Chapter Fourteen
Greta woke in Hank’s bed, which was neat but couldn’t last, given that both of them had work to do. She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and tried to figure out how to get to her room without waking him.
“What’s up?” he mumbled.
“Me. I’ve got breakfast to fix.” She slipped out of bed, searching for her bra in the pile of clothes on the floor.
He reached for her, running one hand up and down her hip. “Ten minutes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He nodded, his lips moving into a lazy grin. “If we both concentrate.”
“You’re on.” She dropped her clothes and slipped back between the sheets.
In reality, when they finally got out of bed, Hank had to hurry as much as she did. At least he had enough time for sour cream pancakes with strawberries. “Got to get there before Marty does. God only knows what he might do on his own. See you tonight.” He grinned. “Unless you want to do lunch.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She was still humming “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight” when Alice came in. Alice cocked an eyebrow in Greta’s direction. “Having a good morning?”
“So far.” Greta turned back to the stove. “Pancakes?”
“Sure. I’m always glad to take advantage of somebody else’s good luck.” Alice took a seat at the table. “What do you have to sell in the store? I’m assuming pancakes won’t move all that well.”
Greta shrugged. “They might, but no, there are cookies from yesterday, and I’ll make muffins once everybody’s had breakfast.”
Alice nodded slowly. “Should work. It’s all selling well, you know. We could probably double the number of muffins and still move them all. Hell, we’ve got people coming in from two towns over.”
“Do you actually want me to double the number?”
“Sure. Why not take advantage while we can?” She narrowed her eyes. “Of course, doing this probably violates every board of health regulation on the books.”
“Probably.” Greta shrugged. “If you wanted to go on doing this with somebody else, you’d need to get the county to inspect the kitchen and make sure it’s up to standard. But just on a guess, I’d say you could get a license without too much trouble. This kitchen looks like it used to be set up for commercial work.”
“What about serving meals?”
Greta turned, flipping a stack of pancakes onto a plate. “Serving meals is trickier. You’d need a restaurant license and the rules are a lot more stringent. Still, as I say, it looks like this was once a professional kitchen or close to it. You’ve got the restaurant stove and the walk-in pantry and the prep sink. And the dining room looks like it was once the hotel dining room. You’d need a better refrigerator and a dishwasher and probably some renovation to what you’ve got here.”
Alice gave her a sour smile. “Putting out money to make money. Always a risky proposition.”
Greta shrugged. “You could talk to a restaurant consultant. They could at least tell you whether you stood to make any money selling meals or not.”
Alice sawed off another bite of pancake. “Maybe we could do meals for the guests and anybody in the neighborhood who might happen to just drop in, accidentally so to speak.”
Greta considered pointing out that Alice currently had only two guests, one of whom was her cook. But she decided to let it go. She had a feeling the conversation might veer into one of those “what are you going to do after this week” discussions that she was so determined not to have just yet.
Hyacinth walked in, rubbing sleep from her eyes just as Alice was finishing. “Good morning.”
Greta smiled in her direction, hoping she could get the child to be friendly again. “Good morning, Hyacinth. How are you today?”
Hyacinth glanced up, blinking. “I’m all right,” she mumbled.
“We have sour cream pancakes and strawberries. How many would you like?” Greta kept her smile in place, willing Hyacinth not to look away.
She shrugged. “Two, I guess. How big are they?”
“I can make them as big as you want,” Greta grabbed her ladle. “Come and tell me what you’d like.”
Hyacinth hesitated for a moment, regarding her suspiciously. Then she stepped up next to her at the stove.
Greta dipped the ladle in the batter, then dropped a small amount onto the griddle. “Bigger?”
Hyacinth nodded.
Greta added a bit more. “Now?”
Hyacinth’s brow furrowed as she studied the pancake. “A little more.”
“Right.” Greta poured the rest of the ladle onto the griddle, smoothing the pancake with the ladle’s back. “Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hyacinth smiled up at her.
Amazingly enough, Greta’s heart seemed to do a little flip. She began humming again.
“Good morning,” Nadia trilled, gliding into the room as she adjusted a turquoise pashmina around her shoulders. The woman must have bought out the entire stock at some random pashmina place.
“Time for work,” Alice said flatly, pushing herself to her feet. “Cookies ready to go?”
“In the pantry on a sheet pan. All wrapped and ready.” Greta added more batter to the skillet for Hyacinth’s second pancake.
Hyacinth took her seat at the table as Nadia poured a cup of coffee. “Aunt Nadia, did you hear the owls in the garden last night?”
Nadia shook her head absent-mindedly. “I was probably asleep, dear. What did they sound like?”
“Sort of like somebody groaning,” Hyacinth explained helpfully.
