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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?”
