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Harper's Wish
Cerella Sechrist
A recipe for disaster…or redemption?A few weeks ago, Harper Worth wouldn't even have eaten at the Rusty Anchor, let alone worked there. But now she's in no position to be choosy. Fired from her lofty post as Washington, DC's, toughest restaurant critic, she's…desperate. Desperate to build a new life for herself in Findlay Roads. And desperate to prove to brooding Connor Callahan, owner, chef and overwhelmed single dad, that she can be a real asset to the Rusty Anchor. Maybe even to him. If he'll just give her a chance. But he may never forgive her for the scathing review that cost him his DC dream. Or the plans she's hatching for his current restaurant…


A recipe for disaster...or redemption?
A few weeks ago, Harper Worth wouldn’t even have eaten at the Rusty Anchor, let alone worked there. But now she’s in no position to be choosy. Fired from her lofty post as Washington, DC’s, toughest restaurant critic, she’s...desperate. Desperate to build a new life for herself in Findlay Roads. And desperate to prove to brooding Connor Callahan, owner, chef and overwhelmed single dad, that she can be a real asset to the Rusty Anchor. Maybe even to him. If he’ll just give her a chance. But he may never forgive her for the scathing review that cost him his DC dream. Or the plans she’s hatching for his current restaurant...
Connor could hardly believe the infamous Harper Worth sat across from him.
Now he finally had a face to put with the name–a much prettier face than he had imagined. He’d built her up in his mind’s eye as the harpy he’d dubbed her, thinking she’d be thin, gaunt, with unnaturally long teeth and beady eyes.
But she was still the woman who’d nearly ruined his career, he reminded himself.
“You don’t even know who I am,” he said.
Her eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Sorry, should I? Have we met?”
“Connor Callahan?” he repeated his name. “Éire?”
He felt a triumphant satisfaction as he watched the color slowly drain from her face.
“Éire?” she whispered.
“Ah, you remember what the restaurant was called, even if you can’t remember the name of the man whose reputation you destroyed.”
“Oh. That Connor Callahan.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_3ea6df31-58cc-569c-b602-e0f995598892),
Recently, my eight-year-old niece and I were at Disney World, watching the fireworks for the Magic Kingdom’s nighttime show, Wishes. As the production began, with beloved characters expressing their hearts’ desires, Emily kept tugging my arm, wanting to know when she should make her wish. I reassured her that the opportunity wouldn’t pass her by, but she made me promise to let her know when she should cast her wish for the maximum benefit. I waited until the finale, the moment after the Blue Fairy encouraged us to always believe in wishes, before a final cavalcade of fireworks bloomed across the evening sky, and then leaned down to whisper, “Now.”
Whether they’re cast upon a star or held tightly in the palm of your hand, wishes are a powerful thing, made even more complex when they collide. Sometimes, we’re forced to sacrifice one wish for another. This is a conflict Harper knows all too well as she grapples to see her wish come true...and risks losing a love she didn’t see coming.
Harper’s Wish is the first book in my Findlay Roads series, focusing on the residents of a small community beside the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. To learn more about this fictional town and its characters, visit www.cerellasechrist.com (http://www.cerellasechrist.com).
Cerella Sechrist

Harper’s Wish
Cerella Sechrist

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CERELLA SECHRIST lives in York, Pennsylvania, with two precocious pugs, Darcy and Charlotte, named after Jane Austen characters. Inspired by her childhood love of stories, she was ten years old when she decided she wanted to become an author. These days, Cerella divides her time between working in the office of her family’s construction business and as a barista to support her reading habit and coffee addiction. She’s been known to post too many pug photos on both Instagram and Pinterest. You can see for yourself by finding her online at www.cerellasechrist.com (http://www.cerellasechrist.com).
Dedicated to my dad, Wayne: for the example of his work ethic and his devotion to what he loves. But mostly, for teaching me how to have faith.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_d8d1aaea-fb49-59db-8da2-54710a718b7d)
Special thanks to my editor, Laura Barth, for hanging in there with me. You have definitely earned the MVP award on this one! And to my Mills & Boon Heartwarming blog partner and author mentor, Loree Lough, for the phone calls, emails and recipes. You make my writing days brighter, my friend.
Contents
Cover (#u4553eafc-5023-53e9-8621-b534a32b7937)
Back Cover Text (#u9ee19b73-4331-5096-ac62-b88aa8d09322)
Introduction (#u6c97e895-bd58-5b9e-8c2c-f2ebd8a9286e)
Dear Reader (#u1d532a75-6de5-5be0-810f-0a23097e2901)
Title Page (#u3b8974da-42d4-51a8-a85d-ef1823f392a3)
About the Author (#u54fc11c7-6c08-5fe2-a5d9-5d27f8c676b5)
Dedication (#u7cb58e4c-6437-50b8-bea0-d46633139dbf)
Acknowledgments (#u01324853-8777-5b09-ab89-81bdbd8c9e5f)
CHAPTER ONE (#u56926c55-ca4e-5188-bb17-10c2af6ce1b2)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue7c8cde9-3e26-51e5-b150-e5090b734e0d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u8026d92b-f339-54f8-a0e1-bc04143f300a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_9cae3421-95ff-59f6-810b-8cd65fbdfdfc)
HARPER WORTH STOOD in front of the brick building and stared at the weathered wooden sign. Rusty Anchor. Who in their right mind had thought that was a good name for a restaurant? It had been difficult to find, tucked out of the way along the docks instead of with the other restaurants and shops on the main street of town. It looked a little run-down, although dive wasn’t exactly the term she’d use. It was clean—the windows were clear of dirt and smudges, and the front stoop was swept spotless. There were several potted plants nestled around the entryway. If it hadn’t been for the name and the peeling paint, the restaurant might have been homey.
Beggars can’t be choosers, Harper reminded herself. All the other local restaurants were hired up for the season. It was down to the Rusty Anchor or the questionable Crab Shack on the far side of town. That place had received a number of health code violations in recent years, and Harper suspected the only regular customers were salty old fishermen.
“So. The Rusty Anchor it is.”
She could hardly believe she’d fallen this far. From lauded restaurant critic to desperate waitress. The fates must really be having a laugh at her expense. Well, no point putting it off any longer.
She went up the front steps, opened the door and was greeted by the not-unpleasant aroma of sautéed onions and the yeasty scent of bread as a brass bell hinged to the door chimed her arrival. Moving past the threshold, she approached a podium she assumed was the hostess station. The wooden pedestal bore several nicks and scuffs, giving it the appearance of weathered driftwood. There was no one there to greet her so Harper waited, taking the opportunity to survey the restaurant’s interior.
It was meticulously clean but worn, with several gouges in the walls, battered chairs and tables and outdated light fixtures. But despite its shabby appearance, it had a warm, welcoming air—like stepping into a friend’s house rather than the pristine anonymity of the shiny, sleek new restaurants she’d visited earlier in the day. It was the opposite of every establishment she’d ever reviewed, yet somehow she found herself drawn to its quaint atmosphere.
As she waited for the hostess to appear, she began to tap her foot impatiently. Looking around, she noticed less than half a dozen tables had diners. There were several couples, a group of three girls and what appeared to be a family of five at a table in the center of the room. But she didn’t see a single server.
She glanced around, searching for any restaurant employee, but there didn’t appear to be one anywhere. A quick glance at her cell phone screen confirmed the time, and she wondered why the place wasn’t buzzing when the clock was approaching the lunch hour. Perhaps the out-of-the-way location had something to do with it. And where was the staff hiding?
Moving around the podium, Harper scanned the doorway at the back of the dining area and willed someone to appear. Several seconds later, her wish was rewarded as a wiry young man with a black goatee, and a mess of curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, entered from the back of the room. She frowned as he looked around the dining room with a bewildered expression. His eyes widened as he took in the tables.
He began to duck back into the doorway as though trying to escape but then seemed to think better of it. He moved into the dining area and approached the family of five just as the youngest child, who was maybe three years old, began banging on her high chair with a spoon. The sound seemed to startle the young man, and he backed up again.
Harper feared he might make a run for it and decided to take matters into her own hands. Besides, her curiosity was piqued by this odd situation. Before the man could approach the table once more, Harper moved between him and the family.
She searched for a name tag but didn’t see one.
“Hi, I was wondering if there was someone I could speak to about applying for a server’s position?”
“Wh-what?”
He looked positively befuddled. Curiouser and curiouser.
“I just arrived in the area, and I’m looking for a job as a server. Maybe I could speak to the manager?”
“Uh...” He tossed a glance over his shoulder.
What in the world was up with this place?
“We’re pretty busy,” he claimed.
Harper thought this was a ridiculous statement if not a bald-faced lie. Five tables did not constitute a lunch rush.
“Oh. Is there anyone else I could speak to? Or maybe I could fill out an application and leave my contact information? I have experience,” she tossed out, hoping that might increase her odds of employment.
A spark of interest lit the young man’s eyes.
“You have experience? As a server?”
“Yes. I worked as a server during high school and all through college.”
To her stupefaction, he grinned.
“Follow me.”
Before she could protest, he grabbed her arm and tugged her after him.
“Excuse me. Sir? We’re still waiting to order.”
Harper caught the irritated expression of the father at the table of five as the unknown man pulled her toward the back of the room.
“No worries, buddy, we’ll be right with you!” the young man called out.
At this point, Harper wasn’t even sure she wanted to apply for a job here. Something about this place wasn’t quite right.
“You know what? I think I changed my mind.” She tried to tug her hand free but he held on tightly.
“No way. We need you.” He tugged her onward, through the back doors and down a short hallway. “I’m Rafael, by the way.”
“Harper,” she automatically replied.
“I’m the dishwasher and busboy around here. And occasional janitor.”
Harper opened her mouth and then closed it, not even knowing what questions to ask.
“Here ya go.” He pushed open a set of swinging doors and pulled her through behind him and into the back rooms. She immediately noted the chaos of a kitchen humming with activity and felt a spike in her adrenaline just being in the crackling atmosphere.
“Hey, Bossman?”
