Liz glanced vaguely at Luke before she turned. Hector had noticed her looking at him more than once. Though, as she had a long-term live-in boyfriend, he knew she was just looking. Liz would never cheat on her boyfriend no matter how many times he forgot their anniversary; she was too loyal for that.
They heard a crash in the kitchen. Just as Hector moved towards it, a woman with distinctive dark brown and blue-streaked hair pulled back in a ponytail, poked her head through the kitchen’s swinging door.
“Hector, we’ve got a problem.”
Shit. Though he’d bought all new appliances for the kitchen, they were not without their issues. “What now, Frannie? Is it the oven again?”
“That’s not my name.”
Hector quirked a brow. “That’s the name I put on your paychecks.”
Frannie scrunched her nose and stepped out fully. “You know I don’t like that name.”
Beth sighed. “Frannie—”
Frannie tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “I ask you: just because my parents chose a name for me, does that mean I have to answer to it for the rest of my life?”
Hector looked up at the ceiling. “Here we go.”
Beth, who’d also heard this speech before, knew, like he did, that the best way to end it was to play along. “Why, no, Frannie, you don’t.”
Frannie pointed a finger in the air. “Exactly! I mean, my parents named me at birth. Did they know who I was? Of course not. I slept, like, sixteen hours a day. How could they possibly gauge my personality and find the right name for me just a few days after birth?”
“Frannie,” Hector growled.
“So, today, my name is…” She posed with a flourish, both arms in the air, a wide smile on her face. “…Jasmine.”
Hector turned to Beth, who just shrugged her shoulders. Frannie often tried out new names, different hair colors. The only constant was her amazing skills in the kitchen.
Beth didn’t miss a beat. “Well, Jasmine, is there a problem in the kitchen?”
Frannie/Jasmine dropped her arms and her smile dimmed. “Oh. Yeah. Hector, the freezer’s acting up.”
Shit. He’d just filled that freezer a day ago. “Is everything spoiled?”
She shook her head. “No. I checked the food temps and everything is fine, but I’ll need to start cooking it up. I can make a huge stew; that can last a day in the fridge beyond that, and it’ll taste better the next day, too. We’ll still have some food leftover though.”
Damn it. “So, what was the crash we heard?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I threw a pan across the kitchen. What? I was upset! It shouldn’t be breaking down like this.”
Hector rubbed a hand over his face. “All right. I’ll take a look before the dinner rush kicks in. In the meantime, we can store some stuff in my freezer upstairs. Pick what you think will fit. Cook up the rest.”
“I’ll need to stay late to do it.”
She was at max hours, which meant overtime for her. And that meant lower profits, and more time needed to pay Low back.
Shit. There was nothing for it. “I’ll approve the OT.”
“Got it, boss.”
Daley walked over to Beth, a couple of pints in his hand. “Need anything else?”
Beth shook her head. “Not from you. Frannie, we’re getting dinner orders.”
Frannie/Jasmine checked her watch. “It’s barely five.”
“So?”
“So, who eats at five?”
“Hungry people. Is any of the dinner menu ready to serve?”
“The salad’s done, but the steak and ale pie still needs some time. Desserts were delivered an hour ago, so you could serve them in the meantime.”
Beth saw some customers waving her down. “Hardly anyone wants dessert first. How much time for the pie?”
“Ten minutes, minimum.”
“Make it five.”
Frannie/Jasmine huffed. “Fine. But if anyone complains about the dinner, it’s not my fault.”
Hector gave her one of his wonky smiles. “No one complains about the dinner and you know it.”
A brilliant smile lit her face. “I know.” She gave a little wave and sauntered back into the kitchen.
Beth’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I’ll be back for the food.” She grabbed her tray and wound her way through the tables.
Hector checked the time again, then flicked his gaze to Daley. “Amelia call?”
Daley shook his head, his longish hair falling over his forehead. “No, man. Not like her to be late.”
“No, it isn’t,” he muttered. “Let me know if you hear from her. I’ve got to finish putting the order in and checking the freezer, then I’ll be out to help. You all right on your own?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Let me know if that changes.” He walked back to his office, pulling his phone out as he did.
No messages.
He called her, and he’d just reached his office when her phone clicked to voicemail. He shut the door behind him, his body warming at the sound of her voice, even while other parts of him were worrying.
“Amelia, it’s Hector. Checking to make sure you’re all right. It’s not like you to be late for a shift. If you’ve had an emergency and need the night off, just let us know, yeah?”
Shit happened. Hector knew that better than anyone. He had two prosthetics to prove it. He knew Amelia wasn’t likely to get caught in that kind of shit in Masillia, but she was a woman walking alone; he didn’t want to think about the things that could happen to her on the walk to work, even in the afternoon.
He took a series of deep breaths, a coping mechanism his therapist had helped him develop. Feeling calmer, he finished the order and checked on the freezer, all while managing to look at the clock only every minute rather than every thirty seconds.
He was back in his office and had just finished ordering the part needed to fix the freezer, when the door flew open.
