Page 45 of Flirting with Trouble

“I get it. You liked the intimacy of the restaurant. How did you end up with Rock Bottom?”

“You want all the gritty details?”

She smiles. “Didn’t you?”

“Ah, fair’s fair. The restaurant was called Topside back then, and it was going under. The service was crappy, the food was subpar, and the owner was kind of a dick, but the location was great. I had access to my trust fund, so I made an offer to the owner, and he accepted it on the spot. He couldn’t wait to get off the island, but I pissed off my parents pretty bad.”

“Why? Did they want you to work at the resort?”

“No. They knew I’d never work at the resort. It wasn’t my thing. They thought I was too young, too unsettled, and it was a bad investment. Their first two concerns were valid. I was right out of college, and I’d enjoyed four wild years.”

“So you were a wild child?”

“I guess you could say that. For the first time ever, I wasn’t seen as a Silver. I could blend in and be a normal guy, and I took full advantage of that freedom. I was a party boy and gave zero fucks what anyone thought about me. I drank too much, my grades weren’t great, and I was everyone’s friend. But when I bought the restaurant, I was determined to prove my parents wrong, and I did.”

“I’d say so. I’m sure they’re very proud of you, and Olivier must be, too.”

“Thanks. I’d like to think so. Unfortunately, Olivier passed away when I was young, and he is sorely missed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She yawns. “Sorry about that, too. What do you miss most about him?”

Nobody has ever asked me that question before, and I know she’s tired, but I like that she wants to know about Olivier, so I try to keep my answer brief. “I miss being around him. He was the most authentic person I’ve ever known. He didn’t try to live up to anyone else’s standards by dressing to impress or making the Bistro glamorous. It was a renovated boathouse, and he kept it rustic. He was all about good food and real relationships. I miss his cooking, too. Especially the tarte tatin. That was my favorite dessert.”

“What is that?”

“Caramelized apples with butter and sugar in a pastry dough.”

“Yum. That sounds delicious.”

“It’s heaven on a plate. Abby is a great chef, and I’ll never admit to saying this, but I’ve never had French food as good as Olivier’s.”

“Maybe because he was from France? Or because you adored him so much. How long ago did he pass away?”

“It’s been more than twenty years. I was nine or ten. His wife, Ava, never got over losing him. She lost herself in alcohol.”

“That’s so sad.”

As she says it, I realize talking about Ava losing Olivier might stir hard feelings for Victory. “Shit. Sorry, Vic. We shouldn’t talk about this. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s okay. People die. It’s an unavoidable part of life, and Olivier was special to you. Please, go on. That must have been awful for their girls.”

“It was. They basically had to raise themselves after Olivier died, because Ava was like a half-functioning alcoholic. We all tried to help.”

“Your family?”

“Mine, and the Remingtons and the Steeles. When Ava went downhill, all of us kids took turns working for free at the Bistro, and we did it for years. I helped on college breaks, too, and our moms helped the girls however they could. After I opened the restaurant, I hired Ava to cater small events that I knew she could handle, and I paid her three times what it cost, to be sure she could make ends meet.”

“That’s amazing, but didn’t she realize you could have catered them yourself?”

“No. I always had an excuse. We all did things like that. Our moms had her cater lunches and birthday parties, and they’d do the same thing, overpay to be sure she could keep food on the table for the girls and the Bistro open.”

“Wow. She’s lucky to have lived in such a great community.”

“That’s what I love most about living here. Usually when kids go to school in a city or town, most of their friends are from that school. But on the island, all three K through eight schools feed into one central high school, Silver Island High. It doesn’t matter whether you grew up on the wealthier part of the island or an old fishing town. The kids you go to school with end up feeling like family, and everyone comes together for those who need it.”

“I miss tha—” Her words are lost in another yawn.

I want to ask if she misses a sense of community, or misses living near the families she grew up with, but it’s late, and I’ve kept her up late every night this week. I tuck those questions away with the many others I have and say, “As much as I love talking with you, it’s almost midnight there. You need to get some rest. You have a long flight tomorrow.”