“Tough.”
He swallowed the last of his drink. “I don’t know why you’re being such a bitch, Summer.” He ran his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair. “Surely you realize…”
“You’re a complete asshole. I don’t need to listen to this.” She picked up her bag from the floor.
His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Wait. Okay, I understand why you didn’t tell me. We didn’t end things well—maybe that was my fault. Anyway…” He gave her a smile, the smile that used to make her do whatever he wanted. “You don’t need to worry about the future any longer. Marlon wants to buy Summer’s Kitchen. And he wants you to continue on as head chef.”
Simmering anger flashed to boil. “So you didn’t come here for me…you came with a business proposition.” How had she been so stupid not to realize that?
“Well, I have missed you.” He looked hopeful. “Things had become difficult for us, you were so wrapped up in your work, in your financial difficulties—but with this new deal you won’t need to worry about the money. Marlon will see to that side of the business and pay you a handsome salary. I think we could try again. I’d be willing to…”
“Forget it.”
He frowned. “Okay, maybe that was too soon. But Marlon. You’ll talk to him?”
“The realtor’s details are on the sign.” She stood. “Marlon is welcome to contact them and make a bid for the premises. But the name of the restaurant and its Michelin star is not for sale. Neither am I.”
“Don’t be stupid…”
She didn’t even try to hide the contempt on her face. “Don’t call me. If you can’t explain to your richest client, give him my number and I’ll talk him through it. I won’t be returning to London, and there is no way I’ll ever come back to you. Not for love or money.” She looked at her watch. “Don’t miss your plane.”
Chapter Seventeen
Brookbridge was full of shoppers. Nick was at his parents’ house, and the thought of going back to his apartment held no appeal. Besides, Summer had presents to buy.
She headed to the small stores on Main Street, intent on finding at least a token for each member of the family who had so generously expanded their Christmas circle to include her. She picked up colorful scarves and gloves for April and Val, and a rather elegant fur trimmed hat for Ellie—and found a selection of tweed scarves in the local man’s shop that she bought for the men. The presents were small, but she didn’t know Nick’s family well enough to choose anything more personal.
She bought a stocking full of dog treats for Fella.
For Nick? Nothing seemed right until she stood in front of the jeweler’s window.
Moments later, she exited, clutching a small gold-colored bag. She fished her cell out of her bag, called Nick’s cell, and asked to talk to Val.
“I wonder if you could forward those pictures you took of Nick, Fella and me to my cell phone?”
“Sure, no problem.”
A few minutes later, they arrived in Summer’s inbox. The chemist in Brookbridge had a sign in the window stating that they had a photo-printing machine, so she headed there next.
This time last year, she’d been busy in the restaurant—lunchtime of Christmas Eve had been one of their busiest days ever. She glanced over the road at the restaurant they’d eaten at the other night, Buona Vita. There was no way she’d get a table…not at such short notice, and without a reservation, but nostalgia for the atmosphere of a restaurant at Christmas made her walk across the road and push open the door.
She breathed in the scent of oregano, basil, roasted peppers.
“Hi.” The blonde waitress, Elaine, recognized her. “You’re Nick’s friend.” Her smile was welcoming. “Is it just a table for one?”
“I know you’re busy…” There didn’t seem to be an empty table in the place.
“We are. But I’ve just seated a sole customer at a table, and I did ask him if he’d be willing to share if we had someone else wanting to eat…would you mind sharing?”
Summer smiled. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Great.” Elaine led the way to a table near the window. A dark haired man in his early thirties was checking the menu. “Dr. Jones—may I seat this lady at your table?”
“Of course.” The man gestured to the empty chair.
Elaine handed Summer a menu, and scurried away.
“John Jones.” The man introduced himself.
“Summer Costello.” She eased off her coat, and slung it over the back of the chair. “I really didn’t think I’d get a table today.”
“I didn’t make a reservation either,” John confessed. “I was working this morning, and just decided to call in on spec.”
“You’re a doctor, then.”
“At the hospital. I came off the night shift, decided to do a bit of last minute shopping, and then thought I’d grab lunch before going home to sleep.”
“I was shopping too.” Summer scanned the menu. “I had dinner here a few nights ago—their food is excellent.”
There was silence for a few moments as they considered their choices, then John snapped his menu shut.
Elaine walked over immediately, her notepad at the ready.
“Would you like some water?” When she said yes, he picked up the jug from the middle of the table. “What do you do?”
“I’m a chef.” She turned and gave Elaine her order.
To her relief, the doctor didn’t feel the need to make any more small talk. Their meals arrived, and she attacked the lasagna, not realizing just how hungry she was. She’d ordered a glass of merlot, and sipped it between bites.
The restaurant was smaller than Summer’s Kitchen—the menu choices simpler—but the food was expertly prepared, and the clientele were happy and appreciative. Every time a table was vacated, it was cleared and reset, and a constant stream of customers came through the front door, so many in fact, that they had a small crowd gathering, waiting for tables.
