Page 1 of The Hampton Beach Café 4
ONE
Café Bruno was abuzz. It was hardly a new state of affairs these days, but Frances did still find herself occasionally pausing to wonder how such a small room with such technically low stakes could feel so, ridiculously, stressful.
She was used to consulting in rooms where billion dollar acquisitions took place, the difference between a company surviving or being put out of its misery, livelihoods, and fortunes at risk. Yet having seven tables fully seated, nine takeaway coffee orders on the go, four in-house toasted sandwiches, three takeaway croissants, and a line forming at the milkshake bar was somehow more stressful.
Flashing back to every time she had heard one of her corporate ex-colleagues complain about service or waiting time in a food establishment, Frances reprimanded them retroactively—this was hard. She'd never doubted it was hard, but she hadn't ever considered that it would be this challenging.
“Have a wonderful day,” she said for the thousandth time that day. Well, maybe not exactly a thousandth, but it sure felt like it. The turnover was amazing, but it was August, after all, and anyone in a tourist town like Hampton Beach knew they needed to make the best possible peak season income to supplement the quieter months.
A nasty thought popped into her head as she ran up yet another croissant. The difference was that she was getting the best possible short-term record so that when she sold the business at the end of the season, the buyers were more likely to pay a better price. The thought twisted her stomach. She hadn't really thought about the whole do-it-up-and-sell-it part of her plan for a while now. It had been comforting at the beginning when she had been panicking over her split-second decision to buy the place—but now? Now it felt like a dirty secret she was keeping from everyone. Especially Alex.
Three macrons and a toasted Brie and cranberry bruschetta, yet another croissant, and four coffees later, she was still trying to get the sticky guilt induced feeling in her stomach to go away. Alex wasn't there today. Funnily enough, it was August for him, too, and he was needed down on the beach at his own business. He'd spent so much time at Café Bruno that Frances didn't know what to feel more guilty about—the fact that she had bought his childhood home and old family business premises without talking to him about it first, or that she had allowed him to work for free so regularly since she had done so.
“Have a wonderful day,” she chirped. “Next, please.”
“I'll have one of everything,” a husky female voice said.
Focusing on the speaker, Frances recognized Madeline from the event Clarkson had taken her to last month.
“Maddy!” Frances said. “You're here!”
The tone in her voice was bright, but she was silently panicking. According to Clarkson, Maddy was one of the harshest food critics on the New Hampshire circuit.
“I am, aren't you lucky,” the woman said with something of a wolfish grin. “No rush. I see I picked the peak to pop in.”
“You sure did,” Frances replied with a sweet smile. “Now, when you say one of everything, does that cover coffee too?”
“No, no, my old heart won't take that kind of abuse anymore. I'll take one black coffee with cold milk on the side with savory food, then the espresso with the sweets to finish.”
Frances pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she smiled and rang up the order. Did this woman think they had full table service?
“I'll pop into the gallery to look around while you whip that up—and try and snag a table.”
Was that a dig? A compliment? A hint? Oh lord, what did this woman want from her!?
Spinning around to catch Lucinda as she whizzed by with an order, she said, “The next free table has to be put aside for Maddy—she's here, and she's ordered everything. Grab a reserved sign and take it with you.”
She popped one of the mason jars filled with fairy lights into Lucinda's apron pocket, flicking the switch on the side as she did so and making the pocket glow from within. There was a small clattering from the gallery end of the café, and Frances felt her ears prick up. That didn't sound good. As she stepped away from the counter to see through the archway and assess the situation, another customer stepped up.
“Hi, can I get a—"
Frances turned to return to her post. She saw Hayley had stepped into her place.
“––double shot black coffee with three pumps of caramel, plus two baby chinos?”
“Of course, the takeaway?” Hayley asked brightly.
Ringing the order up on the machine, she glanced at Frances and inclined her head towards the gallery. Frances smiled and mouthed the words 'thank you' to her as she slipped past the counter.
They really needed to put the flip-up tabletop back in place, she hadn't wanted it there initially, but now that patrons were trying to edge around the counter to peer into the kitchen, she thought it might be a good idea.
Rounding the corner into the gallery section of the shop, Frances saw Vince smiling and gesturing to a woman in tears as they picked up the pieces of a driftwood sculpture that had clearly been knocked to the floor.
“Oh my word, Vin, are you okay?” she asked, crouching beside them.
“I'm fine, but this lovely lady seems like she's going to have a panic attack even though everything is fine,” he said calmly, smiling. “Let's get her a piece of cake on me.”
He really is a saint,Frances thought. She knew that though he cared deeply about each of his pieces, he cared about people more.
