The Path to You: A Steamy Small-Town Romance (Jetty Beach Book 7)

by Claire Kingsley

  Until my career went in a direction she didn’t like.

  She saw herself as the wife of a prominent chef in an exciting place like New York or Los Angeles. So when I got the opportunity to return to my hometown and take over the Ocean Mark, she thought I was crazy. That wasn’t what an up and coming chef was supposed to do. She wanted me to carve out a place for myself somewhere trendy and important.

  But my dream was always to come back here and breathe new life into the Ocean Mark. I love that place. It sits on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows give guests an incredible view, and a spotlight illuminates the beach after dark. The building is lodge style, with heavy wood beams, warm tones, and soft lighting that feels both luxurious and cozy. The art and décor pays homage to the Native Americans who once lived in this region. I even work with local artists to give them a place to showcase and sell their work.

  That was always the life I wanted. To enjoy the slower pace in Jetty Beach, and have the best fine dining establishment on the coast.

  It wasn’t the life Amanda wanted. To her credit, she tried. She stuck it out for a while. But she hated small town living. It was never enough for her, and ultimately, I wasn’t enough to keep her here.

  After she left, I dove into my work. It was what kept me sane in those early days. I practically lived at the restaurant. But my creativity was through the roof. I was hyper-focused on cooking, on creating, on pushing boundaries and exploring ideas. For a while, it seemed as if Amanda leaving had been the best thing that could have happened to me. Without the distractions of a failing marriage, I was able to put all my energy into my restaurant. And it thrived.

  But burn-out is a real thing, and after a while, my passion waned. Those flashes of inspiration that would wake me before the sun came up started to disappear. Life became routine.

  And I know my cooking has suffered.

  When Simple Pleasures did their first piece on me, I was terrified the entire time that they would see through me. They came looking for a young, talented chef who was doing exciting things with local foods and flavors. I did my best to be that man while they were here. To give them what they expected.

  The truth was, I was a man struggling to find joy in food the way I once did. A man whose passion for cooking had diminished. The rest of my staff were carrying me—their creativity and enthusiasm kept my restaurant from slipping.

  I’m still that man. In fact, if anything, I’ve fallen deeper down the hole of indifference. Instead of feeling inspired, I spend most of my time feeling numb. I go through the motions, but I have yet to figure out how to recapture what I lost.

  And I know, deep down, it’s only a matter of time before I’m found out. Before everyone sees the truth about who I’ve become. Which is why shining the light of media attention on me is the last thing I want right now.

  I sharpen a knife and get to work chopping and slicing. Clearing my mind, I try to focus on the food and nothing else. I cut, stir, and sauté, smelling and tasting as I go. I have chicken breast, mushrooms, white wine—things I’ve used before. But maybe I can come up with a new twist on an old favorite.

  After trying a few variations, I plate my creation. I’m not crazy about how it looks, but if the flavor is good, I can work on improving the presentation.

  I cut a bite and taste it, pushing it around my mouth, considering. It tastes like… nothing.

  It has flavor. But there’s nothing interesting. Nothing exciting. It’s as if the empty space inside me keeps growing, eating way at my creativity—at my passion. And everything I cook is bland.

  Lately, all my food tastes like this. Most people would probably say it’s fine. But fine isn’t the goal. Fine is where a chef’s career goes to die.

  I dump the rest in the trash. Once upon a time I would have immediately started over—tried again, tweaking the spices or the cooking time. But tonight’s little failure leaves me feeling spent. I clean up the dishes and pour myself a glass of wine, wondering what the hell I’m going to do to get myself back on track.

  4

  Sadie

  My feet are killing me.

  I kick off my shoes and sling my purse over the back of a chair. Working as a server in a nice restaurant has its perks—the tips are fantastic—but any job that keeps you on your feet for eight hours is exhausting.

  Tonight was the busiest night since I started working at the Ocean Mark. I feel like I’ve picked things up quickly, and I held my own. Even in the middle of the service, when it felt like I had a hundred things to remember all at once, I handled it. My tables were happy, they complimented the food, and tipped well. All in all, a good night.

  Except for Gabriel, the head chef.

  I’m convinced he doesn’t like me. I don’t know if I’ve done something to irritate him, or if he’s still mad that Clover hired me. Either way, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks feeling like I’m going to wilt under his gaze.

  It’s not that he glares at me, exactly. He doesn’t seem angry. The first time he saw me, his brow furrowed and he looked more confused than mad.

  Since then, he’s only spoken to me with short, gruff responses. And he still does that brow furrow thing, watching me like he’s not sure what to think. I’m not sure what to think either.

  The fact that he’s drop-dead gorgeous is not making this situation easier. He’s younger than I imagined he’d be, considering Clover told me he owns the place. He has tousled dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes that are stunning. And that brooding look he gets makes my heart race.

  So now I work for a guy who doesn’t seem to like me, and I practically have a crush on him. Great, Sadie. Just great.

