by Calista Fox
Eight years ago. That made Tad her longest relationship. Interesting.
He said, “And I shall forever remain hopelessly devoted to you, but… Why am I just now meeting the hubby?”
“Ex-hubby.”
“Potato, pot-ah-to. You called me from Vegas to say you were getting married and you didn’t even ask me to be your flower girl or maid of honor.”
“You’re a man,” she deadpanned.
“You know what I mean.”
Jenna sighed. “Tad, did it ever occur to you that what I had with Rafe was…” She paused as a bizarre notion rambled through her head.
“Was…what?”
She inhaled deeply. Let it out slowly. Then said, “Private.”
“As in, you wanted the dreamboat all to yourself?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t have to think twice about it. Jenna had been head over heels from the get-go, and she’d loved how she and Rafe had become instantly inseparable and how it’d always been just the two of them. Until San Francisco, that was.
“I didn’t want to share him,” she admitted. “I never realized that until now, but I’ve always just wanted to be with him. No cameras following us. No one to muck up the chemistry.”
“Does he know this?”
“Hey, I told him last night that I still love him. Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.”
“No,” Tad was quick to say. “You have to stop with that, Miss Lonely Hearts. If you want this man more than just every three years, you had better do something about it. Because if you don’t… Someday, he might not be there.”
She gasped. Shooting him a hard look, she said, “Cruel much?”
He guffawed. “I am the only person who shoots from the hip with you, aren’t I? My bestie, you are wildly successful…and frightfully lonely. You think I don’t know this?” he challenged her with an intent expression when she flashed her gaze his way. “You think it doesn’t break my heart?”
She let out a shaky breath.
He continued. “You think I don’t see you sitting alone in hotel bars having a glass of champagne while you wait for me to arrive. That you eat room service four times a week. That you don’t have anyone other than Rafe in your contacts list that isn’t a client or someone else with a professional—not personal—association.”
“You can stop now.” She swallowed down a lump of emotion. Tad was hitting a bit too close to the bull’s eye.
“I would,” he told her, “But damn it, Jenna. I am not going to pass up the opportunity to say you might have a second chance at something great. You were deliriously happy when you met Rafe. I couldn’t get you to come back from Italy to pick up a new job. You took off all that time to be with him. And then… You suddenly couldn’t work enough. Why?”
She stared at the road and bristled. Tad knew about her relationship with Rafe from the other end of the phone line when they chatted every few weeks. And from the meager details she’d shared with him—at her discretion.
As had been the case with Rafe—which she’d confessed to the previous evening—she’d let Tad know what she wanted him to know. But not everything.
“BFFs do not do this,” he said. And sulked.
Jenna continued to drive in silence. They entered the city and headed north on Van Ness. She made her way to North Beach and found a parking spot a block from Sampogna’s. She cut the engine and turned to Tad.
“You are my best friend. The only one I’ve ever had. The only one I’ll ever have because, despite my personal deficiencies, you actually do get me. And I will tell you more about my life with Rafe, if you want to know it. But there’s one thing you have to understand about my split from him.”
“What?” he asked, apparently breathless from her intensity.
“He divorced me.” Humiliation and pain seeped through her. “He sent the papers to a hotel in Des Moines while I was shooting an episode. He wanted out, Tad. I don’t blame him. But again… He divorced me.”
Tad was quiet a moment, letting her implication settle in his mind. Then he said, “Despite the fact you were away, you weren’t the one to walk away.”
“Right.” Her chest pulled tight. “I never wanted to end it with him. Yes, I fucked everything up because I kept taking jobs all over the country. But… I never wanted a divorce. There was no other man. There was no other anything to come between us. Just me not knowing yet how to deal with the new world I’d been catapulted into when I said I do and not knowing how to be more settled and less nomadic.”
Tad regarded her closely. “You haven’t told him this.”
“He’s been through enough, don’t you think? And what purpose would it serve, anyway?”
“You feel betrayed.”
The corners of her mouth quivered. Her eyes misted.
Tad said, “As dysfunctional as your marriage was, you thought it was real. That it would last, even if you weren’t there.”
“I was selfish.”
Tad shook his head. “What else do you know, Jenna, other than to flit about? That’s not your fault. It’s how you were raised.”
Yes, Tad knew much about that particular part of her past. Again, not everything, but enough to draw sound conclusions. And the fact that he called her by her given name, not one of the many pet names he’d chosen for her, told Jenna this was serious territory they entered.
With more emotion welling within her, she said, “I fully comprehend that it’s irrational and unfair for me to feel this way, but when I saw the ink stamp on the envelope that said the package was from a law firm, I wanted to stuff it into the nearest trash can and pretend it never arrived. But I took it to my hotel room, set the packet on the desk and stared at it. Willing myself to open it. And when I did, everything I’d hoped I could someday believe in crashed down around me.”
“Oh, sugar plum.” Tad’s hand closed over hers, squeezing gently.
“I guess, in the back of my head, I believed Rafe would wait for me. Be patient. And that I would somehow come around. Everything would be okay. I wouldn’t be freaked out by his family. I’d embrace them. I wouldn’t be so obstinate when he wanted to do things for me. I’d let him. I wouldn’t be so independent. We’d be partners. Equally.”
