“Forgiveness is never easy,” Elizabeth McCarthy said. “Forgiving yourself may be the hardest thing you ever do.”
“Oh great, you’ve turned into a monk,” Emma said. “I guess being all wise and knowing now makes it all right that you went AWOL for thirty years.”
Layla’s calm smile evaporated, and she reached for Emma’s arm. “Let’s go into the kitchen, shall we?”
Layla half-dragged Emma through the swinging doors, through the narrow back hallway, and into the kitchen.
“You’re going to leave a bruise,” Emma said.
“And you’re going to find yourself out on the street if you don’t adjust your attitude,” Layla snapped back.
Emma stared in affronted amazement. “You’re going to fire me for being angry at your mother? She left you behind, remember?”
Layla released a gusty sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “I know what she did. Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. Things have changed, however. She’s changed, and now I’m trying to let go of the anger. It was eating me up inside, like the cancer that tried to take her life.”
“So she was sick,” Emma said. “I wondered about her appearance. She looks nothing like the pictures your grandmother kept in the house.”
“Yes, Beth almost died,” Layla said. “Her illness ended up saving her, in a way. She’s really turned her life around, and she’s important to me now. I can’t allow you to insult her.”
“You’d pick her over me?” Emma asked.
“She’s my mother.”
Hearing the word “mother” come out of Layla’s mouth – spoken with gentleness and love no less – was a shock. But as Emma searched her friend’s face, she thought she understood some of the changes in Layla. Perhaps learning to let go of bitterness had something to do with the peace in her eyes now.
“Well, if you’re willing to forgive her, I suppose I have no choice but to give her a chance, too,” Emma said, wondering what kind of alternate universe she’d landed in. Head Chef in a decrepit dinner theatre. Working with Layla’s long-lost mother.
“My mother isn’t the only big change in my family structure.”
Emma laughed. “What? Have you uncovered more relatives?”
“Yes, as it happens. I have a little half-brother,” Layla said. “He was another reason my mother turned her life around.”
“Oh, my gosh, are you kidding? You’ve got half-siblings, too?
“More than one,” Layla said with a sheepish grin. “You might see my father hanging around come the weekend, and he has three kids.”
Emma gaped. “Did you say…your father? You’ve met your father? You know who he is?”
Layla nodded. “He was my mother’s high school boyfriend. She never told him she was pregnant, but he found out when she came back to Shellwater Key. Then we met…and now my parents tend to act like a couple of love-struck teenagers whenever they get the chance.”
“Holy crap…” Emma could barely wrap her brain around Elizabeth McCarthy being here, but Layla now had an entirely new family. “You must be so freaked out.”
“I was for a while,” Layla said. “I think sometimes I still am, but I’m getting used to it. You’ll like my father. He’s great, and my other half-siblings are close to your sisters’ ages. I bet they’d get along.”
“We’ll be like the Brady Bunch, I guess,” Emma said faintly.
Layla’s mouth turned up. “I’ve thrown a lot of news your way, haven’t I?”
“I’d say so. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say now. Congratulations, maybe?”
“I’ll accept that.” Layla chuckled and gave Emma a hug. “I’m sorry if I snapped at you about my mother. I’ve gotten pretty protective of her, but I forget that people haven't had a chance to see that she’s changed.”
“It’s all right,” Emma said, squeezing back. “I’d probably be protective, too, and I’ll try to keep an open mind about your mother…and your father…and your half-siblings…and…” She stopped, waggling her eyebrows. “Is there anyone else?”
“Oh, heck yes…my father’s family is huge,” Layla said. “There’s a whole other set of grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, a great-grandmother…the list is endless.”
“Wow,” Emma breathed. “It’s a wonder you didn’t go screaming into the hills.”
Layla had always been something of a loner, despite her strong personality. She must not know what to do with all the new people in her life.
“Oh, I’ve been tempted a time or two, but then I think how my life has changed. It’s so much better than anything I’ve ever known.” Layla glanced around at the kitchen. “I have a feeling the same thing will happen for you right here.”
“Layla, I don’t think—”
Her friend simply laughed and patted her shoulder. “Fasten your seatbelts, it might be a bumpy ride.”
Then Layla slipped out the doors, leaving Emma alone in her new domain. She drew in a deep breath and turned in a circle, forcing herself to look more closely at the surroundings. She hadn’t taken more than a cursory glance the other day.
It wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined. Nope…it was worse.
Stains, corrosion, dust, rust, mold, various animal droppings, cobwebs, so many layers of grime on the floor…and the shelves…and the counters.
“Oh crap…”
Emma hardly knew where to start, but settled for the walk-in refrigerator. The smell almost knocked her over. Slamming the door shut, she leaned against the cool surface for support. What had she gotten herself into? They would have to rip out all of the appliances. The countertops would probably have to go, too. They might be able to save the floors, if they could rent a sandblaster.
The urge to hyperventilate almost overwhelmed her, but then Emma shook off her growing sense of doom. She’d committed to taking the job, knowing it would be a struggle. A little hard work had never scared her before. At least she would have a say in designing the new kitchen. She’d have a say in everything, something she’d never experienced before. Even on The Queen’s Ransom, Isabella had still called the shots.
