Just Desserts (7 page)

“Yes. Actually, he was more like scared silly.” Sadie stepped out from the bathroom. “Where’s the rhubarb?”

Quinn was noticeably missing.

“If he’s hurt you, I’m putting him on my shit list.” Lindy grabbed her rhubarb and dumped it into the utility sink. “I’m taking over. You have had it today.”

Sadie heard the cowbell sound as a late lunch or early dinner customer came into the diner. She sighed but didn’t roll her eyes. “Where’s Quinn?”

Lindy turned off the faucet. “He’s tucking your dad in, nighty-night, as we speak. Then he’s coming back to finish the dinner shift with me. I’m making the strawberry rhubarbs.”

“You’ll need flour,” Sadie said wearily.

“Hop on your bicycle and wheel on home for a hot bath and a night of television. It’s Tuesday; maybe
How I Met Your Mother
is on.” Lindy lightly shoved Sadie’s suede-fringed messenger bag into her chest. She was so tired she wobbled.

“Thanks, hon,” Sadie said, relieved that the diner was in good hands. “I don’t know if my legs will pump. I might have to stop and take a dip in the lake before I get home.”

A phlegmy-like cough snatched their attention and they both looked out of the kitchen and into the diner.

“If you’re tired, Sadie, I can take you home,” Bryan said.

Chapter Seven

Sadie, plum tired, didn’t have any fight left in her. She gaped at the latest view of the new version of Bryan. He wore his Birkenstocks and khakis, but this time he sported a tee with a graphic of a cannabis plant on the breast pocket. She scanned the diner for his cosmic girlfriend, but no Bridget. “Why are you here?”

Bryan tugged at his beard. “I wanted to see you.”

Sadie raised her arms and pivoted around in a circle. “Now you see me.” She winked at him, grabbed her bike, and headed toward the back door. “Now you don’t.”

Sadie heard Lindy’s laughter as she made her way out of the diner and into the parking lot. She hopped on her bike and rode through the back alley. When she stopped to check for traffic on Main Street, Bryan stepped off the curb and blocked her path.

“Please. I need to apologize.” He grasped the handlebar. “Amsterdam. It changed me, Sadie.”

“Amsterdam? Or Bridget?” She struck his knuckles with her fist. “I have to go.”

He released the bike and flapped his hand. “I was under a lot of pressure. With my father. I’m not a broker-type. When I met Bridget, she made it. I don’t know. Better.”

“Not my problem.” Sadie tightened her helmet strap so hard that it pinched her gullet.

“Well. I am sorry. And you, you’re with him? The Wrigley dude?”

“No. Yes. None of your business.” Sadie shoved her foot in the pedal bracket and pushed off to get away from him. She rode into the street and sped up to get ahead of an oncoming car. It honked as she cruised past the pier. Once she cleared Main Street, she slowed down and glanced behind her shoulder. Bryan was gone.

Getting dumped twice in twenty-four hours. Must be a record.
She started riding again and pumped the pedals hard to get home and check on her dad.

She should have known better. Bryan and his family were crazy prominent in Chicago. His father held several seats on the Board of Trade. Bryan spoke of his dad’s accomplishments more often than his own. It irritated her. Weren’t parents supposed to be the ones to put their kids up on pedestals? Maybe she was spoiled by her ever-loving and supportive mom and dad. The wealthy must view family differently. Either way, Bryan was a mess. Lesson learned.

Pedaling up the last hill, and the steepest, every muscle in Sadie’s thighs burned. At the foot of the porch steps, she dropped the mountain bike and yanked off her helmet. Sitting on the top step, she massaged her legs until the sting faded.

Quinn’s Jeep was nowhere.

She listened to hear for her dad inside, figuring that he had come out of his Jameson stupor. Sadie karate chopped her legs to get the blood flowing and waited another minute before she went in to see her embarrassed and, she hoped, remorseful father.

“Pop?”

His cell and keys were on the dining room table; she dropped her fringed saddle bag next to them.

Sadie glanced in the living room and none of her mom’s quilts had been strewn over the couch. He hadn’t crashed on the sofa.

“In the kitchen.” He sounded like his mouth was stuffed with cotton.

