Page 2 of That Kind of Guy

I nodded. “Absolutely, great choices. Can I get you a couple drinks? The blackberry gin smash is on special tonight. The gin is made at a local distillery here in Queen’s Cove, and the blackberries are local and organic.”

The wife nodded, watching her sons across the table, busy with coloring, and more importantly, quiet. “That would be wonderful.”

“Sure thing. Let’s make your vacation a good one, shall we?” I scribbled their order on a paper, handed it to the kitchen and bar, and slipped back to my office to grab one of the travel bottles of aloe sitting in the mini fridge. Max had laughed at me when he saw this, but he stopped laughing when he saw time and time again how a stupid little bottle of aloe could turn his table around.

“Drop this at Table Four, would you,” I said to him as he passed. “And comp their food and drinks.”

He gave me a thumbs up and kept walking.

“Thanks, Max,” I called after him.

I watched from the edge of the restaurant as he dropped the bottle of aloe off at the table. The woman looked so relieved, and I felt like punching the air. I loved flipping customers like that. Walking up to that table, they were tired and grouchy, but now the couple were laughing and talking, their kids were immersed in coloring, and their vacation was off to a great start. I had completely turned their night around. I loved my job.

I scanned the restaurant. Tonight was a mix of locals and tourists. The owners of the general store were having their anniversary dinner at Table Two. The elementary school principal and her husband were at Table Six. The mayor, his wife, and their two children were at Table Eight. Their family was always polite, friendly, and perfectly well-behaved. The kids never wanted to color, they just sat quietly and smiled at everyone like little angels, and it creeped me out. The owner of a local construction company sat at Table Eleven with one of his clients. I snorted to myself, watching Emmett Rhodes schmooze and smile and ooze charm all over the table. Emmett was Mr. Popular, knew everyone in town, was all up in everyone’s business, and was well aware of exactly how handsome he was.

At Table Twelve was the owner of a couple local restaurants, Chuck, and his wife. His wife was sneering at the food, and Chuck was looking around before making notes in a notebook. I rolled my eyes. I had a few tips I could give him, but he wouldn’t listen.

The restaurants Chuck owned catered to tourists because the locals knew better than to go there. The food wasn’t exactly bad, it just had that taste like it was made a few days ago, frozen, thawed, and reheated. Even that wasn’t enough to earn my disdain, though. It was the way he treated his staff. The male staff wore black t-shirts and jeans, just like here at The Arbutus, but the female staff were required to wear mini-skirts, low cut tops, and high heels. Heels, for eight-hour serving shifts. The thought made my blood boil. He hired kids straight out of school who didn’t know any better or who had no other options, so they put up with it. There were rumors that he took a cut of their tips, too.

“Table Twelve giving you any trouble tonight?” I asked Max as he shook a drinks shaker.

“Nope. They’ve been on their best behavior.”

“Good.” I watched as Chuck studied the chandelier. What was he up to?

I had been the manager of The Arbutus for two years, but I had been working here for five years, since the day I set foot in the tiny seaside town of Queen’s Cove. Located on Vancouver Island, Canada, wedged between the Pacific Ocean and the Pacific Northwest rainforest, this little town housed about two thousand residents, but because of its breathtaking beaches, dense, mossy forests, relaxed small-town vibes, and the best surfing in the country, it welcomed over a million tourists during the summer months. It was early May, and the tourists were starting to trickle in. By July, we’d be in full swing.

I was born and raised in Vancouver, but Queen’s Cove was my home now. Five years ago, I came here on vacation by myself, and after going for a nice dinner at the restaurant with the best view, I fell in love. Giant windows that overlooked the picturesque cove and beach, oak flooring, and vaulted ceilings with original beams. A menu that was modern, unpretentious, and delicious, with local ingredients. An atmosphere of warmth, community, and comfort. I mentioned the vaulted ceilings, right? Be still, my heart. I fell head over heels. The owner, Keiko, noticed how enthralled I was, and we got to talking, and the next thing I knew, she offered me a serving job.