“Sorry! Sorry! I’m so sorry.” Amelia rushed in, out of breath with her hands full. She headed for the staff lockers he’d placed in the corner of the office. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“What happened?” He walked over to her. Her cheeks were flushed and there was something he didn’t like working in her eyes.
She stuffed her purse into the locker with her left hand. Why would she do that if she was right-handed?
“I, uh, just lost track of the time. I’m sorry. I’ll stay late today or come in early next time to make up for it.”
“It’s forty minutes. Don’t worry about it.”
Her hands stilled on the locker door. “I’d like to make up the time. I don’t want to lose that money.”
“Then I’ll pay you for those forty minutes.”
She shook her head, and her hair, which was pulled back into a bun at the back of her head, didn’t move a whisper. “That wouldn’t be right. I’ll make it up. I promise.”
“I don’t care about the time or money, Amelia. I care whether or not you’re okay. Something happened, what is it?”
Her cheeks went pink and she pushed up the long, baggy cardigan sleeves and began tying her apron around her waist. “It’s nothing. I said I was sorry.”
“I accept your apology if you need that.” He took hold of her right arm and she winced and yanked it away.
Her eyes were fixed on the floor as she finished tying and began turning. “I’ll check with Liz about my section.”
He blocked her from leaving and spoke in a low, soft voice. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Did I do that just now?” Had his hold been rougher than he’d thought? He only meant to reassure her, to comfort her since she was harried and distressed.
She started shaking her head immediately. “No! No, of course not. I, um, just bumped into something earlier. I’m fine. I’m clumsy, I do that all the time. Don’t worry.”
She may not be the most graceful person, but he didn’t think she was te
lling the truth. He’d learned a lot about her over these last several months. She was hiding something. “May I see?”
She stilled. “No, I…I’m fine.”
He stepped closer and caught her distinctive, alluring scent. “Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not, Amelia.”
She sagged in defeat. “It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal.”
“I know that. I’ve had my fair share of bruises.”
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I know you weren’t being insensitive.” He took another step towards her and took her hand. “Will you let me see the bruise?”
He watched the indecision in her eyes, and nothing else seemed to matter, not in that moment. Not the growing crowd outside. Not the fact that he was needed behind the bar, or that she was needed on the floor.
Nothing mattered but her.
“Amelia.”
She let out a breath. “If I show it to you, will you keep me from working?”
He knew she needed the money and clearly wouldn’t accept help. “Unless it’s serious, I won’t stop you, but I will keep a close watch on you.”
She bit her lip, then nodded. She pulled up her sleeve some more and it occurred to him that he’d never actually seen her upper arm before. Though they’d made out—a lot, but still not nearly enough for him—they’d never gotten undressed.
When he saw the bruise, he growled. It was still new, but by morning it would be a discolored, angry purple and black. If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess that a hand had made it. “What the fuck?”
She began to pull her sleeve down, but he stopped her. Burying the need to rage against something, he instead focused on her.
“May I?” he asked and gestured to the bruise.
She paused, then nodded.
He gently cupped her arm, his thumb brushing her soft skin. He turned her arm this way and that, assessing the damage, and spoke almost to himself. “The skin’s not broken, but you’re clearly in pain. It’s not going to be easy lifting trays of drinks and food tonight.”
“I can do it,” she said immediately.
“You winced when I barely touched you a minute ago.”
“I can lift things with my other hand.”
She wouldn’t be lifting anything if he could help it. “We’ll see.”
“Hector.”
“Who did this to you?”
She pressed back against the wall. “What? I told you, I bumped into something.”
“Yes, you did. Apparently, it was somebody’s hand.”
“It’s fine.”
He leaned in, her head tipping back to look up at him. “What did I tell you about ‘fine’?”
Her voice was shaky. “Hector.”
His mind drifted to the only person who now had a restraining order that barred him from coming near the pub, but not from Amelia, someone who’d love to hurt her any way they could. “Was it Piers? Did he find you?”
She waited a beat, then nodded.
Goddamn motherfucker! They still hadn’t caught him since the attack the day the pub opened.
He kept his voice as gentle as he could. “You need to report this, baby.”
She sighed and looked down. “I know. I just didn’t have time. He cornered me on my way here and I was already running late.”
That piece of shit. “I think it’s time to get that restraining order against him, babe. I know you don’t want to, but it’s time. I don’t think he’d try to come near the pub again, but he’s clearly coming near you. I don’t like it.”
She huffed. “And you think I do?”
He shook his head and started to respond, but she kept talking.
“A restraining order won’t stop him from ruining my life.”
“Amelia—”
“But I’ll get one.” Her voice broke. “I’ll get a goddamn restraining order against my own brother.”
Fuck. Christ. Shit.
He leaned closer and rested his forehead against hers. “Amelia. You won’t go through this alone. I’m here. We’re all here for you.”
“But for how long?” she blurted out. “How long will you keep dealing with all of this shit, all of my shit, before it gets to be too much?”
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, her breath labored. She was trying to stop the tears before they came full force, trying to get herself under control.
