No Reservations

by Natalia Banks

  At the kitchen, I stop outside, staring at the changes. And the man who’d made them.

  Rossi looks up and sees me, his hands still covered in a layer of soil as he lovingly tucks the dirt around the base of the plant he’d put in the raised bed. There are smears of dirt on his face and he looks… fucking hot. Like a man working hard with his fingers led by his heart.

  “Hi,” he says, his grin suddenly flashing in a boyish way that makes my heart melt and my core tingle.

  “What are you doing?” I should be mad, not giving into some stupid horny reaction of my body right now. He’s screwing up the whole place! Everything!

  He seems shocked in the face of my anger as he blinks. “Planting tomatoes. What are you doing?”

  “I work here,” I say, planting a hand on my hip and aiming a glare at him.

  He’s quick to stand upright and walk my direction. I can smell the heat of him; he smells like earth and sweat, wet dreams and grown up fantasies. “Good. Help me.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the bed.

  “I know nothing about plants,” I say awkwardly, feeling like it’s such a stupid thing to say. But I wouldn’t know a tomato plant from a potato tree. Well, it’s not that bad, I know potatoes are tubers and grow underground. But I guess they could be tree like on top. But still, he pulls me along, despite my protests and how I try to pull from his grasp.

  “I’ll teach you,” he says, turning to me finally as if sensing that I’m not just going to go along with whatever idea he pops out. His eyes are on mine, dark and serious, and I find myself wanting so badly to trust him.

  I nod, unable to speak as his eyes stray to my lips.

  I realize we’re standing much too close and I push him away and step back, looking at the plants instead of him. “I should, uh, see if they need help,” I say, jerking my head toward the kitchen.

  But Rossi shakes his head. “They’re okay without you tonight. I checked.” He sweeps a hand over the garden he’s building. “And this is the proverbial fishing pole.”

  “What?” I ask, feeling my face scrunch up as I try to figure out what he’s saying.

  He glances at me. “The fishing pole. Teach a man to fish… never mind.” He cups his hands in the soil and shifts it. “What is your favorite vegetable?” he asks looking up at me from the dirt.

  I feel like no matter what I say I’ll sound stupid. Or like a poor person. “Carrots,” I say softly, feeling my cheeks sting. Of course, he likely eats vegetables I’ve never even heard of, exotic things from places I’ve only seen in pictures.

  “Mine too,” he says softly and I meet this gaze, surprised. “They’re sweet, fibrous, a marvelous color and the texture is so malleable. They can be dessert, a side, or can shine on their own with a little creativity.” He sounds so passionate about it I realize I’d forgotten he’s a chef at heart. Just because he runs the restaurants doesn’t mean he’s stupid about food. Quite the opposite.

  “I like hearing you talk about food,” I say, the simple, honest words flowing between us like honey. I see his surprise, the sudden change in his expression before he schools it to somber once more.

  I sense he’s struggling with something and I wonder if this is another case of him coming to grips with the kind of people he has in his life. Is my compliment so foreign to him that it takes away any ability to function he might have?

  Needing to shift gears, I begin to shake my head. “The landlord is going to evict us,” I say, staring at the raised beds. We’re not cleared to change the property like this. The landlord would be well within his rights to stop allowing us to use this space and shut us down. It would be a huge blow to the community, but this might count as ruining the value of the property.

  Rossi’s tone is dry when he responds. “I know the guy. He’s not that much of an asshole.”

  “How can you be sure?” I ask, looking over at him. I mean, I know that my very few interactions with him have left the distinct impression that he’s surrounded by shitty non-friends.

  There’s a little curve to his lips that looks almost like a sneer as he studies the plants that are sitting under the gentle sun as the snow finally stops falling. “If I got permission from the landlord, would you help me turn this into a garden capable of feeding more people who need it?” he asks, his tone serious.

  “Me?” I ask, wondering why he thinks I’m the best for the job when I already told him I know nothing about plants.

