The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5)

by Krista Sandor

  Gabe nodded and glanced over at Sam. Not only had his brother been running this place on his own, he’d also been helping Oma with the bakery and hiring kids who needed more than just a job. He’d written Park Tavern off in his mind. But now that he was here, he saw this restaurant was more than just a place to grab a meal. It was a community hub. It was the heart of Langley Park.

  Jenna leaned in. “Jonah’s mother told me he likes working at Park Tavern, but he really loves helping out in the bakery. Sam often sends him to help your grandmother.” Her face grew concerned. “How is she? We heard about her fall.”

  “She’s fractured her hip, but she’s doing all right,” Monica replied. “She’s still at the hospital, but she’s going to be transferred to the Senior Living Campus tomorrow to undergo rehabilitation for the next several weeks.”

  “Are you taking over the bakery?” Ben asked.

  Gabe glanced at Monica. He wasn’t sure how she’d take that question, but she was smiling. “Yes, I’ll be running things while she’s recuperating. Gabe’s also helping me in the shop and with planning Langley Park’s first Oktoberfest.”

  “My architecture firm has signed on to contribute to the event,” Ben said.

  Zoe nodded. “We’ve gotten commitments from most of the businesses in town.”

  “Now we just have to make it happen,” Monica answered.

  Gabe wanted to touch her but held back.

  “We will,” he replied. He could have kissed her right there. Swept her up into his arms in the middle of Park Tavern, surrounded by families laughing and eating, and kissed her until the end of time. Instead, they had to pretend they could barely stand each other. Two individuals coming together for a good cause. But that crackle between them, that gravitational pull that had kept him orbiting her from the moment he saw her, begged for him to reach out and stroke her cheek.

  “Chef Sinclair, Miss Brandt, are you two ready to do the interview?” a reporter asked, holding out a mic. “We’d like to get the story submitted so it can be on the news tonight.”

  Zoe’s friends from the local TV station had stuck around. They’d filmed the Camp Fire Kids volunteer project earlier that day. When Zoe told them that he was part owner of Park Tavern and planned on cooking a special meal for the group, they’d asked if they could do a quick interview.

  “We’ll catch up with you later, Gabe. It was nice to meet you, Monica,” Ben said and followed his wife and daughter to the cupcake table.

  “Looks like we were at the right place at the right time,” the reporter said. “I had no idea you were from around here, chef.”

  “Born and raised,” he answered.

  “This is going to make a great segment for our community engagement spot on tonight’s newscast. We’ll lead in with the Camp Fire Kids meal here at Park Tavern. Then I’ll ask you about any other community events, and you can plug Langley Park’s Oktoberfest.”

  He turned to Monica. “Are you ready?”

  She met his gaze and those sky-blue eyes nearly swallowed him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  The cameraman murmured something to the reporter, and she gestured with her hands for them to move closer to each other. “Do you mind?”

  “I’ve endured worse,” Monica said and gifted him with a quick, coy smile before pulling her features back to neutral.

  Christ! All he could think about was wrapping her long legs around him and sinking his cock deep inside her. He took a step toward her and brushed her pinky finger with his. Her chest heaved with a sudden, sharp inhale of breath. They were back to being teenagers, trying to hide their attraction, stealing tiny moments when even the slightest brush of skin on skin felt electrifying.

  Zoe stood next to the cameraman. She pointed to her face and put on an exaggerated smile.

  “That’s for you,” Monica whispered, bumping him with her shoulder.

  “Sorry,” Gabe said and grinned at the reporter. “I’m ready.”

  The reporter gave him a tentative smile then nodded to the cameraman. After a quick synopsis of the Camp Fire Kids service project, she started in with the questions.

  “I’m here with celebrity chef, Gabe Sinclair and Monica Brandt from The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive in Langley Park. Tell us a little bit about cooking for the Camp Fire Kids this afternoon.”

  He smiled into the camera. He’d smiled into lots of cameras over the last decade, but this was different. Every other time that red light had pulsed to life, he had been an imposter, a man masking who he was for who he thought he should be. Monica’s pinky brushed against his again, and a sense of purpose and gratitude surged through him.