  I toss my keys on the counter and glance at the few pieces of mail sitting there. All with my name. Maybe I need to change it. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel completely safe, but not having Sadie Sedgwick attached to everything might help. The guy who rented me this house assured me my information is confidential. But I had to set up utilities in my name—which could be traceable. Granted, Adam would have to narrow it down to this small town, so many thousands of miles from where I started. And that isn’t likely.

  When I left Missouri, I could have gone anywhere, in any direction. I made sure no one knew where I was headed—or even that I was leaving at all. I sold my car, got rid of my phone. I paid cash for my bus ticket so there wouldn’t be a record of me. He shouldn’t be able to find me.

  It all sounds so dramatic. It’s still hard to believe this is what my life has become. I’m basically in hiding, although the authorities won’t help me. No one will. It’s hard to get help when people don’t believe you.

  I flop down on the couch and put my tired feet up. I can’t think about Adam Cooper right now. He’s far away and I have to believe he won’t find me. I’ll go crazy if I think about it all the time. I’ve done what I can to protect myself. I just have to hope it’s enough.

  Besides, I have more immediate concerns. Like how to get Gabriel Parker out of my head.

  I flip on the TV to zone out for a while, but it isn’t long before my eyes are heavy. I do a once-over on the locks on my doors and windows—like I do every single night. I know they’re locked. They always are. But I won’t be able to sleep unless I check.

  I get up in the morning feeling refreshed with feet that no longer ache. Since I don’t have to work until three, I figure I should get some errands done, and head into town.

  There’s a little diner right near where I’m parked, so I decide to pop in for a late breakfast. It looks like one of those old-fashioned burger joints with a black and white checked floor and a big juke box in the corner. There’s a long counter with round barstools, and booths along the window. I hear sounds coming from the kitchen, but there’s no one up front. I’m not sure if this is a seat-yourself kind of place, or if I’m supposed to order at the counter. There’s a stack of menus near the cash register, so I grab one and take a look.

  The hair on the back of
my neck stands up and I have the distinct sensation that someone’s watching me. My back tingles and a little swirl of fear swims through my belly. My body stiffens and I’m about ready to leave—because something feels off—when a woman comes out from the kitchen and gives me a warm smile.

  “Be right with you, sweetie,” she says.

  She takes a glass carafe of coffee past the booths, refilling mugs and asking if anyone needs anything. She gets to the booth at the end and the man pushes his cup toward her. His eyes lift and meet mine.

  It’s Gabriel.

  We both freeze, like a couple of startled animals. His brow furrows and he turns away, nodding to the waitress. He slides his coffee back across the table and doesn’t meet my eyes again.

  This is awkward. I almost turn to go, but the waitress comes back and shows me to a table. Naturally, it’s right next to Gabriel.

  I sit in the booth so my back is to him, but knowing he’s right there is so uncomfortable. Is he looking at me? Is he annoyed that I’m here? Why did he look at me like that? The waitress gets me coffee and hands me a menu. I really wish I’d chosen somewhere else to eat.

  “Hi.” Gabriel’s voice startles me. I was so intent on the menu—not that I was processing anything that’s on it—I didn’t realize he’d approached my booth.

  “Hi.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he says. “I just figured it was weird to sit there and pretend I don’t know you. So… good morning.”

  “Good morning.”

  The waitress comes back with a plate of hash browns, eggs, bacon, and toast. “Oh, you moving tables, honey?” She plunks the plate down across from me. “Here you go. I’ll get your coffee.”

  Gabriel’s eyebrows lift and his mouth opens as he watches the waitress move his coffee to my table. He looks around, like he’s trying to decide what to do.

  I think I’m going to die of awkwardness if he takes his breakfast back to his table. I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Maybe you should just have a seat. You can tell me what’s good here.”

  “If you don’t mind,” he says.

  “No, not at all.”

  He sits across from me and his mouth turns up in a small smile. His whole face changes—the severity of his expression softens and his eyes are bright. It looks more natural on him than I would have guessed. Up until now, I’ve only seen him scowl.

  There’s a little tingle in my belly at the thought that he’s showing me that smile. Like it’s a secret he doesn’t share with just anyone.

  “Listen, Sadie, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” he says. “Clover didn’t give me a heads-up that she’d hired you, so it took me by surprise. That wasn’t your fault.”

  “I was afraid of that,” I say. “I’m sorry—”

  He holds up a hand. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Clover kind of lives by her own rules. I’ve known her long enough, I shouldn’t let that surprise me. And it looks like things worked out for everyone. You’ve been doing a great job.”

  His soft voice and subtle confidence puts me at ease, uncoiling the tension in my shoulders. “Well, thanks for the opportunity. It couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  “Clover has a knack for that,” he says.

  I pick up the menu. “What do you suggest for breakfast? Yours looks good.”

  He picks up his fork and starts mixing in his eggs with his hash browns. “Yeah, you can’t go wrong, if you like greasy diner food.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “But don’t get the sausage gravy.”

  The waitress comes back, coffee carafe still in hand. “Decided yet, sweetie?”

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” I say.

  “Coming right up,” she says.

  Gabriel sprinkles a light dusting of salt and pepper over his breakfast while I stir some cream in my coffee.

