offer another high five and walk down the bar
to waiting customers and waitresses.
Justin stood there for a few minutes, watching the activity spinning around him, a
solitary figure in the middle of the crowded, happy space. But he seemed puffed up
somehow, satisfied with himself. Then his gaze drifted over to the Danverses’ table
and settled on Franklin’s distinctive profile.
He stared intently at the older man, and Nell wondered what he was thinking. There
was certainly no love between those two. But Justin’s look was one more of curiosity
than dislike, as if he was trying to figure the man out. Janie said Justin was obsessed
with money—perhaps that was the intrigue Franklin Danvers provided: Justin was trying
to figure out his secret to being rich.
Tamara looked up and spotted Justin staring at their table.
She lifted one hand to her mouth, but before she had a chance to react further, Justin
turned back toward the bar, grabbed a handful of pistachio nuts from a bowl, and disappeared
down the porch steps and into the night.
Beside Nell, Janie shivered, then followed Tommy to their table nearby.
• • •
Hours later, after devouring Kevin Sullivan’s signature dish of pan-roasted cod, floating
on a pool of minted crème fraîche, even Ham Brewster declared himself full.
“Magnificent,” Birdie said when Kevin stopped at their table, doffing his white toque
and smiling broadly.
“A step up from my scones?” he said.
“No, dear. Nothing will ever top your scones, but this was truly delicious.”
The accolades came from all around the table, and Kevin thanked them profusely, before
moving on to other tables, other friends, and more compliments.
“Take me home, Bill Bailey,” Jane said finally, looping her arm through Ham’s.
“Izzy’s nearly asleep at the table,” Sam said, helping his wife up.
“Sleeping for two,” Izzy murmured, as they all made their way through the restaurant
and out to the parking lot. Janie and Tommy were leaving at the same time, leaning
nicely into each other.
“Young love,” Jane Brewster said, looking over at them as Tommy unlocked his car.
“Old isn’t so bad, either.” Ben wrapped Nell into the curve of his body.
“Who will we see tomorrow at Annabelle’s?” he called out as everyone climbed into
their cars.
Tommy spoke up from two cars down. “Rumor has it she’s making a special Swedish pancake,
not to be missed.”
Izzy waved out her window. “Count me in for sure.”
“Danny and I’ll come by after the dive shoot,” Sam said.
Sunday breakfasts at Annabelle Palazola’s Sweet Petunia Restaurant were sacred.
Ben looked over at Birdie, climbing into Sam’s backseat. “Pick you and Gabby up, Birdie?”
“Not tomorrow, Ben.”
“No?” Nell said. “Gabby loves pancakes—”
“Gabby is hanging out at Willow’s studio tomorrow, helping her get ready for the next
Art at Night event—and possible a baby shower. As for me, I have a date.”
They all looked her way.
She leaned through the window, her smile wide. “Oh, hush, the bunch of you. It’s not
that kind of date.”
“What kind is it?” Danny asked. “The kind in fruitcake?”
“It’s a
conversation
—that kind of date. A handsome young man named Justin Dorsey is coming over to have
coffee with me.”
Standing beside Tommy’s car, Janie Levin tensed at Birdie’s words.
Nell tried to read the expression on her face.
Embarrassment? Puzzlement?
She couldn’t be sure.
But she was sure of what she didn’t see there:
happiness
.
Chapter 9
T he pancakeslooked to be everything the blackboard at the restaurant’s front door described:
buttery, sweet, fresh. Sinfully delicious.
“That last description is for Father Northcutt. He likes straying every now and again,”
Annabelle said, leading them through the restaurant to their usual table out on the
deck.
The Brewsters and Cass were already there, enjoying a
to waiting customers and waitresses.
Justin stood there for a few minutes, watching the activity spinning around him, a
solitary figure in the middle of the crowded, happy space. But he seemed puffed up
somehow, satisfied with himself. Then his gaze drifted over to the Danverses’ table
and settled on Franklin’s distinctive profile.
He stared intently at the older man, and Nell wondered what he was thinking. There
was certainly no love between those two. But Justin’s look was one more of curiosity
than dislike, as if he was trying to figure the man out. Janie said Justin was obsessed
with money—perhaps that was the intrigue Franklin Danvers provided: Justin was trying
to figure out his secret to being rich.
Tamara looked up and spotted Justin staring at their table.
She lifted one hand to her mouth, but before she had a chance to react further, Justin
turned back toward the bar, grabbed a handful of pistachio nuts from a bowl, and disappeared
down the porch steps and into the night.
Beside Nell, Janie shivered, then followed Tommy to their table nearby.
• • •
Hours later, after devouring Kevin Sullivan’s signature dish of pan-roasted cod, floating
on a pool of minted crème fraîche, even Ham Brewster declared himself full.
“Magnificent,” Birdie said when Kevin stopped at their table, doffing his white toque
and smiling broadly.
“A step up from my scones?” he said.
“No, dear. Nothing will ever top your scones, but this was truly delicious.”
The accolades came from all around the table, and Kevin thanked them profusely, before
moving on to other tables, other friends, and more compliments.
“Take me home, Bill Bailey,” Jane said finally, looping her arm through Ham’s.
“Izzy’s nearly asleep at the table,” Sam said, helping his wife up.
“Sleeping for two,” Izzy murmured, as they all made their way through the restaurant
and out to the parking lot. Janie and Tommy were leaving at the same time, leaning
nicely into each other.
“Young love,” Jane Brewster said, looking over at them as Tommy unlocked his car.
“Old isn’t so bad, either.” Ben wrapped Nell into the curve of his body.
“Who will we see tomorrow at Annabelle’s?” he called out as everyone climbed into
their cars.
Tommy spoke up from two cars down. “Rumor has it she’s making a special Swedish pancake,
not to be missed.”
Izzy waved out her window. “Count me in for sure.”
“Danny and I’ll come by after the dive shoot,” Sam said.
Sunday breakfasts at Annabelle Palazola’s Sweet Petunia Restaurant were sacred.
Ben looked over at Birdie, climbing into Sam’s backseat. “Pick you and Gabby up, Birdie?”
“Not tomorrow, Ben.”
“No?” Nell said. “Gabby loves pancakes—”
“Gabby is hanging out at Willow’s studio tomorrow, helping her get ready for the next
Art at Night event—and possible a baby shower. As for me, I have a date.”
They all looked her way.
She leaned through the window, her smile wide. “Oh, hush, the bunch of you. It’s not
that kind of date.”
“What kind is it?” Danny asked. “The kind in fruitcake?”
“It’s a
conversation
—that kind of date. A handsome young man named Justin Dorsey is coming over to have
coffee with me.”
Standing beside Tommy’s car, Janie Levin tensed at Birdie’s words.
Nell tried to read the expression on her face.
Embarrassment? Puzzlement?
She couldn’t be sure.
But she was sure of what she didn’t see there:
happiness
.
Chapter 9
T he pancakeslooked to be everything the blackboard at the restaurant’s front door described:
buttery, sweet, fresh. Sinfully delicious.
“That last description is for Father Northcutt. He likes straying every now and again,”
Annabelle said, leading them through the restaurant to their usual table out on the
deck.
The Brewsters and Cass were already there, enjoying a
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