  “We at Park Tavern were honored to cook for the Camp Fire Kids and their families. They worked hard picking up trash around Lake Boley. They did a great service for our community. The least we could do was make them lunch.”

  “Is it true that you did all this for free?”

  “Absolutely! Like I said, it’s an honor to support those who volunteer to keep Langley Park beautiful.”

  “The kids also got some sweet treats,” the reporter added, turning her attention to Monica.

  “That’s right,” she answered, not missing a beat. “My family owns the bakery across the street. When we heard about the Camp Fire Kids volunteering their time to help the town, I knew I wanted to donate some pastries and show them how much we appreciate their hard work.”

  The reporter picked up a cupcake and took a bite. The woman closed her eyes and released a tiny moan. “This is heaven,” she said and took another bite.

  Monica chuckled. “That’s one of our German chocolate cupcakes. It’s been one of our top sellers for decades.”

  “I can see why, and, boy, do I know what I’m ordering if I’m ever in Germany.”

  Gabe bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. Hopefully, Oma wouldn’t be watching the news tonight.

  The reporter recovered and moved on. “You two are teaming up for another community event, aren’t you?”

  Gabe nodded. “We are. Park Tavern and The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive are working with other local merchants to host Langley Park’s first Oktoberfest.”

  “It’s going to be held in the Langley Park Botanic Gardens. We’ll have traditional German food, beer, and music as well as fun activities for kids,” Monica added.

  “It’s going to be a great family-friendly event,” Gabe said, meeting her eye.

  “It sounds wonderful. But here’s what I need to know,” the reported said, leaning in. “Am I going to be able to get more of these cupcakes?”

  “You sure will,” Monica answered like a pro. “We’ll have a full assortment of pastries and treats. Oktoberfest will have something for everyone.”

  “Then I’ll be there for sure!” the reporter said. She signed off, and the red light went dark.

  Gabe glanced over at Monica. The room was flooded with energy, a pulsing warmth that permeated every cell in his body. She bit her lip. She felt it, too. That rhythm. That intensity. The camera started rolling, and it just clicked.

  The reported passed her mic to the cameraman. “We’ll post more information about Oktoberfest on the channel’s webpage.”

  “Thank you so much,” Monica said, shaking the woman’s hand.

  “My pleasure,” she answered and looked over her shoulder at Zoe. “See, this is how you do the reporter thing with all the fancy stuff.”

  “Fancy-schmancy,” Zoe said playfully. “You only get two minutes to tell a story. On the radio, we get to go in-depth. Take our time.”

  The reporter chuckled. “We TV people like to razz the radio folks, and by the way, you two look fantastic on screen together.”

  “This is Gabe’s thing. I’m not a TV personality,” Monica said, a sweet, pink blush working its way up her neck.

  “Don’t discount yourself,” the reporter replied. “You’re a natural. You used to model, right?”

  “I did.”

  “Yeah, I thought I recognized you
. You’re great on camera. You both are. Thanks again,” she said, taking one of the cameraman’s bags. “Zoe, we’ll be in touch,” she called out as they left the restaurant.

  Zoe was back on her phone, texting furiously and nodded to the reporter.

  Sam joined them. “You two are playing nicely.”

  Gabe hardened his features. He loved his brother, but he couldn’t let him in on what was going on with Monica. “We’re both committed to making Oktoberfest a success.”

  Monica blushed then glanced over at Jonah, who was still entertaining the children with the cupcakes. “I better get back to the bakery.”

  “Why don’t you take Jonah with you,” Sam offered. “I think every kid in here is working on their second or third cupcake. I don’t think we’ll need any more.”

  “Thanks, Sam. He’s a big help to me at the bakery.”

  “I’ll be over to help you get prepped for tomorrow after I get things squared away over here,” Gabe said, doing his best to channel his inner jackass.

  A muscle in her cheek twitched. Fuck if she wasn’t trying to hold back a smile. “Whatever,” she said, doing a remarkably good job at hating him.

