A Dash of Love. Liz Isaacson
the counter. The smell of freshly baked rolls and breads made her stomach roar. And the espresso—Nikki needed one, stat.
Trish, the owner of the bakery, was one of Nikki’s favorite people on the planet. Though she probably got up in the middle of the night to come to work, she greeted everyone like they were old friends.
“Hi, good morning,” Nikki said.
Trish, who was more Nikki’s mother’s age, beamed at her. “Good morning.” Her emerald-colored sweater made her eyes seem more green than blue today. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.” Nikki felt like she had someone she could confide in here in the city. Her own mother lived so far away, and she hadn’t wanted Nikki to come to Lakeside in the first place. So Nikki only told her the good things about her life, reasoning that there was no sense in burdening her parents with the negative. After all, she was sure one of these two upcoming interviews would net her a job.
Trish gave her a conspiratorial look. “Double whip?”
“You know it.” Nikki laughed with Trish, the weight of her interview flying away, at least for the moment.
Trish returned a minute later with a mocha latte and reached for the can of whipping cream. She squirted more than a healthy amount on top and handed the to-go cup to Nikki. “So, how’s the job search going? Any luck yet?”
“No, no luck.” Nikki ignored the twist in her chest. “But I’m trying to stay optimistic. I’m not gonna lie, though. It’s pretty hard.” She ducked her head and tucked her hair. She was wearing the right clothes today. She’d studied Finique’s menu, their hours, and their history listed on their website. She knew everything about the establishment. She’d cooked at five restaurants.
“Well, I have no doubt you’ll find a job soon. This is a big city with a lot of hungry people.”
Nikki sipped her latte and licked the cream from her top lip. “I hope so. Because if I don’t find something soon, I’m going to be one of those hungry people.” She wanted to believe Trish with all her heart—so she did.
Trish’s husband, Marty, emerged from the kitchen in the back, a tray of chocolate-drizzled biscotti in front of him. The smell made Nikki close her eyes and take a deep breath, instantly transporting her straight back to her childhood. Her grandmother had made biscotti for Christmas every year when Nikki was a little girl. Since she didn’t drink, she’d taught Nikki to dip the Italian cookies in hot apple cider.
She let the memory play out as Marty set down the tray and reached for a pair of tongs. “Did I hear someone say they were hungry?” He picked up a bag.
“Ooh, fresh biscotti. You know I can’t resist that.” She couldn’t, even if her pocketbook would take a three-dollar hit.
“My father opened these doors with this very recipe.” Marty put a fresh cookie in the bag. Nikki started to pull out her wallet, a cute pink thing she’d bought for herself after her Valentine’s Day fiasco two years ago.
There was that thought again. Probably because in only a few short weeks, she’d have to experience that day all over again.
Though she could stuff reminders of Valentine’s Day away, she couldn’t quite do the same with her memories of Finique. Her heart rate picked up, and she couldn’t believe she was even considering stepping foot back inside the restaurant where her heart had been broken. But desperate times called for her to shelve her pride and hope her memories didn’t suffocate her when she went to her job interview later that morning.
“No, no, put your money away,” Marty said.
Nikki stared at him.
“When you get a job, then we’ll let you pay,” Trish said, glancing at her husband.
Their generosity touched Nikki’s heart. “But—”
“You heard the missus,” he said. “And trust me, you don’t want to argue with her.”
Trish giggled and playfully swatted his arm. “Marty.”
Nikki accepted the bag with the biscotti and put her wallet away. “All right. Well, thanks.” With both Trish and Marty looking at her with such affection, she inhaled. They believed in her. Angela’s words from that morning replayed in Nikki’s head.
She could ace this interview. She squared her shoulders and lifted her latte. “Well, I’m off to another job interview. Wish me luck!”
Chapter Two
That afternoon, Nikki stood outside of Finique, her heart swimming around in her chest. Here she was again, face-to-face with the very place where the most humiliating breakup of her life had happened.
She remembered the exact table where Ryan had said those horrible words. The precise meal they’d shared. The walk she’d taken back to her apartment, alone.
Gotta go inside, she told herself. She didn’t have to dine here, but she did need a job. Badly.
She breathed, strengthened her resolve, and told herself it was going to be fine. Just fine. She stepped down the sidewalk and through the doors. The restaurant wasn’t open yet because it was one of those fancy ones that only served dinner.
Everything in front of her was white. White walls. Stark white tables with white chairs. The shelves held glasses and shiny silverware.
A man with dark hair and eyes approached. “Nikki?” The manager wore a pale blue shirt and a posh, striped tie with a suit that probably cost more than her month’s rent. He obviously paid attention to his appearance, but he needed to find a new barber because the short, choppy haircut wasn’t doing him any favors.
Be nice, she told herself. Only positive thoughts. No judgments on someone’s appearance. She knew better than anyone that looks usually only ran skin deep.
“Yes.” She flashed him what she hoped was a bright-as-the-sun smile and handed him her resume. He didn’t return her grin, and she felt hers slide right off her face.
“This way.” He led her to a table smack dab in the middle of the waitstaff preparing the restaurant for opening, and she glanced around nervously.
“It would be such an honor to be a cook here at Finique,” she said, her voice just the tiniest bit squeaky. She longed to clear her throat to lower it, but she didn’t dare. Finique definitely wasn’t a place where people went around clearing their throats. They probably asked for seltzer water for such things.
The manager, who had not introduced himself, looked up from her resume. “Yes. It would.” His eyes skated over her, almost like she wasn’t worthy of his full attention.
She sat on her hands so she wouldn’t fidget. “I ate here once, and it was one of the best meals of my entire life.” She went ahead and did the throat-clearing. No one popped from the immaculate woodwork to arrest her, and the manager continued to stare at her single piece of paper like it was typed in Latin.
“It was Valentine’s Day,” Nikki said, unsure why she couldn’t make herself stop talking. “My boyfriend took me out, and we had the most breathtaking meal.” She waited for him to look at her, acknowledge that she was speaking at all. When he didn’t, she mentally named him the Silent Supervisor and wished she could yank her resume from his perfectly manicured hands.
“It was a four-course meal with a perfectly paired, peppery zinfandel finished off with the most decadent chocolate soufflé.” A giggle burst from her mouth, though there was nothing happy about where this story was going. “Which he ended up dumping me over—which wasn’t so good, as you can imagine.” She cut her voice off as the Silent Supervisor looked at her like she’d turned green.
Well, the soufflé had been delicious—just not the part where Ryan had ended things while couples around them kissed, got engaged,