That Kind of Guy: A Spicy Small Town Fake Dating Romance (The Queen’s Cove Series Book 1)

“AVERY, Table Four doesn’t like their entrées, and they want to speak to the manager.”

I looked up from the desk of my tiny office. The restaurant’s bartender, Max, leaned against the doorframe in the black jeans and black t-shirt the serving staff always wore.

“Is something wrong with the food?” I asked. We didn’t often get complaints. Our chef was incredible. The kitchen staff was a great team. The entire staff was top tier, from servers to hosts to dishwashers. I had hired most of them.

Max shook his head.

I leaned back in my chair. “Tourists?”

He nodded.

I stood. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

“Are you going to comp their meals?” He stepped back and followed me from my office to the restaurant.

I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Sure am.”

“Why?”

Just before we turned the corner into the restaurant, I stopped. I had hired Max last summer as a server and noticed our bartender teaching him how to make different drinks after the restaurant closed. He was in his early twenties, had lots of energy, and was eager to learn, so I’d asked the bartender to spend a few minutes training him every shift until Max was able to work full shifts behind the bar. I’d never admit this to the rest of the staff, but Max was my favorite. He was great with customers, everyone liked working with him, and he had a genuine interest in learning the restaurant business. Tonight, he was stepping in to help with a few tables.

“Max, our purpose is to deliver a delightful experience to every customer who walks through that door. This is where people come for a break, to celebrate, to catch up with old friends or to try a new dish.” In the hallway before the dining room, I could already hear the warm ambient hum of the full restaurant, filled with people eating and talking and laughing.

That sound? It made my heart happy. It made me feel like I was doing something good for the world.

“We want every single person who walks through that door to have the best damn meal while they visit Queen’s Cove, and if I lose a hundred bucks to comp their meals,” I shrugged, “that’s okay with me. It’s not worth it to piss off the customers.”

It wasn’t my hundred bucks to lose, since it wasn’t my restaurant. I was just the manager. One day, though.

He raised an eyebrow, and I grinned at his skepticism.

“Maybe they’re entitled,” I told him. “Or maybe they’re just having a bad day. Maybe they got a flat tire on the way into town, they got to their hotel late, and they’re starving.” I gave him my most convincing smile. “We can turn their day around. We’re going to kill them with kindness.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “We’re going to bury them with our sparkling personalities.”

“This is morbid. You always take this analogy too far.”

“Once they see how passionate we are?” I put my fist to my chest in mock-agony. “They’re going to be rolled out the door in body bags.”

He pointed at me. “Yep, there it is. Alright, you’re the boss. Thanks for handling it.”

“Anytime. I’ve got your back.” I walked out into the restaurant, taking in the packed house.

It was just after eight at night, and every table was full. The restaurant overlooked the harbor of Queen’s Cove. On a clear night, the sunset would wash brilliant pinks and oranges and yellows across the sky, but tonight, clouds loomed and rain was beginning to trickle down. It had been sunny all day, but once in a while, these summer storms rolled in. I chewed my lip, glancing around at the busy restaurant. Hopefully it was just a little rain tonight, and no wind.

“Hi, I’m Avery Adams, the manager of The Arbutus,” I introduced myself to the unhappy-looking family of four. The two boys were sulking and fidgeting, one was trying to pull the other’s hair, and they wore the expressions of kids who had just been told off. “Let me grab these plates out of your way.” I handed the plates to a server before placing the coloring pages and crayons on the table in front of the boys. They immediately stopped fighting with each other and turned to the pages.

The parents were in their late thirties, and just as I had suspected, they looked exhausted and irritated. Both of their jaws clenched like they expected a fight.

“I am so sorry your meals were not as you expected. Wow,” I said, my gaze catching on the woman’s bright red shoulder. “That sunburn looks like it hurts. Can I bring you some aloe?”

She blinked, and her irritation lifted a fraction. “Um, sure.” She hesitated. “We stopped by the general store, but they were closed.” She scowled and gestured outside, where the rain was coming down harder. “And now it’s raining on our holiday.”

“They closed early tonight because it’s the owners’ wedding anniversary. I’ll go get you some aloe, but in the meantime, are there any other entrées that interest you? They’ll be comped this evening, for the inconvenience,” I said with a sweet smile.