Greta gritted her teeth, flipping the pancakes. There could have been owls out there last night. It was always possible.
“Do tell.” Nadia was smiling in her direction.
Greta spooned a good-size helping of strawberries onto Hyacinth’s pancakes, then turned toward Nadia, her expression deliberately bland. “Pancakes?”
“Yes, please. Two. Tell me more about the owls, Hyacinth.”
“There must have been more than one because one sounded high and the other sounded low. Unless one owl could be both high and low, I guess.” She shoveled a bite of pancake into her mouth.
Greta’s ears felt as if they were flaming. She poured out two more pancakes for Nadia.
“Did you get a look at them?” Nadia hid her smile behind her coffee cup.
Hyacinth shook her head. “It was too dark. I’ll watch for them tonight.”
“Do that.” Nadia smiled again, taking the plate of pancakes from Greta.
Greta devoted herself to mixing up the muffins once Nadia and Hyacinth were seated with their pancakes. She figured she could avoid looking at Nadia if she concentrated on getting the proportions of wet and dry ingredients perfectly aligned.
Hyacinth finished eating and put her plate in the sink. “Thank you for the pancakes.” She gave Greta a polite smile. “They were delicious.”
“You’re more than welcome. Come back later and I’ll have muffins.”
“Okay.” She smiled again, heading for the back door, and Greta felt her shoulders relax. At least Hyacinth seemed to have forgiven her for wanting to free Carolina.
Nadia leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee. “I do hope Hyacinth doesn’t see the owls tonight,” she said finally. “Or whatever they were.”
“I can pretty much guarantee she won’t.” Greta sighed.
“Good. Did you have a nice dinner last night?”
“Sure.” She gave the muffin batter a quick stir. “Good food, anyway.”
“Surely the company was pleasant, too.”
Greta turned to face her, leaving the batter on the counter. “Hank is great. Between him and this place, I’ve had a really wonderful week. But the thing is, I have to go home and face the music.”
Nadia shrugged. “Of course you do. That was never in doubt, at least so far as I was concerned.”
“And then I have to figure out what comes next. Without having you or Hank or Hyacinth to hide behind.” Decision-free zone. Yeah, right.
“Well, I wouldn’t call what you’ve been doing here hiding exactly. And you can always come back here if you want to. It’s not like Promise Harbor exists in another dimension.” Nadia took a last bite of pancakes. “These are superb, by the way. Whatever you do next, it should certainly involve preparing food.”
“I’m sure it will. I don’t want to do anything else.” She sighed, pouring the last of the batter into her muffin cups. “Now all I have to do is find somebody who wants a cook.”
“Well, we do, of course. But I imagine you’re looking for something a little more challenging. Or something that at least pays real money. And what kind of muffins are you fixing today? Blueberry?” She raised a hopeful eyebrow, watching Greta slide the muffin tins into the oven.
Greta shook her head. “I’m trying peach. They’re too wet sometimes, but I think I found a way to make them work.”
“My dear, even if they’re sopping they’ll be consumed with gusto. The demand for fresh baked goods in Tompkins Corners has skyrocketed.” Nadia frowned. “I don’t know what we’ll do when we can’t supply them anymore, since there’s no way in heaven or hell that either Alice or I could bake anything like this.”
Greta leaned back against the counter again, narrowing her eyes. “I wonder how many other little towns around here have stores that might be interested in selling fresh muffins and cookies, with maybe the occasional cupcake thrown in?”
Nadia put down the fork she’d been using to scrape the last of the strawberries off her plate, blinking up at Greta. “That’s a very interesting question. I’m sure the answer would be even more interesting.”
“Of course, you’d have to have a kitchen that could be okayed by the county board of health. And it would have to have enough capacity to produce several dozen baked goods every day.”
“Rather like this one, I suppose.” Nadia glanced around the kitchen, smiling. “This used to be a real hotel, you know. With a kitchen that produced meals. It was almost derelict when Alice found it. She’s done a great deal of work herself. I’m sure she’d be interested in doing more, given the right incentive.” Nadia’s smile turned dry. “In this case, of course, the right incentive would be money.”
“It’s…a thought.” Greta paused. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to fight down the rush of excitement. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t rush into anything. Stop and think for once.
She might be able to find a job around the harbor somewhere. Frying clams at Barney’s, for example. Or she could stay in Boston and go on working at the bakery. Of course, most of the people she knew in the city were either Ryan’s friends or Ryan’s business contacts, so her social life might be nonexistent.
Or she could open a contract bakery business in the kitchen of the Hotel Grand in Tompkins Corners. Working with people she’d known for less than a week. In a town she hadn’t even realized existed before. Another leap, Greta. Her chest contracted almost painfully.
