What he came upon was the last possible situation he wanted. On a day where he had finally mustered up enough gumption to make changes around Ady’s, he walked in on a phone conversation Rosalie was having. She was behind the slatted building, phone pressed into her ear, braving the windy autumn weather again. Like earlier, it messed up her curls, but she didn’t seem to care. She was arguing.
He figured out instantly it was Ms. Lacie, her mother. His foot stuck to the asphalt and wouldn’t move when he overheard his name.
“Nick hired me so it doesn’t matter,” Rosalie snapped. “What else am I supposed to do? I need to work. Even if it’s a place like this. Even if it’s a crap job for some guy who can’t be bothered to care about his restaurant. The place is awful—a dusty old pigsty. But it’s a paycheck. That’s what matters.”
The buzz of adrenaline fizzled. Nick blinked, face slack, body still. He tuned out the rest of her conversation, which grew terser by the word. He was too busy replaying Rosalie’s words in his head.
Crap job. Some guy who couldn’t be bothered. Awful place. Dusty old pigsty.
Nick backed away from the dumpster after tossing the trash bag. He slipped inside and retreated to his office. The lock clicked on the doorknob and his fingers raked through his cropped golden-brown waves. He blindly found his desk chair and sat down.
Crap job. He really thought he had made great strides in the last few hours.
Some guy who couldn’t be bothered. He spent his day proving his waitstaff skills were like riding a bike.
Awful place. The café had dated furniture and dim lighting, but that was part of its charm.
Dusty old pigsty. He couldn’t deny the cobwebs and dust cloaked over every corner of the restaurant. Some spring cleaning and that could be fixed. Was Ady’s really that bad?
Deep down he knew the answer.
Nick slumped in the chair and blew a cold breath. He was a fool to think he could change much. He had spent months—a full year to be exact—being cavalier, turning the other cheek to any responsibility beyond his duty as a father. Did he really believe one morning chastising some employees and serving some customers was going to change anything?
The naïveté astounded him. For hours into the day he believed it possible. He owed Rosalie Underwood a thank-you. She was only speaking the truth. The blunt words he was too chickenshit to hear. To look in the mirror and confess. Over and over again he kept telling himself he decided not to sell the restaurant in order to keep Mom’s dream alive.
But what if he had already failed? What if it was too late? What if it was already dead?
Chapter Five
Over the course of the next week, Rosalie slipped into a routine. She was grateful for it. After four months of tumultuous couch-surfing, routine was a blessing. Remi started kindergarten at the elementary school. Ma lent Rosalie an armful of books needed in order to study for her real estate license. Henry spent his days asleep on the couch in the living room.
Rosalie spent hers settling into her waitress role at Ady’s Creole Café. Her first shift was no fluke; the employees at Ady’s, including Nick Fontaine himself, were content half-assing their work. Their lack of concern for the dwindling business baffled Rosalie. She tried to bite her tongue on the matter, but each shift proved harder. The breaking point came at the beginning of week two.
Mrs. Marie Kettles thrust her arm into the air, snapping her fingers. Zoe rolled her eyes without discretion and puffed out a sigh. Her feet scuffed the floor on her sluggish walk toward the retired schoolteacher’s table. In apprentice mode, Rosalie shadowed her, curious as to how the situation would be handled.
“This onion soup is too cold and thick,” Mrs. Kettles said. She spooled soup into the spoon, the syrupy consistency dribbling like a string of molasses. “How recently did the kitchen cook this?”
Rosalie checked Zoe’s reaction. Her drawn-in eyebrows arched and she stared at Mrs. Kettles from under lids weighed down by her false lashes. “I’m not sure. I can bring you another batch if you’d like.”
“No need. Bring me the check.”
“Believe me, it’ll be my pleasure.” Zoe’s snark seeped into her tone. She snatched the bowl off the table and pivoted for the kitchen. Her dye-job red hair swayed side to side. Rosalie caught up, throwing another glance in Mrs. Kettle’s direction.
“How’d Jefferson screw up the soup?”
“Prolly has something to do with it being two days old.”
Rosalie braked in the middle of the room. “Two days old? It’s not cooked fresh?”
Zoe’s answer was a snort. “You kidding? Almost nothing’s cooked fresh anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Dunno. Ask Nick,” Zoe said, indifferent. She slid the uneaten bowl of soup across the kitchen window’s ledge and dusted off her hands. “Jefferson’s not the best cook. Ain’t it obvious?”
“Did the old cook quit when Ady passed?”
“Something like that.”
“Maybe we can get him to come back,” pondered Rosalie, frowning. She hated meddling, but the deserted dining room was pathetic. She needed this job to provide for Remi. “If we can convince him to cook for Ady’s again—”
“Ask Nick,” Zoe repeated. She gave Rosalie her back at the register, totaling up Mrs. Kettles’s order. The hint was crystal clear. Don’t speak on the situation again.
Rosalie drew a breath and then turned to face the office door. She would address the issue when he stopped loafing around and bothered to show up to work.
“We need to talk.”
“A little busy. Later good?”
“I’d rather it be sooner than later.”
Nick breezed through the front door of Ady’s at half past noon. He wore his shades indoors, clutching a coffee from Ms. Maple’s. He didn’t spare a glance at the empty dining room.
The startling reality dawned on Rosalie. For Nick and the rest of the staff at Ady’s, a day with only a handful of patrons was the norm. They were used to standing around, going through the motions for a paycheck. Nobody cared about the declining business.
Nick tore off his sunglasses and noticed Rosalie in his shadow as he unlocked the office door. Surprise flickered in his eyes and he almost laughed as if she’d told a ridiculous joke. “You’re serious. You mean right now?”
“If you don’t mind.” Rosalie quirked her brow. They both knew he wasn’t busy.
Nick pushed the door open and brandished an arm to welcome her inside. “Ladies first.”
Rosalie strode up to his desk, claiming the seat opposite him. Since her last visit, the room had grown messier. Crinkled papers stuck out from closed drawers. Days-old Styrofoam cups sat perched atop a filing cabinet. The trash overflowed, producing a mutant odor of rotten vegetables and aged cheese. Her nose wrinkled on a single whiff alone. Nick’s cheeks colored a faint pink and he rushed to collect the overloaded bag and tie it up.
“Forgot to take the trash out last night. So, uh, what’s that urgent thing you wanted to talk about?”
“It’s lunchtime and we’ve had two customers in the last hour.”
“Two, huh? I’m guessing Mrs. Kettles was one. Ever since she retired, she comes by every day.”