Page 1 of All We Need

CHAPTER ONE

booth

“You can tellMrs.Stewartto shove that complaint right up her?—”

Eyes as wide as saucers, the nervous server stares at me from the other side of the stainless steel pass.Iswear the staff here is getting younger and younger.OramIgetting older?LastIchecked, there were no gray hairs.

I’m a dick for not remembering her name.Shetiptoed in here, during the height of dinner service, quiet as a mouse, to tell me thatMrs.Stewart—the town’s officialKaren—found her clam chowder “subpar” and “cold.”

I explained, “Yes, it would be cold.Consideringshe ran the dish over thirty minutes ago.”

I’m cranky, hot, and exhausted.I’vebeen at the restaurant since seven a.m. and running the pass for nine hours.

Flashing a smile,Iwipe my hands down the dish towel flung over my shoulder. “Tellher we’ll send out two blueberry pies on the house.Thatusually does the trick.”

“Yes, sir.Um,Mr.Sadler?”Hervoice wobbles, and she fidgets with the notepad clutched between her trembling fingers.

Jesus.

“Chef will do fine.OrBooth,”Itell her right as the sound of a ticket printing out buzzes in my ear.Tenminutes before the kitchen closes.

Tracy?Tammy?—shit,Ineed to learn her name—leaves the kitchen asPatrick, my oldest brotherandbar manager, strides through the swinging door.

“Sorry!Sorry!” he shouts, palms upturned in apology. “Wehave a new team member tonight and they forgot we stopped taking orders at nine thirty.”

Apart from our height and last name, we’re nothing alike.Ihave shaggy, dark brown hair; his is wavy and a similar shade of dark blond to our middle brother,Graham.Theyboth share the same green eye color, whereas mine are light blue.Patrickis levelheaded;I’mhilarious and handsome.

Most people would hate the idea of working with their family.Aftera grueling day like today, it’s usually good to see his face.Usually.

Snatching the ticket from the printer,Iscan it over and groan.Holdingeye contact while flipping him the bird,Iread out the order. “Lastone of the night.Ineed one seafood platter, twoTeddy’slobster rolls, half a dozen oysters, one extra portion of fries, and two calamari.”

A round of halfhearted “Yes,Chefs” echo around me.

Patrick winces and mouths,Sorry.

“The team has been killing me tonight,Pat.”Igrab a stack of plates and flip on the heat lamps. “Haveany of the new staff ever worked in hospitality before?”

His shoulders drop, making me feel bad for grating on him.

“Forget it.I’mburned out and still have prep to do for the fair.Justpromise me you’ll get them trained upASAP.”

He straightens. “We’realready on it.Iswear…”

Tomorrow, our small town ofSuttonBayis hosting its annualFallFair.Itwould be blasphemy if a town hidden awayin coastalNewEnglanddidn’t throw an event in honor of the season.

My family’s restaurant,OurPlace, has had a table at the fair since opening almost thirty years ago.Specializingin seafood cuisine, if you come to this corner of the country looking for the taste ofMaine, this is where you’ll find it.

When my father,TedSadler, opened the restaurant with his closest friend,GeorgeThomas, they imagined somewhere folks could sit down with family and enjoy a meal that tasted like it was whipped up in your grandmother’s kitchen.Thesecond they step through the doors, they’re greeted by a warm, homey welcome.

As the head chef,Ipride myself on maintaining that legacy—even if it isn’t whereIsaw my career headed.

But things don’t always go according to plan.Myfather passing away suddenly—leaving us all lost and heartbroken—almost seven years ago was definitely one of those things.Mybrothers andIbanded together to keep this place going in his honor.Only, things continued to not go to plan, and earlier this year,OurPlacewas in deep water.Patrickand his now-girlfriend,Johanna, did all they could to stop the restaurant from being sold to a greedy corporate monster.

Ultimately, we had no choice but to sell.

Fortunately—or not so fortunately—amysteriousbenefactor stepped in and bought the restaurant.Who, after dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s five months ago, hasn’t bothered to reveal themselves.

“Tomorrow should be good.Ican’t believe the owner signed off on it.”Skepticismdrips from his words.

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