The Way Home (17 page)

The sky was growing darker and the wind picked up, blowing bits of trash around the empty boardwalk. Avery began to carry in the outdoor tables and chairs that stood under the open awning. Although they were made of wood, they were mostly light enough for her to handle. But there were plenty of them and she wished that she had some help.

Neither Jack nor Teresa had called her to say they could come. They were probably busy with their own homes and belongings. Avery didn't want anyone driving in the storm anyway. It was just as well.

I can do this. It's not that much,
she told herself.

She cleared the patio then looked up at the awning. Yikes, that had to come down. But she could never manage it. She didn't even have a ladder.
The best I can do is close it up as far as it will go,
she decided.

It was an old-fashioned mechanism, and Avery hooked the long metal bar to the winding piece on one end. The awning moved a few inches then wouldn't budge.

“Come on . . . just roll up, would you please?” The custom-made canvas had cost her a small fortune, imprinted with hand-designed lettering and the restaurant insignia. She hated to see it torn to shreds. But time was passing and she had to cover the glass doors before the storm hit—or at least put tape on them.

Avery left the metal winding handle dangling and ran inside to look for something to cover the glass. Hadn't the carpenters left some extra paneling somewhere or some plywood? She was almost sure of it.

She frantically searched through a storage closet and found a thin piece of beadboard. It didn't seem very substantial, but it would do for at least one door. She hunted around and found scraps for the other two, and the hammer.

But no nails. She suddenly remembered she didn't have any.

Maybe they had some at the inn? It was too late to drive there and back. The McNultys . . . maybe they had some nails. They had nailed down their entire shop.

She ran to their shop but realized instantly that the older couple was gone, undoubtedly sitting out the storm someplace inland. Where anyone with any brains would be right now.

She carried her armful of wood scraps and the hammer into the dining area and set the burden on a table. Could she tape the wood up?

That idea is so stupid, I'm going to pretend you didn't even consider it . . .

“Avery? Are you in there?”

Avery heard someone call her name. She looked outside and saw Mike. He stood near the dangling awning handle then grabbed it and began to wind, before she could even answer.

“Wait . . . I'll be right out.”

Avery ran outside, happier to see Mike than she could have ever imagined. Since the scene in her kitchen Monday night, they hadn't exchanged a word. She had only seen him once or twice, walking down the street toward his restaurant, his eyes straight ahead, his step quick and determined. He no longer seemed interested in stopping off for more friendly chitchat or unsolicited advice. But here he was for some reason, checking to see if the café was ready for the storm.

“You've got to close this up all the way. It will blow right off the building.”

“I tried but it was stuck. How did you get it going again?”

He tipped his head down to look at her with a
you've got to be kidding me
expression.

“I untied it at the corners, Avery,” he said simply, pointing to the laces at each far corner of the frame.

“Oh, right. I knew that,” she insisted. “I was just rushing so much, I guess I forgot.” Got blinded by sheer panic, was closer to the truth, but she didn't bother to explain. “Well, thanks,” she said sincerely.

“No problem. Tables and chairs are inside, that's good. What about these doors? Do you have some wood or something to cover them?”

“I have a little wood—but no nails,” she admitted.

“I've got plenty. And a hammer.”

Avery carried out the wood she had found, and they worked together covering the doors. She held each piece in place while Mike quickly and smoothly tapped in the nails. She felt a little self-conscious, working so close together, their arms practically entwined. Rain had started to fall and the wind was howling.

Avery felt her hair and clothes getting wet.

Mike didn't seem to notice, not the rain or her nearness, his entire attention focused on the wood and nails. A few minutes later, the doors were covered.

“Just in time. It's starting to come down.” Mike had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind.

Avery went inside and Mike followed. It was dark in the café with only the light of a few small windows on the side of the building.

“I guess I'll cover the other windows with tape.” Avery picked up a roll and started the job. Mike sat in a chair and wiped off his face with a dinner napkin, then smoothed his wet hair back with his hand. He looked even more handsome than usual with his hair that way, she thought. But she forced herself to focus on her taping task.

“I hope you have a flashlight and batteries. Or some candles,” he said. “You can't drive till this blows over, and the electricity might go out . . . What about a generator?”

“A generator?” That seemed a bit extreme.

“For the cold box. If we lose power for more than an hour, you'll have to throw everything out,” he reminded her.

Avery sighed. That was true. “I did think about buying one, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.”

Generators were expensive. She had already spent more on the renovations than she should have.

Avery had no sooner said the words when she heard an ominous rumble of thunder, followed by a loud crack of lightning. The lights flickered and she held her breath.

Seconds later, the lights went out and Avery stared into pitch-black darkness.

“Uh-oh,” she said quietly.

“Uh-oh is right . . . Where's your flashlight?”

“In the kitchen. Don't trip on anything,” she added as she heard Mike slowly walk toward her.

With the doors in front boarded and tape covering the windows, it was quite dark in the café. It took a few minutes for Avery's eyes to adjust. She managed to make her way into the kitchen and found the big yellow flashlight right where she had left it on the worktable. She grabbed it and switched it on.

“Geez . . . get that thing out of my eyes. Are you trying to blind me?” Mike was encompassed by a circle of light, one arm raised over his eyes to shield himself from the beam.

“Sorry,” Avery said sincerely. “I didn't see you there.”

She heard him laugh lightly in the dark. “Right.”

She turned the flashlight toward the wall and put it on the worktable. Mike sat on the opposite side.

They heard the rain pounding the roof and battering the kitchen window, as if someone were standing outside with a hose, turned on full force.

“It's really coming down now,” Mike said.

“We got in just in time. Thanks for coming over here and helping me.” She suddenly realized she hadn't even said that yet.

Mike shrugged. “That's all right.” An awkward silence fell. “How did your theme nights go last week? It seemed pretty lively here,” he conceded.

