“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”
Tyler grabs a package of pasta from the counter. “Because I told him that he did you wrong and that he should.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see if he does just that.”
“I hate to see it happen, or even say it out loud, but this whole country star thing might have gone to his head.”
“Ya think? Keeping his ego in check was one of the things I tried to do as his publicist.”
“Why Scott’s acting like such an ass is a mystery to me.” Tyler takes a fistful of pasta and deposits it into the boiling water. “I’ve never known him to be anything other than a standup guy.”
“People change,” I say with a shrug. “Do you mind if we don’t talk about Scott anymore?”
He smiles at me and our eyes lock. “Absolutely not, I’d much rather talk about the two of us.”
Tyler
I went for it. Took my shot. The blush spreads over her cheeks and my eyes snap to her mouth. Her lips—full. And I imagine soft. I glance back up and find her staring at me.
“What’s your story, Tyler?”
“What do you mean?”
Before she gets the chance to explain, Maria breezes through the kitchen. “Hello, Mister Nichols.”
“Hi, Maria, pizzas are in the freezer, already boxed up. And the soup is in the walk-in.”
“Very good, I’ll take care of everything. Is this the lady who arranged the food for the shelter?” Maria asks, her gaze pings between me and Haven.
“Maria Bines meet Haven Cardwell.”
“Ahh, Haven Cardwell,” she says, her eyes gleam with delight. “I know your mama and papa. Very lovely people.”
Haven extends her hand to meet Maria’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Maria. Thank you for taking all the food to the shelter.”
She places her palm on top of Haven’s. “It’s my pleasure. Tell your parents that Maria says hello.”
“I will.”
Maria walks away and goes about her business leaving the two of us alone again.
My heart swells when Haven’s smile broadens and her dimples show. She’s looking at me like I can hang the damn moon. Or maybe the booze is responsible.
“So, what is your story, Tyler? Are you hiding some deep dark secrets? A restaurateur who moonlights as a secret spy? Is this place a cover for a secret gambling ring?”
I laugh. “I promise my life is not that exciting.”
“Maybelle’s convinced that you’re some kind of man of mystery.”
I swallow thickly. There’s something about Haven that makes me want to open up and tell her all my secrets. I feel a kindred spirit with her. If that sounds stupid, I don’t care.
“Well, the truth is—you and I actually have something in common. We’re both adopted.”
Her green eyes widen in surprise. “What? Seriously?”
“Bye-bye, I’m going now,” Maria calls out.
“Thank you, Maria, see you tomorrow.”
The back-door slams shut and I return my focus to Haven. “Yeah, it’s true.” I hesitate for a moment but then I reclaim my nerve. “Have you ever heard of the House of Horrors?”
“The one down in Clinton Park?” she asks.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” I stir the pasta making sure that it’s not sticking together.
“What about it?”
“I’m the kid, the teenager, who was rescued from that place.”
A gasp falls from her lips. Her gorgeous lips. Her eyes dim, but she doesn’t look at me with pity. It’s something else that I can’t put my finger on. I busy myself with the task of preparing the bruschetta.
“Was it . . . terrible? I mean the news described it as . . .”
“Horrifying. Unimaginable. And then Enid and Michael saved my life.”
She smiles. “Thank goodness for the two of them.”
“Yes,” I agree and I slide the plate of bruschetta between the two of us. “Hold on, we need some wine.”
“Okay, I’ll be right here.”
My heart pumps a steady rhythm. I feel a sense of relief. It’s a weird feeling. I’ve never shared my past with anyone. Not even Reed or Scott know and neither one has ever asked me about my childhood. For all I know, they both think that I was in the foster care system until Michael and Enid adopted me.
I pull a crisp sauvignon blanc from the shelf behind the bar. A few moments with Haven and I’m spilling deeply personal things about myself. This woman has a way of making me feel safe.
I should tread lightly, be careful.
