Summer with the Single Dad, page 7
Then there was Emerson. She was mature and thoughtful. Gentle and patient. She stepped up to help with her cousins and sister almost immediately after Carla and the other women passed away. She took care of all of them with a kind of grace that reminded him so much of her mother. She could be indecisive at times, overly cautious and sometimes even timid—though everyone came across as timid next to Aya who would jump into a pool without checking the depth or water temperature first—but he figured that was just her being the oldest child who wanted to make sure that everything was copasetic for the rest.
He’d truly hit the jackpot when it came to his offspring. And although he was doing his best not to traumatize them; he attributed the majority of their wonderfulness to Carla and her steadfast, patient, and affectionate parenting.
He fixed the girls their breakfast like he did every morning—cereal for Aya, and peanut butter toast for Emerson—always. Then he double-checked that their lunches were packed with all the nutritional essentials. That they had their water bottles, sunscreen, and sunhats. Then along with his brothers, niece, and nephews, they all walked to the bus stop on the main road at the end of the long laneway that served as the driveway to their property.
“How many years of this do I have to deal with, Dad?” Aya asked, her little hand in his and getting kind of sweaty as they walked to the bus stop with everyone else.
“How many years of what?”
“School. How many years of school do I have to deal with before I can get a job like you and just do what I want? Until I don’t have to learn anymore. I get it, ‘A’ says ‘ah.’ One plus one is two. Do I really need to know more than that? Isn’t that why we have calculators?” She made an exasperated sound that caused Bennett and his three brothers to all snicker.
“Well, mandatory school is thirteen years. You’re just finishing up first grade. So you have eleven more to go. Then if you decide to go to college, you’ll have more schooling.”
“Oh, I am not going to college. I’ll get a job where you don’t need college first. Like a doctor or a pilot or …” She glanced at Bennett’s brother Wyatt. “Like a chef, like Uncle Wyatt. Anybody can cook. I don’t need to go to school to cook. I’ll just watch YouTube videos.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “I’m glad my profession and education have been reduced to nothing more than a YouTube video. I’ll call my instructors at Le Cordon Bleu and ask for my money back.”
Aya looked at him like he was speaking another language.
“And I’m pretty sure you need to go to school for a long time to be a doctor,” Bennett added. “Actually, Justine is a doctor. You can ask her.”
Aya perked up and Emme turned to look at him. “How do you know that? Have you been spending time with Justine?”
“I want to spend time with Justine,” Aya said. “Not fair.”
“Yes, Bennett. Have you been spending time with Justine?” Dom asked teasingly. “I met her the other night when she came to the pub to order dinner.” He mouthed the word hot and nodded in approval.
“Turns out she’s a runner too, and we both like to run in the morning. I bumped into her this morning. That’s all. No big deal.”
But the looks he was getting from his brothers said it was absolutely a big deal.
His kids, however, seemed more put out that he got to spend time with Justine and they didn’t.
They reached the bus stop.
“I need to find a job that doesn’t need school,” Aya murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She was still on this topic, though the other children were off in their own little worlds. Emme and Talia were chatting about the braid Brooke made in Talia’s hair, and the boys were doing air Karate Chops and leaping off a big rock, doing elaborate kicks.
The big, yellow school bus rounded the corner and all four dads exhaled in relief.
They loved their kids, but the wildlings needed to expel some energy.
Luckily, every morning, the entire school ran or walked five laps around the field before any lessons. It proved to be very effective in reducing anxiety and hyper-activity in a lot of the children.
One by one, the kids filed onto the bus, greeting Palmer Figgs, the school bus driver, with effervescent hellos.
“Mornin’, Mr. Figgs,” Aya said. Then she stopped before heading down the aisle, causing Emme to bump into her backpack and make a squawk of protest. “Mr. Figgs, did you have to go to school to be a bus driver?”
Palmer glanced behind the kids at Bennett and lifted a brow.
Bennett rolled his eyes and shrugged.
Palmer focused back on Aya. “Not to be a school bus driver, no. But I did go to school. I was an engineer, you know. Worked on spaceships for thirty years before Mrs. Figgs and I retired and moved to the island here when her dad passed away and left us his land.”
Bennett didn’t have to see his daughter’s face to know she was pouting. The rounding of her shoulders said it all. “Well, I don’t want to work on spaceships.” Her head shook, bouncing her curly, blonde hair that Bennett had managed to tame into two acceptable pigtails. “Thanks anyway.” She turned around, her face sullen. “Bye, Daddy.”
Bennett smothered his amused smile and nodded at his daughter. “Have a good day, Little Bug.”
“Doubt it,” she said before slumping her way down the aisle, taking a seat with her cousin Jake.
The rest of the kids filed on the bus, and it pulled away. Bennett and his brothers all headed back toward the pub and their houses.
“So, cabin five. Hmm?” Clint asked, bumping his shoulder against Bennett’s.
Bennett rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“Sure,” Dom joked. The four of them walked in a long line, Bennett flanked by Clint and Dom, with Wyatt on the end.
“We have bigger problems to deal with right now than my mild attraction to the guest in cabin five.”
Their expressions turned serious.
