Sooner or Later Read Free Page A

always said, teasingly, she needed in order to keep herself anchored safely to the ground. Her nose was straight and freckled, she had a big smile that began in her eyes and ended at her generous mouth, and a faint scar ran across her forehead, all the way into her scalp.
    She was smart and sassy, alone in the world but for her grandmother, Miss Lottie, and she was determined to be a success. After college, and then culinary school in New York and a stint in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris, she had come home and learned the restaurant business the hard way, from designing her tiny storefront premises; to battling downtown bureaucrats for the necessary permits; to dealing with building contractors who didn’t keep their promises and left her weeks behind schedule and overbudget. It had been tough but she didn’t regret a minute of it.
    The cafe had been open for just over a year and she worked hard six days a week, which left very little time for a private life. She did the ordering, kept the accounts and, along with her best friend, Maya, served the food, opened the wine and cleared the tables. She also cooked up a storm whenever the temperamental chef quit, whichhe did every few weeks, as well as baked her own bread and her famous
tarte tatin
that was the specialty of the house. Plus, she had been known to clean the place at the end of a long night, when the crew failed to show. She was practically a one-man band, and she loved it.
    She would tell new customers maybe they cooked fancier at Wolfgang Puck’s glamorous Chinois a few doors away, but Ellie’s was cozier and cheaper. “I’m your local bistro,” she’d say. “You can drop in here anytime, no need to dress up. Just a glass of wine and some good food …”
    Ellie’s Place was ticking over, not making a fortune yet but enough to keep a roof over her head and to stay open. She was, she would remind herself determinedly at the end of yet another long, hard day, doing all right.
    Snagging the only free parking spot, she jumped from the Wrangler, shoved a quarter into the meter and sprinted, long red hair flying, half a block to the cafe. She stopped for a minute to look at it. It was cheerful, painted forest green with lace cafe curtains on a brass pole, and
Elite’s Place
in gold script on the window. The old-fashioned bell tinkled musically as she opened the door.
    Inside, it looked like an old Parisian bistro, with smudgy mirrors on the walls, a sprinkling of fresh sawdust on the floor, an authentic zinc counter, inexpensive cane chairs, crisp white tablecloths and fresh daisies crammed into yellow pottery jugs.
    It was a Monday, her day off, but there were still things to be done. She checked the tiny kitchen. The cleaning crew had done their stuff; the floors gleamed, the big steel refrigerators and stoves shone, everything was in its place. She glanced, half longingly, at the marble workstation where she did the baking. She kind of missed it, on her days off, getting her hands into thepastry, working with food instead of managing a business, but she’d learned early on that she couldn’t be two people at once. And despite her talent and her training, for the moment, that had meant hiring a chef.
    Opening the refrigerator, she removed the stacked boxes containing the leftover food from the previous night, plus the rosemary olive bread she’d baked herself. Laden, she staggered back to the car, tripped over her feet and lost her backless brown shoe. “Oh shoot,” she muttered. Ellie never cursed, because her grandmother had taught her a lady never did. Balancing precariously on one leg, the boxes shifting and sliding, she felt around for the shoe with her bare foot.
    “You look like a stork without wings.” Maya Morris pulled her red Pathfinder into the curb and leaned out the window, laughing.
    Maya was Ellie’s best friend, and her co-helper at the cafe. She was blond and gorgeous and she was never up this early in the morning. “You