Page 8 of The Hampton Beach Café 3
"Why is a gossip magazine interested in us?"
"Well, they actually approached me. It's why I'm here," he said sheepishly.
It seemed like he was going to continue but Frances didn't let him finish.
"You sold your own story?" she exclaimed. "Are you seriously kidding me right now? I spend decades––literal decades––in Los Angeles, Hollywood for Pete’s sake and I never once get snapped by a tabloid rag and somehow I earn the moniker of the Sweet Treat Maker and accused of...doing whatever on a rooftop with you in New Hampshire!"
Clarkson was staring at the coffee in his mug while Lucinda and Alex looked on in awe––it wasn't often Frances got really mad.
"How could you do this to me?" she asked, quiet now.
"I thought you could use the money," he said, equally as quiet.
Lucinda opened her mouth to speak but Frances held up a hand.
"What?" she asked icily.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a check made out in her name. Ten thousand dollars was written on the amount line.
Putting it down on the table between them, all four of them stared at it.
Reaching out, she slowly picked up the check.
Ten grand...it would make a dent in the expenses portfolio she was running up.
"I'm sorry. They said they wouldn't do anything distasteful."
Lucinda cut him off.
"Seal the deal!? Really, that's not distasteful to you?"
"Of course it is!" Clarkson retorted, standing to face her. "They didn't exactly run it by me!"
Silence descended again as Frances worked to contain her emotions.
"And you…" she said, "…didn't run any of it by me."
Taking his seat again, Clarkson hung his head.
"I really am sorry," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking."
Frances considered the check in silence for a moment before folding it neatly and putting it into her pocket.
"That damage is done…the money will be used. I can only hope no one reads this trash?"
Clarkson looked up at her sheepishly. "It's got a national readership––they specifically mentioned the café as a sweetener. It's basically an advert we'd have to pay thousands for if we were contacting them..."
"Don't try and talk it up," Frances said, "…please..."
He fell silent again and Alex scoffed. "Look, can you all please take this out of my kitchen so I can get started for the day and actually make it to my real job before customers start showing up?"
Frances looked at him. His kitchen? Well, she supposed it kind of was, but it was also her kitchen...though he did have a point about this not being his real job, the jet-ski rental company was. He'd been coming here every day before sunrise and helping her for free. Guilt and shame twisted at her stomach. How could she be mad at Clarkson for taking advantage of a situation when she let Alex work for her for free...
"Let's get everything ready for the day," she said quietly. "If we're doing this Fourth of July party, we need to get the word out."
Clarkson stood and filed out into the café zone, followed closely by Lucinda, who started listing things he could do to help––none of which sounded like Chores Clarkson would be used to doing for himself.
Frances turned to Alex. "Are you ok?"
