The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  One word to summarize Katie Bird’s: unexpected. The drinks had a great pour, and the bartenders are clearly experienced. The atmosphere is warm, welcoming, and yet maintains a tasteful elegance. It’s clear that the owners and staff have a passion for what they do.

  If I have one complaint, it would be that I only had room for one of the delicious desserts, and the coffee was lukewarm at best. I recommend reservations; I think this place is going to be a shining star in our city.

  Monica sets the paper down and is peering up at me. She has a grin on her face, but I’m still trying to process the information I just heard. All right, lukewarm coffee … that we can fix. Percy screams and hugs me tightly, pushing me into the counter. I close my eyes tightly, and suddenly Monica makes this a group hug. I hear my sisters running in from the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” one of them asks.

  “Katie Bird’s just got an amazing review by Hank Crumplemeyer,” Percy shouts, and, in an instant, my sisters are squealing and joining in on the group hug.

  “Okay, okay, everyone, calm down,” I say, bursting from the huddle of gleeful women. I try to keep a straight face. “We have an opening to worry about tonight. Doors open in less than an hour.”

  Everyone begins to clear the room, heading back into the kitchen. My hands are sweating, my heart is racing, a smile is creeping in, but I’m fighting it as fiercely as I can. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head, and my eyes lock with Percy. What is she doing?

  She pulls me against her body, squeezing her arms tightly around me. Releasing me, she grips my upper arms and pushes me back a step, locking her eyes onto mine. “You did good, and it’s okay to be excited about that. And tonight is going to be even better. We’re all proud of you, but I know your mom, dad, and especially Travis and sweet Katie are very proud of you.”

  I feel my heart drop. Her words are the last thing I want to hear, and at the same time they’re the sweetest. The tears are threatening to spill out. I grit my teeth; I can’t allow myself to come unraveled in this moment. There is too much riding on it.

  Percy releases me, but just before she walks away I grab her arms and mouth the words ‘thank you.’ She nods and joins everyone else in the kitchen.

  I swallow hard. This is it. My entire world is about to be turned on its head. Again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Percy took care purchasing the flowers for all of the tables. They’re beautiful, and for a moment I actually started to think things were going to go smooth for my big day. Then the thing that everyone warns you about began to happen—everything started to go wrong.

  My hostess called in to tell me she was quitting before we even opened … with no notice. The pork chop order was short by half. The vodka that came in was the cheap brand and not the top shelf I’d requested. However, even with all of the complications, our hard opening to the public is starting to come together, and I’m doing my best to swallow my fear and bury it deep inside.

  Monica stepped up and has been playing hostess for the evening—a job she is surprisingly good at. We’ve made do with the other incidents, and the night I was wondering how I would ever get through is close to coming to an end. I know I couldn’t have pulled this together without my amazing partners, but I can’t help feeling a huge sense of accomplishment. I’m a twenty-five year old culinary school dropout, and I did this.

  “Madge, you can go ahead and take off. I think the rest of us can handle the last hour,” I instruct the sous chef. While we’ve counted carefully every penny that has gone into Katie Bird’s, I still find myself worrying constantly about having enough in operating expenses to keep us going while we get our name out there. I know the full house you have opening week can disappear just as quickly as it came. Hiring talented help is expensive but key, and I plan to watch their hours closely to ensure I can keep them around.

  “Yes ma’am, and congratulations on a great grand opening,” Madge offers.

  Madge is at least fifteen years my senior and has worked in some of the greatest restaurants in the city. When she applied for the position, I was surprised she was even interested. Apparently she’d heard a story about a young widow who was opening a restaurant in honor of her daughter she had lost. She has three children of her own, but in the interview I learned she used to have four. One of her daughters died after a diagnosis of leukemia years ago. Instantly we had a bond. I never imagined death could bring people together, but I could tell she wanted to see Katie Bird’s succeed as much as I.

  “Thanks.” I smile and nod, pouring the sauce over the roasted chicken plate. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Oh Mac,” Monica taunts as she steps back into the kitchen. “There’s someone out front asking to meet the chef.”

  “Okay, let me finish up these platings.” People asking to meet me feels so odd. It’s kind of amazing how many times it has happened considering it’s opening night. I wonder if this will change as time goes on and the newness of our little restaurant wears off.

  “Oh, you do not want to keep this one waiting,” Monica says.

  “Why?” I furrow my brow. “Another food critic?”

  “Not exactly.” She grins.

  I huff, placing two more plates onto the serving counter. “Seriously? What’s the deal?”

  “Umm ... let’s just say, he’s fine as hell, and he asked for you by name.” The kitchen goes quiet when they hear Monica’s statement.

  “Let me see!” Percy exclaims, moving to the kitchen door and peeking into the dining room.

  “By the window,” Monica instructs.

  “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. I’m sure he just read the article in the paper and that’s how he knows my name,” I dismiss, plating up the last order on the ticket.

  “Well, I don’t care how he knows your name. He’s fine, that’s all I care about.” Monica laughs, while Percy scans the dining room.

