Page 9 of The Hampton Beach Café 4
“Luce, you did a great job. You know I trust you in business—you're brilliant at what you do, and it's exactly what I would have done.”
She watched as her friend relaxed.
“And honestly, this is the most I've ever made in one go,” Vincent said. “I'm just happy to be here.”
He said it jokingly, but Frances could hear the truth in his voice. “Vincent, we're so happy to have you here…you're a phenomenal artist and even better person.”
Lucinda beamed up at him. “She knows what she's talking about, you know that.”
A twitch of a smile formed. “Can I just say I’ve never been happier that someone came into my gallery and threw coffee all over the ground?”
Frances laughed at the memory, but Lucinda raised an eyebrow. “It wasn't that bad, was it?”
“Oh, well, almost, but it wasn't the coffee's fault. I bumped into Kennedy that day. It was one of the things that contributed to the general ambiance of the day I bought this place…I spilled her coffee, got yelled at by her, got informed that my no good ex-husband had snuck in a clause that my shares in our business were tied to our marital status and, therefore, they had all been liquidated, stumbled on the auction here, and got goaded into buying it.”
Lucinda was staring at her blankly. She'd never heard the story in full but rather only in parts.
“You bought this place because you were having a bad day?” Alex asked, stepping out of the kitchen.
“No, I bought this place because I didn't want it going to the scummy developers next to me,” she said. “But the terrible day did contribute to the short fuse that got me to pull the trigger.”
Making his way to the table, Alex caught sight of the check and asked in shock. “That's your finder's fee?”
Lucinda giggled. “The finder’s fee I negotiated.”
“The finder's fee on my four most successful pieces I've ever sold.”
The four of them glanced around the group, holding back their excitement until Frances cracked.
“I think we're going to be okay!” she exclaimed. “And I think we can afford to fix the garden area!”
The three of them whooped and cheered in response, it was only a little over the top, but Frances didn't care. She'd had so little to celebrate for so long. This felt like a milestone.
“I do think we should increase the prices on the larger pieces,” Lucinda said. “That way, if her clients come in by some chance, they aren't enraged by having paid a premium.”
Vincent winced. “Look, I see that, but I don't want to price others out of the gallery…”
The three of them looked at Lucinda. Frances half expected her to roll her eyes and make some comment about softness. Instead, Lucinda winked at him.
“I know, which is why I think you should spend some time creating some smaller items that are more mid-priced. Even some very small pieces. Art is for everyone, but if someone wants to write you a Mac Truck Sized Check then I think we would give them plenty of Mac Truck Check Sized opportunities.”
“Here, here!” Alex said, raising an invisible glass. “A toast to Mac Truck Sized Checks!”
Any tension in the room ebbed as they fell into another bout of laughter. When the door chime tinkled again, and a small group of teenagers fresh from the beach marched in, the group dispersed back to their respective areas of the café and got back to work.
As Frances stepped up behind the counter, though, she paused to peer into the gallery. Lucinda and Vincent were whispering in a corner with broad grins on their faces. Maybe she wouldn't ask Lucinda about him. She didn't want to intrude on whatever it was they had brewing. For the first time in a really long time, Frances felt a pang of longing for a relationship so fresh and exciting. She hadn't been exactly miserable in her marriage, but it hadn't been bursting at the seams with love and adoration, either. Especially since Malcolm had decided that divorcing her by bike messenger was a great plan, and was back in Texas living it up with his high school sweetheart. Frances decided then and there—she wasn't going to feel bad about the way she was feeling. She might even go on a date, a proper one.
FIVE
From Alex: Running late this morning, there's an issue with some of the jet-ski returns from yesterday. Can you get the croissant dough slabs out of the fridge and get them warming up to room temp?
The smile on her face turned into a yawn as Frances made her way down the stairs. She was perfectly aware of the fact that Alex's devotion to the café was one of the primary reasons they had been successful at all. She would always cut him some slack—he had been baking for her for free for months, after all.
To Alex: of course, don't rush. I'll get those out and get the breads out when they go ping.
The addition of three bread makers had considerably impacted their lives—something Frances never thought she would say sincerely—but it meant that they were no longer reliant on a delivery of bread every other day from Boston. They had all been donated by people in the community, and there were very few people who bought bread makers who actually ended up using them for their daily bread. It wasn't a lot of work, but it was too much work most of the time.
Lucinda has struck again, Frances thought as she entered the kitchen filled with delicious baking smells.