Trust no one. Keep my feelings guarded.
How can I be careful when she makes me feel completely at ease?
I’ve played it safe practically my whole life, keeping everyone at arm’s length. Never letting anyone get attached to me. And it’s been years since I’ve thought about attaching myself to a woman. Not since Mina, my grad school girlfriend.
I walk back into the kitchen and Haven’s eyes light up. She flashes a soft smile when I set the wine on the butcher’s block.
“May I ask you some questions?”
I uncork the wine. “Sure thing.”
“From what I remember, there were two kids rescued from the house. Does that mean you have a brother or a sister?”
“Yes. Ava, my younger sister.” I pause and my eyes close. “She died after we were rescued.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.” She squeezes my hand.
“Thank you. Losing her was awful and shocking. I still can’t believe she’s been gone all these years. I’ll let you in on another secret, this restaurant is here mostly because of my sister.” I pour the wine into two stemless glasses. “Ava and I went hungry a lot, sometimes for days.”
Haven listens to me talk about eating toothpaste just to fill our bellies as I hand her a glass of wine.
“I just can’t wrap my head around people who would live like that and allow their kids to live in such conditions. I think I’d rather be homeless.”
I raise my brows at the thought. Because some days I think I might have preferred that situation as well. While the pasta cooks, I add a tablespoon of olive oil to a medium skillet.
“When you wanted to send food to the shelter the other night, it made me really happy. We send stuff to the food pantry in Lexington once a month. More around the holidays. We also have an outreach program with a few of the underfunded schools within central Kentucky. We work with some of the local farmers to provide snacks and adopt-a-meal programs, too. In fact, I’m hosting a fundraiser here. Not this coming Friday, but the next. Raising money for Feed Our Kids.”
Her hand presses to her chest. “I’m speechless, Tyler. Hearing you talk about all the good you’re doing makes me want to get involved.”
A beat of silence passes. I plate the appetizer adding a splash of balsamic over the bread.
“You should come to the fundraiser,” I say, before shoveling the bruschetta into my mouth.
“I will,” she says and then bites into the piece of bruschetta I slid in front of her. “This is so good, by the way.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you like it.” I turn back to the stove to add the veggies to the skillet.
“Tyler,” she says my name and it stirs at something deep inside my chest.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve never told anyone who you are, have you?”
The feeling deep inside my chest sharpens and becomes heavy.
“No,” I answer simply.
“Why’d you tell me? I mean, you barely know me.”
“I think that you’re the first person I wanted to tell. To share with, and I know that sounds incredibly strange. Because believe me, I’ve spent most of my life making sure that it stayed buried.”
I walk back to the stove to check the pasta. It’s perfectly cooked, tender but still firm to the bite. Al dente. I drain the water from the pasta and turn the burner down for the veggies, bringing them to a simmer slowly.
Haven
settles her elbows onto the butcher’s block and her eyes meet mine. “I’ve not had deep personal conversations with too many people. And never with any of my partners . . . men, in general. Not even my brothers, not really. I guess I’m closer to Brant than Wes. Must be our age. Other than that, I’m not really close to anyone except Sage and my other best friend, Ryleigh, back in L.A. I’m pretty close to my assistant, Beatrice. I think I keep people at a distance so that I don’t get hurt. Even Scott, I kept him at a distance.” She glances down and laughs. “I know that sounds silly because, in a way, Scott ended up hurting me anyway. And I’m officially rambling.”
My fingers tug under her chin forcing her to look at me. “I don’t think that sounds silly. You can be intimate with someone and still keep them at a distance emotionally. It’s a classic defense mechanism.”
“Obviously,” she says with a small laugh.
“Sometimes people break through our defenses.”
Her green eyes meet mine. “Is that what I did for you?”
I smile. “I guess that you did.”
