Page 8 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
“How things run in the kitchen.”
Pretty much. “Yeah.” It would’ve been nice if his attention had strayed to other people rather than me all night, but other than that, tonight had been no different than any other at The Boardwalk. “Is that all you plan to do to increase revenue? Observe the staff?”
I walked into my office and sat in my hunter green velvet office chair. Rhett leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb.
He tutted while shaking his head. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
”Idon’tknow you,“ I retorted. His uncle may have faith in him, but until Rhett proved himself, I held little confidence that this wasn’t a case of nepotism.
“We’ll remedy that soon enough.” He smirked.
No, we won’t.
He continued, “Anyway, no, I don’t plan ononlywatching what goes on here. That’s just the first part. I’ll pay attention to what’s currently being done, make notes, study reports, then formulate a new path toward success.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “How long is this going to take you?”
“You and I will meet next week.”
“Oh, joy,” I sassed. “How will I ever survive the long wait?” I batted my lashes.
He grinned, his brown eyes sparkling. “You’ll be singing a different tune soon enough.”
His confidence was astounding.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said dryly.
He rapped his knuckle against the wood door frame. “We’ll see. Goodnight, Chef Dewhurst.”
I offered a stiff wave. “‘Night, Mr. Ivy.”
He chuckled as he walked away. “My name is Rhett!”
When I got home, I tiptoed across the tan carpet in the master bedroom to check on Mom. Noah and Trevor usually left once she fell asleep for the night. Her slightly yellow-tinged skin looked worse against her white pillowcase. Chemo treatments for her renal cell carcinoma had really kicked her butt. We were waiting for her to feel well enough for surgery, praying it cured her. The doctors said she was close.
Her soft breaths puffed out between her dry lips in a rhythmic motion. Satisfied she slept as peacefully as possible, I retreated to my room. I shot off a text to my brother Trevor and cousin Noah.
Holly:How’d tonight go with Mom?
After I peeled the stinky clothes off my skin, my phone pinged.
Noah:Meh. I convinced her to sip on some of that broth you had in the fridge.
Holly:Drat. I figured as much since she wasn’t up to doing much earlier. Maybe our outing yesterday was too much for her? Or because I was late giving Mom her meds it messed up how she felt?
Noah:It’s not your fault, Holly.
Noah always knew when my overzealousness turned to doubts. If I hadn’t slept in, her day would have been better. If I’d had more soft foods in the fridge, her mouth wouldn’t be so sore. I beat myself up, thinking if only I’d been the perfect daughter, Mom wouldn’t be fighting a disease right now. That’s not how life worked, but blaming myself felt a whole lot better than getting angry at Mom.
Holly:Thanks, Noah. How’s business lately?
I set my phone on the bathroom counter and turned the shower handle to hot. As the water warmed, my phone alerted me to a new text.
Trevor:Some of us have to be up early. Next time, don’t text so late at night.
I rolled my eyes.
Holly:Sorry! [rolled eye emoji] I was worried about our mother. You know, the woman who birthed us and is battling cancer?