“You three,” but he directed his glares at Wyatt and Clint, “need to stop spending fucking money without telling me. You can’t keep buying shit and then handing me an invoice. Do you know where that money is coming from?”
Wyatt and Clint’s expressions turned stoney, their cheeks pink.
“From our pockets. We have a monthly budget. And if we don’t stick to it, then the money has to come from somewhere and that usually means us. You can’t just buy equipment—”
“But we needed a new fryer,” Wyatt protested.
“I understand that, but you need to tell me, then let me do some research. Maybe I could have bought one second hand for cheaper to tide us over until we saved up for the luxury model. I know the busy season is here and we will be making more money, but that also means we have more staff. And our expenses will go up because we’ll be placing more orders for ingredients.” He looked at Wyatt again. “Your new seasonal menu has a lot of seafood on it. That’s pricey. Have you done the ROI assessment on what you’re spending versus what you’re charging? I know Willy Reilly just upped the price of his crabs. And Dorian Jazz is charging nearly double per pound from last year for his halibut, snapper, and cod. Don’t even get me started on Fitz Plamondon and his salmon prices. I mean, I get it, but the price per pound of sockeye now is outrageous. Have you upped the price of your crab cakes and fish dishes accordingly?”
“We can’t gouge our customers,” Dom said. “They’ll go somewhere else. Somewhere cheaper.”
“They come here for the service, food, booze and view. If we keep it all excellent, a price increase shouldn’t affect us too much. But we have to increase prices.” His gaze fell to Dom. “Across the board. So this means the bar too.”
Dom opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. He knew Bennett was right. It was a tough pill to swallow, but they all knew Bennett was speaking the truth.
Bennett’s temperature was up and he regretted the long-sleeve shirt he tossed on after his shower. He focused on Clint. “Beer too. Barley prices are still through the roof, and until we start growing our own hops—which is several years away and only if we get Bonn Remmen’s land—we need to increase prices.”
Just like Dom, Clint opened his mouth, but he thought better of it, shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded.
“Customers aren’t going to like this,” Wyatt said. “We’re going to get a lot of backlash. Bad reviews and complaints.”
“Maybe, but we can’t continue down this road. Everything is too fucking expensive. If we want to pay our staff fairly and not make them reliant on tips the way other restaurants do, then we need to increase prices to reflect the increase in costs. There’s no other way around it.” He inflated his cheeks, then released a long, slow breath.
Luckily, his brothers all nodded and grumbled their agreement.
Bennett exhaled another sigh of relief and let the tension flee his shoulders by way of an exaggerated roll and side-to-side neck crack.
Chuckling, Dom slapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. “Were you nervous about having this conversation with us? You’re sweating like crazy.”
Bennett chuckled. “Yeah, a little. I know you’ve all cultivated relationships with customers—and suppliers—and it’s not going to be easy to have these conversations with them. It’s easier for me to say it from the back of the house, but you’re all going to feel the brunt of it being front of the house and in the kitchen.”
More head bobs and grunts of agreement echoed through them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t consult with you first about the fryer,” Wyatt said with a hangdog expression. “Next time I need a new piece of pricey equipment, I’ll let you know first.”
“Me too,” Clint added. “About the brewery equipment. You’re the money guy. I should let you handle the money.”
Bennett’s mouth couldn’t muster a smile. He managed flatly pressed lips, that was it.
“Can we sit down together today and go through the menu?” Wyatt asked, his jovial expression gone, replaced with one of serious concern. “I know we need to up our prices, but charging close to fifty bucks for an entrée makes me want to vomit. It just feels wrong. I know it’s not. I know it needs to happen. It just feels wrong.”
Bennett nodded. “Of course. Come by my office later and we can sit down and go through the meals and come up with suitable price increases.” He glanced at Dom out of the corner of his eye. “You too.” Then he shifted his gaze to Clint. “And don’t think you’re getting off the hook. Our beer flies off the shelves. We can stand to charge more.”
Clint stared at the ground and kicked a rock, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
They reached the bottom of the hill that led to their houses, but none of them went up. Their work day officially began. A delivery truck was already there and Burke, Wyatt’s head chef, was helping the delivery driver unload. Wyatt jogged away from their line to go help.
“You okay?” Dom asked, fishing keys out of his pocket so he could open up the pub.
“Yeah. Glad to finally get that woe off my chest.”
Dom mimicked Bennett’s grim smile, nodded, and headed to the front door of the pub. That left just Bennett and Clint.
“I am sorry I bought that equipment without running it past you first.” Clint kicked a baseball-sized rock off into the bushes. The parking lot was gravel, but a big rock like that could damage someone’s tire. “I need a few other pieces of equipment. Not immediately. It’s not life or death, but I’ll submit the purchase request to you and then you can go from there. Sound good?”
Bennett’s smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, sounds good.”
The crunch of gravel beneath car tires pulled their attention, and they moved over to the side so a vehicle from the cabins could drive through.
It was Justine.
Bennett’s heart rate kicked up, seeing her behind the wheel. She had the same understated ponytail fixed at the back of her head and appeared to just be wearing a simple gray hoodie. Obviously, he couldn’t see what she had on for pants. That didn’t stop his mind from racing though.
