Page 18 of The Hampton Beach Café 6
“Thanks, Hayley,” Duncan was saying, as he carefully swept up the last of the broken shards on to the carefully placed dustpan. “I didn't mean to. I hate being so useless…Frances has been so nice to me...”
“You're not useless. You just need to slow down and learn one thing at a time. Back in my day, when I was a waitress full time, they'd have docked me the plate and the cost of the food—you've got a good boss in Frances.”
Frances smiled. Hayley was a pretty well-known and successful international model but the fact that she was taking the time to help Duncan spoke volumes about her character. Even if she hadn't told her right away about Texas, Frances knew in her bones that she could trust Hayley.
From the corner of her eye, Frances saw Martha packing up her purse and preparing to leave. She hurried over to her.
“Thank you so much for coming, Martha. You've been a tremendous help. Is there anything I can do?”
Martha smiled warmly at Frances. “It's my pleasure, dear. I'm just glad I can be useful, and I just know we're going to get that rotten sleazeball.”
Frances stepped forward to her and hugged her, feeling a sense of kinship with the older woman who gently patted her on the shoulder.
“I'll keep you updated with anything I find. That Kennedy is a big help, you know. Her and Alex…he's a good one too.”
“Alex has been helping you?” Frances asked, surprised.
Martha nodded. “He checks in almost every day. He did say you two had, you know, a little barney. There are always disagreements in relationships, dear, some bigger than others. You'll get through this little lover’s tiff, don't you worry.”
“Oh, we aren’t—" Frances started to protest.
“Do stop that nattering,” Martha said. “I'm too old to waste my remaining time with that kind of nonsense, dear.”
She patted Frances on the shoulder again and winked. Frances watched her disappear out of the door before shaking her head in disbelief—the woman was an odd one, that was for sure.
Frances turned and surveyed the café. Lucinda was back behind the counter. Perfect. Frances locked her gaze on Vincent's back as he stood near the gallery section of the café, adjusting the placement of a painting.
“Hey Vin. Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Vincent turned to face her, his warm eyes brightening when he saw her. “Of course, what's up?”
Frances fidgeted with the apron she had tied around her waist, feeling a sudden surge of nerves.
“I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you're happy with everything,” she said. “You know, the way you work behind the counter instead of renting the space…and the way we split sales, I mean.”
Vincent smiled at her in a reassuring way, though the expression on his face was edged with confusion.
“Yeah? Everything is great. I love having my art here, and the way we're selling it works perfectly for me. I like helping out with customers, being around to talk about the art with people who are interested, and I think the commission is fair...”
Frances breathed a sigh of relief, feeling her shoulders relax. “Okay, good. That's great to hear.”
“Tell me if I'm way off base here…” he said, “…but I think you know I'm fine with the arrangement we have here.”
Of course she did. While she always wanted to make sure he was still fine with it, it wasn't really him that she had been worried about.
“You pay too much attention,” Frances said, pouting a little.
He laughed and Frances smiled. He wasn't her type at all, but when he laughed like that she could really see why Lucinda was so besotted with him. He was a very handsome man—not to mention good-natured, kind, talented, and genuine.
“That's what Luce says.” He chuckled as he spoke. “From the very first time I joked around with her, she liked that she couldn't corner me.”
Frances let her smile turn into a grin. He hadn't raised the topic of Lucinda with her before—maybe they were getting properly serious.
“Yeah?” she said, hoping he would continue.
“She's a great woman,” he said. “I think we're both pretty lucky to have her in our lives.”
“I agree,” Frances said. “I worry that it's not fair on her—asking her to work behind the counter, getting her to watch the place, when she refuses to be paid and I can't even get her to consider it. Even though I know she thinks of the place as 'ours', she won't let me pay her.”