“So quit whining and get to work,” Emma announced to herself, and the room. “This kitchen will not conquer me.”
Brave as she wanted to be, Emma couldn’t bring herself to tackle the refrigerator yet. Instead, she settled on cleaning out the pantry. She got to work throwing out anything old, broken, destroyed, decayed, or unidentifiable. Soon, she became absorbed in the task, losing all sense of time. Emma made a thousand trips to the dumpster outside. Then she started on the shelves, which held enough dust to sink a battleship.
Using an old crate as a stepladder, she climbed up to reach the top shelf. She swiped a wet rag over the surface and a creature sporting many legs skittered off the cloth and onto her chest.
“Gross!” She batted at her T-shirt to dislodge the creepy-crawly and lost her balance. Letting out a yelp, she grabbed for the shelf before she went splat on the concrete floor.
Two strong hands encircled her waist, lifting her to the ground. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Emma’s body recognized the feel and smell of the man before she twisted around. Reece Casings stared down at her, his customary frown in place. She opened her mouth, ready to blast him, but then registered something different about him.
“You own jeans,” she said, taking in the transformation.
His expression shifted from irritated to exasperated in an instant. “Yes.”
“And a t-shirt.” In this case the shirt was a black, form-fitting one, which emphasized shoulders that would make Atlas jealous and somehow made his eyes seem darker and more mysterious. Suddenly, Reece Casings looked like a bad boy…and Emma loved bad boys. “I didn’t think your closet held anything but suits and ties.”
He rolled his eyes. “I am capable of relaxing.”
“When?” Emma retorted. “I’d like to know so I can be there to witness it.”
He sighed and left the pantry, pre
senting her with a riveting rear view. She caught herself mid-stare, cursing the fact that she couldn’t seem to shake the odd attraction.
Emma followed him out of the pantry. “What are you doing here, anyway?” She stopped when she spied her mother, Paige, and Imogene standing by the door. Emma’s mother was slightly behind the girls, her back to the exit, as if to cut off the escape route.
“What’s going on?” Emma had asked her mother to pick up the girls from school so she could get some things done.
“The girls were interested in seeing where you work,” she said. “You mentioned that you would be here cleaning, and I thought it would be great if we all helped. The girls were very excited by the idea.”
“Really? You want to spend your afternoon getting sweaty and dirty?” Emma glanced at Imogene, who delivered another one of her patented glares right on cue.
Paige was another story. Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she stepped forward. “I think it’s so cool that you’re working here,” she said. “This place is great! Mr. Grayson and your friend took me up to the booth. It’s kind of empty now because the old lighting and sound boards need to be replaced, but you can see the whole stage from up there.”
Emma frowned. “I hope it’s safe to be climbing around.”
“I wasn’t alone, and Mr. Grayson wouldn’t let anything happen to me,” Paige said, as if Layla’s boyfriend was some kind of caped crusader rather than a theatre director.
Emma eyed the younger girl. “Mr. Grayson made an impression, I see.”
Paige clapped her hands together. “He’s amazing. Did you know he directed some shows on Broadway and won a Tony Award?”
Emma had not been aware of Grayson Kendall’s credentials, which made his decision to work at The Paradise pretty astounding. That red dress he’d mentioned Layla wearing the day they’d met must have been incredible.
Emma felt brave enough to look at Reece again. “How did you get roped into coming?”
“I went by the house to check on the girls,” he said. “Your mother mentioned the new job, and I was curious. I’ve been hearing about the renovations for a couple of months, so I thought I’d stop by and check it out, too.”
Ten to one he’d also “stopped by” to make sure her job was legitimate and not an illegal drug ring or something. Still, a few extra people to help clean would make Emma’s life easier. Paige seemed interested in The Paradise, so at least it was something Emma and her youngest sister could share. Imogene had probably come under duress, but perhaps being on more neutral ground might ease the tension.
“Well, I won’t turn down the offer of more help,” Emma said. “This kitchen is a disaster.”
Emma’s mother cleared her throat. “I told Layla I would help sort things in the prop room. According to her, it’s an utter disaster.”
“I think everything is a disaster at The Paradise,” Emma said dryly. “So you’re abandoning me in my hour of need?”
Her mother chuckled. “Oh, you’ll be fine. You have plenty of extra hands.” She gestured to Reece, Imogene, and Paige. Then she slipped out the door before Emma could protest anymore.
Emma stared at the still vibrating door. With her mother removed from the scene, she had no choice but to deal with the three most unsettling people in her life. She shifted toward the girls first.
Imogene still hadn’t spoken, but Paige seemed more than willing to fill the void. “It sure is a mess in here.”
“That’s what years of neglect will do to a kitchen,” Emma replied.
Reece went to stand next to Paige, and she wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned closer. He glanced down and tweaked her nose. He made gestures like that so naturally. Emma watched the simple display, with pure envy. She wondered if she’d ever develop that same closeness with the girls, but the prospect seemed remote.
Reece looked up again in time to catch Emma staring. “Why don’t you tell us what you want us to do?”
