Joss Wood - One Night, Two Consequences

Remy walked over to the crib and stared down at the tiny, tiny little bundle who was her mother’s latest little project. Unfair, Remy thought, biting her lip. Her mum loved Callum and she loved her. Sort of …

‘I’ll try to shield you as much as I can, little brother, but I’m warning you she’s a force of nature. Don’t be too smart, okay?’ she murmured, touching the back of her knuckle to his satin-smooth head. ‘I’m going to leave Portland now—tonight. I’ve got to get out of here. And, no, I’m not quite brave enough to tell her yet.’

‘Tell her what?’ Jan asked from the doorway, her arms folded against her already flat stomach.

Her body wouldn’t dare rebel and hold on to its baby fat a minute longer than it should, Remy thought.

Remy pushed the pregnancy test wands back into her pocket, hiding them, before turning to face her mum. ‘Nothing much,’ she lied. ‘Just that I’m leaving. It’s time.’

Jan nodded briskly. ‘Good. I was about to suggest the same thing. But before you go I want to tell you about a VP position that I hear is vacant at Repcal Tech. It’s a step down from where you were before, but beggars can’t be choosers …’

Back in Bellevue, Remy thought as she pulled into a spare parking space in front of the diner on the corner of Main and First. Looking down, she saw the open notebook next to her on the cracked bench seat of her old Ford 150. There were just two bullet points on the blank page.

Fill up with gas.

Find Bo and tell him you’re pregnant.

Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy, she assured herself. Once she told Bo that he was going to be a daddy and that she expected absolutely nothing from him she could move on again. He would be upset at the news—and then grateful when he heard that she intended to let him off the hook, happy that she didn’t need or expect anything from him. Then she’d leave.

She had, she reckoned, another three months of travelling before she had to make some hard decisions—like where she wanted to live, what she was going to do for the rest of her life.

That’s what happens when you let yourself play with fire, Draycott. You get burned, dummy.

Or, in her case, pregnant …

Remy grabbed her leather tote bag and left the car, slamming the heavy door shut behind her. She had been travelling for hours and she was hungry and desperate to use the bathroom.

Remy pushed open the door to the diner and sighed when she saw the packed tables and booths. Apparently lunchtime on a Saturday was chaotic. She used the facilities and washed her hands and face, taking some time to run a brush through her hair, to swipe on some lip gloss. This was Bo’s town, after all, and she didn’t want to run into him looking as if she’d been dragged backwards through a bush.

And if she did run into him, how should she tell him?

Hi, remember me? Thought you’d like to know that I’m pregnant.

Funny thing … You know when you slipped inside without a condom? Well, it had a pretty big consequence …

Or her favourite.

I’m pregnant. It’s yours. Bye.

Remy sighed at her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror before whirling away and heading back into the diner. Food always made her feel better. She’d have a bacon and blue cheese burger and then she’d tackle the problem of finding out exactly who Bo actually was and how to get hold of him. Once she did that her duty would be done and she could move on.

There still wasn’t an empty table in the place, so Remy looked over the customers to see who would be most receptive to sharing a table. Years of travelling had robbed her of any lingering shyness and she could talk to anybody, anywhere. There were two good-looking blondes, one male, one female, sitting in a corner booth. They looked enough alike for her to assume that they were siblings. And, since they weren’t lovers, they shouldn’t mind her horning in on their private time.

Her mind made up, Remy walked across the room to the booth and flashed them her biggest smile. Ooh, the blond guy was very fine: muscled and masculine, with a gorgeous pair of deep brown eyes.

Rein it in, Draycott. The last time you flirted with a hot man you ended up with a lot more than you bargained for.

So Remy dialled down her smile and gestured to the empty seats. ‘I’m absolutely starving and I was wondering if I could share your table. Please?’

The elfin face of the woman was tilted up and she smiled back. ‘Sure …’ She scooted up on the bench and patted the empty space next to her. ‘Take a seat. I’m Ginny, and this is my cousin Eli.’

Eli leaned back and gave her a long, lazy smile.

Yeah, definitely flirting material … Except that he didn’t do anything for her. The eyes were brown, not grey, his hair was too light and his smile was too open.

‘I’m Remy.’

‘Are you passing through?’ Eli asked.

‘I might be around for a couple of days—a week, maybe.’

It didn’t seem that big a town—surely it wouldn’t take that long to track Bo down? Maybe she could ask Eli and Ginny if they knew him. But later, after they’d all eaten.

She gestured to their half-eaten plates of food—salad for her, burger for him—and to their cooling coffee. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your conversation, please.’

Remy quietly ordered her food from a waitress as the cousins resumed their discussion around organic farming. Remy, not knowing anything about farming, and even less about organic farming, tuned out and leaned back and closed her eyes. Lord, she was tired. Soul-deep tired … Thank goodness she’d booked a room at the hotel down the street before she’d left Portland. After her burger she’d check in and maybe just lie down for a little while.

‘Did you see the sample menus from the chef candidates that were faxed through from LA?’ Ginny was asking.

‘Yeah … not that I read them,’ Eli answered.

She’d said the magic word ‘menus’ and Remy couldn’t help tuning in.

