by Lilli Feisty
Nick stared at the couple. Redbolt got stranger by the minute.
Rick cleared his throat. “Anyway, we just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed our meals. Thank you.”
Nick wiped his hands on the dishtowel tucked into his belt and held out his hand. “I appreciate it. Nice to meet you.”
After Nick shook their hands, he watched them exit the front door. They seemed to be actually complimenting his cooking, and not in the ass-kissing way he was used to. For some reason, the interaction had brought him a small amount of satisfaction. Although he really didn’t want to care what the townspeople thought of him, he couldn’t help but appreciate the compliment.
In fact, as he glanced around the dining room and observed the crowd, he had to acknowledge there was a much different vibe here than at any restaurant he’d cooked for in L.A. People were laughing, talking, and sipping wine. No one was wearing designer clothes or obnoxious jewelry. No one was here to be “seen.”
These were the locals, here for the wine and the food. And apparently, they liked what Nick was producing. Enough to sincerely thank him.
“You okay?” Jesse grabbed the two plates from under the lights.
He turned to her. “Yeah. Why?”
“I dunno. You’re just standing there. You never just stand anywhere.”
He took a sip from the small glass of tequila. Funny, he realized he’d been too busy to actually drink any of it; the glass was still nearly full. “I’m good,” he said, and went back to the stoves.
The last customer left just after ten o’clock. Phoebe didn’t want to admit it, but Nick had been right. She had overbooked the restaurant. They’d been running around like insane people trying to fill all the orders. Luckily there had been only one set of irate customers—a couple traveling to explore the great redwood parks of Northern California—who had gone bonkers when they were forced to wait thirty minutes for their table.
The clientele locals understood the place was abnormally busy and took it in stride. Also, giving complimentary glasses of a local wine helped relax most of the more surly customers.
The servers were doing the final cleanup. With a deep breath, she glanced around the bistro. Despite her mistake, they’d come together. Nick had turned out every plate, and despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d done his job. And she had to confess he’d done it well. Very well.
She watched him as he cleaned the back kitchen. Every so often he sipped from his ever-present glass of tequila, but she hadn’t seen him refill it in the last few hours. He’d kept his eyes on his work, looking up briefly to take a ticket or answer a server’s question.
For once, he didn’t seem to be bouncing off the walls. He was focused on what he was doing. His leg wasn’t doing its jackhammer routine, and his fingers weren’t tapping any available surface.
Now he was scrubbing a stainless-steel counter. He had tiny headphones stuck in his ears, and he appeared to be enjoying himself. He seemed lost in what he was doing, so Phoebe stole a moment to watch him.
Beyond the sleeves of his black T-shirt, his arms were sturdy. For such a lean man, he had well-defined biceps muscles. She couldn’t help the flutter that landed in her belly when she remembered exactly how those arms had felt holding her. Strong and safe.
What the heck was she thinking? Nick Avalon was anything but safe.
“I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that since Bear.”
Phoebe whipped her head around to face Steve, who’d just finished sweeping. “What do you mean?” she asked. But she felt her face flush.
“You know. Bear? Your high school sweetheart? The one you were engaged to?”
“Steve. What’s your point?”
“My point is, I think you have a crush.”
“I do not.” Maybe if she said it enough times, it would be true.
“I heard a rumor Bear’s back in the country.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. His mom stopped by the store and said he was in New York or something, and might be home for a visit.”
“I hope he can make it by.” And Phoebe meant it. She’d always considered Bear one of her best friends.
As a food research scientist and activist, her ex-fiancé often came and went. That was one of the main reasons they’d called off the engagement. Bear needed to see the world. Phoebe had ties to home. She didn’t begrudge him his travels, not one bit. In fact, she respected his decision to help the world.
Phoebe wanted to do that, too. Just at home. With her farm and her bees and her summer students.
“Are you okay, Phoebe?”
Her gaze drifted back to Nick. He was still lost in cleaning and his music. “Yes, I’m fine, Steve. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. I worry about you.”
