Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) Read Free

doodle.”
                  “What should I call him?”
                  “How about Mr. Murriere?” I suggested.
                  “Chef Colin is fine, actually.”
                  I didn’t have to turn around to know he’d sneaked up behind me and opted to correct my admonition. Even before he spoke, a hum had filled the air and, for once, the vibrations didn’t come from the building’s ancient heating system.
                  “Feel free to call me ‘Chef Colin,’ sweetheart,” he told my daughter. “After all, if you’re going to be my new apprentice sous chef, I want us to be on good terms.”
                  I could have continued the argument, but I sensed Ariana’s keen interest, and I backed down with grace. She already wondered why I’d never mentioned my connection to Colin while we’d watched him compete on television. I didn’t need her questioning my open animosity toward him, as well. I nodded and refocused my attention on my little girl. “Hey,” I said, pointing to her blue and yellow striped fish. “That looks great.”
                  And it did. Like her father, Ariana had a talent for art. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stay inside the lines in a child’s coloring book.
                  “We don’t have red chalk,” she replied. “For Sebastian.”
                  “Can you use pink?”
                  She looked up at me as if I’d suggested drawing a moustache on the Mona Lisa. “No. That would be horrible!”
                  Yeah, I kinda figured. “I know,” I said after a minute of quick thought. “Instead of focusing on just The Little Mermaid , why not draw characters from other Disney sea movies, as well. You could draw Nemo or Dory, the oysters from Alice in Wonderland —even Cleo from Pinocchio .”
                  She glanced down at the blackboard, then up at me again. “Maybe,” she replied with a doubtful lilt.
                  “Or,” Colin cut in, “maybe, instead of mermaid stuff, you could add ‘Be Our Guest’ across the top, then draw Lumiere, the candlestick, and Chip, the teacup.”
                  Ariana’s smile flashed like lightning, illuminating her face and the room. “Yes! I can do that. And maybe the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland , too.”
                  Before I could add any additional comment, she picked up the yellow chalk and eagerly began outlining the curvature of Beauty and the Beast ’s talking candelabra, using her chef’s hat as a reference.
                  “Now that Ariana’s got her direction, come sit with me.” Colin jerked his head toward the bar with its gleaming wood-grain top, created from a massive tree uprooted during the infamous Long Island Express: the hurricane of 1938. “Let’s talk.”
                  I stood near the maître d’ station, planted deeper than those old elms, hands on my hips. “Why?”
                  “I want to share some of my ideas for this place.”
                  “With me?”
                  He arched a black-winged brow. “You’re the maître d’, aren’t you? Who knows the staff and clientele better?”
                  No one. Stiffening my spine, I followed him. Maxie already stood behind the bar, setting up for tonight’s drink specials.
                  Colin kicked out a stool and patted the burgundy leather cushion. “Sit.”
                  I sat. Leaning an elbow on the bar, I plucked a maraschino cherry from Maxie’s tray.
                  “All you girly-girls are the same,” she remarked as her knife created wedges out of whole limes. “You always go for the cherries.”
                  “That’s ‘cuz we’re so sweet,” I replied with an exaggerated