Love on Tap

Book 3: Mill Pond

by Judi Lynn

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

There’s a different rhythm to life in small-town Mill Pond, Indiana. And with the easy pace come friendships that are built to last and love that starts out on a slow simmer… Charming boutiques, picturesque farms, and a growing foodie scene have turned Mill Pond into a tourist destination. And thanks to the culinary skills of Paula Hull, its beautiful rural resort is leading the way. The widowed mom left behind the stress of the New York City restaurant world to spend more time with her two young children. And now she’s ready to see if there’s more out there for her than being a chef and single parent… Chase Atwood is the local good guy with a bad reputation. He’s a respected business owner and trusted friend, but the drop-dead gorgeous bar owner usually has women beating down his door—and Paula knows to keep her distance. His burgers and beer, on the other hand, are not off limits. But their mutual admiration is always on the back burner—until Chase turns up the heat. Soon he’s determined to prove to Paula that he’s the one key ingredient missing in her life…

Release date: November 22, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 236

Sample

Paula Hull walked with Aiden and Bailey to the end of the resort’s driveway to wait for their school bus. The kids skipped and hopped, and she had to hustle to keep up. That was the thing about being short. Her legs had to do double time when she needed speed. Of course, if she lost twenty pounds it might help, but every chef tasted as she added ingredients. A hazard of the trade.

When the bus turned the corner, she planted a kiss on each kid. “Have a good day.”

“Mom!” Aiden winced. He was almost nine. She’d better enjoy smooches while she could, because next year there’d be no public displays of affection. He’d be too old, too cool. Bailey—six—bounced up and down next to her brother, anxious to get on the bus and see her friends.

“I want to show Maddie my blue fingernail polish!” She tugged on Aiden’s arm. He grimaced, but tolerated it. Since their dad’s death, he’d become protective of her.

When the kids disappeared inside the bus and it pulled away, leaving behind the smell of diesel exhaust, Paula started back to the lodge. Fast footsteps. Lots to do! Her assistant chef was starting today.

She paused briefly to look at the inn’s limestone exterior, like she always did. Lovely! Because of her own look—the stud in her cheek, her eyebrow ring, and tattoos—people assumed she liked dark and dreary. Not so. She was a cozy girl, and the inn’s three-story center with a wing off each end, its white trim, red double doors, and tin roof gave off a warm, homey feel she liked.

Move it! She huffed into the foyer and lounge. Wood floors. Beamed ceilings. Leather furniture grouped around a fireplace. She barely gave it a glance. Time to switch hats from mommy to chef. She took a deep breath as she headed to Ian McGregor’s office.

When he hired her last June, he’d expected business to start slow, hoping it would grow steadily. He wasn’t prepared for how fast the inn became popular. He was scrambling to keep up. So was Paula.

“I’m sorry,” he’d told her. “You’ve gone from chef to jack-of-all-trades.” But she’d suspected that might happen. Startups were always messy. No biggie.

With four suites in the west wing, four rooms on the second floor, another four on the third, and five log cabins near the lake, the inn could hold up to eighty people. Thankfully, it was only the end of April, and kids were still in school. Every room was booked—had been since mid-March—but by couples. That meant thirty to forty people expected breakfast, lunch, and supper in the dining room each day. Once June hit, things would get chaotic.

She hesitated to collect her thoughts before she opened the office door. When her husband Alex died in Afghanistan, she’d struggled to hang in there as a chef in a prestigious, New York restaurant. But restaurants demand lots of hours, and she never saw her kids, so she’d come to Mill Pond to work for Ian. Thank God, the man was married and madly in love with his wife or he’d be damned tempting. Her boss was a long slurp of eye candy who could hardly wait until his and Tessa’s baby was born. Paula smiled, remembering. Alex had been excited when she got pregnant, but not like Ian. The man was already mapping out tennis lessons and fishing trips with his firstborn son.

Fishing trips. Paula sighed. It brought back memories of her Alex. He was a fun father and always took Aiden fishing every summer. The kids missed hanging out with him.

“I can offer you the inn’s east wing as an apartment,” Ian had told her.

At the time, it had seemed the perfect fit, but then the inn had gotten so popular, she put in long hours here, too. She was still trying to find her way as a single mom, to find balance, but it wasn’t easy.

“This isn’t working,” Ian told her a couple weeks ago, and her stomach sank. Was he going to fire her? Hire someone younger and single? “You’re working too many hours. You need help.” And he started looking for an assistant. Betty came in every day from ten to two—ready to do anything and everything—but she wasn’t enough. Neither was Howard, who took Betty’s place from four to eight. Ian realized that. He was good that way. He’d asked her to sit in on the job interviews for an assistant chef, and they’d decided on Tyne Newsome, who was just off a long trek through Thailand.

