“It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”
“It doesn’t make any sense at all,” she told him. “Marco isn’t just a customer—he’s a bartender at Valentino’s. And there is no way he took ten cents from the till, never mind the more than ten thousand dollars that’s apparently missing.”
Wade scribbled Valentino’s and Marco down on his notepad. “What’s his last name?”
Jordyn had to curl her fingers into her palms to resist reaching out and tearing the page away from him. “Marco did not take the money.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate your loyalty, but I think, at this point, that’s a determination for the police to make.”
“Go ahead,” Jordyn said. “Call the police. And when they come in to talk to me, I’ll be sure to mention the fact that Marco was helping out behind the bar that night because your nephew, who was supposed to be working with me and Phil, was gone more than three hours when he went to drop off the bank-deposit bag.”
Wade frowned. “If that’s true, why am I only hearing about it now?”
“Because I didn’t want to stir up trouble.”
“Or maybe you’re grasping at straws to protect your boyfriend.”
Jordyn pushed her chair back and stood up. “If you really believe that, then you don’t know me at all.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Wade admitted. “I’ve worked with you for almost three years, but Scott is my sister’s son—he’s family. Why would he steal money from me when he knows I would give him almost anything he asked?”
She understood his reluctance to suspect his nephew—she did. But it still hurt that he would prefer to suspect her. And pointing a finger at Marco was suspecting her, because she was the one who had asked Marco to help out. She was the one who had put him behind the bar.
“I’m not telling you not to call the police,” Jordyn said to him. “In fact, I hope you do because I’m confident that they’ll figure this out. I’m just suggesting that you ask your nephew some hard questions before you turn the investigation over to the city’s finest.” She moved toward the door. “I will, of course, answer any questions that they have, but that is the last thing I owe you. I’m done here.”
“What?” He looked sincerely baffled. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I quit.”
“Come on, Jordyn—you’re overreacting.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Don’t do this. Please. You know how much I need you—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I fell for that once. I gave up a weekend in New York to stay here because I believed you needed me. You don’t. And I don’t need to tie myself to a job that has already limited other opportunities for me.”
She didn’t even care that she’d missed out on the final round of A. K. Channing’s contest, not really. She did care that she’d given up the chance to spend that time with Marco. She’d chosen her job over the man she lov—
She severed the thought, pulling herself back from that edge, not quite willing to take that final leap—even in her own mind.
* * *
It was Thursday before she saw Marco again.
Although they talked and texted every day, he was spending most of his time at the new Valentino’s, overseeing all of the work that was being done there. So far, everything was on schedule for the planned soft opening in September. The new appliances had been installed in the kitchen and given Nonna’s nod of approval, and Rafe was apparently as giddy as a kid in a candy store as he arranged pots and pans and worked on the menus.
But he wanted some feedback before any new recipes were approved, which was why Jordyn had been invited to the restaurant for lunch. Her stomach had been tied up in knots since her confrontation with Wade three days earlier and she didn’t feel much like eating, but she wanted to help Rafe out. On her way to the restaurant, she got a call from her former boss, who wanted to apologize for the ‘misunderstanding’ after Scott confessed to the police.
When she walked into the dining room, she found Marco’s enormously pregnant sister, Renata, supervising the hanging of pictures on the walls while her sexy firefighter husband, Craig, wielded the hammer. They bantered and bickered as they worked, but there was an obvious affection in their voices—and the smoldering glances they exchanged when they thought no one was looking.
She tore her gaze away from the couple to check out the decor. The ivory-colored walls contrasted with the dark wood floors to create a simple and elegant first impression. The chairs were padded in dark brown leather and the tables, bare now, would be covered in ivory linens.
Jordyn moved closer to the wall to examine the sepia-toned pictures that had already been hung. They were photographs, she realized, mostly of a vineyard, probably somewhere in Italy. A panoramic view of rolling hills covered with neat rows of grapevines; a simple stone farmhouse set deep in the hills; a gnarled hand inspecting the fruit; a barefoot child skipping between the vines. As Jordyn moved from one picture to the next, she realized that the photographs told a story—an enduring tale rich with history and tradition.
“Where did you get these pictures?” she asked Renata. “They’re absolutely stunning.”
“My brother Gabe took them when he and Francesca were in Italy in the spring,” Marco’s sister told her.
“I didn’t know he was a photographer.”
“Actually he’s a lawyer, but he can take decent pictures when he’s in the mood.”
“What do you think?” Marco asked Jordyn, coming through from the kitchen.
“The whole place looks fabulous,” she assured him.
“It’s starting to come together,” he agreed modestly. “There are some finishing touches to be added—including the fixtures in the bathrooms. And we’re still waiting on the liquor license, but we’re starting to sort through applications and do interviews for staffing.”
