Douglas is calling me again.
I step out of the restaurant, squinting as my eyes adjust to the strong mid-morning sun. There aren’t any clouds to offer relief. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure Poppy or Chester aren’t following, I stride to the houseboat. I only answer the call when I’m hunkered down on the deck, next to an old coil of rope.
“Douglas.”
“Jack. Thank you for picking up.”
“What do you want?” I tilt my head back, raising a hand to shade my eyes. My gut churns, but the anger I felt the last time I heard his voice has faded. Somewhat. Enough to hold a conversation, at least.
“Is Poppy okay?”
My frustration returns immediately. “Why are you asking me? Call her.”
Douglas breathes out harshly. “She’s not answering my calls.”
I stay silent, scrubbing my hand over my beard. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that.
“I’ve never gone this long without talking to her, and I just—I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s fine. Good.” I relish my next sentence, shoving down the small stab of concern that arose at Douglas’s confession. “We’re aiming for a November first reopening.”
“Not selling?”
“Not yet.”
“Tight timeline,” he says mildly. “A lot could go wrong.”
“Check out the social media accounts Poppy set up for it. We’re calling it Fable.”
“Good name.”
I wipe the sweat away from my forehead, working hard to ignore Douglas’s compliment. “I need to get back. But consider this an official invitation to opening night.”
“Jack, listen.”
“What?”
“I know what you’re doing.” Douglas barks out genuine laughter. “It’s smart, son. Show me what you can do with Fable, and we’ll talk about Green Street.”
For a second, I think I misheard him. It’s what Poppy told me could happen, offered up without me having to beg. A shot to go back to the New York fine dining scene. To run my own kitchen, and not in small-town Florida. The mere thought sends a jolt of energy through me.
“Really?”
“Yes. But only if you do something else for me.”
The bubble of excitement deflates. “What’s that?”
“Keep an eye on Poppy.”
“I told you before, she’s an adult. And I’m not a babysitter.”
“I need you to understand something about my daughter.” I hear the pain in his voice across the line. Clearly, it’s killing him not to be on speaking terms with her. “She tries and tries until she doesn’t. Until something gets in the way. Until something new comes along.”
“So?”
“I’d like you to keep her safe. Take care of her. Keep her out of trouble. Indulge her, a little, even. And keep me updated.”
“Douglas.”
