Daddy's Best Friend: An Older Man Younger Woman Box Set

by Charlize Starr

  “We had patients like that,” I say. “They’d cycle through the hospital for years, and every time we’d think there was no way they’d bounce back this time. It was too much. Then, a week later, they’d be sitting up, talking your ear off.”

  “Strange how that seems to happen,” Kristen says, nodding. “Ready to see the charting software in action?”

  I nod and follow her, still thinking about my conversation with Catherine and her words of wisdom.

  Chapter Six - Danny

  There’s an envelope with the county seal on it sitting in our mail, and I open it with a frown, concerned. It’s a letter from the health inspector, setting a mandatory inspection date for exactly three days before the Naval Academy Ball. I stare at the letter in disbelief, not sure if I should be furious or not.

  This can’t be a coincidence. The missing money. A health inspection that could theoretically shut us down days before the biggest event of my career and end the Dock’s End’s existence. This could all ruin us, and I can’t shake the feeling that ruining us is exactly someone’s plan.

  When Anthony, my former assistant chief, had been let go, it had been with a flurry of words and insults, him accusing Hank and me of everything he could think of. In truth, he had been short-tempered, rude to customers, hard to work with, and a heavy hand in the kitchen who burnt dishes almost as often as he perfected them. Letting him go hadn’t been personal like he’d insisted it was, but it was not without hard feelings on my end, too. What should have been an uncomfortable but professional conversation had turned into him calling me a fucking impossible control freak and asserting that Hank and I were going to run our damn business into the ground if we didn’t let in some fresh ideas.

  He’s working at a more casual restaurant a few blocks away now, but he still has friends on our staff, and I’m almost sure he’s behind a bad internet review we got a month or so ago. I had thought that was it, that trashing us online was as far as he’d go. Now I think I might have underestimated his anger.

  I take the inspection letter down to Hank’s office, wondering what we could have done differently to have avoided this.

  “An inspection. A damn inspection three days before the Ball,” I say, walking into Hank’s office and handing him the letter.

  “We’ve passed every inspection we’ve ever had with no issue,” Hank says, looking at me like he doesn’t understand why this is a big deal.

  “You don’t think it’s strange that we have one, completely out of nowhere, just three days before the ball?” I ask, sitting down in one of Hank’s chairs and rubbing my eyes.

  “That’s how random inspections work. You and I have both been in this business long enough to know they never come at a convenient time.” Hank says, putting the letter down.

  “This is more than inconvenient. If it went badly, it could shut us down right before our biggest event ever. With that, and with the money we’re losing, it can’t be a coincidence, Hank,” I say.

  “So this is the money thing again,” Hank says.

  “It’s connected to the money thing,” I protest. Hank shakes his head.

  “We don’t know that the money thing is anything to actually be worried about, and an inspection is just an inspection. We’ll pass it like we always do,” Hank says.

  “Not if someone’s arranged for us not to,” I say, frustrated. I don’t know why Hank refuses to take any of this seriously, but it’s making me worry about it even more.

  “No one is out to get us,” Hank says like the idea is ridiculous.

  “Someone could be,” I say.

  “You watch too much TV,” Hank says, standing up like he’s done with the conversation. I stand too, annoyed. “You should get out more.”

  “I spend all my time here,” I say. I hate to fight with Hank, but I feel my own anger rising in me. It may have been Hank who encouraged me to turn my life around, but I have, and it was just as much my savings and loans that allowed us to open this place. I think I’m allowed to be concerned if someone is trying to tear all that down. “I don’t have to time to get out.”

  “Weren’t you the funny one in this friendship once upon a time?” Hank asks like he’s frustrated with me. Like he thinks I’m the one being irrational here. I stiffen.

  “All I’m asking is that you take this seriously,” I say.

  “And I have already told you I would keep an eye on it,” Hank says, heading out of his office. “I can handle it. Now, I have a potential new hire to interview, we’ll talk about it later.”

