CHAPTER TWO
Peter
My first instinct to is to feel a little sorry for the woman. She looks like a fish out of water. She clearly just got off work, judging by how she isn’t necessarily dressed for the bar scene and the fact that she still has her nametag clipped to her shirt. She’s too far away for me to read it, though. The blonde woman who’s been chatting up the bartender for over half an hour waves her over, which I immediately find odd.
They don’t look like the kind of people who’d be friends. The blonde is way too flashy and dressed to the nines, clearly accustomed to attention and praise. But the other woman looks like the girl-next-door. She’s petite, sweet, and doe-eyed. She’s got her gorgeous black hair up in a tight ponytail, thick-rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of her tiny nose, and a supple bottom lip that she’s nervously biting as she walks through the door.
“Oh, my God, Kate. It’s so good to see you!” the blonde woman damn near shrieks. She’s surprisingly audible over the hustle and bustle of the bar and the terrible rendition of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer playing over the speakers.
“Kate,” I repeat quietly to myself, my interest piqued. I wonder what it’s short for. Maybe her real name is Katherine. Or Kathleen.
“What are you on about?” asks David beside me. I toss my head gently in the direction of the women. We’re sitting on the other end of the bar opposite to Kate and her friend. O’Brian’s is a basically a Friday night tradition that David and I have. We meet up once a week and talk about our work, although lately David’s been much more interested in chatting up the ladies than chatting with me.
David eyes the both of them up and down. “Which one?” he asks me, ever the wingman.
“Glasses,” I answer.
David chuckles and takes another swig from his beer bottle. It’s some sort of blueberry ale that the bar apparently brews themselves. I’m not entirely a fan.
“You have thing for the nerdy looking ones, don’t you?” he chides.
I shrug in response. I don’t know that I have a type, per se. I just appreciate girls who don’t look like they’re going to be drama in a dress.
“Go talk to her,” he suggests.
“Nah, I’m good,” I tell him. “Besides, I thought we were looking for someone for you. Don’t worry about me.”
“When was the last time you got laid, dude?”
I frown. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, between your shifts at the hospital and spending time with me, you need to get some. Your balls will fall off if you don’t.”
I grin. “Is that a fact?”
David places a hand over his heart. “As a doctor, I can confirm.”
I roll my eyes. “As a fellow doctor, I strongly encourage you to give up your license.”
David nudges me in the ribs with his elbow when he notices the blonde get up from her seat. The dark-haired woman grasps onto her sleeve, speaking in hushed tones. I have to admit, she’s really cute and it has been a long time since bothered trying to pick girls up at the local bar. But there’s something about the way she sits nervously by herself, staring at the bottom of her drink, that makes me think she’d never agree to go out with me even if I bother to ask.
“Excuse me?” comes the blonde’s voice.
She has a massive smile on her face, which is caked with too much foundation that doesn’t quite match her natural skin tone. Her lashes are full and perfectly spaced –clearly fake.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” greets David. I stand awkwardly to the side, observing David’s charm at work.
“My name’s Rachel,” she giggles, shaking David’s hand. Her perfume is overbearing. It hurts my nose.
“Nice to meet you. I’m David, this is my friend Peter.”
Rachel immediately points at her friend who’s still sitting at the bar. “Peter, that’s my friend Kate. She’s really, really shy. Could you do me a solid and give her your number?”
I almost laugh. This woman really has no filter.
“Yeah,” adds David, wagging a brow at me. “Come on, Peter. Give her your number.”
“Come on, Peter,” echoes Rachel. She hangs off him, pressing her full chest into his arm. Judging by the way he makes no effort to push her off, I think he’s enjoying the attention.
I sigh and place my beer bottle down on the bar surface, nodding slowly as I start toward Kate. Rachel gives a small squeal and claps her hands together in triumph.
“Go get ‘er, tiger,” encourages David. He returns his attention to Rachel. “So, did it hurt?”
“Did what hurt?”
“When you fell from heaven?”
“Oh my God, what a line,” giggles the blonde, obviously thrilled.
As I approach, my chest tightens. I don’t do this very often, and I’m definitely out of practice. I can’t think of a word to say to her. Up close, she’s breathtaking. She has dark brown eyes that compliment her hair, she’s got worry lines between her brows, and she’s so small and folded in on herself that I swear I can fit her in my pocket if I want to.
“Hi,” I say gently. I can barely hear my own voice over the ruckus. “I’m Peter.”
She looks up, startled. Her cheeks are an adorable shade of pink.
“Kate,” she answers after a moment. I expect her voice to be soft and sweet, but it’s surprisingly low and sultry. It reminds me of honey or velvet, perfectly smooth and unforgettably sensational.
“May I?” I ask her, motioning to the empty bar stool next to her.
She picks nervously at her nails, but nods. “If you want to.”
I take a seat, studying the features of her face. She looks incredibly uncomfortable. I bite my lip, unsure what to do next. “Can I…” I start slowly. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Kate shrugs sheepishly. I get the immediate feeling she doesn’t do this a lot, either.
“Sure,” she answers.
