Lauren is still chattering on about something, and Chris tries to drag his attention away from his frustration and back to her. He focuses on her bright smile and the animated way she gestures with her hands as she speaks. Her hair is curly tonight, bouncing with her energy. Her skirt, cut to mid-thigh, shows off her long, slender legs, which she’s swinging again.
“Will there be a party to celebrate the restaurant’s opening?” she’s asking. “There usually is, isn’t there? My best mate, Chelsea, is working for a PR firm this summer, and she’s been to at least half a dozen openings—restaurants, bars, all sorts of things. Her job sounds much more fun than mine, but then, I did get to meet with you and plan all this, so it’s worth it,” she adds, smiling coyly. “So, is there going to be a party?”
“There is,” Chris answers. “Would you like to come?”
Her face lights up. “Would I? Can I bring some friends?”
“Why not?” It’s not as if there won’t be plenty of food. And Lauren and her pals might brighten up what might otherwise be a staid gathering of critics and overawed friends and family members.
“You’re ace, Chris!” She notices his phone lying nearby and grabs it, typing away. “I’ll give you my number, okay? You can text me with the details. Or,” she looks up at him through her lashes, “we could meet up for a drink, and you could tell me in person.”
Tempting, he has to admit. Her happiness and excitement are infectious, as is often the case with the young. Part of him wants to say “yes” and see what happens, but a slightly more practical part answers, “Maybe after the opening.”
“Course.” She finishes off her typing. “You’ll be too busy this week. But you’ll send me the deets, right? I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t dare disappoint you,” he says, reaching out to take the phone back. She holds onto it for a second or two, giggling, then releases it to him.
“You’d better not,” she says, hopping down from the counter and sashaying toward the kitchen door. “Night, Chris. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Ten
Find Yourself a Girl, and Settle Down
Twenty-four hours to launch. Chris’s kitchen is humming: deliverymen coming and going, extractor fans blasting, whisks scraping frantically around metal bowls. Calum is on the phone with their fish guy, who called to say he won’t be able to get the oysters they need after all, and could they just substitute some Shetland mussels instead?
“No, the whole dish is built on oysters on the half shell!” Calum bellows. “Mussels on the half shell? Come on! Oi!” he shouts to a deliveryman bringing in crates of carrots. “Ya daft? Not there—does it look like we’ve got room to be tripping over those? Joe, show him to the walk-in.” He turns back to the phone. “You’ll get me oysters, or you’ll get my foot up yer backside, ’kay?”
Chris is showing a line cook and an apprentice how to make the smoked bacon–flavored droplets that are meant to be going over the missing oysters. He looks up at Calum and says, “Relax. If they can’t get oysters, we’ll make do with the mussels. I’ll come up with something new.”
“Right, because you have time for that,” Calum scoffs.
“I’ll make time,” Chris answers. “Rab, y’all right, there?”
Rab is trying his hand at puff pastry under the tutelage of the pastry chef, who’s also working on the savory ice creams. Chris notices a sheen of nervous sweat on the boy’s forehead.
“Yeah, aw’ight,” Rab mumbles, concentrating on folding, rolling, and refolding the pastry.
“Too much flour!” the pastry chef snaps. “And look—your butter slab is poking through.” He gestures to a spot where a bit of bright yellow is peeking through a tear in the pastry. “It won’t rise now. Ruined!” He sighs and shakes his head.
Rab sags.
“It’s fine,” Chris reassures him. “This is how you learn. Why don’t you show him how to fix it?” he adds to his pastry chef.
“You can’t fix it!” the pastry chef snaps back. “You won’t get a proper mille-feuille out of that.”
“But it’ll probably do for the mini haggis rolls,” Calum suggests. “Saves me the trouble of making rough puff. Thanks, lad!” He claps Rab on the back, and Rab revives a little.
The pastry chef shakes his head and mutters as he scrapes the ice creams into tiny half-sphere molds.
A sharp female voice cuts across the chaos. “You lot know how tae make a mess, I’ll give ’ee that!”
Chris looks up and sees his sister standing where the crate of carrots just was. Like Chris, Beth is tall and sturdily built, with deep red hair worn short. She’s dressed in her typical uniform of worn jeans, plain T-shirt that’s starting to fray a little at the neck and hem, and trainers so old you can’t tell what color they used to be. Her right hand is planted on her hip as she surveys the chaos. In her left hand is a leash attached to a ginger-colored bulldog pup who’s hopefully sniffing the air.
“Beth, my love—here at last!” Calum crows, swooping in to give her a hug.
She grins and thumps him on the shoulder with her free hand. “Ah, ya numpty,” she affectionately greets him. “You stayin’ oot o’ trouble, eh? And keepin’ ’im straight?” She nods toward Chris, who’s wiping his hands on a towel and coming over to embrace her.
“You’re early,” Chris notes. She was supposed to come in after six. Leave it to Beth to do her own thing.
“Is that any way to greet yer only sister?” She rolls her eyes. “Charmer, him. How d’ye manage, Calum?”
“I just ignore him,” Calum answers.
“Oh, aye? Seems the ticket. Y’all right, then, Rab? Yer gran’s been asking after you.”
“Yeah, all right,” Rab answers, ducking his head and blushing.
The pastry chef sighs again and shakes his head, which does not escape Beth’s notice. Chris can see her narrowing her eyes and opening her mouth to say something.
“You can’t have that dog in here,” Chris cuts in.
“We’ll scarper,” she says. “I’ll take ’er for a walk to Bladigan’s and see some o’ th’ folk there.”
“You can’t. It’s gone,” Calum informs her with a grimace and shake of the head. “It’s a yoga studio and juicery now.”
Beth narrows her eyes. “Whit the bleedin’ hell is a juicery? Right, we’ll find summat to do.”
“My keys are in the desk in the office.” Chris points the way. “You can just let yourself into the flat.”
“Right.” She heads to retrieve the keys, then returns. “See you there, then, brother. Ta, loves.” She grabs a few slices of Iberian ham from a prep station and tosses one to the dog on her way out.
Chris wails after her, “Beth! Do you have any idea what that costs per ounce?!”
“Ach! It’s just posh bacon, Christopher!” she bellows, slamming the door behind her.
Calum chuckles. “You think she’ll ever love me back?”