  Zoe’s attention was still glued to her phone.

  “Zoe,” Sam said.

  “Hmm,” she hummed without looking up.

  “You’ve been ten feet away from a table full of cupcakes and haven’t had one. What’s so interesting on that phone? Are you setting up the Sam Sinclair fan page?”

  “Yep,” she answered, clearly not paying attention.

  “Z?” Sam said with a touch of urgency.

  She pocketed her phone. “Sorry, I’m working on a story. Will you guys be all right if I go?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Gabe answered.

  Zoe’s phone buzzed. “Great, thanks, guys,” she answered, pulling the phone out of her pocket as she left the restaurant.

  “She’s preoccupied with something,” Gabe said as the brothers watched Zoe disappear down the street.

  A beat passed. Zoe was out of sight, but Sam still stared out the window.

  “You know, Zoe always had a thing for—”

  “I know,” Sam said, cutting him off. “Just drop it.”

  Gabe folded his arms. There was something dark and painful in his brother’s tone. He glanced around the dining area. The crowd at Park Tavern had thinned out. They didn’t have a dinner service on Sundays, and the staff had begun tidying up and prepping for tomorrow. The familiar clink and rattle of busboys clearing tables was a soothing backdrop as the last few families left the restaurant.

  “How about a beer?” Sam asked.

  “I’d love one.”

  Sam passed him a Boulevard Pale Ale, and he took a slow sip and gazed out the window at the bakery catty-corner across the street.

  Sam glanced that way. “You don’t have to stay with Monica if you don’t want to. You know you’re welcome at home.”

  Gabe set the bottle on the bar. “I appreciate that, but with all we need to do for the bakery and the festival, it’s just easier to stay there.” He hated lying to his brother. If things worked out the way he hoped they would, he wouldn’t be lying for long. Plus, after Agent Glenn’s visit, there was no way in hell he was leaving Monica on her own.

  Sam nodded. He seemed preoccupied.

  “I never asked you,” Gabe said, tracing a drop of perspiration down the bottle with his finger. “Why did you want to buy Park Tavern in the first place? Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you asked me to go in on it with you. I was just surprised.”

  The hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his brother’s lips. “I’ve been all over the world, but something in me knew it was time to come home. I got into town, saw the for-sale sign in the window, and just knew I was supposed to be here.”

  “I should have done more,” Gabe said.

  “You had your own shit. I shouldn’t have come down so hard on you. Have things cooled down with your viral video? What did Zoe call you, Chef Hissy Fit?”

  “Christ!” Gabe said on an exhale of breath. “It’s been so crazy here. I haven’t even thought about that.”

  “It’ll all work out,” Sam said. He took a long pull on his beer and looked out the window.

  “I could help out here, too, at Park Tavern,” Gabe offered. “You’ve got a good crew. They were eager to learn and pulled together to make the Camp Fire lunch a real success.”

  His brother gave him a teasing grin. “It’s not every day they get to cook with the famous chef, Gabe Sinclair. Doesn’t he date lingerie models and poach eggs for the Queen of England?”

  “Fuck off,” Gabe laughed, shaking his head.

  “He’s just so dreamy,” Sam continued.

  Gabe finished his beer. “I’m going to head back to the kitchen and help with cleanup.”

  Sam nodded. “I’m glad you’re back, little brother. This is your home. You’re always welcome here.”

  19

  It was dark by the time Gabe left Park Tavern and walked across the intersection of Bellflower Street and Mulberry Drive to the bakery. The shop had been closed for hours. The only light came from the back where Monica and Jonah were finishing up prepping for the next day.

  He knocked gently on the glass door. Monica’s head turned his way, and, for half a breath, she must have forgotten they were playing at barely tolerating each other. In the soft halo of light, she was a dark angel, all graceful limbs and shining midnight hair pulled up into a loose bun. She caught his eye and smiled at him from across the bakery, and he had to remind himself to breathe. She was that breathtaking. Even after over a decade, this, catching glimpses of her through this window, still captivated him, still set his pulse racing, still felt like home.

