She returned her gaze to Clara and Charlie. The baby had forgotten her tears, clearly feeling familiar and comfortable with Charlie.
“I’ll let you get back to your class,” she said, and he shook his head.
“Our hour’s nearly up.”
“Nevertheless, I should get Clara home for her bath and nap.”
“Of course. I’ll see you both later, then.”
“Yes. I’ll bring her to Tina’s office.” Libby hovered for a second longer before striding toward the group of teens to retrieve her baby.
Greyson watched them leave, his throat closing up with emotion. Divulging meaningless little factoids about himself wasn’t going to achieve anything. He knew that, but he wanted her to know that he was trying. That he wanted to be less aloof. She had once told him not to change for her. That any changes he made had to be for someone he loved. Olivia and Clara were the two people he loved the most in this world. They were worth changing for. If nothing else, Clara deserved a warm, loving, and demonstrative father. Greyson was trying to be that for his little girl. Trying to be open and approachable with the people who meant the most to him.
He wanted Olivia to know that. He wanted her to know that while he had failed dismally as a husband, he would be the best possible father to Clara. And a reliable coparent to Olivia.
Unfortunately, dinner service did not go as smoothly as Greyson had hoped it would. They were understaffed because of a flu epidemic sweeping through town and had a much bigger Monday-night crowd than usual.
“Olivia?” Greyson called as he cautiously stepped into the bustling kitchen. He had left Clara asleep in her crib and had the baby monitor tucked in his pocket. Olivia looked up at the sound of her name, and her eyes went frosty when she saw him intruding in her domain.
“Uh-uh . . . unless this is related to Clara, I don’t have time for it.”
It was the first time Greyson had truly seen her in her element, and she was a sight to behold . . . fully in control of her kitchen and staff. Which made what he had come in to say even harder.
“We’re understaffed, and as you know, we’re being slammed out there. We need a couple of your underchefs to step in and . . .”
“No,” she snapped curtly. “They’re not waiters.”
“It wasn’t a request,” Greyson said, his voice cooling significantly. This was business, a business that did not belong to him. And Tina had entrusted him to make these hard calls. Olivia knew that.
“I need all my people,” Libby maintained stubbornly.
“Chef, I can help out. I finished my—” one of the young underchefs began to say.
“Kenny, we need more cabbage sliced for the slaw,” she interrupted the guy shortly, and he practically saluted before rabbiting away to do as she bade.
“That was petty,” Greyson said through gritted teeth.
“You’re in charge. Figure this out.”
“I found a solution,” he pointed out.
“One that doesn’t include my kitchen staff. I told Tina I didn’t want you anywhere near my kitchen.”
“You’re being a raging—” He shut his mouth with a snap, refusing to complete the sentence, and she folded her arms over her chest, chin up as she glared at him.
The rest of the kitchen staff and Ricardo, who had followed Greyson into the kitchen, were staring at them with wide eyes.
“You.” Greyson pointed to a young man, barely out of his teens, standing by one of the industrial-size dishwashers. “What’s your name?”
“Vusi, sir.”
“What do you do?”
“Busboy.”
“Vusi, you’ve been promoted. Ricardo, find him a uniform.”
“I need the busboys,” Libby said urgently. “Without them the kitchen will descend into chaos.”
“They’re here to assist the waitstaff, not the kitchen staff. Besides, I’m letting you keep those guys,” he said, pointing to three other young men also standing by the dishwashers. “But I’m co-opting Vusi.”
“I don’t have any real serving experience, sir,” Vusi said as he untied his apron from around his waist.
“Neither do I, Vusi,” Greyson admitted grimly. “But I guess it’s trial by fire for us both tonight.”
He was actually doing it. Libby sneaked surreptitious peeks around the kitchen doors whenever she had a chance, fascinated by the sight of Greyson Chapman waiting tables. According to a few of the other waitstaff, he had dropped a couple of trays and messed up a few orders, but he was so charming and self-effacing the patrons happily forgave him. Especially when he offered them discounts on food and drink.
Libby felt small and mean for her irrational behavior when he had first come into the kitchen to ask for help. It had been a knee-jerk response to seeing him in her domain. And it hadn’t been her finest moment. When he had actually picked up the slack himself, it had made her feel awful. Because he had shown true leadership in that moment, proving himself willing to get his hands dirty while helping out their beleaguered waitstaff. While Libby had come out looking—and feeling—like the raging bitch he had so nearly called her.
The first time he’d come into the kitchen to pick up an order, she had snidely asked him who was looking after Clara while he was playing waiter. And he had withdrawn his phone from his breast pocket without saying a word. They both had the baby monitor app on their phones, and they had cameras at Libby’s place and in the office. Libby immediately felt silly for asking.
And when she took a moment to go and check on Clara herself, it was to find Lia and Brand in the office sitting with the baby.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“We were just finishing up our meal when we noticed Greyson taking dinner orders. We figured he was probably doing double duty and offered to sit with Clara for a bit,” Lia said.
“That’s so kind of you.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?” Lia stated with a wide smile.
