by Alisha Rai
She might be pissed as hell at him, but that didn’t give anyone else the right to call him names. “Harriet,” she snapped. “Watch it.”
Harriet clamped her mouth shut and blinked. And why shouldn’t she look surprised? Sadia wasn’t sharp with the staff, even when she should be.
Sure enough, Harriet wasn’t quelled for long. Her shoulders straightened, and she lifted her chin. “Darrell said we had a guest chef for the day. Tell me this man isn’t actually working here.”
Sadia smiled tightly, though inside she was seething. She’d never much liked Harriet—the other woman had had a proprietary attitude toward the café that occasionally annoyed Sadia. She was pretty certain the woman considered herself far more qualified to run the place than Sadia was.
And in the past, Sadia hadn’t done much to correct her on that account. But she wasn’t about to let her abuse Jackson. “We’ll talk in my office. Not here.”
Harriet set her lips but she complied, sweeping out of the room. Sadia cast Jackson a glance, but he still wasn’t looking at her. She thought of his reticence with Darrell, and the truth dawned on her with the force of a sledgehammer.
She’d had a conversation with Maile about a week after Livvy and Jackson had skipped town. Livvy had kept in almost daily touch with her, but Jackson dropped off the face of the earth. Sadia had sat across from Maile at her kitchen table. I don’t understand why he had to leave.
Sweetheart, you know Jackson. If there was anything that boy hated, it was attention. Can you imagine how he must have felt, walking out of that police station? Like a million eyes were on him.
Sadia frowned. And yet, he’d come here. To help her. Knowing it would mean at least a few people would see and recognize him. There was gossip about all the Kanes, but Jackson had been a special case. For him to be on the receiving end of that dreaded attention in a building that bore his name . . . oh, that was not going to be happening.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! She didn’t want to feel grateful or happy or attracted or empathetic or anything else toward Jackson. She wanted that pure, uncomplicated mad.
While Sadia’s anger grew with every step she took, it definitely wasn’t directed at Jackson. She followed Harriet into her office and had barely closed the door before she whirled around. “You do not speak that way to him again,” she said, and was proud of how controlled and calm her voice was. “Do you understand me?”
Harriet reared back, but she rallied quickly. “That man—”
“He has a name.”
“He is a criminal.”
Sadia crossed her arms over her chest. “Jackson is not a criminal. The charges were dropped.”
“My cousin was the one who saw him burn down the C&O!”
Oh, fuck. Sadia had forgotten the connection. Harriet’s cousin had been driving home on that Tuesday night over a decade ago when he’d claimed to have witnessed Jackson flinging something into the front glass of the C&O.
Based on the witness’s testimony, the cops had descended on the Kane mansion, where the family was still in a state of shock over Robert’s death and the loss of their half of the company.
Sadia hadn’t been there, but Livvy had cried in her arms afterward over how the cops had turned the place upside down, finally discovering a gas can with Jackson’s fingerprints in the garage. It had been flimsy evidence, but it had been enough to arrest him. Since the family was still wealthy, despite the recent loss of the company, the judge had denied bail.
“I forgot the witness was your cousin,” she said, quieter. “But I didn’t forget that he recanted.” The recant had come after a couple of weeks, but it had come. Without anyone to place him at the scene, the prosecutor had decided to not press charges. Jackson had been released immediately.
He’d left town that night, before Sadia could even see him and reassure herself that her best friend was okay.
Harriet shook her head. “Someone got to him. Val wouldn’t have just made up a story like that.”
Sadia raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Are you saying someone in my family paid off your cousin?”
“Or silenced him in some other way.”
“And who did that, hmm? Who committed that felony? My elderly mother-in-law? My dead husband? My five-foot-tall sister-in-law?”
Harriet blanched, but invoking Paul, whom she’d actually liked, didn’t stop her. “I’m . . . I’m not sure.”
“But your cousin claimed he was intimidated into silence?”
The older woman pressed her lips tight. “No. He only said he couldn’t be certain it was Jackson anymore. But I know my family, and he wouldn’t have come forward at all if he wasn’t sure.”
“And I know mine.” She didn’t know Jackson now, or the Jackson who had been reading all her emails. But the Jackson she’d known all those years ago wouldn’t have been able to stomach destroying a single thing. Especially not when there was a risk someone could be hurt. “Jackson is a Kane. He belongs in this establishment more than any of us.”
Harriet drew herself up to her full height. “He may not have been tried, but I don’t feel safe around such an unstable individual. As long as he’s here, I won’t be.”
Sadia contemplated her options. She could assure Harriet Jackson would only be here for a day, or she could pacify her by kicking the man out immediately and take over the kitchen.
Or she could do none of those things, because she was pissed as hell, and not at Jackson this time. “If you’d like to take a small vacation, that’s fine.”
“Oh, it’s not a vacation. I’ll quit.”
You are short-staffed. Calm her down.
Again, she thought of Jackson, silently picking up glass off the floor. She thought about the fact that Jackson had never once in all the years this woman had known him, treated her with anything but distant politeness and respect.
