“Are you fucking joking? Why would she stay here? After everything you’ve accused her of?”
“I could move out.”
“Look, I haven’t even spoken with her. Tina called me.”
Greyson took a moment to absorb that information. “She did?” Martine Jenson quite understandably hated his brother’s guts. For her to voluntarily call him was a big deal.
“Yeah, Libby doesn’t want to speak with me, either, right now.” Harris fought hard to keep the hurt out of his voice, but even in his less-than-sober state, Greyson could tell Harris was bothered by that.
Jesus. He had cocked things up so badly there was very little chance of ever setting them to rights. He knew that. Months of seething resentment and anger, of treating his wife poorly. Of avoiding his brother and scrutinizing the man’s every interaction with Olivia through a haze of distrust and poisonous suspicions. Every smile, every touch, every comment between them filed away carefully for further inspection and then added to the growing list of reasons to detest them for betraying him.
He shook his head and came back to the present when Harris brushed by him and headed toward the nursery that Olivia had so lovingly decorated while always asking for—but never receiving—his help or advice.
“Can you pack a bag for Libby? I don’t want to go through her things.” Harris threw the question over his shoulder as he entered the nursery. Like Greyson needed any more proof that his brother and wife were not lovers. A man who had been intimate with a woman would think nothing of packing a bag for her.
Greyson reluctantly made his way to the bedroom he had shared with Olivia during the first two months of their marriage. Repulsed by the notion that she had allowed another man to have sex with her, he had made up some bullshit excuse not to sleep with her after she’d announced her pregnancy, and he had unofficially moved in to the guest bedroom. He had recognized her confusion at the time but hadn’t really given a rat’s ass about it. Now, as he entered the bedroom and inhaled the lingering traces of her perfume, he imagined her falling asleep here every night. Alone and wondering why he had abandoned her.
He knew she hated him now. But it couldn’t possibly be as much as he hated himself. This was such a mess, and he could see no way out of it.
Fuck.
Chapter Three
Three weeks later
“I don’t understand why you won’t move in with us,” Stella Lawson, Libby’s mother, said quietly as she gently rocked a contentedly snoozing Clara in her arms. “We have the extra room; your father’s just using it for storage right now. We could have you and Clara settled in no time.”
It was a familiar refrain, one she had heard from her mother, father, Harris, and even her in-laws. It seemed that everyone wanted Libby and Clara to move in with them. Everyone, that was, except Greyson, who had not contacted Libby in any way, shape, or form since that last fraught exchange in the hospital. Nobody dared mention him around Libby. The one time her mother had hesitantly brought up the subject, Libby had very coldly informed her that the topic was not up for discussion.
Harris was the only one who never bothered to drag her into any forced discourse about her marriage. Something in him had changed after the night he had offered to chat with Greyson. He had never reported back on the conversation; clearly it hadn’t gone as he had anticipated, and he had instead helped Tina move some of Libby’s clothes and a lot of spare baby paraphernalia into Tina’s flat. Which in itself was a notable feat, since Tina and Harris could barely tolerate each other under normal circumstances. Having them set aside their differences to help Libby move had been significant.
Libby had moved out without fuss and fanfare, and she hadn’t seen her husband since that awful night three weeks ago.
“I’m sorry, Mum, I wish I could stay with you, but you know I want nothing from the Chapmans.”
“It’s a bit late to say you want nothing from the Chapmans when you married into that family, my girl. And just so we’re clear, it’s not the Chapmans who are offering right now, Olivia. We’re your parents, and while you may think this place is a handout, it’s our home, and we worked damned hard for it,” her father’s stern voice interjected, and Libby shut her eyes, gathering herself to meet the man’s gaze. She hated the disappointment she frequently saw in those brown depths of late. Her father had always been so proud of her, and his disappointment stung like a whip. Libby hated knowing that she had let him down. He had never approved of the marriage, stating that a man like Greyson would make a terrible husband.
Her father had never been fond of Greyson. Harris, yes. But Greyson was cold and unapproachable and, according to her father, had never been good enough for Libby. An opinion that she was sure would have surprised the very high-and-mighty Greyson Chapman, who thought he was God’s gift to the fricking world.
“I don’t think of this place as a handout,” Libby muttered, ashamed that her father thought she felt that way. “I really don’t. But you worked for it. I didn’t. And I don’t want to live here. Not right now. Not right after . . . everything.”
“Roland, leave the child alone. We’ve always encouraged her to make her own decisions; we can’t make this one for her. Are you happy staying with Tina?” her mother asked astutely, and Libby hid a grimace. Truth be told, she wasn’t happy living with Tina.
The woman had been her best friend since they were teens. Tina had spent a great deal of time around the Chapmans and their friends when they were kids but, like Libby, had never really fit into the group. She had been a couple of years younger than most of the others in the group and had always flitted on the fringes of that clique. In the end, the lonely girl had befriended Libby, despite the fact that she was two years Tina’s junior. The age difference hadn’t mattered; both girls had desperately needed the friendship. They had been firm friends ever since.
