In Over Her Head: An Anchor Island Novel Read online

  In Over Her Head

  Terri Osburn

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Terri Osburn

  Published by Macie Rae Publishing, Lebanon, TN

  Cover Design Copyright © 2020 Terri Osburn

  Contents

  Other books by Terri Osburn:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Terri Osburn:

  Find them all here

  Anchor Island Series

  Meant To Be

  Up To The Challenge

  Home To Stay

  More To Give

  In Over Her Head

  Christmas On Anchor Island*

  *coming Oct 2021

  Ardent Springs Series

  His First And Last

  Our Now And Forever

  My One And Only

  Her Hopes And Dreams

  The Last In Love

  Shooting Stars Series

  Rising Star

  Falling Star

  Wishing On A Star

  Among The Stars

  Stand-Alones

  Ask Me To Stay

  Wrecked

  Awakening Anna

  1

  When she’d dreamed of her first restaurant, Lauren Riley had imagined a dining room filled with delicious scents that would make diners’ mouths water. She had not pictured an empty space that reeked of paint fumes. And yet, here she was.

  “Is the lighthouse really short and fat like that?” Lauren asked the artist, who was dabbing in a small shrub in front of the post office. This was giving her childhood flashbacks to when she’d watched Bob Ross whip up a gorgeous fall landscape with a few flicks of his wrist.

  They’d been too poor to afford cable so PBS had been the go-to channel for PG entertainment.

  The painting project had been going for a week, which made Mia Stamatis the only person Lauren had spent any real time with since arriving on Anchor Island. She seemed kind, was definitely talented, and most importantly, was not annoying. Lauren didn’t do chitchat, nor was she interested in gossip. Mia had offered neither.

  Stepping back, she surveyed her work. “Do you think it’s too fat?”

  Lauren leaned against the doorframe where she stood between the kitchen and dining room. “Hell if I know. I haven’t seen it.”

  Green eyes cut Lauren’s way. “You haven’t seen the lighthouse yet?”

  “I’ve only been on the island for two weeks,” she defended.

  She’d come to Anchor Island to be head chef at Pilar's—previously known as the Marina restaurant—and overseeing the renovation took top priority. The sooner they opened the doors, the sooner she could get back to cooking, and in Lauren’s mind that could not happen soon enough.

  The owner of the place, Will Navarro, had specific ideas that didn’t necessarily gel with Lauren’s. Will was all about celebrating the island. Lauren preferred to celebrate her food. She’d reminded herself more than once that Will was the one footing the bill, and if she wanted a giant mural of her precious island, then she should have one. In the end, patrons would be too busy admiring their plates to notice the wall, but Lauren had kept that fact to herself.

  “Have you taken any time to sightsee?” Mia asked.

  The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “I’m not on vacation. I’m here to work.”

  “That means you’re also here to live. Don’t you want to know more about your new home?”

  Home. Not a word Lauren knew much about. During her childhood, she, Mom, and her younger brother Knox had fled or been evicted from more places than she could count. Since Lauren had struck out on her own at nineteen, she’d lived in apartments, townhouses, and two weeks ago had moved into what some might deem a charming island cottage.

  These had all been places to store her stuff. None of them she’d ever considered a home. The island cottage was also the first time she had a place all to herself, and only because it was a perk of the job.

  “I’ll get around eventually.”

  Lauren had already discovered the important locations. The small grocer who carried more fresh food than she’d expected. The Hava Java coffee shop where she got her morning fix. And the gym, where she worked out at least an hour a day six days a week.

  Kitchen work took stamina and focus, both of which required keeping her mind and body in tip-top shape. Lucky for her, the restaurant owners also owned the fitness center and had thrown in a complementary membership as part of her benefits package.

  Mia dropped her paint brush into a plastic cup of water and reached for a towel to wipe her hands. “If you want a tour guide, I’d be happy to show you around. The island is small but there’s still plenty to see.”

  “I doubt I’ll have time before we get this place opened.”

  “That’s fair,” Mia said, “but the offer stands whenever you’re ready.” She took two steps back from the wall and once again assessed her work. “I think this puppy might be done.”

  “Might be?” Lauren asked. Shouldn’t she know one way or the other?

  Head tilted, Mia shrugged. “I could tweak it forever and never consider it finished, but in this case, Will is the one who gets to decide.” Turning to face Lauren, she said, “Do you know what time it is?”

  Lauren checked her watch. “Two fifty-five.”

  “Perfect. Nick should be here any minute.”

  “I’m already here,” boomed a voice from the entrance. Lauren spun to find an elderly woman shuffle in with the help of a bright-blue cane and followed by the cook from Dempsey’s.