“Bossman” must have been the one in the middle of the storm, surrounded by steam and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve every few seconds. His black hair clung to his temples and forehead, and he didn’t even glance up at Rafael’s questioning tone. A pot began to boil over, and he reached for it, sliding it off the burner. He then shifted to another pan and quickly flipped what looked to be chicken before moving on to begin plating another dish. Harper was impressed with his movements. Though he was tall with broad shoulders and strong arms, he shifted gracefully through the steps of preparing multiple dishes at once.
“Connor?” Rafael tried again to get his attention.
“I told you, Rafael,” the chef snapped, “I know you’ve never done the serving before, but you have to do this. Just hand them the menus, write down whatever they want and bring the orders to me. I’ll handle it from there, yeah?”
It took Harper a second to sort through the Irish accent rounding each word. Before Rafael could reply to his boss, Harper laid a hand on his arm.
“Where’s everybody else?”
Rafael made a face. “Nobody else, chica. Just us.”
“What?”
“And push the soup, okay?” Connor barked without looking up. “I’ve got plenty of that, and it’s already made.”
Both Harper and Rafael shifted their attention back to the frazzled chef.
“Boss, there’s a lady here, and she’s looking for a job.”
“I don’t have time for job applicants right now. She should have applied six weeks ago before the tourist season got under way. Tell her to come back tomorrow. Or next week. Or never. Does it look like we can take on any additional staff?”
“Not to state the obvious but...what staff? It doesn’t even look like you have a server out there, just the busboy.” Harper spoke the words loud enough to be heard above the chef’s frantic movements.
Her words got the attention she’d wanted, and the chef, Connor, stopped for a full five seconds as his gaze zeroed in on Harper. His eyes were green, she noted. A deep, mossy color that seemed fitting for his Irish brogue. His dark hair was long enough to fall across his forehead, wild and unruly as he swept his forearm across his brow to brush it from his eyes. There was a smattering of stubble across his jaw, lending him a slightly rugged look that was enhanced by his broad chest and shoulders. It was clear that he was irritated by the intrusion.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?”
Harper knew she’d better talk quickly. Connor obviously didn’t have time to waste.
“I stopped by to apply for a job. I have experience. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can help get you through this.” She spoke with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. It had been several years since she’d done any serving, but she had to be better than the overwhelmed Rafael.
Connor made a sound of exasperation as he turned his attention back to the cooking.
“My scheduled server was a no-call no-show, and my sous chef had to step out due to a family situation. I tried calling in my part-time server, but I couldn’t reach her. We’re not normally very busy over the lunch hour, but we got a call for a party of fifteen who couldn’t get a reservation at any of the other restaurants. We need the business, so it’s up to Rafael to fill in as a server.”
“Which I’ve never done,” Rafael said. “I might occasionally help out on the line, but I’ve never done the serving.”
Connor slid several finished plates up onto the hand-off pass. “Order up. Get these dishes out.”
“Boss,” Rafael pleaded, clearly out of his depth. “Give her a shot, okay? I have no idea what I’m doing out there.”
To Harper’s surprise, Connor paused and eyed her through a cloud of steam.
“You said you have experience?”
Harper nodded vigorously. “About seven years’ worth, between high school and college.”
Connor arched an eyebrow. “How long ago was that?”
She placed a hand on her hip, annoyed at how he was trying to deduce her age. “It’s been a few years.” More like ten. “But it’s the same as riding a bike, isn’t it? It comes back to you as soon as you touch your feet to the pedals.” And that was how she felt, already craving the familiar adrenaline of working through a lunch rush as if she was still a server.
“You’re a feisty one. What’s your name?”
“Harper.”
He frowned briefly. “Well, Harper, you’d better get these dishes out or you’ll be fired before I even hire you.”
Harper turned to a relieved-looking Rafael. “Get me an apron. And an order pad.”
The younger man didn’t ask questions. He grinned as he moved to do her bidding.
“What’s the soup of the day?” she asked.
“Sweet corn and crab chowder.”
“Anything else I should know?”
This question drew Connor’s full attention once more. “I need this afternoon to go well. Help me pull that off, and we’ll talk about getting you a permanent position.”
Harper nodded in understanding and then turned, catching Rafael’s eye.
“You’re a lifesaver, chica.”
Two minutes later, Harper emerged from the kitchen wearing a hunter green apron over her sundress and carrying an order pad. She drew a breath and moved into the dining area, hoping she’d have enough time to take all the current orders before the fifteen-person reservation arrived.
“Hi, welcome to, um...” She faltered for a minute as she tried to remember the restaurant’s name. “The Rusty Anchor.” Her smile widened. “Sorry about your wait. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
* * *
TWO-AND-A-HALF hours later, Harper stretched as the last of the party of fifteen walked out the door. She placed her hands around her hips and dug her thumbs into her aching back. She’d forgotten how exhausting serving could be when you were on your feet for hours on end. And she’d barely spent a full afternoon at it.
“Need me to finish clearing your tables?” Rafael asked as he stepped up beside her.
“Yeah, it looks like things are going to quiet down for a while.”
“You showed up at a good time. I was really starting to freak out at the thought of doing all that serving. Hope it means the boss will give you a shot here.”
Harper followed Rafael to the last couple of tables that needed cleaning up.
“Connor’s the boss, I take it?”
“Yep. Owner and chef. Inherited the restaurant from his old man.”
“It’s normally pretty slow around here?”
“Oh, yeah.” Rafael nodded. “The place is usually dead, especially through the week like this. It used to be a favorite of the locals, but when Connor’s old man passed on, they stopped coming. And now, with all these fancy newer restaurants in the area, the tourists are more interested in hitting those than seeking out a local treasure.”
Harper didn’t say anything, but she couldn’t help wondering how much money she’d be able to make serving at a place like the Rusty Anchor. For now, though, any income was better than nothing.
“Is Connor a nice boss?”
Rafael began loading water glasses into a plastic bin. Harper helped by gathering up stray silverware.
“Yeah, he’s a good guy. A little uptight at times, but he’s got a lot on his plate, running this place and raising his daughter.”
“He has a daughter?”
“Yeah, Molly. She’s six. Keeps us all on our toes but especially Bossman.”
Harper digested this information as she reached for a fork.
“Rafael?”
The sound of the Connor’s voice startled Harper, and she dropped a handful of silverware. It clattered to the table.
“Mind if I borrow our new friend?”
Harper began scooping up the forks and spoons once more, the back of her neck tingling as she felt Connor’s eyes on her.
“Sure thing, boss.”
Rafael took the utensils from her hand.
“Go on,” he urged.
And before she got out of earshot, she heard him whisper, “And good luck.”
* * *
CONNOR ESCORTED HARPER through the doors at the back but instead of heading right, toward the kitchen, he moved left in the direction of his office. He entered the room and frowned at the disarray of papers scattered across his desk, files piled on the floor, broken restaurant equipment stashed in the corner and various cookbooks and periodicals stored haphazardly on a sagging bookshelf. There was also a plastic crate filled with Molly’s toys and coloring books, which she used to entertain herself when she was forced to wait around in his office.
He was about to gesture for Harper to sit when he noticed the only other chair in the room, besides his own, was stacked with inventory paperwork. He quickly moved to gather up the clipboard and sheets and then nodded for Harper to take a seat. She still had to nudge a box out of the way to sit down.
“Rafael doesn’t tidy up the office as part of his janitorial duties, I take it?”
He didn’t know if she was trying to be funny or criticizing his lack of organization.
“I don’t let the staff mess around in here.”
“I’m kidding. It was a joke. Sort of.”
He ignored her and took his own seat on the other side of the desk, suddenly embarrassed at the peeling upholstery with tufts of gray padding poking through.
“You seemed to handle yourself pretty well out there this afternoon,” he remarked, trying to get them back on track and forget about the state of his office.
“Thanks. Like I said, it’s no different than riding a bike. It all comes back pretty quickly.”
Connor leaned back in his chair and took a moment to study the woman across from him. She had caramel-tinted brown eyes and a cute, upturned nose. Her lips were bow-shaped, and there was just the slightest dimple in her chin. Her blond hair was still swept up in the ponytail she’d made before jumping into the role of server, but now several wisps had come free to softly frame her face. The sundress she wore looked to be of the designer variety, but her manner was warm, even down-to-earth.
“You’re new to town?” he questioned as he began riffling through papers on his desk in search of a clean notepad.
“I am,” Harper confirmed. “My sisters and I used to spend summers here when my grandmother was still alive. She owned the white cottage out on Bellamy Drive. Now that she’s passed, my younger sister, Tessa, lives there. I’ve always thought Findlay Roads is a sweet little town.”
He grunted. “Not so little as it once was,” he remarked. “We were named one of the top five Chesapeake Bay towns to visit in a national magazine a few years ago. Since then, we’ve seen an influx of celebrities and political figures looking to try the latest resort destination.”
He couldn’t find a notebook, but his fingers finally landed on a piece of paper with a half-formed recipe scribbled on the back. He flipped it over to use the clean side and scratched out a few highlights.
New to town. Sisters. Tessa. Cottage on Bellamy Drive.
“I take it you’re not here on vacation, so what brings you to town?”
She seemed to hesitate at this question but then began to explain.
“I lost my job in Washington, DC. I needed a break from the city after that, so I decided to come stay with my sister for a bit, until I get back on my feet.”
“Uh-huh.” He made another note.
“And what did you do in the city?”
She visibly swallowed. “I, um...worked in the food industry.”
He raised his head. “You said you were a server in high school and college.”
“I was.”
“And you’re still in the food industry?”
“Kind of. I review restaurants for a living. Or rather, I did.”
He tensed, as he always did, at the mention of critics.
“A restaurant critic.” His tone came out flat.
“Yes.”
He dropped the pen he’d been holding, his gaze narrowing.
“Harper.”
“Hmm?”
“What was the name of your critique column?”
“Worth It? I reviewed restaurants and determined whether they were worth spending money on. It’s a play on my name—”
“You’re Harper Worth.”
She flushed but still managed a smile. “Guilty as charged.”
“Get out.”
