The message didn’t sound like Lainie was going to keeping beating on her. Had something happened to Miriam? Jemma’s heart beat picked up speed.
Her phone rang and she quickly connected. “What’s wrong? Is Gramma all right?”
“Miriam’s fine.” Lainie sounded breathless. “I’m so glad you answered.”
“I’m still pissed at you.”
“I know. But this isn’t about Paul, I promise.”
“What’s so important, then?” She sat on the edge of the newly made bed and suppressed a groan as she stretched her back. “I have to get back to scrubbing toilets.”
“You know we barely made it through the last few shows without you. Naomi practically cried if Benedict looked at her. And all Benedict could do was curse you out because he missed having you around.”
“You’re not making me feel better.”
“I wanted to let you know how much we missed you on set. And to remind you we start prepping for Season Two in a week. I expect you in my office Monday morning, nine o’clock sharp.”
Her stomach swooped as if she were on an amusement park ride. “What did you say?”
“I was called into an emergency meeting this morning. Benedict investigated after you left. Turns out Lawrence was having a fling with Fenella.” She snorted. “Stupid man. Benedict laid it all out to the head honchos, and all Lawrence could do was sputter. The upshot is, he’s out, and you’re in.”
“I’m in?” she parroted.
“Benedict can hire who he wants as his personal PA. He figures you’ve learned your lesson, so you’re it.”
Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy. “I’m it.”
The glee in Lainie’s voice sparkled through the speaker. “Isn’t it great? You’re back!”
“You’re not screwing with me, are you?” She strode to the door, took a last look at the dingy room, with its orange and brown bedspread, banal paintings, peeling veneer dresser. “Tell me you’re not messing with me.”
“Of course not. I told you before, Benedict thought you were the best PA he’s ever had. He’s just proved it.” Her voice grew serious. “There is one thing I need you to do before you start.”
“Anything.” She was ready to promise the moon.
“Talk to Paul.”
That stopped her dead in her rush down the hall. “You said this wasn’t about him.”
“It isn’t. It’s about you.” Lainie’s voice softened, cajoled. “You’re miserable without him. You should give him a second chance.”
Jemma’s head whirled. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Promise you’ll think about it?”
Jemma closed her eyes, stunned by the sudden reversal of her fortune. Could she take this news and transmute it into enough confidence to deal with Paul, as well? She gave in. “I’ll think about it.”
His mother sailed across the crowded restaurant, docking next to him with a concerned look. “Paul, have something to eat.”
“I did, Mom. I’m good.” He smiled. It felt weird, as if his cheeks had forgotten how to do it.
“You’re thin. Have some more.”
Grace came to his defence. “Leave him alone, Mom. He’s a big boy. He’ll eat if he’s hungry.”
She huffed out a disbelieving breath, ready to say more. Titia Benedita interrupted from the other side of the room. “Beatriz, come here. Daniel has a question for you.”
Paul met Daniel’s eyes through the tangle of family and friends and nodded his thanks. He’d managed to avoid Sunday brunch the last couple of weeks, but had been guilted into it today by his mother.
The morning after Jemma said she wouldn’t marry him, he’d woken with a hangover of monumental proportions. While the pounding headache and roiling nausea had faded away, the gloom and despair hadn’t. All he could think about was Jemma, and how to win her back.
Because he couldn’t live without her.
“She’s right, you know.” Grace shoveled in a mouthful of pancake, dripping in syrup.
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you are thin. You have to get over her.”
“I don’t want to.” If there was a cliff he’d clung to over the last weeks, it was that he loved Jemma. “I haven’t given up yet. I’m just...regrouping. Giving her time to calm down.”
“Her grandmother still comes to the seniors’ centre. She’s not as frightened now, but her dementia is not going to improve. It’s never going to improve.”
“I know that.” He rubbed the heel of his hand against the throbbing weight in his chest. It was a gesture he found himself doing multiple times a day. “Have you seen Jemma lately?”
She shook her head. “Just the once. I keep missing her.”
Not as much as I do, Paul thought.
“You no eat.”
Paul’s head turned in surprise. His father stood at his elbow, wielding a ladle over a pan of scrambled eggs.
“I already did, Dad.” He gestured at his plate, a few crumbs of toast giving proof to his statement.
A scoop of eggs splatted onto it. “You need to eat more. You look sick.” He thumped away.
Grace snorted. “You must look really bad if Dad noticed.” She pushed a plastic bottle toward him. “Ketchup?”
Miriam sat on the bench next to Jemma, gleefully tossing stale breadcrumbs to the pigeons at her feet.
Jemma watched her with love and despair. Today had been good, so far. Miriam had been compliant and cheerful, and they had decided to take advantage of the warm, sunny weather to walk to a neighbourhood park.
“Isn’t he a handsome gentleman?” Miriam chuckled as a pigeon puffed and strutted for the ladies, displaying his iridescent plumage. “What a show off.”
Jemma offered her face to the sun, closing her eyes and soaking in the vitamin D. The grunts and shouts from a Saturday afternoon soccer match drifted across the field.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so relaxed. It was amazing how Benedict’s job offer had changed her world. That security, that future, altered her perspective in so many ways.
