Free Summer at Seaside Cove by Jacquie D'Alessandro Page B

‘that was all she wrote.’ He went back the following summer, they got married, and returned to the states.”
    He took a deep drink of his coffee, let out a satisfied ahhhh , then continued, “They used to come to Seaside Cove for a week every summer with their kids. Ira retired three years ago but within weeks was bored out of his mind. He and Maria came back to Seaside Cove for a visit that summer and never left. They bought a house on the island and decided to follow a lifelong pipe dream and open the restaurant. Their kids visit during the summer, and the grandkids work here during their visits.”
    â€œNice story,” Jamie remarked. “Very romantic. So how do you know so much about Ira and Maria?”
    He looked at her as if she were nuts. “I learned their entire history the first time I ate here. I’ve lived on Seaside Cove for three months—that’s like a lifetime in island time as far as getting to know the locals. Doesn’t take long to find out everything about everyone who lives here full-time.”
    Jamie shook her head. “I’ve lived in the same apartment for four years and don’t know the names of more than half a dozen people who reside in my building.”
    â€œThat’s the way big cities are. New York?” he guessed.
    She nodded. “How’d you know?”
    â€œYou sound like a Noo Yawka.”
    She didn’t think she had an accent at all, but whatever. “Where are you from?”
    â€œChicago.”
    Her brows rose. “This is a long way from home.”
    â€œThis is home now.” The finality in his tone hinted that he’d left behind a less than perfect situation—something she could certainly sympathize with. Not that she had any intention of sympathizing with him. Heck no. She was only sitting here because she desperately needed a ride to the Piggly Wiggly, and well, she wasn’t about to complain about getting some breakfast. Especially at such an interesting, eclectic restaurant.
    After several sips of the excellent coffee left her feeling quasi-human, she perused the menu. “Bagels and lox parmigiana with a schmear? Eggs Florentine with a schtickle of mascarpone?” Her gaze skipped to the lunch menu. “Pastrami with provolone on your choice of challah or semolina bread?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “Those are some pretty creative food and cultural combinations.”
    â€œNo doubt about it—some of them sound . . . well, not really kosher,” Nick said.
    â€œYou mean like the matzo balls marinara?” Jamie asked.
    â€œExactly. But I’ve tried just about everything on the menu and haven’t been disappointed once. As Ira would say, the food is ‘to die for.’ ”
    â€œHmmm. No offense, but you look like the type of guy who would eat stale corn chips from under the sofa cushion and think you’d had a gourmet meal.”
    â€œNow why would I take offense at that?” he asked in a dust-dry tone.
    Another pretty dark-haired teenager stopped at the table. Nick introduced her as Ira and Maria’s granddaughter Elizabeth. After she took their order, Nick refilled their cups from the carafe Maria had left on the table and asked, “You claim you’re not a Photoshopper, so what do you do—besides pound on doors at the crack of dawn?”
    â€œHa, ha. As far as I’m concerned, you’re lucky I didn’t pound on your head. With your bag of dead clams.”
    â€œHa, ha. My killer watch dog would have stopped you long before you ever got close to me.”
    â€œYeah—she’s obviously a real threat. About as much of a menace as Cupcake.”
    â€œWho—or what—is Cupcake?”
    â€œMy cat.”
    â€œYour cat’s name is Cupcake ?”
    â€œI like cupcakes. You got a problem with that?” she asked, mimicking his question to her when he’d announced he’d named his dog