  Lauren met Nick Stamatis the day after arriving on the island and hadn’t given him much thought since. He had an attitude, but nothing she wasn’t used to. As a woman in a male-dominated field, Lauren had dealt with her share of bullies, blowhards, and flat-out bastards. Nick hadn’t qualified in any of those categories, at least not during their brief encounter, but he had shown a not-so-subtle aversion to a new chef entering his territory.

  “Grandma, come and tell me what you think,” Mia called out to the new arrivals. She crossed the room and slipped a hand beneath the older woman’s arm to help her along. “I just finished.”

  “Let me make sure you didn’t miss anything,” the woman said, leaning heavily on the cane as they crossed the room.

  While the grandmother perused the artwork, her escort cut a glance Lauren’s way. She lifted a brow in greeting. Not until several days into the mural work did Lauren learn that the cook was Mia’s older brother. She’d mentioned earlier that they were celebrating Nick’s birthday later in the day. Though he didn’t look like a man about to celebrate anything.

  With dark brows locked over whiskey-brown eyes, he ran a hand through his black
hair and scowled as his gaze returned to his family members. With nothing else to do, Lauren observed Nick unnoticed. Any woman with a pulse would say he was attractive, but something else about him caught her attention.

  Nick Stamatis possessed every inch he occupied. And he occupied a lot. The faded jeans did wonders for his ass, or maybe the other way around, and the well-worn jacket hung off wide shoulders. She imagined he commanded respect in the kitchen and wondered not for the first time if that was a skill one could learn or if they had to be born with it.

  She yearned for that kind of power. The kind that no one could question.

  Her assessment was cut short when Nick walked her way.

  “I hear you’re revamping this place.”

  “I am,” she replied as he drew closer.

  His hands slid into the pockets of his jacket as his eyes cut to the brightly lit space behind her. “That kitchen was pretty old. Is Will giving you a new one?”

  “The renovation includes the kitchen, yeah. Most of the new equipment is in place, but the sixty-inch range is on back order so that’s holding things up.” If the range had been on time, they might have been able to open earlier than planned. Now they’d be lucky to make the month-end relaunch date.

  “Then you aren’t reopening May first?”

  A detail of their plan she hadn’t thought was out yet in case a delay was needed. That was one of the cons about moving to such a small community—everyone knew everyone else’s business whether you wanted them to or not.

  “That’s still more than three weeks away so we shouldn’t have any problem hitting the date,” she lied.

  There were several items that had yet to arrive. Anchor Island wasn’t just a small community. It was a barrier island only accessible via ferry, and that apparently slowed down deliveries. Lauren had never been a patient person so this entire process felt like a test.

  “Grandma, this is the friend I was telling you about.” Mia smiled as Lauren looked her way. She wouldn’t say they were friends, but correcting the statement seemed rude. “Lauren Riley, this is Nota Stamatis, our grandmother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Stamatis.”

  The older woman leaned both hands on the top of her cane. “Likewise, my dear, but Mrs. Stamatis was my mother-in-law. Dreadful woman. Call me Nota.” Tapping Mia with her elbow, she added, “You said she was pretty, and you were right.”

  “When did I say that?” Mia asked, her cheeks turning pink.

  “You were on the phone with someone. I overheard.”

  “That’s called eavesdropping,” Nick scolded.

  Dark eyes that appeared to run in the family sparkled with mischief. “I was in the next room. What was I supposed to do? Not listen?”

  “Yes,” the siblings said in unison.

  The Stamatis matriarch looked unaffected. “Nick is a cook, too,” she said to Lauren. “And single.”

  The man in question rolled his eyes as his sister said, “We should go.”

  “He isn’t just any cook,” Nota continued. “He’s won Best of the Fest two years in a row.”

  Now they had her attention.

  “Best of the Fest?” Lauren repeated. “What is that?”

  “Anchor Island has an annual food festival in May,” Mia explained. “Several prizes are awarded, including the food voted Best of the Fest from all participating restaurants.”

  Why hadn’t Will mentioned this? “Is that limited to island eateries?”

  “Restaurants up and down the coast participate,” Nick answered. “From Corolla on down. The winner gets a feature in Food & Fare magazine.”

  This would be the perfect way to introduce herself as one of the best chefs in the area, and to bring attention to the restaurant. Winning recipes started racing through her mind. “Then Pilar's will participate as well.”

  “Not an option,” Nick said.

  The hell it wasn’t. “Why not?”

  “Because Will is on the festival committee,” Mia explained. “It’s considered a conflict of interest.”

  That was easily fixed. “Then she’ll get off the committee.”

  Three sets of eyes blinked as if Lauren had suggested her boss be killed.

  “Will created the festival,” Nota said. “She would never step away. This event is her baby.”