Haven
We bring our bowls of pasta into the dining room. With my clutch tucked under my arm, I manage to carry the appetizer plate too. Tyler has the bottle of sauvignon blanc. He directs me toward a table near the window on the other side of the fireplace. It’s already set up with wine glasses, water glasses and silverware.
I admit I’m the tiniest bit rattled by Tyler. His confession. The ease of conversation between us. The way he makes me feel so comfortable. I’m surprised by my own confession.
Even though my parents love me, and I know that they do, I’ve always felt like an outsider. And Scott, I have no idea why I felt that he was a good match. And husband material? I was actually considering him as husband material. Granted, I entertained the idea for only a few hours. It’s laughable.
The pull I have toward Tyler isn’t laughable.
It scares me.
I can’t be trusted with my own feelings.
This man, though.
Okay, and now, I’ve given myself whiplash.
I place the napkin across my lap and then dig into the pasta. “Holy cow, that is yummy.”
He smiles. “Thanks.”
“The pasta is perfect. I hate overcooked noodles. For that matter, I hate undercooked noodles too.”
“Glad you approve of my noodles. I studied with a chef in Italy for a summer. Mushy pasta is the bane of Italian chefs.”
I feel my brows shoot up. Tyler studied with a chef? In Italy? The guy who just told me that he ate toothpaste to keep from completely starving. It seems unreal. I have so many questions for him. Instead of asking about those years he spent in that horrible place I stick to a happier topic.
“Where in Italy? When? After college?”
He laughs. “The summer after I finished grad school. My parents’ graduation gift to me was a summer in Italy. So, I spent the summer eating and drinking and, well, let’s just say socializing with the locals.”
I shake my head and laugh. “So, you had a little fun with the opposite sex.”
He winks at me. “One night, I went to this restaurant in Milan for dinner.” Tyler twirls the noodles around the tines of his fork. “Started having a conversation with the guy next to me. Turns out that it was his restaurant. I came back the next night and apparently his head chef was out with a family emergency. Simone asked me to fill in.” Tyler’s mouth closes around his fork and I’m mesmerized by his lips.
“As head chef?”
Tyler smiles. “Nah, I told him that I had restaurant experience and he put me to work making salads. Appetizers. Simple stuff. And I delivered food to tables. It was one of the best nights of my life. Offered me a job that night but I told him I had to go back to the States at the end of August.”
“Wow,” I say before taking another bite.
“So,” Tyler picks up his glass of wine. “I asked him if he wouldn’t mind teaching me about Italian cooking. The look on Simone’s face, I mean, the guy’s eyes lit up. He had no children to pass his craft or skills down to and eventually he was going to sell all three of his restaurants—even asked me if I wanted to buy them. Spent the rest of my summer in Milan. Well, I did have some days where I went to Turin, Bologna and Aosta.”
“Sounds like quite the adventure.” I take a drink of my wine.
“It was.”
“But, with all that training, you don’t specialize in Italian cooking here.” My fingers point to the ceiling.
He cocks a brow at me. “Don’t I? A lot of the dishes are a variation. Jace trained with a chef in New York who specialized in taking classic Italian dishes and putting a new take on them. So, as you can see, we’re pretty much an Italian restaurant in disguise.”
“Ahh, very clever.”
When I look down, I realize that I’ve eaten my entire dish of pasta and I don’t even feel full.
“What about you? Done any traveling to Europe?”
I dab at the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “I’ve been to Ibiza. I went with a few friends from college. Ryleigh is a celebrity stylist—she takes me to Fashion Week in New York and we’ve been on a girls’ trips—Cancun, Miami and the Bahamas. I’ve never been to Italy, or the UK or Germany or Spain. I know you’d think a ‘rich girl’ like me would have spent endless summers in cool places or five-star family vacations, but my dad hates to fly. So, when we went on family vacations it was to Gulf Shores, Charleston or Savannah.”
“All gorgeous places. I’ve always wanted to go to the Bahamas. Apparently, there’s an island where you can swim with the pigs.” He shovels the last bite of pasta into his mouth.