Opening one of the swinging saloon doors, she peeked in, terrified to see him in his hungover condition. The kitchen table sparkled from the treacherous western sunlight beaming in the window and spotlighting the rock sugar from last night. The day-old glittery mess temporarily stunned her.

“Sadie, honey, I’m down here.” He jarred her back to the present.

She turned to see her dad lying on his back on the floor with a screwdriver in his mouth, a wrench in one hand, and a flashlight in the other as he gazed into the under belly of the old Jewel Tone oven in the corner of the kitchen. It was her mom’s idea to use it in the diner, but when the cast iron stove couldn’t heat up, it turned out to be a beautiful pink antique storage bin.

“Quinn.” He stretched out on the floor in front of the oven. “He took a look at it with me when he brought me home. There’s a good chance we can bring this baby back to life.”

“Back to life?” Sadie parroted. “Looks like it’s not the only one that’s getting back in working condition. What happened to you? I expected you to still be sleeping and dreaming of whiskey snorts!”

So what if she sounded snarky? But blasted, she was spent. He had no right to be so perky or cheerful after what he put her through today. Sadie wanted him to be miserable, like her. Damn. He’d showered, shaved, and looked fresh and clean. She even caught a whiff of his Old Spice as he sat next to her at the table. If an alien crashed down in the kitchen at that moment, it would never know that this man was the same one who had reeked of sour barley and drooled onto the table that morning.

“I’m better than I’ve been in the past six months.” He held her hand. “I needed last night. I’m sorry for the hell I put you through today. But, with my mate Mr. Jameson, I made some vital decisions.”

Brushing the specks of sugar off the table, she said plainly, “You’re selling the diner to Quinn.”

“Look at me.” He tilted her chin up to face him. “We’re drowning. You and me, lovey. When your mother died she left us with her beloved diner, and she would never have given it to us if she knew we’d be turning it into the Titanic. She’s watching over us now, rolling her eyes.”

“Now I know where I got that annoying habit from.”

He smiled. “She’s gone, and we can’t change that by burying ourselves in her memory and suffocating in the diner.”

“No. It’s not. I can take care of it and you without a hitch.” She struggled to keep her voice from cracking, and willed the stupid tears back behind her eyeballs.

“I won’t have you looking after me. It’s not right. I’m the parent, and yes, not the brightest pop around, but smart enough to recognize his own stupidity. Lovey, after this week you’ll be back in Chicago. I will survive at the diner without you. Your job is to finish your thesis. You need to be working and doing what you love. Preserving historical buildings. After that, we’ll talk again.” He hugged her. “You’re fired from Ms. Katie’s Diner.”

“What?”

“Let me show you the plans.” He pulled her to her feet.

She stumbled behind him and into the dining room.

Strewn about the dusty teak table were notes and design scribbles that she hadn’t noticed earlier. She stared blankly at them as her dad babbled on about the generous offer he’d accepted from Quinn and his sleek designs to expand the diner. “He’s going to double the size of it, by knocking it into the defunct pet store next door. And Quinn assured me that the menu will remain focused on good, healthy, and organic just as your mother wished.”

Her pop’s voice faded in and out and Sadie started feeling nauseous. She’d been so hell bent on taking care of him and the diner she’d scarcely thought of her mother. It was like she’d been paroled from one sentence only to be jailed again for a lesser crime. Her legs started aching again. “Pop, I’m shattered. Is it okay if I look at these designs tomorrow? I’m desperate for a hot bath.”

“Sure. I’m going over to the diner but not to work. I’m leaving that to Lindy and Quinn. They’re two capable gems. I’m going to fix that album I tore off the wall. U2’s
Rattle and Hum
needs to get back to its rightful spot next to
Joshua Tree
.”

“Capable. Right.” Sadie trudged upstairs to soak in a hot tub until her skin pruned.

Chapter Eight

Sadie lassoed the rope on the post and pulled close to the pier, careful to keep the aluminum boat from scraping the concrete slip. She hadn’t talked to Quinn since his stint as cook yesterday, and hoped Eddie, not him, would be on the dock so she could pass along the coolers and skedaddle.

She had almost spewed, “Go to Hell” to her own father when he asked her to deliver the two coolers filled with veggie burgers, brats, and beer to the Wrigley mansion work crew for their barbeque celebration.
I should have quit before he had a chance to fire me.

