Maybe I should take another look at Javier’s offer. There’s a nice little signing bonus. I wouldn’t have to shell out money to move across the country. My savings account would get its first deposit in years. I could pay off my credit cards. And I could finally get out of fucking Knox Ridge.
“Do you need any help?” a husky voice says behind me.
I turn around, glaring suspiciously at Oliver.
“We’re closed today,” I say tersely. “You can come back tomorrow.”
He takes a long look around the dining room. “You’re open. You have customers, and you look swamped. Why would you want me to come back tomorrow when it’s obvious that you need me now?”
“I don’t need you,” I snap.
“Ok, so you don’t need me,” he says slowly. “But you do need help. That’s what I’m here for.”
Oh, sure. Now he shows up. Where was he when I needed help running this place five years ago? Where was he after my parents died? Or when I poured my heart out in that stupid fucking letter?
“You can’t just show up here whenever you feel like it,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come by yesterday. Striker needed me for a consultation. By the time we were done it was late, so I stayed with his family for dinner.”
He caresses my cheek with his hand. For a second, I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel comforted. But it’s so invasive that I honestly just want to punch him in the gut. I take a step backward, away from him.
“From now on, I promise I’ll be here most nights unless I tell you otherwise in advance,” he says.
Just get out of here before I get too comfortable around you, I think.
“How about I hire you? You work a few days a week, and I’ll know when to expect you,” I suggest.
“You can trust me,” he says. “I don’t see the point of hiring me. I don’t need the money.”
“Then why are you here?” Why haven’t you left yet?
“Because of you,” he says softly.
He reaches out his hand again but stops short of touching me. I don’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed.
“I would’ve left Knox Ridge by now if it weren’t for you, you know?” he says.
I cross my arms, blushing furiously. “Is that supposed to flatter me?”
“No,” he says with a shrug. “I’m just being honest.”
I grip my arms tighter, frowning. “You’re impossible.”
What is he playing at? What’s his end goal here? If I were smart, I would make him either explain himself or else kick him out before he gets too comfortable around here. But I don’t know what the fuck to do with him, and I’m drowning trying to get this dinner running smoothly.
I sigh. “Grab an apron and start working. We don’t charge on Monday nights.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means don’t ask questions and get to work,” I say before going back to the kitchen.
↔
Oliver
Kaitlynn’s worse than my superiors back in Iraq. I know she’s mad, and it’s not only because I wasn’t here yesterday. The best way to cope is by trying to get that long line at the hostess station taken care of, and maybe after closing I can talk to her. Get to the bottom of this.
While working, I find out that Kaitlynn runs a soup kitchen out of this restaurant every Monday. No wonder she’s overworked. When was the last time she took a day off? Can she afford to do this? I mean, I have no clue what her finances are like, but it can’t be cheap to do this every week.
It’s not surprising that everyone has something nice to say about Kaitlynn. Her parents were always giving back to the community. Mom and I were lucky to have them. But she’s single-handedly doing more for Knox Ridge than they ever did. The Blythes mainly volunteered around the holidays. Kaitlynn does this year-round.
As I’m coming out of the kitchen, I catch her at one of the back tables, handing over a bag to a family on their way out. I approach the table with the excuse of cleaning, hoping that she’s in a better mood.
“Were those leftovers?” I ask.
“No, it was clothes for the kids,” she says with a smile.
“Everything’s slowing down. Why don’t you take a break?”
“Send the other two on a break. I can keep working,” she says.
“Do you ever take a break?” I ask.
“Here and there,” she responds with a shrug of indifference. “I would rather visit with the customers.”
“What you do is amazing, but you need a day off,” I tell her.
No wonder she hates this restaurant and town. She’s burning herself to the ground.
“Why don’t I help you look through the schedule. See if you can take next Sunday off?”
She gives me a tired glare. “I can’t afford a day off.”
“Then I’ll help you with the books,” I offer. “We’ll find some extra money to pay another server or pay extra to the manager.”
“You think it’s that simple?”
“Well, it’s not as complicated as you’re making it,” I argue.
“You haven’t been here in so long,” she says with a huff. “You can’t just waltz back in here and assume you know the answer to every problem.”
“I don’t, but I can try to figure it out for you,” I say as I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Maybe it’s time you stop doing everything by yourself, and let someone in.”
“I’m sick of trusting people who let me down.” She hugs herself. “What’s the point of letting someone in when they’ll leave as soon as things get hard?”
“Let me in, Kit Kat,” I whisper. “I won’t let you down.”
10
Kaitlynn
Oliver made it happen. He took a couple of shifts from my manager over the week, so my manager could cover me on Sunday. Actually, he’s been working all week, only missing a few hours here and there. Today is our first day off since Monday. Since he wouldn’t take the day off unless I did, I agreed not to work. Although I did sneak by the restaurant this morning to receive the catch of the day from my supplier.
