Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Ash

I paced by the private dock behind our house, grumbling under my breath. Our small yacht was gone.

Rick must have taken it somewhere. Damn. I was so used to him being out of town that I'd begun to think of it as my boat. In the past, even when he was around, I'd always had one of the DreamBoats at my disposal.

I couldn't afford to go there now, though. It would only give him an opportunity to persuade me to take a booze cruise tonight. Apparently, I got better reviews than most of the guys—other than fucking Julian—and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why.

We were young and hot. Well, I was hotter. That's not ego. Just facts. But Julian played fast and loose with the rules, joining the party more often than not. If he wasn't careful, he'd get the DreamBoats in a whole heap of trouble. But when I'd tried to warn Rick of that, he'd told me that Julian knew how to avoid actually breaking the law.

More like, Julian was his most requested tour guide, and he didn't want to give him up. Just like he didn't want to give me up.

I checked the time on my phone again. I was due at the Swallow's Nest resort and turning up an hour late wasn't the impression I wanted to make. I'd already been cutting it close last night for the dinner, because Mom delayed me to talk about giving Rick a break.

She always backed him up, so it wasn't a surprise. Just frustrating. But I got it. He held all the strings to her comfortable life, and she didn't want to rock the boat.

I turned and headed for my car. I was going to have to drive over to the marina and catch a water taxi.

My wallet complained about the fifteen bucks it cost me to board. Despite living in the lap of luxury, I was a thrifty bastard. Every penny went toward my future business. Otherwise, I'd never get out from under Rick's thumb.

The resort had covered the costs of getting me up and running. I'd take home fifty percent of the profits for running the boat. They'd get the rest as return on their investment.

It was a perfect testing ground for my business model. But if I ever wanted to take my business out on my own, I'd have to buy out the boat. Expanding would take even more money.

It was a five-year plan, at best. But one I was eager to start working toward.

I hunkered down on a bench seat in the taxi, flipping the hood of my sweatshirt up when the wind started whipping my hair around. This time of day wasn't too busy, so I was only sharing the ride with a family of four seated near the front. They had a little boy, about eight years old, who was gazing wide-eyed out at the water, pointing at each boat we passed as if he'd never seen such amazing sights.

I watched him, trying to remember when I'd gotten such simple delight out of being out on the water. Probably before it became a job to drag tourists around the lake all day. I used to spend a lot of time on the lake with Sawyer's family. We tubed, went waterskiing and wakeboarding. If there was a water sport you could do on the lake, Sawyer and I tried it.

When our friendship fell apart, I continued for a while through sporting clubs—especially when I still got to compete against Sawyer—but eventually I just…stopped.

It wasn't fun anymore. Not like it used to be.

The water taxi moved slower than I'd like, but finally, it pulled up to the marina in Swallow Cove. Then I had to hoof it over to the resort. By the time I got there, I was twenty minutes late. I rushed down to the dock, an apology forming on my lips, but it died when my gaze landed on my baby.

A gleaming blue pontoon bobbed gently in the water alongside the Swallow Adventures cruisers, but there was no mistaking it. Bright green lettering along the side, just above the water line, read Master Bites . The resort logo, complete with a swallow with its beak wide open, hovered above it. The boat was mostly all enclosed to preserve food safety, but there were two serving windows on the side that could open, as well as an open deck area on at the bow and stern.

"What do you think?" Skylar asked, making me jump. I hadn't even noticed him approach. "Will it do?"

"It looks amazing," I said. "Like brand-new."

He chuckled. "Yeah. You probably won't be saying that when you see the inside. It needs a deep clean."

"I expected that."

Skylar had consulted with me when buying the boat. It had originally operated in Arkansas before going up for auction, which meant it was already outfitted for our purposes. It saved some money, but it also meant we'd be working with the pre-existing equipment. Not to mention the mess of grease and grime left behind.

Skylar turned to me. "Unfortunately, I don't have a cleaning crew available to take it on right now."