“Well, you did get some equality out of it. You jilted him. And he jilted you right back.”
“Yes.”
Tad brushed his fingers over her cheek. “But not really.”
Her gaze narrowed on him. “What do you mean?”
“He calls you all the time. You always answer. No matter where you are or what you’re in the middle of. You answer. And now you’re here.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. “Only for two weeks, Tad.”
“You have control over your own destiny. Decide what you want it to be, Jenna.”
Shifting away from her, he unlatched his seatbelt and slipped from the car. She opened her eyes and stared at his empty seat.
Not liking at all that she was alone with her heartache…yet again.
Chapter Seven
Jenna mulled over Tad’s words for a few minutes, then climbed out of the rental and crossed the street, walking the block to Sampogna’s. Tad stood outside the restaurant, staring up at the brick building.
“Nice location,” he said, apparently catching her approach out of the corner of his eye. “Good-looking structure. Historical. Fantastic arched windows, tall and wide. But that bland white script has got to go.”
The name of the restaurant was scrolled across every other of the five windows.
“The font is a bit outdated,” she agreed.
“And the color is lost with no real contrast behind it. All those white linen tablecloths.” He shuddered. “No imagination there.”
“Rafe is old school. Be careful.”
Tad shot her a look. “Should I be worried he’ll take offense to me?”
“Oh, heavens no,” she scoffed. “He knows plenty about you already. And he’s going to adore you once he finally meets you.” She
gave Tad a contrite smile. “I’m sorry I’ve kept this part of my life separate from our friendship. When you meet him in person, you’ll know why I wanted him all to myself.”
“Past tense, sugar plum?”
She sighed. “Okay, I still want him all to myself. But I did call you to help with this project. Obviously, I’m willing to play nice in the sandbox.”
“It’s really too bad it takes you so long to come around.”
With a scowl on her face, Jenna turned away. She didn’t grimace at her best friend, but at herself. And the fact that Tad always pegged her accurately two steps ahead of her doing it.
They entered the restaurant and Tad stepped around her to survey the dining room. He whistled under his breath.
“Spacious and open. Too open. This place needs a little more privacy up front.”
“Yes,” she said. And quickly explained the layout she’d discussed earlier with Rafe. “The color scheme eludes me, though.”
Tad eyed her suspiciously. “That’s usually one of the first things that pops into your head.”
“I know. It’s critical to capture the personality of the restaurant and the character of its locale. But with Sampogna’s… It’s more personal. I want Rafe’s character and personality reflected as much as that of the actual establishment and neighborhood. That’s difficult because he’s just so…so—”
“Sexy. Virile. Masculine. Hunky. Hot-hot-hawt?” Tad all but sighed dreamily.
Jenna’s gaze followed his and there was Rafe, in their line of vision, coming from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” she said with a soft smile. “All of the above.”
“Oh, girlfriend. You have your hands full with this one.”
“Haven’t I been saying that all along?”
Tad was no longer listening. He took a few wide strides forward and extended a manicured hand to Rafe. “Tad Montgomery. Jenna’s project manager. So nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Rafe said with a casual grin. “I’ve heard plenty about you. And I can’t thank you enough for flying out to work with Jenna on this remodel.”
“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine,” he practically cooed.
“Tad.”
Over his shoulder, he snickered at her. “Now, now. Calm down, sugar plum.”
“Please don’t call me that in front of a client.”
Rafe smirked from behind Tad, towering over him by just two inches or so.
Tad scolded her. “This is not a client, dear heart. He’s our friend.” Glancing back at Rafe, he added, “And we are so happy to lend a hand.”
“You’re fawning,” she sing-songed.
“Trust me, he deserves it,” Tad assured her. As if she didn’t already know the sort of visual appreciation Rafe warranted.
Before she could respond, Jenna’s cell rang. Not a common occurrence because her two assistants fielded the majority of her calls and then reported necessary callbacks to her and forwarded to her anything they couldn’t handle themselves.
Rafe said to Tad, “Why don’t I give you a tour of the kitchen. It’s a great space. My grandfather laid it out well.”
“How old is the restaurant?” She heard Tad ask as they wandered off, leaving Jenna to her business.
“Established in 1948,” Rafe said. “My grandparents still come in to cook, mostly on weekends. They’re supposed to be retired, but when it’s in the blood…there’s no quelling the desire to whip up a pot of bolognese sauce for the masses.”
They disappeared into the kitchen and Jenna snatched her cell from her purse. “Hi, Katie.” Assistant number one. She’d been with Jenna for five years now.
“Hi!” Another perky employee. “Did Tad arrive safely?”
Katie had a mad crush on Jenna’s project manager. Jenna smiled. “Yes. I even picked him up myself.”
“Oh, great. You said no limo and I was worried he’d have a coronary if he had to take a cab.”
“No, I wanted to meet him at the airport myself.”
“That’s so sweet,” she said in a dreamy voice. “I’m sure he was touched.”
“I can tell he misses the limo. He’s been a bit surly.”