Because Tina was older, Libby had always valued her opinion on everything from hair and clothes to the seemingly hopeless crush Libby had had on Greyson. Despite Tina’s natural shyness, she had always seemed so glamorous and perfect to Libby. Libby had envied her gorgeous red hair and silky-smooth skin, as well as the breasts and curves she had started to develop very early on in her teens. Libby had remained flat chested and boyishly slender throughout her adolescence, and that situation had only marginally improved in adulthood.
Tina’s future had once seemed so assured. She was intelligent and had had medical school firmly in her sights. She had just seemed to have it all: brains, beauty, and the sweetest personality. She had always been there to listen and offer advice. And Libby had considered herself so lucky to have her as a best friend.
But somewhere during Tina’s gap year after high school, the wheels had come off. Medical school had fallen by the wayside, and over the last ten years, she’d aimlessly drifted from job to job. Libby wasn’t sure what had happened, and maybe she should have delved a little deeper, but she had been abroad a lot and crazy busy with her own studies and career. She’d been confident Tina would work it out.
Especially since Tina had always seemed so happy and self-assured whenever Libby had spoken to her over the years. They had remained close, despite the physical distance between them. But now, despite that closeness, Libby inexplicably felt like an unwelcome intruder in Tina’s home.
It wasn’t anything overt, but Tina seemed so distant. She was always out late and left for work early. She barely looked at Clara, and that more than anything was what bothered Libby. She didn’t expect everybody to automatically love her baby, but damn it! Clara’s father had already rejected her, and now her de facto aunt, Tina, who had given up half of her living space for Libby and the baby, had barely even touched Clara.
Libby wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but she was sick of this weirdness coming from the people who were supposed to love and treasure Clara. Maybe Tina was feeling cramped in her own home . . . which was why it would be best if Libby left. Before things got too strained and started to really hurt
her longest-standing female friendship.
“That’s why I’m here today, actually,” Libby said in response to her mother’s question. Her voice was hoarse. “Uh . . . remember Chris? My mentor in Paris?”
“You mentioned him a few times. The model?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“He owns a charming little café, and he has offered me a job as his second.”
“That’s lovely.” Her mother beamed happily. “We could look after Clara while you’re working, of course.”
“It’s not that simple,” Libby said before clearing her throat. “It’s on the Garden Route.”
Her parents both stared at her in silent dismay, and her mother’s rocking motion sped up slightly.
“That’s a six-hour drive,” her mother gasped, her voice strained.
“I know. But it’s, like, only an hour by plane,” Libby pointed out with forced cheer.
It had taken her a long time to decide that this was what she wanted. The distance would be hard, but she needed it. She needed that physical space between her and Greyson, even if he didn’t seem to care where in the hell she and Clara actually were. And she needed an entirely clean slate, a fresh start in a new town, where she could begin her life with her beautiful baby. Some place where she didn’t feel like she was encroaching on someone else’s space. Somewhere she could finally regain her independence after her ridiculous brain fart of a marriage.
“I need this, Mum,” she said, meeting her mother’s golden-brown gaze, so similar to her own. “I hate moving so far away. But I really need this.”
“Who will help you? With her?” her mother asked, her eyes dropping to the baby’s sleeping face, and Libby’s eyes flooded. She would miss her mother’s proximity, the immediacy of any counsel, solicited or otherwise. Constance, too, had opinions on what was best for Clara, how to hold her, burp her, feed her. Both grandmothers had their own ways of doing things, and while their advice wasn’t always welcome, they were doing what mothers did best, filtering their knowledge down to the next in their feminine tribe. It was invaluable, and Libby would find a way to maintain it, but for now, more than that . . . she needed to find herself again. Needed to find her own voice as a mother.
“We’ll be fine. And you’re just a phone call or a Skype session away.”
“Roland.” Her mother’s voice was imploring as she diverted her gaze to Libby’s father, obviously hoping he would find a way to talk his daughter out of her decision. But Libby’s father stared at his daughter for a long moment, his stern, attractive features searching as he assessed her face.
“She’ll be fine, Ma,” he said with a decisive nod. “Let the girl figure it out for herself.”
Three months later
“You don’t have to move out, you know?” Chris said, crunching into an apple as he watched Libby neatly fold Clara’s tiny clothes and pack them into the huge suitcase spread open on the unmade double bed.
Libby had really enjoyed reconnecting with her friend and mentor, Christién Roche. She would have been an idiot to pass up the chance to work with Chris again. So she had happily escaped to Chris’s beautiful forest cottage on the Garden Route three months ago. She had been even happier with the comfortable amount of physical distance the move had put between her and Greyson. A former model, Christién Roche had strutted his stuff on the catwalk and in magazines for years before going to culinary school. Libby had met him while doing an internship in Paris five years ago, where he’d been the pâtissier at a well-known Michelin-star restaurant.
The man was a creative genius, and for some reason known only to him, he had given it all up to open a tiny coffee shop in the Western Cape of South Africa. The place had been running for four years and was only now starting to build a reputation as a quality restaurant. Chris barely advertised and was wholly dependent on word-of-mouth referrals. It was starting to work, as patrons loved the idea of eating at a hidden gem of a restaurant that only they and a few others knew about.
