by S. A. Wolfe
Relief seeps across Peyton’s face. “Good. A catering job?”
“Yes. Next Saturday, he’s hosting a dinner party, and he hired me. Lucky me.”
“Sunflower, there are a lot of men who would like nothing better than to be your boyfriend. Men who are better than the walking refrigerator you were with before, better than a rich CEO who has people—women—falling at his feet. I don’t know why you’re trying so hard to get his attention.” We both look over at Adam’s table, where he’s clearly involved with his friends and not noticing me.
“I’m not trying that hard. I thought he’d be somebody to consider,” I say, finishing with a loud hiccup.
Peyton smiles, and I don’t think he could be more gorgeous.
Adam is handsome, too, but Peyton has that extra punch of sexy muscleman and a mind-blowing smile. I’m standing next to the hottest man in the room, and the most dangerous.
Maybe it was easy for Flora to walk away from Peyton, but he turns me inside out, upside down, and every which way, scrambling my brain and my hormones. And that’s when I decide I should return to my table.
“Hey,” he says as I start to walk away. “Where are you going? I thought we were talking here.” He grabs my hand and stops me.
“I thought I’d hang with Imogene and the rest of my friends.”
“Get back here.” He pulls me back to that space where I can breathe him in.
I don’t like this attraction to Peyton. Well, I do and I don’t. I’m worried. It feels too one-sided, and I’m the type to get hurt.
“You don’t understand how unfair this is,” I blurt out.
“Holding your hand? That’s unfair?” He smiles and squeezes my hand. I yank it away from him.
“I understand how Flora feels. I think women have it harder, that’s all.”
“I think you’re drunk.”
“A little tipsy. That’s why I can talk to you like this—about Flora, about Adam, about men and women. Otherwise, I’d be sitting with my friends, talking about babies, hemorrhoids, geriatric yoga, and listening to all these couples be lovey-dove and affectionate with each other.”
“If Knight is so great, why aren’t you sitting with him? Why didn’t he invite you over to his table?”
“He did. He offered me the catering job and invited me over to sit with his friends. How confusing is that?” I laugh.
“Ah, hell,” he says gruffly.
Veronica, one of the waitresses, approaches Peyton. “We have an issue,” she says urgently.
“Is it a homicide?” he asks dryly. I’m surprised he’s not more concerned on his opening night.
Veronica thinks about it for a second. “Yes, it’s a homicide.”
Peyton sighs. “What’s the problem?”
“We ran out of mussels. They were a huge hit. Bash wants to know if we need to make a run, because the only place he can get them is from another restaurant in Woodstock.”
“No, we’re not running anywhere. If we run out of an item, just tell the customer we’re out because it’s so popular. Push the oysters and whatever Bash thinks is easiest to produce. If any customers complain, let me know. I’ll comp them an app or a dessert.”
“Thank you,” she says with relief and leaves.
“You’re a really nice boss. I’ve worked for some awful managers who’d scream at the waitstaff if customers complained about anything.”
“That doesn’t fly here. Nobody screws with my employees. I treat them well, and I expect customers to be respectful, too. It goes both ways. This is a nice crowd. I don’t expect the food police or sleazy, rich guys pawing my waitresses. Well, except one guy.”
“Adam?” I say with a laugh.
“He’s not the Boy Scout you think he is.”
“I have no idea what a Boy Scout is, or why I’d want one, but Adam is a gentleman.”
Peyton shakes his head. “I watch out for my employees. And my sister. I’ve spent enough time in bars watching how these guys with money make their moves. I’m trying to give you some advice because I don’t want Knight to string you along.”
“Because you have so much experience as the guy who knows how to make moves on women? Like Marko?”
“I can see you’ve put me light-years away from the moral high ground. Fair enough. I’m not perfect or anywhere close. But did you ever consider you deserve better than Adam Knight?”
I open my mouth to say something, then shut it promptly when every possible response escapes me.
