Oh fuck no.
Sadie flinches away. I walk out among the tables, my eyes locked on him. Sadie sees me coming and her eyes widen. Her lips part, like she’s about to say something, but I put myself between her and the asshole, using my body as a shield to protect her.
The guy raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth, but I don’t give a fuck what he has to say.
“Get out of my restaurant,” I say, my voice low and quiet. “Now.”
Sadie gasps behind me and the guy’s mouth curls in a sneer.
“Excuse me?” he asks. His wife looks up from her phone.
“You put your hands on a woman without her permission,” I say, straining to keep myself under control. I’m about to punch this guy in the teeth. “I won’t stand for that.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks. “This guy is crazy.”
His wife puts her phone on the table. “What’s the meaning of this? What’s going on?”
My eyes flick briefly to her. “This man has been harassing one of my servers. He’s being asked to leave.”
We’re starting to cause a scene, which I would normally do almost anything to avoid. But this guy has me so angry I literally have a red haze over my vision.
“That’s ridiculous,” the woman says. “What are you talking about?”
“I just watched him run his hand up her leg.”
“It’s okay,” Sadie says behind me. “You don’t have to—”
I put up my hand to stop her, but I don’t take my eyes off the guy. He slowly gets up from his chair.
“Do we have a problem?” he asks.
“There are two ways this ends,” I say, still keeping my voice low. “Either you walk out of here, or I throw your ass out. But you need to get the fuck out of my restaurant. Now.”
I don’t say another word, and I won’t. I stare him down, waiting for him to decide. Finally, he straightens the lapels of his jacket and moves away from the table.
“Let’s go, Dana,” he says. His wife’s eyes are wide and her mouth opens, but she stands and gathers her things.
I don’t move until they’re both heading for the front door. When they’re gone, I take a deep breath. “Please, pardon the interruption,” I say, raising my voice to be heard by the tables around me.
Sadie’s eyes glisten and she gapes at me. I’m still tense with anger, coiled up like a spring. I touch her gently on the arm and nudge her back toward the kitchen.
“Come on.”
She lets me lead her into the back. Everyone is still, like they’re frozen, their eyes on me.
“Sam, can you handle Sadie’s tables?” I say as we walk toward my office.
“Yes, chef, of course,” Sam says.
“Clover, you have the kitchen until I get back.”
Clover smiles and gives me a little salute. “Yes, chef.”
I still have my hand on Sadie’s arm, a light touch on her elbow. I guide her through the kitchen and into my office, then shut the door behind us.
She takes a few steps, keeping her back to me. She hugs her arms around herself and takes deep shuddering breaths.
I look down at the floor, giving us both a minute to calm down. My back is rigid with anger and I have to force myself to relax my fists. I take another long breath.
After several moments of silence, Sadie turns around. “I am so sorry.”
“What?” I honestly have no idea what she’s talking about. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I wasn’t going to cause a scene,” she says, her voice shaky. “I just… he wouldn’t stop touching me whenever I walked by. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop,” I say, my voice as gentle as I can manage. “There is no excuse for what he did to you. No one has the right to harass you like that. I don’t care who they are.”
She stares at me and swallows hard. Something about the look in her eyes melts me inside. She looks terrified. I don’t give two shits about what happened at the bowling alley last night. I want to put my arms around her and hold her against me. I want to tell her I’ll protect her, that she doesn’t have to be afraid.
“You’re not upset with me?” she asks.
“No. Sadie, how could I possibly be upset with you?” I probably shouldn’t, but I step closer and take her hand. I lift it and place my other hand on top of hers. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” she breathes.
I squeeze her hand. “Why don’t you go home. The other servers can cover for you.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Yes.” I should let go of her hand, but she’s not pulling away. I want to touch her every time she’s near, and now that I am, I don’t want to stop. “I’ll walk you to your car so you don’t have to go outside alone.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she says.
“Yes, I do.”
Reluctantly, I drop her hand and move out of her way so she can get her things. I hesitate in my office, making sure I have control over myself. Adrenaline buzzes in my veins. I’m high on more than rage, and I don’t want to do something stupid like try to kiss her. Especially after what just happened. The last thing she needs is her boss coming onto her. She already made it clear she’s not interested.
She gets her things and I walk her out to her car. I’m so reluctant to let her leave, but what else am I going to do? I have to get back to the kitchen, and she needs to get out of here.
She pauses with her car door open. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, of course.” She gets in and I close the door behind her.
I watch her leave, still feeling unsettled. Maybe it’s all the adrenaline coursing through my system. I head back into the kitchen and try to stay focused on finishing the service. Clover grins at me a few times, but her apparent pride in what I did isn’t helping me calm down. All I can think about is Sadie. That haunted look in her eyes. I wish I could have done more to comfort her. I hated sending her off like that.
The rest of the night drags, but eventually the last plates go out. I duck into my office while the servers finish with the guests. I wonder how Sadie is doing. Did she get home okay? Is she still upset about what happened?