“Here I thought you’d focus on cooking creds,” Ian had teased. “I didn’t think you’d swoon over Tyne’s looks.”

The man was nothing short of gorgeous, but looks alone didn’t trip her trigger. She went for the aloof badass every time, and unfortunately, one happened to be delivering the inn’s groceries every morning. Jason.

She gave a quick knock on Ian’s door and entered the small room that held a table and his laptop. Bookcases lined the walls. Tyne was already seated across from their boss.

“Hey, you ready?” Ian asked, standing to greet her.

“Can’t wait.” With an assistant, she might have time to breathe, to have a life.

She took the chair next to Tyne’s. Poor Ian. He was going to have his hands full. First, he’d hired her—a Goth mama with a New York attitude. She’d grown up an army brat, always the new kid in school, a little on the wild side. Her looks told the world that she was who she was. Take it or leave it.

Thankfully, Ian had taken it. “Mill Pond is Midwest, but once they meet you and like you, you’re in. They might balk at the cheek stud, but they’ll move past it. Besides, you’re so cute, you can pull it off.”

Cute. That had been Alex’s word for her, too. She’d never win a beauty contest, or even be called pretty, but cute she could pull off. “What about the inn’s guests?”

“After they taste your cooking, they won’t care.” And they hadn’t. Lots of chefs sported tattoos. They even overlooked the stud, but the tiny nose ring tripped them up. So she’d stared at herself in the mirror for a long time and decided she could change it up. She had it removed and went for an eyebrow ring instead, and guests barely blinked, but then Mill Pond was a bit on the eclectic side. Lots of artists and creative types. That helped.

Hiring her was bad enough, but then Ian hired Tyne. The man was so hot, Ian would have to hang a DO NOT TOUCH sign around his neck. Over six feet tall, he had tousled dirty-blonde hair. A chinstrap beard added a scruffy look. And dark brown eyes finished the package. Oh, and there was the body—all rock-hard abs and sinews. Teenage girls would cling to his ankles to worship.

Tyne raised an eyebrow at her. “Any second thoughts?”

“About what?”

“About allowing me in your kitchen. We have really different approaches to food.”

She shrugged. “That’s why I like you. I don’t want a carbon copy. I want someone to make this place stand out.”

His grin was as devastating as Ian’s. Women would come here just to ogle. They’d be lucky if they didn’t dehydrate from drooling too much.

Paula glanced at her watch, immune to the two men’s hotness. If they got the intros over with soon enough, she’d be in the kitchen in time to meet Jason when he made his deliveries. Her skin prickled. Her pulse pattered. Jason was no looker like these two, but he had swagger. He played it cool, uninterested. For her, a real turn-on.

Ian leaned back in his chair. “We already went over all the specifics. Anything either of you want to ask or add?”

Tyne shook his head. So did Paula.

Ian grinned, dimples showing. “Then good luck to the two of you. This is going to be a fun mix.”

That was the idea—Tyne’s international fusion dishes mingled with her classic traditional style. Guests would have plenty to choose from. Mill Pond had become a foodie retreat. There were so many specialty farmers and suppliers in the area, people expected more when they stayed here.

Paula pushed from her chair and Tyne followed her to the kitchen. She had everything ready to go for breakfast. Early risers could choose from cereals or homemade granolas, fresh fruits, and rolls or donuts, but most guests opted for a leisurely breakfast at eight. She poured lemon-blueberry batter on the griddle for pancakes, checked the sausage patties, links, and candied bacon strips she’d already put in the warming oven, and started filling ramekins, nestled in a steel serving pan, for eggs en cocotte with smoked salmon.

Ian’s wife, Tessa, owned a bakery and made a different kind of muffin each day. Today’s were banana with a streusel topping. A toaster sat at the ready on the serving bar in the dining room, along with different kinds of breads, bagels, and muffins.

Tyne watched for a second, then pitched in. They worked in companionable silence until it was time for setup. “A warming table?” he asked.

She nodded.

They carried everything out, put pitchers of juices close to the coffee urn and hot water dispenser, then retreated to the kitchen as guests came and went. She and Tyne flitted in and out to clear tables and refill empty pitchers. Women stopped to gawk. He didn’t notice. In between work, he asked, “Same thing every morning?”

Paula shook her head. “This is the Tuesday and Thursday menu. Wednesdays, I make croissant French toast with a peach filling in place of the pancakes. Mondays and Fridays, I switch to a southwestern strata with sausage, and Saturdays are Dutch babies with a fruit filling and whipped cream. I need to start those early while the kids sleep in.”

“And Sundays?”

“We serve a brunch buffet. We’ll both have to work that one. Betty’s helped, but she likes Sundays off.”

