Hello, Sunshine

Ethan smiled. “How could I take that the wrong way?” he said.

I motioned to his outfit. “You’re almost dressed up,” I said. “What’s the occasion?”

“I have a dinner later tonight,” he said.

“With the nameless celebrity?”

He smirked. “You’ll have to peek in the dining room and see,” he said. “Z is going to fit me into the second seating.”

“That’s incredible,” I said. “I now have the answer as to who can get into 28 without a reservation without any advance notice.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “The man loves me.”

“Many people do.”

“What’s that mean?”

“My sister was bragging about your accomplishments the other night. You didn’t mention that you founded the whole fishing community.”

“The whole fishing community?”

“You know what I’m saying, Yalie.”

“I don’t think you’re called that when you teach there.”

He heaved the cooler up higher.

“So you guys were talking about me the other night?”

“A little. In between her lectures on what a terrible person I am.”

He grinned. “I’ve got to run, so you’ll have to tell me another time.” He paused. “And by the way, try not to feel too badly about Taylor. Z fires people from Cordon Bleu. I’d give you until the end of this shift.”

“Would you put in a good word? I kind of need to hold on to this job at least for a little while.”

“Chef Z is the most influential chef on the East End. He’s eighty percent of my high-end business in the Hamptons.”

“So you will?”

Ethan nodded, started walking away. “Absolutely not.”

30

Ethan did come in for dinner, but he was with an older man I didn’t recognize. There was no celebrity in sight.

I peeked at him through the small kitchen window.

“What are you doing?” Chef Z said.

He was still standing on the line, facing away, so for a second, I didn’t think it was me he was talking to.

He motioned to one of the line cooks. “Is she hard of hearing?” he asked.

I froze. Was it me?

Chef Z was putting the finishing touches on the grilled sardines with pickled onions. Light on the citrus, heavy on the capers. Vinegar and sugar and salt. A pickled feast.

“Why are you looking through my window, Samantha?”