“I’d love to talk to you all night, sunflower. Really, I would. But I have to play manager and attend to some matters.” He leaves, moving across the room in long, elegant strides.
Aleska finds me and protectively guides me back to our table, where I spend the next two hours sipping beer and acting like the old Talia.
“I think you’re done.” Aleska moves my beer stein away and pushes a glass of water toward me.
“I’m tired,” I say, propping my head up with a hand. “Let me close my eyes for a few seconds.”
“God, is she drunk?” Imogene asks.
“No, she’s not drunk. She’s tired,” I reply.
“You’re sleeping,” Jess says.
“No, I’m resting with my eyes closed.”
“Talia, I can’t carry you to the car, so get up and let’s go,” Aleska says.
“If Mom sees me like this, she’ll be angry at both of us,” I reply sleepily with a yawn.
“She barely drank anything. Why would your mother care?” Imogene asks.
“Our mother hates when we come home late from bars,” Aleska explains.
I can hear Aleska trying to cover for me with silly little lies, but I’m too tired to help. I really would love to lie down somewhere and sleep.
“You’re adults. I think your mom will manage. Talia’s real problem is being attracted to two different guys,” Imogene says. “One is a little unmanageable, even though I’m rooting for him because he’s my brother-in-law, and the other man doesn’t seem like he could possibly be in the market for the sweet type.”
“Talia likes Peyton?” Jess asks.
“I can hear all of you. I’m not unconscious yet.”
“I think she likes him, too,” Aleska says. “She’s in a very vulnerable position right now. After Marko—”
“Stop it. I’m fine,” I say, sitting up and firmly forcing my eyes open. “Imogene, can I stay in your guest room tonight so my mother doesn’t give me the degree … the third degree, for getting buzzed?”
“Off less than two beers,” Aleska mutters.
“We’re under construction,” Imogene replies. “The guest room and the living room are ripped up.”
“Our guest rooms have been overtaken by my parents and all the extra clothes and office equipment they brought with them,” Jess says apologetically.
“I need some air.” I stand, and then both Aleska and Imogene take one of my arms and help me walk out of the restaurant. It’s almost closing time, and people are slowly making their way out into the night.
Aleska holds up my cardigan as I squeeze my arms into the snug fabric that seems much tighter than I remember. I button it all the way to the top.
“This is ridiculous,” Aleska says. “Let’s just go home. You can’t be afraid of Mom.”
“Are you kidding? When I’m exhausted, she takes it as a personal failure. She’s smothering me. I don’t want her to see me like this, not until I’ve had a good night’s rest … somewhere else.”
“We should be able to find someone who can let you crash at their place,” Aleska says, searching the crowd walking to their cars.
“Throw me on the back of Dylan’s Harley. I’ll stay with him and Emma. I’m really tired. It hit me like a ton of wet towels.”
“A ton of wet towels?” Imogene laughs.
“Towels actually makes more sense than bricks, if you think about it,” Jess says. “A person is more likely to get hit by wet towels than a ton of bricks.”
&nbs
p; “Who cares? Where are we sending this woman?” Imogene asks. “Dylan and Emma left a while ago. Lauren and Leo left before them. We could send her home with Lois.”
I lean most of my weight on Aleska. “No way. I am not going home with Lois and her date.”
“How about I drag you by your feet over to Adam’s car and he can take you?” Imogene is enjoying herself.
“No.” The thought of Adam witnessing this would be too much. I’d have to quit working for him.
“Don’t worry.” Imogene sighs. “He’s gone.”
“Hey, sunflower. Looks like you could use my help,” Peyton says, appearing by my side.
“May I use your guest room tonight?”
“I’d never say no to you.”
Peyton
THIS ISN’T WHAT I expected to do at one in the morning after a spectacular opening night. I should be with the staff, pouring a round of drinks for their hard work and success. However, if this pretty blonde needs me to hold her fine ass next to me, I’m not complaining. She looks worn out but grateful as I walk her to my truck.
