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

was Nick’s comment that chefs were chefs regardless of gender. In thirteen years of trying to earn her place in the kitchen, she’d never heard anyone say those words. Especially not a man.

“Before I could walk my dad opened his own restaurant,” Nick started, his gaze locked on the distant waves. “It was his dream, and he loved every second he spent in that kitchen. Once he started taking me along, I fell in love as well. The smells. The sounds. The speed and choreography of the whole thing. He was my hero and I wanted to be just like him.”

Lauren could guess what came next but asked anyway. “What happened to him?”

“He died when I was fifteen.”

She’d never known her father, but after losing Mom six months ago, she understood the loss. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. My mom was left with two teenagers and a restaurant she had no idea how to run, but she found some good people who kept it going until I insisted on taking over.” After a long swig of his drink, he sat back in his chair. “I ran it into the ground within nine months.”

Guessing this is where he saw their similarities, she asked, “How old were you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“I’m not twenty-one,” she pointed out.

“No, but you are stubborn as hell.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “So I’m going to run Pilar’s into the ground because I’m stubborn?”

Nick shrugged. “You might make it work. After a few mistakes. Some turnover in the kitchen. But the odds are against you. That’s just a reality of the business.”

He had no idea what she was capable of, and his assumptions, while accurate in many ways, were also insulting. Lauren may have been a pessimist, but she had confidence in herself and her abilities. She had to because no one else ever had.

“I really am sorry about your dad,” she said with sincerity. “And I’m sorry that you weren’t able to keep the restaurant going. But I’m not a kid, and I wouldn’t have taken this job if I didn’t believe that I could do it. So as I’ve said before, you run your kitchen, and I’ll run mine.”

“It’s funny,” he said, turning her way, the half grin clear in the moonlight. “You opened the interviews to the former staff and you’re adding dishes from the Marina menu to the new one. Both suggestions that I made.”

“I—” she started, but he cut her off.

“You also didn’t mind my help at the farmer’s market. Seems like you’re willing to take what I offer while at the same time telling me to stay out of your kitchen. You need to make up your mind.”

The man went from feminist to jackass in less than a beer. “I never asked you for any of those suggestions, though that isn’t the word I would use for storming into my restaurant and making demands. As for the menu, yes, I took that one because it’s a good idea when the staff who created them would be handling the dishes. Otherwise, I never would have considered it. If you want a ‘suggested by Nick Stamatis’ added next to each Marina dish in the menu, I’m sure I can have that arranged.”

Tipping up her own beer, she finished the bottle, and then stood, leaving the empty on the sand.

“As for the farmer’s market, I would have found those connections with or without you. As you mentioned, small island. Now don’t bother getting up. I can see myself out.”

She’d reached the edge of the house when he said, “Chef.”

Lauren stopped, bracing for whatever insult would come next.

“I’m rooting for you,” he said.

No sarcasm.

No parting dig.

No warning of imminent doom without him.

Head up, she said, “Thanks,” and continued walking.

“I thought I’d find you back here.”

Nick closed his eyes. Though Lauren had been gone at least an hour, he remained on the beach replaying their conversation. His professional opinion of her remained the same. She was in over her head. His opinion about her as a person, however, had shifted. She was tough and she believed in herself. That was half the battle right there.

“Let me guess,” he said to his sister. “Nota sent you.”

“Alex, actually.” Mia sat down in the chair Lauren had vacated. “He didn’t give me the details, but I get the impression you two had a disagreement.”

“If you mean he crossed a line into private family business, then yeah.”

She spun in the chair, tossing her legs over the arm to face him. “What family business are you talking about?”

“Dad and Grandpa’s death records.”

“Oh.” After a brief hesitation, she asked, “What do they say?”

Nick turned to see if she was serious. “You don’t know?”

“Grandpa died before we were born. Before Mom and Dad even met, for that matter. And I was ten when Dad passed. No one told me anything.”

He couldn’t believe she’d never asked. “Mom didn’t tell you?”

Mia shook her head. “She just said that Dad was gone and I’d need to help out more because we were on our own.”

That sounded like Mom. Her idea of facing life head-on had been to walk into a closet and wait for the storm to pass. She’d grown up in a violent household, and that was how she’d learned to cope, though not until the last few years had he come to understand that.

“Dad died of a heart attack,” he told her. “According to Alex, there had been no genetic cause for it, though the doctors never could say why it happened. The guess is that he’d been having smaller ones for a while and didn’t know it, but each left a little more damage behind.”

Mia rubbed her chest. “How do you have a heart attack and not know it?”

“Alex says they can be mistaken for heartburn.”

“That’s some serious heartburn. So Grandpa was the same?”

Nick hated talking about this stuff, but after all these years, she had a right to know. “No. He died of a brain aneurysm from high blood pressure.”

Her feet hit the sand. “I thought they