Page 17 of The Chef's Kiss
Lena smiled, white teeth flashing. “Welcome to Superiore Bay, Hudson.”
* * *
Social media didn’t work. Not for hiring waiters and waitresses, apparently. I’d tried putting the word out on multiple platforms, including the community message board, and I didn’t have a single application.
I looked down at the copy of theWeekly WineI’d picked up outside Hugga Mugga. It was more than the gossip page I’d seen before. There were articles on everything happening in Superiore Bay and even some in Hidden Cove, the town next door—their rival.
Rival towns. Reigning families. Fear of outsiders. Next, someone was going to tell me that once a person crossed town limits, there was no escape or something equally bizarre.
They even had a horse sanctuary for endangered wild horses. I couldn’t figure out if I was trapped in my own nightmare or some idyllic old-fashioned town stuck in the past.
I stood outside theWeekly Wineoffices, watching people come and go. It was a busy place, but did anyone even read newspapers anymore? Print was dying, and yet that news hadn’t seemed to reach this small corner of Maine.
Smoothing a hand over the button-down navy blue shirt I’d changed into after the coffee disaster, I suddenly missed my jacket. After all the looks I’d received in town, I thought it was best to tone it down a bit, but the only outfits I’d ever truly been comfortable in were full suits or my chef whites.
My phone buzzed, and I sighed when I saw the name flash across the screen. I hadn’t talked to Jordan since the day I walked out on her. But if I didn’t answer, I knew she’d just keep calling.
“Jordan,” was my only greeting.
“Hudson, darling.” Her voice was airy, sweet, the voice that once fooled me into thinking she could be that way too. “It’s been too long.”
“No, it really hasn’t. What can I do for you?”
“So formal.” She laughed. “After everything we’ve been through too.”
Everything meaning a relationship that shouldn’t have happened, a partnership that ended in disaster, and the fallout that ensued. “You’ve caught me at a busy time.”
“Setting up your little restaurant in Maine?” Her voice cracked on the last word.
I didn’t know how she found out, but I guessed it meant news had spread through our circles that Hudson Silverman was officially a small-town chef. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Well, I’m calling because I heard something disturbing lately. Brenna Landry tells me you called her recently.”
I cursed silently. Brenna was the best manager in the business, and one thing I’d learned was that a restaurant was only as good as the person running it. Once we opened, that couldn’t be me. I’d control the kitchen, but a fine dining experience was more than food.
“And if I did?”
She laughed again. “Well, Brenna and I have come to an agreement. She’s getting quite the substantial raise in pay. I’m sure you have other targets in mind.”
Brenna was the only one I wanted, but once Jordan got wind of it, there was no way we could compete. Jordan owned a string of restaurants throughout the city. Chefs and managers made their careers through her.
Like I had.
“Is there anything else? I have an important meeting to attend.” She didn’t need to know that meeting was to place an ad basically begging people to come work for me.
“Ah, yes, I’m sure there are many important things going on there in …” She paused. “What’s the name of the town again?”
“Goodbye, Jordan.” I hung up, my jaw clenched tight. How did I ever think she was the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with? She’d been classy and sophisticated. I was attracted to her ruthlessness in business, the way she didn’t take no for an answer.
What I hadn’t realized was that sophistication was snobbery, the ruthlessness cruelty. And I’d been just like her.
I slipped into the building, trying to shake the phone call from my mind. That was another position I needed to hire, probably before the wait staff. If I had a manager for the front of the house, they could help with the laundry list of to-do items while I kept to my domain in the kitchen. But I had no doubt anyone I called from the city would suddenly find themselves with a better offer elsewhere.
How was I going to find a qualified person in Superiore Bay?
I climbed the stairs to the top floor, where the newsroom spread out before me, cubicles stretching toward offices at the back. There was quite a bit of activity, and I couldn’t imagine how such a small publication afforded so much staff.
A woman walked toward me, hand outstretched. “You must be Hudson.” She smiled as I took her hand. As if reading my mind, she looked at her staff. “Many of them are volunteers. We’ve grown quickly in the last few months. In fact, we haven’t been in this space long. You don’t want to see the one-room hole in the wall we occupied before. Come back to my office and we can talk.”
