Page 33 of The Sea-Mist Cottage Inn
The menu was extensive, with some emphasis on seafood, like most coastal restaurants. It was a fair guess the chef bought fish straight from a local fisherman; I wondered where they bought their other meats.
“Do you see anything you like?” Roman asked after we’d quietly studied our menus for a few minutes.
“Several things. The Sicilian swordfish with linguine is one thing catching my eye.”
“That’s a great choice. That fish was probably swimming this morning. Rico, the chef here, buys right off the boat every day like I do, but we supply their beef, pork, and chicken.”
I almost apologized and said I’d pick a dish with a Mendoza meat, but then I decided that was dumb. I didn’t know if we were on a date—and even if we were, I wanted the swordfish. So instead I focused on what he’d actually said, and how closely aligned it was to what I’d been thinking right before he’d said it.
“I was just wondering that. Do you supply all the restaurants in town?”
“In town, almost. McDonald’s obviously get their meat shipped in, but the others, yeah. In the region, we have a decent share. We’re not big enough to supply too many commercial kitchens, and we’re too expensive for the cheap places that don’t have personal relationships with us, but we do okay.”
The server, a twenty-something man in the usual black-chinos-white-oxford-black-tie server uniform, stopped at our table then. He set a basket of sliced bread down and said, “Hi, Mr. Mendoza.”
“Hi, Dustin. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks.” He set a small plate on the table, picked up the olive oil cruet and the balsamic vinegar cruet, and made a little bread dip.
Nodding at me, Roman said, “This is my friend, Leo Braddock.” And yeah, I heard the wordfriendand added it to my mental notes. Still no idea what this dinner was.
Dustin turned to me, and I watched enthusiasm pink his fair cheeks. “Ms. Braddock! You moved in at the Sea-Mist! Your mom was Mrs. Braddock, right?”
“Dustin ...” Roman said quietly but firmly.
But I wasn’t bothered by it. As gossip goes, that was some very basic information. So I smiled and said, “Hi, Dustin. Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Um ... sorry. I should ask if you’d like to order wine or a cocktail?”
Roman smiled, his eyes fully focused on me. “You’re thinking the swordfish for dinner?”
“Oh—are you ready to order?” Dustin cut in.
Lifting his eyes to the young man (whose age I was mentally downgrading to late teens), Roman said, “No, Dustin, we’re not planning to rush dinner.”
The town meeting was a bit more than two hours off, so we had some time. But did his wanting to linger land in the date column or the not-date column?
“Yeah, I’m thinking swordfish,” I told him.
“Would you like to share a bottle of wine?” Roman asked.
“That sounds great.”
“Do you mind me ordering it?”
“Go right ahead.”
Again, he smiled at me before he looked up at Dustin. “We’ll have the 2016 Grillo—and we’ll be ready to order when you bring the wine.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be right back with your wine service.”
“He’s an eager beaver, isn’t he?” I observed as Dustin departed.
Roman chuckled. “He’s a good boy. He and his folks moved to town about ... uh, ten years ago? His father has the Allstate office on Bower, and his mom runs the florist shop next door to that.”
“Oh, that’s cute.”
Our menus were still open before us, and we were still perusing them. I realized that I didn’t know if we were going Dutch, either. I had to get some answers here soon.
