“See you tomorrow,” Mai called out as she tossed her apron in the laundry basket. Her wings were obscured completely by a bold black-and-purple plaid raincoat, and as she stepped out, she flipped her hood up. “And it’s raining again. Hey, Jace, your bike’s getting soaked.”
“Aw, crap.” Jace threw aside the spatula he was using to scrape down the grill, shoved the chef’s coat onto a hook on the wall, and ran outside past Mai, who pressed herself against the doorframe to avoid being run over.
“You should have parked it under the eaves!” she called into the dark after him. Georgie heard a yell in reply, but it was muffled by distance and rain and the sounds of the kitchen. Mai turned to see Georgie watching. She grinned. “He usually parks it under the eaves. Looks like somebody will be driving home with a wet backside tonight.” She raised her eyebrows mischievously and stepped out the door, closing it behind her.
Georgie waited another moment. She’d always gone home at this point of closing the restaurant down, heading out the door with the waiters and station cooks. She turned to the grill and picked up the spatula Jace had been using. The ice and water he had poured over the hot, flat surface had dissipated and left a swirl of simmering drippings and charred bits. She poured a little more ice from the pitcher and gently scraped the steaming mess toward the grease trough.
She heard the door open behind her. Jace came in soaking wet and grabbed a dry towel. He rubbed it over his head and arms and face, then tossed it in the laundry basket. He gave his hair a final shake and began moving in her direction, returning Anders’s light jab to his arm with a smile.
She blinked away as his eyes met hers, then she stepped aside. “I wasn’t sure what to do.”
“You’re doing great.” He motioned for her to continue scraping. “Just don’t force it.”
She peeked at his dark curls falling forward over his brow, needing to read him somehow. Needing to read her own heart pounding with discomfort. She looked back at the grill and swallowed. “Why ice?”
“Minimizes steam burns. Straight water sends up a bunch of steam when it hits that hot surface. Ice mellows it a bit, brings down the temp sooner. Just don’t use too much. You want a gradual cooldown. Make sense?”
She nodded and continued to scrape until the grill was clear, trying to ignore the tension his presence added. He poured vinegar onto a wad of paper towels and smoothed it over the surface. The pungent fumes stung her nostrils, and she turned her head. He immediately followed it by rubbing in a few drops of vegetable oil. “Now you know.” He motioned to the next grill. “Let’s do this one.”
Georgie saw no trace of malice, no impatience in his manner, but she kept her guard up, saying little. As they worked on the next grill, the vacuum cleaner stopped its hum up front and John, the redhead, returned to the kitchen, stowing the vacuum in Reuben’s office. Rhea appeared and dropped the bleach towels in their own laundry basket.
“Done up front.” She traded her apron for a jacket and followed John out. “Don’t have too much fun, you guys,” she teased, opening an umbrella.
The door closed again. Anders leaned with his back against the now-empty sink. He was a lanky man with muscular, tattooed arms; blond, spiky hair; and a nose ring. Georgie had wondered what had led him to a dishwasher job, as she guessed he was several years older than she was, but he did his job well and was always quick to smile. “Do you want me to wait until this cycle is through, or . . . ?” He thumbed at the noisy dishwasher.
“Nah,” Jace said. “Go ahead and take off. We’ll finish up.”
Georgie’s heart pounded in her throat. Why had everyone finished their jobs so quickly? Didn’t they know not to leave her alone with Jace after last week? What was wrong with these people?
Anders had already leapt for his jacket and was out the door in a flash.
I wish that were me.
“So,” Jace said, already wiping with vinegar, “after the grills, all we really have left are the counters and floors and getting the laundry going.” He pulled back and motioned to her. “Go ahead and oil this while I wipe up, then we’ll do floors. Broom or mop?”
He blinked, waiting, seemingly unaware of her discomfort, his hazel eyes wide and expectant. She swallowed and concentrated on the bottle of oil. “Broom.”
“Great.” He left her side, and she worked at taming her nerves as she rubbed oil into the black surface.
She had to get over this. What if Jace wasn’t like Ian? What if he’d just had a bad week? Mai had said he’d had a bad breakup. He’d been impatient and short-tempered, but she hadn’t seen that for a few days now. And the staff seemed to respond to the change immediately, without suspicion or intimidation.
Maybe she’d been wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time, she thought bitterly.
After finishing the grill, she pushed the broom around and under, and he followed behind with the mop. She found a smaller broom and dust pan and swept up the debris. They worked in silence, except for the music, and though she preferred it, it seemed the longer they went without speaking, the more tension grew in the room. She washed up, and he finished switching the laundry, checking lights, and collecting the remaining garbage bags. She thought about slipping out, but his hands would be full when he took out the garbage, so she put the clean pots and pans away and returned a tray of clean glasses to their stack. Jace locked Reuben’s office with his own key, pulled on his motorcycle jacket, then hefted the garbage bags, nodding at her as she held the door for him. His smile was gone.