He’d obviously stunned her because she sat there blinking for several long seconds.
“Excuse me?”
“I said...get...out.”
Harper Worth. In his restaurant, his second restaurant, after all this time. And not as a critic but looking for work. He wasn’t sure whether to feel outraged or vindicated.
“My name is Connor...Callahan,” he stated, the words clipped.
Her expression didn’t budge, not a glimmer of recognition there.
He’d never seen a proper photo of her. Restaurant critics often concealed their identities so they wouldn’t be recognized when visiting establishments. And with Harper’s vitriolic reputation, he assumed she’d made every effort to keep her image from being exposed when dining out.
Now he finally had a face to put with the name—a much prettier face than he had imagined. He had built her up in his mind’s eye as the harpy he’d dubbed her, thinking she’d be thin, gaunt, with unnaturally long teeth and beady eyes.
She was nothing of the sort. But she was still the woman who’d nearly ruined his career, he reminded himself.
“You don’t even know who I am,” he said.
Her eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Sorry, should I? Have we met?”
He couldn’t help it. He cursed.
“Connor Callahan?” he repeated his name. “Éire?”
Satisfaction flooded through him as he watched the color slowly drain from her face.
“Éire?” she whispered.
“Ah, you remember what the restaurant was called, even if you can’t remember the name of the man whose reputation you ruined.”
“I—” But she stopped there, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Let me see if this rings any bells.” He cleared his throat before he began the recitation of her review from memory.
“Though barely competent, Éire’s executive chef tries too hard with the menu, putting on airs with mediocre aptitude.”
Her face whitened further, her expression becoming pinched as he continued.
“The filet mignon, though a fine cut of meat, is decimated by the lack of skill in preparing it. It will never measure up to the succulent cuts to be had at nearby restaurants in the district, and if ingredients as pure as this can be prepared with such average talent, then imagine the rest of the dishes.”
“Oh. That Connor Callahan.” She attempted nonchalance, but by the pink rising in her cheeks, he knew he had her right where he wanted.
“Can I tell you my favorite line? The one my investors quoted when they pulled out on me?”
She shifted in her seat. He injected a full Irish brogue into his voice and spread his arms to accommodate the full theater of the words.
“Éire is owned by Institute of Culinary Distinction–trained Irishman, Connor Callahan, who clearly believes his own blarney when he claims his restaurant is a dining experience to delight the senses. Perhaps he could use a taste of humble pie since I remain unimpressed and dub his establishment not...worth...it.”
The silence that followed these words was thick. He watched the fine cords in her neck flex as she swallowed. Her cheeks were stained crimson with what he hoped was embarrassment and shame, the very same emotions he’d felt when he’d read her defamatory review.
“Well. Clearly, it all worked out for the best.” Her gaze skittered around the office’s interior, came back to his face, and then quickly looked away again.
He ground his teeth together. Hadn’t she been paying attention? Could she really be so self-focused?
“Perhaps it’s best you leave now.” He didn’t think he could control his temper much longer if she stayed.
To his aggravation, though, stay is exactly what she did.
“I, um... I admit that review was perhaps a bit...harsh.”
“A bit?” He tightened the arms crossing his chest, trying to hold the worst of his anger inside. “When my customer counts dropped, I lost my investors, all my backing, and after that, I didn’t stand a chance. You ruined me.”
He didn’t dare mention how Chloe had left him and Molly shortly before Éire’s failure. While he knew he couldn’t place the blame for that directly at Harper’s feet, the memory of that time, with all its bitterness and disappointment, still chafed.
Harper looked into his face, and he suspected that took some courage on her part. Her eyes sparked. “You can’t blame your restaurant’s failure entirely on me. My reviews are just words. People can decide for themselves.”
“Sure, if they would have given me a chance. But scarcely a single patron darkened my door after that review.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“Isn’t it?”
She hesitated again.
“Maybe you’re right. I should go,” she suggested at last.
“Yes, I think you’d better,” he tossed back.
She took one last glance around, almost as if she wished she could stay. The very idea threw him and deflated some of his ire.
“Well, I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me, Connor Callahan.”
She backed up without taking her eyes off him, as though she was wary of letting down her guard. He felt a twinge of guilt at that. Had he really come off so fearsome? Wounded was more like it. This woman had callously ruined his reputation in an industry where reviews like hers could make all the difference.
“I wish you the best this time around,” she offered before finally turning and exiting his office.
When she was gone, he experienced another ripple of irritation.
She had ruined him. His first restaurant had struggled a bit at first, but his father’s faith in him had carried him through the rocky beginning. Yet when Éire had been awarded the “not worth it” rating, the clientele he’d been building suddenly dispersed into the dining rooms of trendier, more popular establishments. He knew it hadn’t all come down to Harper’s review, but her critique certainly hadn’t helped. And it wasn’t just the criticism. It was one thing if she didn’t like his food, but her words had been outright cruel, disdainful and full of snobbery. After that review...everything had begun to fall apart.
But here she was, the woman who had been the catalyst to his first restaurant’s failure, obviously as down on her luck as he had been three years ago. There was a certain poetic justice in that, and he couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t that he wished anything truly horrible on her. After all, she had just gotten him out of a tight spot. But he had to admit, there was something satisfying about learning she’d fallen from grace. It made him wonder if the old adage was true—what goes around comes around.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1a293e7d-ec93-5711-98ef-4aac85a27343)
“IT WAS HUMILIATING,” Harper pronounced as her sister loaded another helping of summer squash salad onto her plate. “He was about to offer me the job, and then as soon as he found out who I was, he kicked me out of the restaurant.”
Tessa froze. “Seriously? He didn’t physically remove you or anything, did he?”
“No, nothing like that,” Harper hastened to reassure her. “He just made it clear I wasn’t welcome on the premises.”
Tessa clicked her tongue in disapproval, and while Harper appreciated her sister’s support, she knew she couldn’t entirely blame Connor for his reaction.
“I kind of deserved it,” she admitted. “It was a pretty mean review. In fact, it was the one that jump-started my column, gained me all sorts of attention.”
“You should apologize. Then maybe he’ll hire you.”
Harper didn’t know whether to laugh at her sister’s naïveté or cringe at the suggestion of facing Connor Callahan once more.
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Tess. He’s obviously not the kind of guy to forgive and forget. I think it’s best if I give him and his restaurant a pretty wide berth.” She paused, surprised at how disappointed she felt following this observation. It shouldn’t have mattered any more than the other restaurant owners who had turned her away. But she couldn’t help wishing she’d have a chance to see Connor Callahan again. “Have you ever been to his restaurant?”
Tessa shook her head as she forked into the quiche Harper had made for dinner. “No, it’s kind of out of the way.”
“True.” She stabbed a piece of squash and nibbled it in contemplation.
“Have you told Mom and Dad?” her sister asked after swallowing a bite of the quiche.
“About losing my job?” Harper cringed. “Not yet. But I’ll email them in another day or two.”
The thought stole what little appetite Harper had, and she put down her fork.
“You should at least tell Paige,” Tessa said. “Maybe she can help you out, pull some strings to get you another job in the city. Not that I don’t want you here,” Tessa quickly assured. “In fact, you’re welcome to stay at the cottage as long as you like.”
Harper gave Tessa a grateful smile, trying to mask her discomfort at the thought of telling her older sister how she’d been fired from her job. Paige was the golden girl of the family—graduating with top honors from college and going on to attain her master’s in risk management analysis before she’d been hired on at their father’s investment firm. Paige had climbed the ladder with her usual dexterity and efficiency, and while Harper loved her, she always felt inferior around her older sister. The last thing she wanted was to ring her up and ask for job help.
“I can’t wait that long,” Harper said. “I need a job now. And I appreciate your offer to stay here for as long as it takes, but I refuse to live here without contributing to the household expenses.”
Tessa opened her mouth to protest, but Harper held up a hand.
“I mean it, Tess. I’m not going to sponge off my baby sister. I want to pull my own weight.”
“Harper, this cottage is as much yours as mine—”
Harper held up a hand to forestall this thought. “No, Tessa. This is your home. I appreciate your letting me stay here until I get back on my feet, but the cottage belongs to you and you alone.”
After all, Tessa had been the one who had moved in here when their grandmother was dying. She had nursed Nana in the last days of her life. It was a role she was already qualified for as a pediatric nurse, but that hadn’t made the task any easier. Because her baby sister had been there for their grandmother on a daily basis, and because Tessa loved this town, Nana had left the cottage to her. Nana had made sure Paige and Harper received bequests of equal value upon her passing, but since Findlay Roads had become a resort destination, the burgeoning real-estate market had tripled the value of the cottage.
But Harper didn’t begrudge her. No, the cottage was Tessa’s and for good reason. And Harper had no intention of living there as if the place were her own.
She pushed her plate aside and suppressed a sigh. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Connor Callahan who owned the Rusty Anchor? She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, lamenting every harsh review she’d ever written and letting a sigh escape.
“How about if we do lunch tomorrow? I could take the afternoon off. We’ll go shopping in that new boutique on Second Street. My treat.”
Harper shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll hit the pavement again and see if I can find any other job openings.” There had to be something available, even with most establishments already hired up for the season.
Tessa stood to clear the dinner dishes. “Try not to stress yourself out about it. Things will look up soon. I’m sure of it.”
She touched a reassuring hand to Harper’s shoulder, and Harper nodded. But as soon as Tessa turned around, she rested her cheek in her palm and frowned.
* * *
“WAKE UP, MY lazy bones.”
Connor nudged his daughter’s sleeping form and grinned at the way she burrowed her head beneath her pillow with a tiny groan.
“Dad!” He heard a muffled cry of indignation.
“It’s too beautiful a day to stay in bed.” He tugged the coverlet down and laughed as she squirmed. Seating himself on the edge of the mattress, he gently pulled aside the pillow. Molly blinked owlishly at him and then gave a yawn.
“I told you not to stay up so late, didn’t I?”
She huffed in annoyance.
“I’m dropping you off at the Evanses’ for the day. What do you want for breakfast?”
She stretched out her arms and legs and curled her toes as she sighed. “Pop-Tarts.”