“Do you need a bartender for the new place?”
“I’ve got half a dozen interviews set up for tomorrow afternoon,” he told her.
“Want to see my résumé?”
“I’d love to see your... I’m sorry—did you say résumé?”
She nodded.
“I think I missed something.”
“I’m looking for a new job,” she said, deliberately keeping her tone light.
“Why? What happened?”
“Wade questioned me about more than ten thousand dollars that was missing from the weekend bank deposits.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded.
“He can’t honestly believe you took it, if you needed the money...oh—not you,” he realized, when her gaze shifted away. “He thinks I took it.”
“Not anymore,” she assured him.
“The nephew?” he guessed.
She nodded. “It was obvious to everyone but Wade—until he brought the police in and Scott finally confessed.”
Marco shrugged. “Everyone wears blinders, to a certain extent, when it comes to their families.”
“Maybe,” she acknowledged.
“I can understand why you were upset,” he said. “But are you sure that quitting your job wasn’t a little hasty?”
“No,” she admitted. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it was hasty. And impulsive. But I also feel that it was the right thing for me. It turns out, I don’t want to work at O’Reilly’s for the rest of my life.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I think I need to take some time to figure that out, but if you need some help here in the interim, I’d be happy to pitch in.”
“Would you really want me to be your boss?”
“I think we could make it work.”
He took a minute to consider her offer. “Well, my brother’s the hea
d chef at the original Valentino’s and his wife is the hostess, and no one seems to have an issue with that. So maybe, if you agreed to marry me...” The words trailed off suggestively.
She knew he was teasing, but that knowledge didn’t prevent her pulse from skipping. “You better be careful,” she warned. “If you keep throwing out proposals like that, someone might surprise you one day and say yes.”
“Is today that day?”
“No.”
He pulled her closer and kissed her softly. “Okay, here’s an easier question—are you hungry?”
Now that the mystery of the missing money had been solved, she discovered that she was. “Hungry and eager to sample whatever Rafe’s cooking up in the kitchen.”
“It was supposed to be homemade tagliatelle with porcini mushrooms.”
“Has the menu changed?”
“Not changed but expanded,” he told her. “In addition to the tagliatelle, he’s trying his hand at pork medallions with a shallot-and-red-wine sauce served with baked apples and yams on the side, and grilled salmon with roasted root vegetables and asparagus spears.”
“Mmm—everything sounds good.”
“Those are just today’s offerings,” Marco said. “Tomorrow he’s planning to serve osso buco with saffron risotto, roast duck with marsala gravy served with red-skin mashed potatoes, and lobster ravioli in a tomato-cream sauce.”
“Am I invited back for lunch tomorrow?’
Marco chuckled. “Absolutely.”
* * *
After they’d sampled all of Rafe’s creations and deemed them worthy of inclusion on the new menu, Lauryn came by to get Jordyn so they could go pick out the paint for Kylie’s bedroom.
When she was gone, Marco wandered back to the kitchen and found Renata scooping up tagliatelle with the fork in one hand and rubbing her back with the other.
“So everything’s okay with you and Jordyn now?” she asked.
“Better than okay,” he told her.
She nodded. “I hope so, because I’ve never seen you look the way you look when you’re with her.”
“I love her, Nata.”
She touched a hand to his arm. “I know you do—but how does she feel?”
“She loves me, too.”
“Has she said it? Has she spoken those words to you?” she asked gently.
“No,” he admitted. “But I know it.”
“Oh, Marco.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t say ‘oh, Marco’ to me in that tone.”
“What tone?”
“That pitying tone.”
“It wasn’t a pitying tone,” she denied. “It was a worried tone.”
“There’s no reason for you to worry about me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I really like Jordyn—”
“That’s good, considering that she’s going to be your sister-in-law someday.”
Renata sighed again. “How long are you going to wait for that someday, Marco?”
“As long as I have to,” he told her.
The certainty in his tone must have convinced her, because her next question was, “Have you got a ring?”
“I’ve been looking,” he admitted.
“Both of you?”
“No, just me.”
“You can’t pick out a diamond without a woman’s eye,” she told him.
He frowned. “I have to buy a diamond?”
She looked so horrified by his question, he couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m kidding, Nata.”
“I hope so.”
“You want to go shopping with me—to help steer me in the right direction?”
She grinned. “I was just waiting for you to ask.”
* * *
“So explain to me again why you quit your job at O’Reilly’s but don’t want to come back to the family business,” Tristyn said.
It was the last Saturday in August and another spa day with her sisters. Jordyn leaned back in her massage chair while her feet soaked. “It’s just not what I want to do at this point in my life.”