“Take some time,” Nadia said quietly. “Think about it. But I’d say the possibilities are there.”
“Possibly.” She turned back toward the stove again, setting the timer. “Quite possibly.”
Thirty minutes later, she was still thinking about the possibilities—and trying to fight off her rising panic—when she carried the first tray of muffins into the general store. The usual crowd of coffee drinkers was gathered around the front counter, although she noted that Alice or someone else had set up a makeshift café area at the side with some rickety tables and chairs. The crowd surged forward when she appeared, earning pointed comments from Alice about their parentage and their general lack of good sense. Greta spent a frenzied ten minutes or so passing out muffins while Alice collected money.
After they’d sold most of the tray to the first wave, Alice turned toward her. “Somebody was asking for you. Or anyway, I guess it was you. Somebody asking for Greta, anyway.”
Greta’s heart fell. Oh well, it was probably inevitable that somebody from the harbor would find her eventually. And at this point, it really didn’t matter. She’d be going back there in a couple of days. Of course she would. “Man or woman?”
“Man. He’s around here somewhere.” Alice peered through the throng of people drinking coffee and eating muffins at the front of the store. “Move it, Hiram, I can’t see to the back of the store with you there.”
Hiram moved to the side, grumbling about the shortage of seating, and Alice peered toward the end of the room. “There,” she said. “Over by the motor oil.”
She pointed toward a dark-haired man standing next to the auto supplies rack. In the dim light of the store, he looked vaguely familiar. A sliver of ice slid down Greta’s spine. More than vaguely familiar. Much more.
“Ryan,” she whispered.
His head rose suddenly, almost as if he’d heard her. Their gazes locked as he moved toward the counter.
Alice glanced at her as Ryan walked in their direction. “Do I need my baseball bat?”
“Only if you want to hit a few pop flies,” Greta muttered.
Ryan stopped in front of the counter, staring down at her, his smooth forehead slightly crinkled in concern. “Greta?”
He really was a very handsome man, with those cobalt eyes and that dark, curly hair. He’d managed to stay fit too, even though he’d spent most of his time at a desk in his father’s firm. Quite a catch. No wonder she’d fallen for him. Of course, right now he didn’t even raise a slight spray of gooseflesh.
She rested her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here, Ryan?”
He blinked. At least she’d managed to surprise him. “I’ve been looking for you. Your mother was worried.”
“I left her a couple of messages. I don’t think she’s particularly worried anymore.” She folded her arms across her chest. Defensive move, Greta. “Was that all you needed to know?” She managed to keep her voice neutral. With any luck she sounded polite and perhaps slightly bored.
His forehead creased a bit more. “Well, I just wanted to know that you were all right. I mean, you sort of disappeared.”
“I’m all right. I just needed some time off.” She could sense Alice leaning forward beside her. Maybe she was reaching for the baseball bat. Maybe Greta would help her if she found it. “How did you find me anyway?”
He looked slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I saw you last night,” he began.
Greta’s jaw clenched. When exactly had he seen her? And what had she been doing at the time?
“That is, I think I saw you,” he went on. “At that place in Promise Harbor, the restaurant.”
“Barney’s Chowder House?” The tension in her shoulders eased, but now her curiosity took hold. “What were you doing there?”
“Having dinner. And then I saw you. With…who was that?” He narrowed his eyes slightly.
Curiosity was promptly replaced by irritation. “That was a friend.”
“Oh.” He paused, waiting for her to go on.
She let him wait.
After a moment, he blew out a breath. “I asked around at the diner and one of the guys at the counter said this place had a new cook. I figured it was worth a look.”
“Right. Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. And cooking. You can go back to Boston now.”
He drove his fingers through his hair, leaving the curls tangled across his forehead. Greta narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Ryan with messy hair in public before.
“Look,” he said, “we need to talk. We should have talked before this, but, well, things sort of got in the way. So could we talk now?”
“I don’t—” she began.
“Use the lobby,” Alice cut in. “Nobody’s around. Except maybe Nadia. And you can ignore her.” She gave Greta a quick grin.
“Thanks.” Greta managed not to snarl.
“Get it over with,” she said softly. “Then you can do whatever you need to do.”
Greta sighed. Things were at a pretty pass when Alice was providing Significant Life Lessons.
She led the way back into the lobby, trying not to grind her teeth. This was so not a conversation she needed or wanted to have. Once they reached the leather couch and chair in front of the window, Ryan sank onto the couch, his lips twisting slightly in distaste at the small puff of dust that went up from the seat cushion.
Greta restrained herself from hoping he got dust stains on his khakis. The thought was unworthy of her.
She took the chair opposite him. “Okay, we’re here. What exactly do you want to say?”