How about we slip into the back office so I can find out exactly what is under that t-shirt?
Oh crap…what is happening…stop it!
“Emma?” Reece said, his tone sharper than it had been a moment ago. Lord, she hoped he couldn’t see the scintillating thoughts winging around in her head.
Emma snapped to attention. “Right. Paige and Imogene, why don’t you take over cleaning the shelves in the pantry?” She tossed the dirty rag at Imogene.
Startled, the teen caught it against her chest. When Imogene realized what she’d done, she squealed and held the cloth out by her fingertips. “Gross!”
“A little dirt won’t hurt you,” Emma said. “There are more rags. Paige, take the lower shelves, Imogene the upper ones.”
Reece cleared his throat again.
“What?” she asked, between clenched teeth.
He pantomimed her nearly falling from the rickety crate a moment ago.
Emma released a long-suffering sigh. “Except for the top shelf. We don’t want any broken necks.”
The girls trooped off toward the back. “I think your mom hoped you’d spend time with them,” Reece said as he watched them go.
“They came to clean,” Emma said, her hackles rising automatically. How could one man make her pant with uncontrolled lust and want to punch his smug face at the same time? “The pantry needs cleaning, and it’s the safest thing for them to do.”
“Fine.” The arch look Reece sent her said he clearly saw through her BS. “What task will you give me? Maybe I can go help your mother and that director guy?”
Tempting, but Emma wasn’t about to give Reece the idea that she couldn’t handle being in the same room with him.
“I’m curious about something,” Emma said, choosing to put him on the defensive. “You came running to save the day during our shopping trip, and now you’re turning into Mr. Clean. Don’t you ever work?”
“It’s my firm, I can take off whenever I want,” Reece said. “Besides, my clients understand that I have family obligations right now.”
“So I’m just another one of your obligations?” Emma said, stung by the thought that he might view her not only as a negligent daughter and sister, but also an unwanted burden he had to endure. “If that’s how you really feel, please don’t bother.”
“You’re not an obligation.”
“Really? Because most of the time you seem to hate me.”
“That’s not true,” he said.
“You sure do act like it.”
“Because you’re frustrating and obstinate and you live to antagonize me.”
“I do n—” She stopped. “Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry.”
“And I’m sorry if I’ve made things harder for you.” An awkward silence descended. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“Are you familiar with a mop?”
Warmth invaded his chocolate-laced eyes. “Yes.”
“Good. There’s a closet filled with cleaning supplies at the end of that hall,” she said, pointing in the direction her sisters had gone. “You’ll find the mop and one of those rolling buckets. The closet has a built-in faucet so you can fill it up in there.”
He nodded. “Okay. What are you going to do?”
“I need to tackle the stainless steel countertops in here. See if I can rid them of tarnish or if they’ll need to be torn out and replaced.”
Reece headed off in search of the bucket and mop. She waited until she heard water running before turning to the counters. She grabbed a fresh rag and the tarnish remover and set to work. A couple minutes later, Reece came back, wheeling a yellow bucket.
He got to work. So did she. He didn’t talk. Neither did she. The swish of the mop across the floor ran a counter melody to the sound of her scrubbing the counter.
The arrangement seemed to be working fine, until Reece broke the silence. “Things don’t seem any easier between you and Imogene.”
Emma deliberately kept her back to him as she dug into the counter. “I suppose you think the tension is all
my fault?”
He plunged the mop into the bucket then squeezed the lever to remove excess water. “Which one is the adult in the situation?”
“Which one looks at the other like she’s the Devil incarnate?” Emma snapped back. “Believe it or not, I am trying. She doesn't make it any easier. We’re still practically strangers—”
“Whose fault is that again?”
Emma spun around and shook her rag at him. “We are not playing this game anymore, Mr. Casings. I know my father had some kind of fantasy that his daughters would somehow figure out how to be a family, but it might be nothing more than a pipe dream. Now can we please not discuss this anymore? I’ll eventually figure out how to navigate this situation, but having you always looking over my shoulder judging my every action doesn’t help.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re doing it right now,” Emma retorted. “Why don’t you stick to mopping? That floor is so grimy I’m not sure a mop will be enough to really get it clean. It may take scrubbing on hands and knees.”
He saluted. “Warning noted.”
She turned and attacked the counter, putting all her weight into scrubbing off the tarnish. Maybe if she rubbed hard enough she could wipe away the stain of guilt that caked her conscience.
“Since you’ve declared your father and anything having to do with his life off limits, is there anything we can talk about that won’t result in my playing Cinderfella to your Wicked Stepmother?”
She looked over her shoulder. A mistake since she caught sight of Reece as he bent over to swipe the mop across the floor. She whipped her head back around, but not before the image seared itself into her brain. Reece in denim had been bad enough. Seeing him do manual labor was enough to overload her entire system. The play of muscles along his back seemed to ripple even through his t-shirt.
She scrubbed the counter with even more force.
“You scrub any harder on that counter and you’re liable to whittle it down to a cookie sheet,” he said.
Why did he have to keep talking? “So now you’re an expert at cleaning a professional kitchen, too? Just like you’re the authority on how to deal with two young girls?”
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