How many times had he done that during his recovery? How many times did he still do that in those increasingly rare moments when the nightmares came and the pain assaulted him all over again?
He stayed there for as long as she needed—moments, minutes, it didn’t matter. He’d wait forever if it would help her.
She sniffled. “I—I’m okay.”
His eyes tipped down to her bruise again. His thumb brushed over it once, twice, and he had an urge to kiss it. To kiss her.
So, he did.
He brushed his lips against her bruise, light as air. Then he lifted his head and gave her lips a soft, barely-there kiss, too.
He pulled down her sleeve, then cupped her face with one hand. His fingers slid across her pulled back hair, around her ear and the arm of her glasses to cup her nape. She usually had something bright and sexy dangling from her lobes.
Not today. Her lobes were empty. That meant she was probably worried about something before she’d even left her house, and her asshole brother had only made everything worse. He wished she would open up to him, tell him what was wrong. Even after months together, there were still things she kept close. She didn’t trust him fully yet but she was getting there.
He’d give her whatever time she needed, even if taking things slow was driving him increasingly insane.
He brushed his thumb over her cheek, and her eyes tipped up to his.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“You’re safe here, Amelia, you get me?”
“Y-yes.”
He gave her head a gentle squeeze. “You are safe here. I don’t just mean the pub, I mean me. You’re safe with me. No one fucks with you when I’m around. You get me?”
Something flared in her eyes, then shuttered just as quickly. It might have been hope. “I got you.”
“I’m here for you. Not just at work, but anytime you need me. Understand?”
She swallowed and nodded.
He stared into her eyes a few moments longer, then reluctantly stepped back. “You’re taking it easy tonight. You need a tray of drinks or food carried out, Beth, Daley, or I do it.”
“But—”
“It’s either that or you go home.”
Her shoulders sagged. “All right.”
“I want you to heal, not make yourself worse.” Without trying, his voice dropped deeper, huskier. “I’m worried about you, baby.”
Her breath caught, something it did nearly every time he used that endearment.
“Don’t be,” she said softly.
“Can’t stop what’s already happened.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Come on. I’ll walk out with you. Clock in, then check in with Liz, and I’ll touch base with Beth and Daley.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. When he stepped back some more, she turned, and he followed her out the door.
Amelia hurried down the hall and to the register where she clocked in, then headed through the bar towards her section.
He passed by Beth and told her to keep an eye on Amelia, went to the kitchen and told Frannie/Jasmine to do the same, then gave Daley the heads up before he settled behind the bar with him.
Liz walked up and handed him her apron. “Can you cash me out?”
Hector nodded, then printed out a quick tally of everything she’d rung up. He made a note of the existing customers, removed the credit card customers, and counted the cash due. He counted her cash float, deducted what was due, and gave her the rest back as tips; she’d had a good day.
He handed her apron back. “Thanks for stayi
ng late, Liz.”
Liz grabbed the apron. “Sure thing. Bummer Millie hurt her arm. Could I have the keys? Need to get my stuff.”
He tossed them to her and she disappeared into the back. She returned a minute later and handed his keys back before leaving the pub with a quick wave.
After he shoved the keys into his pants pocket, he did a sweep of the pub, starting with Amelia’s section. Seeing she was managing, his dark eyes swung to Beth, then through the rest of the pub. Only when he was assured everything was all right, did he start making drinks.
One more hour. Millie could do this. It was only thirty more minutes of closing out the remaining customers then cleaning up before she could go home.
Only one more hour of pain, then she’d be free.
It was two in the morning. Beth had left early since it had slowed down, and she didn’t mind losing the hours of pay to gain some sleep instead. Frannie/Jasmine had left, too, managing to clear out the freezer and cook up a storm before she shut down most of the kitchen. Daley had left with them, walking them home as protection when they couldn’t find cabs.
The pub’s door opened, and she turned, her body on guard; few came into the pub this close to closing unless they were already drunk, looking for trouble, or both. She blinked at the sight of Liz in the doorway.
Liz trudged up to a stool and slapped her purse on the bar. “Shots. Tequila. Line ’em up.”
Oh no. Millie guessed her jerk of a boyfriend had done something stupid and inconsiderate. Again. She walked to her side at the front of the bar just as Hector reached her from behind it.
He put three empty shot glasses in front of her. “Is it the asshole again?”
Liz pouted. “He’s not an asshole.”
He reached for a bottle on display behind the bar. “Isn’t he? He the one that made you look like you’re about to cry?”
Liz’s lower lip trembled.
Millie wanted to run a comforting hand down her back, but they weren’t really in that place as friends, so she held back. Instead, she spoke softly while Hector filled the glasses. “Did he forget? Or was it something else?”
Liz downed her shot and reached for the next. “I got home from work. There was a present on the table and I was so excited. It was small and square.” She turned to Millie. “If you saw a small, square package, and it was your anniversary, and you’d been with the guy for years, what would you think?”
Rush (Hector & Millie) (Seaside Valleria #1) Page 11