“Pretty well. Better than I expected. The Lobster Slider night worked the best, but that was a Saturday.”

“Any time is the right time for a Lobster Slider,” he said. “Any leftovers? All that hammering made me hungry.”

They had done a lot of work outside, and it was just about lunchtime, Avery realized. Still, she felt a little intimidated feeding Mike. The only food of hers he'd had so far was a handful of sweet potato chips. What if he didn't like her cooking?

“Never mind,” he said quickly. “I don't want to bother you. I can wait. I'll grab something down at my place later.”

He had misread her hesitation. “No, please. It's fine. I'm hungry, too.”

Avery took out the box of candles, lit two, and set them on the worktable. Then she took the flashlight and headed for the cold box. “I'll be right back.”

“Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I forgot my boat.” Mike watched her from his perch on a stool, his arms folded over his broad chest. With his hair slicked back from the rain and the candlelight shadows, he looked very handsome.

She felt nervous again about serving him lunch. Nervous about . . . something, she realized.

Get a grip, Avery,
she told herself as she walked into the room-sized refrigerator.
So what if he doesn't like your cooking? It's not like you're interviewing for a job—or dating him
.

But he had said that he wanted a date with her. And they'd had that impromptu, amazing kiss. She'd had some vague notion that would mark the start of a new phase in their relationship. And he would ask her out after that.

But so far, nothing. Maybe he really was put off when she had concealed the great pizza night plan—or when she hinted that he had given her enough advice?

Or perhaps he also had second thoughts about getting romantically involved with someone in the same business, someone who was his only competition on this entire island.

And even if he did ask me out, I'm not even sure what I would say,
Avery reminded herself.

Yeah, right. I'm going to pretend that you didn't even think that.

Avery finally emerged with some tasty offerings and brought them out to the kitchen. While she prepared their meal, Mike set two places on the worktable with mats and china. He filled the water glasses and adjusted the candles just so then folded the napkins with professional flare. Avery glanced over her shoulder and watched him working.

“Very nice,” she commented.

“Glad you approve of the . . . ambience.” He was teasing her, of course. But she didn't mind it.

She brought over two plated salads, cold poached salmon on mixed greens with walnuts and grapes. There was some dill sauce on the side.

Mike looked impressed as he glanced down at his place, and she felt quietly proud . . . and relieved.

“My, my. This looks lovely. I was thinking more of a turkey and Swiss on rye.”

“It wasn't any trouble. I had everything prepped for the brunch.”

“Oh, right.” He glanced at his watch. “If the lights don't come back by the time we finish eating, we'll take your perishables to my place. I do have a generator.”

“Oh . . . that would be great, thanks.” Avery had forgotten all about that problem. She was grateful for his offer. But as they sat together in the cozy glow of the candlelight, the rain coming down steadily outside, she actually didn't want the lights to come back on too quickly.

He took a few bites of his salad. “This is great. And fun,” he added, glancing at her. “Probably the only break I'll get for the rest of the summer. Next Sunday is July first. That's when it really hits. Fourth of July is in the middle of the week this year. The island will be full of people all week long,” he predicted.

“Hey, I'm ready. I just have to hire another waitress,” she added. “Serena quit.”

“Really? That's too bad. I hope you can find someone. It's getting late.”

“Jack's girlfriend needs a summer job. She's coming in tomorrow for an interview.”

“That was lucky,” he said around a mouthful of salad. “Maybe your luck is starting to turn, Avery.”

“Maybe,” she said, crossing her fingers under the table. One fairly good week wasn't going to save her. But it was a start, she thought. “I can hardly believe it's the Fourth already. The summer is going so fast.”

Mike paused to spoon a dab of dill sauce on the side of his dish. “I know. It passes faster and faster each year. I can't figure it out.” He tasted a drop of the sauce with his fork tine. “What's the base on this—sour cream?”

“Greek yogurt,” she replied, pleased to have stumped him. “I think it's lighter and has a little more tanginess.”

He nodded. “Good idea. I like it . . . I'm going to steal it from you,” he added with a grin.

She laughed. “All right. I owe you one, I guess.” She took a sip of water and sat back. “So what do you do for the rest of the year, Mike, when you're not running the Tuna?”

“I work at the high school in Cape Light,” he replied.

“Really?” It was hard for Avery to hide her surprise. She could see from his expression she hadn't done a very good job. “You're a teacher?” He was fit enough to be a physical education instructor, that was for sure.

“Not quite. I'm a counselor, in the guidance department. I like working with kids. I have two of my own.”

“Wow, that's great.” She hadn't expected him to have children for some reason. But now that he had said it, she could see it. He was probably a great dad. “How old are they?”

“Noah is eight and Emily is six.”

She was still stunned but managed to say, “You should bring them by. I'd love to meet them sometime.”

“Oh, you will. They spend a lot of time at the beach down here during the summer. But they're both in camp right now.” He paused and smiled at her. “You seem surprised to hear I'm a dad. Don't I seem responsible enough?”

She was surprised but tried to hide it. They had finished their salads and she took the plates away. “Now that you mention it, no, you don't seem responsible enough,” she teased back. “You just never mentioned them, that's all . . .”

What else had he never mentioned, she wondered. Was he married?

Single men can have children,
she told herself
. He's probably divorced. He'd better be divorced if he kissed me that way.

She brought over their desserts and served him first. Slices of key lime pie, the plates garnished with whipped cream and mixed berries.

“Hmm, this looks good . . . Nice presentation.” He turned the dish and looked it over approvingly. “The kids like to help me at the restaurant sometimes, too,” he added smiling. “I've got to keep an eye on them, though. Too easy to get into mischief at that age. My mother helps me out, but she can't have them every day,” he said as he finished up his salad.