He clicked his tongue. “No, Molly, a proper breakfast.”
She twisted around and rolled herself into his lap. “Pop-Tarts are a proper breakfast. They’re made with whole grains. It says so on the box.”
He smothered a laugh at this logic. “How about blueberry pancakes?”
Her eyes lit up. “With whipped cream?”
He eyed her.
“And extra blueberries?” she pressed.
“You drive a hard bargain. That’s not much better than Pop-Tarts.”
But she grinned, knowing she’d already won. As a single father, he found it difficult to deny her some days. As if his acquiescence could make up for the way her mother had walked out on them.
“Extra blueberries it is.”
She gave a tiny squeal of joy, smacked a kiss on his cheek and then hopped out of bed before padding in the direction of the bathroom. He rose and headed for their apartment kitchen above the restaurant.
Forty minutes later, Connor finished cleaning the remains of the whipped cream off Molly’s face.
“How are you enjoying your summer so far?” he asked as he tossed the paper towel into the waste bin. “Do you miss the first grade?”
“Nope,” Molly replied. “Summer is my favorite time of year because it means no more school.”
Connor pretended to be shocked. “But Molly...what about Christmas? I thought that was your favorite time of year.”
Molly sighed as if exasperated by her father’s lack of understanding. “That’s only ’cause there’s presents at Christmas.”
Connor laughed as he cleared the table of the remains of the breakfast. Molly helped bring over her plate and fork. Before she could scamper away, he knelt down so he was eye level with her.
“Now, listen, Molly, I want you to be on your best behavior at the Evanses’ today, yeah? No more pranks like you pulled at the Marshalls’ last week.”
She nodded, but he knew better. Molly seemed to find mischief no matter how many times she promised not to.
“That means no taking Piper’s mom’s makeup and using it to paint the baby.”
Molly frowned. “Piper’s mom doesn’t have a baby.”
“Right.” That had been the Browns. “Well. No trying to shave the dog, either.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Piper has cats, not a dog.”
Connor sighed. “Okay. My point is...no getting into trouble, right?”
She nodded, her expression all innocence. “Yes, Daddy. But can’t I just stay with you today?”
Connor tugged on one of the braids he’d made in her hair. He noted they were already coming loose with stray wisps of his daughter’s brown hair fluttering around her face. He’d never been that good at doing her hair.
“I thought you liked spending time at Piper’s house,” Connor replied.
Molly shook her head. “Piper’s house is too clean,” she pronounced. “And Mrs. Evans makes us pick up all the toys before we can do anything else. I’d like it better if Piper came here instead. Can she, Daddy? Please?”
Connor felt a guilty tug. Molly didn’t get to have friends over that often. It was hard enough to keep an eye on his daughter while running the restaurant; he could never manage two children while working. And what little free time he did have, he liked to keep for just the two of them. He worried that he didn’t spend enough time with her as it was.
“Ah, not today, love. But maybe on Monday, when the restaurant’s closed. You can show off the place, yeah? Don’t forget, you have a job here, too, after all.”
This reminder elicited a grin, and Connor noted the tiny gap where one of her baby teeth had come out last week. His little girl was growing up.
“Official taste tester,” she proudly proclaimed.
“That’s right.”
Molly beamed, and Connor leaned forward to press a kiss on her forehead. “Now, go on and get your backpack while I finish clearing the table.”
Connor stood, watching his daughter skip from the room and feeling his chest tighten at the sight. She was growing up so fast. In a few more years, he feared he’d be completely out of his depth with her. He and his sister, Rory, had been close growing up, especially after their father had moved them from Ireland to the States. His own mother had died in his birth country, and the lack of a maternal influence in his life left him feeling extremely unqualified to raise a little girl on his own.
Just then, his cell phone vibrated, and he tugged it from his pocket to check the caller ID. He frowned at the number that appeared on the screen and then answered, trying to curb some of his irritation.
“I wondered if you ever planned to call me back.”
* * *
HARPER ROLLED OUT of bed in time to say goodbye before Tessa headed off to work and then poured a large mug of coffee as she heard her sister pulling out of the drive. She dosed her java with creamer and took a sip to fortify herself for the day ahead. She’d been up late the night before, searching the local classifieds for job openings. The listings were slim, but she’d found an ad for a pet-store clerk and another for a cashier at the local supermarket. She planned to shower and dress and then head out to drop off some résumés.
She sat at the kitchen table and scrolled through the emails on her phone, deleting the junk mail and archiving the personal ones for later. She was halfway through her mug of coffee and her in-box when the doorbell rang.
Straightening, she felt a wave of annoyance. Who could that be first thing in the morning? Surely all of Tessa’s acquaintances were at work or knew she was. And Harper had only been in town forty-eight hours—she couldn’t imagine anyone would be coming to see her. She ran a hand through her hair, knowing it must be standing on end. She hadn’t even bothered to look in the mirror yet this morning.
She was debating whether to run to the bathroom to at least pull a brush through her tangles when an impatient knock sounded on the door. She grumbled “where’s the fire?” beneath her breath and then tugged at her nightshirt and sleep shorts, wishing she’d brought a robe downstairs with her.
She opened the door and almost shut it again.
Connor Callahan was standing on the cottage doorstep.
* * *
CONNOR BLINKED AT the sight of Harper, hair mussed from sleep and dressed in a modest T-shirt and pajama shorts, as she stared at him from inside the cottage doorway.
He experienced a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “Oh, good, it’s the right house. You didn’t leave an address, so I had to go off your description from our conversation yesterday.”
Harper was still staring. “It’s you,” she stated.
“Aye.” He fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s me.”
He was somewhat prepared to have the door slammed in his face, after the way they’d parted the day before. But to Harper’s credit, she seemed more baffled than angry.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I wondered if we could...talk.”
“Talk?” She shook her head. “Look, if you came here to chew me out again about that review, I’d really rather skip it. I’m still looking for work, and I’d rather not start my day with a reprimand about how I ruined you.”
He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came to offer you a job.”
It was gratifying to see how her mouth sagged open. Seconds later, her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
“Are you messing with me? Because if so, I swear—”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not messing with you. I’m serious. Look, can we talk or are you not interested? Because if you’re not, I don’t have any time to waste. I need to find another server.”
This statement made her reconsider. “Well...if you’re serious...then why don’t you come inside?”
She stepped out of the way and gestured for him to enter the cottage. He moved inside, and she shut the door behind him.
She seemed to recall her manners. “There’s coffee brewed. Would you like a cup?”
He nodded, and she led the way into the kitchen, pulling a mug from the cupboard and setting it on the counter.
“There’s creamer in the fridge and sugar on the table. I’m just going to head upstairs for a minute and change. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
While Harper disappeared to make herself more presentable, Connor poured a mug of coffee and added a pinch of sugar. He didn’t want to be nosy and roam around the house so he sat down at the kitchen table and nursed the hot brew as he waited for Harper to return. He let his eyes travel over the tidy room with its weathered white cabinets and pale blue doors. A driftwood rack hung on the wall from sturdy hooks and held various copper pans and utensils, along with ceramic mugs and jars with bold navy-and-white stripes. The room was a cozy blend of vintage and modern. It left him curious, not only about Harper but about the sister she’d mentioned and the grandmother who had owned this place before passing on.
He was admiring the butcher-block counter on the kitchen island when Harper finally reentered the kitchen, dressed in capris and a short-sleeved shirt with her hair neatly brushed and pinned behind her head. She looked much more poised and confident, but he found he rather missed the adorably disheveled woman who had answered the door.
“It’s a nice morning,” she remarked as he rose to his feet at her entrance. “Why don’t we talk out on the back porch?”
She grabbed her coffee mug off the table, leading the way through the hall and out the patio door. Connor followed. She gestured toward the porch swing, which looked to be the only seat available. He settled himself on it, holding his mug in one hand and stretching his legs out before him.
Harper eyed the remaining space on the swing and must have decided it was too close. She leaned against the nearby porch railing instead, and he felt a ripple of amusement and a strange disappointment at the distance she placed between them.
“Contrary to the impression our conversation yesterday likely created, I don’t really bite, you know,” he remarked.
She appeared flustered by this and placed her coffee mug on the porch rail before crossing her arms over her midsection. She cleared her throat.
“Does that mean you came to apologize?”
“Apologize?” He straightened abruptly, and a few droplets of coffee sloshed onto his hand. He placed the mug on the porch floor and wiped his hand across his pants. “Why should I apologize?”
Her lips tightened into a thin line, and he couldn’t help thinking how cute her mouth would be, full and kissable, if she stopped grimacing like that.
“Because you practically kicked me out of your restaurant yesterday,” she protested.
“And you deserved it,” he shot back.
She spluttered. “Deserved it? I helped you through that lunch rush, free of charge—”
He held up a hand. “All right, all right. You have a point,” he grudgingly conceded. Besides, arguing with her wasn’t going to benefit either of them at the moment.
He stood and she backed up slightly. The sight made him frown. “Look, I’m sorry. You did me a good turn yesterday, and I appreciate it.” Saying the words aloud choked him a bit. It was difficult to humble himself where Harper Worth was concerned.
But the apology had its intended effect. Harper relaxed.
“Thank you. I appreciate your saying so.”
“Good. So, now that that’s out of the way...”
Her lips turned down at this.
“...let’s get down to business. I’ve come here to offer you that server’s position you wanted.”
She eyed him studiously, as though trying to determine his motivations. “Why?” she asked.
He took a few steps across the porch, uncomfortable with having to admit the tight spot he was in.
“Because my server who didn’t show up? Apparently, she broke her leg in a motorcycle accident yesterday morning. She was in the ER and was understandably too distracted to phone in that she’d be missing her shift. I just heard from her a bit ago. And of course now she’s out of commission for the rest of the summer.” He drew a breath. “The Anchor may not be the busiest restaurant in the area, but I still can’t manage with only a part-time teenage server and my sous chef filling in occasionally. I need another person.”
He didn’t add that he was hoping business would pick up soon, and if it did—when it did—he’d need a decent server on board. And with the summer season under way and everyone hired on at other restaurants, finding good staff right now was nearly impossible.
