Love in a Nutshell (3 page)

Easy for him to say.

*   *   *

“KNOCK, KNOCK,”
a guy said from behind Kate.

Matt looked over and gestured him in.

“This is Jerry,” he told Kate. “But then, you’ve already met.”

“In passing.” She gave Jerry an apologetic smile.

Jerry looked tired and overworked, though he was a good-looking guy. He was probably somewhere in his midthirties, and of medium height, with dark brown hair and a goatee. But at the moment, even that goatee was slumping, and his brown eyes looked worried.

“She practically knocked me to the ground,” Jerry said. “It was sort of embarrassing.”

For both of them. Kate didn’t believe in flattening guys, except when strictly necessary. And even though Jerry-as-a-victim had been unavoidable in her quest to get to the big boss, she could still feel the Appleton Curse of a neon blush rising. When she’d been little and playing Go Fish with her mom on The Nutshell’s back porch, the blush had been the tip-off to a fast move on her part. And now it only grew brighter under Matt’s steady gaze.

He smiled at her. “Kate, why don’t you wait for Jerry out in the taproom? He and I have a couple of things to cover.”

Kate recognized a gift when handed one. She said her thank-yous, saved her fence-mending with Jerry for later, and beat a hasty retreat.

*   *   *

SO KATE
Appleton blushed. Matt liked that about her. There was something fascinating about being bold enough to run over a guy and yet a day later, be contrite enough to blush.

“She’s presentable and all that, but kind of pushy, don’t you think?” Jerry asked Matt as soon as Kate had cleared the room.

“I think she’s going to do great. And you’re twice her size and her supervisor. If she can pull one over on you again, you deserve it.”

Jerry looked a little brighter at that thought. Considering the matchup, Matt wasn’t one hundred percent sure he should look so happy.

“So Amber says you want Kate with Hobart this weekend.”

“Yeah. Amber could use a break, but after that, you can move Kate around as needed.”

Jerry stroked his goatee. “Huh. Anyplace.”

Matt began recalculating the odds on that particular matchup. Kate might have Jerry in the gutsiness department, but Jerry was nothing if not a dogged and steady guy. And he could also be a little sneaky, in a good-natured sort of way.

“So go to it,” Matt said.

After Jerry took off, Matt looked at his weekend schedule and sighed. He had just enough time to head home, shower, and change before he had to drive an hour north to Traverse City for the weekend. He was getting tired of being on the road all the time, even if it did mean his business was growing in a tough economy. Much as he was proud to keep so many people employed year-round, he wanted his life back. He wanted some romance in his life, and maybe even love. He had a good feeling about Kate. She was going to help him find his saboteur, and maybe a lot more.

TWO

By the time Friday’s lunch rush hit full swing, Kate knew too well what Hobart was. Instead of being paired with an unfortunately named coworker, she stood in front of Depot Brewing’s noisy, sloppy, and steamy commercial dishwashing machine. Hobart had been named for its maker. It had a four-foot-long stainless-steel prep counter running at a right angle to its boxy entry and a staging area for clean racks of dishes at the exit. The machine was bulkier than her Jeep. More demanding, too.

“Hot!” called one of the line cooks as he dropped a dirty skillet onto the end of the prep area.

“Thanks,” she replied from her side of the counter, but he had already hustled back to his station.

Every inch of the white tile–walled kitchen had been designed for food production, and the staff worked it to the max. Elbow-to-elbow, the three line cooks held their territories in front of the stove, grill, and fryer. Servers darted in to pick up orders, the barback hauled glassware, and pretty much everyone brought Kate more work. Her job was to clear the food debris and paper trash from the gray plastic bus tubs delivered to her. Then she had to rack all the dirty ware, send it into Hobart, and circulate the clean stuff back out for use.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” a male voice asked.

She glanced up from her duties to see Steve, one of the servers, watching her. Tall and slender, with a dark tan and blond highlights in his hair, he looked like a surfer dude.

“Nope,” she said.

“Definite bummer, but you’re gonna have to speed up. We’re almost eighty-six on forks.”

“Eighty-six?”

“Out of.”

“Gotcha,” Kate said, moving a silverware rack into the cleaning line.

