Theo had a shift at the ER, and since the hospital was in the neighborhood of the kitchen, he offered to drop her off. Harper suspected he would have given her a ride if the kitchen were on the far side of the moon. He seemed like that kind of guy. Selfless and caring. It must have been part of what made him such a good doctor, though he didn’t seem to accept her compliments on that matter, something she was determined to examine further later on. There was only a small amount of false modesty she would take from him.
Ten minutes after leaving the apartment, Theo pulled the car up right in front of her large brick building.
“Thanks, Theo,” she said awkwardly. She didn’t know how to proceed. Should they make plans without involving Flynn? A simple “see you later” didn’t seem sufficient enough, not after becoming entrenched in one another this quickly. But luckily, or annoyingly as Harper would later recall, Theo was occupied with something outside the passenger-side window.
“Did you have someone scheduled to do work on the building?”
“What? No!” She turned around quickly and was greeted by two large ladders on either side of the industrial door. A thin, balding man clad in navy-blue coveralls occupied one of the ladders. He wore a heavy tan belt that sagged on his hips, weighed down by the sheer bulk of his tools.
“Hello!” she called out as she exited the car, slamming the door after her feet hit the cracked and uneven pavement. She could hear Theo getting out as well.
“Excuse you. What are you doing up there?”
The man looked down at her, bewildered. “Whaddaya think I’m doing, lady?”
Great, a wiseass.
“I have no idea, which, if you haven’t guessed, is why I’m asking.”
“I’m doing my job,” he said with a grunt before turning back around and continuing whatever he had been doing to her building.
She wanted to kick the smart-ass’s ladder out from under him.
“This is my building, and I didn’t give anybody permission to do work on it.”
Another snort. “You should have. This place needs more work than my ’86 Camaro.”
“Listen, you son of a—”
Theo placed his hand on her shoulder and tugged her to face the left. A large white van was parked on the sidewalk, and on the side, in large block letters, was written “Raine Security.”
“That sneaky little shit.”
“Harper,” Theo chastised. “He’s looking out for you.”
“Nope, we are not getting into this now. You need to go to work.”
“Getting into what?”
“Why this”—she pointed with fury at the man on the ladder—“is overstepping boundaries.”
“I don’t see what the problem is. You needed security cameras, and he’s helping you out.”
“I can’t afford them.”
“I doubt he’d make you pay.”
“That is precisely the fucking problem. I may be poor, Theo, and I may run a soup kitchen that runs on donations, but I personally am not a charity case.”
“You run a charity.”
“Shut up and go to work.”
He sighed before kissing her on the cheek. When he was settled back in his car, the engine running and his radio back on, he rolled the passenger-side window down to speak to her. “Harper, don’t let your pride get in the way of your safety. Flynn cares about you, and he worries. Don’t forget, he’s the one who found you after your attack. If he had already been feeling things for you, imagine what that must have been like. I’ll call you later.” With that, he rolled the windows back up and drove off.
“Hey, lady, if this is your building, can you let me in? I need to do the wiring and camera installation for the inside.”
“How many cameras are you installing?”
“Ten, plus a digital keypad to exit and enter the building.” He looked back at the run-down building with doubt. “Don’t know why anyone would want security on this dump.”
“I think I hate you.”
“I think I can live with that. Will you let me inside now?”
“Whatever.”
Harper didn’t have the energy to argue with the smart-ass technician any longer. Instead, she let him do what he wanted, giving him access to electric panels and the phone line.
When she asked what that was for, he said, “I need to install the Wi-Fi, graciously paid for by Raine Security.” She started to get pissed again until she realized the Wi-Fi could be offered to the community for free if she regulated the use with a password. After giving the technician, Doug, access to the whole building, she set to work doing what she did best. Cooking for large amounts of people. She first tore a piece of cardboard off a delivery box and wrote out a sign in big black Sharpie letters.
The kitchen will open at noon today. Come all for warm food and good company.
The latter might not be true today, as she was still pissed off at Flynn’s presumptuous and proprietary actions, but she would deal with him later. No doubt he would stop by to preen and check on his man’s progress. He would probably be expecting kisses and hugs in gratitude for this kind gesture. She slammed a large stainless-steel mixing bowl down on the work counter. Ha, she might kiss him with her fist.
She needed warmth and a reminder of home, and as there wasn’t much meat left after they threw the expired food out, she decided on mac ’n’ cheese. Her grandma’s recipe. The cheese sauce was thick and creamy with a hint of garlic, some broccoli florets thrown in to appease the moms of the world, and with a crispy top layer of breadcrumbs. When the final product came out of the oven, her mouth was watering, as was Doug’s, waiting with a puppy-dog look outside the kitchen.
“I was gonna take lunch, but…” He looked pathetic, and she couldn’t deny him.
“You eat my food, you gotta help me serve it.” She put a large, steaming helping of the mac ’n’ cheese in a bowl for him. “I’m gonna be shorthanded today as it is.”
“Sure. My boss did say to give you anything you asked for.” He took the bowl and dipped his chin in thanks.
“If I told you to stop installing this pointless system, would you?”
