Page 17 of Knockin' Boats
Vera continued. “It’s been a good ten years since I’ve seen you, and with the beard, you look so much older. Plus, you use a different last name now, so…”
I nodded. “Right. Right. My stepdad insisted.”
We’d exchanged a couple of preliminary emails, but Skylar had been CC’ed on them, so I’d kept them professional rather than personal. It didn’t even occur to me that Vera might not recognize my stepdad’s name, but we did live on opposite sides of the lake.
“I’m sorry, Ash,” she said softly. “I was distracted, and you were gone before I’d figured out why you seemed familiar.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “I shouldn’t have brought up Sawyer anyway. This is about the food boat.”
She nodded. “Yes, let’s talk about that. Skylar told me that the boat would be an extension of the resort. A way to get our name out and attract more people to the restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“Which means it should be up to the resort’s standards.”
I opened my mouth to protest my food would be up toanyone’sstandards. She lifted her hand to stop me. “I’m not saying yours isn’t, only that we should collaborate.”
I hesitated. “I’m not employed by the resort. It’s a partnership. This is my business.”
She nodded. “I know, but part of the agreement is that you’ll use this kitchen for a lot of the prep work. And you’ll have to come to me about sourcing ingredients.”
“That’s true,” I said. “The boat will have limited space. I won’t be able to store much there, and I’ll have to do a fair amount of prep ahead of time if I want to offer more than basic fare.”
“Which brings us to the recipes.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” I said. “I’ve been working on variations of these recipes for years. This isn’t going to be some greasy burger boat or state fair stand with stale popcorn and fried cheese curds.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“But you still want to see what I plan to serve,” I guessed.
“I don’t want to dictate what you do, Ash. I just want us to collaborate and make the most of this arrangement. If you have a recipe that complements one of mine or vice versa…”
“It would be a good way to draw people to the restaurant here,” I said, catching on.
“If we coordinate right, we can spotlight the same local ingredients, do variations of the same weekly special?—”
“Like I could serve bacon-wrapped scallops, and you could serve a scallop linguini in the restaurant?”
“Exactly.” She beamed at me, looking like a proud mama. It warmed my chest, taking me right back to those days of early childhood when she’d praised me for helping clear the table.
I should have known Mrs. West wouldn’t strong-arm me into anything.
She’dmotherme into it.
“All right,” I said, conceding defeat. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Ashton!” She sounded appalled. “I’m old enough to be your mother. Don’t you flirt with me.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good.” She spread her arms. “Now come here and give me a long overdue hug.”
I stepped into her embrace embarrassingly quickly. Vera wrapped me tight and rocked me gently side to side, exactly as she had when I was a young boy. I’d forgotten this hug. How Vera had always smelled like food. How she’d always given me an extra squeeze before releasing me with a tousle of the hair.
I was no longer six or ten or even fifteen, but she hugged just the same.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” I said, my throat tight.