“Greyson did me a solid today, taking on my Monday class,” Brand murmured. “He offered to stand in for me last minute. Least we can do is return the favor.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you,” Libby said, a little flustered to recognize that Greyson was making real connections and friendships in town. He wasn’t a man to socialize easily, and he definitely didn’t have any close male friends that Libby knew of.
It made her think of what he had said yesterday . . . about how easy it was for her and Harris to talk and laugh and joke. Harris had said something similar to Libby a while back. And Tina had alluded to it as well. It was easy for her to make friends and socialize. It wasn’t for people like Tina and Greyson. And she didn’t always have the patience to appreciate that.
That impatience was something she needed to work on because she was now beginning to comprehend that she tended to project her unrealistic expectations onto others. Like with Tina and this restaurant: she had expected her friend to simply comprehend the ins and outs of the industry. And then, when Tina hadn’t immediately excelled at it, Libby hadn’t shown her any empathy or understanding. That did not reflect very well on her as a person or as a friend.
She needed to readjust her thinking and loosen up a bit. Life would be a lot less disappointing if she didn’t keep placing people on unrealistically high pedestals.
“She’s a darling,” Lia said, bringing Libby’s attention back to the present. “She’s been sleeping for the most part, but it’s good practice for when Sam and I have babies.”
Brand went white as a sheet at her words, and his faintly panicked expression didn’t escape Lia, who laughed and gave him a reassuring kiss.
“When Sam and I have babies, years and years from now, I meant to say. We’ll be in our dotage by the time he’s ready for parenthood,” Lia teased her, and Libby grinned. She left the couple and headed back to the kitchen, stopping when the sound of crashing glass brought all conversation to a halt.
“Sorry, sorry! More drinks on me,” Greyson shouted from across
the room, and the crowd laughed.
“You’re just trying to get us all drunk, Chapman,” someone called.
“The more you drink, the more you eat, Dr. McGregor. There’s method to my madness,” Greyson retorted good naturedly, and more laughter followed. Libby watched in shock, not sure who this friendly, bantering man was, because he bore very little resemblance to the quiet, reticent man she had married. This was the man who just yesterday had told her that he had no idea how to laugh and joke, yet here he was. Showing absolute grace under fire and surprising even himself, she was sure.
“You were quite a hit with the crowd tonight,” Olivia said hours later, when she came into the office after everyone else had left.
Greyson was slumped on the lumpy sofa, feeding Clara, who was lazily kicking her legs as she contentedly drank from her bottle. He really should gift Tina with a more comfortable piece of furniture for her office. It would benefit only him in the long run, since he was the person who seemed to use it the most.
He stared at Olivia for a moment, slow to process her words. He was beyond exhausted.
“I don’t know how many glasses I broke tonight. Tina may well kill me when she returns. That kid, Vusi . . . he’s a great waiter. I’m going to talk to Tina about promoting him; he’s friendly, efficient, and coped well under pressure tonight.”
Olivia sank down onto the spare office chair. “I’m sorry about earlier . . . you were right about the busboys being support for the waitstaff. But I tend to turn into a bit of a rage monster when I feel like someone is trespassing in my kitchen.”
“Admit it . . . ,” Greyson said on a yawn. “You could have spared one or two of those vegetable-cutting dudes.”
“Perhaps,” she said with a twitch of her lips. She seemed to be battling a smile. “But when the front of house is slammed, it’s usually three times as bad in the kitchen, so I wasn’t going to risk losing them.”
“I think Ricardo may well go crying to Mummy after our little dispute earlier.”
“He did look a little freaked out, didn’t he?” Olivia asked with a giggle, and Greyson smiled, not sure what to make of her mood. She seemed relaxed, friendly . . . not as on edge as usual.
“We’d better get out of here; I’m afraid if I don’t move right now, I’ll never get off this sofa,” he said, and she got up and took Clara from him.
“You do seem to be doing a lot lately. Do you even have time for the business?” she asked as she strapped Clara into her carrier.
“Gym in the mornings, important emails and paperwork after that.” He yawned again, which set her off. And—adorably—Clara too. “That usually takes me through to lunchtime, after which I help out with the self-defense classes—depending on the day—or take on hours of boring international business calls. I prefer the classes, frankly. But one does what one must. Then it’s Clara time. My days are pretty full . . . but I’m enjoying them.”
“And you’re still determined to stay?” The question seemed nonchalant on the surface, but Greyson mulled it over for a moment before replying.
“I like it here.” It was a deceptively simple answer. It was the absolute truth, of course . . . but there were so many complex emotions underlying those four words, and he knew she knew it.
“If that’s the case, you’re going to need a new house. And you really can’t keep driving a rental car,” she said after a loaded silence, and he nodded.
“After Tina moves. Harris asked me to look out for her. Can’t do that if I’m living elsewhere.”
Her face reflected her surprise at the words, and he held her stunned gaze unflinchingly.
Libby tilted her head assessingly. To say that Greyson’s response had shocked her would be an understatement.
“Why would he do that?”