  “Do you eat here a lot?” I ask. “I’m kind of surprised to see you in a place like this.”

  He sets the pepper on the table. Is it just me, or does he look a little flushed?

  “Yeah, the food here is actually pretty bad,” he says. “These hash browns are made from dehydrated potatoes and the oil they use is awful.”

  “But you’re here?” I ask.

  He gives me that little smile again—the one that hints at something beneath the surface. “Yeah, I know. It’s my guilty pleasure. I grew up eating here as a kid, so sometimes I come on my days off. I kind of try not to be seen.”

  “Oh man, I blew your cover,” I say.

  “That’s all right.” He meets my eyes. “It can be our secret.”

  I feel another little flutter in my tummy, but the waitress reappears with the coffee again. “Your breakfast will be out in just a minute.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  We sip our coffee in silence, but the quiet is comfortable, rather than strained. I sneak glances at Gabriel, and I think he’s doing the same—lifting his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking. By all accounts, this should be making me very uneasy, but somehow it’s not. It’s nice to not be alone.

  After a few more minutes, the waitress returns with my breakfast. She slides the plate across the table to rest in front of me. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “This looks great,” I say. “Thanks.”

  I follow Gabriel’s lead and add a little salt and pepper, then take a bite. He’s right, it’s delicious in a this is terrible for you kind of way.

  “I’m just going to admit to my pedestrian tastes in food,” I say. “This is so good.”

  Gabriel laughs. “It is, isn’t it? I always feel like I’m not supposed to enjoy it, but damn it’s a good breakfast.”

  “I guess you can’t always eat fancy food,” I say. “How long have you been at the Ocean Mark?”

  “I took over about six years ago,” he says.

  “And you grew up here?”

  “I did,” he says. “I’ve lived other places, but I always wanted to come back.”

  “So you must have family close by?” I ask.

  He nods. “My mom lives in town, although to be honest, it’s easier if I don’t see her too often. She’s not bad, just typical judgmental nosy mother stuff. My sister and her husband live here with their little family. I like being able to see my nephews.”

  Oh man. He has nephews. How cute is that?

  “That’s sweet,” I say. “How old are they?”

  “Isaac is seven,” he says. “Hunter and Emma adopted him. Their younger son, Sebastian, is a little over a year.” He takes another bite of his breakfast. “What about you? Where are you from?”

  “Oh, just a little town in Missouri.”

  “What brought you out here?” he asks.

  It’s such an innocent question, but it makes me seize up. I consciously unclench my fingers from the handle of my fork and try to make the deep breath I take look casual. “Just needed a change.”

  His eyes linger on my face, as if he can sense there’s something I’m not telling him. To his credit, he changes the subject, rather than pressuring me for more information. “And how do you like living at the beach so far?”

  “It’s a nice town,” I say. “Moving has been a little overwhelming. It’s hard not knowing anyone.”

  “Well, you know Clover now, which means pretty soon you’ll know everyone,” he says. “And you know me.”

  There’s that smile again, and the butterflies start doing their thing. I take another bite of my breakfast to cover the sudden flare of shyness.

  I’m not sure how to reconcile this gentle, friendly man with the chef who barks orders and scowls at me. There are hints of the chef here—the intensity in his eyes and the way he gets that groove between his eyebrows. But he’s much less severe than I first thought.

  In fact, far from being uncomfortable, this breakfast has been one of the most pleasant things I’ve done since I moved.

  We chat as we eat, and all too soon, we’re both finished. The waitress clears our plates, but
we linger over our coffee. Despite this being unexpected, I’ve had such a nice time. It’s been so long since I just sat and talked with someone—especially a man.

  The waitress brings our checks and Gabriel takes them both. “Breakfast is on me.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “That’s really sweet.”

  “I’m just bribing you so you won’t tell the rest of the staff how much I like eating here.”

  I laugh. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  After the waitress brings his change, he leaves a tip on the table and we both get up. He holds the door open for me and we pause on the sidewalk.

  “Thanks again,” I say. “This was nice.”

  “Yeah, it was,” he says. “I’ll see you later, Sadie.”

  “Bye.” I watch him go, feeling a bit awed. I’m not quite sure what happened just now, but it seems my first impression of Gabriel was a little off.

  5

  Gabe

  I look at Emma’s text again, trying to think of a way out of this. Bowling? Is she serious?

  Emma: Hunter’s parents are babysitting tonight. We’re all going bowling. You’re coming.

  Me: Maybe another time.

  Emma: No isn’t an option.

  Me: It’s my day off and I hate bowling.

  Emma: Who cares? Come hang out. Have a beer.

  Me: I should probably check in at the restaurant.

  Emma: It’s your day off. Don’t make me come over there.

  Me: Yes, mother.

  Emma: Good. We’re meeting late. See you at ten.

  How do I keep getting railroaded by these women in my life? I run my hand through my hair. We’re all going means a bowling alley full of couples. But if I don’t go, I’ll probably just wind up back at the restaurant working. Maybe getting out of the house is a better idea.