I hope she doesn’t think she’s in trouble. I tried to reassure her, but she seemed so convinced I would be upset with her. Which is ridiculous. But I remember what Clover said on her first day. Sadie got fired from her last job for standing up for herself when a customer harassed her. The fact that it happened to her, again, and in my restaurant, makes my blood run hot.
I dig into the file cabinet and find her paperwork. There’s a phone number. Maybe I’ll just text her to make sure she’s okay. There’s nothing invasive about that, is there?
Besides, I’m going to go crazy until I know.
I put in her number and send a text.
Me: Hey Sadie, it’s Gabriel. Just checking in. Did you make it home OK?
Sadie: Yeah, I did. I’m fine.
I don’t believe she’s fine for one second.
Me: Good. Do you need anything?
Sadie: Thanks, but I don’t think so. Did the rest of the service go okay?
Me: It went fine, but seemed to take forever. Long night.
Sadie: I’m really sorry about everything.
Me: Don’t. Please. None of that was your fault.
I take another breath. There’s more I want to say, but I’m not sure if I should.
Me: It was a long night because I’ve been worried about you.
Sadie: I’m fine, I promise. I was upset when it happened, but I feel better.
There’s a pause and before I can type a reply, she sends another text.
Sadie: I feel better because of you.
I stare at those words on the screen for a long moment. Something about them calms the fire in my veins, slows the beating of my heart. Because of you.
Me: That’s really good to hear. I wish I could have done more.
Sadie: No, you did everything. I do
n’t know how to thank you.
Me: No thanks necessary. I did what any man would do.
Sadie: No, that’s not true. Trust me. You’re not just any man.
Thoughts spill through my mind. What else should I say to her? That I wish I was with her right now? That I’d hold her and keep her safe if she’d let me? I’m getting way too close to inappropriate here. But the urge to be with her is so strong.
I glance at her paperwork again. There’s an address. Before I can talk myself out if it, I punch it in my phone, grab my coat, and head out the door.
7
Sadie
The house is too quiet, but I’m not ready to get up from my corner of the couch. I’m wrapped in a blanket with my phone still sitting in my hand, wishing Gabriel would text me again.
I’m not sure what I hope he’ll say. What else do I want to hear? That he’d like to come over to make sure I’m all right? Of course that’s not what I want. That’s a ridiculous idea.
Liar. That’s exactly what I want.
But there’s no way I’m going to ask.
Last night at the bowling alley, I thought something was starting to happen between us. It was both thrilling and scary—but not the kind of scary that makes me want to run. There was all this tension sparking between us—a thousand feelings and desires I didn’t think I was capable of feeling anymore.
It didn’t escape my notice how often he touched me while we were bowling. And not once did it make me uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do with that. Everyone makes me uncomfortable—especially men. But not Gabriel.
When we were taking our shoes off, I thought he might ask me… something. For my number? To go out for a drink? Maybe a date another night? But instead, he brought up the schedule. And freaking napkins.
Work. Because he’s the boss.
There’s a clear line between the two of us, and I was embarrassed I’d even considered he might want to cross it. I left abruptly, because I didn’t want him to see how flushed my face was. He was just being friendly since we were in a casual situation, but he couldn’t be interested in me. I work for him.
Now, I’m not sure what to think. I can’t get over what he did tonight. No one has ever stood up for me like that. So many times I’ve wondered if something is wrong with me. Do I attract these kinds of men? Am I asking for it? Should I dress differently? Do I give men the wrong impression with the way I look at them, or the way I speak?
If my therapist knew I was thinking that way again, she’d gently correct me. Remind me to stop blaming myself. But she was the only person in my life who ever suggested that the things that happened to me weren’t my fault. It’s hard to believe the professional, sitting in a wingback chair with a pen in her hand and a pair of glasses perched on her nose, when your own family is saying something entirely different. That it was your fault. That you must have brought it on yourself somehow.
My fucking family. I don’t want to think about them. I’ve limited my contact with them as much as possible without triggering a manhunt to find me. I created an email account that I hope they can’t trace to my physical location, and have sent a few messages to let them know I’m alive and doing fine. But other than that, I don’t ever want to see them again.
Gabriel, on the other hand…
The asshole at table seven tonight almost made me lose it. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach from the moment I took his first drink order. He looked me up and down like I was on the menu, even though his wife was sitting right there. She hardly paid attention—her eyes were glued to her phone.
The first time his fingers brushed the back of my leg, I thought I imagined it. But the look on his face told me otherwise. I was nauseated and terrified—afraid to even go back out into the dining room.
I hoped once Clover asked Sam to handle the table, I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. But that fucking prick reached out and touched me again. I was half a second away from spinning around and clocking him in the face—and certainly losing yet another job—when Gabriel appeared.
His face was a storm cloud of anger, nearly stopping my heart. For a second, I was afraid he was coming out to yell at me—in front of a dining room full of guests, no less. He couldn’t possibly be gunning for a paying customer with such murderous eyes. But he stepped in between me and the customer like he was a shield, cutting me off from the guy’s advances.