“What do you want to do?” Lauryn asked.
“I thought I might look into taking some art classes, just for fun.”
“You could teach art classes,” her sister told her.
“Okay, let’s put aside the career plan for a minute,” Tristyn said. “I’m more curious about what’s going on in your personal life.”
“You know what’s going on in my personal life,” Jordyn said.
“I know that every time Marco tries to take a step forward, you push him two steps back. And that you had a big fight and then you moped around the house for a week. Then you got back together, and now you walk around the house singing and dancing all the time.”
“I do not sing and dance,” she protested.
“Sounds like love to me,” Lauryn said.
“If you’re waiting for me to deny it, you’re going to be disappointed,” Jordyn said. “In fact, I’ve decided that I’m going to ask Marco to marry me.”
Tristyn’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “You’re going to propose to him?”
She nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“When?”
“Hopefully next week. If Marco can get a couple of days off, we’re going to go to Braden’s place on Ocracoke.”
“You’ve really thought this through,” Lauryn realized.
She shrugged. “I figured he’s put his feelings on the line often enough, it’s probably my turn to do the same.”
Tristyn splashed her feet in the water. “I’m going to be a maid of honor.”
“You will,” Jordyn confirmed. Then she turned to Lauryn, “And you’ll stand up with me, too, won’t you?”
“I’d love to—depending on when you schedule the wedding and whether or not I’ll be able to fit into a dress.”
“Well, obviously that’s something Marco and I need to discuss, but I’m thinking sooner rather than later.”
Lauryn’s eyes misted. “You really are ready. You’re finally moving on.”
“I really am ready,” she confirmed.
* * *
With his sister’s help, Marco had finally decided on a ring. The next step, of course, was asking Jordyn to marry him, but he hadn’t yet figured out when or where that should happen.
The “when” was the most crucial question—he was eager to propose, not just to plan the wedding but the rest of their lives together—but he reminded himself to be patient. If he popped the question prematurely, he ran the risk of Jordyn saying no—and he was nervous enough about asking her without considering the possibility of that happening.
He also didn’t want to propose when her future was uncertain. He didn’t want to wonder if she’d said yes because she was at loose ends. No job, no career plan—why not get married?
He didn’t doubt that she loved him, but even if she realized the depth of her feelings, she hadn’t acknowledged them. At least not to him. So he had a ring in his pocket, but no definitive timetable for putting it on her finger.
Saturday morning, while Jordyn was with her sisters, he was meeting with the plumber to select bathroom fixtures for the new restaurant when his phone rang. A quick glance at the display screen showed an unfamiliar number. He was tempted to dismiss it, certain it was someone selling something, but the number looked vaguely familiar. Excusing himself, he stepped away to connect the call.
The second time the number showed up on his screen—Sunday afternoon when he was with Jordyn—he recognized it immediately and passed the phone to her to answer.
She gave him a questioning look but put the receiver to her ear.
Of course, he could only hear her side of the conversation, and he could tell that she was both ske
ptical and wary at first. He could also tell the exact moment when A. K. Channing managed to convince her of his identity and the purpose of the call, because her eyes went wide and when her gaze shifted to his, he could see that she was slightly panicked.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sincerely regretful. “But I don’t think you’re looking for me—I didn’t submit any illustrations for the final round of judging.”
Her brow furrowed as she listened to the response.
“I don’t understand...” Her words trailed off as her gaze shifted back to Marco, and suddenly she did understand.
She talked—or rather listened—for several minutes more, responding with the occasional “yes,” “okay,” and “of course,” before she said, “I’ll see you then,” and disconnected the call.
“You sent my illustrations.”
He couldn’t tell by her tone how she felt about that. It seemed apparent that she was thrilled to have spoken with the author, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be upset with him if she felt he’d crossed some kind of line.
He nodded. “It was too big an opportunity for you to miss.”
“Did you ask Tristyn to sneak my folder out of the house to you?”
“It wasn’t anything that clandestine,” he told her. “I just stopped by the house one afternoon when I knew you would be at work and asked her for it.”
“I’m trying to figure out how I feel about that,” she admitted.
“While you’re figuring it out, why don’t you tell me what Mr. Channing said?” he suggested.
“He said all of the finalists presented excellent work, but he was particularly impressed with my depiction of the villain based on the minimal character description we were given.”
“So you won?” he prompted, because she seemed to take forever to get to that part.
She shook her head. “No.”
He winced. “I’m sorry.”
“I knew I couldn’t,” she told him. “The contest rules clearly stated that the finalists had to be in New York City to present their work. The gold ribbon and the check went to a seventeen-year-old kid from Spokane.”
“So why did he call you?”
The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!) Page 19