I make eye contact with the bartender, who comes over to greet us almost immediately. I turn back to her, swiveling in the bar stool. “What’ll you have?”
“Another whisky on the rocks, please,” she says politely.
“Whisky on the rocks?” I whistle. “Girl after my own heart.”
Kate smirks, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly. She tucks a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
“What brings you to O’Brian’s?” I ask. I have to lean in a little so I don’t have to yell over the blaring music and rambunctious conversation from other bar patrons.
“Sorry?”
“You and your friend,” I clarify, jerking a thumb back to where David is at the other end of the bar. “Celebrating anything?”
“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “She’s an old college friend. Wanted to meet up.”
I glance back over at David and Rachel. The woman has her hands all over him. They’re smiling like idiots, enjoying each other’s flirty banter. My conversation with Kate, however, feels much different. She sits with her hands around her drink, shoulders square with the counter. She’s practically caving in on herself to take up as little space as possible.
“This is her idea of catching up?” I joke. She doesn’t laugh.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “I guess.”
I’m at a loss for words. If anything, I’m maybe a little disappointed on Kate’s behalf. I can tell by the worried expression Kate wears that this is the last place she wants to be. She doesn’t strike me as the bar-going type. She’s clearly not having a good time, and I’m struggling to find a way to really break the ice.
“So,” I start slowly, “do you think I could trouble you for your number?”
To my dismay, Kate shakes her head. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks a bright red. “I’m sorry, I…” She swallows hard. “I’m not interested.”
I shake my head, trying to brush it off. “It’s cool,” I tell her softly. I flash a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all good.”
Kate slips o
ff her seat and reaches into her pocket for her wallet. But I hold my hand up, stopping her. “Let me get that for you,” I offer.
She takes a heavy, deep breath and manages to throw me a civil smile. The corners of her lips tick up ever so slightly. It makes my heart skip a beat.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I can’t fight the disappointment. My shoulders slump forward, a little defeated. She pulls on her coat and slips past the noisy bar crowd, after which I lose sight of her entirely. That was one hell of a swing and a miss.
CHAPTER THREE
Kate
It’s an understatement when I say that dinner rushes suck. They’re unpredictable. Some days are manageable, with a steady flow of customers coming in matching the flow of customers leaving. And then there are days like this, where everyone and their mother thinks it’s a good idea to show up at the same time without a reservation. The manager side of me knows that it’s good for business. It means that people are coming to the Royale to eat rather than pay our competitors a visit. The other side of me, on the other hand, is stressed out of her mind trying to manage the kitchen, the waitstaff, the bartenders, the hostesses, and the hungry and irritated customers waiting in the restaurant’s lobby.
“We’ve been waiting for half an hour, lady!”
“Excuse me? We were here before that couple. We should’ve been seated next.”
“Yeah, we have a party of ten. How long do you think the wait will be?”
“This is ridiculous. I expected so much more from this place because of the reviews.”
I have to get away from it. I just need a second to think. There are too many moving parts, too many mouths talking and demanding my attention. I leave one of my hostesses in charge of the lobby, excusing myself to grab a glass of water in the back office.
Things are just as hectic in the kitchen. All of the chefs are speaking over one another. Claire is asking about table eight’s risotto, while Laurence is busy expediting orders. It’s loud and disorienting. All of the sounds, the smells, and the lights blur together. I can’t make sense of anything anyone says to me as I walk through the kitchen doors.
“Kate?” stresses Laurence, who’s abandoned the line momentarily.
He looks at me with a great deal of concern in his eyes. But I don’t understand why. How did he get here so quickly? I can see his lips moving, and I hear the words that he’s saying, but nothing syncs up correctly. I’m watching everything with a delay. I feel lightheaded, and the corners of my vision blur. The tips of my fingers and toes are tingling. I feel a buzzing sensation in my teeth, in my nose. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but it’s overwhelming and frightening how quickly it washes over me.
“Kate!” He shouts this time, but my vision quickly goes from blurry to entirely black.
When I open my eyes, I feel sluggish. I’m lying in a hospital bed with a thin blanket draped over me in a pathetic attempt to keep me warm. I sit up quickly. This isn’t the Royale. What am I doing here? Where even is here?
“Lie back down, Kate,” warns Laurence.
I turn my head and see him hovering over me. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to rest my head on the pillow.
“Where…” I mumble. I can’t finish my sentence. I feel like I’m going to throw up. There’s a terrible lump in my throat, and every time I try and swallow, I just send myself into another dizzy spell.
“You fainted,” explains Laurence.
My eyes widen in shock. “What?” I have so many questions for him. What time is it? If Laurence is with me, who’s in charge? Why did I faint? Can I leave yet?
“It’s a little after nine, I left Claire in charge, the doctor will be right back with your blood work, and you can’t leave until the doctor says so,” answers Laurence. It occurs to me only then that I had said everything aloud.
A knock at the door to the hospital room interrupts me from asking anything further. Laurence and I look up to see the doctor entering, clipboard in hand. It dawns on me just how familiar he seems, what with this entrancing blue eyes and dirty blond hair. He has those same broad and strong shoulders, that devilishly handsome smile.