  “Fine,” I mutter, feeling childish as I do, watching Hank walk out of his office. On his desk, my eye catches on a picture of Charlotte, and I pause, thinking of our conversation the other day. She looks much younger in the picture, not the beautiful woman she’d been the other day, the one I haven’t been able to get out of my mind.

  I know I promised Hank I wouldn’t mention anything to her, but I’m starting to think it might be a good idea. Maybe she wouldn’t see the concern either, but I doubt it, and she clearly has a lot of influence over her father. If she could get him to properly investigate this, follow it through, it might be a huge help. I know I could investigate myself, and I might have to, but I’d really like Hank’s support on it. Maybe going through Charlotte is a really good idea.

  Maybe I just want a reason to talk to her again, but I tell myself it’s more than that, anyway.

  Chapter Seven - Charlotte

  Hostessing at the Dock’s End is a lot of fun. I haven’t spent any time working in restaurants since I was a teenager, but it all comes back to me pretty quickly when I’m standing at the podium, escorting guests to their tables. It’s a busy Saturday night and the place is packed, from tourists loudly planning the rest of their evenings to locals who squeeze my arm and tell me they’re delighted to see me back home. It’s a comfortable sort of rush, one that feels urgent but leisurely all at once.

  I make frequent sweeps through the large, expansive dining room, checking table availability and guest happiness. More than once, someone calls me over and asks me to tell Danny how wonderful the food is tonight. I’ve tasted a few things, a delicious creamy soup and a rich and decadent cake, and I agree, they’re absolutely wonderful. I’m happy to be here, to be part of Dad and Danny’s success and to hear and see other people enjoying themselves so much.

  Toward the end of the night, a woman who had worked in my elementary school office, Ms. Jinos, flags me down to ask what I know about the upcoming Naval Academy Christmas Ball.

  “Not much, actually,” I say, smiling down at her clean plate, every bite devoured. “I know it’s a huge deal for them, and I know there is a lot of planning happening, but I haven’t had the chance to hear many of them yet.”

  “I’m sure it’s going to be spectacular,” Ms. Jinos says, smiling warmly at me like she had over field trip forms two decades ago.

  “I’m sure,” I agree. “This space is perfect for it.”

  “It is, and Danny is the perfect man for the job,” Ms. Jinos says, shaking her head. “He’s made so much of himself, become such a valued member of this community. He’s really overcome his circumstances, and the Navy was a huge part of that, I think.”

  “He’s very talented,” I say, nodding. Ms. Jinos laughs.

  “He is, and it ruins my diet every time I’m here, but he’s also just become so important around here, involved in so much. People love him, not just his food. And, well . . . I’m sure you don’t remember his father, but believe me, it’s quite the accomplishment, the person he’s become” Ms. Jinos says.

  “I’ve heard,” I say, thinking. I knew most of that. I suppose everyone knows those basic details: Danny was from the worst part of town, had been going nowhere until he and Dad had bonded over a cigarette break and built a friendship that would last well beyond the bad habit that had brought them together. I know Dad hasn’t touched a cigarette in years, even after Mom left, and I get the impression Danny doesn’t touch them anymore, eit
her. Still, that one conversation had eventually lead Danny into the Navy, had led to this restaurant.

  I turn it over in my head the way I’ve been turning Danny over and over in my head since I got home. I watch him when I can throughout the rest of the evening, fascinated. He’s got a cool manner in the kitchen, giving directions to line cooks in a clear, firm tone. He has fast hands that seem to move almost magically over plates, creating beautiful, delicious food. He’s got a deep, warm laugh that sounds like it surprises him every time it happens, like someone who maybe once did not have much occasion for it. I think about the life he’s led, what I know of it, and how much he’s obviously overcome, and how strong that must make him.

  I want to hear the story from him. I want to get to know more about Danny, not from listening to the gossip of the patrons but from actually talking to him. I want to know why he joined the Navy and why he loves to cook. I want to know what does when he’s not here. I want to know everything. I know I shouldn’t—he’s Dad’s best friend, and he’s got a reputation with women that should make me back off—but I want to get closer.