“Betty?” Tyne turned for an answer.

“She helps anywhere and everywhere, like most of us. Works ten to two, six days a week. Her bark’s a lot worse than her bite.”

Tyne blinked. “I’ll try to get on her good side.”

“You won’t have to try too hard.” He was probably around thirty, like Paula, but parenthood made her feel older, more responsible. Betty was in her sixties with two grown boys. She’d be tempted to take Tyne under her wing. “You’ve come to a good place to meet food people.”

“That’s what I’ve heard, why I put in for the job. Ian said I could experiment, try to find my own style. Someday I want to open my own restaurant. Mill Pond should give me lots of ideas.”

The clock hit ten and the last guest left the dining room. Paula started clearing it.

“No stragglers?” Tyne asked.

“This isn’t a restaurant. It’s an inn. We serve breakfast at eight, lunch at twelve-thirty, and supper at six. There are choices, but no menu. If a guest wants something else, there’s a diner in town.”

“Reminds me of the summer camps my parents shipped me to as a kid, only classier.” Tyne’s voice had a bite to it. That must have been a sore point.

Paula had to laugh. “Sort of the same idea, only Ian offers golf, tennis, horseback riding, and the lake.”

She’d barely mentioned his name when Ian bustled into the kitchen to pitch in with cleanup. Once school was out, a high school kid came to work the dishwasher for breakfast and lunch, but during the slower months, Ian offered a hand. When Betty strolled in, she joined them.

“Tyne, Betty,” Paula said in way of introductions. “Betty, Tyne.”

Betty cocked an eyebrow. Her hair was as salty as her attitude. “He’s too cute to cook. You just chose him to dress up the place.”

Paula sighed. So did Tyne. “I’ve cooked in over a dozen different countries,” he told her.

Betty shrugged. “So? No girl anywhere would turn you away—except maybe her.” She motioned to Paula. “All she does is work.”

Tyne rolled his eyes, but let it slide. He went back to helping Ian.

Paula had heard it before. Often. Even though Jason tempted her, it had been a while since she entertained the thought of herself with a man. She’d pictured herself as a workhorse for so long, she couldn’t think of herself as sexy anymore. Alex had loved her curves and cockiness. She had a sharp tongue and a temper, but she’d put everything under wraps when he died. Literally. People would be surprised she had a figure under her chef’s coat and drawstring pants.

Betty gave a wry smile. “It’s not going to happen, is it? Okay, do what you always do. Start cooking.”

Paula’s comfort zone. She showed Betty the menu for lunch. The older woman glanced at it with a quick nod. “I’ll get the buffet table and dining room set up, then start the sandwich fillings. You’ve already roasted the beef?”

“Yup, ready to go.” She and Tyne were slicing eggplants and Vidalia onions for today’s veggie sandwich when the kitchen’s back door opened. Paula stopped working. Her gaze followed Jason as he wheeled a stack of boxes inside, full of produce, meats, and supplies. Her pulse quickened, and the kitchen melted away as a backdrop. She turned to Jason with a smile. “Good morning.”

He gave a curt nod, ignored Betty—as usual—barely acknowledged Ian, then narrowed his eyes at Tyne.

Paula hurried to make introductions. “Jason, our new assistant chef, Tyne Newsome. Tyne, our deliveryman, Jason Baxter. I don’t have time to go to each of our suppliers every day. Neither do Chase or Ralph, in town, so Jason does it for us. We rely on him. He checks each item, fills our food lists, and delivers them.”

“Nice set-up.” Tyne glanced at the variety of suppliers’ names on the boxes. “Chase and Ralph own restaurants, too?”

Ian nodded. “Ralph runs the diner. Chase owns the bar.”

“Where you from?” Jason looked Tyne up and down. “You don’t look like a cook. No studs or tattoos like Paula here.”

Paula blinked, taken aback. He’d never mentioned anything about the stud in her cheek, never stared at her little eyebrow ring or tattoos. She thought Mill Pond had gotten used to her pitch-black hair, pulled up in a clip so it spiked at the back of her head, and her fondness for wearing black.

Tyne glanced at her expression, frowned, and then gave Jason a dirty look. “Tats from every country, bro.” He yanked his T-shirt up to his chest. Blue ink swirled on his sides. He yanked at his shirt’s neckline; more ink stretched across his shoulders. “Happy?” he asked.

Jason glared at his six-pack abs. “Cooking must keep you fit.”

Tyne jerked his shirt back in place. “No, workouts do.”

Jason reached for his clipboard and shoved it at Paula, making sure their fingers touched. “Here. Check that you’ve got everything, then give me your signature.”

