I tighten my apron straps.
“Why don’t you get the coffee set up out front? I got this.”
Chapter 26
Recipe for Disaster: The Shellfish Edition
Grady
It seemslike only yesterday I was picking up my own welcome-home cake at this bakery and seeing my best friend’s little sister for the first time in over a decade. Now I’m here again, greeting our family and friends in the capacity of Claire’s boyfriend so that they can say goodbye-for-now to me and celebrate the renovation that I funded. Or, if they’re over the age of two hundred and fifty, they’re here to eat free cookies and give me the ol’ stink eye while eagerly awaiting my departure so they can put their ancient moves on my live-in girlfriend.
Grumpy Gus, or Nasty Neville, or Crabby Clawfoot—whatever his name is—has been staring me down from the corner of the room ever since I let him in. I push the serving cart over to him. “May I offer you some coffee or tea, Mr. Crawford?” I ask in my most butler-y tone. “A mimosa, perhaps?”
“Pah! You think I was born yesterday? I’m not gonna fill up on coffee so there’s no room for cookies. Keep it movin’, hot shot.”
“Very well, sir.” I keepmovin’the cart and serve a few more gracious attendees before making my way to the other corner of the front-of-house area. I have my business phone in my back pocket and it’s been vibrating with email and text notifications ever since I got here, but I’ve refrained from checking it whenever I’m around Claire. I take it out so I can set it to Silent, but there’s a text from Alice telling me to check an email chain ASAP so the IT team can get an answer. Scanning the email convo, I type up a quick reply, and now I’m done thinking about work for the next hour.
But I am not done thinking about creatures with hard shells. Damien has brought his lobsters because my mom has to drop him and my dad off at the beach for a training session after this. So that’s fun. I’ve got two lobsters in one corner and a crab in the other. But I’m more worried about the friction between my brother and Vera creating so much heat they’ll boil his prize racers.
“What—you’re just going to ignore the set list I spent an hour working on this morning?” She frowns at him, holding up an open Moleskine notebook that he refuses to look at.
“Not that you asked, but I already know what I’ll be playing, and it’s based on the emotional needs of Muhammad Lobbee.”
Vera stares at him, incredulous.
“Who the hell is Muhammad Lobbee?” I ask before she can form the words.
“Crustaceous Claywas the wrong moniker for him. My boy deserves the name of a champion.”
I’m the first to admit that I don’t understand much about women, but I do know that if my brother didn’t have the face and hair and body and musical talent that he has, Vera would have kneed him in the balls by now.
Damien starts strumming the opening chords of “Eye of the Tiger,” and while I appreciate that Claire herself is a fighter and that we’re here to cheer her on… “No,” I tell him. “Absolutely not. You are here to play quiet, pleasant café music, and that’s it.” I refrain from telling him I will throw his guitar into the street and drive over it ten times if he doesn’t because I want this day to be as stress-free as possible for my girl.
Well…I glance over at Vera, who’s telling Damien she told him so instead of helping Claire… I mean, I don’t want it to be any more stressful than it already has been.
I’m about to go check on her when I see Crabby sneak into the kitchen.Oh, hell no.But my mom blocks me from heading back there with a teary hug.
“Oh, honey. I’ve gotten used to having you around, and now I’m going to miss you again.” She sniffles.
“I promise I won’t be a stranger, Mom. I’ll be back to visit whenever I can. It’s just going to be a?—”
“A really busy period for a while,” she finishes for me. “I know, I know.” She gives me a little pat on the cheek. “That won’t make me miss you any less.”
“Well, I’ll be checking in to make sure you and Chef Gordon are keeping Dad in line,” I say as I pat my dad’s shrinking belly. “You look ten times better than you didwhen I first got back.”
“Yep. I’ve lost an inch and a half from my waist—and all the joy of grilling and eating,” he mutters. “But thanks for bringing Chef Gordon into our lives, son. I had no idea there were so many different kinds of lettuce.”
I stick around to listen to my mom lovingly berate my dad for being ungrateful while also somewhat agreeing with him in a way that makes me feel appreciated for my efforts.
But Claire is the only one who has my attention as soon as she makes her grand entrance from the kitchen—in her brand-new chef jacket with a redesigned logo that saysLittle Sweeney’s Sweet Treats on Main, to match the new sign out front. I swear, she is just as radiant as she was when she descended the stairs in that Vera Wang gown in New York. She sets a cake down on the counter and looks so happy. I didn’t know it could feel this good to make another person happy, but if I can take any credit for that smile, I’m as proud as I’ve ever been about any of the accomplishments I’m famous for.
Damien segues into an acoustic version of “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” which is funny. I guess. And the focus of the room shifts to Claire and the amazing treats she’s made for us. Jake removes her little baker’s beret, puts her in a brotherly headlock, and gives her a noogie.
There’s a good solid ten minutes of chaos-free celebration, love, and support in the room until we hear an officious rap at the front door. We all turn to find a studious little man with black-rimmed glasses and a clipboard who’s making a constipated face as he tries to peer inside.
Claire graciously unlocks and opens the door, while Istand right behind her. “Hi. I’m so sorry, but this is a private party. We aren’t open.”
“Good,” the man says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Otherwise I’d have to shut you down.”