  “Is it clearing out in there?” I ask, ignoring her drooling.

  “Yeah, the reservations have all been seated so it’s just a few late night walk-ins at this point,” Monica replies.

  “Oh my God!” Percy gasps, turning around and rushing over to me. She grips my arm, digging her fingers in.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I snarl, pulling my arm from her grasp.

  “It’s him!” she exclaims.

  “What are you talking about?” I question, a knot twisting in my stomach. “Him who?”

  “That guy from Head Case.” Her words make my chest ache and my throat tighten.

  Rushing over to the door, I peek through the crack to confirm. It only takes me a second and I see him; he’s sitting at the table by the window, his gaze scanning every detail of the restaurant. His hair is shorter, and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow that defines his strong jawline.

  I gasp, and turn to face the kitchen, greeting all the prying eyes of my friends and family. “It’s Dean,” I state at last.

  “Wait, Dean? Like Dean Dean, the one you slept with?” Monica attempts to clarify.

  “You slept with him?” Percy blurts out in disbelief.

  “Thanks, Mon, that’s really something I want my sisters to know about.” My cheeks are hot, and I avoid looking at anyone’s faces.

  My oldest sister rushes the door immediately, peeking out, then ducks her head back inside. “Oh my God, seriously?”

  Percy nods.

  “He’s gorgeous,” she adds.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone else.

  “How about you go find out?” Monica suggests.

  I look down at my food-splattered apron. Slipping it over my head, I shove it on the counter, straighten out my clothes, and tuck a few fallen strands of hair behind my ears.

  Swallowing hard, I ask, “How do I look?”

  Monica licks her thumb and wipes away an invisible smudge on my cheek. “Better.”

  I roll my eyes and suck in a g
asp of air, wipe away her spit, then mutter, “Thanks.”

  Approaching the kitchen door, I pause and close my eyes for a moment. Why is he here? What does he want? You can do this. You’re strong. Reaching out my hands, I push open the kitchen door and begin to walk. The dining room is still half-full, and one of our waitresses is delivering the food I just plated. There are smiles all around. I look down at my robin egg blue chef’s coat, jeans, and comfortable shoes. Confidence. You opened a restaurant for Christ’s sake.

  With one foot in front of the other, I move in the direction of Dean. He still doesn’t notice me; it looks like he’s inspecting the centerpiece on the table. I’m six steps away … five … his smell hits me. It has changed a little, but it’s still him.

  His head turns, and our eyes lock onto one another. He doesn’t smile; he’s just staring at me. He stands, and now he’s less than a foot away from me. Neither of us speak. Is he as unsure what to say as I am? But he’s the one who came here, so there must be a reason.

  I watch him lick his lips, then open his arms, hesitating, waiting for permission to embrace me. Don’t touch me. I can be strong as long as you don’t touch me. I’m waving the white flag. I surrender, please, just don’t—

  He’s holding me, touching me. I give up; I give in to the touch of your skin. I can’t resist the warmth of your touch.

  “Macaroon,” he begins, and my heart aches in a way that I thought I’d escaped. I left so I wouldn’t have to feel that. Why are you here? Why are you making me feel again?

  “You look ... beautiful,” he whispers against the flesh of my neck, and though I try to resist, I’m crumpling against him. My heart is racing. You can’t go back to that place. Let go of him. Take your hands off.

  I muster everything inside of me, grip his arms, and push myself back from his body. “Hi Dean,” I offer with a soft smile.

  He looks around and lifts his hands in the direction of the back of the restaurant. “This place ... it’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

  I shake my head. I know I can’t give him encouragement. I need to get through this as quickly as possible. “What are you doing here?”

  His throat vibrates with a deep swallow. “Storm told me about the opening.” I suddenly regret telling her, though I know somewhere in the back of my mind I was hoping she would do just what she did, even if I don’t want to admit it.

  “So you’re here to eat?” I ask with a narrowed gaze.

  He throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Great, I’ll send the waitress over.” I grin and take a step backward.

  “You’re just as stubborn as ever, aren’t you?” he huffs, a smile breaking through his frustration.

  “Dean, I’m the chef. I really can’t be away from the kitchen long,” I lie.

  He shakes his head. “Of course, how rude of me. Before you go, could you at least recommend something?”

  I bite my lip, I know better than to say it, but I do it anyway. “The mac-and-cheese is a favorite.”

  He moves in closer. “You put our dish on the menu.” I say nothing, trying to fight the blush that is warming my cheeks. “That sounds perfect,” he adds.

  “Great, I’ll go get your meal ready,” I say, breaking free.

  “We need to talk,” he calls after me.

  I nod and keep walking. I thought I was strong enough. I know now I’ll never be strong enough to resist Dean.

  I grab the rag and begin scrubbing the counter. I scrub it harder than I have ever scrubbed anything in my life. I’m scrubbing away all of the urges welling up inside me, the desire to have him hold me again, the yearning to have his lips touch mine the way they once had.

  “I think he ate all of it,” Monica announces from the door of the kitchen.

  “Will you get away from that door and let the poor man eat in peace?” I demand, moving over to the stack of dirty dishes.

