Her jaw tightened into a clench. She looked up at the empty parking lot. Not one soul was in sight. Stepping out from around the building, she peered down both sides of Main Street. Other townspeople wandered the sidewalks, battling the wind with their beanies and coats, chins tucked into their chests. The shops were open for business, lights on to invite customers inside.
But no one from Ady’s was anywhere in the vicinity.
Had they decided to take a Monday off?
Rosalie nibbled on her lip, swiping on her phone screen to bring up her internet browser window. She wasn’t sure what she was searching for, but her fingers decided for her. They typed “number for Ady’s Creole Café” into the search engine and tapped “go.” It was a long shot that Nick Fontaine’s personal number would be listed. She scrolled through the search results anyway.
All things considered, she had nothing but time. She clicked on a St. Aster business page that had the restaurant’s details listed. Tires crunched over gravel louder than the wind and its incessant blowing. The tires belonged to a bronze pick-up truck similar in color to its owner’s complexion.
Nick Fontaine swung into one of the many empty parking spots. The truck’s rumbling engine died and his driver’s-side door popped open. He hopped out, sticking the landing with effortless swagger. He whistled on his approach, sunglasses obscuring his pale green eyes from view, coffee cup clutched in hand. By appearance alone, he had zero cares in the world.
The tense clench in Rosalie’s jaw only increased. She had been standing out in the uncharacteristic Louisiana winds for what was now twenty minutes. He was about town grabbing a coffee and whistling the tune to what sounded like Otis Redding’s “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.” The disconnection was glaring.
Nick took one glance at her, key ring looped on his finger, and said, “You’re early.”
“I’m on time. She said ten. You’re late.”
“I’m not late. Zoe’s late. Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She wasn’t here to meet me.”
“So you’ve been standing out here all this time?” If Nick meant to sound sympathetic, he failed. Rather, his smooth timbre was blasé at best. He unlocked the door to the café and held it open for Rosalie, shooting her a dimpled smile as if he was the definition of gentlemanly.
Rosalie thanked him and hastened inside. The wind wrecked the twist-out style of her coiled hair and she didn’t want to know how many knots had been caused. As far as she was concerned, she would be happy if she never encountered another gust. Her hand found her curls and she began gently combing through with her fingers.
Nick had returned to his whistling, headed for the back office. Rosalie called out to him.
“So will Zoe be here to train me?”
“Don’t know. She’s probably called out.”
“If she’s not here, who will take her place?”
Nick stopped but didn’t turn around. His shoulders braced into a rigid posture that she could tell was unnatural to him. He thought on it another second and then peered at her from over his shoulder.
“Hmm. Guess it’ll have to be me.”
Chapter Four
Nick hated Mondays. Mondays were bothersome and soul depleting. His least favorite day of the week. Turning up at Ady’s that Monday morning, his favorite latte from Ms. Maple’s in hand, he hoped to spend much of the day locked away in the office taking it easy. He even planned to hit Main Street for Maxie’s birthday presents. His two-hour lunch would be squeezed in between.
Coming to Ady’s, he had little intention of running into Rosalie Underwood stranded outside. Less than that, he had no intention of sticking around to train the new waitress. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with waiting at Mom’s restaurant; in fact, for a long time during Ady’s peak, he had been the star waiter, holding down the dining area for the crowds of customers coming and going.
The strained silence of a skeptic met his offer. Rosalie fought off any trace on her face. He knew better, spotting tell-tale signs in how she held her mouth and inhaled a puff of air. She was not happy with his suggestion. For whatever reason, she didn’t want him to train her. Perfectly cool with him since he wasn’t keen on the idea either.
“Look, I get it. You had your heart set on Zoe.” He shrugged his shoulders while he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m not Zoe. But…but I am the owner now. Guess that means it falls on me.”
Nick wanted to kick himself. How unsure could he possibly sound?
He hated when his easygoing veneer slipped. He needed for everyone around him, Rosalie Underwood included, to believe he was as cool as a cucumber. His antics normally more than made up for any flubs. The lax stride, the whistling and grinning, the constant unconcerned replies that rolled off his tongue. They were all by design. At least that was what he told himself. He could do better if he wanted, yet somehow as of late, he never chose to…
“Okay, what do we do first when opening?” Rosalie crammed down the skepticism once oozing from her pores and stepped forward with renewed interest. She might not’ve realized it, but she looked damn cute standing there like that. The heavy denim jacket drowned her small frame, her cattish brown eyes blinking at him, face framed by those jet-black, zig-zag curls of hers; right now they were wild thanks to the wind outside, blown askew in a natural way he could only think of as bedhead sexy.
Nick’s cheeks warmed and he hurriedly cleared his throat. Those thoughts he banished. Not only were they strange and out of nowhere but they were inappropriate. Rosalie was his employee. Sure any idiot with eyes could see she was an attractive woman. Alluring brown eyes, rich brown skin, pitch-black curls, and nice full lips shaped like a heart. The woman was worth more than a double take on the busiest city street.
But he was her boss. She was his employee.
Any thoughts about her outside of work-related matters was wrong. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
Nick squashed his innate and sudden attraction then and there. Another clear of his throat later, he rushed to give her the tour of the place. She dutifully shadowed him, curiously surveying anything he pointed out. He stopped in the kitchen and handed her a half apron. His own he tied about his waist.
“We’ll get you a T-shirt and name tag soon,” he said. “When Zoe gets back in, I’ll have her order ’em for you. ’Til then a white or black shirt is fine.”
Rosalie had tugged off her denim jacket to reveal a navy V-neck shirt. She glanced down her front and back up at him. He rushed to clarify, heat still warming his cheeks. If anything, it had begun to fan out across his skin, down his back. Why the hell was it so hot in the kitchen when no stoves, ovens, or burners were going?
“Blue is fine too. Uh, anyway…your focus is the dining room. You’ve waited tables before, right?”
“Right,” answered Rosalie, now in step with him. “I’m guessing opener takes down the chairs and preps the dining ware?”
“Sounds like you’re gonna be a fast learner.”
They started unstacking the chairs off the tables, dividing the room down the middle. Muffled voices sounded outside belonging to males he assumed must’ve been Jefferson and Que. The men were half an hour late, but it wasn’t like he could be pissed at them. His failure as a boss wasn’t their fault. If he expected them to be on time, he should’ve held them accountable as soon as it became a problem.