  After the bar has served its last rounds and the checks are all paid, I send Dad home, telling him I’ll help clean up.

  “You’ve got restaurant blood in you after all, kid,” Dad says to me, laughing. He’s got tired bags around his eyes and is limping a little on the bad knee that’s plagued him my whole life. I shake my head.

  “Nope, I’ve just got concerned daughter in me,” I reply, shooing him out the door. I’ve also got a crush on his best friend, but that’s something I plan to keep to myself.

  The kitchen and bus staff does most of the cleaning, but I close out cash and credit receipts in Dad’s office, watching Danny out of the corner of my eye the whole time. When the last of the staff has left, I head over to Danny, hoping to talk.

  “Hey,” I say, smiling warmly. “Everyone was raving about the food tonight.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Danny says, grinning back at me. His smile reaches his eyes, making them crinkle around the edges. “Thanks for helping out tonight.”

  “I had fun,” I say truthfully. Danny is still working, taking stock of ingredients and jotting things down, but he doesn’t seem to mind the company. I can tell he’s a bit of perfectionist about his work—he’s intensely focused in a way I can’t help but find incredibly sexy.

  “Good,” Danny says, gesturing for me to have a seat on the stool across from him.

  “Everyone seems really excited about the Naval Ball,” I say, sitting down across from him on the high stool.

  “Yeah, it’s a huge deal,” Danny says, shaking his head, “and a giant honor.”

  “Absolutely. I remember, as a kid, seeing the people all dressed up downtown, walking to one of the hotels. It looked like the most beautiful, magical night,” I say, thinking back to all those handsome men in uniform with beautiful women in gowns on their arms.

  “It can be,” Danny says, “but I’ve never looked forward to it as much as this year.”

  “Space will be amazing for it,” I say, thinking of the dramatic sweeping high ceilings of the dining room.

  “It should be,” Danny says. “It’s strange, I feel more a part of it this year than ever before, even though I’ve been going for years.”

  “That doesn’t seem strange. I mean, you’ve never been in charge of it before,” I say.

  “True,” Danny says, laughing, “and I haven’t had much reason to really look forward to it in years.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask, curious.

  “A lot of reasons, but mostly because I haven’t had anyone to take, I guess,” Danny says, holding my eyes for a beat in a very purposeful way as he does. I bite my lip under his gaze and nod.

  “Harder to enjoy a ball alone, I imagine,” I say, looking back at him. I’m suddenly picturing myself on Danny’s arm, walking into a beautiful room, ready to dance the night away and ring in the holidays.

  “Everyone is my guest this year, in a way,” Danny says, laughing again, stepping in closer to me. I put a hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

  “They’re all counting on you,” I agree.

  “You should test the menu for me, let me know if everything I have planned is good enough,” Danny says, flicking his eyes down to the spot where my hand rests on his arm. I know I’m being bold, but I feel so drawn to him that it’s hard to pull away.

  “I’d love to,” I say. He smells amazing this close, and I can feel how well defined his muscles are, can almost feel that his heart has started to beat faster. I think mine has too.

  “I’m not used to having people in my kitchen this late,” Danny says, putting his notebook down behind me.

  “No?” I ask, flushing.

  “But I can’t say I mind,” Danny says, and his eyes dart to my lips. I nod and feel myself lean toward him, eager, caught in the moment. His lips are firm and intense and when they meet mine, and the hand he wraps around the back of my neck feels strong. I clutch my hand in the fabric of his shirt sleeve, kissing back with insistence.

  I know I should care, should feel ridiculous kissing Danny, of all people, in a kitchen late at night, but all I feel is exhilarated, not wanting to stop, even for a moment.