  “So tell me exactly what he said,” Percy instructs, moving next to me.

  “Oh dear Lord, not you too.” I sigh.

  “What? We’re just curious. You looked like you were really enjoying that hug.” Percy isn’t wrong.

  “Tell me again why you can’t be with him?” Monica questions.

  “Shouldn’t you be hostessing?” I suggest, scrubbing a pot. Percy takes it from my hand, dipping it in the rinse water for me. My sisters have left. Everyone except a waitress, bartender, and the three of us have gone, but he is still here.

  “And who should I be hostessing? He’s the only one left, and we’re closed,” Monica argues.

  I turn and glare at her. “Then maybe you should go tell him we’re closing.”

  “So let me get this straight … you two were actually a couple?” Percy inquires, taking the next dish from my hands.

  I shake my head and continue scrubbing. “For a short time. A very short time.”

  “And why can’t you be together?” Percy asks again.

  “Is he leaving?” I ask over my shoulder.

  Monica presses gently on the door, peeking out from the crack. “Oh no, I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

  “There’s not much left to clean, sweetie. I think you’re going to have to talk to him,” Percy suggests. I know she’s right. I know Dean, and he won’t go anywhere until I talk to him.

  “I know,” I relent, scrubbing the last few items in the sink and pulling the drain plug.

  “You don’t have to talk about him to me if you don’t want to,” Percy adds, reaching over with a wet hand and squeezing my arm.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter,” I start, drying my hands off and unbuttoning my chef’s coat. “There really isn’t much to tell. Everyone makes a bigger deal out of this than it is. I started falling hard for Dean, and I knew that he was becoming the center of my world. I had to leave him to learn how to be alone. Christ, does that even make sense?”

  “You were alone for three years,” Monica interjects.

  I smile a tight-lipped grin, shaking my head. I lay my coat on the prep counter, and continue, “No, I wasn’t. When Travis and Katie died, I did too. I quit living. I’ve never really lived, truly lived, life alone.”

  “Until now.” Percy smiles, placing a hand on the small of my back.

  “What?” I huff.

  “You’ve lived more in the last seven months than I think I’ve ever seen. You’re devouring the world around you, my dear,” Percy explains.

  “I live with you,” I argue.

  “Semantics, and you know it. You might be under my roof, but you are a strong and independent woman.”

  I stand silent, absorbing her words.

  “She’s right,” Monica begins. “You don’t have to be scared of having nothing if you lose someone, because you have yourself now. Mac, you’re an inspiration.”

  I laugh. “Okay, everyone shut up before I have to punch you … or something.”

  “Even if you don’t want to hear it, it doesn’t make it any less true,” Monica adds, walking over and guiding me to the kitchen door. “Go talk to him, and we’ll lock up.”

  “But...” I have nothing. Monica pushes me out the door with a thundering clatter. I stumble forward into the dining area.

  Dean is sitting, watching, waiting, his foot propped up on one of the wooden chairs.

  “There you are. I thought you were going to hide out in that kitchen all night,” he teases in a loud voice.

  I swallow, take a breath, and cross the room confidently. “I do a have a restaurant to run.”

  “Fair enough.” He smiles, standing and moving directly in front of the main door. “Any chance you’ll be done soon?”

  “I just finished, why?”

  A huge smile beams across his face, splitting his head in half. “I was hoping you would go for a walk with me.”

  I glance at my watch. “It’s midnight.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” he says, opening the door. I agree, even though apprehension is coursing through
my veins. You’re not safe with him. Don’t get comfortable.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The sounds of the city change at night. This is something I noticed after all the late evenings getting the restaurant ready. During the day there is the bustling of hipsters and young families visiting the trendy shops and eateries, eager to spend their money. But it’s at night that the city reclaims the little strip of gentrified bliss. Horns sound to the left of us, and up ahead I hear an argument in an alleyway. The lonely souls who have had too much to drink have not yet wandered out into the streets. They are still tucked away in the few remaining untouched bars, but soon they will filter into the night. The broken come out in the dark. This is why I feel at home here, in the blackness. Scared, but at home.

  “I wanted to write,” Dean says at last.

  “Why didn’t you?” I ask the question that I’ve been wondering.

  He presses his lips together, and a clicking noise sounds as they part. “I didn’t think you’d reply. I’m not sure I could have handled that.”

  We can’t go back. Don’t let him dwell on what you were together. “How’s your mom?”

  “Good. We talked to her lawyer, and she’s up for a parole hearing later this year. We have high hopes.”

  “Really?” I can see he is trying to restrain his excitement. Perhaps he fears he will be disappointed if it doesn’t go the way they hope. “Dean, that’s amazing.”

  “We’ll see,” he says with a half smile, avoiding looking directly at me. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

  “What will she do if she gets out?”

  “We’re not sure yet. She wants to live wherever I settle, so she’d have to apply for relocation and a parole officer in the area.”

  “What do you mean where you settle?” I turn to the right in the direction of Washington Park and the parking garage; he stays close to my side.