I nodded, hardly able to take my eyes off my dream made real, right there in front of me. "You got her here. I'll take care of the rest."

"All right," Skylar said. "You let me know if you need help, though. It's a big job, and we're a team around here."

I dragged my eyes from the boat to look at him. "You all seemed pretty tight at the dinner last night."

"Like family," Skylar confirmed.

"Guess that makes me the black sheep?"

"No." Skylar's smile was sympathetic. "I know you and Sawyer have a history."

My lips twisted. I hated that word. History . Like our friendship was long gone and would never return.

It was probably true, though.

Skylar continued, "But you're not the black sheep. You're here now, which means you're one of us."

Well, that was nice. I was pretty sure Sawyer would have some things to say about it, but Sawyer wasn't the one I had to work with.

His mother, on the other hand…

I winced and checked the time. "Speaking of that, I'm overdue to meet with Mrs. West. Or, maybe she goes by her maiden name now?"

"Everyone around here just calls her Vera."

"Uh, right. Vera, then."

"She's in the kitchen as usual. Go ahead."

"Thanks." I hesitated. "I, uh, will probably spend some time with my boat—er, I mean, your boat?—"

Skylar chuckled. "You can call her yours. You're gonna be the one taking her out on the water."

"Yeah, about that. Can I take her on a test drive this afternoon? I just want to get a feel for how she handles."

"Sounds like a good idea. Just see Hudson at the Swallow Adventures office for the keys."

The boat touring company kept a small hut down by the docks so that people who weren't resort guests could still access them.

I wanted nothing more than to run over there now and take Master Bites for a ride, but I couldn't keep Vera waiting.

Skylar walked me to the staff entrance and let me in, then led me down a back corridor to a side entrance to the kitchen.

I thanked him and slipped inside. Last night, the kitchen had been buzzing with activity after serving dinner. Supplies were being stowed, dishes were clanking into the dishwasher.

I'd only briefly said hello to Vera, seeing that she was busy. Also because she'd barely looked twice at me. It had suddenly hit me that Sawyer might not be the only one holding a grudge toward me.

We'd set up a meeting for today when things would be quieter, and they were. Vera stood at a stainless steel counter with a younger woman, both of them in chef whites. Their heads were bent over an erase board, voices a quiet murmur.

I cleared my throat and stepped forward. "Am I interrupting?"

Vera turned toward me. "Ash, there you are. I was beginning to wonder about you."

I winced. "Sorry I'm late. I stopped to see the food boat, and I got a little caught up."

That sounded better than being unable to borrow my daddy's boat, right?

She waved a hand. "That's all right. It's quiet today. We're mainly just getting our ducks in a row for our first dinner service Friday night."

"That must be exciting."

Her eyes lit up. "It sure is. I've been getting antsy with all this dang planning. I need to start."

I laughed, because I could relate. "I've been testing and re-testing every recipe I have because I'm impatient."

She cocked her head. "You've got your own recipes? I thought the food boat was an extension of the resort's restaurant."

"I partnered with the resort, but this is my idea. I don't want to drive around serving someone else's food."

"I see we have things to discuss." She glanced toward the other chef. "Can you give us a minute, Helena?"

"Sure." She flashed me a sympathetic smile on her way to the door.

Shit, was Vera going to take this away from me just when I thought I'd achieved my longtime dream?

"Ashton—"

"Please don't tell me I can't do this," I said hurriedly. "I've been waiting so long, and this is supposed to be my food boat. I'm sorry about what happened to Sawyer. I'm sorry if you're upset with me?—"

"Ash, honey, no. Whatever happened with you and Sawyer is between you boys. I want no part of that."

I stopped short. "Okay? It's just…last night you seemed sort of…"

"Distant?"

"Well, yeah."

"To be perfectly honest, I didn't recognize you right away."

I winced as heat flooded my cheeks.

