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“Okay, so maybe we need a new name,” Mia suggested. “Something a little more appealing,”
There was another round of nods, but no suggestions. Mia checked her watch; they’d already been at it two hours, and Ditsy would be expecting her back at the shop. Besides, who knew. Charlie might actually have some customers wanting lunch.
“Well, something for us all to think about before our next meeting,” Mia said. “Say Friday, at ten again?”
She looked over at Charlie, who shrugged. “Might as well start opening for breakfasts at this rate.”
“Okay, in that case, I’ll see you all then.” Mia stood, eager to grab Charlie before he disappeared into the kitchen.
As Magda chattered away to Enid and Susan on their way to the door, Mia tugged on Charlie’s sleeve and asked, “Can I come over this evening to talk about the fundraising?” She bit her lip. The money was always going to be the hardest part of organizing the festival. But that wasn’t why she’d asked. “Unless you’re meeting Becky?”
Charlie shook his head. “No. No. Absolutely not. Tonight’s fine.”
Mia smiled. “Right. See you later.”
Perhaps something good would come out of Becky’s return to town after all.
Perhaps Charlie would finally get over her.
Chapter 8
Charlie sloped off into the kitchen while Magda got rid of the other women. Was he an utter fool to read anything more than financial desperation into Mia’s desire to talk fundraising later? Festival planning wasn’t Charlie’s preferred way to spend his limited free time, and he was still a bit afraid of the women on the committee, but if it meant he got to spend more time with Mia? Bring on the bunting and the raffle tickets.
He pulled the door ajar to check if Enid and Susan had gone yet, jumping when Magda’s face appeared in the gap between the door and the frame. “I don’t suppose you want to help me clear up, do you?”
“Have they gone?” Charlie asked, double-checking over her shoulder.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, boss, the coast is clear.”
“Well, all right then.”
While they gathered dishes and cups and napkins, Charlie said, trying to sound casual, “So, how do you think it went?”
Magda shrugged. “It was my first one. But it seemed to go as well as could be expected.”
“And Mia... She did okay, didn’t she?”
“She did fine.” Magda handed him another stack of dishes to ferry back to the kitchen, and followed behind with a handful of napkins. “They might even make a success of the festival. To be honest, I’m more worried about us.”
“Us?” Charlie asked, briefly concerned he’d missed an important shift in his relationship with his employee.
“Tea and pastries for a twice-weekly committee meeting aren’t going to keep this restaurant afloat, Charlie,” Magda admonished. “And you know it.”
A vision of his tumbledown cottage floated through his mind, and Charlie sighed. There was no way the house was going to save them any time soon. “Okay. You’re right.”
“And…” Magda prompted.
“You’re always right?” Charlie hazarded, figuring it was always a pretty safe bet.
Magda slapped his arm lightly. “And what are we going to do about it?”
“Oh. That.” Charlie tossed the last of the plates into the dishwasher with less care than it really deserved. “We’re going to close two nights a week and focus on the lunches instead. You’re right–we have to.”
“Thank you!” Magda wrapped an arm around his shoulders for a half hug. “And you know, the breakfast idea isn’t stupid, I’ve been saying it for ages. The fixed-price lunches seem to be doing better.” She looked around the empty restaurant. “Ignoring today. I think breakfasts could be good for us.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Charlie said, but his mind was already elsewhere, deciding which nights would be best to close.
“Great. Then I’ll start setting it up.” Magda gave him a sideways look. “And you can spend all this newfound evening time with Becky, if you want.”
That, Charlie felt, deserved a glare. Or at least a raised eyebrow.
Magda laughed. “Or working on the fundraising for the festival.”
Charlie wiped his hands on a rogue tea towel. “You’re absolutely right,” he said, tossing it down on the counter. “And since you’ve got the cleaning up well in hand, I might as well start with a few phone calls right now.”
* * * *
“How did it go?” Ditsy asked from behind the counter. Mia let the shop door clank closed behind her. “Who was there?”
“It wasn’t as awful as it could have been,” Mia said, dumping her bag on its hook. “Magda and Charlie joined in, and Mrs. Hamilton and Enid Jones were both there.”
Ditsy nodded. “That’s good. They’re old stalwarts on the committee. They know what needs doing.”
“Apparently a lot of fundraising,” Mia said, which made her think about a peaceful evening alone with Charlie and a bottle of white at StarFish, so it wasn’t all bad. And after all, even if he did get back together with Becky, he was still her best friend, wasn’t he? She got to keep that.
Mia jumped up onto the spare counter stool. “So, what’s been happening here?”
Ditsy’s smile turned wan. “Oh, not much. Jacques brought the post.”
“Already?” Mia felt a pang of apprehension somewhere around her kidneys. “Anything interesting?”
Ditsy sighed and pulled an envelope out from the pocket of her apron. “Another letter from your father.”
Mia stared at the envelope in Ditsy’s hand, but didn’t reach out to take it. “Oh. Well, put it in the post tray, I suppose.” She turned away, suddenly very interested in the stack of local papers on the counter. “I’ll read it later.” Later meaning never.
Ditsy didn’t move for a moment, but eventually Mia heard her turn and shuffle out from behind the counter. When she snuck a look, Ditsy was standing at the P shelf, envelope in hand. Mia watched her until she dropped the letter into the post tray, then turned back to her paper.
She wondered when Ditsy would break under the strain of her own nosiness and open the damn thing.
The letter was still sitting there six hours later when they closed up shop. Ditsy looked longingly at it for a moment before Mia hustled her out the door.
“Are you going to be okay?” Ditsy asked, her voice soft.
“I’m heading over to StarFish to discuss fundraising with Charlie.”
“Good.” Ditsy’s face relaxed. “That’s good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Mia watched her friend walk away in the direction of the Esplanade, then turned the other way toward Water Street.
Charlie was sitting at the bar with a large glass of wine when she arrived, the restaurant empty.
“No customers tonight?” she asked, shrugging off her jacket.
“We’re closed.” Charlie grabbed an empty glass sitting ready on the bar and filled it from the wine bottle in the chiller beside him. “Every Tuesday and Thursday night from now until people want to come here again.”
Which explained the wine. Mia slid onto the stool beside him and took her glass. “I’m sorry.”
Charlie shrugged. “Magda was right. It makes sense.”
“Still. I know how much you wanted to stay open.”
“It’s not all bad news.” Charlie gave her an unconvincing grin. “We’re going to start doing breakfasts instead.”
“I do like a smoked salmon and scrambled egg bagel,” Mia said, aiming for levity. But the look Charlie gave her was far more serious.
“I’ll remember that,” he said, and Mia felt his words against her spine.
Taking a long sip of her wine, she shifted in her seat and said, “Well, I had another letter from my father today.”
Charlie stretched over and refilled her glass, even though she’d only drunk an inch of it. “Did you open it?”
“Still sitting in the p
ost tray at the A to Z shop.” She reached for her glass. “Although Ditsy might have snuck in to steam it open by now.”
Charlie laughed, then turned to face her better. “Would you mind if she did?”
Mia shrugged. “I’m not sure. I mean, on the one hand, vast invasion of privacy. On the other...”