It felt like being in a dream, watching the man and his wife angrily get up and leave. A wall of strong, immovable man stood between me and my harasser. I was so overwhelmed, I couldn’t have spoken a word in that moment if my life had depended on it.
But Gabriel didn’t stop there. He ushered me into the back, leading me into the privacy of his office. And then he did something that was almost as amazing as kicking out that customer.
He gave me space.
He didn’t rush to ask if I was okay—which clearly I was not. He didn’t pelt me with questions about what the hell happened, or demand I explain myself. He just stood behind me, silent and protective, waiting until I could collect myself.
My phone vibrates with another text and I almost drop it. I swallow hard and check, hoping against hope it’s another message from Gabriel. It is.
Gabriel: I’m outside. I won’t bother you if you want to be alone, but I thought maybe you could use some company.
I pause for a moment, staring at the screen. He’s here? I listen and can just hear the hum of an engine. He must be parked on the street. I would have heard if he pulled into my driveway.
I’m overcome with gratitude that he’s here, but I wonder… should I invite him to come in? That would mean being alone with a man. A man I don’t know very well.
Although sometimes the people you know best do the most damage.
Me: Sure, that would be nice.
I get up and open the door, watching as he gets out of his car and comes down the driveway. I’m not prepared for a guest, and I have a fleeting worry as to what my hair must look like. But it all disappears when I see the soft expression in his eyes as my porch light illuminates his face. My heart flutters and a little swirl of nervousness fills my tummy. Such a different feeling from the fear I often feel when standing face to face with a man. There’s no sense of wanting to run, no adrenaline coursing through my veins.
He stops a few feet in front of me. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this. Maybe I should have called first, but I was afraid you’d say no.”
I probably would have. I would have said I was fine, not wanting to be a bother. But I’m so glad he’s here. “You don’t need to apologize. Come in.”
I step back so he can come inside and close the door behind him, making sure to lock the deadbolt and the chain lock above it.
“Can I get you anything?” I gesture to the couch and he sits.
“No,” he says. “I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
No. I’m emotionally exhausted and I have been for so long. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I sit down next to him, leaving a bit of space between us.
“Sadie, I am so sorry about tonight,” he says. “I’ve only had a customer behave that way once before. That isn’t the type of establishment I run.”
I gape at him, my lips parted. He’s apologizing to me? “It’s certainly not your fault.”
“I know,” he says. “But I feel responsible.”
Of course. He’s here as my boss. It happened in his place of business and he probably wants to make sure I won’t try to sue him or something.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t blame you or the restaurant. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“The only thing I’m worried about is you,” he says.
He reaches out and touches my hand. It’s such a simple gesture—friendly, not the least bit aggressive. And if it was any other man in the world, it would send me into a tailspin of panic.
But just like every other time he’s touched me, I’m not startled or unnerved by the fee
l of his hand on mine. I can’t remember the last time I could be touched without bracing myself for it, as if every instance of human contact is like a car accident to my psyche. Even a simple handshake requires a second or two of mental preparation. I’ve come to accept this as simply the way things are. I’m irreparably broken, and this is one of the manifestations of my brokenness.
Yet, when Gabe rests his hand on mine, I feel comfort. Assurance. Trust.
And something else, opening within me like the petals of a flower in the spring sunshine.
Hope.
Tears sting my eyes and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying. How can I feel something so intensely for a man I barely know? A man who arguably isn’t always that nice to me. Who can’t possibly be feeling the same things I am.
Although he’s never treated me badly—not really. He can be brusque when we’re working. But I’ve worked in restaurants before, and he’s one of the better-tempered chefs I’ve known. And what he did for me tonight…
I turn my hand so my palm faces his. He gently squeezes it and rubs his thumb along the vulnerable skin on the inside of my wrist. I take a trembling breath and try to swallow back the tears, but I’m overcome. The cords I keep wound so tight around my emotions loosen, and a shuddering sob escapes my throat.
Without a word, Gabriel draws me into his arms. They wrap around me, solid, strong, protective. I relax against him and let the tears come.
He holds me while I cry, while I dampen his shirt with my tears. His hands rub gentle circles on my back and he rests his cheek against my hair. I couldn’t stop the flood of emotion if I wanted to, but letting it out feels good. I can’t remember the last time someone held me like this. I’ve missed this feeling so much.
Gabriel settles back against the cushions and I tuck my feet up. I rest my head against his chest, his arms still wrapped around me. The tears finally stop, but he doesn’t let go. My breathing slows and the tension in my body melts away. We don’t say a word. He simply holds me, as if he somehow knows how badly I needed this.
I’m sure he thinks my distress is all because of what happened at work. A part of me wants to tell him the truth—tell him everything I’ve been through. But what if he doesn’t believe me? What if my story sounds too impossible to be real? It would be hard to blame him. My own family thought I was lying. How could I expect him to see the truth?
Could Be the Reason: (Gabe and Sadie) (A Back to Jetty Beach Romance Book 3) Page 5
