“He’s my brother,” Harris was saying, still sounding apologetic and defensive. And worse, ashamed. He was ashamed to have Greyson as a brother. That felt truly awful. “You can’t hold that against me, Tina.”
“Trust me, that’s the least of the things that I hold against you, Harris,” Martine said venomously, and Greyson wasn’t so mired in his own self-pity that he didn’t feel that blow on behalf of his brother.
Harris leaped to his feet. “For God’s sake . . .”
Martine held up an imperious hand, halting whatever Harris had been about to say in its tracks. She got up, too, and regally swept from the porch, still not bothering to even acknowledge Greyson, before slamming into the other house.
Well, at least now Greyson knew what she was doing here. She lived next door. He wondered if Harris had known that before moving in here.
Convenient . . . for Harris. But super inconvenient for Greyson. No moving in next door, then.
“Fuck!” Harris swore vehemently as he made his way back toward the doorway, where Greyson still stood rooted to the spot. His face was a mask of anger and resentment as he slotted his hands over his hips and glared at Greyson. “You had to fucking choose that moment to come out, didn’t you? She was actually talking to me for once.”
He shoved past Greyson back into the house and thumped around in the kitchen for a short while before slamming his way into his room.
Greyson tilted his head back and stared at the corrugated metal of the porch roof, hating everything about this damned place and situation. He heard Harris leave the room and make his way to the bathroom, and after a few moments, the ancient pipes protested as the shower turned on.
Greyson sighed, feeling utterly exhausted. His life was a colossal mess of his own making, and he wasn’t sure he possessed the ability to fix it.
Harris left soon after his shower, without saying another word to Greyson. Greyson puttered around the house for a while, going through kitchen cabinets in search of something to eat. All he found was a bottle of cheap red wine, one that he contemplated opening for an uncomfortably long time before shutting the cabinet door again, and a dried-up orange from God knew when. After fastidiously getting rid of the desiccated orange, he aimlessly wandered around the tiny house looking for something to do. He heard Martine’s door open and shut at about nine thirty when she left, presumably for the restaurant, and imagined that Olivia would be on her way there too.
He wondered where Harris had gone and was tempted to message his brother to ask. But he knew the man wouldn’t reply. The recognition of that fact made Greyson feel a little lost.
And a lot lonely.
Greyson had never before felt lonely, and it had taken him a beat or two to even identify the curious emptiness in his chest as loneliness. He took a shower, the water lukewarm after Harris’s shower earlier, and then walked around in underwear and socks for a while, reluctant to drag on one of the many suits he’d brought along with him. They were all carelessly flung over the back of the rickety chair in his room, still in their garment bags. Unusual for him. He didn’t like disorder. He had briefly toyed with the idea of unpacking his suitcase and hanging up his suits, but . . . an unfamiliar apathy, mixed with the belief that he’d probably be moving from this house soon, kept him from doing so.
Still, he couldn’t walk around in his underwear all day long, and he definitely couldn’t wear a three-piece suit in this tiny beach town. Harris’s bedroom door was ajar, and his duffel bag lay open on his bed. After staring at the bag for a long time, Greyson determinedly strode into his brother’s room and rifled through his stuff.
The sportswear the other man had brought felt soft and a lot more wearable than Greyson had ever thought possible. Before he knew it, he had dragged on navy-blue sweatpants with a matching hoodie and a pair of his brother’s scuffed trainers.
He felt odd. Unlike himself . . . but curiously light and free.
He dragged his hands through his hair and considered his options. For a brief moment he toyed with the idea of going to MJ’s. Talking to Olivia.
But he knew it wouldn’t go well. He needed to know what to say to her, and right now he didn’t have a clue. And after comprehending that she might know about his accusations to Harris . . . the thought of facing her was daunting.
In the end he withdrew to his room, shoved his suitcase to the floor, and curled up on the bed. He retreated into sleep mere minutes later.