Men and their damned pissing contests. Zipping through the list faster than usual, not inspecting and counting each item, she signed that everything had been delivered.

Jason turned on his heel. He tipped his empty dolly and stalked out the door.

Ian grinned. “We put your Jason in a bad mood.”

“He’s not my Jason.” She started putting the supplies away.

Ian patted Tyne on the back. “The two of us might as well disappear when Jason steps through that door. I’m surprised Paula doesn’t have a tattoo of him hidden somewhere.”

Tyne dismissed Jason with “He’s an ass,” then went to look through the boxes and whistled, impressed.

Betty whisked into the kitchen and nodded agreement. “That’s what I keep telling our girl. Jason thinks he’s God’s gift to women, but I have more respect for our creator than that. She should throw herself at Chase. Now that boy’s worth the bother.”

That boy had women waiting in line for him. Paula didn’t have a prayer.

Paula hurried to defend Jason. “I should have told Jason we were getting an assistant chef. He doesn’t like surprises.”

Ian finished rinsing the pots and pans. “And you know that how?”

“If somehow a supplier’s out of something I ordered, it irritates him. He doesn’t like to bring inferior products or run behind schedule, either.” She admired that about him.

Tyne glanced out the window as Jason’s box truck pulled away. “Lucky man if he expects perfection.”

“And you don’t?” Paula couldn’t keep the snap out of her voice.

“Sure I do, but I’m not an ass about it.”

Ian took one look at her face and threw up a hand to call peace. “Down, girl. It’s only Tyne’s first day. Don’t kill him yet.”

Paula sent Tyne a withering look. What did he know about Jason? Not a damned thing. But she needed an assistant, so she fought to calm down.

Ian nodded at the kitchen. “All clean. What needs doing next?”

He was trying to change the subject, Paula knew. Not a bad idea. “I thought Tyne and I could put our heads together to plan out menus and schedules.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get out of here and let you get to it.” Ian glanced at Tyne. “A word of warning—Paula’s little, but she’s a firecracker. Don’t get on her bad side.”

“I’m not little! I’m short!” She sounded sharper than she intended, but five-one was plenty if you put your mind to it. Her height didn’t bother her. She’d love to be thinner, though. Not that Jason was trim and fit. He was a little overweight, too. She adored a man with love handles, a little softness like a teddy bear—cuddly.

Tyne shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to aggravate you. My brother swears I can irritate anybody. Words pop out. I say what I say, and people either listen or don’t.”

The tension released from Paula’s shoulders. She liked people who spoke their minds, as long as they didn’t push it. “Okay, let’s grab a beer and get started.” She went to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of dark ale and handed one to Tyne, then sat at the wooden worktable. It was early, but restaurants kept strange hours and she liked a beer between sets. Tyne straddled a chair across from her. Ian shook his head and made his escape.

“So what have you got in mind?” Paula asked Tyne. “How do you want to divide up the schedule?”

“Ian promised me two nights off in a row each week. Other than that, I don’t care.” He stretched his long legs diagonally under the table.

She nodded. “I thought I could work the breakfast and lunch shift Tuesday through Sunday. We both have to work Sunday brunch. There’s no way around it, but we don’t serve until eleven, so it’s breakfast and lunch combined.”

Tyne frowned. “How does that make the dinner schedule?”

“I’d work Sunday and Monday nights. You’d work Tuesday through Saturday. Sundays and Mondays aren’t the best nights to have off, though. If you’d like something else, let me know. I just wanted some time with my kids on Fridays and Saturdays.”

Tyne shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t come here to play. Sundays and Mondays will give me plenty of time to meet people, make connections.”

“About the evening meal, Ian wants me to make one traditional meal each night to go with one of yours—whatever direction you take. So I thought I’d prep my choices for your nights before I go off shift.”

“I’ll do the same.”

Either Tyne was really agreeable, or he didn’t care about anything except building his career. Paula reached for a clipboard with menus scribbled until Saturday. After that, she and Tyne would work separately. “Want to pound out supper menus for your first two weeks alone? We have time before lunch prep.”

“How exotic can I get?”

Paula pursed her lips. “You’re in Indiana. No one’s going to eat puffer fish. You can push the envelope, but you can’t go crazy.”

He grinned. “Fair enough. What if I start slow and see how Thai, Filipino, or other dishes go over?”

Heads together, they planned out evening meals until the middle of May. Paula was surprised how many countries Tyne had lived in, how wide his food knowledge was. He could draw from Greek, Spanish, Moroccan, and Italian, as well as Asian, German, and Polish.

“How long did you travel?” she asked.

“Overseas? Eight years.”

“No Mexican or South American?” she teased.

Tyne gave his lopsided grin. “That, too. I’ll add in some of those dishes later. . .