“Greyson, are you wearing my clothes?”
Greyson turned to face Harris again before casting a glance down at his body. He’d forgotten he was wearing Harris’s stuff and couldn’t tell if his brother was pissed off about it or not. Harris looked mostly confused and a little stunned.
“It was the closest thing available. I haven’t unpacked my bag yet.” More eyebrow lifting from Harris, and Greyson barely refrained from childishly rolling his eyes.
“You look like crap,” Harris said, and Greyson fought hard to keep his expression neutral and his resentment from showing.
Of course he looked like crap! His life was in shambles, his wife hated him, and he hadn’t even held his child yet. Did everybody just assume Greyson was fine with that? He wasn’t fucking fine! Why the hell should he look fine?
“Fantastic,” he said, resorting to facetiousness and self-directed humor. “Nice to know I look like I feel.”
Harris stared at him like he’d never seen him before.
Now the fuck what?
“What?” he asked, swiping at his nose for good measure. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just thought you’d completely lost the ability to laugh at yourself is all.”
Of course he’d thought that. Nobody really understood Greyson. Some days he barely understood himself.
“Yeah, well, when your only options are laugh or—” Cry? Greyson couldn’t believe he’d been about to say that. He clamped his mouth shut and cleared his throat uncomfortably. He directed his eyes down to the floor, not wanting to see his brother’s reaction to that revealing lapse.
“Anyway, when your options are shit,” he awkwardly rephrased, “it’s best to choose the path of least resistance.”
“So what are your plans, Greyson?” Harris asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, and Greyson’s gaze swung upward to meet his brother’s intent stare. “What do you intend to do here?”
Get them back, was his instinctive first thought. But he knew that that was easier said than done.
Lunch service was in full swing, and the kitchen staff had a natural rhythm going. Libby was ecstatic with the way her team was working together and was happy to loosen the reins for a bit to let them do their thing while she focused on desserts for the rest of service. She was absorbed with that when Ricardo, the restaurant manager, walked into the kitchen looking completely flustered.
“Chef Libby, a word, if you don’t mind.”
Irritated with the interruption, Libby glared at the man before nodding to one of her underchefs to take over with desserts, not wanting to disturb Agnes, who was overseeing the rest of the kitchen. She led Ricardo toward the walk-in freezer, where it was less busy.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with barely leashed annoyance.
“We’re running out of napkins.”
“What?” she asked in disbelief. Interruptions were irritating. Unnecessary interruptions pissed her the hell off. “Ricardo, take that kind of stuff to Tina. Unless we have a complaint about the food, there’s absolutely no reason for you to be back here.”
“That’s just it—she’s not here, and I can’t reach her.”
Libby stared at him for a long, uncomprehending moment, and he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Ricardo, a handsome, debonair, compact figure of a man who generally exuded competence, looked wholly uncomfortable.
“She’s not here?” Libby repeated slowly, not quite understanding. “Tina? Tina’s not here, is what you’re telling me right now?”
“Yes, Chef,” Ricardo said with a nod. “She left about forty minutes ago. She seemed upset.”
Forty minutes ago? Just after Harris had dropped by the office.
“And you tried calling her?”
“She’s not answering,” Ricardo said.
“Okay. I’ll try her; maybe she’s on an errand or something. Meantime, you figure out what to do about the napkins. You’re the manager—I’m sure you’ll find a solution.”
“Yes, Chef.” He turned away, and Libby followed him out and headed toward the office. Charlie looked up from her books with a quizzical smile, Clara fast asleep.
“Hey, Mrs. C. Clara’s fine. Sleeping like . . . well, like a baby,” the girl said with a soft laugh.
Libby nodded distractedly. Her eyes went to her baby’s sweet, peacefully sleeping face for confirmation before tracking around the office in search of some clue as to why Tina wasn’t there. “Did Tina say where she was going?”
Charlie’s eyes looked troubled at the question, and she shook her head. “I think perhaps Ms. Jenson just needed a little quiet time. Clara was crying and resisting the bottle. She was hungry and a little cranky. And it took a while to settle her down and get her to feed. I would have called you if she fretted too much, but she eventually took the bottle with less fuss than last night.”
“Tina left because Clara was crying?” Libby asked flatly, and Charlie’s eyes widened in alarm.
“I mean, I thought maybe she was just stepping out for a few minutes, but she’s been gone awhile. So maybe she had something else to do?”
“Maybe,” Libby said absently, not wanting the girl to think she’d caused any trouble, but seriously, what the hell? This arrangement was not going to work if Tina bailed every time Clara cried. Which, now that Libby thought about it, Tina had been doing since Clara’s birth. She glanced at Tina’s desk and noted that the woman’s laptop was still there.
“Okay, thanks, Charlie. Did you get some lunch yet?” she asked, her mind still working overtime; she barely heard Charlie’s affirmative response. She smiled down at her peacefully sleeping baby and stroked her head with a gentle finger.
“I’ll see you girls later, okay?” she said, and Charlie nodded, her eyes back on her textbooks.
Libby exited the office and dragged her phone from her smock pocket, brought up Tina’s number, and called. It went straight to voice mail. As did the next three calls.