I'd worried that Vera was angry at me on Sawyer's behalf. But it was worse than that. She'd simply…forgotten me.

That hurt a little.

Mrs. West— Vera —had been like a second mother to me when I was a kid. I'd stayed over at Sawyer's house practically every night one summer that was particularly bad after my dad died.

Mom had worked evenings, then come home exhausted and sad. It had been easier for us both when I stayed with Sawyer instead.

Vera continued. "It's been a good ten years since I've seen you, and with the beard, you look so much older. Plus, you use a different last name now, so…"

I nodded. "Right. Right. My stepdad insisted."

We'd exchanged a couple of preliminary emails, but Skylar had been CC'ed on them, so I'd kept them professional rather than personal. It didn't even occur to me that Vera might not recognize my stepdad's name, but we did live on opposite sides of the lake.

"I'm sorry, Ash," she said softly. "I was distracted, and you were gone before I'd figured out why you seemed familiar."

"It's okay," I said quickly, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "I shouldn't have brought up Sawyer anyway. This is about the food boat."

She nodded. "Yes, let's talk about that. Skylar told me that the boat would be an extension of the resort. A way to get our name out and attract more people to the restaurant."

"Yes."

"Which means it should be up to the resort's standards."

I opened my mouth to protest my food would be up to anyone's standards. She lifted her hand to stop me. "I'm not saying yours isn't, only that we should collaborate."

I hesitated. "I'm not employed by the resort. It's a partnership. This is my business."

She nodded. "I know, but part of the agreement is that you'll use this kitchen for a lot of the prep work. And you'll have to come to me about sourcing ingredients."

"That's true," I said. "The boat will have limited space. I won't be able to store much there, and I'll have to do a fair amount of prep ahead of time if I want to offer more than basic fare."

"Which brings us to the recipes."

"You don't need to worry about that," I said. "I've been working on variations of these recipes for years. This isn't going to be some greasy burger boat or state fair stand with stale popcorn and fried cheese curds."

She laughed. "Well, that's a relief."

"But you still want to see what I plan to serve," I guessed.

"I don't want to dictate what you do, Ash. I just want us to collaborate and make the most of this arrangement. If you have a recipe that complements one of mine or vice versa…"

"It would be a good way to draw people to the restaurant here," I said, catching on.

"If we coordinate right, we can spotlight the same local ingredients, do variations of the same weekly special?—"

"Like I could serve bacon-wrapped scallops, and you could serve a scallop linguini in the restaurant?"

"Exactly." She beamed at me, looking like a proud mama. It warmed my chest, taking me right back to those days of early childhood when she'd praised me for helping clear the table.

I should have known Mrs. West wouldn't strong-arm me into anything.

She'd mother me into it.

"All right," I said, conceding defeat. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Ashton!" She sounded appalled. "I'm old enough to be your mother. Don't you flirt with me."

I laughed. "I wouldn't dare."

"Good." She spread her arms. "Now come here and give me a long overdue hug."

I stepped into her embrace embarrassingly quickly. Vera wrapped me tight and rocked me gently side to side, exactly as she had when I was a young boy. I'd forgotten this hug. How Vera had always smelled like food. How she'd always given me an extra squeeze before releasing me with a tousle of the hair.

I was no longer six or ten or even fifteen, but she hugged just the same.

"I'm sorry it's been so long," I said, my throat tight.

"Me too, hon." She pulled back. "Maybe this new arrangement will be good for you and Sawyer, hm?"

"I don't know. He's pretty set on hating me."

She squeezed my cheeks. "Hate this cute face? Impossible. I know my son. He couldn't hate a fly. Not really. He'll come around."

"I hope so," I said with a smile.

I was pretty sure she didn't know the depths to which our friendship had sunk, and if that were the case, I wasn't going to be the one to tell her.

Not after she'd hugged me like a long-lost son.

"Now," she said, all business again. "Let's go over these recipes."