Caleb spotted a pair of work gloves in a box by the door. He helped himself and gathered up a full armload of discarded trim.
“You’re not dressed for work,” Jules felt the need to point out to him.
“Not exactly,” he agreed. “But I might as well help a bit while we talk.”
“We’re not done talking?”
He didn’t answer, just shook his head as he left through the door.
“You’re as bad as me,” Melissa said.
Jules realized she was watching Caleb’s backside as he walked away. “Is it that obvious?”
“It is when you start drooling.”
“You’re such a comedian. I’m trying to figure out what he’s doing here.”
“That’s not what your expression says. But, okay, let’s go with that. What do you suppose he’s doing here?”
“He said he’d done some research on our project.”
“What does that mean?” Melissa asked.
“I’m assuming more on why we should remove the noncompete clause.”
“That seems likely. He’s coming back.”
“I see that.”
Caleb gave Noah a curt nod of acknowledgment as he approached the restaurant doorway.
Jules found the view of him equally pleasant from the front. She didn’t have to like him to admire the breadth of his shoulders, the swing of his stride, and the square chin and neatly trimmed dark hair that made him look capable of taking on...well, anything, including her.
A wave of heat passed through her body and sweat tickled her forehead. She swiped awkwardly at her hairline with her bare forearm as he walked back inside.
He looked around the open space. “What else needs doing?”
“Your work is done,” Jules said.
He might be pleasant to watch, but she was coming to the conclusion that it might be dangerous for her to spend much time around him.
He removed his jacket and set it aside, rolling up his sleeves.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she said. “You’re going to ruin that shirt.”
He shrugged. “I have other shirts.”
“It’s white.”
He glanced down at himself. “So it is.”
“Say whatever it is you came to say, and get out of here. Go back to your regularly scheduled life.”
He put a mock expression of hurt on his face. “I don’t know how to take that.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve got your own construction project to worry about.”
“That’s the thing.”
“Here we go...” She lined up to scrape off another strip of varnish.
“I want to show you some of the numbers from my other Neo locations.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him look into their small toolbox. “Showing off your profits?” she asked.
He ignored her gibe. “And the plans for the new location.” He selected a claw hammer. “What’s your seating going to be here?”
“None of your business.”
“Jules.” There was exaggerated patience in his tone. “We’re not going to be able to work this out if you’re going to be hostile.”
Melissa spoke up. “Thirty-four at the tables, twelve at the bar and another eighteen on the deck.”
Jules glared at her.
“What?” Melissa asked. “It’s not exactly a state secret. All he has to do is pull a copy of the business license.”
“Neo will have one-seventy-two on two floors, plus fifty seasonally on the patio. We’re not your competition.” He approached the window opposite Melissa and wedged the hammer under the trim.
“I agree with that,” Jules said. “It would be no contest at all.”
“Why would anyone choose the Crab Shack?” Melissa asked.
“They wouldn’t,” Jules said.
“Because they love seafood. And because nobody wants to eat at the same place all the time. And because if they came to Neo, they’d see the Crab Shack and maybe become curious.”
“Or maybe they’d come to the Crab Shack and learn about Neo.” Jules didn’t know why she tossed that out. It sounded ridiculous even to her.
“Sure,” Caleb said.
“Don’t patronize me. We both know that’s not going to happen. What you’re offering us is your leftovers.”
“Neo is a nationally recognized chain with international awards and a substantial marketing program. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“Fancy it up all you want, but the result will be the same. Neo wins, the Crab Shack loses. We’re far better off being the only option at Whiskey Bay.”
“Can I at least show you my floor plans?”
“Sure,” Melissa said.