by Vivi Holt
He could get used to this.
She faced him, her eyes sparkling, one eyebrow arched. “What?”
He chuckled. “Nothing. I like watching you get ready. Is that okay?”
She shrugged. “Fine with me, I guess.”
“So, make sure you save me a dance tonight.”
Eve brushed a faint layer of blush onto her cheeks. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it. I love dancing.”
“I don’t usually dance, but I’ll make an exception tonight.”
Usually he felt as though there was something supremely awkward about moving around a small, square floor with a date in his arms. But he was looking forward to dancing with Eve again. There was nothing awkward about her.
She finished applying her makeup and faced him with a smile. “Ready.”
“You look beautiful.” He held out an arm and she took it, even as her cheeks flushed pink. Together they made their way down to the ballroom.
The resort perched on the edge of a sloping rise in a remote section of eastern Georgia. John had been there as a child, it was one of the places his parents brought their family for spring vacation. And when Kenny suggested a retreat, it was the first place that sprung to mind.
It had golf courses, a beach, swimming pools, a ballroom, a five-star restaurant and an on-site spa—everything they needed for a luxurious and relaxing weekend, and so far, it had delivered. Although it was still a bit cool for swimming, the indoor pools were heated to the perfect temperature, and John was happy to see every member of the leadership team had taken advantage of the resort’s facilities.
They reached the ballroom and found most of the team already there. They were dressed in evening wear, chatting, joking, laughing, and enjoying trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks.
With Eve’s hand firmly planted on his arm, a sense of wellbeing flooded his soul. They did the rounds together, making sure to spend an equal amount of time talking with each person there. As the CEO, people would notice if he gave more attention to one person than another. He was always careful not to foster that kind of jealousy amongst his staff. Each one of them was important, and he wanted to make sure they felt that way.
Eve wandered off to speak with a group of women clustered at a table on one side of the room. He made his way over to the bar where his brother stood with a drink in hand surveying the group.
“You know you’re a lucky man,” said Chris, nodding in Eve’s direction.
“I know.”
“I had no idea when I suggested the email-order thing that you’d find someone so great. She’s perfect for you.”
John shrugged, his gut twisting. “Yeah, but it’s only temporary.”
“What do you mean?” Chris frowned.
“She’s only agreed to twelve months.”
“I thought you two were married…?”
“We are, but she only wanted to do it for a year. She needs a green card.”
“What? That doesn’t sound right.” Chris’s nose wrinkled.
John sipped his drink, his eyes fixed on Eve’s smiling face across the room. “I know, but at the time I thought it was great. We could try out being married, I could have a companion, someone to come home to and to take to all the events, balls, fundraisers. And, if it worked out, if we liked each other, we’d have the option of continuing.”
“So, stick with it.” Chris quirked an eyebrow.
“I want to. But I still don’t know what she wants. As far as I know, she’s heading back to New York at the end of the contract, in nine months’ time, and that will be the end of it.”
Chris sighed. “Come on, you can’t let that happen. It’s written all over your face—you’re falling for her. And that hasn’t happened once since Shonda broke you.”
“Shonda didn’t break me…”
“She broke you.”
John cocked his head to one side. “So, what do you suggest?”
“You have to woo her. Win her over to your way of thinking. Sweep her off her feet. Any other clichés I can think of, I’ll send them your way. They all mean the same thing. You want her to stay married to you, make sure she sees that.”
John drained his glass and set it on the bar. “Time to dance.”
His eyes fixed on his bride, he strode across the room. With one hand outstretched, he smiled. “Would you dance with me?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
As she took his hand, his heart thundered. He led her onto the small and almost empty dance floor, then wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close until she was pressed up against him.
She leaned her head on his chest, and her sigh radiated through him.
“Everything okay?” he whispered against her hair.
“It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad. I’ve had a really nice time with you this weekend.”
She smiled up at him, melting his heart even more. “Me too.”
“Do you think…?” His breath caught in his throat. He just had to ask. Get the words out. Then, it was up to her. Do you want to stay married? Easy.
“What?” She cocked her head to one side.
“Umm…Do you think we could do this again sometime soon?”
She frowned. “Go on retreat?”
He chuckled. “No, go away. Just the two of us next time. Somewhere private.”
“That would be nice.”
Confusion flitted across her face, but he could live with that. She was confused about why he’d want them to spend a weekend away on their own. But she wouldn’t stay confused, not if he could do anything about it. He intended to make it very clear from this point onward that he wanted to get to know her better. Wanted to hold her close and kiss her full lips. But he’d settle for spending more time together.
If he was going to ask her to stay married, he needed to be sure. And he couldn’t be certain yet. His growing feelings for her were muddied; he had to satisfy his doubts and fears. And for that, he needed more time.