This was definitely not cool. How could she just walk out in the middle of lunch service? And what was her problem with Clara?
The more Libby tried to reach Tina, the more pissed off she got.
Where the hell are you? she texted. No response.
She shook her head and shoved the phone back into her pocket. Yesterday, when Tina had looked so vulnerable and terrified, Libby had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. But it was really hard to continue making excuses for her when she pulled shit like this. Tina might not give a crap about this business, but Libby had a kitchen to run and didn’t currently have time for whatever was going on with her friend.
Greyson had stopped by a men’s apparel store for some casual clothes before coming to the sporting-goods place. It was massive, with every kind of sportswear and equipment one could possibly need or desire.
He wandered from aisle to aisle, piling his cart full of any comfortable-looking outerwear that took his fancy, before finally heading to the checkout. When he got there, he noticed that the place seemed uncommonly empty. He had dismissed any attempts of help from the salespeople, preferring to browse without interruption, and now he noticed that none of them were around anymore. And there didn’t seem to be any other customers either.
There was one checkout counter open, and it was manned by a huge guy, who topped Greyson’s six feet and three quarters of an inch by about two inches. But it was more than just his height that made him massive; he was powerfully built, and Greyson, who was by no means a slouch when it came to fitness, felt like a twig compared to the guy.
“Hey,” Greyson muttered while he unloaded his goods onto the counter. “Where’s everybody?”
“We closed about half an hour ago. Staff’s gone home. Half days on Saturday.”
“How long have I been here?” Greyson asked, startled by that information. He was pretty certain the place had been open when he’d walked in. Of course it had; how else would he have gotten in?
The other guy’s mouth twitched slightly. “About
forty minutes.”
Greyson stared at him in disbelief. “You should have said something.”
The man shrugged in response to that. “No harm done.” He sorted through the many items Greyson had offloaded onto the counter but didn’t comment on the—now that Greyson looked at it—ridiculous amount of sportswear.
“Uh, I noticed you have a gym.”
“Hmmm,” the man rumbled, his eyes on his task.
“Do I need a membership card or something?”
The guy’s piercing green gaze lifted to Greyson’s. “Moving to town?”
“Not really, but I may be here awhile.”
“Spencer Carlisle.” He held out his hand, and Greyson, bemused by the unceremonious introduction, took his hand in a firm handshake. Since the store was called Carlisle Sporting Solutions, this guy had to be the owner.
“Greyson Chapman,” he responded with equal brevity.
“A flat fee will cover three months.”
“How many visits?”
“Unlimited.”
Greyson nodded. That seemed like a good deal. “I’ll come by on Monday to sign up. Do all the other businesses in this town close at one on a Saturday?”
“Grocery store and hardware store will be open for another couple of hours.” He finally finished ringing up and bagging the mountain of clothes and whistled appreciatively at the final total.
Greyson handed over his card, and once their business was complete, he nodded at the man. “Thanks for staying open.”
“Worth it,” Spencer said with a quick grin. He didn’t appear to be a man of many words, which Greyson could appreciate. “Where are you staying?”
Greyson told him, and the man winced. “Place is a dump.”
“I know.”
“My sister-in-law’s house is available for rent.”
“I didn’t see any other vacant places when I was looking for short-term rentals.”
“Word of mouth only. You interested, contact the vet, my father-in-law.”
Oh, Greyson was definitely interested. He couldn’t wait to get out of that hovel and now wondered if Harris had chosen it solely because Martine lived next door.
“Sounds great. Thanks. I’ll see you on Monday.”
The man nodded and unlocked the front door to let Greyson out.
It was bucketing down by now, and Greyson dashed for his car, dumping his packages with the other pile of shopping in the back. After he pulled away from the curb, he headed downtown, then cruised slowly past MJ’s, hoping to catch a glimpse of Olivia. He seriously considered going inside to talk to her again.
He shook his head and drove to the grocery store instead. He passed the hardware store on the way, and a plan started to formulate in his head.
Tina wasn’t there at the start of dinner service either. Now more concerned than angry, Libby tried to reach her again. She couldn’t leave to go check on Tina, so she kept sending increasingly anxious messages.
Finally, just after seven, her phone rang, and she was relieved to see her friend’s name on the screen.
“Tina? What the hell? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Hey, Libby. I’m so sorry. I came home to do some work, and I fell asleep. My phone died, so I got none of your messages until now.”
Libby drew in a deep, calming breath at her friend’s response. Her friend’s lying response. How could she have gotten any work done when her laptop was still in the office? And she’d been sleeping? Sleeping while they worked through two services without her? What in the actual—?
“Charlie told me you left when Clara wouldn’t stop crying,” Libby said, inserting some serious frost into her voice as she finally reached the end of her tether.
“I need to . . . I’m sorry. I needed to concentrate.”
Libby squeezed her eyes shut at that response. Hating the way it made her feel. The resentment, anger, and hurt. Clara had already been rejected by her own father. Tina purported to love the baby, but this didn’t feel like love to Libby.
