Page 13 of Blame It on the Bikini
"I never had a driver, though," she said, flashing him a smile. "My father is very successful but not at the level of your dad." She paused. "What about you? Are you and your parents close? You don't have any siblings, either, do you?"
"No. Like your parents, they had an obligatory child, but that's where the interest ended."
She gave him a quick look. "Something else we have in common."
"True. But I still work with my father, while you do not."
"Your father is probably easier to work for. He clearly respects you and wants you to take over his company. My father treated me like every other associate at his firm, and if I did something wrong, he would blow up, as if my mistake was a reflection of him. I don't think he had much respect for my abilities."
"He might have just wanted you to prove yourself."
"That's what he said. He wasn't going to give me any favors, and that was fine. But I also think he treated me more harshly just to prove the point, which wasn't necessary. I hoped that quitting might actually improve our relationship, but he just can't get over the anger and disappointment he feels toward me. Maybe one day that will change, but I'm not holding my breath. How is it working with your dad?"
"I paid my dues in the company, starting at the bottom. I worked every entry-level job from the time I was eighteen on. He wanted me to know how to do everything, or at least know how it was being done by others. It was a smart move, even though I was often impatient with my slow progress. But having that foundation helped me when I graduated from college and got my MBA. I was really ready then to move into a leadership position." He paused. "My father and I were not close when I was growing up. And we did get closer when I went to work for him, but even that took years. It really wasn't until about two years ago, when he finally decided to slow down, that we started to talk more about how I could take over his business. Since then, we've been getting along well, except when he makes strange requests that he doesn't care to explain."
"Like having to spend a month at Ocean Shores?" she asked with a smile.
"Exactly."
"Why did he want you to spend time with us?"
"He has not explained his reasoning to me. I've never seen him care about any company that he owns, so why he has any sentiment about your apartment building is a mystery to me."
"My aunt seems rather mysterious about your presence in the building, too, almost like she has some idea of why your father asked you to come but doesn't want to say. I wonder if he told her, but not you."
"I honestly have no idea."
"Well, hopefully, it won't be a horrible month. You do get to live right next to the ocean. There are some perks."
"That's true." He paused as she pulled into the restaurant parking lot. "This looks interesting."
"I love the building, but the food is even better." Sol y Mar occupied a converted beach house, its weathered cedar shingles and expansive deck giving it the casual elegance of a well-loved summer cottage. String lights wrapped around the railings, and the sound of waves was clearly audible even from the parking lot. "Madison and Gabe opened this place about nine months ago, and it's always packed. They got a lot of attention when they appeared on a TV cooking competition last year, where they were pitted against each other."
"That sounds interesting."
"It was definitely that. Madison is classically trained in French cuisine and was running an upscale restaurant, while Gabe is a self-taught chef whose Mexican roots often appear in his cooking, and he was working a food truck that was parked down the street from her restaurant. They actually disliked each other intensely when they first met. But while they were opposites in every way, when they started cooking together, they found a synergy and a magic that not only created a great professional partnership but a personal one as well. They're getting married this summer."
"Sounds like they found a happy ending."
"Yes, but it's not an ending according to Gabe, it's just the beginning." She paused. "Do you think it's okay to turn the engine off? I'm almost afraid to do it in case it dies again."
"I think we're good. If not, we'll jump it again. The cables are in the back."
"You're right. I'm not going to worry about it."
She turned off the engine, and they got out of the car and walked into the restaurant. The interior was as charmingly warm and inviting as the outside, with exposed beams, local artwork on cream-colored walls, and tables that looked like they'd been crafted by local artisans rather than ordered from a restaurant supply catalog.
"Hello, Lexie," the hostess said before giving him a curious look. "I've got the perfect table for you and your friend."
"Thanks," Lexie said. "But I don't think there's a bad table in this place."
The hostess motioned to a young man who took them through the restaurant and out another door onto a covered deck that was cozy and warm but also offered a spectacular view of the ocean. They'd barely sat down when a dark-haired, dark-eyed man wearing a chef's coat came over to the table.
"Hi, Lex," he said, then turned his gaze to him. "Mr. Holt. I'm Gabe Herrera. My fiancée, Madison, and I live right next door to you in 12B."
"Nice to meet you."
"I'm glad Lexie brought you in. If you don't mind, I'd love to treat you both to some special dishes we're making tonight. Of course, you can also pick from the menu, if you'd prefer that."