Jerry, who was currently MIA, had demonstrated the job to her well enough. In fact, it had seemed easy before crunch time came. But Jerry must have left something out of his instructions, because this just wasn’t working out the way it should. In the battle of woman versus machine, the machine was kicking her butt.

“Do you have any tips on how I can go faster?” she asked Steve.

Steve’s mouth widened into a goofy smile. “Nothing much I can say right now.”

Something was up. Something no one had shared with her. Not that she could do much about it, other than feed more dishes through Hobart. Without thinking, she used her arm to wipe sweat from her forehead, forgetting that hot sauce and ketchup were smeared on that particular arm.

“Careful, there. You don’t want it to end up in your eyes,” Laila, the most senior of Depot Brewing’s servers, said as she made room for another tub of dishes. The silver-haired woman pulled a clean napkin from her server’s apron, and handed it to Kate.

Kate wiped her forehead. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been in this business a lot of years,” Laila said. “Worked most everyplace in town, too.”

Kate nodded. She’d seen Laila’s plump and smiling face in an old staff photo behind the bar at Bagger’s, right next to Harley Bagger’s vintage lighter collection.

Laila adjusted her apron and patted Kate on the shoulder. “Over the years, I’ve collected some nuggets of wisdom, and I’d like to share three with you.”

Kate brightened, despite the fact she probably still looked like an accident victim. “Really? What?”

“First, don’t go anywhere with empty hands. There’s always something that needs tending.”

“Okay.”

“Second, comfortable shoes are a must.”

Kate looked down at her food-speckled, white leather sneakers. “Got that covered. What’s the third?”

Laila grinned. “How about we let you stew on that until you get caught up?”

Yup, Kate smelled something, and it wasn’t just the hot sauce she’d been wearing. The scent was that of a rookie dishwasher being roasted. But she could appreciate a little gamesmanship as much as the next girl. And when inspired, she could engage in some, too.

*   *   *

THE CLOCK
on the wall opposite Kate inched its way to three
P.M.
, one hour before her quitting time. The kitchen’s rhythm had slowed from its earlier frantic beat to a busy yet congenial hum. The line cooks cracked jokes and laughed with one another. The servers took brief breaks, chugging soft drinks and counting their tip money. And Kate finally caught up.

“Awesome job! I can see the counter,” Steve said as he approached with a heavy load of dirty dishes.

“But not for long,” Kate replied. “Where was this stuff hiding?”

“Hiding?” He set down the bus tub. “Dude, it wasn’t hiding.”

Just like Steve wasn’t hiding another goofy grin. Now, at least, she knew what was up.

“No biggie,” she said. “I’m game. Bring it on.”

And he did. Two more tubs soon joined the first.

“Is that the end of it?” she asked.

“Dunno. There might be more,” Steve said before ambling off.

“How’s it going?” Laila asked when she arrived with yet another stack of dishes a couple of minutes later.

Kate gestured at the mess. “Could be better. I’m not sure I get the rhythm of this place.”

“And that, my new friend, is where the third nugget of wisdom comes in.”

“Which is?”

The older woman smiled as she added her contribution to the mess. “Ask Steve once you’ve caught up.”

Another dishwasher might have whimpered, but not Kate. She was made of sterner stuff. Craftier stuff, too. After feeding another couple racks into Hobart, she took a quick glance around the kitchen. The servers and the cooks were all out front, too wrapped up in their current conversations to be paying attention to her. She quickly stowed the three remaining unwashed tubs on the floor, in the open area beneath Hobart’s exit ramp.

She’d barely had time to hide her grin, too, when Steve arrived with another load. He did a double take at the clean counter.

“Wow! Did you really get through all those dishes, Tink?”

“Tink?”

“Short for Tinkerbell. You made that stuff disappear like magic.”

Tink wasn’t the sort of nickname she wanted to encourage, but she’d have to deal with that later.

“Just doing my job,” she said, knowing that his view of the dirty tubs was blocked. “And Laila said you’d share her third restaurant hint with me as soon as I was caught up. So how about it?”

“No can do,” he said with a nod to the dishes he’d just delivered.

She’d been expecting this.

