theo felt his eyelids fluttering. But soon, one of the higher-ups on the tourism board—Calvin Parish—got in front of the podium and actually said Theo’s name aloud.
“It’s come to our attention that many restaurants and hotels in Bluebell Cove may not be representing our beautiful town as well as they could be,” Calvin said. “For example, the Lisbon Hotel off Massachusetts Avenue has needed a fresh coat of paint for about three years now. Mark, get on that before the tourists roll in, won’t you?” Mark bowed his head, looking like a tortured child in a classroom.
But Calvin soon moved on to Theo. “And Theo Maddox.” Here, he paused and traced his teeth with his tongue. “Theo, we’ve got a whole list for The Dockside. Shall we send you an email? Or is a physical letter better?”
Theo flared his nostrils. He felt nearly one hundred pairs of eyes on him, judging him.
“Why don’t you tell me now?” Theo suggested.
Calvin gripped the podium, annoyed. “I don’t want to waste this council’s time by nitpicking you. We’ve got another big list of things to do. But suffice it to say, if you don’t get that restaurant in gear, I don’t know what we’ll do. The Christmas Festival is taking a different direction this year, and as mentioned, we’re expecting about four times as many tourists as in previous years. I know you’re young, and you probably think preparing for the Christmas Festival as early as May is illogical. But you have to trust us bigwigs. We know what we’re doing.” He winked, which turned Theo’s stomach.
Long before the meeting was over, Theo got to his feet and left. Leaning against the brick facade of the old building, he gasped for breath and told himself to calm down. It wasn’t that everyone in Bluebell Cove had it out for him. They liked his food. At least, they’d liked it before they’d decided to turn their backs on it. Theo still couldn’t fathom why that had happened. Was he really so unlikable? Did they think it was weird that he wasn’t married anymore? Did he not “fit” into small-town life?
This was ironic, Theo knew, as he’d always wanted to belong in Bluebell Cove. He hadn’t followed his restaurant dreams all the way to their zenith, if only because he’d wanted to stay close to home.
But had he gotten lazy in the interim? Had his failed marriage and his failed life stitched their way into his restaurant? Was there an air of failure to everything he did?
He still remembered his first days of cooking. He’d been seven or eight, maybe, when he’d first begun experimenting in the kitchen (under the watchful eye of his mother, of course). He remembered making Juliet a grilled cheese sandwich with three different cheeses and roasted onions. Juliet had had a more advanced palate than most other eight-year-olds (at least, that was what he told himself at the time), and she’d gobbled up everything he’d invented—even the zaniest stuff.
