"Did you make sure Helen's was vegan?" said Gwen to Jocelyn.
Jocelyn Gray, who was the older sister of one of Gwen's dearest friends, had studied at a culinary school in New York City and had even spent a summer in Paris. She'd only returned to the island to help care for her ailing father. Unlike Alex, Jocelyn's sister, Jocelyn was straightforward and rather mysterious to Gwen. Alex tended to overshare where her sister simply didn't share.
"I made her a mushroom wrap," replied Jocelyn.
Gwen's eyes widening. "No mushrooms! Please tell me you're joking."
Jocelyn's expression remained bland until she started laughing. "You look like you were about to shit a brick. I promise her wrap was without any animal products, mushrooms, peppers, or olives. So basically, it's made up of air and bitterness," added Jocelyn wryly.
"Geez, give me a heart attack, why don't you? I already had to listen to her complaining about the coffee being too strong."
"Didn't she just complain a few days ago that it was too weak?"
"Exactly."
Jocelyn chuckled. "I have to admit, I've been enjoying cooking for everyone. I thought this gig would just be reheating old bagels, but I can make my own dishes. I appreciate that."
"Reheat old bagels? Now you're insulting me," joked Gwen.
"Hey, I'm just going off every other hotel I've stayed at."
Gwen was shuffling papers from the front register, returning pens to their cups and wiping down the counter. The entrance to the bed and breakfast was an open room that served as a dining area. Behind that were Gwen's office and the kitchen. There were two large rooms on the first floor, along with five rooms upstairs.
The inn had once been a house that Gwen had converted.
She'd made certain to retain its early twentieth-century charm, including all the random nooks and crannies that were common for these types of houses in the era. Although at times she wished for new pipes and central air conditioning on the warmer days, she wouldn't change this place for the world.
Next door was a small plot of land with another old house on it that the Wright family had owned up until a few years ago. Due to its small size, it had never been turned into a business like a lot of places on Main Street. It was where Gwen wanted to open her restaurant–and ideally, with Jocelyn as its head chef.
Gwen gathered her nerve. "Do you know what you'll be doing in the next few months or years? Will you be staying on the island?"
"I don't know. Dad isn't getting better and can't take care of himself. And it's too much to put on Alex completely." Jocelyn shrugged. "More than likely I'm stuck here for a while."
"I haven't told anyone this—" except Jack Benson, that is—"but I want to open a restaurant next door. And I'd love for you to be the head chef." Gwen said the words in a rush.
"What kind of restaurant?"
"American, comfort food. Something that's both high-end but...not." Gwen laughed a little. "I should add that it might not happen. I'm still working on funding. I want to buy the house next door and convert it like I did this place. It might be a pipe dream, but you're so talented, you deserve a position as a chef. Not just as a maker of sack lunches."
Jocelyn was leaning against the counter, considering Gwen's words. Gwen couldn't tell by her face what she was thinking. Was she trying to figure out how to let Gwen down nicely?
Jocelyn was hardly a self-taught cook. She'd graduated from one of the best culinary schools in the country, for God's sake. Her food had already won awards. The fact that she'd had to give all of that up to move to Hazel Island was a tragedy.
"I get to create the menu, the dishes, and have complete control of the kitchen?" said Jocelyn.
"Absolutely. I only know how to reheat bagels, remember?"
"Then I accept." Jocelyn put out her hand. "For whatever that's worth. But if you want to make this happen, I'll help you however I can."
Gwen shook Jocelyn's hand, laughing incredulously. Butterflies filled her stomach. Jocelyn agreeing to this scheme, Jack helping her find funding–it made it all too real. Now she had to figure out how to do it.
"Although when you say complete control of the kitchen," said Gwen, "do you mean I have no oversight at all?"
"I mean, I don't want anyone who isn't a chef to come in and tell me how to do my job."
As the owner and manager of the inn, Gwen planned to have the same role in the restaurant. The thought of giving that control to another person made her queasy.
"I need to be able to oversee my own staff," said Gwen.
"Micro-managing doesn't help anyone."
Considering Jocelyn was helping on an as-needed basis at the moment and was being paid as an independent contractor, she had more leeway in speaking to Gwen than the other members of her staff. Jessie, one of the maids, walked past the two of them and raised an inquisitive eyebrow that Gwen ignored.
"Perhaps we should go to my office," said Gwen.
"There's no one here."
"You will be my employee and will report to me. Your cooks will report to you. I have no interest in interfering in your decisions as a chef, but the restaurant overall will be under my direction."
Gwen had learned over the past five years to stick to her guns. She liked to think she was a fair boss, but she didn't mess around, either. She expected good performances from all her employees, including herself.
Jocelyn just narrowed her eyes. "I don't like being told what to do," she finally said.
For whatever reason, that admittance made Gwen laugh. "Now I get why Alex says you're bossy.”
At Gwen’s remark, Jocelyn’s expression turned a little cold. “Of course Alex says that about me to other people.”
Gwen had a feeling she’d stepped in something, but she didn’t know what it was. As Alex’s friend, Gwen had only heard snippets about Jocelyn. Alex had always sounded like a younger sister ripping into her older sibling when she'd described Jocelyn. But now Gwen wondered.
“You know Alex,” said Gwen, trying to lighten the mood. “She says a lot of things.”
She continued, "We can discuss the details later, but I promise that I don't want to micro-manage you or anyone else. Just ask my staff. I think they'll tell you I prefer to trust them to do their jobs than be constantly standing over their shoulder."
Jocelyn said she'd think about it, and they both returned to work.
Gwen eventually went to her office to be alone for a few moments. She'd naively expected Jocelyn to either say yes or no, not for her to negotiate. Of course she would negotiate, Gwen reasoned. Jocelyn was a talented chef, and she didn't want to waste her skills.
She took a deep breath, then another. She hated conflict. She hated when people were upset with her. Even though she knew that, logically, her discussion with Jocelyn had been just that–a discussion–she still felt that familiar anxiety surfacing.
Her ex-husband had loved conflict, or at least, that was what it had felt like to Gwen. Tim had liked to pick fights with not only her but anyone else close to him. At the beginning of their marriage, Gwen had tried her best to keep Tim happy and to avoid any possible conflict.