  No way in hell would Lauren sit on the sidelines while every restaurant on the coast competed for best food. Yes, her menu alone would bring in customers—eventually. Winning this prize and getting national coverage would bring them now. She needed this in order to prove that she belonged in the kitchen, contrary to what some in her past would say.

  “We’ll see about that,” Lauren said.

  An awkward silence fell over the foursome until Mia said, “Well, we have a birthday to celebrate. Grandma, give me two minutes to clean up and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Take your time, dear.”

  “Happy birthday,” Lauren said to Nick. She’d spent her last four birthdays alone. It must have been nice to have even this small family unit with whom to celebrate.

  “Thanks.” Changing the subject, he said, “When are you bringing the staff back?”

  Lauren had yet to pick her team. “We’ll be holding interviews next week.”

  His weight shifted as he rose to his full height and faced her head-on. Lauren was five ten, but Nick had her by at least four inches, and his shoulders suddenly blocked the entire entrance.

  “What’s wrong with the staff you have?”

  “I just told you I don’t have a staff.” If he thought a challenging stance would intimidate her, he was mistaken. “Once I conduct interviews, I’ll build a competent crew. I need people who know their way around a kitchen. Not a fry cook and a grill runner.”

  “The Marina staff know more about this kitchen and this island than you do,” he informed her. “Letting them go would be a mistake.”

  “They don’t know my kitchen.”

  “They can learn.”

  “I’ll find that out in the interviews then, won’t I?”

  With furrowed brows, he stared her down for several seconds. “This is a tight-knit community,” he finally said. “We take care of our own, and that means we hire our own. Don’t make assumptions about us, and if you want this place to succeed, don’t make enemies before you open the doors.”

  Undaunted, Lauren raised a brow. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t hire locals, and I also didn’t ask for your advice.”

  To her surprise, Nota laughed. “You two would make an excellent match. You’re exactly alike.”

  Lauren doubted either statement was true. “I have more calls to make,” she said, nodding toward the older woman. “I hope to see you again once we’re open. I have a lamb chop recipe I think you’d enjoy.”

  Long before culinary school, Lauren had possessed a talent for knowing the food a person would like just from meeting them. Her assumptions were rarely wrong.

  “I’m looking forward to it, my dear.”

  “All done,” Mia said, rejoining them. “Lauren, I left my supplies in the storage room like before in case Will wants any changes. Once she gives her final approval, I’ll take it all home.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Nick escorted Nota to the door while Mia lingered behind. “I want to apologize for my grandmother. She’s determined to see Nick and I married off, and unfortunately, that puts her in constant mate-recruitment mode. You know how grandmothers are.”

  Lauren never met either of her grandmothers, so no, she didn’t know.

  “She seems nice.” A glance toward the door revealed how tightly Nota clung to her grandson’s arm, and how carefully he ushered her along, as if she might break at the slightest misstep. “You’re lucky to have her.”

  “We are,” Mia agreed. “Thanks for being so nice this week. That tour guide offer still stands. Maybe a little sightseeing will inspire items for your menu.”

  Keeping her response noncommittal, she said, “Maybe. Have a n
ice evening.”

  “You, too.”

  Mia caught up with her family at the door and they disappeared together into the sunshine. A stab of jealousy sliced through Lauren, but she swept it away with a deep sigh and went back to her office.

  “I told you we didn’t need to do this,” Nick said as Mia lowered a birthday cake onto Nota’s kitchen table. He made the same claim every year, but this time he meant it. This was the last birthday he felt like celebrating. An apropos thought considering this could also be his last birthday ever.

  “And we ignored you,” Mia replied, “like we always do.”

  His sister had an annoying habit of ignoring pretty much everything he said. From his birthday to her coming clean with their grandmother.

  “Get the candles from the drawer,” Nota ordered. Though his grandmother had claimed she felt fine, her arthritis must have been acting up. She’d plopped into a chair the moment they’d entered the house when normally she’d shoo them out of her kitchen and insist on doing everything herself.

  “I don’t need candles,” Nick said.

  “Everyone needs candles,” Nota informed him. “When are you going to stop giving us a hard time about your birthday?”

  When he stopped having them, Nick thought, but kept the morbid statement to himself.

  Mia stuck pink, yellow, blue, and purple candles along the perimeter of the cake and then used a match to light them. “You’re going to have another fifty of these things,” she said.

  He would be lucky to have another four. Nick turned thirty-six this year. His father died at thirty-seven. His grandfather at thirty-nine. His great-grandfather had been killed in World War II at the age of twenty-six, but probably wouldn’t have seen forty even if he’d survived. Stamatis men simply did not live to old age. Or middle age, for that matter.