Chapter 12
Eve strode down the footpath toward the restaurant, a smile on her face and her head full of memories of the resort: the water polo game, cooking class, dancing at the ball, and the realization that someone had hidden her full length body pillow for the final night and she had to sleep without it, fully aware that John lay beside her. She’d barely slept for more than a few minutes, since every time he brushed up against her, her heart had leapt inside her chest and a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins.
She chuckled to herself and loosened the scarf around her neck. She was looking forward to heading back to work. After two months it’d begun to feel like a second home. How had they coped without her for three days? The weekend chef had covered her shift on Friday. Likely everything had gone fine, but still, she was happy to be back home, and she had another recipe she wanted to try out for slow-cooked pork ribs.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d had nothing but a smoothie for breakfast after her workout. She’d make something when she got to the restaurant. Perhaps she and Petra could eat together while they went over the menu for the week. The more she got to know her new boss, the more she liked her. Petra was the kind of woman Eve could imagine having as a friend even if they didn’t work together.
There was a bend in the road, and Eve rounded it quickly, anxious to get the day started. When John left for work just before her that morning, he’d been more affectionate than usual, even catching her around the waist with a gentle squeeze before reaching for the coffee pot.
They were married. But even though they’d been together three months, their relationship had always been one of companionship and had never become physical. After all, they’d agreed it would be a marriage of convenience—no romance included.
But maybe that could change?
Falling for her husband would make things complicated, but maybe complicated wasn’t so bad after all.
She grinned to herself, then gasped when she saw the restaurant, her mouth agape.
>
A large bulldozer and a crane sat in front of the building. The crane held a wrecking ball perched in front of the doorway. Just ahead of the wrecking ball, a line of people stood, arms linked. They were chanting something, but she couldn’t hear what it was over the noise of the bulldozer’s engine.
Eve broke into a run, clutching her purse strap to her shoulder. The purse slapped against her thigh with every second step.
She reached the line of people and pulled to an abrupt stop. Restaurant staff stood there, arms linked with customers and other people she didn’t recognize. They were all shouting in unison.
“Save Pickles! No development. Save Pickles!”
Petra peered out through the front door, her hazel eyes landing on Eve. She ushered her inside, then shut the door behind her again.
Eve unwound her scarf and set it and her purse on the floor, still puffing from the exertion of her sprint.
“Petra, what’s going on?”
Petra shrugged and threw her hands up in the air with a sniff. “They’re gonna tear it all down, I guess.”
Eve frowned. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Petra strode through the empty restaurant, her white apron flapping around her black pantsuit. Chairs were stacked on tables, stacks of napkins lay half-folded beside them.
Eve ran after her. “Petra, stop. That’s not possible. There’s no way someone can just show up out of the blue like that and knock down an entire building. You must’ve known about it.”
Petra pushed through the double swinging doors into the kitchen. She reached for an onion, half sliced, and continued cutting it into narrow strips.
“I knew about it. I tried to stop it. But they’ve bought the building from the bank…so…”
“From the bank?”
“I missed a few payments,” she snapped then waved the knife in the air above her head. “So, they think they can take it away from me. I mean, it’s just a few payments. Everyone misses a few payments every now and then. Right?”
Her gaze sought Eve’s, looking for affirmation, support. Eve nodded. “Sure, I guess. I mean, I’ve never owned a restaurant, so I have no idea. But it must be hard.”
“It’s not hard, it’s impossible!” shouted Petra, with another brandish of the knife. “How is one expected to be an artist, to bring forth food that delights the senses, and yet pay for wages, retirement accounts, social security, taxes, health insurance, rent, electricity, water…? It’s unethical is what it is. Just plain wrong. And now…” Petra’s voice broke, and she shook her head.
Eve inhaled slowly. “I’m sorry, Petra.”
“No. We won’t let it happen. We’ll stand out there forever if we have to. Some big, faceless corporation thinks they can just toss us out and flatten our beloved restaurant, huh? They don’t know us. They don’t know me!” Her voice strengthened and her face clouded over.
“We’ll stand up to them. Surely they’ll have to listen if we stay out there long enough.” Eve pushed out her chin and set her hands on her hips. “I’m going out to join the line. Okay?”
Petra nodded. “I’m just getting started on lunch. We’ll have customers showing up soon and we’ve got to have something to feed them.”
Eve arched an eyebrow. “Uh. Okay. But don’t you think they’ll probably stay away because of the…you know…enormous wrecking ball outside?”
Petra’s eyes widened. “You might be right. Let’s join the line of protesters instead.” She wiped her hands on her apron, then untied it and threw it onto the counter.
Together they marched out of the restaurant and slipped into the center of the line, linking arms with those on either side of them and each other.
Eve eyed the wrecking ball, only ten feet from her nose, and the bulldozer beside it. They’d already torn up the garden and sidewalk leading to the front door. The drivers glared at the line of protesters. The man in the crane had his feet up, resting on the dash.
“They don’t look very happy,” began Eve, her stomach churning.