Turning, she smiled at her brother-in-law. “I’m wonderful. Life is good.” And it was true. She was a modern woman, in charge of her body. She didn’t need Nick, Bear, or anyone else. She could take care of herself and not be needy. Sometimes she had sexual urges. (Nick was an urge. An urge, by definition, is temporary and goes away.)
She gave Steve a hug. “Really. I’m great. I couldn’t be happier.”
Steve wrapped his big arms around her, and she enjoyed the comfort of her family in that one embrace.
Eventually they pulled apart. She noticed Nick and Jesse were the only other ones left in the place. It was time to lock up and go home. Phoebe was taking the keys from the pocket of her apron when the jingle of bells hanging on the front doorknob caught her attention.
She jerked her gaze up. Her breath hitched as the most beautiful woman Phoebe had ever seen in real life walked into her restaurant.
“Hello! Anyone here? I’m looking for Nick Avalon.”
Blonde, petite, gorgeous, and perfectly made up, she reminded Phoebe of Goldie Hawn in her thirties.
Jealousy, pure and simple, coursed through Phoebe’s veins. It was like a river. She couldn’t stop it from rushing. The feeling was unfamiliar, and she didn’t like it, but it was powerful.
Phoebe approached her. “I’m sorry. We’re closed for the night. Can I perhaps make a reservation for you for tomorrow?”
The woman smiled brightly, and Phoebe thought her lips were just a bit too plump. Still, there was no denying her beauty.
She held out her hand. “I’m Sherry. I’m looking for—” Squealing, she ran to the bar and slapped her hands on the surface. “Nick!”
Obviously surprised, he looked up. Then his expression totally changed. A huge smile broke out across his face, such as Phoebe had never seen on him before. In awe, she stared at him as he slapped his white towel over his shoulder and jumped—literally jumped—over the bar. Who knew he was so limber?
Arms crossed across her chest, Phoebe watched as Nick embraced the petite women in a big ol’ bear hug. The hug seemed to last forever.
She didn’t want to be jealous, really she didn’t…
Why did Goldie have to look so damn good? Phoebe looked down at her own long skirt, dirty and wrinkly from a hard day’s work. Her T-shirt was no better, and she wished she were wearing something a bit more feminine. Sexy. Revealing. Not that she had anything to reveal. Still. She couldn’t help feeling nothing but dowdy next to the gorgeous blonde currently embraced in Nick’s arms.
That jealous ball churned a bit more inside her tummy.
Goldie looked like she’d just stepped out of a catalog. Her jeans were obviously designer. And tight. Tight enough to show off an ass and legs that obviously spent many hours running on a treadmill to make them so firm and fabulous.
She wore boots. Spiky-heeled shiny black concoctions, into which were tucked the hems of those amazing jeans.
Phoebe shuffled in her sandals. Normally she didn’t care about such things as clothing or being current with the latest fashions. She was who she was. She wore what went with whatever job she was doing. Most days, she went about her business in her beat-up overalls, which were usually dirty from farming. And at the
restaurant, she just threw on a comfy skirt, a T-shirt, and her trusty sandals. It was fine. She fit in where she lived, and she was comfortable. It was important to be comfortable.
Right.
Finally, Nick pulled back to gaze at the blonde woman. “Sherry! What the fuck are you doing here?”
She gave him a little secretive smile that made Phoebe want to hurl. Why she should be so affected by their secret little exchange was a total mystery.
And yet there it was. Jealousy that Nick shared something private with this woman, that they shared a past. It was insane, but Phoebe couldn’t totally repress a feeling of envy that this gorgeous woman had a history with Nick.
The blonde said, “Pour me a glass of wine, and I’ll tell you.”
“’Course, love.”
And for some reason, hearing those words come out of Nick’s mouth, aimed at another woman, made something deep inside Phoebe’s gut feel sick.
And that feeling scared the daylights out of her.
“Excuse me. I have to… um…”
Everyone turned and looked at her. She felt her neck begin to flush.
