LITMIR.BIZ

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she hurried to open the door she found Jack’s son, looking flustered, still leaning on the doorbell. “Dad?” he shouted urgently.

      “Eric, what is it?” Jack asked, appearing behind Olivia.

      “Shelly. She’s in labor. She doesn’t have anyone.”

      “She phoned you?”

      “No, a friend did. Her water broke last night and she’s about to deliver. Could be anytime now. Her friend couldn’t stay.” He paused. “I should be there, don’t you think? She might need me.”

      “True,” Jack agreed.

      “But she doesn’t want me around, at least that’s what she said the last time we spoke.” He splayed his fingers through his hair. “I should be there. I feel it.”

      “Then go.”

      “I’m packed up, ready to leave for Reno.”

      “Yes, I know.”

      Eric seemed to be asking something and Olivia knew what it was, even if Jack didn’t. “Do you want your father to go with you?”

      “Would you, Dad?”

      Olivia loved Jack even more for the way he responded. He hugged his son, cast Olivia an apologetic look and said, “Let’s go.” He turned back to her and stretched out his hand. “Want to tag along?”

      She considered it for a moment, then decided against it. “You two go on. Call me when the babies are born.” Pleased that Jack had placed his son’s needs above his own, she took his hand in hers and gave him an encouraging squeeze.

      Three hours later, her phone rang and it was Jack, calling from the hospital. “Identical twin boys,” he said triumphantly. “Eric stayed with Shelly, and she was happy he came to be with her. Both boys are strong and healthy.”

      “Congratulations, Grandpa.”

      “I am their grandfather,” he said. “Those babies are the spitting image of Eric. No one’s going to doubt who their father is again. Especially my son.”

      “What’s he going to do about his job?” Eric had accepted the transfer and was expected to start at his new job in Reno in a week or so.

      “I don’t know, that’s up to him. Fortunately he’s got a few days before he has to decide.”

      Seth and Justine had decided to call their restaurant The Lighthouse. Justine liked the name because it reminded her of the home where she’d grown up, on Lighthouse Road. The lighthouse at the far end of the cove was one of the community’s most distinctive landmarks. Seth seconded the name because it underlined the fact that this was a seafood restaurant.

      The idea of opening a restaurant had been in the back of his mind for years, but he loved fishing and the money was too good to turn down. Living aboard the sailboat, his expenses had been minimal and he’d invested wisely. After he’d married Justine, he realized that the long separations fishing demanded no longer appealed to him. Now, with a baby on the way, the time was right to start his new business.

      His father agreed and offered to invest in the restaurant as a silent partner. It was a bold move on both their parts. Seth had done his research and was well aware that almost half of new restaurants failed in their first year. He was determined to minimize the risks, to do everything right. Menu, staff, prices, décor, promotion—he and Justine had thought everything through. Seth was a decent cook, but he didn’t have the expertise and knowledge that running a full kitchen would require. He advertised for kitchen staff and asked other restaurant owners for advice. He soon learned that Jon Bowman had an excellent reputation. When Jon applied for the position, of chef, Seth studied his resumé, then called and asked for an interview.

      On the second Friday of March, Jon Bowman arrived, walking into the ongoing construction mess.

      The renovations were only partially finished. A crew of carpenters were constructing new booths while electricians hung the light fixtures. The floors had been sanded and refinished, the walls had their first coat of paint and the windows had been replaced. Seth and Justine had decided to keep the original mahogany bar, which was a classic.

      Seth led Jon into the room that would be his office and gestured toward the chair. “I like what you’ve done,” Jon said as he sat down. “When are you planning to open?”

      “We’re hoping for the first week in May.”

      Jon glanced over his shoulder as though to estimate how much still needed to be done. “Everything should be finished by then,” he said confidently.

      “As you know, we’re looking for a chef. One who’ll oversee the menu and work with us closely as we grow.”

      “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been cooking at André’s for the last three years. I created their menu, which has an emphasis on seafood.”

      “And before then?” Seth had already reviewed the resumé, but he wanted to hear the details from Jon. He and Justine had made a point of visiting André’s twice to sample Jon’s signature dishes.

      “I was at the VFW in Olympia. I have references if you want.” He handed Seth a single sheet of paper with a list of names and telephone numbers.

      “Where did you get your training?” The resumé had been decidedly light on that kind of information.

      He tensed a little, but that might have been Seth’s imagination. “Picked it up here and there. I don’t have a lot of formal education. I started out as a short-order cook for a breakfast place in Tacoma and worked my way up. It isn’t like I’m going to have my own TV show soon, if that’s the kind of chef you’re looking for.”

      “It isn’t,” Seth assured him. He couldn’t afford a celebrity chef, anyway. He remained curious about Jon’s background, but didn’t press the issue. “I understand you’re also a photographer.”

      Jon nodded. “I’m a damn good chef, but my passion is my camera.”

      He didn’t hide his love for his work and that suited Seth.

      “If you’re willing to give me a chance, you won’t be sorry,” Jon said fervently.

      Every instinct Seth possessed told him to hire the man. “I’m going to start stocking the kitchen in a month’s time. Can you be ready by then?”

      Jon nodded. They discussed wages, benefits, recipes and other details. When they’d finished, Seth took him around the restaurant and was pleased when Jon offered him design and decorating tips. He liked his ideas and shared them with Justine that evening.

      “I had a feeling Jon Bowman was going to be the one,” she told him as Seth worked in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

      “I did, too.”

      Justine sat in their living room with her legs propped up to keep down the swelling in her ankles. At six months, the swelling was only slight, but still a concern. Seth had taken over the cooking and been inventive with eliminating salt.

      “I feel like a walrus,” she complained, planting her hands on the small round bulge of her abdomen.

      Seth leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed her neck. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured. “Not like a walrus at all—although they do have their charms.”

      “Get serious, Seth.”

      “I am serious.”

      She turned her face to him and they kissed, and he realized—as he did every day—how much he loved his wife.

      “Tell me what you know about Jon Bowman,” he said, a few minutes later as he dished up seafood fettuccine.

      “Like what?”

      “His background. Do you know anything about it?”

      Justine needed to think.

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