The husband blinked with confusion before studying his menu. “We were wishing we’d ordered the pizzas. The Margherita and the meatball pizzas.”

I nodded. “Great choices. Can I get you a couple drinks? The blackberry gin smash is on special tonight. A local distillery makes the gin and the blackberries are local and organic.”

The wife nodded, watching her sons across the table, busy with coloring, and more importantly, quiet. “That would be wonderful.”

“Sure thing. Let’s make your vacation a good one, shall we?” I scribbled their order on a paper, handed it to the kitchen and bar, and slipped back to my office to grab one of the travel bottles of aloe sitting in the mini fridge. Max had laughed at me when he saw this, but he stopped laughing when he saw time and time again how a stupid little bottle of aloe could turn his tables around.

“Drop this at Table Four, would you?” I said to him as he passed. “And comp their food and drinks.”

He gave me a thumbs up and kept walking.

“Thanks, Max,” I called after him.

I watched from the edge of the restaurant as he dropped the bottle of aloe off at the table. The woman’s shoulders dropped with relief. Max and I exchanged a subtle high-five before he returned to the bar. I loved flipping customers like that. Walking up to that table, they were tired and grouchy, but now the couple were laughing and talking, their kids colored with concentration, and their vacation was off to a great start. I had turned their night around. I loved my job.

I scanned the restaurant. Tonight, there was a mix of locals and tourists. The owners of the general store were having their anniversary dinner at Table Two. The elementary school principal and her husband were at Table Six. The mayor, his wife, and their two children were at Table Eight. Their family was always polite, friendly, and well-behaved. The kids never wanted to color, they just sat in silence and smiled at everyone like little angels. It creeped me out.

The owner of a local construction company sat at Table Eleven with one of his clients. I snorted to myself, watching Emmett Rhodes schmooze and smile and ooze charm all over the table. Emmett was Mr. Popular, knew everyone in town, was all up in everyone’s business, and was well aware of how handsome he was.

At Table Twelve was the owner of a couple local restaurants, Chuck, and his wife. His wife was sneering at the food, and Chuck was eyeing the place, making notes in a notebook. I rolled my eyes. I had a few tips I could give him, but he wouldn’t listen.

The restaurants Chuck owned catered to tourists because the locals knew better than to go there. The food wasn’t disgusting, it just tasted thawed and reheated. Even that wasn’t enough to earn my disdain, though. It was the way he treated his staff. The male staff wore black t-shirts and jeans, just like here at The Arbutus, but the female staff were required to wear mini-skirts, low-cut tops, and high heels. Heels, for eight-hour serving shifts. The thought made my blood boil. He hired kids straight out of school who didn’t know any better or who had no other options, so they put up with it. There were rumors he took a cut of their tips, too.

“Table Twelve giving you any trouble tonight?” I asked Max as he shook a cocktail shaker.

“Nope. They’ve been on their best behavior.”

“Good.” I watched as Chuck studied the chandelier. What was he up to?

I had been the manager of The Arbutus for two years, but I had been working here for five years, since the day I set foot in the tiny seaside town of Queen’s Cove. Located on Vancouver Island, Canada, wedged between the Pacific Ocean and the Pacific Northwest rainforest, this little town housed about two thousand residents, but because of its breathtaking beaches, dense, mossy forests, relaxed small-town vibes, and the best surfing in the country, it welcomed over a million tourists during the summer months. It was early May, and the tourists were starting to trickle in. By July, we’d be in full swing.

I was born and raised in Vancouver, but Queen’s Cove was my home now. Five years ago, I came here on vacation by myself, and after going for a nice dinner at the restaurant with the best view, I fell in love. Giant windows overlooked the picturesque cove and beach. There was oak flooring, and vaulted ceilings with original beams. A menu that was modern, unpretentious, and delicious, with local ingredients. An atmosphere of warmth, community, and comfort. I mentioned the vaulted ceilings, right? Be still, my heart. I fell head over heels. The owner, Keiko, noticed how enthralled I was. We got to talking, and the next thing I knew, she offered me a serving job.

I wasn’t an impulsive person. I didn’t make big changes without careful consideration and weighing all the pros and cons, but somehow, this one felt right, so I headed back to Vancouver, packed my stuff, and returned to Queen’s Cove.