“Anything but that.” Doug ate his first spoonful in bliss. “This is the best damn mac ’n’ cheese I ever had.” He ate another bite and through a mouthful said, “I think I’m gonna cry.”
Harper couldn’t help but be affected by the upturn at the corners of his lips. Not anything drastic but enough to give him a less cantankerous look, revealing the more pleasant man he might be at home. Granted, she hadn’t done anything that morning to give him a reason to be pleasant, but she was happy something she’d worked on had given him a small respite from his aggravation.
Her heart dipped into her stomach. She’d have to find another way to make people happy soon.
“Don’t cry,” she said to herself as much as to Doug, pushing aside her moment of anguish. She learned long ago that a tormented attitude wouldn’t do her any good. “Eat, then come down here around eleven thirty to help out, got it? I still have a lot more to cook.” She needed a full vegetable dish, some potatoes, maybe—there was a full gunnysack of them in the back—and soup. Chicken noodle soup. Seemed like today she’d be making all her favorite comfort foods. It was appropriate after what she’d been through. She’d share her need for solace with those around her, and they’d take comfort from what she could offer them. That would bring her peace of mind.
As she began to put together the ingredients for chicken soup, an unfortunate thought occurred to her.
“Damn, I don’t think I have enough chicken…”
Going out on a limb, she ran back to her office and used the landline to dial a number she’d memorized by heart a long time ago. It rang three times before the receiver picked up.
“Roger’s Organic Grocery Emporium.”
“Rog, I’m calling in my favor.”
“Hi to you too, Harpy. The situation must be dire. What do you need?”
“Chicken. Any spare bi
ts you’ve got.”
“What are you making?”
“Chicken noodle soup, of course.”
Roger laughed. He knew all too well what must be racing through her mind if she was making her signature comfort-food dish. “Sure you don’t want to do a tomato soup?”
“No, I can’t do tomato soup without grilled cheeses, and I’ve already made mac ’n’ cheese —”
“All right, all right. Christ, you’re the pickiest soup-kitchen cook I ever met. Why isn’t canned soup good enough for you?”
“I can’t believe you asked me that question. What kind of person are you? I bet your little pumpkin-spice-drinking, chia-seed-eating, soccer-mom customers wouldn’t like your uncharitable spirit. I bet loads of them are on charity boards and other well-meaning things rich women contribute to. What if they heard you weren’t willing to donate to the local, and well-known, soup kitchen?”
“Shit, you play dirty, Harpy.” He chuckled. “I always liked that about you. Fine, I can donate…twenty pounds, but that’s it.”
“Done.” That would be enough to get her through the day. She’d have to pull another miracle out of her ass tomorrow.
“Hey, Harper, I heard about the burglary.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re still kicking.”
“Thanks. Me too. See you soon, and I mean soon.”
“I’ll send the truck out in ten minutes.”
“Five.”
“Ten, you freaking drill sergeant. The guys need to load the product.”
He hung up, but Harper was beaming. The day had turned out much better than it had seemed since seeing Doug on his ladder. She set to work on chopping and seasoning the vegetables, then began cleaning and boiling the potatoes. When Roger’s men showed up with the chicken ten minutes later, as promised, she bribed them with food and got them to clean the rest of the potatoes with her. By ten in the morning, a few of her regular volunteers had stopped by to check in on her and, after causing a small fuss at the sight of her bruised face, set to work on the food. They knew the routine, knew the recipes, and knew when to stop bugging her about the attack. Harper had never been chatty about her personal life to her volunteers, but she was even more closed mouth about this.
She didn’t talk about the lingering exhaustion she felt or the pain in her cheek and eye. She especially didn’t mention that all the money was gone and they would have to close the kitchen in a month. It was another reason she was pissed at Flynn. Why had he wasted all these resources and money when he knew the Full Spoon would be shutting down? She couldn’t afford it, and he would be losing his product. Once the bank decided to claim her building on account of her defaulting on the loan, everything in it would be theirs. Her beautiful kitchen, the office equipment in the back, her apartment…if it was in the building, it was theirs.
She released the morbid thought from her mind and got back to work making a third batch of mac ’n’ cheese. Then, feeling the need to indulge, she decided—screw it!—and made two giant pans of brownies. She usually didn’t make brownies for treats, as she received jokes upon jokes about them being special brownies and how she was trying to get everyone high, but she’d risk it this time around. These people deserved chocolate. Hell, she thought as she shoved half a brownie into her mouth, she deserved chocolate. Maybe she’d add some toasted coconut on top… She’d had that massive bag of donated coconut flakes for a while and had no clue what to do with it. Yes, toasted-coconut brownies sounded delicious, special brownie jokes be damned.
Around ten thirty, seven more volunteers had heard she was back and decided to show up and help the rest of the day. About half were from the local community college, kids trying to give back to their people at the same time they tried desperately to make their lives better and get the hell out of Dodge. She respected these kids, understood them better than any of the other volunteers. They were torn between a sense of duty and obligation where their community was concerned and a need to run as far away as they could manage. There were many factors keeping them home, many responsibilities. Sometimes the world seemed hell-bent on holding those with the most potential back because of circumstance.
