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29
“What are we doing here?” I gave Holden a curious look when he parked at a meter outside of a small diner advertising seafood.
“This is where we’re eating.” He shifted into park and opened his door.
I hopped out of the car, craning my neck back to look at the faded wooden sign that looked to be suspended by shoestrings from the red and white striped awning.
“Is this revenge for making you eat out of a food truck?” I asked, unable to imagine Holden eating at an establishment without valet parking. Revenge by food poisoning seemed like a reasonable guess.
“Who’s the snob now, Sutton Buchanan?” His accent was thicker when he said my name, and it had the opposite effect than what he probably intended. Never in my life had hearing someone say my name made me want to skip a meal and go straight back to his apartment, which was either a very sad commentary on my sex life thus far or a testament to how much I enjoyed food.
“I’m not a snob! I have no problem eating here.” Only a partial lie; it did kind of give very strong food poisoning energy. “I just can’t imagineyoueating here.”
He opened the door, motioning me inside.
“My friend’s family owns this place. It’s been in their family for almost a hundred years.”
I was pleasantly surprised when I stepped into the diner. The first thing that hit me was the scent of garlic and seafood. You could smell the freshness.
The whole interior was polished wood, and the benches all had red pads on them with various crustaceans printed on the leather. The white-washed plank walls were covered in framed photos of real fisherman from over the years — or decades, judging by the sepia tint to some of them. Some were so old that their original black and white had faded to various shades of grey. Spaces not covered in pictures were decorated with nautical equipment and anchors, all of which were worn and rusted, indicating they had been used and weren’t just made for decorative purposes. I loved it.
“Wow,” I breathed out. “This place is amazing. I could spend hours just looking at the photographs.”
“Come here.” Holden led me to a picture hanging behind the bar, next to the door to what was either the kitchen or an office. “This is the founder’s brother. He would go out fishing in the morning and bring his catch of the day here. His brother never set the menu until he brought in his catch.”
“That’s so cool.” I leaned as close as the counter would allow, squinting to see the photo. “How did you and your friend meet?”
“In undergrad, actually.”
“He went to Harvard? Does Harvard even have a culinary program?”
Holden shook his head, smiling. “No, he went to school for economics. Applied to Harvard as a joke, but ended up getting in.”
“I can see how that would be useful if you’re going to run a restaurant one day.” I followed Holden to an empty booth. “And I’m guessing he learned to cook from family members?”
“Right,” Holden confirmed, passing me one of the paper menus from the holders pushed up against the wall with the napkins and condiments. “He learned to cook growing up in the diner and working here as a teenager. He’s a hell of a chef.”
“I believe it. This place smells amazing. Is there anything you recommend for newbies?” I asked, scanning the menu. “Please tell me the shrimp roll.”
Holden chuckled. “The shrimp roll is one of my favorite things on the menu. You have to try the hush puppies, too. They serve them with the best honey butter I’ve ever had.”
“You’ve convinced me.” I placed the menu back in the holder.
A voice boomed out across the restaurant. “Holden St. James!” I turned to see a man in a grey T-shirt and jeans, white apron tied around his waist, blue-and-white checkered towel thrown over a shoulder. He looked to be around Holden’s age. “Decided to slum it this evening and grace my humble establishment with your presence?”
“Tom!” Holden slid out of the booth and the two men did the back-slapping hug thing. “It’s good to see you, man.”
“You too.” Tom turned to smile at me. “I keep telling him he needs to work less, and that’s a sad statement coming from a chef. I’m Tom.”
I reached across the table to shake his hand, unsure whether I should stand or stay seated. “Sutton. It’s nice to meet you.”
“How did you have the bad luck to end up dining with this bore this evening?” he asked, the grin on his face matching the mischievous look he shot Holden.
“Um, he asked?” I said, and Tom and Holden laughed. “Holden’s brother is marrying my sister.”
For some reason, that explanation left me feeling hollow, but I wasn’t sure how else to respond. We were friends — at least, I thought we were. He had cleaned out my barf bucket, and that’s not something you do for just anyone.
“Ah — Sissy, right?” He narrowed his eyes in assessment, like he was seeing me in a new light, and my cheeks heated under the scrutiny.
