I stared at the dusty sign, "Salt and Batter" - the dimming sunlight bounced off it, making the edges of the bronze sign gleam. I was finally back! It took me a while to get here but I was standing here now. I could hear the bustle of noise in the restaurant as they were preparing for the dinner service. This restaurant was my home in this gorgeous seaside town that attracted a year-long holiday crowd that would spend their days slowing time down and enjoying the quiet, serene life that the townsfolk loved and preserved. Over the years I had met writers seeking inspiration, actors seeking solitude and everyone who wanted to spend time doing nothing more than watching the clouds drowsily skim over the horizon.
I lost my mother a few months after my birth and my father even before I was born. My uncle, who was my mother's brother, took me in when I was 5 months old and became my 'Pops'. I had grown up on this seaside boulevard that faced the largest beach and the restaurant occupied the most prominent corner of the busiest shopping street district we had to offer. During our busiest season, the streets would be overflowing with day visitors to the beach and the long term visitors always stayed long enough to become friends. We were one of the larger properties, others being the supermarket, a bookstore and a cafe. I noticed a few new stores had sprung up since the last time I was here.
After culinary school and working at wonderful restaurants catering to big and small celebrities and businessmen, I was back to my world after seeing the world. This was the place where I took my first steps and baked my first cake and grew up watching my Pops, create delicious meals as he smiled and chatted with everyone who walked in like he was their best buddy. The place always held the fragrance of fresh-baked bread in the morning, sweet desserts in the afternoon and warm soups in the evenings.
A soft breeze picked up and I sat down on my suitcase as I breathed in the familiar fragrance when I heard the bell on the front door tinkle, as my uncle popped his head out and said, "Sam?"
"I am home, Pops," I said running into his warm bear hug. I always loved his hugs, the way he smelled of cinnamon and chocolate all the time. Leading me in, we sat at the first table as the staff prepared the restaurant for dinner service. I didn't recognize many of them. So much had changed since I was last here, I thought.
"Before you start with your grand plans for the restaurant, I want you to ask if you ate?" said Pops sternly.
"Yes I did and I have so many plans and ideas on what we can do with the restaurant," I chirped in.
"Not we, darling - You," said Pops. " I don't think I have the energy for this anymore. Thirty years was long enough for me. I do want to spend at least a few years travelling around Europe and after that grand adventure, I will come back here and watch you sweat over the stove while I relax on the beach." I smiled knowing full well what he had given up to raise me, and this is exactly what I wanted for him.
"Why don't you rest up and once dinner service is settled into a rhythm, I will come upstairs and you can tell me all about your grand plans," said Pops, ushering me off to the house.
The house was above the restaurant and I went upstairs to unpack and settle back into my old room while Pops and his crew handled the dinner rush. Pops had saved a lot of my stuff and my room felt like I was back in high school. I plopped down onto my bed and noticed the stars that still decorated my ceiling - my own personal starry night. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I had to wiggle around to pull it out of my pocket. The screen glowed with "ALEX". Swiping the screen and switching on the speaker I threw the phone on to the bed as I settled into my stack of pillows and said, "Hey Alex, I am safe, alive, and checked in home."
"How many people did you kill on the way?"
"Surprisingly none! When are you getting here?"
"I am not. Some slow-mo seaside town isn't exactly my idea of a cracking way to skyrocket my career in bartending."
"Oh cmon, Alex! Who would give you the kind of freedom I would? I am letting you set up the whole bar and create your own menu with signature cocktails, you could even name them after you! Alex by the Beach or The Alex...."
"Oh! Shut up! Those are terrible names for cocktails, by the way," he growled over the phone. Picking up the phone and switching off the speaker, I sat up straight and said, "Alex, as much as I am joking right now, we envisioned this restaurant together. You tending the bar and me managing the kitchen. Orange and black walls trimmed with gold. A pastry selection that would rival any restaurant in Paris. This is the perfect place and has the perfect crowd who would appreciate this."
"Look that town might have been a big deal 20 years ago but people have more options today and I am certain we cannot waste our time setting up something that won't be valued. Please Sam, just listen to me and come back here," groaned Alex.
"Nope I won't be coming back there. So, if you have decided not to join me then I wish you all the very best and I have a lot of work to do here, and I will see you around," said Sam with an air of finality.
"The place is called Salt and Batter - who names their restaurant that..." yelled Alex and I just disconnected the call and started counting down from ten in my head and before I reached five the phone was buzzing again.
"I hate you," said Alex.
"I know and I love you too," I replied.
"See you Friday. I must register my protest and say that you are destroying my career, Sam."
"Bye Alex," I sang out the last words before disconnecting the call again and laying back on my pillows. Alex was my best friend. He was three years younger than me and we became fast friends at my first job. Alexander Walsh was half Irish, half American with a voice that could break hearts. His six feet two inches against my five feet seven made him tower over me and I hated it. His natural mixology talents and lack of formal education in the field meant he was bound to become the next big whatever that bartenders became. Every bartending and mixology contest he entered in the last five years he had won and he had a dream to start his own pub but lacked the capital. I know I wasn't offering him something world-class but if Alex could pull this off then definitely he would be able to do bigger things in the future. I don't want to tie Alex down here, just get him started while I could watch him because he had changed 18 jobs in 6 years. His temper wasn't pretty but I could get through his cloud of anger, on most days. I was hoping this setting would calm him down a bit more.
I was lost in my thoughts and staring out of my window when it lit up with blue and red lights, no sirens, just lights. I looked out and saw a bevy of police cars pulling into the parking lot. Panicking I rushed downstairs only to see, Pops angrily talking to Gabriel, his trusted sous chef, at the bottom of the stairs. My stomach dropped at the sight. What happened and why was Pops so angry?