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“I don’t think my uncles would like me working for the competition.”
“That’s just it. I don’t plan on competing with your uncles’ place. They do beautiful sandwiches and deli selections, mostly lunch and breakfast. I’m aiming more for comfort foods, slightly upscale, but not so much that you wouldn’t be comfortable there in jeans. A lunch and dinner crowd.”
“I’d still want to check with them first. And my dad.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She nodded. “We’re a close family.”
I muttered, “Must be a Southern thing.”
—
Jolene helped me get the apartment above Southern Comforts into a somewhat livable condition over the next few days, cleaning and making small repairs. After retrieving my stuff from Sam’s house, Jane and Andrea showed up with an enormous care package stocked with housewarming gifts such as a new shower curtain, cleaning supplies, and a great big bottle of vodka. I loved Jane and Andrea. I really did.
Sam called, but I didn’t pick up the phone. His messages were increasingly apologetic, which just made me feel worse for hurting him. He was sorry I woke up to his conversation with Lindy, he said. He didn’t know what I’d heard, but he wished I would talk to him so we could work this out. One message had him sounding so worried, so lonely, that I nearly hit “end” so I could dial Sam’s number, but then he said, “I thought we were friends.” And that kept me from checking my messages for the next two days.
By day three, the words “just a friend” kept running through my head on a loop, making me cringe and cry and occasionally throw a pot at a wall.
I was really going to have to stop doing that.
On October 28, the day Sam was supposed to reclaim his house, I sat in my new restaurant with a perfectly nice lager resting on the bar in front of me. Jolene had finally agreed to take the job at Southern Comforts. But her uncles had warned me that if they caught me duplicating from their menu, I would be in for an old-fashioned ass-whupping. But I hadn’t had any luck finding a contractor to do the repairs I needed. I was having trouble narrowing down which human and vampire menus I wanted to use for the restaurant. I couldn’t even decide on a color scheme for the menu.
For the first time in my life, I truly had no clue what to do. Even when I had my meltdown, I’d had a plan—visit Chef Gamling, get my life back in order. But now, even though I knew what I was doing in the long term, I was completely paralyzed by indecision over what to do in the next few days, in the next few hours.
I toyed with the cap from a Faux Type O bottle. There were so many things I could do with this place, but I wasn’t sure of any of them now. Did I really want to save the tabletops as wall displays? Could I refinish the bar to its original oaken glory? How much additional storage space could I allow myself in the kitchen? I wanted Sam’s input in these decisions, his sensible contractor’s brain. But it seemed that John Lassiter’s curse had killed my pseudo-relationship before it even got off the ground, taking my construction plans down with it.
I took a deep breath and a deeper draw from my beer. This stopped now. The time for useless pouting and self-flagellating was done. I was a homeowner, sort of. I owned my own restaurant. I had friends, real friends who liked me, despite my basket-case tendencies. I’d managed a semifunctional relationship for a few days, which was a personal record. My life was so much better than it was when I’d rolled into town.
The first order of business was turning off this playlist, because Adele’s gorgeous emo postbreakup music was killing me.
I scrolled through the lists on my iPod until I found some Lynyrd Skynyrd and filled my kitchen with the sounds of “Sweet Home Alabama.” I pulled out a notebook and pen and began painstakingly writing text and printing instructions for the menu of my new restaurant.
Coda
10
Jolene, put the green down, and step away from the wall.”
“But it’s so cheerful!” Jolene protested, holding up the paint can labeled “New Leaf.”
“It’s neon!”
“It is rather, er, bright,” Chef Gamling told her gently.
Jolene chucked a fork at my head. “It is not!”
“Yipe!” I cried, ducking out of the way. “Hey, you left the kids at home to limit the number of items thrown at my head tonight. And giving me a fork-related head contusion will not change the fact that our color scheme is white and blue.”
“Actually, we left the kids at home because we’re spending the evening in a construction zone,” Zeb said. “A construction zone with a bar in it.”
“Just give the green a chance!” Jolene begged.
”Are you going to be this stubborn about everything?” I groaned.
I shot a pleading look at Zeb, Jane, Gabriel, Dick, and Andrea, who were sitting at the bar, watching the exchange gleefully. Apparently, whatever instinct they may have had to protect the “new girl” in the group had evaporated over Halloween, when I beat Jane at quarters while dressed as Wonder Woman. Vampires seemed to take drinking games very seriously.
My eyes narrowed. “Oh, you guys are no help whatsoever.”