I worked hard at the restaurant. I put everything into this job, even when I was just a server. There was something about this restaurant that was home to me. Maybe it was because Keiko’s parents opened it when they moved to Canada when she was a kid. This place had history. Maybe it was that my own parents’ restaurant failed catastrophically, and this was the successful restaurant I always wanted to be a part of. Maybe it was that I loved the atmosphere, that I loved making customers happy and contributing to our community.

Keiko’s parents opened the restaurant in the seventies. They poured everything into this place, she told me. She grew up here, just like I grew up in a restaurant, except her parents’ story was a success. They passed a few years before I moved to town, and I never got to meet them, but locals who knew them told me stories of them working in the restaurant, greeting customers, balancing the till and sweeping the floors even into their nineties. The Arbutus was the result of two generations of hard work.

One day, it would be mine. I had been saving every spare dollar for years so I could buy this place. Growing up, I always knew I’d own a restaurant. I fell in love with the busy bustle of staff, the laughter, and the mouth-watering food smells. People came to a restaurant to celebrate, to catch up with old friends, and to fall in love, and I got to see it all. My parents’ restaurant went under, as did their marriage, but The Arbutus was my shot. There was no way in hell I’d screw it up the way they did.

When Keiko was ready to sell, I’d buy this restaurant. I didn’t want to just be the manager, I wanted to be the owner. I wanted something that was all mine, something I could make the final decisions on, something I could be responsible for. I wanted to carry on her family’s legacy and build my own. Something tangible that said Avery Adams was here on this earth. Keiko was a kind and supportive boss—she taught me everything she knew, and she trusted me, but it wasn’t the same as owning the place myself. Until then, I’d continue putting every spare dollar into savings.

Outside the front door was the restaurant’s namesake, a twisting, red-trunked arbutus tree. Arbutus trees were native to the West Coast, and on my walks around town to grab a coffee or meet my friend Hannah at her bookstore, I often passed tourists posing for pictures in front of this one. It always made me smile. Arbutus trees weren’t the only thing that made Queen’s Cove unique. It was the air here, air that flowed straight off the ocean and through our little town. It was the way everyone took care of each other, how the residents fiercely guarded the integrity of the town. No chains or franchises were allowed, only businesses run by locals. Was the town perfect? Hell, no. There were potholes in the roads, some of the sidewalks were crumbling, and windstorms often knocked over the towering fir trees, causing power outages. There was one road in and out of town, so any rockfalls or accidents on the highway had you stuck. If fog rolled into the harbor and the floatplanes couldn’t take off? You were stranded.

“Getting windy out there,” Max muttered to me as he moved around behind the bar, mixing drinks.

I leaned against the bar and watched as the waves crashed against the shore outside. Come on, weather, I pleaded in my head. Hold up for a couple more hours, just until we close. “Can I grab you anything?” I asked him, moving around behind the long wooden bar.

He glanced at the trays behind the counter. “Lemons, please.”

“You got it.”

Halfway down the hall to the storeroom, the lights started flickering. I stopped walking and sighed. The lights gave another halfhearted flicker before going out. Someone in the restaurant screamed, and I headed back to the main dining area.

“Alright, everyone,” I said in a calm, reassuring voice. Max was busy lighting tea lights at the bar and placing them in lanterns, and the servers hustled them to the tables. “The wind probably knocked a tree over, and the power is out. Please stay seated while we light some candles and, in the meantime, enjoy the ambiance.”

I turned and bumped straight into the hard chest of Mr. Popular himself, Emmett Rhodes.

“Hi, Adams.” He cocked a grin down at me.

Irritation prickled at the back of my neck, and I pulled another lighter from beneath the bar. “I’m busy,” I told him without looking at him, focused on lighting candles beside Max.

Out of the corner of my eye, his grin widened. “Need some help? I’m great in a crisis.”

I rolled my eyes. This guy’s ego knew no bounds. I was surprised he got it through the door tonight. I shot him a tight, professional smile. “This isn’t a crisis, it’s just a power outage. Please go back to your table and enjoy your meal.” I was very aware of Max standing beside me, placing candles in lanterns, listening.

