The Complete Eagle Cove

Chapter 2 -10

Greg overheard that as he was clearing the tables he’d served before hers.

He could go anywhere.

Somehow he knew that now. He hadn’t until this moment, but he did now. Sure, these were Eagle Cove locals, but just because they were coastal didn’t say what most people thought it did. A couple decades back, all of these little communities were busted flat logging or fishing towns—and some still were. But others, like Eagle Cove, were now tourist retreats and retirement communities. He was constantly astonished at what the people here had done before coming to live here.

And now he was the one astonishing Jessica Baxter and he liked the way that felt on several fronts.

As guests finished the crispy-herbed halibut, he replaced it with a coconut gelato palate cleanser served in tall martini glasses with tiny sugar-bowl spoons. The unexpected flavor, floated on just a dribble of Becky’s hard cider, would jar their palates enough that they wouldn’t be overwhelmed by three courses of seafood.

Watching their reactions, thanking them for the compliments, he knew that he could go and start his own restaurant, even make a go of it. If it wasn’t for the money. He could solve the startup money issues with a partner, but he didn’t want to be burdened by some other chef who would try messing with his recipes. And a manager-level partner would probably end up trying to manage the kitchen as well as the front of the house and that would never do. No, Greg wanted the control. He rather liked being his own master here at The Puffin.

He ducked into the kitchen to start working up the Second Course.

This was the trickiest of the lot and it took everything he, Peggy, and the Judge had to pull together the Halibut Veracruz. He left the floor to Becky’s charm, which bubbled out of her as easily as the fizz in her cider, and focused on the food. The paper-thin slices of chorizo sausage had to be seared, but not burnt. The tomato-and-Spanish olive sauce had to be hot enough to finish cooking the intentionally underdone fish as it traveled to the table, yet the long curves of sliced avocado and the final dollop of sour cream must remain cool on the tongue.

“I knew you were good, son,” the Judge spoke as he ladled the sauce over each piece of fish in the long line of plating that covered every available surface.

“He just had no idea how good,” Peggy finished for him as she nestled in the thick slices of buttered and toasted French baguette from Cal’s bakery.

Greg set the avocado and sour cream himself, checking that each plate looked perfect as he went.

“I’ll give you whatever else you need,” the Judge finished and began gathering up the first plates to carry out.

“What you’re doing is just great, Dad.”

“No, I mean whatever bankroll you need to get started, I’m your man,” and he was gone from the kitchen his arms laden with plates.

For the second time tonight Greg’s mind went into full lock-up—skidding sideways, unable to get his foot off the pedal. He knew he was headed for some kind of a crash, but he had no idea what it was or what he could do about it.

Peggy slapped his butt hard enough to jar him loose. “Damn, boy. You’re almost as cute as your father when someone catches you out.” And with a bark of laughter, she headed out with the next tray of food.

His own restaurant? It was finally in reach…and due to the most unlikely of sources.