  Taping the public radio interview and doing the local news spot had been like nothing he’d experienced. His time in the entertainment side of the culinary world had been exciting but doing it with Monica was pure exhilaration.

  Years ago, when he was an apprentice on his first trip to Italy with Chef Russo, he had learned from the masters in the art of Mediterranean cuisine. The food he’d tasted had been exquisite, but it wasn’t until he set foot on the island of Sicily when everything changed. They’d landed in Catania and rented a car to drive south to visit Chef Russo’s friends in the charming Sicilian town of Noto. On the way, they stopped at a simple mom and pop restaurant for lunch.

  That meal was a turning point. That meal was an epiphany.

  Seated in a small, sun-dappled courtyard, an old Sicilian woman with kind eyes and a spine curved from hours spent kneading dough, served him the best meal of his life. There were no plates, no appetizers, no amuse-bouche, no pomp, no circumstance. They didn’t even order. There was no need. There was only one thing on the menu. In the warm summer air, heavy with the scent of the Ionian Sea, they feasted on shrimp, fresh tomatoes, and grilled octopus nestled in a bed of handmade pasta served on a long plank of wood.

  At first, they weren’t even given utensils. The old woman leaned forward, put her hands behind her back, and took a shrimp into her mouth. Smiling and laughing like a schoolgirl, she swallowed and gestured for them to do the same. He was apprehensive at first, but after the first bite, he was a convert. It was peace. It was perfection. It was a thousand fireworks exploding into the air, brilliant and heavenly. The ambiance, the food, the air, the sea, it all came together in one unforgettable bite off an old piece of wood.

  As he met Monica’s gaze through the bakery window, that same sense of overwhelming contentment overtook him. Except for this time, it was the Kansas air, sweet with the warm scent of the baking pastries mingled with the gardenias in the hanging baskets nearby. It was the town square as familiar to him as his own face. It was Monica.

  It would always be Monica.

  Jonah said something to her, and she broke their connection and turned toward the teen. Monica was holding a pastry bag, and when she went to set it down, Jonah gestured for her to stay where she was. He brushed
off his hands and left the work area and met him at the door.

  Gabe chuckled. A good baker and a gentleman? He needed to watch out for this one. But the teen’s good-natured smile and easy disposition told him that he was no threat and quite an asset to the bakery.

  “We’re about done,” Jonah said, opening the door with a wide grin. “Miss Brandt just taught me how to make charm rolls.”

  Gabe grinned and kept Monica in his line of sight. “Has Miss Brandt taught you how to make the puff pastry that you use to make the charm rolls?”

  “Don’t you buy that stuff in the frozen foods section of the grocery store?” Jonah asked, oblivious to the inside joke.

  Monica bit back a laugh. “Here’s your first lesson in the art of puff pastry, Jonah. The puff pastry we use here at The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive doesn’t come from the grocery store.”

  “Got it,” the kid said, easy smile back in place.

  “Are you just going to stand there and watch us work, Chef Sinclair?” she eyed him sternly. Christ! She was good at pretending to hate him.

  “I thought we could take a walk,” Gabe said. He had to cross arms to restrain himself from touching her.

  “Um, hello?” she said and gestured to the strips of cut puff pastry lined up in a row like soldiers.

  Gabe kept his face neutral. “I wanted to walk the botanic gardens at night to get a feel for the lighting we’ll need for Oktoberfest. It would be good research.”

  Her expression softened, and her gaze darted to Jonah.

  The teen’s face lit up. “I can finish up here.”

  Monica frowned. “I don’t have an extra key to give you to lock up.”

  A blush colored Jonah’s cheeks. “Sometimes, when I was helping your grandma, and it was getting late, I’d finish up and leave out the back. She told me that I just needed to make sure the door was pulled shut, and it would lock on its own.”

  “No wonder you’re so good in the bakery. You’ve learned from the master,” Gabe said.

  “I’ve only helped her out a handful of times. She’s pretty strict.”