“I’m sorry I left,” Tina continued when Libby swallowed back the angry words she longed to toss at the woman. She felt like a protective mother bear with a wounded cub. She wasn’t prepared to subject her baby to any further negativity. “I’ll be right over. God, this is so . . .” Whatever Tina had been about to say faded into nothing, and the silence hung awkwardly between them for another beat.
“I’ll see you soon.” Libby knew she sounded cold, but she wasn’t prepared to pander to any more of Tina’s weird behavior.
“Fifteen minutes,” Tina promised before disconnecting the call. Libby shook her head and shoved her phone back into her pocket before focusing her attention back on her kitchen. It was up to her to make up for Tina’s complete lack of professionalism. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she knew she could no longer have her baby around Tina’s negative energy.
She was busy garnishing a dark chocolate mousse when she heard Tina’s timid voice coming from behind her nearly twenty minutes later. Libby’s head snapped up, and she pinned her so-called friend with a cool look before calling Agnes over to step in, interrupting whatever lame apology Tina had been in the middle of uttering.
She was blindingly furious and strode toward the back doors that led to the alley, not bothering to check if Tina was following her.
Two of the busboys were sneaking a smoke, and since she hadn’t authorized the break, she glared at them angrily. They both paled, apologized, and rushed back inside, leaving the two women alone in the well-lit alley.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Tina said, and Libby folded her arms across her chest, unimpressed with her words.
“Having Clara in the office is clearly not working,” she said, cutting to the chase and choosing to ignore Tina’s apology. “I’m trying to find another solution.”
“No. Libby . . . that’s not necessary. I just . . .”
“Tina, it’s not fair that you have to work with a crying baby in your space.”
“And it’s not fair that you have to move your infant daughter to a place where you won’t be close to her. We can make this work. It’s only day two. We’ll all get used to the arrangement.”
She was saying all the right things, in the sincerest of voices, but Libby was not buying it.
“Like you got used to having us staying with you that first month?” she asked pointedly, and Tina looked stunned by the question.
“I . . .”
“It’s obvious you’re not too fond of babies, Tina,” Libby interrupted firmly, refusing to soften at the utter devastation she saw in Tina’s eyes. “And that’s okay . . . but I’d rather have Clara around people who love and enjoy her.”
Tina reeled back as if absorbing a blow and sucked in a harsh, stunned breath. She blinked rapidly, her green eyes bright with tears. Libby nearly apologized, but she bit back the words. She had a baby to consider now, and Clara’s needs would always come first.
“I do love her,” Tina whispered, looking utterly devastated by Libby’s words. But how could Libby believe her when Tina had never shown any indication of love or affection for Clara? Instead, she had gone out of her way to avoid being in the same room as the baby.
“It’s not just Clara,” Tina admitted quietly. “It’s all babies, Libby. I can’t be around them.”
Was that supposed to make it better? It didn’t; it made it so much worse. And it merely served to confirm Libby’s belief that the woman she considered her best friend found being around her baby a burden. Which was so hard to believe, since Tina had once seemed to adore babies.
“What happened to you?” Libby asked angrily. “You wanted to be an obstetrician, for God’s sake. And now you can’t even stand to look at my baby.”
“I do love her,” Tina said, looking like she was trying to convince herself more than Libby. “She’s beautiful.”
“It’s okay, Tina,” Libby said dismissively, needing to get away from the woman and this conversation as quickly as po
ssible. Because it was not okay. She didn’t understand this. She wanted to understand it, but unless Tina chose to be more forthcoming about what had happened to her, Libby feared their friendship was teetering on the brink of disaster.
She stood for a moment, hesitating, as she stared into her friend’s devastated face. She felt herself softening in the face of all that misery. She teetered on the brink of begging Tina to confide in her, to talk to her and explain what was going on. But she knew that the middle of dinner service wasn’t the time or place. One of them needed to be a leader here. Needed to be strong for the sake of their business. And that person was clearly not going to be Tina.
She shook her head, irritated with herself for lingering out here for so long. There was work to be done.
“I’ll figure something out,” she said, before reluctantly turning and walking back toward her responsibilities.
She didn’t know how she got through dinner service. But it was another quiet evening, and the last patrons left at eleven. The kitchen had taken final orders at ten thirty, and by the time the customers left, most of the kitchen staff had already headed home. Libby and Agnes were the last to leave the kitchen at just after eleven.
She bade the slightly younger woman good night and watched as Agnes met up with her good-looking husband, who was waiting at reception, and greeted him with a tired hug. The man, Dr. Mandla Ngozi, was the local pediatrician and Clara’s doctor. Libby smiled and waved at him. He waved back before escorting Agnes out.
Libby threw back her shoulders and went to the office for Charlie and Clara. The baby was already bundled up in her cute little dinosaur hoodie, a gift from her uncle Harris. Tina was in the office, but after one quick look over at the desk, where the other woman sat staring up at her with mute pleading in her eyes, Libby diverted her attention on Charlie.
“You ready?” she asked the teen. Libby would be driving the girl home tonight, an arrangement she had cleared with Daff and Spencer Carlisle.
“I am,” Charlie said with her ready smile. She gathered her backpack and books and waited while Libby grabbed Clara’s bag and picked the baby up.
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