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Taking the custom order with a nice markup, from the guy who’d nearly cost me everything, just made it feel like Karma was standing in the room laughing her fool head off. I had to be nuts to accept it, right?
At ten-thirty-five, five minutes later than the agreed-upon meeting time, I arrived at Birch Bay Burgers, a restaurant I’d avoided over the last seven years. I’d even avoided coming over to this part of the peninsula just as an extra precaution.
“We’re not open yet.” A perky young lady dressed all in black had spoken as I approached the hostess stand.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Dean.”
“Oh, are you interviewing for the server position?” There was a slight inflection in her voice.
I shook my head. I was most definitely not here for that position; I’d have to be pretty damn desperate to work for the guy. Plus, I wasn’t willing to parade around in skintight clothes, with gals who were ten years younger. My style was more like capris and a flowy top, if I left the workshop, not clothing worn as a second skin.
“Who are you then?”
“Erin Normandy – the woodcarver.” I smoothed out my frizzing hair.
The humidity in the bay area was rising, and I should’ve tied it up in, at the very least, a ponytail, but I’d followed Francesca’s advice and left it down to look more professional.
“Oh-kay.” She spun on her high heels and wiggled her way to a door, disappearing behind it.
While I waited, I checked out the space since it had been a while. It was bright and airy, with the morning sun highlighting the patio area out beyond the bank of windows showcasing the ocean.
As I twisted to see more, Mr. Dean walked out from a short hallway beside the kitchen.
“Ah, hello.” His voice bounced off the walls as he extended a hand in greeting, after first checking his watch.
Yeah, I was a few minutes late.
Dressed in a crisp blue shirt with the top button undone and dark dress pants, he oozed professional, and damn, if he wasn’t good-looking too. His beard was neatly manicured, and the wrinkles around his eyes were a little deeper as if he’d had a rough night.
“Thank you for coming by. I appreciate you fitting me into your busy schedule.”
After squeezing my bones together in a crushing handshake, I broke eye contact and glanced around, hoping no permanent damage happened to my throbbing hand. Despite his rugged good looks, Mr. Dean needed some work in the gentle approach department.
“No problem. It’ll help me get an appreciation of the space you’re looking at for your artwork, Mr. Dean.”
“Please, call me David, Mr. Dean was the principal.” Like warm brandy, his voice was soothing. “And my uncle.”
I wanted to laugh. “Wait a sec, was he at SS High?”
“Ah, you’ve met the man.”
“Many times over my high school career.” Don’t know how I didn’t make the connection, although he was a gentle principal, warm and caring, not callous and untoward like his nephew before me. I shook away the thought. I was here for a consult, not to compare him to members of his family.
“This is what I had in mind.” David stepped around the podium and over to the entranceway, towering over me.
With zero lack of self-control, I checked out his rear view. Those dress pants hugged him in all the right places. Nice. One point for him, even if he was still deep in the negatives because of his total lack of sympathy years back.
David interrupted my tallying as he faced me. “Actually, I had two ideas, but you being the artist, perhaps you can walk me through one or the other or both if the price is right.”
I was all ears and reached into my cross-body bag for a notepad. “Tell me what your vision is.”
“Okay.” He stood in front of a wall, arms extended. The entrance wasn’t spectacular - just a plain painted wall with a giant black logo on it. “This all needs to go. It’s been here since I opened and blah. I’m tired of looking at it. I want something fresh and new.”
I nodded. “And what were you thinking of in its place?”
“Well, that’s where you come in. Could you do a mural or something? I was thinking like a carved-out beach on the bottom, some houses or businesses like a skyline of the area kind of thing, include one of the lighthouses, maybe some trees. Make it a focal point. Sometimes the waits are long, and I’d love to have something amazing for people to look at, maybe find hidden items within.”
Good grief. I wasn’t that great an artist. Not to burst my own bubble, because I knew I had talent, but I wasn’thidden items withintalented. At least not on purpose. I inhaled and surveyed the wall. It was huge. Much bigger than the four-by-three size I thought he wanted. The cost of materials alone would be staggering.