I scoop up my wine glass. “Swimming with pigs . . . that’s your idea of a good time?”
He laughs. “Well, not the entire time. I hear there are some really cool stretches of beaches without pigs.”
I’m still smiling. “That there are and not to mention some really good food.”
“Speaking of food,” he says and stands. “I hope that you’ve saved room for dessert.”
“I have. Knowing you, it’s probably something mouthwatering and savory. Like what we had the other night.”
He winks at me and refills my wine glass. “Espresso cheesecake. I made it myself.”
“A girl could get used to a man cooking and baking for her,” I mention, picking up my glass.
“I’ll cook and bake for you as long as you want me too, Haven.” His eyes are still on mine and my heart melts and slides right down to my stomach. I can practically see the next four weeks flashing in my brain. Sharing good food and wine with this man . . . it’s all so damn tempting.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
Tyler is doing a really good job of making me feel special. Damn him. I want to kiss him. Feel his lips against mine and I shouldn’t want that.
Should I?
Nope.
Maybe.
This is exactly why I cannot be trusted with my feelings. I swallow down half the glass of sparkling water in front of me.
Tyler comes back to our table and places the cheesecake in front of me. Holy moly. My mouth waters instantly at the smell of espresso.
“So, is it back to work for you tomorrow?” he asks, handing me a clean fork.
“Yep. I have some things to tidy up with the team where Scott is concerned.” I cut into the slice of cheesecake and take a bite.
I cannot help the moan that falls from my mouth. This dessert is incredible.
“That good, huh?”
I nod and take another bite. “Amazing. It’s orgasmic. I’m ruined for all other chocolate desserts. Probably all desserts. Yours are the standard, now.”
A warm smile plays on his lips. “I’ll box up a slice to take with you.”
I offer a smile and dab at the dusting of espresso and chocolate on my plate. “I’m not gonna say no to that. Feel free to toss in some of those blueberry muffins I saw in your display case too.”
He grins and licks his fo
rk. A dab of chocolate paints his bottom lip.
I’m looking at him. He’s looking at me and the air between us crackles. It’s profound. I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone. I want to peel back his layers and get to know him. And I want him to peel back mine.
I lean forward and tap my bottom lip. “You have a little something,” I say, unable to pull my eyes from his mouth. “A bit of chocolate.”
Tyler takes his thumb and swipes it away then licks his thumb. Never taking his eyes off mine.
Holy fuck.
My pulse pounds in my ears. This man is attracted to me, the spark of heat that flashes in his eyes is my confirmation. I’m attracted to Tyler too. The way my heart beats at a thundering speed against my breastbone is proof positive.
“So,” he says, and takes another bite. “What does a celebrity publicist do all day?”
I roll my shoulders back. “I’m there for the good, the bad and everything in between. Last Monday, I spent my day at the Sheraton in downtown L.A. on a photoshoot with a client. Then, I met another client who had a photoshoot at Perch, a restaurant with an amazing jazz brunch.”
“Sounds cool. Maybe I should do something like that here.” Tyler wipes his mouth and tosses the linen napkin onto the table.
I laugh and stab my fork at the final bite of cheesecake on my plate. “I don’t know if jazz would work here. Maybe a nice instrumental country or bluegrass band.”
His thumb scratches along his jawline as if he’s actually considering the idea. “Since you’re not in L.A. you won’t be going on photoshoots so how will you spend your work day?”
I laugh. “Well, getting press for my clients is my number one priority. I will probably sit at my computer typing out creative pitches to bookers, producers and editors.”
“Sounds like a lot of time and hard work.”
“Definitely. Do you know that my job—Public Relations Executive—appeared on the Forbes list as one of the most stressful jobs of 2017?”
“What did they list as the contributing factors?”
“There are several like, travel, competition, risk of death or grievous injury.”
Beautiful March Page 10