  “Yes, you,” he says, his fingers stroking the tomato leaves. “It’ll be sustainable and we’ll be able to feed more people this way. And feed them better food. Fresh food. Good, whole food.”

  “Get the permission,” I say and wonder what the hell I’m thinking, “and I’ll help.”

  I’m such an idiot.

  Chapter 8

  Gavin

  I’ve got her.

  She obviously doesn’t know who the landlord of the place is. I’m confident I’ve got permission because I’m the one who owns the damn place. But it’s kind of cute that she clearly has no idea.

  I bought this property when I started buying up the places I wanted to renovate and turn into kitchens. This one was a steal because it’s a bad neighbourhood, but I didn’t get it for that. I wanted to do something good.

  And the good I was doing was exactly what this place turned into.

  “So how do you keep the tomatoes from dying?” Cindy asks, looking at the plant like she’s scared it’s going to bite her.

  I can’t help but smile at her. “So you do know a thing or two about plants, then.” At least that tomatoes can’t grow in winter without some kind of special treatment.

  She shrugs, her cheeks turning that cute shade of pink again. “They die if they freeze, right?” she says and I point to the light I’ve set up overhead.

  “That plus a temporary greenhouse means we’re in business.” I sweep a hand in the direction of the greenhouse I’d picked up. It’s not one you walk in, it’s one that’s about four feet tall and will change the zone of the plants to allow us to grow several things we’d never get to enjoy in winter otherwise. “Help me set it up,” I urge, pushing her gently.

  She crosses her arms, clearly considering telling me no.

  So I add, “It’s temporary, so if the landlord has an issue, I can take it down easily.”

  Her lower lip disappears into her mouth and I know she’s considering it. And she relents, her arms dropping to her sides as she steps forward, her eyes on the greenhouse box. “What do you need me to do?” she asks, and I breathe a silent prayer of relief that she’s not going to be stubborn about this.

  We walk over and I open the box and we lay out the parts. I watch her mind work as she reads the directions and studies the pieces we have. There’s something beautiful about how her mind works. She’s not simple minded, far from it.

  Shoulder to shoulder, I’m so very aware of her scent, her heat, her soft hair. I wanted to kiss her earlier. And I know she knew it. She pushed me away really quick.

  “So what was with the coat?” she asks and I’m taken aback.

  “What are you asking?” I ask, focused on lining up the corners with the one she’s holding to fasten them together in just the right way.

  “What were you trying to do?” she seems unsure of what she’s asking and I wonder if she thinks it was some nefarious plot on my part.

  I sigh, not wanting to blow her off, but not wanting to mention that it was just a wayward thought. “It was cold out. You’d been shivering before and I wanted to make sure you were warm.”

  “Why? She pushes and I wonder what she’s getting at.

  “Because I’m not an asshole?” It’s true. I mean, I wouldn’t wish suffering on a stranger, much less someone closer than that. And sure, she was pretty close to a stranger, she’d also managed to get under my skin pretty quickly.

  “So you would have done the same for anyone?” She sounds suspicious and I want to sigh. Is she really pulling the woman bullshit where’s
this going, what does it mean? How disappointing.

  “Yes,” I say, and her features clear a bit.

  Her voice is small when she speaks again. “I was worried it was a personal snub.”

  And I feel like an asshole again. How is it this woman keeps making me second guess myself? “What do you mean?” I ask, unsure how it could have been taken as a personal thing.

  Her blue eyes meet mine before darting back to the pieces we’re fastening together as the greenhouse begins to take shape. I watch her suck hard on her lower lip a moment as if punishing it for saying too much before she releases it and answers.

  “Like… payment for…” her face goes red and she looks around really fast before hissing, “sex.”

  I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.

  I feel her anger shining on me but I just can’t even. She seriously thought I’d pay for sex… with a coat? A jacket? Thanks for the amazing fuck, here’s a jacket. Cover up, you whore! Yeah, right. “Sorry,” I say, bringing the laughter under control. “It’s just… if I wanted to pay for sex, wouldn’t I just give you money?” It’s not like I’m short on cash.