“Why me?” Harper asked, as if sensing his reluctance to elaborate on the matter. “I thought we were sworn enemies.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, even enemies can get along if they’re both in a tight spot, right? I need a competent server, and you’ve proved you can keep your cool under pressure. And you need a job. Surely we can work together for a few months?”
She seemed to be considering. “Are you sure you’re not doing this for some sort of revenge? Hire me on and then fire me in another week or something?”
He placed a hand across his heart. “Your distrust wounds me. Besides, you’re giving yourself too much credit. I’m trying to run a restaurant—I don’t have time to be playing petty games of revenge.”
She blushed at this.
“But I will confess that I wouldn’t mind seeing the great Harper Worth scrubbing toilets at the end of the night.” He went on to explain. “You should know that we’re operating with a skeleton crew, and each member of staff is expected to pitch in with various chores on their shift.”
“What sort of chores?” she questioned.
“Why? Are you too proud to do a little cleaning?”
She ground her teeth together, and he felt a happy satisfaction at the sound. He was getting under her skin, and he had to admit—he liked it.
Keeping up the momentum, he asked, “I wondered—what happened that cost you your job as reigning queen of restaurant reviews?”
She winced at the title, and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. But after a pause, she answered, “I made the mistake of reviewing my boss’s goddaughter’s restaurant...only, I didn’t know their connection at the time.”
“Ah. I take it you were your usual, barb-tongued self?”
She sighed and lowered her voice. “Yes. It’s what I’m known for. Harper Worth, the snide, snarky critic.”
“Don’t forget snobby.”
She glared at him. “Now you sound like my readers.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I thought your adoring fans lapped up your condescension.”
“They used to. But now...they’re saying I’m too harsh, that I never have anything nice to say, there’s no pleasing me.” She made a face. “An audience’s affections are a fickle thing.”
He watched as she moved to the swing and sat down.
“I know what they call me,” she went on. “The harpy. But I’m not a total shrew. I did offer up some nice reviews, after all. What I learned about those nice reviews?” She sat down on the edge of the swing. “Nobody read them. I think the public just enjoys watching others get cut down. Flip through the television channels, and you’ll see plenty of reality TV shows with people spouting opinions even harsher than mine.”
Connor moved closer and leaned one shoulder against the porch post.
“You’ll forgive me if I can’t offer much sympathy for your predicament.”
She shrugged. “I’m sure this feels like justice for a lot of people.”
He didn’t reply. Justice? She’d lost her job. He’d lost his as well, along with a restaurant and all his savings. He didn’t really think it was the same thing. But he couldn’t afford to argue that point right now.
“Well, then, what do you say? Do you want the job or not?”
She looked up at him. “You really drove over here just to offer me a job? With no ulterior motives?”
“Strange as it may seem... I did.” After all, it wasn’t as if they were becoming friends. She was just coming to work for him. He still held the upper hand—as her boss, he’d be calling the shots.
“All right,” she finally agreed. “When can I start?”
She didn’t say so, but he sensed the same desperation in her that he’d been feeling. She needed this job as much as he needed her to start immediately.
“Can you come in this morning, say around ten?”
He noted a flicker of relief in her eyes before she blinked.
“That should be fine.”
“Great. Then, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to be getting back.”
She stood to show him out and they walked back through the cottage to the front door.
She opened the door, and he stepped through.
“Connor?” she said, her voice soft.
He paused.
“I guess I should say...thanks.”
He inclined his head ever so slightly at this and then walked toward his truck.
* * *
HARPER FELT A ripple of nerves as she stepped up to the Rusty Anchor’s door for her first day on the job. The restaurant wasn’t open yet, and the door was locked, so she rapped soundly on the glass and waited. She scanned the docks fronting the building, impressed with the glossy serenity of the bay in the midmorning sunlight. The Anchor might be a bit out of the way, but the view of the water was worth it.
She was watching a pair of ducks floating near the shore when the sound of the door opening jerked her attention back to the restaurant.
“We’re not open for business yet.”
Harper looked into the assessing hazel eyes of a woman about her own age. “Oh, I know. I’m Harper. Connor hired me as a server.”
The other woman’s frown deepened. Not a reassuring sight.
“You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”
Harper didn’t know what to make of this. “Um...thanks?”
The woman’s mouth twitched, ever so slightly. “I mean, I always thought the Worth It? column was written by some older, soured socialite.”
“Oh.” Harper’s reputation as a critic had clearly preceded her. What had Connor told his other employees?
“Never mind. Come on inside. I’m Erin, Connor’s sous chef, part-time manager and occasional server.”
Though Connor had said his sous chef also worked as a server, she blinked at the multiple roles the other woman juggled. Erin shrugged. “Times are tough around here, so we all take on additional duties to help out. At least it keeps us from getting too bored. Come on into the back, and I’ll introduce you to Leah. She just got here.”
Erin led the way through the main dining area and toward the back of the room. “Tomorrow, you can enter by the back doors off the alley. Connor unlocks those every morning.”
They emerged from the hallway and into the kitchen. A slim, long-legged teen with hair so black it had a blue sheen stood to the far right, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Erin ignored her and showed Harper the rooms behind the kitchen area. There was a stockroom, a walk-in refrigerator and a laundry area to wash the restaurant linens.
“We use those lockers to store our personal belongings while we’re here.” She gestured to a row of much-abused gray lockers with peeling paint.
Harper followed Erin back into the kitchen.
“Leah?”
The dark-haired woman looked up.
“This is Harper, the new server I was telling you about.”
Leah cocked her head. “I thought you said she was older.”
Erin cleared her throat. “I was wrong—that was just my assumption.”
Harper decided to make the best of this awkward introduction and stepped forward to extend a hand.
“I’m thirty years old,” she offered.
Leah’s face melted into a grin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” She stuck her hand in Harper’s. “Is it true you used to be a big-city restaurant critic?”
Harper felt a stab of pain at this reminder. Is this how she was forever to be introduced? Harper Worth, once a well-known restaurant critic of the DC area...now a modest server. But Leah’s smile was warm and friendly so Harper offered one in return.
“Yes. I’m known for the Worth It? column.”
Leah’s eyes widened. “Oh, I think I’ve heard of that. You’re always cutting on restaurants, right?” She went on in a single breath, “It must be so great to live in the city and dine at all the exclusive places.”
Harper winced at Leah’s description of her column. It was sadly accurate. Fortunately, Erin cleared her throat before Harper could respond.
“Leah, I’ll get Harper started off today, but you might have to show her some of the ropes later on.”
“Sweet. Maybe you could tell me what it’s like, living in a big city?”
Harper nodded, and Leah beamed at her. Well, at least it looked as if she might have one friend around here. She hoped Rafael would show up soon, and then she might feel reasonably welcome at her new job. Of course, there was still... She looked around.
“Where’s Connor?”
Before Erin could respond, Connor stepped through the kitchen’s doorway. A shiver ran through her at the sight of him, whether from nerves or something else, she couldn’t be certain. He looked rather dashing in his chef’s uniform, the crisp, white fabric hugging his broad shoulders. His eyes fell on Harper.
“Ah, I see my newest employee has arrived.”
He clapped his hands together and gave Harper the once over. She tensed at the sound.
“Let’s get you started, shall we?”
* * *
HARPER STARED AS Connor held out the handle of a mop in her direction.
“What’s that?” she asked with some trepidation.
“What’s it look like?” Connor turned the question around.
He shook the handle to get her to take it, and she gripped it in her hands as he released it to her.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“The bathrooms need a thorough going-over. You can start by mopping, and then I’ll show you where the rest of the cleaning supplies are kept so you can do the toilets, sink and the like.”
Harper stiffened. Connor had warned her there’d be chores, but she hadn’t expected she’d start her first shift cleaning the restrooms. “Shouldn’t I be learning the menu first?”
Connor clicked his tongue at her. “Tsk, tsk, Ms. Worth. Are you so high and mighty that you won’t lower yourself to scrub a few floors?”
Harper bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back an undignified reply. Had this been Connor’s motivation when he offered her a job—saddling her with the most demeaning duties in the restaurant?
“I did tell you that you’d have to pitch in with the cleaning tasks,” he reminded.
“You did,” she conceded, “but you seem kind of smug about it.”
“Smug?” He scowled. “Might I remind you that you’re speaking to your new boss?”
She cringed. What had she gotten herself into?
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting before you’ve even begun,” he goaded.
Of course. He’d enjoy that—for her to admit defeat. Was that what he’d wanted all along? Or did he really need a server? Well, it didn’t matter. She needed this job, and she was not the stuck-up snob he implied. She had no problem cleaning toilets—her father had instilled a driving work ethic in her from the time she was small. But her pride prickled at the way Connor had presented the job.
She raised her head and looked Connor in the eye. “You’d better show me where the mop bucket is kept.”
Satisfaction rippled through her as surprise flitted across her boss’s features. Her gratification was short-lived, however, as he gestured for her to follow him to the back room where a rack of cleaning supplies and a mop bucket were stored.
Once she was outfitted with the mop, bucket and a pair of gloves, Connor led her to the restrooms and propped open the ladies’ room door. “Make sure you get in all the nooks and crannies,” he reminded her, “and when you’re done with the floors, start on the commodes.”
He lingered, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed her standing in the middle of the restroom. She had a feeling he was taking a mental snapshot to replay whenever he remembered the sting of her review.
She sloshed the mop into the water and then used the bucket’s lever to press the excess liquid from its strands before she got to work. She did her best to ignore Connor’s presence, and after a couple of minutes, she looked over her shoulder to realize he’d gone. She straightened and surveyed the wet floor before catching her own reflection in the restroom mirrors. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but already the efforts of cleaning the restroom had caused a few strands to come loose around her face. The yellow rubber gloves she wore contrasted with the white button-down shirt and khakis that were a server’s standard uniform at the Anchor. If she’d known she’d be working as a cleaning lady, she’d have shown up in a grubby T-shirt and jeans. She blew the hair out of her eyes and looked away from her reflection.