Chapter Five
It was a quiet lunch service, and while that was bad for business, part of Libby appreciated the easy pace because it allowed her kitchen staff to get into a comfortable working rhythm. A few of the cooks were left over from the former kitchen staff, but Libby had chosen her own sous-chef, butcher, and fish chefs. They had had a few trial runs earlier that week, practicing prep for some of the dishes Libby had created for the new menu, but nothing could really prepare a team for working together in an open kitchen for the first time. There had been a few hiccups last night, but because it had been a slower night, they had been able to smooth out the wrinkles, and they were running more efficiently today.
As head chef, Libby had creative license over the entire menu and made sure her kitchen ran like a well-oiled machine. They were getting there, and she was more than happy with her team.
They were halfway through lunch service, and Libby—whose passion lay in confectionaries—was in her happy place, at the dessert station. She turned to pick up her piping bag and froze in her tracks. For a heart-stopping second, she thought the tall, dark, gorgeous man standing staring at her with a tentative smile on his lips was Greyson. But the crooked nose, so unlike Greyson’s, and the loose-limbed relaxed stance, nothing like the rigid, military precision of her husband’s posture, quickly identified him as Harris.
“Hey, Bug. I’ve missed you.”
“Oh my God, Harris.” She choked on his name before happily walking into his arms. He enfolded her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground in the process.
“I’ve missed you too,” she said into his shoulder, her voice muffled. They stood wrapped up in their embrace for a moment, happy to reconnect after such a long and emotional absence. Libby pushed at his chest after a few self-indulgent moments more, and he let her go. She wiped her damp cheeks with the backs of her slender hands and cast a self-conscious glance around the kitchen. The rest of the staff were pointedly keeping their heads down.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice pitched low.
“The waitress said it would be okay if I popped in to say hi.”
“Not in the kitchen, here in Riversend.”
“I wanted to make sure my brother toed the line and didn’t hurt you again.”
She compressed her lips before looking around for Agnes Ngozi, her second.
“Agnes, continue prepping for dessert, please. I’m stepping out for a few minutes. Send for me if you need anything.”
“Yes, Chef,” Agnes responded in her usual unruffled manner. Libby appreciated the woman’s calm demeanor; it projected an air of serene confidence that was invaluable in a busy kitchen.
Libby hooked her arm through Harris’s and tugged him back into the restaurant.
“Where are you sitting?” she asked, and he led her to his table, where they sat down together. Libby rested her chin in her palm and stared at her brother-in-law for a moment, a soft smile on her lips.
“I’m really happy to see you, Harris, but you didn’t have to follow him here,” she said quietly, and he lifted and dropped his broad shoulders in a quick movement.
“I know, Bug, but more than you, I wanted him to know that I have your back. What did he say to you last night?”
“He didn’t have the opportunity to say much of anything. I let him know that I wasn’t too thrilled to see him.” She sat up straight with a heavy sigh, her hands dropping to the table in front of her. She restlessly toyed with the silverware. “Harris, I don’t want you to interfere.”
“What
?”
“You heard me,” Libby said, her resolve deepening. Her marriage to Greyson was over—that was a given—but Clara complicated matters. The fact that he was here spoke volumes as to his intentions. He wanted more. Libby wasn’t stupid; she knew that that “more” was probably Clara, or at least some kind of contact with her.
Libby needed to decide how much, if any, access she would grant him. Right now she had the upper hand; she could negotiate from a position of strength. But it would be best if she and Greyson figured this out without any external interference. She was only grateful that this “negotiation” would take place on her turf. She knew her husband well enough to know that he hated not having complete control over his environment and emotions. He was out of his comfort zone here, and she wanted that. She wanted him wrong footed.
Libby would have loved to deny him any and all privileges regarding their daughter; it was what he deserved. But realistically she knew that once lawyers and courts got involved, he would be allowed to be a part of their daughter’s life, regardless of Libby’s personal feelings on the matter. It would be best for Libby, for Clara, to find a solution that favored them rather than Greyson. And the best time to do that was now, while she had the upper hand. And she knew she did. She had seen it in his hesitation last night.