  But her face goes red as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “Uh, yeah,” she says, careful not to touch me as I grab the corner section we’ve fitted together. I stand up and set metal and glass fixture upright as she grabs another panel and pushes it into place, her face still scarlet.

  I feel bad for laughing at her. “I swear it was just me trying to be nice because I knew you were cold. And you’re still welcome to have it if you’d like,” I say, feeling hopeful that maybe she’ll accept the gift. As it is, she’s wearing the same sweater she had been that day, and it’s cold, and she’s struggling not to shiver.

  And she gives me a small, shy smile. “I’d like that, thank you,” she says and I wonder if the whole conversation had been stared in hopes it would come to this end. I don’t care if that had been the intention. I gave the damn thing to her because I wanted her to have it. If I had to explain that it wasn’t payment for sex to get her to take it, so fucking be it.

  “Yeah,” I say, straightening up. “Let’s go grab it.” Pulling the keys from my pocket, I begin walking toward my car. With a glance I know she’s following, her face studying the work we’ve done so far.

  I face forward once more, reminding myself that even though she’s coming back to my place, I don’t get to fuck her this time. No matter how much I might want to. The past three days, I haven’t been able to bring myself to sleep with anyone else, even though there have been calls, texts, offers…

  I can’t seem to get it up for any of them.

  No, it seems that somehow a tawny-haired, blue eyed woman is the only one who can make my dick respond. It’s fucking aggravating and I hope it passes soon. Because I have a feeling Cindy Handberg is forever on my no-fuck list.

  And it’s a goddamned shame.

  Chapter 9

  Cindy

  The jacket is a little big but is comfortable. I’m wearing it now, wondering walking home from work while I dream about Gavin Rossi. He’d been a total gentleman when we’d gone back to his place. So much so, it almost made me sad. I’d have enjoyed at least a few more kisses.

  And he’d thought about it. I saw him looking at my lips again.

  But no, he’d given me the jacket and hesitated a bit, fixing me with that serious expression of his. “Does your father need one?” he’d asked, offering me another jacket.

  I’d been stunned. It was the proof I’d needed, I think to be sure the gift had nothing to do with me. He’d thought of someone else who might need one and he’d given me an extra so dad could have a warmer coat during this particularly harsh winter.

  As the snow falls steadily around me, I realize it’s getting a bit deep and I’m glad we finished the greenhouse last night.

  Today I’ll find out if Gavin got the green light from the landlord to set up the garden. And I’m pretty damn excited about it, to be totally honest. It would be great to be able to have fresh fruits and veggies to feed the people we serve.

  Never mind the fact that it means I’ll be working side by side with Gavin. Because for whatever reason, he wants me to help him set everything up. I know he is directly responsible for a huge chunk of the donations of both food and funding we receive. Everything that’s not quite perfect for his restaurants is sent here to be served to those in need. And boy do we serve a lot of people; hundreds a night.

  With more food, a bigger staff of volunteers and longer hours of operation and we could easily serve thousands.

  A block from home, I feel my foot slide out from under me and I catch my balance on the ice. My heart pounds and I say a silent prayer that I didn’t fall. I’m a broken bone from disaster. Focusing on the scary footing as the snow piles deeper, I make my way home carefully, struggling to push the ever present Mr. Rossi out of my mind.

  Once I’m safely inside, I find dad in his chair, his eyes glazed over like the world has ended. He’s wearing the new coat, looking cozy and warm even though there’s something dreadful written in his features.

  “Dad?” I say, walking over to him.

  He doesn’t seem to hear me and I kneel next to him and wrap him in a hug. Resting my head on his chest, I listen to his heartbeat. He doesn’t move for a moment, then his hand begins to absentmindedly stroke my hair like he did when I was little.

  I want to ask him what’s wrong. I really do. But this is so nice I don’t want it to end. It feels like all these little moments we’ve always shared have been stolen away by the heartbreak of him losing his job. He’s been shutting me out and shutting me down.