Don’t let them see you blush. Don’t let them see anything.
“I have to check the stockroom. For cheese.”
“Cheese?” Nick asked. “You keep cheese in the stockroom?”
Damn. “It’s, yeah. Special aged cheese.”
“And you need it now?” Jesse asked.
“I think it would be lovely with the wine. Okay, I’m going to fetch the cheese now.”
And as she marched toward the stockroom, she felt them all staring at her. She slammed the door behind her.
Chapter Eleven
So nice to see you, love.”
That was the first phrase she caught when she emerged from the stockroom. With a deep breath, she returned to the group so cozily gathered in front of the kitchen. “Well, I guess we’re out of cheese.”
Nick just looked at her but didn’t call her on her obvious fabrication. He couldn’t know, could he? That she’d spent five minutes breathing. Calming her nerves. Fighting this ugly feeling of envy geared toward a woman she didn’t even know.
Love. He was calling this woman “love”? As if she needed reminding, Phoebe’s ass immediately began to sting, and she remembered what he’d done to her in the stockroom. When he’d kissed her in the kitchen. When she’d kissed him back and later, he’d called her love.
Phoebe tamped down the reaction of hurt and, if she were being honest with herself, betrayal. Hating Nick, she watched as he jogged off toward the steps to the wine cellar.
Whatever vintage he chose was so coming out of his paycheck.
Familiar with the café, Steve had pitched in earlier, as he did most Saturday nights. Now he was perched on a barstool, finishing off a nice cab they’d opened earlier. He was also staring at Sherry as if she were a movie star. Hell, maybe she was. Phoebe wouldn’t be any the wiser. She wasn’t exactly an expert on Hollywood stars.
Steve jumped up and pulled out a chair for Sherry. She perched her tight little ass on the stool and smiled brightly at him. Her brother-in-law turned bright red.
What the heck was going on? Phoebe thought she was the only one in the family cursed with the blushing gene. Furthermore, she hadn’t seen Steve react to any woman since Judy had passed.
Walking toward them, Phoebe held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Phoebe.”
Sherry turned on her stool and—if possible—her smile got even wider. Phoebe nearly flinched from the glare of her white teeth.
Still, Phoebe had to admit the woman seemed friendly. She considered herself a good judge of character, and there was definitely something sincere in Sherry’s huge blue eyes.
“You must be the manager,” Sherry said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Phoebe narrowed her gaze. “You have?” She could only imagine what Nick had to say in regard to their working (or any other sort of) relationship.
“I certainly have.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “And can I just say, I am impressed. I know what an asshole he can be, and based on how frustrated he is, I’m willing to bet you’re holding your own. Good job!”
For a second, Phoebe was speechless. This woman, with her huge blue eyes, perfectly white skin, and perky lips, looked like a sweetheart. But she’d just called Nick, who was obviously a good friend of hers, an asshole.
Phoebe reached for two wineglasses and set them on the counter. Then she poured the remainder of cabernet out of the bottle on the counter.
She handed a glass to Sherry. “You obviously know Nick pretty well.”
“He’s one of my best friends. And I’m probably his only friend since I’m one of the few people who will actually put up with his bullshit.”
Phoebe just stared at this doll-like person. “Who are you?”
“Sherry Hart.” Closing her eyes, she took a small sip of the cab, swooshed it around her mouth, and eventually swallowed. Then her eyes popped open. “Lovely. Ste. Michelle?”
“Um, yes. How did you know?” Phoebe hadn’t seen Sherry even glance toward the bottle.
“Oh, it’s what I do. That’s how Nick and I met. I’m a wine distributor.”
“I see.”
But Phoebe didn’t see. She didn’t understand Nick and Sherry’s relationship, and she didn’t understand why he’d been so happy to see her—certainly happier than Phoebe had ever seen him since he’d arrived.
If she did understand his reaction to her, she didn’t want to admit it to herself.
