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Peaches wandered through occasionally with goodies—fries, a bowl of chili, and a fried pie that looked awful but still tasted good. “That oven doesn’t work for baking,” she said fretfully, “and frying a pie just goes against my instincts.”
“Try an empanada,” Liam suggested as he licked his fingers. “They’re fried pies, too, sort of.”
Peaches nodded. “That might work. I’ll see if I can find a recipe online. I still miss baking, though.”
Liam was pretty sure Stanton would never go for a new oven, particularly since he was paying for kitchen equipment for the new steakhouse he was opening. “The packaged cookies we sell aren’t all bad.”
“They’re not good. They taste like preservatives.”
Liam wasn’t sure what a preservative tasted like exactly, but he was willing to believe Peaches had an advanced palate. He’d described Carol’s sandwich to her, and she’d gotten a dreamy look. Then she shook her head. “It would never work with the goat cheese we’ve got here. It doesn’t have the right texture—too chalky. I could maybe do something with cream cheese.” She raised a hopeful eyebrow.
“Wouldn’t be the same. That goat cheese Ruth makes has the texture and the taste. I don’t think cream cheese would do it.”
She sighed. “Let me think about it. Maybe I’ll sneak down there for lunch sometime.”
“Just make sure you go for the goat cheese sandwiches. The burgers don’t measure up.” Although he couldn’t say that for sure. Maybe Barbara Jean was a whiz at diner food. Somehow he doubted it. She might not have developed a disposition that sour if her food had been an unqualified success.
He poured a couple of beers a little later and even mixed up a few cosmopolitans for a “girls’ day out” group. But it still wasn’t an active afternoon.
Around three, someone climbed onto a stool at the end of the bar. He turned toward the new customer and saw Carol.
“Hi.” She gave him a determined grin.
“Kid, you can’t be in here,” he said flatly. “No unaccompanied minors allowed.”
“Well, I’m here to see you. Doesn’t that make me sort of accompanied?” Carol widened her eyes in a good imitation of innocence.
“Nope. Nice try, though.”
She blew out an annoyed breath. “Can you come outside? I’m guessing the ‘unaccompanied minor’ thing doesn’t count if we’re on the front porch.”
He did a quick assessment of the room. Nobody looked like they needed a refill any time soon, and the majority of the people were still drinking iced tea.
“Okay, I’ve got a few minutes. But I’m on the clock, so it has to be quick.”
Carol headed for the front door.
She dropped into one of the dusty captain’s chairs that Stanton kept for picturesque purposes along the front porch. Liam didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone sit in one of them before.
He leaned against the porch railing across from her. “Now, what’s up?”
She shrugged. “I want to talk about you dating my mom.”
Right. He’d been wondering if she’d go back to that again. “What’s your general plan here?”
Carol folded her arms across her chest. “Have you asked her out?”
Liam nodded. He had no idea why it was any of her business, but hell, why not?
“Did she say yes?”
Which time? This discussion was beginning to slip into slightly murky waters, so he stuck to his most recent attempt to get Ruth to go out. “Nope.”
Carol sighed. “Didn’t think so. She feels like she doesn’t have time to do anything but work, which is sort of true, I guess. You need to help her find some more time. And then she’ll be able to go out with you.”
Liam nodded. “Makes sense. Sort of. How are you suggesting I go about doing that?”
Carol chewed on her lip, as if she was working the strategy out in her mind. “First of all, you need to find her a cook.”
“Instead of Barbara Jean?” That struck Liam as a good idea. “Does your mom want to get rid of Barbara Jean?”
“Everybody wants to get rid of Barbara Jean. But if you just get rid of her, then Mom will have to cook as well as make the cheese, and she’ll have no time at all.”
