In Over Her Head: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

they were familiar with the menu. Lauren was not and quickly scanned the options. The offerings were dominated by seafood, as expected. They were on an island, after all. Her turn came before she’d skimmed to the end so she went with the last item she read.

“I’ll have the crab cake, please.”

“Entree or sandwich,” the waitress asked.

“Sandwich.”

“A side?”

Lauren quickly found that section. “Hush puppies is fine.”

“You’ve got it.”

As the server moved on to Sid, Lauren took a moment to take in her surroundings. Dempsey’s was not lacking in color, despite every surface, from tables to chairs to floor and ceiling, being made of polished wood. Neon lights and various alcohol brand advertisements dotted the walls in what she could only describe as organized chaos. License plates from all over the country lined the beams that ran from front to back the length of the room.

The place was homey, welcoming, broken in, and full of character. Lauren’s penchant for fine dining did not make her immune to the rustic charm of the place. She’d never worked in a sports bar, but plenty of small family-owned establishments could take up space on her resume if she ever decided to include every job she ever had, which would require multiple pages.

The longest she’d worked in one place was thirteen months. Lauren had never been outright fired. Either her fellow cooks had made her life a living hell until she could no longer tolerate the stress, or her employer had cut her hours to the point she could no longer make a living.

Though Lauren had made no real attempts to fit in, she’d also not gone out of her way to alienate people. That skill just came naturally. Lucky for her.

“Where are you from originally, Lauren?” Beth asked, drawing her attention back to the table.

“Boston,” she replied.

“Will’s from Boston,” Sid pointed out. “Did your families know each other?”

Lauren wasn’t aware they’d come from the same town. “I’m not sure. What area are you from?” she asked her boss.

“We moved around quite a bit when I was young, but my mother’s family is from Back Bay-Beacon Hill.”

Lauren was glad she didn’t have a drink in her hand. She’d likely have dropped it in her lap or done a spit-take across the table. Back Bay-Beacon Hill was the wealthiest neighborhood in Boston, which was already one of the richest cities in the country. Lauren’s life in Worcester had been one of poverty, not wealth.

Rationally, Lauren knew that growing up poor did not define her, nor did it make her inferior to any of the women at the table. Yet deep-seated insecurities had a way of making a person feel small no matter how hard they fought to suppress them.

“Then no,” she said, dropping her gaze. “I’m sure our paths never crossed.”

“It’s a big city so that’s not surprising,” Beth offered. “I almost moved there once. I was all packed to go, but then Joe showed up at my door and I guess the rest is history.”

“Come on, curly. Tell her how you and Joe met,” Sid said before yipping in pain. “What the—”

“How are the twins, Callie?” Will asked, changing the subject and leaving Lauren curious about Beth’s story.

“Exhausting,” the new mother replied. “This is my first week back to work and though it’s only for a few hours a day, I hate being away from them.”

“You get used to it,” Sid assured her. “Lucas had a terrible time leaving Pilar for even an hour in that first year, but she’s so happy at the daycare that now it’s totally natural.”

“Pilar?” Lauren repeated. “Like the restaurant?”

“Sid is Randy’s sister,” Will explained, “and Pilar was their mother’s name. We named the restaurant after her.”

“Don’t try to tell my child that,” Sid said. “When she saw the new sign the other day, she couldn’t stop talking about how Uncle Randy named his ‘restant’ after her.”

“Then we won’t tell her otherwise,” Will said with a laugh.

“Here we go, ladies,” their waitress said, returning with a large tray on her shoulder. With practiced ease, she slid it onto the empty table next door and started passing out the dishes. Once everyone had their meals, the chatter ebbed to quiet conversations between neighbors. With the odd number, that left Lauren eating in silence.

Halfway through what she had to reluctantly admit was an impressively delicious crab cake, Roxie bumped her shoulder.

“You okay?” she asked.

Mouth full, Lauren nodded.

“They’re a lot,” Roxie whispered, “but they’re really cool.”

Having no grounds to argue, Lauren nodded again and Roxie returned to her conversation with Will. Taking another bite of her crab cake, she couldn’t help but sigh with pleasure. The texture was perfect. The acidity just right. Glancing toward the bar, she caught Nick watching her through the window to the kitchen. A dark brow arched in silent question, and she raised her fork in an approving salute.

The smile that split his face threatened to stop her heart, and a second later he disappeared from the window. Her mind raced back to something Roxie had said before the others arrived.

He hits on everyone.

Well, not everyone.

4

Believing the end of his life was near did not mean Nick would help move things along. He’d been eating clean since his mid-twenties, and thanks to the island farmer’s market, he was able to find fresh fruits and vegetables throughout the year. Farmers, along with weekend gardeners, made the trip from the mainland once a month in the winter and twice a month from spring to fall. Nick shaped his diet around whatever was in season, which in April included beets, leeks, chard, and fennel with a dash of arugula and cilantro thrown in.

Strawberries would arrive soon, which meant his smoothies would improve considerably. Greens were good, but even better with fruit in the mix.

Nick examined a bushel of collard greens. “Looking good today, Cai. I’ll take these.” He handed over four bunches of the leafy greens.

“You’ve got it, Mr. Nick.” The farmer slid the vegetables into a small brown bag