I wasn’t an impulsive person. I didn’t make big changes without careful consideration and weighing all the pros and cons, but somehow, this one felt right, so I headed back to Vancouver, packed my stuff, and returned to Queen’s Cove.

I worked hard at the restaurant. I had put everything into this job, even when I was just a server. There was something about this restaurant that felt like home to me. Maybe it was because Keiko’s parents opened it when they moved to Canada when she was a kid. This place had history. Maybe it was that my own parents’ restaurant failed catastrophically, and this was the successful restaurant I always wanted to be a part of. Maybe it was that I loved the atmosphere, that I loved making customers happy and contributing to our community.

Keiko’s parents opened the restaurant in the seventies. They poured everything into this place, she had told me. She grew up here, just like I grew up in a restaurant, except her parents’ story was a success. They passed a few years before I moved to town, and I never got to meet them, but locals who knew them would tell me stories of them still working in the restaurant, greeting customers, and balancing the till and sweeping the floors even into their nineties. The Arbutus was the result of two generations of hard work. They had put everything into this place.

One day, it would be mine. I had been saving every spare dollar for years so that I could buy this place. Growing up, I always knew I’d own a restaurant. I fell in love with the busy bustle of staff, the laughter, and the mouth-watering food smells. People came to a restaurant to celebrate, to catch up with old friends, and to fall in love, and I got to see it all. My parents’ restaurant went under, as did their marriage, but The Arbutus was my shot. There was no way in hell I’d screw it up the way they did.

When Keiko was ready to sell, I’d buy this restaurant. I didn’t want to just be the manager, I wanted to be the owner. I wanted something that was all mine, something I could make the final decisions on, something I could be fully responsible for. I wanted to carry on her family’s legacy, and to build my own. Something tangible that said, Avery Adams was here on this earth. Keiko was a kind and supportive boss—she taught me everything she knew, and she trusted me, but it wasn’t the same as owning the place myself. Until then, I’d continue putting every spare dollar into savings.

Outside the front door was the restaurant’s namesake, a twisting, red-trunked arbutus tree. Arbutus trees were native to the west coast, and on my walks around town, maybe to grab a coffee or meet my friend Hannah at her bookstore, I often passed tourists posing for pictures in front of this one. It always made me smile. Arbutus trees weren’t the only thing that made Queen’s Cove unique. It was in the air here, air that flowed straight off the ocean and through our little town. It was the way everyone took care of each other, how the integrity of the town was fiercely guarded by the residents. No chains or franchises were allowed, only businesses run by locals. Was the town perfect? Hell, no. There were potholes in the roads, some of the sidewalks were crumbling, and windstorms often knocked over the towering fir trees, causing power outages. There was one road in and out of town, so any rockfalls or accidents on the highway had you stuck. If fog rolled into the harbour and the floatplanes couldn’t take off? You were stranded.

“Getting windy out there,” Max muttered to me as he moved around behind the bar, mixing drinks.

I leaned against the bar and watched outside as the waves crashed against the shore.Come on, weather,I pleaded in my head.Hold up for a couple more hours, just until we close.“Can I grab you anything?” I asked him, moving around behind the long wooden bar.

He glanced at the trays behind the counter. “Lemons, please.”

“You got it.”

Halfway down the hall to the storeroom, the lights started flickering. I stopped walking and sighed. The lights gave another halfhearted flicker before going out. Someone in the restaurant screamed, and I headed back to the main dining area.

“Alright, everyone,” I said in a calm, assuring voice. Max was busy lighting tea lights at the bar and placing them into lanterns, and the servers hustled them to the tables. “The wind probably knocked a tree over, and the power is out. Please stay seated while we light some candles and, in the meantime, enjoy the ambiance.”

I turned and bumped straight into the hard chest of Mr. Popular himself, Emmett Rhodes.

“Hi, Adams.” He cocked a grin down at me.

Irritation prickled at the back of my neck, and I pulled another lighter from beneath the bar. “I’m busy,” I told him without looking at him, focused on lighting candles beside Max.

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