* * *
Jace knew he had to apologize to Georgie, and there had been plenty of opportunities. She hadn’t said much, but she’d worked hard. He had the feeling she was trying not to make him mad, and that made him feel pretty lousy. He had almost approached the subject a few times but had bitten it back, unsure how to start. Now, here she was holding the garbage bin lid up for him so he could toss in the bags. It was raining, it was time to go, and he didn’t want to do this all over again tomorrow.
She closed the lid and wiped her hands on her black slacks.
“Uh, Georgie?”
She looked up at him in the dim light coming from the one street lamp behind the restaurant. The rain had turned to a drizzle, and everything was wet and cold. Her blue eyes were grayed, shaded by her jacket hood, but she seemed to be searching him, and he had to continue.
“I need to apologize.” He wiped the dampness from his face. “I think I made your first weeks here . . . harder than they should have been.” She looked down. “I’m usually not such a jerk. I’ve just”—he shook his head—“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.”
She bit her lips, still looking down. She nodded and raised her eyes, searching him again. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he saw doubt. She didn’t believe him?
He breathed out a laugh. “Listen, I feel like you’re actually kind of scared of me, and I really don’t blame you, but I’d like to change that. What can I do?”
She looked like she wanted to say something but was trying really hard not to say it. Finally, she said, “You don’t need to do anything.” Then she turned away.
He couldn’t leave it like this. He was trying. He reached for her arm. “Hey, wait—”
“Don’t touch me!” With a wrench, she twisted violently from his touch, jumping away as if he’d struck her. He held up his hands in defense. Her reaction seemed to have startled her as much as it had him. She was holding her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.
“Whoa,” he said, trying to defuse the buzzing tension. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
She nodded, stepping back.
He stayed put. “Hey, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know—”
“No.” She was shaking her head now.
What had he done?
She continued to back away from him. “I’m sorry. Please, just . . . I’m sorry. Thank you.”
She turned and walked quickly to her car. He stood, waiting as she fumbled
with her keys and finally pulled out of the parking lot and down the hill.
It was funny how a drizzle could soak a person as thoroughly as a downpour. It took a little longer but left him as chilled to the bone.
Chapter 4
Georgie pulled up behind Faye and Dar’s camper in the side driveway but let the engine run. She realized the radio was on and quickly turned off the annoying song, leaving her alone with the irregular patter of raindrops on her car and the swish-squeak of her windshield wipers. She sat staring at the Winnebego emblem lit up by her headlights.
Jace was not Ian. Jace was not Ian. Jace was not Ian. Right?
She reached her right hand to her left arm and held the place Jace had touched. The humiliation of her actions hit her with intensity, her face crumpled, and she dropped her head as a buried memory surfaced.
“I don’t think we should get married,” she’d said, her voice quivering. She’d said it right there as she and Ian had left his parents’ house and walked down the long drive to his car parked farther down the street. “I’m sorry. It feels wrong. I want to be excited about it, like your sister up there at the house.” They’d been to Ian’s sister’s wedding reception and had stayed later to help clean up. The cars that had once lined the drive were gone now. She’d considered what she was going to say to him all through the reception, and her resolve had only strengthened as she’d observed the people around her. Ian’s family members were spirited people. The kind who said “Look at me” at every social opportunity. They could be fun, the life of the party, but at times she felt run over, manipulated, even patronized. And for a while now, Ian had been using those qualities against her, turning his “playful” cutting remarks on her in front of people and when they were alone. Deacon had witnessed it a couple of times. He’d wondered out loud why she just took it.
Georgie had defended Ian, but the look on Deacon’s face had made her step back and see. She’d been cut down so subtly and so often that it was Ian she sought to please, and when he told her she’d never find anyone else as good as him, she believed him. She believed him.
And that look from Deacon had been enough to finally make her see that this was not a relationship she wanted to be in.
It was lousy timing, after the reception, but she couldn’t keep her feelings hidden from Ian any longer.
“Ian, it was just too fast, and I think we want different things from a marriage. I’ve realized—”
He laughed. “Again? I knew I should have just taken you to Vegas.” He pulled her close. “We want the same thing. Trust me.” He kissed her, his hands roaming a little farther than usual.
She gently pushed him away and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t like the way you treat me. I don’t like the way you treat people.”
His expression cooled. “Babe, everybody likes me. Do you know how much competition you have? How many girls are wishing they were you?”
She said nothing but thought she saw a trace of fear shadow his ever-present confidence.
“But I don’t want them, do I? I want you.”
“But I’m not sure I want you.” The words were little more than a whisper.
She couldn’t read his expression, but she thought she saw anger flash in his eyes. He laughed and nodded. After glancing around, he took her arm, and as they walked, his grip tightened. His fingers dug into her muscles.
“Ian, you’re hurting me.” She spoke quietly. Why? Why was she so quiet? He didn’t seem to hear her. He was lifting her arm now, her weight, pulling her along. She could feel her blood pulse past his vise grip, the pain in her upper arm focused and intense, and her fingers began to feel fuzzy.
He opened the car door, released her arm, and motioned her in.
“Ian, I’m sorry. I had to tell you.” The flesh of her arm burned. She pulled the ring off her finger and held it out to him, a little shaky but surer than ever.
