Lily glanced again at the clock and sighed. Last orders, as everyone else in the town knew, had been over an hour ago. But she had practically taunted Henry with the assurance that they were just as classy as any fancy city restaurant and she doubted that turning him away would do her any favours. But … maybe this was a sign. Her second chance? If she could talk to him, she might just be able to convince him …

‘Did he say what he wanted?’ she asked Kate, mentally running through what was available in the pantry. There might be enough of the lamb left and she could probably pull together—

Kate had gone quiet, and her almost pained expression cut through her thoughts.

‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it, especially when I said I had to check with you first,’ she replied nervously.

‘Mean what? What did he order?’

‘He said whatever.’ The words rushed out on an exhale.

A slash of a red-hot anger crashed through her.

‘He said what now?’ Lily demanded.

‘He said “whatever”.’

‘Oh God,’ Emma said, literally ducking and disappearing from the kitchen and the firing line.

‘I know that look. Please don’t give me that look,’ begged Kate.

‘No one – and I mean – no one comes to my restaurant and orders whatever,’ Lily growled.

‘I can see the steam coming out of your ears. Really, I think if you just—’

‘We are not a takeaway. We are not a gastropub,’ she practically spat. ‘And we—’

‘Do. Not. Serve. Whatever,’ Kate and Kev dutifully concluded.

‘Crack open the Hawkesbury Reserve,’ Lily ordered.

‘I … don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s just that … that means you’re planning on the salmon as a starter and you were saving that for a special occasion. And you know, it’s late and—’

‘I can handle it. You guys can finish up and head home. I’ll be serving Little Lord Fauntleroy a meal of so much more than whatever, he’ll never be the same again.’

Kate left the kitchen to the mutterings of pompous, who-does-he-think-he-is, and arse. Not necessarily in that order.

CHAPTER THREE

KATE RETURNED FROM THE kitchen looking a little pink about the cheeks and presented Henry with a glass of sparkling white which he frowned at, not having ordered either drink or food yet.

‘The chef will be serving a fish starter, fish main and a chocolate-based dessert and wine pairings to suit. Do you have any allergies she should be aware of?’

Apart from to the whole of Hawke’s Cove?

‘No,’ he replied instead. ‘Is it … usual not to be told what the dishes are?’ he asked, confused as he reached for the thin stem of the sparkling wine.