“They’re gonna be a whole lot less happy at the end of the day. I’m assuming the developer’s paying them by the hour, so they’d be under a lot of pressure to get the job done.”
Eve nodded, steeling herself for a long day. It wasn’t how she’d expected things to go, but she couldn’t let some heartless development company tear down such a gem. She glanced over her shoulder at the old building behind her. It squatted low between two high-rises. They towered above it, glinting silver in the sunlight. The restaurant, by comparison, looked dark, dank, and worn. Its angles were softer, and its windows peered out onto the busy street beyond like eyes, weary from years of work.
“Have you ever tried to classify this place as a historical landmark?” asked Eve.
Petra nodded. “Sure. My grandad left it to me when he died. We’d rented it off him for years by then, and he knew how much it meant to me. When we moved in and served our first meal those buildings weren’t there.” She gestured toward the mammoth structures on either side with a scowl. “And when we asked for it to be protected, as a cultural icon, we were told it didn’t have enough cultural significance and wasn’t old enough to be heritage listed.”
Eve sighed. “I’m sorry, Petra. I’m not sure this is one we can win.”
Petra glared at her. “Don’t give up already.”
“I’m not. It’s just…” She studied the line of determined protesters. How long would they retain that steely resolve? “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m here, and I’m going to stay here. We’ll do our best. Okay?”
Petra nodded, focusing her attention again on the bulldozer.
A black SUV pulled up behind the machinery with a screech of tires, and three men in dark suits leapt out. All three donned hard hats, then headed in their direction.
Eve swallowed. This was it.
She shouted along with the rest of the group, as loud as she could. “Save Pickles!”
The drivers climbed down from their seats reluctantly and huddled together with the newcomers. Soon, they broke apart and one of the men approached the line. The protesters quieted down, shuffling their feet in place.
“This protest is illegal!” called the man.
The group immediately broke into catcalls, jeering and booing. Eve found herself joining in, relishing the feeling of rebelliousness that surged through her veins. She’d never stood up to the man before and it felt good. Powerful.
He tried to shout over the group. “You can’t…police!…have no right!”
Only the protesters weren’t listening now. They’d raised their volume to drown out his words. He waved a hand at them as if to say, “forget it.” Then strode back to join his group.
Just then, another man scanned the protesters, his brow furrowed. Eve inhaled sharply.
John!
His gaze landed on her face, and his eyebrows arched high. He stepped toward her, his eyes narrowing and mouthed her name.
Her cheeks burned.
What was he doing here? Did he have something to do with what was going on? She didn’t ask him specifics about his business very often. She tried to remember what he’d told her about his work lately. Something about acquiring a building and that it was taking longer than he wanted it to. A decrepit building, she thought he’d called it. A structure no one else wanted with a business that couldn’t stand on its own.
She’d smiled, nodded, and believed him at the time.
But he’d been talking about Pickles. Her restaurant. The beloved local watering hole that’d been here for thirty years, with its quirky profile, friendly atmosphere, and delicious food. How could he?
John stared at the line of picketers, his lips pursed. What was his wife doing there? It suddenly hit him, she had a job at a restaurant called Pickles, and a sign with just that name painted on it swung above her head. Of course, how had he missed it? He always thought of the building as 2435 Peachtree. The team handling the purchase and development deal
would have known the restaurant’s name, but he didn’t remember anyone mentioning it to him. He’d just never put it together before now.
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Just great.
He never thought of the place as a restaurant as such. To him, it was just the old building on Peachtree Street his company had purchased and intended on tearing down in order to build the tallest high rise building in all of Buckhead.
And now his wife was standing, arms linked, with the group of protesters who were costing him two thousand dollars an hour.
He motioned for her to join him and she released the hold she had on the women standing to either side of her and marched toward him, her lips pulled into a thin, straight line.
“Hi,” he said.
She nodded. “Hi.”
“What are you doing?” He smiled. He thought it best to keep things light.
She shaded her eyes with one hand, squinting against the rising sun. “You’re kidding. Right?”
He chuckled. “I guess this is your restaurant, huh? I meant to come down and eat here this week. I was going to surprise you, I just didn’t realize it was the same building…”
“That you’re tearing down?”
He pressed both hands to his hips. “Yeah.”
“Well, you can’t,” she spat.
“Can’t what? Eat here?” He could tell from the look on her face he was on thin ice. Still, she could hardly blame him for the building’s fate. It was old, falling down. From what he remembered the inspection had uncovered a host of problems, including termite damage, wiring issues, and mold. The building couldn’t continue operating as it had been. That wasn’t his fault. And how could he have known it was her restaurant they were tearing down today?
“You definitely can’t eat here, after today. But also, what I meant is, you can’t tear it down.” Her voice had an edge to it.
“I can.” He wasn’t about to give up on a deal that had already cost his company so much, not to mention hours of hard work for a team of his best staff.