  I don’t know how to fix it.

  “I love you, dad,” I say, feeling tears sting in my eyes. This amazing man deserves so much better than he gets. All of this bullshit is fucking with his head. It’s influencing his self worth. It’s destroying him.

  And it’s killing me.

  He’s a good man.

  He got a bad deal.

  And he’s suffering alone because I don’t know how to help him.

  A knock at the door pulls me to my feet and I walk over to open it. On the step is none other than Gavin. His dark eyes assess mine and I blink, trying to fight back the tears that have gathered. But rather than freeze or look away all awkward like most guys do, he steps in and pulls me into a hug that feels like coming home.

  I cling to him, hearing the strong steady beat of his heart. The scent of him surrounds me and his warmth seeps into my bones like the cold is being exiled. With my arms around his neck, I just let him envelop me.

  Only when I move my arms and bring my hands down to press to his powerful shoulders does he release me.

  But he still doesn’t act weird. He doesn’t ask me if I’m okay.

  “Are you ready?” he asks instead and I silently thank him for not putting me on the spot or making this weird. He’s being a good support without any of the crap that guys usual do that makes me regret leaning on them.

  “Ready?” I ask, taking a deep breath as I look over my shoulder at dad, who still doesn’t seem to have moved.

  Rossi is patient. He lifts a folded paper and I take it. Unfolding it carefully, I see the landlord’s signature first, some unreadable, bold, slashing thing that’s unmistakable. I skim the typed up part and several words catch my eye.

  Food oasis, approved, best of luck.

  I look up at Rossi and see his dark eyes are shining. “It’s a go?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.

  Rossi nods. “It’s a go.”

  I squeal, bouncing up and down and Gavin arches an eyebrow at me as if this kind of thing is totally out of character for me. And maybe it is. But I’m excited! Things are looking up! This is the good news I was hoping for.

  And of course it would be Rossi giving me said good news.

  “We’re calling it the food oasis project,” Rossi says, as he takes my arm and leads me out the door. I close it behind me after telling dad I’ll
see him after my shift at the kitchen. He still doesn’t respond and I promise myself I’ll spend some time really trying to get through to him tonight.

  We walk toward the car, but I feel something pulling at me even as Gavin continues to talk. “I’ll teach you what I know about the seasons and gardening, though I’m also willing to pay for you to take college courses since you’re going to be running things.”

  That stops me cold. “I’m going to be running things?” I ask, upset. He didn’t discuss this with me first? He can’t just start making demands of me like this. My time is my own, and I need to be free to do certain things. And nothing should be decided without me, ever, when it concerns me. I’m not going to work with him if he’s not going to treat me as a partner.

  Rossi’s eyes meet mine over the car. “Yes. And you’ll be compensated.”

  Anger. That’s what I’m feeling. Absolute, consuming rage.

  “I don’t need to get paid to do this,” I say, planting my feet in the snow. “I do it because it’s the right thing to do.”

  But Rossi doesn’t seem moved by my words. “But it’s going to cut into your work time and you deserve to be compensated.” I sense he’s not going to budge and it’s like a wedge between us.

  “I don’t want it.” I take a step back.

  Rossi’s expression hardens, but only a tiny bit. I only see it because I’m focused on him.

  “I want to learn,” I say, torn between being upset he’s ruining this for me and wanting it so very badly I’m almost willing to bend to his terms.

  “You’ve got bills to pay. I won’t have this compromising that.” His words send my hackles up and I glare at him, hating that he’s pushing like this.

  “That’s none of your damn business,” I say curtly as I back up another step. “I think this was a bad idea,” I say, turning to go back home with dad. I don’t need Gavin Rossi or his stupid job that wasn’t a job before but is now.

  Why did I ever think he could understand me? I don’t need to get paid to do the right thing. I work in the kitchen because they need volunteers. For him to pay me for it would cheapen the whole thing. It wouldn’t be fair to the other people who also volunteer their time.