She was considering dessert when Elaine came over again, this time looking worried.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you.” She clasped her hands together as she spoke to John. “We have had an accident in the kitchen—the chef…” She swallowed. “I really don’t want to ruin your meal, we’ve called for an ambulance, but…”
“Of course.” John stood. He looked at Summer. “Excuse me.”
He followed Elaine into the kitchen. The sound of a distant siren grew louder, and before long an ambulance turned the corner down the alley at the side of the restaurant.
Elaine returned, this time holding her notepad. “Can I take your dessert order?” Her eyes were bright and her smile forced.
“Is he all right?” Summer asked.
“The doctor thinks he may have had a heart attack.” Elaine’s bottom lip wobbled. “The chef is also the owner. He and his wife will be on their way to the hospital in the ambulance in a few moments.”
The waitress looked shaken. “Sit down for a moment.” It was the busiest time of day, on the busiest day of the year. The kitchen must be in uproar. Summer took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m a head chef. I don’t know how everyone is coping back there in the kitchen, I’m sure the second chef has taken over, but if you need a hand back there, I’m more than happy to help.”
Elaine’s eyes widened. “But you don’t know the menu…”
Summer could cook any one of the meals on the menu blindfolded. “Check with the second chef. See if he needs my help.” She pushed her plate away. “You don’t want to have to turn anyone away.”
*****
Where is she?
Hours had passed since Summer’s call—the call where she’d asked if Val was with him, and then asked to talk to her. She’d sounded relaxed and happy.
She’d made no mention of the mysterious phone call last night and they’d left his apartment at the same time that morning—him heading to his mother’s house while she went into Brookbridge to do some last minute shopping. She’d dre
ssed in a long black wool dress and high black boots for the occasion, had fastened her hair into a topknot and put on more jewelry and makeup than he’d seen on her this entire holiday. As if she was meeting someone.
He didn’t want to be suspicious, but it was damn hard not to be.
Maybe there was a reason she hadn’t replied to his text. Perhaps she was at home, waiting for him.
All the preparations that he could do today had been done. Ellie was satisfied with progress. He’d caught up with his brothers, now it was time to find Summer.
He stuffed his arms into his coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck. “I’ll be here early in the morning to deal with the turkey.” He jerked open the front door.
April was staggering up the path laden down with packages. Nick held the door wide for her.
“You’re leaving?” April’s mouth turned down at the corners.
“Yes. Gotta go.” He flattened himself against the wall so she could squeeze past him.
“Meeting up with Summer, then? I saw her in town having lunch in Buona Vita with some guy—I guess he’s that brother I’ve heard so much about.”
Nick couldn’t get any words out—couldn’t explain that Declan wasn’t even in the country—instead; Nick forced a smile and got out of there as quickly as he could.
His heart sank on pulling up outside his dark apartment. He unlocked the door, turned on the lights and walked into the kitchen, Fella trotting along at his heels.
Everything was exactly as he’d left it—she hadn’t been back.
He fed the dog, checked his cell phone again, and walked upstairs. Her clothes still hung in the wardrobe—at least she hadn’t moved out.
He called her. The phone must be on as it rang repeatedly but wasn’t answered.
So what are you going to do about it? an inner voice demanded. The thought of Summer alone somewhere with Michael made him crazy. The bastard didn’t deserve her. The prospect of losing her brought home the realization that he wasn’t satisfied with a brief fling—she meant more to him than that.
They were more than a holiday romance, and he’d be damned if he’d let her just walk away, but right now, he was so angry she was ignoring his calls he couldn’t see straight.
He could sit here, drown his sorrows in a bottle of Jameson, and wait for her to come back, or he could…
He sent her a text and then called Sean’s number. “Hey, can I come over?”
“Sure. But don’t you have a houseguest to entertain? Are you bringing her too?”
“I’m flying solo. Summer is out and I don’t feel much like sitting here on my own.”
“Great. Guys night. See you in a while, then.”
Guys night. He and Sean had often hung out, downing whiskey, eating Doritos and watching action movies. They both dated up a storm, but neither was good at the commitment thing, so were usually alone on Christmas Eve. He’d thought this year would be different.
Nick called a taxi.
*****
Once the lunchtime crush was over with, preparations for the dinner shift began. Summer had been enjoying herself so much, she’d become totally caught up in the moment. Cooking, without the pressure of being responsible for everything, was liberating. She’d forgotten just how much she enjoyed being a chef, working in a busy kitchen.
So when the second chef had come up empty trying to find another chef to cover at short notice for the evening booking, she hadn’t been able to say no.
She checked her phone, but the battery was dead and she didn’t know Nick’s number, so without a charger she was stuck. Hopefully he’d understand.
The next few hours had flown. And she’d loved every minute.
When the last table had been served, she picked up her coat and bag, and made her excuses. Elaine called her a taxi, and a wad of notes was stuffed into her hand by the grateful owner, who had returned from the hospital to report that her husband, the head chef, was doing okay. They’d asked if there was any possibility she could help out more over the days to follow, but she’d declined.