He smiled and waved at her, which prompted her to slow down and roll down her window.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“I’m going to go do some more exploring. Another hike, and maybe check out some of the other beaches. I also need to go buy some cake ingredients.” That last bit of info pulled her lips into a demure smile.
“Oh, don’t buy anything. I have enough of all of it. You offering to help is more than enough. Come up to the house and I’ll give you what you need.”
Even though it wasn’t meant to be suggestive, she must have interpreted it that way because her cheeks grew pink and she broke eye contact with him. “Anyway, I should let you get to work. Enjoy your day, Bennett.” She nodded at Clint and then pulled away, her window rolling up in the process.
“What the hell was that about?” Clint asked, all-knowing smiles and glittering eyes.
Bennett grumbled. “She’s offered to help bake cupcakes and cakes for the end-of-year funfair. When we ran together today, she told me she likes to bake and decorate cakes too. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, that is all.” He scoffed. “I have to get to work. And so do you. Go work, Clinton. Make us some money.” Then, with his conflicting emotions, Bennett trudged off to his office where he couldn’t get the image of Justine’s pink cheeks out of his head. Her hair was so straight and so silky. He could just imagine what that ponytail felt like slipping through his fingers. And all he wanted to do was tug it. Tug it and guide her mouth to his.
Fuck, he needed another shower.
And this time, a cold one.
CHAPTER SIX
She probably should have read up more on the island before venturing to some of the beaches. Particularly the secluded beach below Westhaven Winery, which turned out to be a nudist beach. Or rather a “clothing optional” beach. That was quite a shock.
Even though she was a doctor and had no issues with the human body no matter what size, shade, or shape, the shock of seeing a sea of naked old people spread out on the sand, basking in the afternoon sun wasn’t something she was prepared for.
Needless to say, she didn’t stay.
It was a beautiful beach, but the amount of naked flesh around her was distracting. She also didn’t feel like she could bring out her phone to take pictures.
“You didn’t stay down there very long,” came a gentle female voice behind her as she climbed into her SUV, having hoofed it back up the steep cliff trail from the beach to the winery parking lot.
Spinning around, and making sure she didn’t have an unwelcoming scowl on her face, Justine smiled, finding a pretty brunette with bright green eyes beaming at her.
“Uh, there is more flesh than I was prepared for,” Justine said with a forced laugh. “Kind of detracted from the serenity of the view, if you know what I mean?”
The woman shoved her hands into the pockets of her denim overalls and laughed. “Oh jeez. Yeah …” She glanced toward the sun. “I guess it’s warm enough now for the nudists to start tanning down there again, huh?”
“So that’s a thing?”
“Yeah. We have a pretty big nudist colony, or group, here. Mostly older people who have lived on the island for decades and don’t give a shit. It’s not great for tourism, but the beach isn’t our land, so we can’t do too much about it. Kind of just … roll with it.” She shrugged and extended her hand. “I’m Naomi. I run the winery with my cousins. You just visiting the island?”
Justine took her hand and nodded. “Yeah, staying at the cabins by San Camanez Brewery. Got in after a last-minute cancellation. I’m Justine, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Justine. Are you a wine drinker?”
Justine smiled, enjoying the woman’s blunt but friendly personality. “I’ve been known to enjoy the odd glass in the evenings. They say grapes are good for the heart, so who am I to argue with they?”
Naomi chuckled. “I definitely don’t argue with they. You on your way out or do you want to come for a tasting? We’re pretty quiet right now. So I’m happy to give you a private tour.”
Justine’s eyes widened, and her belly rumbled. “I was going to go grab something to eat, but I have a wine tour and tasting on my to-do list while I’m here. And big crowds aren’t my thing. So a private and impromptu one sounds even better. Thank you.”
“We have food, so I’ve got you fully covered. No crowds, great wine, and the perfect food to pair it with. Follow me.” Shoving her hands into the pockets of her cute overalls that cut her mid-calf, Naomi headed toward a big, barn-style building with cedar shake siding and an elaborately carved sign over the double doors that said, “Westhaven Winery.” “So, where are you visiting from?” Naomi asked, holding the smaller side door open for Justine so she could walk into the pleasantly lit tasting room. The bar and counters were all reclaimed wood and wrought iron. It was tasteful, rustic, but also chic.
“I live in Seattle, but I’ve taken a leave of absence from work. I needed a break, so I’m here for the summer.”
“What do you do for work?” Naomi asked.
“I was a doctor.”
Naomi’s dark brows hiked up. “Oh, cool. That must be really nice to take a break. I’m sure COVID caused a lot of burnout.” She ducked behind the bar and began pulling out various containers of diced up fruit, cheeses, crackers, meats, and breads. Before Justine knew it, a small charcuterie board had been put together in front of her very eyes, and apparently it was just for her. “Have you seen much of the island so far?” Naomi asked, setting up a foot-long wooden board with four circular cut-outs that didn’t go all the way through the wood. She placed four small stemless wine glasses in the cutouts, then proceeded to pour a half ounce of different wines into each.