He nodded, even a little contritely. He took the ring and looked at it. “You’re tired.” He lifted his gaze and touched her cheek. She stiffened. “You look tired,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
She sat in the passenger seat, and he shut the door.
And she knew. She knew she’d done the right thing. Only she should have waited. She should have waited to tell him. She should have gotten out of the car.
The memory darkened and slid into place in the shelves of her mind as she sat in the car in her aunts’ driveway. Tears ran down her face as rain coursed down the car windows. She rubbed her arm. “Jace is not Ian. Jace is not Ian.”
After she calmed herself, she turned off the car. She got out and numbly walked to the front door, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She closed the door behind her as quietly as she could, hoping the front room would be empty so she could just steal down the hall.
“Georgie-girl’s home!”
Georgie kept her head down. “I’m not feeling well. I’m—” Her words stuck in her throat. She knew she looked horrible, but what bothered her more was that she didn’t want to make her family worry about her, and she was going to fail.
Faye was already there, followed closely by Tru and Uncle Dar.
“Georgie? Honey, what’s the matter? Here, let’s sit down.”
“No, no, please. I just want to go to my room.” She felt the tears ready to return, and she really didn’t want to get into that again. “I’m just tired.”
The sisters glanced at each another. Tru put her hands on her hips. “Georgie, what happened?”
Faye handed her a tissue.
Dar adjusted his glasses. “You look spooked. Did something scare you?”
Georgie blinked at this entourage of well-intentioned custodians. But Dar’s question reverberated through her soul. As did the answer. Yes. Something scared me.
She blew her nose in the tissue. “I think I have to quit my job.”
“What?” Faye asked. “Why, honey?”
Georgie shook her head and attempted a laugh. “Because I’m so lame.”
“Oh, now. Here.” Faye put her arm around Georgie. “We’ll get you back to your room. Tru? Could you make some of that chamomile tea?”
Faye handed her a clean tissue and led her down the hall to her bedroom. Georgie shook her head at how pathetic she must look to draw this much sympathy.
She wanted to crawl into the bed, all the way under the covers, and sink into the mattress. A little rabbit hole like the one Alice had fallen down, right in the middle of the bed. Wonderland sounded like cake to her at this point.
Faye sat her down, and Dar kept a protective distance.
“Does this involve somebody at work?”
Georgie took a deep, slow breath and let it out. “Kind of, I guess. I don’t know.”
Tru entered the room with a mug and a plate with a roll from dinner. “What did I miss?”
Faye gave her a shake of her head but turned expectantly to Georgie, as did the others.
Georgie blinked back at them and then burst out with a little laugh. Dar raised his eyebrows. Georgie let out another small burst and covered her mouth. “You’re just all staring at me, and I’m so . . . so lame. I think maybe”—tears threatened again, but she pushed through them—“maybe I’m broken.”
“Georgie, if you’re broken, I’m shattered.” Tru handed her the mug, and Georgie took it in both hands.
She gave a shake of her head, already feeling the mug’s warm, calming influence. “Thank you.”
“I put in honey and vanilla. I always make mine that way.” Tru took a bite of the roll.
Georgie brought the mug up to her lips and carefully sipped. She nodded as she swallowed. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you want to tell us what happened? Do you want us to leave you so you can call your mom?” Faye asked with quiet concern.
Georgie blinked at the worried expressions surrounding her.
Tru moved first. “Well, I’ll go. The Bachelor is on. Let me know if you need anything.”
Georgie nodded, attempting a smile.
Tru turned and left the room.
Dar lowered his tall figure in a crouch to look Georgie in the eyes. “You’d tell us if somebody hurt you, right? You’ve got people on your side.”
Georgie nodded. Dar was only semiretired from his law firm. “It was a misunderstanding.”
Dar looked in her eyes as if to confirm her honesty, then gave her shoulder a squeeze and leaned over to Faye and kissed the top of her head. “See you in a bit.” He turned and left.
After a minute, Georgie looked down into her teacup. “You’re all so good.”
“We’re family. Now, did you want to talk to your mom?”
Georgie shook her head. “It’s late. She’ll be asleep. I’ll call her tomorrow.” The truth was Georgie wasn’t sure she could talk to her mother. Her mom always got so emotional and analytical at the same time, insisting it would be better for Georgie to come home. Georgie always found herself feeling protective of her own choices and ended up spinning their conversation into what she knew her mother would want to hear. She was too tired for that.
“Okay. Well . . .” Faye started to leave, but Georgie put her hand out.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
Faye stilled, then settled into the space next to Georgie on the bed.
Georgie gripped the mug. “I think it might be easier to talk to you first. Maybe because you’re a little bit more removed. Does that make sense?”
“Sure it does. To sort through it.”
“Yes.” She sighed, relieved her aunt understood. “Remember I told you I needed to figure things out so I can move on?”
Faye nodded.
“Well, tonight . . . someone showed me that all I’ve been doing is pretending to move on, pretending that if I try hard enough, it will go away, it will heal, that I will heal. But after tonight . . .” She looked up at the ceiling and let out a shaky breath. “After tonight I wonder if I’ll ever be able to be myself again.”
Kisses in the Rain Page 5