Emmett leaned on the bar. “What are you doing tonight?”

I gave a laugh of disbelief. “Again? Seriously? I don’t bother you while you’re working.”

He grinned wider. “Bother? I’m not bothering you. I’m too good-looking to be a bother.”

Deep breaths, I told myself. “Emmett.”

He put his hands up. “Okay, okay. Going back to my table.”

Emmett walked away, and my gaze followed his tall form.

The first day I met Emmett Rhodes, he dumped a girl right in front of me with zero remorse. He had come to the restaurant for a quick meal and sat at the bar. A woman about my age had spotted him and slipped onto the stool beside him, leaning toward him and gazing at him with such deep affection that when I saw the hesitant, wary expression on his face, my heart ached.

“Look, Heather,” he had told her. I had my back turned to them at the bar and couldn’t help but overhear. “You’re great, but I’m just not interested in this whole thing. We had fun, but let’s not make it more than it needs to be.”

She was quiet for a second. “What?”

“I’m just not like that,” he told her. “It’s better this way. I don’t do the wife and kids thing.”

He was one of those people who you could hear from the other side of town, always talking, laughing, saying hello to everyone within sight. Schmoozey, that was it. Whereas I had a small circle of close friends, this guy was friends with every single person in town. He knew everything about everyone. Every time I passed by him in the grocery store or on the street, he was making small talk about somebody’s business or asking how someone’s kid was. It struck me as insincere, like he had an agenda.

Beside me, Max cleared his throat, a little smile on his face.

“What?” I asked him with raised eyebrows.

He bit back a grin but said nothing while he slid tea lights into the next lantern.

“Don’t start,” I warned.

“I didn’t say anything.” He lit another candle. “But you sure like to spar with him.”

My mouth fell open. “He started it. He always starts it.”

Max gave me a knowing look. “Mhm.”

Disgust rippled through me at the notion of being romantically interested in Emmett. I had seen the way Emmett was with women—flirty, friendly, charming, and funny. He knew what he was doing. And multiple times at my restaurant, I’d seen him remind women he wasn’t the guy they wanted him to be. He roped them in and spat them out when he was done with them.

My dad was like that. He was everyone’s best friend until he changed his mind and disappeared. He was the brightest star in the room, the person everyone wanted to talk with and hang out with. When he was in a good mood, he brought everyone up with him, laughing and chatting and complimenting people and brightening their day. When he was in a bad mood, the clouds poured on everyone in his proximity, and he dragged everyone down with him.

I’d bet my life savings Emmett was like my dad.

Before I could respond, Max picked up two lanterns and strolled away. I laughed to myself before glancing back at Emmett’s table, where he was deep in conversation with his client. He glanced up, and we made eye contact before he winked.

I rolled my eyes again before turning back to the lanterns.

I didn’t know Emmett Rhodes in high school, but I had heard all about him. Heartbreaker, ladies’ man, Casanova—just a few of the names people had used to describe him back then. I believed it. The guy was six-four, lean but muscular, with olive-toned skin, dark hair that he kept short and stylish, and a sharp jawline. His eyes were a pale gray, like all the Rhodes men. The guy could have modeled for cologne ads if he wanted to. He made whatever he was wearing look designer. Tonight, he wore slim black jeans, brown leather boots, and a white t-shirt, but he looked like he’d stepped out of the Red Wing Shoes catalog. He was a walking advertisement for clothes, he made them look so good.

Not that I was interested. Yes, the guy was Henry Cavill’s doppelgänger, but I wasn’t in the market for someone who I could barely get within ten feet of without rolling my eyes.

Emmett Rhodes was what happened when a man grew up too attractive. He thought he had the world at his fingertips. I had spent the last five years avoiding Emmett Rhodes.

He liked to play this little game where he’d ask me out and I always said no. He had been doing this for years. He didn’t like me. He loved the chase. He only messed with me because I was the only person in town immune to him.

One of the candle flames singed my fingers as I placed it into the lantern and I swore under my breath. No more thinking about Mr. Popular. I had a job to do.

Within a few minutes, soft candlelight illuminated the restaurant.

“We need a generator,” Max told me.

“Find me the money,” I responded. “We’re making do with what we have.” I tilted my chin to him. “I’ll take care of the bar. You know what to do.”