I begin to panic.
It’s him.
How is this happening? Out of all the people in the world, why did it have to be him?
“Peter?” his name falls out of my mouth before I can even think to keep it shut. I sound breathless and surprised.
“Hi,” he greets casually.
I feel my entire face heat up. I just want to curl up and die at this point. First I make a complete ass of myself and leave him hanging at the bar, and now I’ve fainted and he just so happens to be the doctor taking care of me. What are the odds? Why has Lady Luck forsaken me? Did I do something wrong in a past life to warrant this torture?
“Kate, is it?” he continues calmly.
I bite my lip. “Yeah.”
He approaches the hospital bed, tapping his pen to the document on the clipboard. With each step he takes, every inch he draws closer, I feel my stomach twist tighter and tighter. Peter looks at Laurence. He raises his eyebrow before returning his attention to me.
“I’m obligated to ask,” says Peter. “Is it alright for him to be here? Or would you like me to discuss your medical results privately?”
“Oh, er…” I stammer. Could I be more of a mess? It’s a simple question, but I’m at a loss for words. I’m still stunned that he’s even here.
“I’ll leave the room,” offers Laurence. “I’ll call Claire and check in.”
“Okay, thanks,” I tell him.
Laurence leaves and shuts the door gently behind him. It’s just me and Peter left in the room, an awkward silence blanketing over us. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to leave. I don’t want to be here. But at the same time, I’m too hypnotized by Peter’s gentle smile to make the first move.
He clears his throat. “That your boyfriend?” he asks me.
I shake my head quickly. Big mistake. I’m dizzy all over again. “No,” I tell him. “Laurence is my head chef.”
“Your head chef? You own a restaurant?” he inquires. He seems genuinely curious.
“Yes,” I say with a careful nod. “He tells me I fainted?”
“That’s right,” he confirms. “I just got the results from your blood test back. It turns out you have low levels of iron. Do you have a history of fainting?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Do you or anyone in your family have anemia?”
“Er, no.”
Peter tilts his head to the side, glancing from his clipboard directly to me. “What was the last thing you ate today?”
“Nothing,” I admit.
“All day?”
I nod guiltily. I know how bad this looks.
“Do you often forget to eat?” Peter asks me, concern evident in his tone.
I shrug my shoulders, looking away. I can’t bare to make eye contact with him. “Am I okay to go?” I ask hurriedly, brushing past his last question. I don’t think this is going to help solve anything.
“I would feel more comfortable if we determine what–”
“I know what the problem is,” I interrupt him. I clench my jaw. “Today was an off day. I forgot to eat and was super stressed at work. It won’t happen again. But I really do need to get back. To make sure everything’s okay.”
Peter sighs softly and slowly nods. “I understand the urgency, but this is your health we’re talking about.”
I bite my lip. He’s standing so close that I can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. He smells fresh, like clean laundry. There’s something about the way that his blue scrubs cling to the angles of his body that makes it difficult for me to breathe. Peter reaches down carefully and turns my head with the gentle suggestion of his fingers beneath my jaw.
“How do you feel now?” he asks.
“Better.”
“Do you remember hitting your head at all?”
&n
bsp; “I don’t think I did.”
“Does anything hurt?”
Peter looks me dead in the eye, bright blues meeting my dark browns. His face is inches away from my own. He pulls a thin silver flashlight from his coat pocket and shines the light back and forth over my eyes.
“Your pupils are dilated,” he informs me.
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask, confused.
“Do you have diabetes?”
“No. I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Except for the fact that you fainted,” he retorts with a cheeky smile.
“I told you, I was just stressed. It’s a busy time of year for us and I bit off more than I could chew.”
“What do you do for stress relief?”
“I occasionally scream into a pillow,” I joke. “Does that count?”
Peter laughs. It’s loud and shakes the whole room. It’s bright and captivating and contagious. I can’t fight against the smile that creeps onto my face.
“Alright, I think you’re okay to go. I’d chalk it up to stress and lack of appropriate nutrients. I really do recommend that you at least have some snacks if you’re going to be missing entire meals.”
“Right,” I agree shakily. I swing my legs over the edge of the hospital bed, leaving the provided blanket a crumbled mess.
As I reach for my jacket, which Laurence no doubt draped over the nearby chair for me, I notice Peter scratch behind his ear.
“What, er…” he hesitates.
“Hm?”
“What restaurant do you work at? It just says on this form that you’re a manager.”
“It’s called the Royale,” I state.
“That’s cool,” he says a little lamely. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Peter was nervous for some reason. “Hey, listen, about the other day at the bar–”
“Oh, yeah,” I chuckle uncomfortably, “let’s just forget about that. My friend Rachel is a real piece of work sometimes. I’m sorry if she led you to believe I was interested.”
“You’re not interested?”
I blanche. I don’t know where this conversation is going. I pick at my fingers nails and cast my eyes to the tips of my shoes. Of course, I’m interested. Has he seen a mirror lately?
A Christmas Reservation (The Royale Series) Page 2