Kate gave Steve her best smile. “You know, that’s one awesome-looking orange-and-white VW van with all the old surf shop stickers out in the employee parking area. It’s yours, right?”

“Down to her tires,” he answered with obvious pride.

“I thought so!”

“Betty’s the real deal. I found her in a junkyard when I was seventeen, and…” His brows drew together. “Hey, why are we talking about her right now?”

“Steve, order up!” one of the line cooks called.

“In a second,” he answered without looking away from Kate.

“Now, before it’s cold!” the cook bellowed.

“Betty looks like you keep her nice and neat,” Kate said.

“I do.”

“Then you’d probably be real sad if all these dirty dishes ended up in her, wouldn’t you?”

His tan seemed to fade. “No way. You wouldn’t.”

If her mascara hadn’t already been sweated off, she would have batted her eyelashes. “I might.”

“Yo, Steve!” the cook shouted. “Now!”

Steve briefly looked his way. “Yeah, just hang on, would you?”

“Sounds like you’re pretty busy,” Kate said. “I, on the other hand, have plenty of time to go out to the parking lot and bring Betty a little gift. Or you can tell me Laila’s third nugget of wisdom.”

The cook had started hissing something unintelligible in the secret language of angry fry cooks.

Steve winced at the sound.

“So what’s it going to be?” Kate asked.

Steve hesitated for just a second, appraising Kate with a friendly stare. “You’re tougher than you look, Tink.”

It was nice to hear. For so many years, Richard had told her that she wasn’t tough. Her moving to Keene’s Harbor and her nutty plan to turn a broken-down family vacation spot into a B&B was all about showing that she could survive—and more than that, succeed—without anyone’s help. She had something to prove to herself and the world before she was ever going to let a man back into her life.

“Thanks, Steve,” Kate said.

Over at the grill, the cook seemed to be speaking in tongues.

“You might want to hurry this along,” Kate said.

Just then Jerry strolled into the kitchen from the taproom area. Unlike Kate, he looked well rested and free of food stains. “Sounds like you have an order up, Steve,” he said.

Steve bolted for his food, glancing back over his shoulder at Kate and Jerry. “Understatement.”

Jerry toured the dishwashing area, then gave Kate a crooked grin. “Looks like you have a couple of stragglers. Are they there for a reason?”

“Persuasion for Steve.”

He laughed. “So I’ve heard. I’ve been getting Hobart updates out in the taproom. Those dishes you’ve hidden have been doing double-duty today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yesterday, you rushed by me. Today, I kept you rushing.” He hitched a thumb at the bus tub still on the prep counter. “Servers are supposed to clear the trash before dumping everything else in the tub. I figured for today, that job should be shifted to you.” He paused, smiling. “See, Laila’s final nugget of wisdom is do unto Jerry as you would have done unto you.”

Kate laughed. “Golden, all the way.”

Now she got the rhythm of Depot Brewing, and she had a feeling she was going to fit right in, too.

*   *   *

EARLY SATURDAY
afternoon, Matt stood in the parking lot of his latest purchase, a decrepit Traverse City motel called the Tropicana Motor Inn. Next to him stood Ginger Monroe, his local office manager.

“A flamingo mural? Are you sure about this place?” Ginger asked, flipping her aviator sunglasses from the top of her bright red head down to her elegant nose as she surveyed the motel’s front wall.

“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have bought it.”

“I can’t believe I never noticed the painting before. Those birds are wrong in every possible way.”

Matt didn’t respond. So far as he was concerned, a glam-looking twenty-five-year-old who had a burning love for 1950s fashion and B movies shouldn’t freak out over flamingos. Those quirky birds and she were kindred spirits.

“Their beady eyes are following me,” she said.

“Then look away.”

“I can’t. Trying to avoid looking at this place is like turning away from a train wreck. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

He grinned. “That’s half the fun of working for me, isn’t it? And I’m working on building a sister restaurant on the lake in Keene’s Harbor. If you think this motel’s going to be work, you should see that place.”

Ginger laughed. “All the same, how about if I just wait for you at the truck? And much as you might want to stand here all morning admiring your buddies, remember you have a meeting back at the office in ten minutes.”