He grinned and slipped out from behind the bar, tossing me his apron. I glanced over the receipts from the servers and began making a whiskey sour. Servers dropped off more drink receipts and delivered the last of the dishes from the kitchen to their respective tables. In the corner of the restaurant, Max took a seat and balanced his guitar on his knee. He began playing, and diners watched and listened with little smiles on their faces. I pulled out my phone, took a sneaky pic of him playing, and posted it to our social media.

“The power’s out but nothing will stop us from having a great night at The Arbutus.” I typed out the caption and hit post before slipping my phone back into my pocket and getting to work on the drinks.

In the summer, the power went out about once a month, but in the winter, outages occurred at least once a week. We couldn’t close up shop every time we lost power or we’d be in the red, so over the last couple years, I figured out ways to stay open. No music? Max was a musician, and a damn good one. No lighting? Candlelight in the restaurant and propane lanterns in the kitchens. Our kitchen had gas stoves so we could finish dinner service. Because we didn’t know how long the outages would last and didn’t want a week’s worth of food going bad, we kept our fridge and freezer stocks low. The Arbutus was all about fresh, local food anyway, so this wasn’t an issue.

We made it work. Whatever happened, we always made it work.

Hours later, after the last customer had left, the servers counted up their tips, Max packed up his guitar, and I flipped chairs onto the tables as the staff left. Candles still illuminated the space in their lanterns, and I moved around the empty restaurant, tidying and sweeping and closing up. Some people wouldn’t want to be here alone so late, but I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Late at night, when everything was quiet and still, was when I was most at home. The charming place felt like mine during these moments.

One day, when I had enough money and Keiko was ready to sell, The Arbutus would be my restaurant. My legacy. The success story my mom never had.

A light knock on the door shook me out of my thoughts. It was after midnight and we were closed, but maybe someone had forgotten their phone or wallet under a table.

Keiko’s smiling face peered through the glass door. She was wearing her bright yellow raincoat and gave me a cheery wave.

“Hi, what are you doing here so late?” I asked and opened the door. “You have a key. You don’t need to knock.”

She followed me in and locked the door behind her. “I didn’t want to startle you. I knew you’d be here still.”

“Want something to drink? I can put the kettle on.”

“That would be nice.” She threw me a soft smile as she pulled a bar stool down.

In the kitchen, I filled the kettle and put it on the stove in the dim light from the lanterns. Keiko didn’t often pay me visits, but I savored the moments I had with her, just the two of us. My previous bosses didn’t have the time or interest to teach me the industry, but Keiko had taken me under her wing and taught me everything she knew. When I took over as manager and she saw I had things under control, she began to step back from the business. Her daughter had just had a baby, so Keiko spent several weeks at a time in Vancouver, visiting her. I still sent her monthly reports of the restaurant’s financials, although I doubted she read them anymore.

I returned with our mugs of tea. “So, what brings you to our beautiful establishment tonight?”

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the mug and blowing the wafting steam off it. “I want to chat with you about something.”

“Is everything okay?” I frowned and slid onto the stool beside her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry, everything is fine, no one is dead, and I’m healthy as a teenager.”

“It’s all that yoga you do.”

“Every day. I’m thinking about doing my teacher training.”

“Oh, really? You’re going to be a yoga teacher?” I asked, a big smile spreading across my face. Keiko would be a perfect yoga teacher, with her calm, grounding presence.

She shook her head. “No, it’s just fun to keep busy and keep learning. Something new.” She took a breath and patted my hand. “Speaking of something new.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Mhm?”

She hesitated, like she didn’t know which words to use. “I think it’s time for me to move to Vancouver to be with Layla and the baby.”

I blinked, taking a moment to digest this. “Moving. Wow.” Queen’s Cove was a three-hour drive to Victoria, the biggest city on Vancouver Island, and then another three hours to Layla’s place via ferry and highway. “I guess that makes sense. I’m sure it’s a pain, going back and forth on the ferry all the time.” I sagged a bit, bummed I would be seeing even less of Keiko. “We’re going to miss you around here. Are you going to move into Layla’s place?”

She took a sip of tea and shook her head. “No, actually, a townhouse in her complex just went up for sale, and I would like to buy it.”