People had been so eager to believe Jackson was a criminal back then, and why? Because he was big and gruff and different? Everyone had learned not to say anything in Sadia’s presence once she’d married Paul, but before that she’d had to defend Jackson more than once in the aftermath of the fire. “I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve been a good employee. Thank you for your years of service.”
Harriet blanched. For a second, Sadia wondered if she’d walk back her threat, but then she stripped off her apron and threw it at her.
Snap.
There went her temper.
Sadia had a long fuse, and it took a while for someone to get on her bad side, but no one came into her establishment, badmouthed her family, and then threw things at her.
Good riddance. Harriet always had annoyed the hell out of her. Paul had complained, too, and he had at least had the ability to charm the woman.
As if she read her mind, Harriet turned at the door. “Paul would not approve of this. Everyone knew he hated his brother.”
Okay. That was quite enough. “I think I knew my husband better than you did,” she said, her voice whisper soft. “And Paul would have never put an outsider above his own family.” That had been one of the many things that had drawn her to Paul. They’d had similar values.
Her husband had sharply criticized Livvy for not staying home and been silent whenever it came to Jackson but there was no doubt in Sadia’s mind he’d loved his younger siblings deeply. He just hadn’t known how to show it to them, or prioritize his love over his pride.
But there was no way he would have stood for someone shit-talking a single member of his family, no matter how he felt about them.
“Are you sure about that?” Harriet had the nerve to ask.
“Yes.”
“When people hear he’s working here—”
Sadia clenched her hand around the apron and took two steps forward, using her height to her advantage. “Before you go, let me make something very clear. If I hear so much as one peep of gossip about Jackson or any other Kane, I swear, I will destroy you. Now, you may not believe me, because you think I’m so nice and harmless, but I assure y
ou, when it comes to my family, I am neither of those things. Are we clear?”
Sadia wasn’t sure what expression was on her face, but it was enough to send the woman stumbling backwards a step. “Uh, yes. Yes.”
Harriet left and Sadia took three deep, cleansing breaths. She couldn’t freak out the way she wanted to, because she still had to go talk to Jackson. She checked her watch and groaned. And it would have to be a quick talk, because she needed to get to her son.
She met Darrell loitering outside the kitchen, eyes wide. “Did Harriet really quit?”
“Yes.” Fudge, she’d have to explain. “Jackson is Paul’s—”
“I know,” Darrell interjected, then smiled at the confusion in her face. “I was alive when everything went down, you know. If you say he’s cool, he’s cool.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Thanks.”
“My older sister’s home. You want me to ask her to come in today?”
That solved one problem. Darrell’s sister had worked at the café a few times when she was between jobs. “Yes, please. I would so appreciate it.”
She waited for Darrell to leave and then faced the kitchen door, straightening her shoulders. What was her plan here? Sadia bit her lip. She was still pissed as hell, of course, but she could appreciate Jackson had actually made a kind of big sacrifice in offering to help her. It didn’t make up for his abandonment, but . . .
She couldn’t deploy the “Kanes belong in Kane’s” argument at Harriet and not recognize it herself. Who was she to kick him out of a place that would have been his birthright if she and Paul hadn’t married?
Damn it all.
Sadia pushed open the door slowly, thoughts churning. Jackson was at the stove, his face in profile to her, stirring something in a pot. The glass had all been cleaned up. She inhaled. “Jackson—”
“Have a seat.” He nodded at the stool.
“I—”
“We can talk after you have a seat. You haven’t eaten a bite today. Eat first.”
“I’m not hungry.” The smell of the food hit her and she recognized that as a lie. Her stomach was growling, and she did need to eat. She welcomed the few seconds to push back a talk where she wasn’t even sure what to say, and trudged to the stool. “Fine—”
And then she shut up, because one didn’t speak when watching art in motion.
His motions were precise and controlled, his hands a blur as he cut open a brioche bun and tossed it on the grill. He was right. She wasn’t a chef, but she knew good cooking when she saw it. Their menu here was decidedly simple: baked goods, pastries, sandwiches, and soups. Their customer base came from their use of fresh ingredients and people who had grown up in town and needed an occasional dose of nostalgia in the form of an old-timey café.
The latter group wasn’t going to stick around forever, though. People moved or passed away. That business would slow and then stop.
Don’t think about that now. Right now, she simply wanted to watch Jackson move.
He was familiar with the stove and small space, reminding her again that he’d grown up in this establishment as much as he had the grocery store across the street—maybe more than Paul, who had been groomed to take over his father’s place as co-CEO of the C&O chain.
He added Gruyère to the bun, the melty cheese making her mouth water. He put prepped sliced mushrooms into the pan, whisking them with butter and some herbs before carefully cracking an egg in another pan.
He sandwiched the mushrooms between the cheesy bread, and then poured the béchamel sauce he’d been preparing on the stove on top. The sunny-side egg crowned the meal. Absently, he wiped the edge of the already-clean plate, and then placed it in front of her with an economy of motion, along with silverware, then leaned against the counter.
He’d remembered how she took it—no ham, extra cheese. She used a knife to cut the egg. Rick had never crafted an egg this perfect, the silky yolk spilling over the sandwich. Whatever self-consciousness she felt about him watching her as she ate vanished when she put the first bite in her mouth.