Miriam’s delighted laughter had her opening her eyes. Her heart swelled at the joy in her grandmother’s face.
The last few weeks had been hell. She hated her job as a chambermaid, hated having to leave Miriam in a place she wasn’t happy. But they’d managed. The disasters she had envisioned if she lost her job with Reservations for Two hadn’t materialized. From the safety of distance, her panicked rejection of Paul’s friendship, his love, appeared melodramatic and unnecessary.
And her cool rejection of his proposal vengeful and cruel.
“Gramma? Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course you can.”
“You know I said no when Paul asked me to marry him, right?”
“Yes.” Miriam’s eyes were bright as she studied Jemma. For right now, at least, everything was as it had been, before the dementia.
“You see, I was angry with him. All he had to do was tell a tiny fib, and I wouldn’t have been fired.”
“Was it really so tiny?” She sprinkled the last handful of crumbs onto the ground. “You wanted him to deny he loved you. I don’t know if that’s such a small lie.”
Jemma was struck dumb. Miriam was right. He loved her, and she’d wanted him to lie about that. Could she want a man who would lie about something so crucial?
Miriam brushed crumbs off the knee of her pale blue slacks. “He knew you would be upset with him. Yet he told the truth. He’s a man who would put honour before his own happiness.”
“He put it before my happiness.”
“I’m sure he regretted that. But telling the truth shouldn’t depend on the circumstances.”
“I was trying to protect you. To protect us.”
“I know you were, sweetie.”
They stood and made their way slowly along the path. Trees arched overhead, leaves fluttering in the light breeze.
“I miss him.” The words shot out of Jemma’s mouth.
> Miriam stopped and put a hand on Jemma’s arm. “The real question is, do you love him? Love him enough to apologize? To ask to try again?”
“I messed up, didn’t I.”
“You think love is easy?” Miriam shook her head. “I spent forty years with your grandfather. There were days I was so angry with him I thought I’d never speak to him again. And that was before I knew about the mess he left when he died, silly man.” Her tone was sad but forgiving. “I’m sure he felt the same way about me on the odd occasion.” Her soft blue eyes twinkled. “But in between, life was lovely. I can’t imagine what it would have been like without him.”
Paul strode through his restaurant, a professional smile plastered on his face.
While Reservations for Two had been on air, Paulo’s had been pleasantly full most nights. Since the finale, it had been packed. With a waiting list. Every night.
Daniel was the one who pointed out a high percentage of the new diners were women. He also noted many of them were attractive. And that they all had eyes for Paul. He didn’t care.
“Oh, Paul, can I ask you a question?” called a light, playful voice.
“Of course,” he said. “How can I help?”
“What wine would you recommend? We’re having the pollo al ajillo.” She was a slender blonde whose straight silky hair fluttered against elegant collarbones. A brunette with riotously curling hair sat across from her. Both women exuded sultry sophistication.
He answered mechanically, smiling with polite emptiness and avoiding their more overt flirting. With relief he caught a subtle gesture from Daniel, standing by the swinging doors to the kitchen.
“You’ll have to excuse me, ladies,” he said smoothly. “I’m needed elsewhere. Enjoy your dinner.”
He pushed into the pandemonium that was a restaurant kitchen at the height of the evening’s insanity. The clattering, the humid heat, the shouting. It soothed him as little else could.
“What’s up?”
Daniel pointed. Paul’s father stood in the doorway connecting the two restaurants. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Now?” Irritation tugged through his Jemma-induced fog.
“That’s what he said.”
Paul sighed and wove his way through the mayhem. He followed his father into the other kitchen, closing the door, cutting off the sounds of organized chaos.
João stood by the old stove, feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed over his barrel of a chest, dark eyebrows drawn tightly together.
“I’m busy, Dad. What did you need?”
“This woman. Is she good for you?”
Paul froze. “What woman?”
“This Jemma you told your mother about.”
Paul crossed his arms, realized he was standing exactly like his father, and dropped them to his sides. “Why do you want to know?”
“You are my son.” His voice was gruff, severe. “What did you do that she will not marry you?”
This isn’t happening. My father is not asking me about my love life. “I let her down. She wanted me to do something I couldn’t do. It cost her her job.”
“Your restaurant, it’s doing good. I can see.”
This unprecedented show of approval heightened Paul’s sense of unreality. “Better than good.”
“Does she need a job? Can you not support a wife?”
“It’s complicated. Jemma is very independent.” “So?”
Whether his father meant it to or not, that simple syllable unlocked the dam. “So? So?” He paced the kitchen, stalking back and forth. “She’s furious with me. She lost her job because of me. She won’t be able to get Employment Insurance because she was fired, and she’s the only one taking care of her grandmother, who has Alzheimer’s. She has every right to hate me.”
“Then you are giving up?”
Paul leaned his palms on the worn countertop and pressed. “No. I’m not giving up.”
“What are you doing, then?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“For courage. For the courage to try again.”
“You are my son,” João repeated, and dropped a heavy hand on Paul’s shoulder. “You are not a coward. Try again. Soon.”