“He’s always surly when he’s not pampered.” Katie laughed. “We love him, anyway.” She paused, as though thinking of Tad left her momentarily speechless. Then she said, “The real reason I’m phoning is that we’ve had a wild rash of calls the last two days—all from restaurants in the Bay Area. Word has spread that you’re in San Francisco and, as usual, the ‘while she’s in town, do you suppose she could come by my restaurant?’ queries ensue. More so than usual, actually.”
“I will never lack for work, will I?”
“Not in this lifetime. I’ll email the messages I vetted so you can sift through them when you have time.”
“That’d be great.” Jenna paused, her stomach suddenly tightening. In a quiet tone—not that anyone in the kitchen could hear her—she asked, “Any calls of a personal nature? From a woman named Linney?”
“Um, no. Are you expecting her, because I’ll patch her right through when—”
“No.” Jenna’s heart sank, though that was an entirely unreasonable reaction. Linney had never called. Not in thirteen years. “I’m not expecting to hear from her. Just thought I’d check. Anyway, if there’s nothing else…”
“Not on this end. I’ve got tons of paperwork to process. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Katie. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too.”
Jenna disconnected the call. Her lips twisted in her irrational contemplation over having so many people want to reach her because she was in San Francisco, except for the one person she’d desperately wanted to have contact her for so many years. Linney had to know she was in town.
On the other hand, it was entirely possible Linney was long gone. Her older sister had been in the Bay Area when Linney was eighteen—what were the odds she’d stayed all this time? Slim to none, Jenna suspected, because Linney possessed the same gypsy trait she did. And Linney had been even more of a loner than Jenna growing up.
She returned her cell to her handbag and found Tad yucking it up with the kitchen and wait staff. He had them in stitches, and when she heard her name, she knew he was telling Rafe’s cousins and other employees about something ridiculous she’d done.
Tonio chuckled as he draped an arm across her shoulders. “Jenna, cara mia,” he said, coining Vesta’s term of endearment, “you behind the wheel of a Mac truck? Of course, you were going to have an accident.”
“Hey, Macho Man, I learned to drive an RV when I was fourteen.”
Tad grinned. “Which made it all the more comical that you took out six metal garbage cans and an entire Dumpster backing up to a dock. It’s a wonder you didn’t jack-knife the trailer.”
“Someone had to get that furniture delivered on time—and it wasn’t going to be the driver because he had the stomach flu and was vomiting for two days straight.” She playfully glared at her best friend and said, “I didn’t hear you volunteering to drive.”
“Me, in a semi?” He scoffed good-naturedly. “The terror that would ensue! I’d be plowing over cars, not garbage cans. Wailing on the horn to get people out of the way, screaming out the window for them to run for their lives. Well, it’d be more horrifying than a Stephen King novel.”
Everyone laughed. Jenna said, “So true. Tad doesn’t even have a license.”
“Why drive when you can fly? Or take a limo?” He shot her a look. She snickered at him.
“Sounds like someone else we know,” Tonio said before dropping his arm and returning to the prep table.
Jenna slid a glance toward Rafe. His jaw was set. She instinctively knew he didn’t like another man putting his arm around her. That it was a married cousin of his obviously bought Tonio a pass. But she could also see the last couple of comments didn’t sit right with him.
To lighten his mood, she said, “Tad also doesn’t cook, so please don’
t let him near anything flammable or we’ll have an even bigger remodel on our hands.”
More laughter. Rafe chuckled. “Duly noted.”
“All right,” she said. “Tad and I need to get organized. It’s business as usual around here until we get rolling. Then I project we’ll be closing the doors for three days before we have a grand reopening.”
“Everyone will continue to be paid,” Rafe assured his staff. “And I’ll supplement the lost tips for the servers and bartenders.”
Jenna smiled at his generosity. “Very considerate of you, Rafe.”
“I want this done right, Jen. And my staff is not what’s keeping customers away. My family knows how to run a kitchen and serve people. It’s part of our heritage.”
“I know,” she concurred. “I’ve seen how everyone here operates. And you all have a vested interest not just as family members—as the majority of you are—but as employees. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the outcome.”
They all looked excited by the prospect of an updated Sampogna’s—and the potential for more customers.
Rafe gave his own pep talk, then everyone went to work as the dining room filled for both lunch and then dinner now that news of Jenna’s work in San Francisco had hit the Internet and the local TV stations. Tad had his own large following and he’d used his social media savvy to plug his appearance at the restaurant as well. The reservation book was maxed out, and Jenna had to juggle a number of tables to accommodate a party of sixteen from Rafe’s family tree. Luckily, they were willing to come in after eight.
As she prepped their table in the center of the room, Tad joined her and said, “You weren’t kidding about the staff here. Not only can they efficiently handle the volume, but they thrive on this dining room being packed. They must’ve been bored to tears lately.”
“Yes. The first lunch service I worked, I had to keep them busy at the servers’ station so they didn’t look as though they were a flock of vultures circling, waiting for someone to drop a fork or need more water. Five waiters per table makes for a very scary scene from a customer’s perspective.”