Hell, it was a glorified grilled cheese sandwich, and she was about to pass out with pleasure.
She’d eaten probably hundreds, no, thousands, of these vegetarian croque monsieurs in this very kitchen over the past twenty years, and this was the most delicious one, the pinnacle of sandwich making. What was that? Thyme? Ugh, she didn’t know. She didn’t have a chef’s palate.
“It’s good?”
Perfect.
She glanced up at him when she realized she’d consumed half the meal without saying a word to him. There was an unreadable expression in his eyes as he watched her, his body still. “It’s great,” she admitted, and kept eating.
“Do you love it?”
She was imagining the intimate tone to his voice, but she shivered anyway. “I do.”
He went silent, and too soon the sandwich was gone, the egg yolk and béchemel and a couple mushrooms the only remnants on her plate. If he hadn’t been here, she might have licked the ceramic.
She patted her lips with the napkin and then took a deep breath. “Harriet—”
“Quit. She told me on her way out. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. You belong here. She has no say over that.”
If he was surprised at her defense, his stoic expression didn’t betray a trace of shock.
“Are you still willing to work for a few weeks?” she asked.
He nodded.
With him working here, she would actually have the time to find another chef. Juggling everything and headhunting had been beyond her capabilities. Temporary. He’d be temporary, of course. She couldn’t forget that, could not grow to depend on him in any way. “You know you might have more unpleasant run-ins with other people?”
“I can handle them. I didn’t expect Harriet. I’m good at not being seen unless I want to be.”
Uh, how? He was so stinking big. Impossible to miss. “We’re open until six most nights, but the kitchen closes at three, so you don’t have to stick around after that. We close all day Mondays.”
He nodded again.
“I’m going to pay you.”
His rejection was immediate. “I don’t want your money.”
“You can’t work here for free.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“This is kind of nonnegotiable.” She speared a mushroom that had fallen out of her sandwich and popped it in her mouth.
“If you try to pay me, I’ll come in before you do and make all the food for the day.”
“If you do that, I’ll . . .” A spurt of amusement hit her. Had she ever negotiated with someone to force them to accept her money?
“You’ll what?”
Yeah, what would she do? She couldn’t threaten to call the cops on him, because she wasn’t heartless.
Jackson, if you don’t do what I say, I’ll . . . I’ll hug you!
It was a threat from their childhood, but they were hardly children anymore. She didn’t know this man enough to banter with him. “I mean it. I will not accept you working for me for free.”
“We’re at a stalemate then.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay. I can break in every day.”
She paused. “Wait. You never told me how you got into the café this morning.”
The enigmatic look he gave her told her she wasn’t going to get an answer to that question . . . and that he’d follow through on his threat.
She scowled. “Okay. What if I . . . pay you some other way?” Oh damn. Had that sounded as sexual to him as it had to her? She hurried to clarify. “Like, in room and board? Where are you staying?”
He named a rather crappy hotel and she wrinkled her nose. “I have an apartment above my garage.” A trickle of pain ran through her, but she ignored it. “You can use that in lieu of wages.”
Jackson scratched his chin. “At your home?”
“Sure. Yes. You shouldn’t be staying in some hotel room. You’re family.” The last two words
were more for her than for him. A reminder.
This was family. Family by marriage. And before she’d married Paul, Jackson had been family by choice.
She might be furious at him, but family came first. No matter what. And it wouldn’t be weird at all to have a man she was suddenly attracted to staying in close proximity to her. Because she was in control of herself.
She would keep repeating that to herself.
He wiped his hand on the apron. “I accept. Thank you.”
A trickle of pleasure ran through her at his acquiescence. Far too much pleasure than she should feel. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Her watch beeped, and she got to her feet. “I won’t have time to ready the guest room today, since Kareem is ill.”
“Tomorrow is fine. I heard Darrell tell someone you don’t usually come in on Saturdays.”
Saturdays with a child meant sports and music lessons and wholesale grocery store runs, but recently, her sisters had been chauffeuring Kareem to all of those. “I didn’t always, but since Rick quit—”
“Don’t come in tomorrow. I can handle everything.”
A day off would be a huge weight off her shoulders. If Kareem continued to be sick tomorrow, she would have to arrange childcare for him, and she’d simply be here worrying all day. But still. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“I’ll call you if I need you.”
“You don’t even have my number.”
He pulled his phone out. “So give it to me.”
She hesitated, but rattled it off, something hurting as she watched him input it into his contacts. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she put her hand on it. His number. “I’ll still come in—”
“Sadia. Your son is sick. Take care of him. If we need you tomorrow, we’ll call you. I’m a Kane, remember? This place is as much mine as it is anyone else’s. I can handle things here.”
Had he heard her conversation with Harriet? She searched his face, but his expression was guileless. “Okay,” she acquiesced. To not come in on a Saturday seemed wildly luxurious, but she couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially since she’d be spending today taking care of Kareem. “You can come over tomorrow after lunch, and get settled into your room. I’ll text you my address.”