She tamped down those feelings. That wasn’t fair, not at all. But it was hard to ignore the feelings this Sherry person had brought on. None of these things were her business. None of these things she had control over. Yet…no matter how much she repeated the affirmation, it didn’t sit right.
You can’t control everything.
Nope. Not sinking in.
So no. Phoebe didn’t see anything. Nothing made sense, not since Nick had arrived. Since the day he’d driven up in that yellow vehicular monster, she’d been covered in pudding, kissed senselessly by a man who thought waaaay too much of himself; she’d been whisked—
Sex in the stockroom. It sounded like a bad porn movie. She would have laughed at anyone who’d said she’d ever do such a thing. And yet she had several red, thin stripes on her bottom that told her she was perfectly capable of such behavior.
She glared down the hallway where Nick had just disappeared. It was him. He was making her do all kinds of things she wouldn’t ordinarily do. And she was letting him.
She was giving him power over her. And that simply would not do.
“Here we are.” Nick returned, holding a bottle of special reserve. He glanced up at her. “What?”
Phoebe tried to calm her heart, which was racing with irritation toward him. She narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean?”
“You’re looking at me as if you want to tear my head off.”
Nobody ever said she wasn’t transparent. So she tried to laugh it off. A high-pitched sound emerged from her mouth. “I don’t want to rip your head off. I would like a glass of wine, though. I see you picked my favorite vintage.”
Ignoring her, he took a corkscrew from his pocket.
Yeah, that wine was definitely coming out of his paycheck.
“Thanks, Nick,” Sherry said. “I’m just finishing up this lovely cab your boss poured for me.”
“Well, there’s always room for more good wine.”
Sherry held up her glass. “Cheers to that.”
“So,” Nick began as he uncorked the bottle, “are you going to tell me what you’re doing down here in Butt-Fuck, Nowhere, or not?”
Still not quite used to his tone, Phoebe flinched at Nick’s description of their community, but she refrained from saying anything. Obviously, the minute he got around one of his hoity-toity friends, he reverted back to his true personality of überjerk.
“Well,” Sherry said. “Guess who just landed the
Northern California account?”
“Get out!” Nick poured himself a glass of Phoebe’s finest.
“That’s right,” Sherry said. “I’m now overseeing this region for my company. I’ll be coming up here all the time.”
“That’s great news,” Phoebe managed, and gulped some wine.
“Wow.” Nick held up his glass. “Congratulations!”
They clinked, and Nick glanced toward Phoebe. “I take it you met Sherry?”
Nodding, Phoebe swallowed. “Yup. Sure did.”
He beamed at the blonde. “She’s amazing. A true friend, this one.”
“Uh-huh.” Phoebe continued nodding. “That’s…great!” And drinking. Before she knew it, her glass was empty. That was fast. Where had the wine gone? Silently, she held out her glass toward Nick, who filled it without so much as a glance in her direction.
Because his attention was fully focused on Sherry. Sherry, with the perfect hair and chic style and a truly amazing dentist.
She heard a cough and looked over at Steve, who was also focusing his attention on Sherry. “So. You’ll be up here often?”
She nodded. “Indeed I will. And I have a feeling I’m going to truly enjoy my time here, Steve.”
“Sherry,” Steve said, his gaze fixed on hers, “you’re a wine distributor?”
“I am. I’ve been handling Southern California, but we’re expanding up here, and I’m going to oversee things until we hire a permanent manager. I’m going to start looking for new accounts first thing tomorrow.”
“That’s brilliant.” Nick looked downright thrilled.
“Yeah. Brilliant,” Phoebe muttered, and gulped more wine.
Why should she care? It made no difference to her—none whatsoever—if this Sherry person was suddenly going to be around all the time.
Obviously, Sherry and Nick had some type of relationship, and from the way they were looking at each other, Phoebe had to assume it was intimate.
She supposed that meant there would be no more trysts involving chocolate or whisks, but oh well. It was actually a good thing. Really, a very good thing.
Phoebe didn’t care one iota. Not one little bit. No sirree.