Page 91 of Hopeless Romantic
She realized that the level of activity and number of customers wasn’t all that unusual for a weekend night at the Crow’s Nest. Located off the cobblestone streets of the historic fishing district, and butting up to the picturesque wharf, it offered spectacular water views, and locals expected a wait. A booth, the central dining area, or even the bar—a seat in Levi’s place was prime real estate.
People could point to the location, the panoramic views, or even the award-winning menu to explain the restaurant’s popularity. But Beckett was beginning to learn that it was Levi himself who kept people coming back. He had this relaxed way about him that immediately put people at ease. Had them laughing as if reliving a pleasant memory from another time.
Levi created space for people to be happy. He’d created a special space for her to find happiness. And she wanted to do the same for him.
“I’ve got this,” she said, in thefake it till you make ittone she used on her dad. “I have no idea how to run a restaurant, but it can’t be harder than running my house. Right?”
She double-parked behind a black Jeep she knew belonged to Seth, one of the servers Beckett had interviewed for the wedding. He was a local who’d been waiting tables at the Crow’s Nest since he graduated high school, and he always worked the dinner rush to closing shift.
She should take comfort in that, except he was the one who’d called her to report the out-of-control shit show, his words, that Beckett was somehow supposed to fix.
“Or house-training a chicken,” Annie said.
At that, Beckett smiled. “I’d better go.”
“Call if you need backup. I get off in two hours and know how to make some mean dumpling soup. Jewish and Vietnamese.”
“Thanks.” Beckett disconnected and climbed out of the truck.
She was immediately hit by a blast of sea air and echoes of chatter and laughter coming off the terrace. It wasn’t just crowded; there was a restlessness among the crowd, a growing impatience that could lend itself to a rowdy Saturday night. Because on a cold Saturday night, where else would people go but the local watering hole?
Not wanting to push through the crowd at the entrance, she cut around the back of the building and slipped through one of the massive sliding glass doors, which in the summer months opened to merge the bar and outdoor terrace. Tonight, the door was only opened enough to allow the sound of the waves in the dining area—which was full to capacity.
Across the floor, she spotted Marie, the floor manager, standing at the hostess station and talking with a customer. When Beckett approached the circular podium, Marie’s eyes lit with relief.
“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Marie patted her chest. “Seth said you were on your way.”
“I came as soon as he called.”
“My daughter came home from a sleepover with a fever. Not high, but enough to make me concerned.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“There’s a cold going around her school, and I’ve been praying it would miss our house.” Marie let out a long sigh. “Gus said he’d find someone to cover the rest of my shift, but—”
“Gus is sick, too. Which is why I’m here,” Beckett explained. “How can I help?”
Marie pointed to a group waiting near the front door and waved them over. “Winters. Party of seven,” Marie confirmed when they approached the podium. “Beckett here will show you to your table.”
“Wait, what? I have to go check on the kitchen,” Beckett said quietly so that the customers couldn’t overhear her.
“You need to seat these customers first. Table seventeen.” She pointed to the location on the seating chart—which was about as useful as taking a trip across the country with only a coloring map from elementary school as a guide.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” Marie said.
“No, no, no.” She reached out and gripped Marie’s forearm. “You can’t go. We’re already one manager down. I can’t afford to lose you.”
“If I could stay, I would, but my husband works the night shift at the docks, and I don’t have childcare. If I’d known about Gus earlier, I could have arranged for my mom to sit. But she’ll be asleep by now, and my husband leaves for work at ten. I have to get home before he goes.”
“Is there anyone else you can call? It’s going to be a nightmare without you.”
Beckett suddenly had the most bizarre déjà vu sensation—probably because she’d just watched her father beg the same way.
“It’s my kid. I’m sorry.”
How could Beckett argue with that logic? She was guilty of doing the very same thing, prioritizing family over work. She just wasn’t used to being on this side of the equation. And it sucked. Big time.
