The Restaurant (The Nantucket Restaurant #1)(43)

“No, not yet.” Emma’s eyes grew wide as she watched Paul take a plate and scoop most of one of the pot pies onto it. He added some roasted potatoes and sautéed spinach on the side and handed it to her. “It’s going to be a busy night. Eat up and let me know what you think.”

“Thank you!” Emma took the plate to her station and happily did as instructed. The pot pie was delicious, full of creamy sauce and veggies with big chunks of sweet lobster and flaky pastry. As soon as she finished, she uploaded the picture to Instagram and to the restaurant’s Facebook page along with her mouth-watering description, which also teased the other two specials and promised more pictures to come.

Gary wasn’t kidding when he said it was likely to be busy. Emma felt like she was running all night to keep up—making salads, plating shrimp cocktail and all the desserts. Before it got too busy, she was able to grab a few quick shots of the first orders that came in for the short ribs appetizer and the baked stuffed lobster. She posted those to the Facebook page too, along with a picture of the specials board.

When the night was over and the kitchen was shiny and spotless, Emma and Paul joined Gary at the bar for an after-work drink. Gary seemed pleased as he sipped his draft beer.

“We had a good night tonight. Business was steady.” He glanced Emma’s way. “Do you know anything about a Facebook page? I had a few calls with people wanting to make sure we still had the lobster specials.”

Emma laughed. “Oh good. It worked.” She told him about the posts she’d made and the pictures she took.

“That’s a brilliant idea. My wife said she always looks restaurants up on Facebook. I never go there, so it didn’t even occur to me that we might want to do something on Facebook.”

Emma nodded. “I put a Facebook page up earlier this week. I’m like your wife. I always look too.”

“Well, let’s keep it going. If we can get people into the habit of looking, they might make a point of coming in more often.”

“That’s the plan,” Emma agreed. “And the new specials really seem to be a hit. Either Jill or Mandy, I forget who called them luxurious comfort food. That could be something we’re known for. Who doesn’t love comfort food? Especially when it’s decadent too?”

Paul chuckled. “That works for me. I was thinking for our party, I could do mini versions of the pot pie, to give people a taste. Same with the short ribs app. And a few other things. I have a loaded mashed potato side dish I want to test out soon.”

“That sounds up my alley. What’s it loaded with?” Emma was envisioning bacon, cheese and sour cream.

“Blue cheese, sour cream and an obscene amount of butter.”

Emma thought that sounded even more delicious. “I want to try that. It’s not very diet-friendly, though.”

“No. It’s not. Comfort food generally isn’t.” Paul looked thoughtful for a moment. “But maybe I can also introduce a few items that are both. I made a mashed potato the other day that was half-cauliflower and used chicken broth instead of butter. It had great flavor but was a good deal lighter.”

“That might be popular. Lots of people are trying to cut back.”

“It all sounds good to me,” Gary said. “I think having both options is a smart idea. Something for everyone. And on that note, I’m heading home. I’ll see you both soon enough.”

Gary left and Emma took another sip of her chardonnay. She wasn’t in any hurry to get home. Jill was likely in bed as it was nearly eleven, but Emma was still wide awake. She knew once she got home and climbed into bed, exhaustion would take over and she’d go right to sleep but for now, she was still full of energy. Paul still had half a beer left and didn’t seem ready to rush off either.

“What was the name of that shelter you mentioned where you adopted your cat?”

Paul smiled. “Nantucket’s Safe Harbor for Animals.” A moment later he added, “I’m off during the day tomorrow and would be happy to go there with you.”

“That would be great, actually. Jill’s okay with it, so I am anxious to get a cat. I was thinking maybe an older one, five years or more. I know they aren’t adopted as often, and I’d love to give an older cat a good home. Plus, I’m thinking that they wouldn’t need as much attention as a lively kitten.”

“That’s true, and cats sleep a lot. I think the shelter is likely to have some older cats. I can swing by around eleven, if that works for you.” Paul finished his last sip of beer and put it in the bar dishwasher. Emma did the same with her now-empty glass of wine.

“That works for me. See you tomorrow.”





Paul came by at eleven sharp the next day, and Emma was ready for him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us and help me pick out our cat?” she asked Jill.

Jill shook her head as her phone started buzzing. “No, I’m slammed this morning. I trust you to pick out a good one. Have fun.”

Emma walked outside and Paul was waiting in his blue Ford pickup truck. She climbed into the passenger side and a few minutes later they turned onto Crooked Lane where the shelter was.

A volunteer had Emma fill out some paperwork, including references from her vet. She’d had several cats over the years, and they’d lost their last one just a few weeks before Emma learned about Tom. Losing Betty had been a blow, but she was an elderly girl at sixteen years old. They’d adopted her when she was nine. Emma knew her vet in Arizona would give her a good reference. Once she handed in the completed paperwork Mary, the volunteer, led them back to the area where the cats were held.