Local Flavour (Book 1, the Local Flavour Series)

Part 5: The Lay of the Land

Quinn stirred, emerging from a deep, untroubled sleep. He glimpsed the morning's first light, confused about where he was. Being on the road so much, it was not an unfamiliar feeling. He squinted at the antique dresser and caught the faint scent of salt on the fresh morning breeze that stirred the curtains. The little bed and breakfast — right, I'm in Nova Scotia.

He was often up before the dawn, but his eyes were heavy and he was warm and comfortable. He resisted waking. Usually, his first instinct in the morning was to reach for his phone. Instead, he rolled over and chased the fading remnants of an enticing dream, sinking back into sleep until hours later.

After ten, he sat straight up suddenly and glanced at the ancient digital clock on the bedside table, shocked at the time. He never slept this late. Must be the fresh air, he thought, stretching. Good for what ails you.

His phone was blowing up with texts and email notifications. He scrolled through dozens of messages. Screw it, he thought, and threw the phone back on the bed. That shit can wait.

He walked to the windows, and pulled the curtains open, taking in the endless expanse of ocean. It was a brilliant day in the picturesque town, all big sea and sky. The colours were so bright he squinted, raising a hand to his eyes. He'd been around the world more times than he could count and saw lots of little towns by the sea. He could tell this one was special.

He showered and threw on a pair of jeans and a tight-fitting but light-as-air grey cashmere sweater. This last restaurant in the contest was blessed. The owners lived in a place where seafood was fresh and plentiful, and there were farmlands and lush vineyards as far as the eye could see. He couldn't wait to check it out further.

After Evelyn stuffed him full of buttery eggs, homemade scones with tangy rhubarb preserves, and smoked maple bacon and mushroom and herb quiche, he bounded into the sunshine to explore. People nodded and waved; at first he thought it was because they recognized him. He realized everyone waved to everyone else in Port Ross, stranger or not.

His first major discovery was an honest-to-God fishmonger down by the wharf. Quinn was pleased to see the variety of seafood just pulled from the chilly waters of the North Atlantic, spread out in the sunshine on piles of ice. If the owners at Sea Breezes didn't take advantage of such bounty, they were fools.

He poked around the stores and signed autographs for the few who recognized him. After a while, he decided to scope out the failing restaurant they'd be profiling. As always, he wasn't sure about the reaction he'd get. People were always shocked when he showed up in person just before filming started. He understood why, most of the celebrity TV chefs had their staff scout the location beforehand.

His producer and cameraperson were en route, but he wanted to check the place out first, and develop a preliminary shot list for filming. He continued his walk through the downtown, which didn't take long — it was basically one long road along the harbour. Jewel-coloured fishing boats were lined up like soldiers, bobbing on the sparkling water. A couple of young guys in overalls and rubber boots recognized him. He chatted with them, getting an invite to go out fishing later in the day. His first job was helping out on his uncle's fishing boat when he was 16, so he was pleased to accept.

"Meet us here at three. We'll do beers after," a tall, bearded guy named Bruce yelled as they walked off.

"You got it," Quinn yelled after them. I like this town.

He paused when he saw the Sea Gulps coffee shop across the street. He decided to do a little guerilla research before visiting the restaurant.

He pushed the door open, jingling a quaint bell and walked up to the counter. "Please tell me you have espresso," he said.