She prayed that rowing the boat, instead of using the one-engine outboard motor, to cross the lake would spare her the humiliation of coming face-to-face with the stud who had bonked her than ran off like she’d stewed his pet bunny.

Not to mention—she cringed thinking about it—Dad’s new best buddy seemed to be Quinn. So if she was successful in avoiding him, she still needed to plan her next disappearing act when he came to the house to fix the old oven. Great.

Strands of Christmas tree lights twinkled on the Wrigleys’ ostentatious boathouse. The last and only boathouse left on Lake Geneva, grandfathered in before the DNR decided to care about the lake’s eroding shoreline. So the remaining descendants of big daddy Wrigley plowed millions of dollars into renovating the ten-slip Tudor style boathouse that protected a small fleet of gorgeous Chris-Craft wooden boats.

At Lake Geneva’s annual Fourth of July Boat Show and Regatta, the collection of shiny mahogany beauties paraded around the lake and received more
ooohs
and
aaahhs
than the fireworks.

The dock looked deserted, which didn’t surprise her. The barbeque wouldn’t be starting for another couple hours. Sadie turned her phone to vibrate, or
oscillate
and slid it into the pocket of her cargo shorts.

She heard some yelling and pounding—construction type sounds from on top of the hill beyond the boathouse where the mammoth Wrigley mansion towered. Her entire life she’d heard rumors about the grand house and its illustrious contents, but never seen any of it. As a kid she dreamed Wrigley would follow Wonka’s lead and hide golden tickets in packs of Juicy Fruit to offer tours of his castle to his poor gum-chewing neighbors. She laughed, remembering she hadn’t chewed Juicy Fruit since, or Big Red.

Sadie tightened two slipknots on the posts to secure the rowboat along the side of the pier, then levered the first cooler on the edge of the pier pushing it safely on it, without losing her balance. Water splattered her knees from between the rowboat and dock. Sadie congratulated herself when she shoved the second cooler on the pier without a splash.

The ladder to climb onto the dock was mounted a good distance away so instead of finagling the boat, she gripped the side of the concrete pier and pulled herself up. When she stealthily stepped onto Wrigley’s pier, more like a state-of-the-art boat containment unit, she lost her footing. The toe of her Keen slipped off the edge and the length of her shin scraped down the jagged concrete edge.

“Shit.” Dropping down on the pier, she hauled her butt and injured leg up to inspect the damage. The skin that once smoothed over her shinbone crinkled up at the top of a long bloodied skid mark. As ugly as it looked, it hurt even more.

“Fuck,” she yelped under her breath.

Using the post to brace herself, she stood up. All she had to do was pull the wheeled Coleman coolers to the man-door of the boathouse and shove them inside. Quinn and his crew would find them easily.

Blood spotted her shin, but then trickled down her leg as she hopped and hobbled down the pier with the first cooler. She parked it and then sat on the top to catch her breath. The skin below her knee had turned a pretty shade of crimson.

Ignoring the sting and burn, she wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her forearm, and got up to fetch the second cooler. Bloodied or not, she needed to finish and get the hell out of here before it got totally dark and kamikaze mosquitoes raided her on the return trip across the lake. Or she saw Quinn.

After hauling the second cooler, she swayed, almost losing her balance. She clutched onto the cooler’s handle and opened it to check and see if her dad had packed any beer. No good. All packages of semi-frozen meat wrapped in butcher paper. She thought about her bottle of water in the rowboat but didn’t want to waste the energy. She sat on the cooler.
Just five minutes
.

***

“A damned wasted day!” Quinn said to Eddie.

They were shielding their eyes with hand visors and trying like hell to see over the hot house and get a better look at the hole in Wrigley’s roof.

“The panel was supposed to be in position, yesterday.” Quinn rubbed his eyes to make the dancing dots from the blaze of the setting sun disappear. “Idiots. They actually told you that it would be delivered separately? One solar panel, today? They fucked up the order. I may be looking at that hole for months before it’s delivered.”

“Sorry, boss,” Eddie said. “The dudes worked until late last night. I didn’t notice the missing piece until this morning.”

Quinn corralled his frustration over the botched job. He couldn’t blame Eddie. Had he been attending to his day job yesterday instead of moonlighting as a fry-cook he might have caught the error. But he had no regrets about saving Sadie’s day at the diner.