She had had a lot of time to think about what she wanted last night, and she knew the best thing for her and Clara was to allow him to be a part of the baby’s life. No matter how much she hated that prospect.
That didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.
“If the look on your face is anything to go by, my brother is in for a tough time.”
“I can handle him,” Libby said with a lot more confidence than she felt. “Thank you for being such a good friend, Harris.”
“You kidding me, Bug? You’re like my baby sister! There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“Would you like to say hi to your niece?”
“Would I? Does a duck cluck?”
“Not really,” Libby said with a chuckle as she got up and led the way to the office.
“You know what I mean,” he said, sounding disgruntled, and she laughed as she opened the door to the tiny back office. She halted when she saw Tina at her desk, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. She hadn’t seen Tina in front, but she hadn’t really expected to see her friend in the office. Not in the middle of the lunch service.
Tension seemed to come off both Harris and Tina in waves, and Libby winced inwardly at the awkward situation. Tina had attempted to talk to her earlier about Greyson, but Libby hadn’t been prepared to answer questions about her estranged husband’s unexpected appearance in town yet. It had completely slipped her mind that Tina had mentioned Harris coming around to her house last night, and now she wondered what that had been about.
Nothing good, if the atmosphere in the office was anything to go by.
“Tina,” she said awkwardly. “I thought you’d be on the floor.”
“I had to do some accounting,” the other woman responded softly, immediately angling her laptop screen downward, which made Libby doubt the veracity of her friend’s words.
“Harris wanted to say hi to Clara,” Libby said, and Tina’s lips lifted in a sickly imitation of a smile, her already-pale features almost ashen.
“That’s nice.” Tina’s voice was faint and lacked any semblance of sincerity. Libby shifted her gaze to Charlie, who was watching everyone with lively curiosity in her pretty green eyes.
“Charlie, this is my brother-in-law, Harrison Chapman.” Harris, who had been watching Tina intently, seemed to shake himself, and he offered Charlie a fleeting smile before focusing on Clara. His face was alight with tenderness.
“God, she’s gorgeous,” he said, sounding almost awed. “The pictures didn’t do her justice. She’s bigger than I was expecting.”
His hands left his pockets, and he reached for Clara, who was asleep in her foldaway bassinet. He paused before touching her and looked at Libby uncertainly.
“Can I . . . is it okay if I hold her?”
“Of course it is, Harris,” Libby said, lifting her sleeping baby herself and carefully handing her over into her uncle’s strong, capable arms. He hugged her close and began to rock her. Libby felt a pang of regret that she had denied him this for so long. Harris hadn’t repudiated his niece—he shouldn’t have been punished for Greyson’s mistakes. Neither should his parents. Or her parents, for that matter.
She watched as Harris whispered soft little nothing phrases into Clara’s ears. He nuzzled and kissed and cuddled the baby, clearly in love with his niece, and Libby couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She instinctively glanced at Tina, wanting to share the sweet moment with her. But she was shocked to see anguish and something close to hatred burning in her friend’s usually gentle sea-green eyes as she stared fixedly at Harris. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as she surged to her feet, rocking her desk chair with the violent motion.
“I have to get back to work,” she said, her voice trembling, and Libby shook her head, alarmed by Tina’s reaction.
“We’ll be out of your hair in . . .”
“I’ll see you later, Libby,” Tina interrupted. She fled from the room, leaving a shocked silence in her wake.
Harris murmured a vehement curse word beneath his breath. Clara was starting to fuss, and Libby, still stunned by Tina’s reaction, absently took her baby from him.
“Uh. I should get back to work,” she murmured, and Harris gave Clara another kiss on her cheek.
