Juliet closed her laptop and cupped her elbows. She felt vulnerable and terribly young. “I don’t have anything else in my life right now,” she said. “I can’t tell you about any of my big dreams. I can’t tell you about a big future for myself, because I think that kind of dreaming is all in the past, now. All I am is divorced, a failure in my field—a failed model and a failed fashion designer and a failed everything. Often, my daughter hates me. My sisters and I are only just now finding ways to be honest with each other. It’s frustrating, to say the least.”
Theo’s lips parted. He looked like he didn’t know what to say. But, to Juliet’s surprise, he didn’t look at her like her sisters looked at her, nor the way her ex-boss looked at her, nor the way Alvin did: as though she were a failure. He still looked at her the way she remembered him looking all those years ago: as though she were the most beautiful and fiery woman he’d ever met.
“You’re not a failure,” Theo whispered.
“I most certainly am.” She laughed gently. “If only you knew.”
“Nothing really goes the way we think it will,” Theo said.
Juliet laughed. “That’s saying something, isn’t it?”
Theo was quiet, contemplative. Occasionally, he glanced back at his phone, and Juliet guessed he was looking at all that money in his bank account, more money at once than he’d maybe ever seen. This, compared to what people back in Manhattan like Alvin made, or what Juliet had once made in her life as a model and assistant fashion designer, was small beans, indeed. But she couldn’t diminish it. It might save him. She hoped it would.
And then, Theo made an announcement. “I want to cook for you. Properly.”
Juliet was taken aback. It was the afternoon, and they had weeks and weeks of work ahead of them. There was paint to buy. There were windows to clean. There were so many things to print and prepare for. Juliet guessed they’d have to close down for a couple of weeks, if only to strategize how best to reopen. But the reopening would have to happen before the end of the tourist season. They had to build a base of tourists who loved them, a base of tourists prepared to return next summer and the year after. They had to prove to Calvin Parish and the others at city hall that The Dockside was worth saving.
Ugh, and then there was the Christmas Festival to consider.
Softly, she placed her hand over Theo’s. “Cook for me when we’re done. Not yet.”
Theo looked taken aback, then smiled softly. “You’re right,” he said. “I always get ahead of myself.”
“We all do,” Juliet said. “But it’s up to us to help reel each other back and prepare.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, then added, “I’ll be headed back to Manhattan in September. But I think this place will be in shipshape by then.”
Theo’s eyes hardened the slightest bit. “I can’t wait to see what we can do,” he said.
Juliet let her hand drop from his. They regarded one another, both emotionally exposed. It was difficult to know what would happen next.
21
That first night after his meeting with Juliet, Theo slept fitfully, finding himself tumbling through nightmares. Something was off-kilter about the world, now that Juliet was back in it. Something unstable, that made him think everything was going to crumble beneath his feet. That said, she was the only person willing to set aside time each day to help him with The Dockside. She’d even asked for a few weeks off at the Eco-Lodge to help him take care of things. When he’d told her he couldn’t pay her, not really, she’d told him she had more than enough from her husband’s alimony, for now. Somehow, that made Theo feel worse.
The following morning, Theo approached the restaurant to find Juliet on a ladder out front, cleaning the gutters. Already, she’d ripped the OPEN sign off the roof, and it sat lopsided on the sidewalk. Theo stared down at it, his heart thumping. “Why did you take that down?”
Juliet clattered down the ladder, smiling. “It’s the ugliest OPEN sign in all of Bluebell Cove.” She shrugged. “I think we can do better than that. That’s all.”
Theo still remembered installing the OPEN sign. He remembered flicking it on at the age of twenty-seven or so, the year after he’d given up the market stall and opened his own place. As soon as he’d flickered it on, his ex-wife Marie had thrown her arms around him and kissed him and said, “It’s going to be great! Everyone will come!” For a little while, they had.
That hadn’t been so long before Marie had returned to Paris and divorced him.
“Uh-oh.” Juliet brushed a leaf off his shoulder. “Where did you go? Don’t tell me you’re running down memory lane.”
Theo gritted his teeth and forced himself to meet her gaze. “Let’s get to work,” he said.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
That first week, they didn’t take a single customer and instead focused on cleanup, painting, refurbishment, and throwing things out. Juliet had a vision for a brand-new bar area, complete with tile shipped in from Portugal, but when they learned how expensive Portuguese tile was, they laughed at themselves and opted for something that looked vaguely Portuguese but was 20 percent of the price. Throughout, Juliet continued to fine-tune the menu designs she’d shown Theo initially. Theo thought the menus were silly. “In Europe, they change menus all the time! A lot of places write their menus on blackboards. With chalk!”
“Is that really what you’re going to tell Calvin Parish?” she asked, her hand on her hip. “You’re going to say, ‘It works in Europe!’ and have him take you seriously?”
Theo laughed to himself. They were on the patio, drinking light beers after painting the front door. A few tourists walked past, eyeing the restaurant, before stopping and asking what it was going to be.
“A new restaurant?” they tried to ask.
“Yes!” Juliet assured them. “It should be opening the first week of August.”
“Oh, goodies. We’ll still be here, won’t we, Rick? What’s it going to be called?” a woman in the tourist group asked, smiling.
