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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.