“Hey, Harper, I think you applied your eye makeup in the wrong spot today,” Genevieve said as she used an electric beater to mix the mashed potatoes, her acne-laden skin creasing in a smile. Genevieve was one of Harper’s favorite volunteers. A lovely girl with dark skin and natural hair, she had a quick wit and a passion for history, of all things. Maybe she would have gotten along with Theo’s parents had they still been alive.
“You kids are so funny and clever these days,” Harper said in a mock elderly woman tone. She hauled another massive stainless-steel mixing bowl filled with potato chunks next to Genevieve’s. “Why don’t you use those smarts to mix up another bowl, hmm? Don’t forget the butter!”
“Yes, Paula Deen.”
Harper gasped, her hand on her chest, affronted. “How dare you! My food is way better than Paula Deen’s!”
“And less racist,” said Doug from the stovetop as he ladled the chicken soup into the serving container, his security-camera install long forgotten.
“Too right, Doug. Another bowl of mac ’n’ cheese for Doug!”
“My boss isn’t gonna be too happy when he sees what little progress I’ve made on the security, but I ain’t gonna turn down another bowl of your cheesy goodness.”
Harper closed her eyes as the volunteers in the kitchen laughed. “Doug, please don’t refer to anything of mine as cheesy goodness, ever again. Especially around a bunch of college kids.”
“Sorry,” he said with a grin, clearly not sorry at all.
“So,” Harper started, realizing she had a rare opportunity of speaking with someone else who knew Flynn. “How long have you worked for Flynn?”
“’Bout three years.”
“He a good boss?”
“Yeah, real good. Fair. I wasn’t around when it happened, but you know what I heard was the first thing he did when the company expanded?”
She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Got better insurance and increased the benefits for his workers. Any other guy might have had the success go to his head and bought himself a big house and a yacht, but not Flynn. He took care of his own, said they were the reason he was able to expand in the first place.”
“How big is the company?”
“We’ve got a good online presence, a few remote locations. I’m not involved in the operations aspect, but I heard from one of the ladies in finance that he’s developing a plan for expansion again. Maybe this time into Canada.”
“He’s good at his job?”
“Real good, but more than that, he’s a decent guy.” Doug began to heft the container, and Harper grabbed a towel to protect her hands from the heat so she could help him carry it over to the pass. “Thanks. Why you asking about Mr. Raine, anyway? You two dating?” He frowned at her as they placed the rectangular pan into the proper spot to make serving easier.
“What’s with the face? You have a problem with him dating me?”
“Nah, it’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“Always thought he was gay, that’s all.” With a shrug, he went back to the stove to ladle the rest of the soup into a serving pan.
Doug was hilariously blasé about how he’d thought his boss was gay. It comforted Harper, let her like Doug that much more. Not only was Flynn a good boss and smart businessman, but he hired good people. That and how he treated his employees, over anything, told her more about what kind of man he was. Despite her anger, she grew more and more certain in her decision to be with both Flynn and Theo. She regretted the time she spent distancing herself from Flynn, afraid of her attraction to him. But if she had allowed Flynn to become close, would they have met Theo? Would he have ever had a truly fulfilled relationship without a man in his life?
“Less-Racist-Paula-Deen!” Genevieve called out to Harper, the other volunteers laughing at their new ni
ckname for her. “You going to help me with these potatoes or what? I know you have that magical spice mix that makes them delicious. I don’t know where you keep it.”
“I’m coming.” Harper fetched the spice mix in question and, as she brought it over, muttered, “Couldn’t you at least have nicknamed me after one of the hot Food Network cooks?”
“Okay, we’ll call you Anthony Bourdain from now on.”
“Better, but I question your taste.”
Flynn dropped by as she was opening her doors to the public. A long line of anxious and happy faces had formed, waiting for noon to arrive and the kitchen to be open once more. Flynn was leaning against the white van, the letters of his last name written in an elegant script behind him. He wore gray, tailored slacks and a collared sea-green shirt with the sleeves rolled up and top few buttons opened. He was beautiful, and seeing him standing there with his naturally casual grace made the hairs on her skin stand on edge and her stomach turn upside down.
It took all the willpower she had to ignore him, greeting the visitors instead. She saw some of the regulars, the hopeless cases who would always be homeless. They would be the drug addicts, the ones found dead in alleyways or abandoned buildings. She’d heard some kitchens or shelters in neighboring cities didn’t like to cater to those folks, thinking they were wasting resources. But they were still humans, and Harper would feed them as long as they followed the rules of her house.
There were some unfortunates she turned away, recognizing their dangerous natures from her time on the streets. It was mostly the ones who’d lost it all on their last hit and would now do anything to get another. They didn’t come here for food or shelter; they came for money or to ask the others if they had any product on them.
She’d learned her lesson in the Full Spoon’s opening week. She’d let in a man who was agitated and unpredictable, but she’d thought a good meal would calm him down. It had been her optimism speaking, not her common sense. He’d caused a scene, and she called the police after he refused to go. Some of the younger kids forced themselves on him and threw him out. It ended in a fight between the man and the police and ended with blood on the pavement.
Food for the Soul Page 8