Ollie might think that I won’t swing by the restaurant all day. But if he thinks I’m skipping closing, he’s got another thing coming. No one closes the restaurant but me. I left a procedures list for the staff, but I know they’re going to miss something.
He wants me to delegate. He’s dead set on becoming part of the management. He can’t understand why I don’t have an accountant ... or a business plan. Dad used to handle all of the administrative stuff. My strategy is to follow his procedure—he wrote everything down. We never budgeted for an accountant. Adding one would kill the minimal profit we currently make. I’d have to start living in the restaurant because I couldn’t afford another employee plus my own rent.
Honestly, it’s tempting to let Oliver use that business degree he keeps bragging about. But only if I can pay him in something more feasible than cash ... like cobbler. I’ll throw in a pint of homemade ice cream as his signing bonus. As long as he keeps his hands to himself, I think we’ll be fine.
I can’t afford crushing on him again. Eight years ago, was bad enough. After he broke my heart, I spent weeks drowning my sorrows in cartons of ice cream and boxes of wine. And that’s how I ended up with Steve. “Esteban.” That fucking slimy, comedian weasel. There was nothing funny about him. Once he found out I was leaving for Atlanta, he stole my TV and ran off with my roommate. Not that she was pretty, but her dad was rich so I guess that counts for something.
“I never got a thank you,” I grumble to Oliver who is in the driver’s seat next to me.
“For what?”
“Uh, for taking care of your car for five years?”
“Hmm … that was you?”
“Who else would do it? What? You think it changed its oil by itself? Turned itself on every week?”
“So, you’re the reason my car has two thousand extra miles on it?”
I shrug innocently. “Someone had to show this baby what Tybee Island looks like.”
“A few hundred times?”
“Maybe.” I chuckle.
He laughs. “Well, thanks. I really appreciate it. I should repay you somehow.”
“Oh. I don’t think that’s necessary,” I say. “A simple thank you is all I need.”
“Nonsense. Let me fix your restaurant for you, and then we’ll call it even,”
I cross my arms. “You’re impossible, Tanner.”
“Only because you’re stubborn, Blythe,” he says.
“I might close it,” I confess. Javier’s offer is so tempting. “Someone offered me a job.”
“Doing what?”
“My own cooking show,” I tell him, explaining all the details, including the salary and benefits.
“That sounds like a scam,” he says. “How do you even know this offer is legitimate?”
“Because Javier has the money to back up any crazy idea he comes up with,” I explain.
“And you ... want to go with a crazy idea? From a guy named Javier? Really?”
“I don’t see any better options coming my way,” I argue. “You’ve seen the restaurant. There’s only so much I can do at this point without going bankrupt.”
“I’m giving you the option to fix the place. You’re just not letting me do it,” he says. “Which brings me to my next question: do you want to leave Knox Ridge because you’re done with the city or just because you’re drowning in problems?”
Before I can come up with a reasonable answer, Oliver parks the car. I look out the window, realizing that we’re in front of the town arcade. It’s been around as long as I’ve been alive. Ollie and I spent a lot of great afternoons here growing up.
The arcade itself hasn’t changed much from the outside, but the owners have made some significant updates to the business by buying a couple of the buildings next to the original arcade. Now there’s laser tag, bowling, and even mini golf. I guess this proves how much I’ve been out in the last few years. I had no clue this place got a makeover.
Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to have fun. If anything, I figured it’d be an awkward waste of a few hours before Ollie let me go home. So, of course, he had to prove me wrong. The arcade games were exactly how I remembered them. I kicked his ass in mini golf, but he’s a soldier so, of course, he owned laser tag. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.
Somehow, the hours fly right by us. When the announcement that the arcade will be closing in an hour goes off, Ollie invites me back to his place for dinner. Reluctantly, I agree.
His house looks like a museum of ancient artifacts. Nothing’s changed since his grandparents died. I remember when his mom had a day off, they’d invite me over. She’d bake cookies that we’d use for betting during card games. I’d usually wipe the floor with Ollie. He was always too open as a kid. I could tell what he was thinking just by glancing at his face.
“I think I’ll fix this house too,” he says with an unreadable expression as we get out of his car.
I sigh. Ollie used to make sense. We used to make sense.
Those were the days.
11
Kaitlynn
As Carl, the contractor, leaves the restaurant, I feel a headache coming on after hearing his fucking quote. It’s going to be ten thousand more than I expected, plus appliances. I stopped him before he started running numbers on the outdoor patio idea. There’s no way I can afford it on top of all the renovations this place needs.
That’s it. I’m moving to LA.
“What’s with that face?” Oliver says as he comes inside.
He’s carrying a toolbox in one hand and a can of paint in the other.
“What’s with the paint?” I ask.
“Before you open for dinner, I want to fix a few things, at least in the back. Then we can talk about renovating the rest.”
Without a word, I hand him the quote Carl just gave me. He takes the sheet, eyes widening to comical proportions.