“I know that,” Libby said in reply to the tall, gorgeous man’s former statement while offering him a small smile. “But Clara and I are cramping your swinging bachelor lifestyle. We’ve imposed enough, and I’m excited about the new place. And you know I can’t commute between your place and Riversend every day. It’s a forty-minute drive.”
Chris made a rude sound and waved his hand dismissively. “I do not know why you have chosen to buy that house. It is . . . how do you say? A dump. Not fit for you and this precious bonbon!”
“I like the town, and I know the house needs work, but I’m looking forward to fixing it up.”
“It will take more than some paint and the crack filler to fix that place up.”
Libby bit back a smile at the awkward turn of phrase. Chris’s English was generally excellent, but occasionally words like Polyfilla defeated him.
“I know that commuting to and from Riversend every day could be a nightmare in that piece-of-shit joke you call a car. But this means you should change cars,” he pointed out. These were all familiar arguments; he had been against the idea of her buying that house from the start. Libby had filled out the paperwork two months ago. The transfer deed had been finalized just the week before, and Libby would be moving out of Chris’s place today.
But her extremely handsome Congolese friend with the dreamy accent was not too crazy about the fact that she was leaving. He had taken her and Clara in without reservations, had asked few questions about her marriage, and had gone completely gaga over the infant. Which was a bit shocking, as Libby didn’t think Chris had ever really been near a real, live baby before. He was a completely doting uncle and spoiled Clara rotten.
“There’s nothing wrong with my car, Chris.”
“It is in worse shape than that dump you want to live in,” he argued, holding up a finger and glaring at her. “I do not understand why we cannot continue like this. You can work here, and there is ample space for Clara.”
“You don’t really need me, you know that,” she muttered. He had a small but highly competent staff at his restaurant. Employing Libby had been a favor, and they both knew it. Especially since she could only work part time while Clara was so tiny. The arrangement was fine for the short term, but it had never felt permanent to Libby. She wanted to settle down and build more of a career. Working for Chris would be too limiting: because of the nature of his business, there was absolutely no room for growth for Libby.
“I’ll be putting Clara into day care; they have an excellent kindergarten—which offers a phenomenal infant day care service—in Riversend. I’ve loved working here, and I owe you so much, Chris. But it’s time for me to find my feet and establish a secure future for myself and Clara. Besides, MJ’s offers an exciting new opportunity for me.”
“A fast-food restaurant. You will waste your exceptional talent at a fast-food restaurant.” He practically spat the words, and she grinned wryly. He could be such a snob sometimes.
“It’s hardly a fast-food restaurant. It’s a family restaurant, with a decent and varied menu.”
“I know this place. The menu has not changed in twenty years.”
“How do you know that? You’ve only been here for four years.”
“How I know is not important. I do not understand why you want to be a grill cook at some diner with a mediocre menu.”
“I won’t be the grill cook. I’ll be revitalizing the menu. Tina has big ideas for the restaurant.”
Tina had first seen the restaurant when she had brought Libby and Clara to stay with Chris three months ago. It had been a long drive, and Libby could easily have flown, but she hadn’t wanted to risk taking her four-week-old baby on a plane. Tina, despite her emotional detachment while Libby and Clara had been living with her, had seemed hurt that they were moving out and had eagerly suggested a road trip.
They had stopped in the tiny, picturesque town of Riversend and had enjoyed a meal at MJ’s. Shockingly, Tina, who had been directionl
ess for so long, had fallen in love with the faded establishment and immediately claimed that she had to have it. Said it was fate since she had the same initials. Never mind that she knew absolutely nothing about running a business. But Tina had inherited a huge amount of money from her paternal grandfather and had more than enough to purchase and revitalize the restaurant. Upon purchase, she had offered Libby a partnership of sorts: free rein to run the kitchen as she saw fit and license to create the new menu and focus on experimental desserts, while Tina ran the business end of things.
Libby sometimes wondered if Tina had bought the place just so that she, Libby, could have something to fall back on. Which would be exactly the kind of impulsive, impractical, mad thing one could sometimes expect from Tina. She hoped Tina wouldn’t be that foolhardy, but Libby wasn’t going to leave her best friend to manage a restaurant without her help. Not after everything Tina had done for Libby and Clara. Besides, MJ’s had potential, and she was sure she and Tina could help it succeed.
Libby hoped working closely with Tina would fix whatever was broken in their friendship as well. Things had been rocky and uncertain since she had moved out of Tina’s flat. They were treading on eggshells around each other, and Tina still seemed a little hesitant around Clara. But this venture felt like a chance for them to rediscover their bond and possibly reinvent their friendship.
It also presented a massive opportunity for Libby. She could be her own boss and create a signature menu. She’d have time to experiment with desserts—her true passion—and really turn the place into a buzzing premium eatery. She could barely contain her excitement at the thought of how much this could change her life. She loved that she could feel excited about her career again. For too long the only emotions she’d had associated with it had been regret and loss.
She had been going through the motions at Chris’s café. But with MJ’s, she felt a thrill whenever she considered the potential, what it could mean to her as a chef, to Tina as a burgeoning businesswoman. How much independence it could give them both.
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