“I need a job.”
Eli’s eyebrows climbed to what should have been his hairline, but disappeared years ago. The tiny bit of hair left on the sides and back of his head didn’t matter.
“A job?” He choked. “Does your husband approve of you getting a job?”
“I’m a widow,” Sylvia stated, “and I’m afraid my late husband left me in a poor financial state. I recently moved to Oregon City to live with my stepdaughter, Angel, and her husband, Nathan Hale. However, I would like to have money of my own, and not be beholden to her husband.”
Eli perked up at the mention of ‘widow.’ “You’re related to Nathan and Angel Hale?” Things were definitely looking up. “What sort of a job did you have in mind?”
“To be honest, Mr. Benson, I don’t know.” Her chin quivered and she burst into tears, covering her face with both hands.
The waitress arrived with their tea, and glanced curiously at the sobbing Mrs. Hardwick. Molly quickly arranged the teapot, cups and saucers on the table, taking furtive glances at Eli’s guest. He nodded as she added the plate of cookies. “That will be all, Molly. Thank you.”
He pushed aside his cold coffee, and poured tea for both of them.
Sylvia stopped crying, and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I really must apologize for that, Mr. Benson. Things have been difficult for me since Mr. Hardwick passed on.”
Eli patted her hand. “Please, you must call me Eli. Now, I suggest you have your tea. It will make you feel better.”
Sniffing, Sylvia lifted the cup and took a sip. Then she smiled at Eli, tears causing her eyelashes to stick together in clumps, her delicate nose a bright pink. Eli’s heart thumped.
He shifted in his chair to accommodate his reaction to her beauty. “Have you had a job in the past, Mrs. Hardwick?” He would have bet everything he owned this woman never worked a day in her life.
“Not exactly.”
He raised one eyebrow, and waited for her to continue.
“Oh dear, no. Actually I’ve never held a job. But I know I could do just about anything.”
Eli stifled a grin as he imagined what she could do for him.
“Can you cook?”
She shook her head. “Um, not exactly.”
“Wash dishes?”
“Ah, no. I don’t think so.” She studied her hands.
“Take orders from patrons and deliver them to the table?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Probably not too well.”
“Can you do bookkeeping?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that?”
His mind sought any number of things to keep Mrs. Hardwick in his restaurant. “I have it! The perfect job for you.”
“You do?” Sylvia sat straighter, her eyes alight.
“Yes,” Eli said, “you can be a hostess.”
“A hostess? What’s that?”
He leaned forward, happy to have thought of something, anything, to keep her from going away. “When customers come in to eat, you welcome them, show them to a table, and give them a menu.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve seen men do that in restaurants in New York City,” she said excitedly.