Jemma thought she might be sick.
She stood outside Paulo’s and breathed deeply through her nose, staring intently at the heavy wooden front door. All she had to do was walk in, find Paul, and convince him to listen to her. Easy.
Like hell.
When she dreamt up this plan, she’d known there would be other people around, that she would be declaring herself in public. It had seemed only fair, given he had proposed on national television. Surely she could speak to him with a few diners looking on.
It seemed a damn stupid idea right now.
Sweat sprang on her palms. She wiped them down the front of her black pants. She’d squeezed her feet into her hated heels and dolled up a simple tank with glittering jet beads strung on silver chains. With the security of steady work she’d splurged on a new cut and colour.
Drawing a thin thread of courage from the bottom of her soul, she pushed open the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Paul followed his father to the back door of Joe’s Place.
“Lock up behind me.”
“Of course.”
His father strode away, steps short and choppy yet powerful, a blunt-spoken man, not given to deep conversation. Paul wasn’t sure who had been most uncomfortable during the past few minutes.
He threw the bolts and made his way through Paulo’s kitchen to his post at the front desk. Head down, he reviewed the seating chart, double checking each server’s section and making notes for the reservations arriving later.
Fresh air blew in as the front door opened. He quickly finished his notation and looked up, ready to greet the new customers.
The smile stiffened on his face. His wicked fairy stood before him.
Jemma drank in the sight of Paul, standing behind the desk, immaculate in a crisp white shirt and dark suit. His hair brushed his collar. She remembered how it felt in her fingers, silky and thick. Her mouth was so dry her tongue was pasted to the roof. She cleared her throat, the sound tearing in her ears. “How are you, Paul?”
He simply stared at her. His dark eyes swept over her and his lips tightened. “I-I’ve missed you.”
One shoulder twitched. Otherwise he had no reaction.
She’d known this would be tough. Obviously, she’d underestimated.
The quiet clatter and clink of silverware and crystal emphasized his silence. Over his shoulder she saw Daniel. His eyes widened as he turned from a table full of women and caught sight of her. He took up a position behind Paul. The two of them, so much alike, yet so different, surveyed her.
She swallowed hard.
“I’ve come to tell you something. And to ask you a question.”
“Do you want to use the office?” Daniel offered.
Jemma shook her head. “No. I need to do this here. Right here.” She stepped closer to the reception desk. Three feet of glossy wood separated her from Paul. Three feet of glossy wood and days of denial.
Gritting her teeth, she met his gaze. “I’ve been thinking. A lot, these last few weeks. About everything. About us.”
“Is there an us?”
His voice made her knees weak. “Yes, well, that’s part of why I’m here.” She twisted her fingers together, the pain helping her concentrate.
“How have you been?” The question burst from him, as if out of his control. “How’s Miriam?”
She fell a little deeper in love. Again. “Okay. She’s doing okay.” How could she have refused this man, using Miriam as an excuse? He’d been there, for both of them, through some of their toughest times. He hadn’t run from the difficulty of Miriam’s dementia. She had run from the offer of help, the trap of dependence. “It was tough, for a while, after...after I left the show. But I’m starting a new job Monday. With Benedict. He’s ins
isting I be his personal production assistant. For the next season of Reservations for Two.”
Relief lightened his face. “I’m so glad. You deserve to be there.” Finally he moved, circling the end of the table to stand before her. She crossed her arms and held her elbows to stop herself from touching him.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night. Jemma, I—”
She held up a palm. “Don’t say anything. It’s my turn. I still haven’t asked you my question.”
“Ask it, then.”
“I have to explain first.” She drew a deep breath. “I don’t think of myself as a coward. I’m tough, a smart-ass.” Her mouth quirked. “But you scared me, Paul.” He reached for her and she backed away, not ready to be touched, to touch. She had to do this right. “I wanted you too much. All I could see was my want, my need, ruining whatever security I had for Miriam, for the only family I have.”
He cleared his throat. “You can take care of Miriam and have others in your life.”
“I’m beginning to believe that.” She closed her eyes briefly, gathering her courage. “After I was fired, I thought the world was coming to an end. But you know what? We survived. It wasn’t pretty, but Miriam and I, we made it work. And if I have to, I could do it again.” She stared at him defiantly. “I don’t need anyone’s help. But that doesn’t mean I can’t accept it, if someone offers.”
He opened his mouth and she shook her head, stopping him before he made a sound.
“Then you asked me to marry you. On live TV, no less.” She licked her lips, searching for the words she’d practiced over and over. “I panicked. I meant what I said before, about not believing in marriage, in happy endings. I never thought I’d love someone enough to consider being with them forever.”
He stepped forward. “What are you saying, Jemma?”
“I love you, Paul.” She held her breath, waiting for a reaction. His face paled and his eyes flickered, but that was all. She forged on. “I didn’t want to, I really didn’t want to. But I think about you all the time. My life was better with you in it. I miss you so much.” She grasped his hand, held it in both of hers. His warm fingers wrapped around hers. She tugged him forward, into the restaurant proper.
Reserved for You Page 21