“Thanks for understanding.” She yawns for the umpteenth time. “My mother … I just need to be away from that house for tonight.”
“Understood.”
Aleska runs over to us, looking relieved to see Talia about to get into my truck. “You forgot this.” She hands that crazy telephone purse to Talia.
“Ah, yes. Your phone,” I say.
Talia hugs the purse to her chest and waves her sister off.
“Your chariot awaits,” I say.
She’s in the passenger seat and has it reclined before I can do it for her. Her eyelids flutter close. It looks like sleep has overtaken, so I buckle her in.
As I walk around the truck to the driver’s side, Aleska pulls her van up alongside me.
“Thank you. Really,” she says. “Maybe this was meant to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I’m talking about. You two have become very chummy.”
“What has she said?” The adrenaline begins pumping through me.
“It’s what she doesn’t say. Every day when I come here to drop off the van for her, I always offer to help load her deliveries, but there you are. Poof. You and Talia are like a team, and the looks that pass between you two … I can only imagine what goes on in that kitchen all day.”
“Nothing goes on. She cooks and mostly talks to Bash. Besides, she told me she’s interested in Adam Fucking Knight. Speaking of which, why is she cooking for him if she’s interested in him? Isn’t she breaking your company policy or something?”
Aleska looks amused. “I signed him on as a client. Talia never met him until his first delivery. He’s not her type.”
“Tell that to her. I distinctly remember you and her fawning all over the guy last night at Carson’s.”
“He’s good-looking. That’s all.” She grins and peers over at her slumbering sister. “She’s sound asleep. She trusts you.”
“What are you getting at?” Is it a subtle warning not to touch her sister, or is she speculating on our relationship based on the fact that Talia can drop off to Snoozeville within ninety seconds of being in my presence?
“I’m just pointing out that she would not ask to crash in Adam’s guest room, and she definitely would not let herself fall asleep in his car. She wouldn’t.”
“That just means she’s comfortable with me. I could be Dylan or Cooper or any other guy who’s like her brother.” Except for that kiss. Is that how friends kiss?
She laughs. “Keep telling yourself that, big guy.”
“I’ll bring her by in the morning. You can come up with a story to tell your mother.”
“I’m telling Mom that Talia spent the night at Jess’s and you showed up at their house for breakfast and offered her a ride home.”
“Outstanding.” What parent would fall for that nonsense? I keep my opinions to myself, though. The Madej women are a mystery to me.
“Peyton,” Aleska says firmly.
I’m on to her. She has a fiery streak like her big sister, and no one’s going to hurry her along, not while she’s lecturing me on women.
“You really could have Talia if you wanted.”
I stare at her. Is she offering her sister up for sex, or is this country speak for something else? Jesus.
She registers my confusion and laughs. “I’m not talking about hooking up.” She laughs some more. “You should see your face. For a big city New Yorker, you sure can blush. I’m saying I could totally see you and Talia together.”
I sigh. “I just got out of a relationship.”
“No, you didn’t. That little show ended a long time ago, and it was never going to be the real deal. I have eyes. Flora never came to Hera until tonight. And I talk to your sister-in-law.” She grins. “Obviously, you and Flora must have been pretty together, but that’s all it was.”
I falter and smile. Her unrelenting quest to be a matchmaker is charming.
“If you’re so insightful, why would you want someone like me to be with your sister, assuming it’s true my relationships are purely superficial?”
“Because you’re both different people when you’re together. It’s up to you how you want to play this.”
“Aleska, I’m here on business. To get this place up and running, and then I’m gone. I’m not staying in this town longer than I have to. It’s actually written in my business contract.”
She shakes her head. “I’m going to say goodnight now, and you’re going to take good care of my sister.” She drives off, leaving me to contemplate what she said.
Most of the parking lot has cleared except for the employees’ cars. Talia is sleeping peacefully. I lean against my truck and call Greer and Bash, who are inside doing the closing. I should be helping. I like putting effort into working side by side with the servers doing the general cleaning, but it’s not like I can leave Talia sleeping in the parking lot.
