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“I’m good,” Martha said, dicing bell peppers as she answered, a stainless-steel bowl of chopped onions beside her.
“Conor, can you help her plate all of the options? The avocados are over there, and don’t forget grated cheese, sour cream and salsa.”
“Sure.” He stepped to the basin and washed his hands, impressing her with not having to be told.
“Fred, you’re the meats guy, right?”
“Already started the pork chops, sausage, bacon and ham.” Of course he had, she could smell the rich, hunger-inducing aroma before she’d crossed the kitchen threshold, even though she’d just stuffed herself with Bee Bop Diner pancakes, bacon and eggs.
“Great, thank you.” Relief swept over Shelby as the buffet shaped up. They could do this. Maybe brunch wouldn’t turn into a calamity after all, and the teamwork would save her from getting another strike on her record. She needed her job!
“Can someone put together the fruit salad? Oh, and squeeze the orange juice?”
“I can do that,” Maureen chimed in.
“Oh, you shouldn’t...”
“I enjoy getting my hands dirty. Always have. Don’t worry.”
“I can help, too,” Abby, the head server, looked enthusiastic about pitching in.
That left Shelby to prepare today’s special, the peach-stuffed French toast. She bolted to the pantry and pulled out the extra thick bread, threw it on her station counter near the large, long grill, then strode to the double-door refrigerator for a couple cartons of eggs and some cream. On a second trip, she grabbed the extra-large stainless-steel bowl of fresh peach slices she’d had the foresight to leave overnight infusing in her special mix of spices and natural juice. The preparation smelled great.
The next hour whizzed by as everyone focused on their jobs, and five minutes before ten, when The Drumcliffe Sunday Buffet was set to open, every food station was ready to go. Several times during that hour, Shelby glanced up to Conor’s reassuring smile. He knew his way around the kitchen, probably from growing up at the hotel. Even Maureen seemed content with the fare and how the well-orchestrated disorder had all turned out. “I’ve got to try that French toast,” Maureen said.
“You’ve earned it!” Shelby plated two half slices oozing with the lightly stewed peach sections, and ladled warm maple syrup over the top. “Let me know what you think.”
After one bite, Maureen let out a sigh of ecstasy. “Oh, my God, this is delicious.”
Shelby grinned and glanced to the right in time to see Conor’s proud expression. They’d all worked as a team, focused on one thing and one thing only, to make a damn fine brunch buffet for the hotel guests and locals looking for a change of pace on a Sunday morning. What could have turned into a catastrophe had become triumph.
The action was nonstop for the next two hours. Along with great reviews on the French toast that totally boosted her pride, a few mishaps were averted, and meals kept rolling out the whole time, until the last guest was served and cleanup began.
“I think that’s a new record for Sunday brunch,” Maureen said, tallying up the server receipts. “Wow.”
“Fantastic.” Conor offered a high five, and she obliged.
After a brief smile, she got down to business, taking back full responsibility for running the show. “Conor and Maureen, please don’t stick around for cleanup. We’ve got it covered,” Shelby said, glancing at each of her staff.
“Are you sure, dear?” Maureen said, sounding more like a mother than a boss.
“Absolutely. It’s a beautiful day, go out and enjoy it.”
“Yeah, Mom, go set up your easel and paint somewhere.”
“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice to do that.” Maureen’s Mona Lisa smile reassured Shelby that, thanks to Conor taking the blame and sticking around to help, she’d saved her job. Inwardly, she let out a huge appreciative sigh.
Nothing could hide the completely satisfied smile she flashed at Conor, who stood across the room, ready to tackle loading the industrial-sized dishwasher. Was he staying on to help anyway?
The hero points kept adding up, but he’d always been that kind of guy, as far as Shelby was concerned.
A pang of guilt twisted her smile into a near pout. She’d really screwed up where he was concerned. If she could only find a way to make up for that.
If Conor kept staring at the small but mighty chef, her brown eyes flashing with victory, he might do something stupid. Like pick her up and swing her around. So he forced a look at the mile-high stack of plates and the job at hand. They’d been serving too fast and furious to attempt keeping up with washing the dishes during the actual brunch hours.
Something had changed since that moment this morning when he’d considered turning around and running the other way when he’d first seen her jogging on the beach. Over breakfast, things had gotten familiar, like old times, when he could trust her with his life.
The problem was, he’d also trusted her with his heart, and she’d put it through the food processor. Bottom line, he couldn’t get sucked in by her contagious never-say-die attitude, and that great grin. Nope. Too much had changed. Right before his eyes, her smile quickly changed into a lemon-sucking pucker, as if she’d read his mind. She turned and scraped her grill as though removing barnacles from a boat.
She was a mother now, the sole breadwinner for her and her son, who, because of him asking her to have breakfast with him, could have put her job in jeopardy. He was positive, after talking to her earlier, that she still had plans for making it big in the culinary world. Something that was theoretically impossible here in Sandpiper Beach.
Rinsing used to be his favorite job when he’d been coerced into helping in the kitchen during summers. Now, he got a little overaggressive with the hand sprayer on the stack of dishes he rinsed, and soaked his shirt.
She’d only stick around long enough to get back on her feet, then head off to set the culinary world on fire. No way would Sandpiper Beach ever hold on to her. Hell, that was all she’d ever wanted to do since her mother used to barter tutoring for after-school cooking classes for Shelby. She’d told him time and again how that first Little Chefs class had changed her life. From fifth grade on she’d found her calling. He’d been the lucky recipient of hundreds of gourmet lunches throughout high school, too. Back then he’d been her biggest encourager.
Right out of his life.
He stacked another rack of plates on the conveyor heading for the high-temp sanitizing dishwasher, then shifted to the other end. The first batch passed through the splash guards and hit him like a sauna square in the face and chest. He remembered to put on thick, elbow-length rubber gloves before removing the cleaned, and extremely hot, dishes.
They’d had a good run earlier, followed by a great morning and breakfast together, before jumping into save-the-brunch mode. With the extra help from him and his mother, they’d made up some time, too. It’d been fun to be part of her team, and she handled things skillfully, like a trouper. She was a natural on her turf in their restaurant kitchen.
It was the personal level he couldn’t handle. Or trust, trust for the girl he’d once promised his heart to. Yet something seemed to have changed between them today. His anger had dialed back a notch. If he didn’t watch out, he might get stupid again.
And for that reason, he’d avoid her. It wasn’t because he was a coward, he was just being practical. Things had changed, and what they’d shared would never be the same. Once all the dishes had been washed and put away, while Shelby was distracted with her staff discussing Sunday night dinner, he took off.
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