How far she had fallen. From famed restaurant critic to humble janitor. She was glad her father couldn’t see her now. It had been hard enough for him to accept her choice not to come work for him after college as her older sister, Paige, had done years before. Seeing her reduced to cleaning bathrooms would only deepen his disappointment.
Putting aside those musings, Harper turned her attention back to mopping. When the floors in both bathrooms were spotless, she set to work on the sinks, mirrors and toilets.
Connor popped back in to check on her as she was finishing the men’s room commodes. She sensed him before she saw him, turning to find his lips twitching with amusement at the sight of her hunched over the toilet bowl. She ground her teeth together and swiped at a drip of perspiration along her temple, careful to use her upper arm so she didn’t brush against the rubber gloves she wore. It grated that Connor appeared so unfazed, leaning against the bathroom doorway as she struggled with her task. And what right did he have to look so ridiculously handsome while she was a sweaty mess?
“You missed the base,” he cheerily pointed out, directing her attention to the bottom of the toilet.
She took the opportunity to glare at him before attacking the area he’d indicated. He stepped into the room as she scrubbed at the last of the porcelain surface, and when she stole a glance upward, she saw him surveying her work.
“Not bad,” he finally admitted as she stood and stripped off the rubber gloves.
“Not bad?” she repeated in disbelief. “These restrooms are so clean, you could set up tables in here and serve dinner.”
He affected an expression of horror. “But, Harper, what would a restaurant critic say if they should happen to see something like that?”
She squeezed the rubber gloves in her fist and refused to rise to the bait.
“Well, then,” he said when he saw she wasn’t going to reply. “On to the next order of business.”
Connor looked so eager that she felt a twinge of dismay at what he had planned for her.
The grease trap.
She should have guessed. Cleaning it was one of the worst jobs in a restaurant, and one that was often contracted out to a service company. But with the Rusty Anchor’s tight finances, Connor had decided to keep the task in-house. As frustrating as bathroom duty was, Harper knew it was a plush job compared to cleaning the grease trap. All the oily sludge and congealed chunks of fat from cooking were routed into the trap in order to save the pipes. Even Rafael, whose task it normally was to clean it, eyed her with pity when Connor gave her the instructions. When she first pried off the lid, the sulfuric smells nearly made her gag. She turned her head and saw Connor standing several feet away, watching her with suppressed enjoyment.
With a grimace, she took a deep breath and went back at it, determined not to reveal any more of the disgust she was feeling.
By the time she finished, her stomach was twisted with nausea from the smell, and her arms were covered in black streaks of slick, stinky grease. Her once-pristine white shirt was soaked with sweat, and there were permanent smudges covering the front. But she was secretly pleased. She doubted the grease trap had looked this clean since the day it was installed. Her pride in the achievement was short-lived, though—Connor came over, inspected her work and shrugged.
“I suppose it’ll have to do.”
She gritted her teeth and forced back a growl.
“Since you’re finished with that, why don’t you scour the grills next?”
* * *
CONNOR KNEW HE shouldn’t be enjoying himself this much. But there was something so...satisfying about seeing the haughty Harper Worth at manual labor. It almost made up for that crummy review she’d given him.
Almost. But not quite.
He had to give it to her, though. He’d thought she’d quit on the spot when he handed her that mop bucket. And after the thorough cleanings she’d given the restrooms, he was sure the grease trap would finish her off. Not that he wanted to see her quit, exactly. He hadn’t been lying when he told her he needed a server. Leah was just a high school kid, after all, working part-time over the summer. And Erin couldn’t keep juggling so many responsibilities in the restaurant. But he didn’t see why he should make things easy on Harper just because he was in need of another server.
“Make sure you put some elbow grease into that,” he said as he walked by the grill on his way to the stockroom.
He just caught the face she made before he turned his back and disappeared into the stock area, humming a tune beneath his breath. He had to admit, having Harper around had certainly put him in good spirits.
By the time he emerged from the stockroom, she’d finished scouring the grill top and was at the wash sink, lathering up her hands with soap. He felt just the faintest twinge of shame at the sight of her. She had streaks of black grease smudged not only on her pants and the hem of her nice white shirt but also tattooed across the back of her arms. When she turned around, drying her hands on a towel, he noted her outfit was ruined from the cleaning tasks he’d assigned. Her blond hair had come loose from its ponytail and fell in thick strands across her cheeks. She looked in need of a hot shower and large glass of wine. And he thought, just for the length of a breath, about placing his palms on her shoulders and massaging away the tension riding the ridge of her back.
He frowned at the idea and determined not to let guilt get the better of him. This was the harpy, after all. She deserved none of his sympathy. He told himself he was doing this for every restaurateur who had suffered an unjust review from some ego-inflated critic.
Still, the way Harper’s shoulders sagged when she caught sight of him tugged at his conscience. He decided to ease up, but only a little.
“If you’re finished here, why don’t you iron the linen napkins?” he suggested. “The laundry is back that way—” he pointed behind him “—and there’s an ironing board and iron in there, as well.”
She gave a curt nod and tossed aside the towel before heading toward the back room.
Rafael had carried in a bin of dishes just in time to witness Connor’s instructions. He placed the plastic tub beside the sink and frowned in his boss’s direction. “She hasn’t complained once, boss. Not even while cleaning the grease trap. Don’t you think you’re coming down a little hard on her?”
Connor shrugged. “What’s that saying? If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?”
“But shouldn’t you be preparing her to start serving? Erin may have picked up the slack this week but what about next week? You need to put Harper out on the floor.”
“In time,” Connor replied. “But I think it’s best to find out if she’s committed first, don’t you?”
Rafael didn’t meet Connor’s eyes. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
Connor sensed Rafael’s disapproval and felt another pinch of shame. But Rafael only knew the recently humbled Harper. He was unfamiliar with the self-important critic who’d destroyed Connor’s business.
“I wouldn’t worry about her if I were you, Rafael. She’s the type of woman who doesn’t stay down for long.”
When Rafael didn’t reply, Connor felt a ripple of irritation. Was he the only one who knew Harper for what she really was?
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_f715532f-5fab-53e6-8bd6-e809c98cd819)
DURING HER FIRST week at the Rusty Anchor, Harper learned to bite her tongue each time Connor asked her to do something. She became adept at offering him a forced grin and going about the most odious chores he assigned, determined that he would have nothing to complain about regarding her work. If he was looking for a reason to fire her as payback for that long-ago review, she’d give him none. And if he thought piling on the cleaning duties would cause her to give up, he clearly didn’t know her that well.
She did everything he required to the best of her ability.
The bathrooms sparkled. The floors were soon spotless. The stainless-steel counters and sink in the kitchen positively gleamed. She dusted, she scrubbed, she polished. She did the laundry and even ironed the linen napkins without being asked. And eventually, at the end of that first week, Connor ran out of chores.
“Have you cleaned the bathrooms?”
“Done.”
“Disinfected the waste bins?”
“Finished.”
“There were some dishes—”
“Scrubbed, dried and put away.”
He finally looked up from where he’d been studying an order form on his desk.
“The flatware?”
“Polished and the place settings laid.”
He opened his mouth, but she continued before he could speak.
“The napkins are ironed, the glasses are shining, the trash cans are empty, the floors are mopped, the salt and pepper shakers are filled, everything is stocked and I disinfected all the menus. Rafael and I finished cleaning the oven hood, and we organized the storage room like you wanted. I even helped Erin prep ingredients for the dinner crowd.”
Connor closed his mouth, and she felt a surge of triumph.
“Will there be anything else?” She knew her voice was a touch too syrupy by the way Connor’s eyes narrowed.
“All right, then,” he said grudgingly. “I suppose it’s time to teach you the menu.”
* * *
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Harper surveyed the multitude of dishes spread across the stainless-steel counter in the Rusty Anchor’s kitchen. Connor stood on the counter’s opposite side, sporting his chef whites with his arms crossed over his chest in what Harper could only label a defensive posture. She was more nervous than she’d thought she’d be, now that she was faced with learning the restaurant’s menu.
“So, we’re just tasting the dishes?”
Connor’s expression remained flat. “I’ll explain a dish, then you’ll taste it so you can make the appropriate recommendations to customers.”
She swallowed. “Okay. Where should we start?”
He pointed at the plate nearest to her. “Let’s begin with the fish. Pecan-crusted seared salmon with wilted greens and a maple balsamic glaze. Sides are either the wild-rice pilaf or sweet-potato pancakes, which is what I’ve plated here.”
Harper used her fork to flake into the fish. The salmon’s color was beautiful with a pale pink center. She scooped up a bite and popped into her mouth, all too aware of Connor’s eyes on her. The fish was cooked well, and the pecans lent a nice crunch. She wasn’t impressed by the maple glaze, which was a bit too sugary for her palate. She chewed and swallowed, trying to avoid Connor’s gaze as she twirled one of the wilted greens around her fork tines. Clearing her throat, she reached for a glass of water to wash down the flavors before cutting into the sweet-potato pancake. Still not looking toward Connor, she popped it into her mouth and was pleased with the crispy exterior followed by a meltingly creamy interior studded with bits of pancetta and the faint flavors of herbs. While she’d expected more of the sweetness she’d encountered in the rest of the dish, the pancakes were perfectly balanced with savory ingredients against the sweeter vegetable.
She swallowed and kept her expression neutral as she finally looked at Connor. She found him watching her expectantly.
“Okay, now what?”
He made a face. “Describe it to me. As if I were a customer.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really?”
“Really. And don’t forget, in the kitchen, the proper way to address me is Chef.”
Harper felt a flicker of annoyance. “Fine, Chef.” She cleared her throat a second time. “Pecan-crusted seared salmon, cooked to perfection but a touch heavy on the maple glaze. The nuts add a nice crunch but would be better if they had been toasted longer before being ground for the crust, in order to balance out the sweetness. I can’t recommend the wilted greens, given their soggy, overly saccharine taste, but the sweet-potato pancakes are deliciously crisp with a satisfying marriage of salty pancetta and the licorice touch of fennel.”
“Soggy? Overly saccharine?”