Greyson sighed heavily. He was still sitting on the sofa, with his elbows resting on his spread knees and his hands clasped loosely between his legs. He fixed his gaze on those hands, and Libby stared at his bent dark head as she waited for his response.
“We’ve worked through a lot of stuff, and I regret that he and I were never close. We never seemed to have much in common, and when I . . . when I . . .” He lifted his face, and the despair in his eyes made her flinch in reaction. He looked absolutely ravaged. “He’s my brother. I love him. I did and said stupid, unforgivable things, and he made damned certain I suffered for my sins. Do you know he sent me a picture of Clara every single day for four months?”
“He did?” Libby asked on a whisper, sitting down again. Clara had dozed off in her carrier.
“Every day. I began to dread the chime of my phone, while eagerly anticipating it. She was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen, and I loved her fiercely. Those pictures, they saved me in ways you can’t possibly imagine. They were the only ray of light during my darkest days. Harris had no idea how much that meant to me . . . he did it to punish me. But it saved me.”
“I don’t understand,” Libby whispered, keeping her voice low, both because Clara was sleeping and because Greyson looked like any loud sound would spook him right now.
“I apologized to him. And I guess, because we’re kind of stuck with each other, he forgave me. And we . . . we’ve become friends, for lack of a better word. He’s in love with Tina and concerned about her. She has nightmares, and he asked me to watch out for her. So I’m sticking close to make sure I can keep a promise to my brother. It’s the least I can do after everything that has happened.”
“When did you start calling her Tina?” Libby asked when he seemed to run out of steam, and his brow furrowed as he considered her question.
“A couple of weeks ago. She asked me to stop calling her Martine.”
While Libby had spent her days trying to figure out how the hell she felt about this man, it seemed that everyone around her had gone and befriended him. She wasn’t certain what her feelings were about that. But at the same time, when she looked at him, at the lost, vulnerable—almost beseeching—look on his face, it was hard to resent it. Greyson needed friends; he needed to belong. She had never really understood that because he had always seemed so damned self-sufficient.
It was a role she had always wanted to play in his life . . . friend, confidante, lover. But if she could not be friend or confidante, then she wanted someone else to be that for him. Her mind shied away from the thought of him eventually finding someone to fulfill the role of lover . . . but she knew, with the divorce, that would be inevitable as well. He was a healthy, good-looking man, and if they were going to live in the same town, she was going to have to prepare herself for that eventuality.
For some reason Alix, the gorgeous single mother in her yoga class, sprang to mind, and she immediately shoved that deeply disturbing notion from her mind.
Hell no! He’d better not go there. Ever.
Her eyes drifted to his clasped hands, to where his wedding band gleamed on his finger, and she was confused by her relief to see it still there. Her own ring was tucked away in a jewelry box. She knew exactly where it was but hadn’t looked at it in months.
“We should be going,” she said, and he nodded, getting up and lifting Clara’s carrier from Tina’s desk.
He followed them home as usual and waited while she went into the house and switched on the lights. She watched from the front window as he started up his car and drove off and hated the weak part of her that still wished he could stay.
Chapter Sixteen
Tina returned three days later. Greyson and Libby had managed to not kill each other during her absence, despite a few more management clashes. Disputes had been resolved with compromises and a bit of grumbling from either side. But they had usually been able to laugh about it at the end of service.
By the time Tina returned, Libby almost regretted the fact that Greyson wouldn’t be hanging out at MJ’s all the time. The staff liked him, Clara adored him, and Libby had enjoyed the glimpses of a more relaxed, laid-back Greyson. A man who wasn’t afraid to offer a small smile here an
d there, who cracked the occasional dry joke and even laughed a few times.
It reminded Libby of the man who had seduced her at that party so many months ago, the man who had enchanted her, entertained her, laughed with her, and made her feel so special. She had thought he was a figment of her imagination. Perhaps a fabrication designed to entice her into sleeping with him and later marrying him.
That man had disappeared when they had returned to Cape Town. Replaced by the more familiar, grim Greyson who rarely smiled, never laughed, and often stared at her and Harris with that judgmental gaze that had made her feel like a kid being chastised by a parent.
Reflecting on it now, she could see that she and Harris had often behaved like schoolkids giggling about the strict headmaster. Whispering to each other behind their hands and laughing in reaction to his stern glares, turning every interaction into a chummy “us and him” scenario. It had been a silly childhood habit that they had automatically fallen back into after her return.
When she considered that behavior now, in light of his revelations about how excluded he had often felt around them . . . she could see why he had felt that way. It wasn’t an excuse for his lack of trust or his accusations, but the behavior had been inappropriate. And unfair. It should have been Libby and Greyson against the world. Not Libby and Harris against Greyson.
She was at home after a busy evening service—the first since Tina’s return—and thinking about how much she had missed having him around the restaurant tonight. He had stayed at her place with Clara and left as soon as she’d come home.
She picked up her phone and, without really considering the time, called Harris.
“Libby?” He sounded groggy, like she’d woken him from a sound sleep.
“Were you asleep?” she asked, suddenly realizing how late it was.
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