Nick’s apartment was dark when the taxi drew up.
She unlocked the front door, shrugged off her coat, and headed upstairs. His bedroom was empty. Confused, she grabbed the charger and plugged in her cell phone.
A couple of messages pinged into her in-box, she read the most recent first.
Have gone out. Call me when you get back.
Clear, concise, to the point. No x’s at the end.
She glanced at her watch to see it was after midnight. Where is he? She called his number. “Nick? Hi, I’m home.”
“And I’m out.” His voice was slurred, as if he’d been drinking. “Good of you to call.” He was a master of sarcasm; every word was dripping with it. “Did you enjoy yourself at the restaurant?”
Confusion swirled. How had he known where she was? “Yes, I just got carried away, I should have called, I’m sorry—”
“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” The tone of his voice contradicted his words. “Listen, I’m at Sean’s, and I’ve been drinking. I think I’ll crash here for the night and go straight to my parents’ house in the morning. If you come, bring the dog, will you?”
His attitude stunk. “Couldn’t you grab a taxi?” She wanted to tell him about working in the restaurant, needed his arms around her. Waking up on Christmas morning with him as her present was an unrealized dream. “I’d really like to spend tonight with you.” Her voice sounded husky, but she didn’t care that her need was plain to hear.
“Sorry. I can’t. Will you bring Fella tomorrow morning, or do I have to collect him?”
She bit down hard on her bottom lip. “I’ll bring him.”
“Goodnight, then.”
Summer held the cell phone to her ear. He’d hung up on her.
After the call, Summer checked the earlier messages. A pleading one from Michael, begging her to reconsider. Two from Nick, asking her to call him.
The first was early afternoon, when she’d been busy in the restaurant kitchen—even if her battery was still working, she wouldn’t have got it as Elaine had whisked her coat and bag away into the staff area for safekeeping.
How had Nick known she was at the restaurant? Her mind flickered back to the night of the Vet’s Christmas Party—Nick’s easy, friendly relationship with Elaine. Maybe she’d called him.
She rubbed the back of her neck. No. That made no sense. What possible reason could Elaine have for calling Nick and telling him that? She guessed she should have called him, it was Christmas Eve; she had no right to keep him hanging. But still, if he’d needed to talk to her so badly, couldn’t he have rung the restaurant and asked to speak to her? He’d known she was there…
Summer was so tired she couldn’t even think straight, so she changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed.
The sheets were cold. Outside the window, a gale was blowing, rattling the windows. If she’d called him, they’d be curled up here together.
All the way home, she’d imagined telling him about her day—sharing how exciting it had been to discover that her love of cooking hadn’t been lost when she lost the restaurant. Now, cold reality pushed in. They never would have had that conversation. Because he had no idea what her life was really like—that nothing remained for her in London, or hadn’t up until Michael’s recent offer.
Up until that moment, she’d been mourning the death of a dream. Wallowing in self-pity for the misfortunes that life had dealt her.
When Michael offered her an escape—the chance to continue running Summer’s Kitchen, but without the pressure of ownership, everything sharpened into focus.
Summer’s Kitchen was dead, and she had no desire to resurrect it. She didn’t want to live in London any longer. Didn’t want to try and recapture her old life. To deny, hide and fix her failures.
If she’d said yes to Michael’s proposition, no-one would even have to know that she’d lost it all; that she’d so comprehensively failed. She could spin i
t any way she wanted—that she’d decided to sell the restaurant as a business decision, while retaining the cachet of being the chef whose name was over the door.
She could pretend.
Or she could tell the truth. Embrace the fact that she’d tried something, it hadn’t worked out, and she had learned something important—how to fail.
There was a new life waiting, full of undreamed of possibilities. She had no time to waste on yesterday’s life.
She pulled the blanket up around her ears and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be a busy day; she’d need to hit the ground running.
Chapter Eighteen
Nick had thought there could be nothing worse than getting up on Christmas morning with a hangover.
He was wrong.
Being hungover on Christmas morning with one hand stuck up a turkey’s ass was way worse. A new admiration for his mother was born as he withdrew a small, slimy bag containing God knows what, and the turkey’s severed neck from the body cavity and flung it into the trash.
“You should have saved that for the gravy,” a voice said from the doorway.
Val. Clutching her ever-present camera, even though she was only dressed in pajamas.
“Want to stick your hand up there again and smile for me?”
Nick swallowed his initial response—Bugger off seemed an uncharitable Christmas retort—and shook his head. “No way. What are you doing up? It’s barely eight.” He frowned at her camera. “I thought you wouldn’t have to work today.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Val pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboard, and spooned coffee granules into them. “Ellie has me on standby for the entire day. I’m supposed to record every single moment.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “Especially all evidence of you cooking.” While the water boiled, she wandered over and took a picture of the nude, raw, turkey, lying on a bed of foil in a baking tray. “Looks like I’m a bit early though.”
She pointed the camera his direction, and snapped off a shot. “Can I ask about the sunglasses?”
Snowbound Summer (The Logan Series Book 3) Page 13