“It was like eating moss drizzled with honey.”
His jaw clenched, unclenched and clenched again. “I didn’t hire you to critique my food. I hired you to serve it. Serving it means you have to sell it. And if that’s your best sales technique, then I’m not sure you’re capable of doing this job.”
His words pricked her ego. “I am more than capable of doing this,” she informed him, trying to measure her tone.
“Then forget that you used to be a restaurant critic. There is no place for it in your position unless you can find only good things to say.”
“You want me to lie to your customers?”
He threw up his hands. “You don’t need to lie. If you don’t like the wilted greens, recommend they trade them out for a side salad. Or maybe the squash medallions.”
“With that salmon?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure that’s the best pairing.”
“Harper.” His voice had taken on a decidedly warning tone.
“Let’s move on to the next dish,” she suggested, by way of a truce.
He eyed her suspiciously and then gave a short nod. She picked up her fork and moved on to another plate. Reaching for a nearby knife, she sliced into the pork chop and piled some of the mango chutney onto the bite before lifting it toward her mouth.
Not bad, but again, the topping was sweeter than she liked. The au gratin potatoes were good enough, though, and the red pepper slaw added a nice spot of color and crunch to the dish.
“Grilled pork chop topped with a mango-pineapple chutney. The au gratin potatoes are layered with four different kinds of cheese including Gruyère, Jarlsberg, Parmesan and fontina, lending a nutty, almost caramel flavor that pairs nicely with the faint sweetness of the Yukon gold potatoes. The plate is rounded out by a red pepper and onion slaw, seasoned with spicy ginger and peppery cilantro.”
When she looked back at Connor, his shoulders had relaxed, and his expression lacked its previous tension. It occurred to her that perhaps he’d been nervous about what she’d say. After all, the last time she’d commented on his food, it hadn’t been a favorable experience for him. She suddenly felt bad for thinking only of herself in this tasting.
“How was that, Chef?”
“Better.” He released a sigh that sounded like relief. “Much better. There might be hope for you yet.”
And though a chef’s opinion had never mattered to her before, she couldn’t help feeling a tingle of pleasure at his words.
* * *
“YOU HAVE TO ADMIT, she’s not doing bad.”
Connor chopped through a row of carrots with unnecessary force in response to Erin’s words.
“I have to hand it to her, I thought she’d be out of here after you made her clean that grease trap.” Erin shuddered. “The girl’s tenacious. I admire that.”
“Whose side are you on?” Connor demanded as he scooped the carrots onto the edge of his knife and into a bowl.
“Don’t be such a grouch. I’m on your side, you know that. I’m just saying that she’s not what I expected her to be.”
“And what did you expect?”
“I don’t know, a simpering prima donna who refused to get her hands dirty? But she works really hard. Harder than Leah or Rafael or even me. These past two weeks she’s worked almost as hard as you do.”
He pierced Erin with a look, and she held up her hands in defense. “I said almost. But she puts in more hours than the rest of us, coming in early to help get ready for the day, and Rafael says she’s still here when he leaves at night. And somehow, I doubt she’s actually handing in a time card with all those hours.”
Connor stopped to consider this. He’d never thought about comparing Harper’s presence to the actual amount of hours on her time sheet. “I didn’t ask her to work without pay,” he protested. “I wouldn’t demand that of any of you, not even her.”
Erin’s voice softened. “I know that, Connor. You’re a good boss. But you’re riding her a little relentlessly, don’t you think?”
He turned back to his prep work. “We all share the chores around here. You know that.”
“I know, but I think you’re giving her just a little bit more than her fair share.”
He didn’t respond.
“Look, I get it, Connor. I do. I guess it just bothers me because she’s not the harpy I thought she’d be. And you...” She touched him lightly on the shoulder and then dropped her arm to her side. “You’re not the sort of man who takes revenge. What would your dad say?”
Of all the things Erin might have said to get him to ease up on his newest employee, she had to have known that this was the one he’d take to heart.
* * *
HARPER POURED THE last of the dirty water down the drain and righted the mop bucket. She released a sigh of relief that the day’s chores were finished and moved toward the sink to wash her hands. As she lathered soap in her palms, she thought back on her shift. She’d had a handful of customers in the early evening, but the later hours had shown a noticeable decline in clientele. While on her break, Harper had walked from the docks by the Anchor on up to the main thoroughfare and noted that the other downtown restaurants were packed.
She had watched as several well-dressed couples waited outside one of the busier restaurants. Their designer clothes matched the building’s ultra-modern appearance. Was that part of the problem? Did the Anchor’s humble exterior prevent people from taking a closer look?
She’d mused on this as she headed back in the Rusty Anchor’s direction, and her curiosity had remained in the background of her thoughts as she finished up her shift. Now, with the tables cleared and the dishes put away, she had nothing left to do but head out for the night. But to her surprise, she found she wasn’t interested in leaving just yet.
Tossing the last of the cleaning towels into the washing machine in the back, she walked toward Connor’s office and found her boss totaling the day’s receipts.
“Hey,” she ventured and waited until he looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. His black hair was mussed and standing slightly on end. She had the overwhelming urge to run her fingers through it, to smooth it into place. This swell of tenderness surprised her, and she wondered if she felt a little bit responsible for Connor’s current predicament. It couldn’t be an easy thing, to bounce back from the sort of review she’d given him.
“I’m all finished.”
He gave a curt nod and looked back down. She felt the sting of dismissal.
“Is there anything else I can do?” she offered.
He looked back up.
“Anything else?” he repeated.
“Yes, I mean...” She shifted awkwardly. “...do you need anything before I go?”
“Oh. No, thank you.” He returned his attention to the receipts in front of him. She waited, but he gave no indication he intended to speak further. Dissatisfied with this, she moved from the doorway and farther into his tiny office, taking the seat on the other side of his desk.
“I just wanted to ask...” She took a breath. “Why did you give me this job?”
He didn’t say anything, nor did he look up.
She crossed her arms at his seeming indifference. She hated to admit it, but she felt a sense of obligation toward Connor. Though she didn’t feel it was fair for him to blame his first restaurant’s failure on her review, she also recognized she had done him no favors with that critique. He, on the other hand, had done her one when he agreed to give her this job. She’d never admit it to him, or anyone else, but she felt just a little bit indebted to him. And she didn’t like owing anyone anything, especially not this irritable Irishman.
“You gave me a job when no one else would. I know you needed a server,” she clarified, “but all the same, I want you to know...” She swallowed, struggling to force out the words. “I...well, I appreciate it.”
There. She’d said it.
He eyed her. She couldn’t guess at what he was thinking. He might have been touched by her gratitude...or more likely, annoyed by the distraction when he was trying to work. At her prolonged study of him, he dropped his eyes.
“I wouldn’t be giving me too much credit. I’m not sure my motivations were entirely...honorable.”
She frowned, suspicion surfacing. “Did you really need another server? Or were you just looking for a cleaning lady?”
His gaze shot to hers, his brow wrinkling with aggravation. He seemed about to fire back some insult, but then, unexpectedly, he dipped his head.
“I told you the truth when I hired you—that my previous server was out of commission, and I needed a replacement. But you’re right that my treatment of you the past two weeks may have been less than fair.”
“Less than fair? That’s one way of putting it.” She knew the admission shouldn’t have rankled her so much. He’d still given her the job, hadn’t he?
He sighed. “All right, I admit it. I loaded you up with chores. And I apologize for it.”
This unanticipated apology caused her to falter, and she floundered, trying to regain her feelings of injustice.
“Yes, well. It was pretty underhanded, if you want to know the truth—hiring me on with the pretense of serving and then making me your janitor,” she primly informed.
“I agree.”
He did look truly penitent, but she wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook just yet.
“And so was making me clean out that grease trap.”
His face remained completely serious. “But you did a great job on it. It’s never been cleaner.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve enjoyed this just a little too much, haven’t you?”
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun.”
His smirk was endearing, as much as it was aggravating. She didn’t know whether to be charmed or frustrated. “Does that mean we’re even now? For the review?”
His brows lowered, all humor evaporating. “I hardly think a bit of mild hazing makes up for the damage your words caused me years ago.”
“Mild hazing? Is that what you’d call it?”
“Well, what would you call it?”
“Juvenile. And petty.”
The darkening of his eyes warned her she’d gone too far. “Petty, is it? Do you have any idea what your review cost me? Do you even care?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “It was one review.”
“No, it was the only review that mattered. I was an up-and-coming chef. I had backing and positive buzz. And your criticism tainted all that.”
“You can’t expect to open a restaurant and not receive a little harmless negative feedback?”
“Harmless?” Connor rose, knuckles planted on his desk as he leaned forward. “Do you even know the circumstances of the night you visited? Did you even bother to come back a second time to make sure we weren’t having an off night? I wasn’t even there when you ate at Éire. Do you know where I was?”
She knew better than to respond.
“I was here, in Findlay Roads. My father had a heart attack, and I rushed home to be with him. My sister, Rory, was across the country on a music gig, and she couldn’t get back right away. But I dropped everything and came because that’s what mattered. And because I wasn’t there at my restaurant, things weren’t running as smoothly as they should have been. My sous chef was filling in, and it was the first time he’d had to run the kitchen without me. It was a rough night.”
He eased back, seeming embarrassed by this outburst. The anger dissipated, and he dropped back into his chair, running a hand over his face. Harper heard the stubble of his jaw rasping against his palm, and she wondered what it would be like to feel the rough grain of his cheek against her fingers. Her palm itched at the thought, and she squeezed her hand into a fist to refocus.
He made a good point. She should have paid more than one visit to Éire, but she’d been under a deadline and only interested in her own career, not some unknown restaurant owner’s reputation.
“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything at first.
“I apologize for piling so many chores on you since you started here, but you’ll still have to do your fair share. With business so slow, everyone pitches in where necessary.”
Harper felt a twinge of embarrassment at this. It was true, she’d only been doing the tasks that someone else had done before her.
“If that’s going to be a problem—”
“It isn’t,” she assured him.