Greer’s end of the connection is silent while she thinks about my predicament, and then she sighs heavily as if this is typical of me. Next, I call Bash, and he laughs and says I’m a lucky bastard.
That’s that. I take off for home.
The rough dirt road leading to my house causes Talia to stir. She looks sleepily out her window. “I like night driving,” she says, then closes her eyes again.
When I park in front of the house, she wakes again and opens her door. I hustle around the truck to help her. It would be easier for me to carry her in, except it looks like she wants to do this on her own. Besides, carrying a half-conscious woman in this situation could be misconstrued as sexually aggressive. I don’t want to be that guy.
She slips her arm around my shoulders, and I hold her waist as we walk inside. Again, I have to deliberate over how to handle this. I decide not to put her in the guest bedroom. The couch in the living room seems like a safer bet.
“Have a seat here.” I untangle her arm from my neck and ease her down onto the couch.
“Wait. I thought I’d get the guest bed,” she says in a groggy voice.
“I think it would be wise for you to sleep here. You’re not in any condition—”
“I’m fine!” Her sudden energy startles me. “Hey!” She grabs my hair, tugging it on both sides of my head. It’s actually painful.
“Hey, sunflower, you’re going to pull my hair out,” I say, trying to figure out how to extricate myself from her grip.
“I feeeeeel like kissing you.” Her Polish accent is more pronounced. A hard G instead of a K. “Gissing you,” she repeats again.
“Please don’t. Let’s save it for when you’re completely sober.”
“You are a prigggg,” she mumbles.
“Prick. I’m a prick.”
“That, too.” It looks like she’s going to drift off to sleep, but then her eyes pop open again.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Are your eyes on a timer? You need to go to sleep.”
�
�Peyton,” she says, “I do love your short hair. Love, love, love.”
“Thank you.” I chuckle as she pinches my earlobes.
“Your hair goes good with your ears. I love your ears, too.” And down she goes. She releases me, and her arms flop to her sides.
I lift her legs up onto the couch and put one of the decorative pillows under her head. I unzip her ankle boots and tug her narrow feet free, stabbing myself with a sharp heel in the process. Her snug little sweater is buttoned up to her throat, the collar twisted around her neck. It looks like it’s strangling her, so I unbutton it completely and straighten her blouse underneath so she’ll be more comfortable. When I tug the hem of the blouse a second time, the top button comes undone and opens the blouse neckline into a deep V-shape down to the front clasp of her bra. It reveals a surprise. I’ve stumbled upon a secret, of that I’m sure.
It takes me a few seconds to grasp what I’m seeing. I have been with all types of women, and I’m never surprised by flesh, soft or firm. I particularly like the expanse of flesh from the top of a woman’s neck down to her breasts, that imaginary center line with delicate skin made for tender kisses that mark the trail for even the novice teenage boy. Those kisses to the prized breasts. But I am not prepared for what Talia exposes.
I lean over, my hands on either side of her still form, and I study her chest. There’s nothing lascivious or perverted about it. The need to know what happened is killing me. I almost feel like shaking her awake so I can ask her to explain what I’m looking at.
Her long, graceful neck arches down to the smooth, unblemished skin on her chest, but between her breasts is a bright pink, jagged line of flesh at least four inches long, covering the length of her sternum.
I have no intention of changing her into a T-shirt or something more comfortable. She asked for a place to sleep, not a nurse, and now there’s an uneasiness that I’ve invaded her privacy. I button up her blouse the way she originally intended to cover the scar.
She is sleeping so soundly. It gives me time to pause and consider why she has a fresh surgical scar—and why nobody knows about it, at least not her friends. It explains a lot, though. She was supposedly gone for two months, visiting her father in the Florida sunshine, but she returned looking pale. And then there was the issue of her friends, particularly Jess, complaining they couldn’t reach Talia during her absence. It’s apparent I’ve stumbled upon her secret. The question is: why has she kept it a secret?