He stared down at his hands for a moment, then shrugged. “I never really had a chance to tell you how sorry I am. About how all that turned out.”
She gritted her teeth. “By all that I assume you’re referring to our marriage.”
He nodded. “What I did… It was… Crap, Greta.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “I screwed up, okay? And I’m sorry. That thing with Dorothy and the restaurant? I didn’t know anything about that. I wouldn’t have let her do it if I had.”
“Yeah, I sort of figured as much.” She shrugged. “It’s over now. It hurt, but it’s over. I don’t hold a grudge.” Not much, anyway.
“Well, that’s good.” He sighed, going for the hair again. At this rate he’d look like a punk rocker in another five minutes.
Greta managed to give him a tight smile. “So, as I said, you can go back to Boston now.”
He gazed at her, forehead furrowing again. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“What do you mean?” Her hands automatically contracted into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
“I mean, I’m not sure you’re as okay as you say you are. I’m worried about you, Greta.” He gave her one of those soulful looks she’d thought were so appealing when they’d first met. Now she found it vaguely annoying. All big blue eyes and pouting lips. Grow up, bond trader boy.
She leaned back in her chair. “Why would you worry about me? It’s not like I’m your responsibility.”
He looked down at his hands. “You moved out of your apartment.”
She shrugged. “So? I didn’t have any particular ties to Boston once the divorce was final. I came back to Promise Harbor for the wedding.”
“Your landlady didn’t know where you’d gone.” He gave her a long look. “She said you put your things in storage.”
“You talked to Mrs. Falconetti?” Greta managed not to snarl. “Look, Ryan, I don’t appreciate you checking up on me.”
He gave her a long look. “You left Boston. You ran away from Promise Harbor. You packed up everything you owned and put it in a storage locker. What was I supposed to think?”
Her jaw firmed. I will not snarl. I will not point out who cheated on whom. “My life really isn’t any of your business, Ryan. We’re divorced. That means the whole thing about keeping track of each other till death do us part is no longer in force.” Not, of course, that he’d paid much attention to it when it had been.
He grimaced. “I deserve that, I guess. I screwed up. All I’m asking for here is a chance to make it right. And to know that you’re really okay.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten silently. “Ryan, look, there is no ‘making it right’ here. It’s over between us. We’re divorced. I’m not coming back to Boston. I’m going to go off and be a cook somewhere. It’s what I want to do.” Greta frowned. When had she decided all of that? Apparently, within the last three minutes. Which didn’t make it any less accurate. “And I just told you I’m okay. Really, really okay.”
“Well, that’s good.” He frowned slightly. “I’m glad you’ve made some decisions about your life. Although you realize you could find a lot more opportunities in Boston if you really want to do this cooking thing.”
This cooking thing. Greta’s jaw hardened. “Why should it matter to you whether I’ve made decisions about my life or not?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Go home. I can’t make it any clearer than that.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Then he shook his head. “No. I can’t do that yet.”
“What?” She blew out a breath, holding on to her patience with her fingernails. “Why?”
“Because I’m still worried about you.”
She closed her eyes again. “Ryan, what do you need exactly? A letter from a shrink saying I’m not certifiable?”
The door to the general store swished open and Alice leaned into the room. “Everybody still alive? Just checking.”
Ryan pushed himself to his feet. “Do you own this place?”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “I do. Any problem with that?”
He shook his head. “No. I want a room for the night. Is anything available?”
“A room?” She glanced at Greta, who was now also shaking her head vigorously. “Possibly. Let me check the register.”
Ryan followed her across the room to the check-in desk. Greta got up, folding her arms across her chest again. “Alice…” she began, trying to make her voice sound ominous.
“Ah.” Alice smiled up at him. “We have a vacancy. Hundred dollars a night. In advance.”
To his credit, Ryan managed not to choke. Nor did he take a second look around the Hotel Grand lobby. He pulled out his wallet, plunking his gold card on the desk.
Alice shook her head. “Cash only.”
This time he did narrow his eyes, but after a moment, he pulled a bill out of his wallet. “Here. One night.”
“Right. Sign the register, and I’ll give you the key.” She pulled open the desk drawer, rummaging through until she found a key she plopped onto the desk blotter while he signed.
Ryan picked up the key. “Where’s the room?”
“Up the stairs, end of the hall.”
He turned toward Greta, his chin raising to a heroic angle. “Give me some time,” he said. “Give me a chance.”
She watched him climb the stairs out of sight, her jaw tensing. A chance for what exactly? “Thanks so much, Alice.”
Alice shrugged. “Couldn’t turn him away, could I? Not when he’s willing to pay four times as much as Hank. Was he always that much of an a*shole?” She raised one gray eyebrow.
Greta sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Actually, yeah. I very much fear that he was.”