She wanted this job. It represented independence, her ability to take care of herself even when the worst had happened. She may have lost her critic’s job, but she could still find work.
And it wasn’t just that. Something about this restaurant reassured her, made her feel as though she belonged here. Connor still held her at arm’s length, but the rest of her coworkers had embraced her, even Erin, and made her feel they were friends.
“Then...truce?”
She released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Truce,” she agreed.
But as she gathered her things, she wondered if she and Connor would ever really be able to find a state of peace between them.
* * *
TRY AS HE MIGHT, Connor wasn’t able to get his conversation with Harper out of his mind. Days after their chat in his office, he was still conflicted about his newest employee. It seemed unbelievable that the woman he’d blamed for destroying his first restaurant was now working for him.
And even more unbelievable was how well she was doing at the job. Since he’d apologized, she’d accepted each task he’d given her with an air of agreeability. He’d eased up a bit, spreading the chores out among all of them, himself included, and she’d pitched in, continuing to pull her weight and seamlessly becoming one of the team. It grated on him a little, he realized, how his crew had accepted her. Even Erin, who had initially been uncertain about taking on the infamous restaurant critic, now greeted her pleasantly each day. Rafael had taken to teasing her with the occasional flirtatious overtones he was known for and Leah, at a mere seventeen years of age, looked to Harper with something akin to hero worship. She was forever asking Harper about life in the city and her time working at the newspaper. Thankfully, Harper always steered the conversation away from her career, at least when Connor was nearby.
He was still musing on Harper as he tossed a handful of sliced shallots into a pan and swirled them around as they hissed after making contact with the oil. A fragrant cloud of steam surrounded him as the shallots caramelized, and he lifted the towel draped over his left shoulder to wipe at the sweat dotting his forehead.
“You know, every time I smell onions, I think of Gavin,” Erin remarked as she worked at the prep counter, peeling potatoes.
Connor grunted with amusement as he added a pinch of salt to the sauté pan.
“That’s not something you often hear a woman say about her husband.”
Erin laughed. “It was, like, our fourth or fifth date, and I decided to cook for him. I settled on making steak with a balsamic reduction. But I was so nervous about what he’d think of the dinner that when I picked up the onions at the market, I got really strong, yellow onions. When Gavin showed up at my door, I was just streaming tears from chopping them up, and he thought I was getting ready to break up with him.”
Connor chuckled. “Poor bloke. What else was he to think?”
“I know, but then a couple years later, when I was pregnant with Kitt, Gavin was determined to pamper me, so he decided to make me dinner one night. He was going to make spaghetti, and he started frying up the onions, and the smell made me really, really sick. I walked into the kitchen and threw up all over the counter.”
Connor laughed loudly as Erin grimaced.
“That was the first and last time he ever tried to make me dinner.”
Connor shook his head and added the prepped carrots he had resting in a bowl nearby.
“How is Gavin, by the way?”
“Pretty good,” she answered, dropping a handful of peeled potatoes into a bowl of ice water. “He’s still stationed in Afghanistan, working on one of the army’s water sanitation projects. He’s enjoying it, but he misses home.”
Connor slid a glance her way and caught the frown tugging at Erin’s mouth. He hadn’t meant to make her melancholy.
“It’s no easy feat, being an army wife. Especially not with a son to raise.”
“You’re telling me,” she replied, and then she paused. “Kitt misses him. A lot.” She sighed and seemed to rally herself. “But it’s only for a few more years, and then we can be a family again.”
Connor felt a tug of both sympathy and envy for his friend. He knew it was rough on her, having her family separated. Gavin had moved his family into his great-aunt’s bed-and-breakfast shortly before his most recent deployment, and Connor knew how much Erin wanted them to be reunited under one roof. On the other hand, he felt the familiar pang of his own regret. Though he did his best to juggle the role of both mother and father to Molly, he sometimes felt as though part of their family dynamic was incomplete, as well.
Uncomfortable with this line of thought, he ladled some chicken stock into the sauté pan and watched as it hissed once more.
“Do you think you could get started on the corn fritters, after you’ve finished those potatoes?”
“Sure thing, Chef.”
And just like that, he and Erin resumed their roles of chef and sous chef. Sometimes he thought the titles sounded a little fancy for the restaurant his father had first started, but Connor had trained at one of the most prestigious culinary schools in the country. Erin’s skills were more of the trade-school variety, but they both observed the proper appellations in the kitchen.
He and Erin worked a familiar dance around each other, reaching for a pan or grasping a slotted spoon. They’d worked together at the Rusty Anchor for over three years now, even before his dad had passed on. It was long enough that they’d become comfortable with each other’s routines. And when Connor had taken over the restaurant following his father’s death, Erin’s loyalty had eased his transition to boss and owner.
Connor finished cracking half a dozen eggs into a stainless-steel bowl and began to whisk vigorously, the rhythmic motion requiring little thought and allowing his mind to wander. It was hard to believe Patrick Callahan had been gone for two years. Just the other day, he’d caught Molly squinting at the last photo he’d taken of his dad—he kept it on the apartment fridge. When he’d asked her what she was doing, she’d replied, “Trying to remember what Grandpa looked like.”
He’d experienced a swell of melancholy at this admission. In two years, Patrick Callahan’s image had already begun to fade from Molly’s memory. In another two, would she even be able to remember him at all without the aid of photographs? He missed his da, especially during the mornings when he first entered the restaurant. How many times had he stepped into this very kitchen and caught his father humming under his breath, singing snatches of Irish folk songs, as he began to prep ingredients for the day?
“Connor.”
He stopped whisking at the sound of Erin’s voice and realized the eggs were beginning to form peaks. He’d been agitating them for too long.
“Connor, the phone.”
He heard it then, the insistent chirp of the kitchen’s wall phone. Dropping the whisk and bowl onto the counter, he headed toward it.
“Let’s hope it’s a dinner reservation for twenty people.”
Erin snorted. “That’s about as likely as the Irish prime minister calling to schedule an afternoon tea.”
“Hey, a man can dream, can’t he? And you never know about the prime minister.”
Erin rolled her eyes, and he grinned as he grabbed the phone off its hook.
“Rusty Anchor,” he answered.
“Mr. Callahan? Connor?” the woman on the other end responded.
His lips slipped downward at her sharp tone. “This is he.”
“This is Geena Evans.”
Connor’s heart sped up. “Molly? Is she all right?”
The lingering silence on the other end of the line caused his chest to tighten further.
“Is my daughter all right?” he repeated and was vaguely aware that Erin had come to stand beside him, her face pale with concern.
“She’s all right. However, I think it would be best if you came to pick her up. Now.”
The tension in his chest eased but was soon replaced by a prickling uneasiness.
“What did she do?”
“I’m not comfortable discussing it on the phone.”
Connor expelled a long sigh. “The lunch hour is about to start. Might there be a chance I could pick her up after it’s over?”
This time, the silence was loaded with irritation. He could sense it crackling across the line.
“I would really prefer if you would come get your daughter now, Mr. Callahan.”
He blinked. Whatever Molly had done during her playdate with Piper Evans, it must have been quite serious.
“I understand. I’m on my way.”
Geena hung up without replying. Connor stared at the receiver for the space of another heartbeat and then slid the phone into its cradle.
“That was Geena Evans. She’s insisting I go pick Molly up immediately.”
Erin’s forehead creased with concern. “Is she all right?”
“It seems so. Only she must have gotten into some mischief.”
The lines above Erin’s eyebrows deepened. “Geena Evans is an overprotective mother.”
“Mmm.” Connor didn’t know how to comment. Overprotective though she might be, Molly was a handful, even for him. “Do you think you can manage without me for a bit? I shouldn’t be gone more than a half hour.”
Erin waved a hand, unconcerned. “I’ll be fine.”
Connor hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, no problem. Besides, Harper should be arriving any minute now for her shift.”
The reminder of Harper put his thoughts squarely back where they’d been only moments ago.
“Go get that mischief-making daughter of yours.”
“Right. Call my cell if you need me. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
He began removing his chef’s jacket and braced himself to confront whatever sort of trouble Molly had gotten into this time.
* * *
CONNOR HELD HIS tongue as Molly swung her foot up and down, beating it against the glove compartment until he shot her a warning look. She dropped her leg with a sigh and looked out the window instead. It was a typically busy summer day on the main street of town, with plenty of people strolling the sidewalks and shopping in the many posh boutiques that had appeared in recent years. He noticed Molly eyeing a woman walking a pair of dogs, and she pressed her nose to the passenger window as he drove by. She turned forward and noticed the sign for the ice cream shop up ahead.
“Can we stop for ice cream?”
Connor looked at her but didn’t reply. As much as he wanted to give in, he knew he had to stand his ground. He couldn’t take her out for ice cream right after he’d had to pick her up for misbehaving at her playmate’s house.
“Pretty please?” she added, softening her voice to the tone that always turned him to putty.
He brought his attention resolutely back toward the road.
“Molly, this isn’t a Sunday drive. Mrs. Evans was very cross with you.”
Molly huffed and slouched in the seat, folding her arms over her stomach.
“It’s not my fault. Piper asked me to do it.”
He cast her a calculating glance, wanting to believe her but knowing her excuse was unlikely. Molly had a way of finding trouble, and no matter how much of that innocent charm she mustered, he’d learned to see through her words.
“I swear, Daddy! It wasn’t my idea!”
He turned his head briefly, caught her eye, then looked back at the road. He wasn’t buying it.
“Well, it wasn’t just my idea,” she amended. “Piper said she wanted me to do it.”
“Molly.”
She kicked the glove compartment again.
“Molly.”
“It’s not fair! I always get blamed.”
He sighed. “You cut off all of your friend’s hair,” he pointed out.
“But we were just playing! It will grow back.”
“Mrs. Evans liked Piper’s hair long. She was planning to enter her in a beauty pageant this spring. Piper has never had her hair cut. Ever. What made you think you should cut it all off?”
“I didn’t know about the beauty pageant,” Molly murmured, and he felt a twinge of uncertainty about his daughter’s intentions. “It’s not fair, though. Piper has hair just like Aurora’s in Sleeping Beauty

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