  Chapter Eight - Danny

  Kissing Charlotte should not be this impossibly good, should not make me want more and more of her. But it is. It’s the kind of kiss that feels rare because of how much it feels. It’s not just a press of lips, not just the warmth of an attractive woman against me. It’s not just the way I feel her pulse jump under my hand in the neck, not just the way her hands clutch my shirt, pulling at me, feeling like want. It’s an almost crackling electricity. A chemistry that I’ve kissed enough women in my life to know you don’t normally find. It’s a current between us, like a stove burner flickering on, spreading heat everywhere.

  I feel like I could boil over, kissing Charlotte, and I pull her in even closer. I pull back after several long minutes, meeting her eyes. She keeps her hands fisted in the front of my shirt and shakes her head.

  “Is this okay?” I ask, just to be sure.

  “Yes,” Charlotte says, “please don’t stop.”

  She leans back in, kissing me again and moving her hands to slide it under my shirt. Her hands on my skin are incredible, and I want to get my hands on her, as soon as possible. I step in, and Charlotte wraps her legs around me. I run my hands up her legs, toward the hem of her skirt, feeling her soft, perfect skin. Charlotte gasps into my mouth as I touch her and pull back to kiss her neck, trailing my kisses right down to her collarbone.

  She moves her hands over my stomach and up over my back, making me shiver, then brings her hands back out of my shirt and tugs on the hem. I pause to pull my shirt off, smiling back at her. She puts her hands back on my skin once it’s bare before her, looking at my chiseled, well-maintained muscles with lust and a little bit of awe, and I run my hands up her thighs, just a little, past the hem of her skirt.

  She nods rapidly and lets out these amazing breathy little sounds when I do. I lean in and kiss her again, needing her lips on mine right now. I move one hand to the buttons on her shirt, working them one by one with my other hand still on her thigh, sliding higher and higher under her skirt. Charlotte opens her mouth under mine and runs her tongue into my mouth, meeting my tongue. She slides her hands down, toward my belt, as I pull her shirt open.

  I pull back, wanting to see as I reach into her bra, cupping her breasts in my hands firmly. I’ve wanted to do this so badly since the first day I saw her, couldn’t get this image out of my mind so many times at the most inappropriate moments, hovered over a burner in the restaurant kitchen or alone in my apartment bed at night. She feels even better than I had imagined and cries out when I run my fingers in circles over her nipples.

  “Yes, please,” she says, throwing her head back, one hand still working my belt as I touch her. My cock responds to her hands as they undo my belt and she
trails fingers over my zipper. I swallow down a moan as I lean in to kiss her neck again, and then her breasts, running my tongue over her nipples until she cries out again and grinds her hips up into mine.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Charlotte,” I say, pulling back and looking at her again. Her hair is falling in her face, her shirt is open, her bra is mostly off, her skirt is hiked up her legs, and she’s looking at me like she’s never wanted anyone so much like she’s aching for me. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen in my life. I slide my hand up into her skirt, teasing my fingers against the inside of her thighs until I reach her underwear. It’s soaking wet, and she gasps when I run my fingers over it, teasing her.

  “Touch me,” she breathes out, “please, Danny.”

  I slide her underwear to the side with my fingers and then slide them in to touch her clit. She cries out again, hissing and nodding her head over and over. She looks at me, eyes blown out so wide, and reaches her hand into my pants as I touch her. She tugs on my pants a little and then slides her warm, slender fingers around over my cock when she can reach it, and, fuck.

  I close my eyes for a minute, taking it all in, my breaths increasing in pace as she works me harder in slow, teasing, fantastic strokes. I’ve wanted this ever since the first time I saw Charlotte, and now that we’re finally touching each other like this, I never want it to stop.

  I lean down to kiss her again and slide a finger inside her, thrusting it in and out slowly before adding another. She buries her head in my neck, moaning, and picks up the speed of her strokes on my cock. She feels wet and warm and so tight around my fingers, and she’s raising her hips to my fingers, bucking them against me like she wants more. I circle her clit with my thumb, making her shudder and cry out over and over.