‘I bet you he didn’t explain the brief properly—the vision of the restaurant,’ Ginny grumbled. ‘They’re too far out. We don’t want Turkish eggs and caviar omelettes …’

‘What are Turkish eggs?’ Eli demanded.

‘Poached eggs, basically,’ Remy murmured, unable to help herself. ‘Although I do mine with mint, chilli and smoked paprika. Seriously yummy.’

‘Maybe we do want Turkish eggs on the menu,’ Eli told Ginny.

‘Well, I don’t want caviar omelettes. Caviar omelettes do not belong in the type of place we are opening at Belleaire,’ Ginny said obstinately.

Belleaire … Remy thought. The fancy wine estate on the outskirts of town. Were Eli and Ginny two of the three family members who owned and ran the upmarket, famous estate which was prominently featured in all the tourist brochures?

Okay, she wasn’t going to pretend that she wasn’t listening any more. ‘What type of restaurant are you opening?’ she asked, intrigued.

Ginny pushed her coffee cup away and half turned to face Remy. ‘A family place—breakfasts, teas, light lunches. Fresh, healthy, light, interesting food that’s not … pretentious. I want people to be able to relax, to bring their kids there, but still be able to get a nice meal, a decent glass of wine.’ She pulled out a sheaf of papers from her bag and slapped them onto the table. ‘My brother is currently interviewing candidates for the manager-cum-chef position and he’s asked them to send through sample menus for what they would do if they were offered the position.’

Remy gestured to the papers. ‘Can I look?’

‘Are you a chef?’

Remy shook her head. ‘No, but I am a cook and I adore food. I’ve done about a million cookery courses.’ She skimmed through the menus, tossed most of them aside and kept a couple in another pile. She tapped her finger against the slim pile. ‘These here are the best of a bad bunch, but they’re still not great.’

Eli folded his arms and his biceps bulged. Nice arms, wide chest, flat stomach … But still she felt nothing. Weird.

‘What would you do?’

She blinked at him. ‘About what?’

‘If it was your place? You obviously know food, and you seem to be familiar with the dishes on those menus.’

‘Oh.’ Remy thought for a minute, her face cupped in her hands. ‘Um … interesting salads. Couscous and butternut, watermelon and feta—things like that. Soups with crusty, gorgeous bread. Hearty dishes like lamb stew, lasagne and chicken casserole. Classic puddings with one or two exceptions to keep things interesting. A specially designed menu for kids—but I’d avoid burgers and hot dogs. Fish and chips, a chicken pasta dish—meals that kids like and mums like them eating.’

Remy didn’t notice the long look Ginny and Eli exchanged. Instead her eyes were on the waitress, who was walking in their direction with what was, hopefully, her burger. She was so hungry she could eat a horse.

‘Are you looking for work?’ Ginny asked.

‘Sorry? What?’ Remy sighed her disappointment when her burger went to the table two up from them.

‘We’re looking for a chef-manager to set up the bistro and you seem to know what you’re talking about,’ Ginny explained, her face animated with excitement.

‘Uh … I wasn’t planning on sticking around,’ Remy replied, her mind whirling.

She was here to talk to Bo and then she was on her way. But setting up a restaurant, designing a menu, building something from the ground up, sounded like a whole bunch of fun.

Throughout her life, and despite trying many different activities on her travels, food had seemed to be her only constant. When she was a child, battling to reconcile her intellect with her emotions, Grandma Rosie had often hauled out her baking bowl and flour and put her to work. Baking calmed her and it and cooking was still her favourite means of stress relief.

When she’d started travelling she had finally had the time to indulge her passion; she’d started to blog about food and spent an enormous amount of time seeking out the best food markets, learning how to cook the local foods.

She’d taken a course in how to cook Thai food in Bangkok, had done a confectionery course in London, a cordon bleu course in Marseille. Sushi in Sydney. Chinese in … Sydney again. She seemed to gravitate towards the food industry, but she didn’t want the pressure of working in a professional kitchen.

If she weren’t pregnant she wouldn’t hesitate to take Ginny up on her offer. But after seeing Bo she needed to keep moving while she still could. Some time in the next four months she had to find a town or a city she wanted to live in and— ack! —a job. Or, better, a business that covered her daily expenses and allowed her flexibility and freedom.

A cupcake shop? An ice cream parlour? An old-fashioned tea room?

And where? In Portland? Close to her mum and to Grandmother Rosie, who’d helped raise her?

‘Do you have another job? Somewhere to be?’ Ginny demanded, breaking into Remy’s thoughts. She pointed a finger at her. ‘I can see that you are intrigued and interested, and life is too short to spend your time doing stuff you don’t like.’

She knew that—that was why she didn’t have an ulcer any more. A baby, but not an ulcer.

‘I am interested … it does sound like fun.’ Remy tipped her head, thinking quickly. ‘Maybe I could spend a week or so here, look over the space and draw up some sample menus. I could possibly cook a couple of dishes that you can sample. I can’t commit to a taking a job right now—to anything right now—but I’d be happy to give you guys some ideas, so that when you do employ someone you can tell them what you want and not have to rely on their taste.’