“Right,” he said, his voice filled with patently false cheer as his eyes drifted back to the door through which Tina had just exited. “And I’m starving, so I’d better get back to my table. I’ll be in town for a while, Bug. I promise I won’t interfere, but I need a vacation, and this is as good a place as any to hang out for a short while. Besides, I want to spend more time with my niece.”
He gave Libby a quick hug and left abruptly. Libby’s eyes dropped to where Charlie was very pointedly reading her e-book, obviously trying to mind her own business.
Tina’s baffling behavior was becoming a real concern. She had tried to talk to her friend about Harris, about her strange behavior around Clara, and now she was starting to think Tina wasn’t being honest about exactly how much buying and relaunching MJ’s had cost her. While she gently rocked back and forth, humming softly to the contented baby, she tilted her head back and hated how much she resented whatever it was that Tina was going through. She felt selfish and hateful, but she really didn’t want to have to deal with Tina’s dramas in addition to her own stresses right now.
“Your mummy is a terrible best friend, sweetie,” she whispered against Clara’s soft hair, keeping her voice low so that Charlie wouldn’t hear her. She would try to talk with Tina after the lunch service. Try one more time to discuss whatever was bothering her. Libby owed it to their friendship to try and figure out whatever the hell was going on with the other woman.
She gave her baby one more cuddle before handing her to Charlie and heading back to the kitchen.
Greyson was jerked out of a sound sleep by the sound of an engine idling and then stopping outside. He blinked blearily at his phone and was shocked to see that it was close to twelve fifteen in the afternoon. He had been asleep for nearly three hours. It was unusual for him to sleep during the day, and he felt groggy and out of sorts.
He yawned, stretched, and crawled out of bed like an old, arthritic man. He stood waiting in the living room, but when he heard no tread on the porch stairs, he frowned, wondering if he’d imagined the sound of the engine. He strode to the front door—wincing because he’d forgotten to put his shoes back on—and swung it open. He stepped onto the porch, surprising Harris, who was standing beside his 4x4 staring at Martine’s front door. The other man’s head turned toward Greyson, and his eyes widened.
“Greyson.” His name emerged cautiously from Harris’s lips as he slowly climbed the patio ste
ps. Approaching Greyson as one would a wild animal. “You okay?”
He came to a standstill in front of Greyson, and damned if his nostrils didn’t flare slightly as he inhaled discreetly.
Shit! Harris thought he’d been drinking. How mortifying. Yet another embarrassment brought about by Greyson’s appalling lapse in control after Olivia had left. Harris had been aware of Greyson’s fleeting entanglement with substance abuse. And Greyson hated that his brother knew about his weakness. But he knew that he owed Harris for taking care of the business and protecting Greyson’s reputation during that time.
He swallowed down the humiliation and pretended not to notice Harris’s concerned gaze sweeping up and down his body and face.
“Where have you been?” Greyson asked gruffly.
“To Knysna for a new mattress and then to the restaurant . . . to see Libby and Clara.”
Greyson forced down the swell of bitterness at that revelation. The knowledge that Harris was free to see his wife and child whenever he wanted, while Greyson himself hadn’t even been allowed much more than a glimpse of Clara last night, burned like fucking acid. He kept his face expressionless, batting away the urge to ask Harris how Olivia was today. He knew his reappearance in her life had come as an unpleasant and unwelcome surprise. But he didn’t want to panic her or upset her. He just wanted to figure out a way forward from here.
“There’s no food in the house,” he said instead, and Harris’s eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline. Not hard for him, when his hair was a shaggy mess that fell almost to his brows anyway.
“So go and get some groceries,” Harris said, and Greyson blinked. Somewhat arrested by his brother’s words.
Get groceries? What? To say shopping wasn’t Greyson’s forte would be understating it. He couldn’t actually recall ever setting foot in a grocery store in his life before.
“Maybe later,” he mumbled quickly. He closed multimillion-dollar deals every day of his life; he could damned well buy a few groceries. He turned back toward the house, and once inside, Harris’s shocked voice broke the silence between them.
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