“So what brings you to the Cape?” Reese asked, helping himself to a square.
Diana looked down at her hands, with their chewed nails, red and raw and chapped from the chemicals she’d used for her cleaning. They looked incongruous and ugly as they rested on the tablecloth. “I spent a summer here a few years ago, and then I had the opportunity to come back. I remembered how much I liked it, and I thought I could use a change of scenery.”
“Hmm. Any waitressing experience?”
“No. But I’m a hard worker,” she said. She wanted this, she realized. Wanted this job, wanted to work in this lovely place, wanted this man’s company. “I’ve been working for Boston University.”
“Doing what?”
She thought about lying, then decided he’d probably check her references. “In the custodial department.” Wiping up puddles of puke from the walkways and splatters of urine from tiled floors; a world away from this hushed, good-smelling, candlelit room with its spacious windows open to the sea. Reese was looking at her closely, in a way that made her feel like he knew some of what she wasn’t telling him.
“You know,” he finally said, “this building was once a church. Our Lady of Good Voyage.” He leaned back in his chair with the air of a man preparing to tell a much-loved story. “There’re a lot of Portuguese families on the Cape. They came over from the Azores in the 1880s, and they settled here to fish. According to the stories, a fisherman was out on the ocean when his oars broke. Or his mast, depending on who’s telling the story. Anyhow, something broke. He prayed to the Madonna, and the seas calmed, allowing him to return safely to port.”
Diana looked around. Other than a small stained glass window toward the top of the peaked roof, and the beams of the ceiling, there wasn’t much that spoke of a house of worship. Reese pointed toward an iron loop, bolted high in a beam on the ceiling. “See that? That’s where the church bell hung. And it’s hard to make it out from here, but the window depicts the Madonna, holding a boat in her left hand.” He put a piece of focaccia on her plate and poured oil beside it. “Go on,” he said. “Please.”
The square of bread was light, almost airy in Diana’s hand. The top crust was chewy; the bread beneath it was pillowy soft. She tore off a bit and swiped it through a slick of olive oil and sea salt, and ate it, trying not to gobble or moan out loud, as Reese watched her approvingly.
“Good?” he asked.
She swallowed. “It’s amazing.” She wiped her hands on her napkin.
“I should tell you, Dee, that you’re here at the wrong time, if you’re looking to make a lot of money.” He nodded at the dining room, where there were maybe fifteen tables for two and another ten for parties of four. A single long table with seats for sixteen ran against the back wall. “When it’s high season, we run a happy hour from three to five o’clock. We have two dinner seatings: one at six o’clock, one at eight thirty. We turn every table in here, every single night, and there’s a waiting list, in case we have no-shows.”
The kitchen doors swung open, and a waitress came to the table carrying two large, steaming white plates. She set the first one down in front of Reese and said, “Here we have filet of roasted halibut, caught this morning right here in Cape Cod Bay. It’s pan-seared in a sauce of black garlic, blistered cherry tomatoes, and shishito peppers, both from Longnook Farms, served over a bed of coconut-lime rice with sautéed bok choy.” She set the second dish down in front of Diana. “Here we have a confit of Maple Hill Farm duck leg and roasted duck breast in a balsamic-fig reduction, served over sweet-potato hash, with local roasted ramps. “Please enjoy,” she said, and gave a little bow.
“Thank you, Carly.”
Carly nodded and turned to go. Reese picked up his knife and fork.
“We have sixteen waiters on staff in high season. That goes down to eight during the winter months. A lot of our people have regular winter jobs someplace else. Carly’s a year-rounder, but Marcia and Lizzie—you’ll meet them—they spend their winters at an inn in Key West.”
Diana nodded. The heady smell of the food, the garlic and tomatoes, the sweetness of the fish, the richness of the duck, was making her feel dizzy. As she stared, her stomach made an embarrassingly loud noise. She grimaced, but Reese just smiled.
“That’s an endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.” He deftly portioned out half of the fish and rice as Carly set two smaller plates on the table. He put the fish on one, reaching for Diana’s plate. “May I?” She handed it over, and watched as he repeated the maneuver with the duck.