“And that’s just the interior,” I tell him dryly. “The price tag doesn’t include appliances, decorations, or tableware.”
He whistles. “Well, that’s one opinion.”
“He’s the best contractor in town, and he gave me a great discount,” I say. “I’m not going to get a better price than this.”
“What if I told you that I could do the repairs for free, and loan you the money to cover the rest of the renovation?”
“And next you’re going to offer to build a new patio for outside,” I say sarcastically. “Should I pinch myself now, or do you want to wake me up?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him.
“You know what? Don’t. Just tell me, could you even afford to do all of that?” I point at the paper he holds.
“Yeah, of course. The patio will be included,” he says. “I’ve been working for twelve years, and I haven’t spent much of it yet. The savings add up.”
I stare at him. My mind is blown. I thought he was just talking a big game. But this could honestly work. Then again ... once this is over, he’s going to leave for Montgomery—with his mom. He’s going to be expecting his money back, probably with interest, and I’m going to be alone. I’ll still be stuck here, begging people to work at this restaurant like always. I don’t feel like wasting another five years of my life when I could just cut my losses now.
“Thanks, but uh, no thanks,” I say.
“Isn’t this what you need? Just to fix this restaurant to stay?”
“I need a lot more than that,” I say. “I need someone to work with me. I can’t keep doing this by myself.”
“You won’t have to,” he says. “I’ll be here.”
“Just until the reno is done. Then you’ll be going to your family.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly. “As long as you’re still in Knox Ridge, I’ll be here.”
“So, if I stay here for a hundred years, you’re not moving away?”
“Yep,” he says. “It’s time that we finally stay in the same place. Together.”
I glare at him. Is he implying that he wants us to be together? Am I making shit up again in my head like I did in high school? Or in college for that matter. Yep, it’s the latter. Why am I always putting myself in this stupid situation where I wait around for him to catch feelings that he’ll never have? I should put a stop to this before I get attached. Before he starts bringing a blonde bombshell around, and I end up drinking myself stupid at my own fucking bar.
“What if I promise to think about it? Is that enough?” I offer.
“What’s there to think about?” he gives me a challenging glare.
“I could just sell this restaurant and move to LA,” I argue. “I could even sell the building for more than the restaurant is worth. Then I wouldn’t owe you. I could pay off the bank, and I could start over with a clean slate.”
“Give me a chance,” he insists. “If it doesn’t work out, you can still sell it. It’ll be worth more after we fix it up.”
I take a deep breath. He’s really not giving up on this. It’s better to just let him try and fail, I think, than to keep arguing.
“Ok,” I say finally. “Let’s go with your plan. Even though I know I’m going to end up selling.”
↔
“How did you convince me to close up this place for an entire weekend?”
“I’m still asking myself the same question,” Oliver says with a triumphant grin.
We just finished painting the dining the room a calm sage color. Tomorrow we’re ripping out the carpet and seeing what’s underneath. The old hardwood might be in decent condition, at least that’s what Oliver said. He’s probably right. It’s probably cheaper to buff out a few scratches in wood than to replace the carpet with something less ugly and stained.
He’s been right all over the place these last couple of weeks. He’s wearing me down. Every morning he brings c
offee and cupcakes from Paige’s Bakery. He works in the kitchen before I start prepping for the day, and then he goes to the back office to mess with the books. Even the customers are noticing little changes.
I both love and hate that things are working out as well as they are. Is it crazy to be on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop? It’s been so long since my life hasn’t been just a sequence of kitchen disasters and employee meltdowns. Oliver’s presence has made a huge difference.
Every day something changes around here—even me. The only thing that I hate is when I get jealous. Every time he’s in the dining room and some young single customer is eyeing him like a piece of meat, I get so angry. Angry at them for looking at him that way, and angry at myself for caring. So much for keeping my distance.
But how can I? When he calls me beautiful every day, checks up on me during shifts, and acts like my problems actually matter. I wanted to stay safe. But some days, he makes me want more. Passion, excitement ... comfort. Feelings that can only come from being wrapped up in the arms of a man like him.
I like that we can spend the entire day doing nothing, working amicably in silence, while still having the time of our lives. When he’s around, I can’t catch my breath. It’s like I come alive whenever I’m near him.
I’m being incredibly naive here, which is dangerous. He’s like my oxygen at this point. What am I going to do when he leaves?
“Are you ok?” he asks.
“For now,” I say honestly. “So, what does your mom think about you hanging around here? Doesn’t she miss you?”
He shrugs. “Sure. She’s hoping that I’ll move in with her.”
I nod, humming absentmindedly. Maybe he’ll take the hint and start working on his exit strategy.
Of course, he has to be stubborn and say, “You have to understand that I’m not moving, unless you leave.”
“So, if I move to LA?” I ask critically.
“Then I guess we’re moving to LA,” he says casually.
Cards of Love: Knight of Wands Page 6