“Wow, that’s lucky,” I told her. “Layla’s place is pretty small, right?”

She nodded. “Two-bedroom. Too small for me to move into.” She gave me another soft smile and pressed her lips together, watching me. Something in Keiko’s expression told me she wasn’t finished.

“I feel like there’s more.”

“Well,” she said and took a deep breath. “Avery, I know you love The Arbutus, and I know it’s as special to you as it is to me.”

“Of course.” Zero hesitation.

“The townhouse in Layla’s complex costs more than my home here by a lot. Vancouver real estate is quite expensive.”

I had heard about this. Even Vancouver Island prices were rising. Young families struggled to purchase homes without their parents’ help. I knew about the issue but wasn’t concerned by it, because I had no intention of buying a home anytime soon. My sole focus was saving to buy The Arbutus one day.

“Are you going to sell your home here?” I asked her.

She nodded and flattened her lips. “I’m listing it tomorrow. It’ll be hard to leave the place I’ve lived in for thirty years, but it’s time.” She smiled again at me and nodded. “And I’ll be selling the restaurant as well.”

My pulse stopped. I blinked. “Selling the restaurant?”

She nodded, watching me. “That’s the plan. My financial advisor thinks it’s better if I sell both to pay for the townhome.” She nodded again to herself. “And I’m ready. It’s time for the next phase of life, being a grandmother.” She smiled.

“I have to ask—who are you selling it to?”

“You, if you’re interested.” There was a sparkle in her eye.

My mouth gaped open. “Of course I’m interested!”

She laughed. We had never spoken about me buying the place, but there always seemed to be an unspoken understanding about it.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, taking another sip of tea and smiling at me over her mug. “I was disappointed when my Layla didn’t want anything to do with the place, but you waltzed in and answered my prayers.”

My eyes stung, and I smiled at her. I had worked in the restaurant industry for five years before moving here and never had I found a mentor like Keiko, someone who was kind to their staff, someone who taught me everything about how to run a restaurant. To hear her tell me she wanted me to buy The Arbutus made me even more resolved to make her proud.

A thought struck me. Did I have enough savings for a loan? I thought I had more time. I thought Keiko would retire in five or ten years. This was a surprise, but I could handle it. I had handled surprises before, and I had everything under control. I was going to buy the restaurant.

“I hope you know I love this restaurant, and I will do everything in my power to ensure it is a success,” I vowed, leaning in. “I’ll go to the bank tomorrow. I’ll talk to them about a business loan.”

“Wonderful,” she sang with a bright smile. “Absolutely wonderful.”

Later, after we finished our tea and I had said goodbye to Keiko, my gaze lingered on a framed photo in my office of me and my mom, taken about twenty years ago. My thumb brushed the frame, and I studied her young, smiling face, full of hope and optimism. My dad took the photo on opening day of her restaurant, before everything went downhill.

That wouldn’t happen to me. I’d make sure of it. No one was going to grab the wheel from me. I’d learned my lesson, watching my parents.

I set the picture back down on my desk, locked up, and headed home to my tiny, crappy apartment. The rain and wind had stopped, and the air smelled saturated and earthy. I lived in the loft apartment of a house a few blocks from the restaurant. The landlord had subdivided the house into five different units and often rented to people who came to work in Queen’s Cove for the tourist season. I opened the door of my place and flicked the lights on. It was one in the morning, and I could hear music from the downstairs neighbors through the floor. This summer’s tenants liked to party.

“Hello, shit hole,” I murmured as I tossed my bag and keys on the counter of the poky little kitchen. I had lived in this apartment my entire time in Queen’s Cove, and because of the cheap rent, had no intention of moving. I got what I paid for, though. There were water stains on the ceiling, the carpet was worn and thin, and I could almost hear my downstairs neighbors breathing. I’m sure they could hear every cough and sneeze from me, as well.

My stomach rumbled and I realized I’d left my dinner on the counter of the bar, back at the restaurant. I pulled my phone out and ordered a pizza.

After my stomach was full and I had showered, I crawled into bed. Keiko’s words replayed in my head, and I wiggled my toes with excitement. I grinned to myself in the dark. After all these years of hard work, I was going to buy the restaurant. This was my shot, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way.