“A patient died today,” I say, “which I should be used to. I am used to it. I mean, I work at a hospice. That’s kind of the expected outcome, but I . . . ”
“You what?” Danny prompts, watching me. His eyes are wide and concerned, a gesture I wish didn’t make me fall for him a little more every time he does it.
“She was just a really wonderful lady, and I loved talking to her. I can usually get through this part of the job just fine, but this one feels like losing a friend,” I admit. Danny nods, spreading out vegetables and cheeses besides me, chopping.
“Then tell me about your friend,” Danny says. It’s so genuine and sincere that it takes my breath away. Danny keeps surprising me, keeps catching me off guard. Of all the things I would have said about Danny, all the things I thought about him, the fact that he is this warm and kind would never have crossed my mind. I had no idea he was like this.
It’s silly, but I wonder if maybe most people don’t know that about him. Like maybe Danny reserves these parts of himself for special times and special people. People he really cares about. I flush at the idea that I’m one of them and feel sort of overwhelmed about it, even though my grief.
“Didn’t you have something you wanted to tell me?” I ask. Danny shakes his head.
“It can wait. We’re closed until Tuesday morning for the pipe replacement. So we’ve got all night,” Danny says, smiling at me, a real and intimate smile that somehow makes me feel better. I nod and watch for a few minutes as he starts a sauce going and puts the pasta into the boiling water. He stays quiet like he’s giving me time to open up to him. It makes me want to tell him everything.
“Her name was Catherine,” I say, and Danny turns around to squeeze my knee quickly in encouragement. I put my hand on top of his, holding his hand for a second, before continuing.
I keep thinking about what Catherine said, about people who make you happy, about letting good men get away. I hold Danny’s hand for just a second longer, not letting go yet.
Chapter Fourteen - Danny
Normally, I don’t like people talking while I’m cooking. Even during the rush, I prefer the tempo of music or the murmur of distant conversations from the dining room. Focusing on too much at once—my creations in the kitchen and the demands of someone else’s questions, someone else’s time—makes me feel like I’m splitting my attention too much and giving it to nothing, in the end. But amazingly, I don’t mind it at all when it’s Charlotte. Listening to her talk about the older woman who had made such an impact on her is actually the perfect complement to stirring up the sauce for her dinner, somehow. It feels like something I could get used to, and for a second I think about what it would it be like to have this all the time, in the kitchen at my apartment and not the one at the Dock’s End, or maybe even the kitchen of some little place we shared together.
I know it’s a dangerous train of thought, more so given that Charlotte has said she just wants my friendship, but I can’t help myself. I like having her around. When she’d shown up tonight, looking like her heart was broken, I’d wanted to fix it, to help her. I don’t remember ever feeling like that about anyone else, ever feeling so drawn to someone the way I am to Charlotte.
Hearing her talk now just amplifies the feeling. The way she’s talking about Catherine, her patient, gives off such a warmth. She’s so compassionate and cares so much about her patients and her work, and it makes me want to be better for her, makes me want to be someone who can match that kind of caring and empathy and return it to her for all she does.
“It sounds like she had a fascinating life,” I say, straining pasta as Charlotte finishes a story about Catherine’s teenage years.
“Inspiring,” Charlotte says, nodding with a faraway look in her eyes. “She really made me think about the kind of person I’d like to be one day.”
“It’s great that you got to know her,” I say, turning around to face Charlotte again. She nods slowly like she’s thinking. Her eyes look less puffy now, and I think she’s starting to feel better just talking about it all. “Yeah, I’m really glad,” Charlotte says, smiling sadly. I want to touch her again, to pull her into a hug and kiss her forehead, maybe, but I’m trying to keep all my touches friendly since that’s what she wants.
“It seems like it was good,” I say, grating more cheese for the top of Charlotte’s late dinner.
“I feel like I was meant to know her,” Charlotte says, then shakes her head. “Maybe that’s silly, but something in me keeps saying that I was supposed to meet her, to hear her story, you know?”
“Maybe you were,” I say. I don’t know if I believe in anything like that – If I think fate is any more real than you make it out to be – but I can tell this woman was important to Charlotte, so maybe it does mean something, somehow.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte says, sighing and running a hand through the top of her hair. I put her finished pasta dish in a bowl and put it beside her.
“I hear food helps,” I say, smiling and putting a hand on her shoulder again, just for a second.
“It can’t hurt, and this smells amazing,” Charlotte enthuses, smiling back at me, a little more real this time, “thank you. Really.”
“Anytime,” I say, and I mean it. I watch her take her first bite, not really able to pull my eyes away. She swallows and makes a pleased face around her fork.
“Okay, you are a genius in the kitchen,” she says, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Eh, it’s just pasta. Pretty basic stuff,” I say, and Charlotte shakes her head rapidly.
“I once dated a man who couldn’t even turn his oven on. Trust me, this is brilliant,” Charlotte says, eating more.
“Are you still up for trying the Naval Ball menu?” I ask, changing the subject just a little, swallowing down the flicker of jealousy I feel.
“Oh! Right!” Charlotte says, eyes widening. “Is that what you asked me to meet you?”
“It’s actually not,” I say, putting the pots from Charlotte’s meal in the sink.
“What’s going on, then?” Charlotte asks. I walk back over, frowning. I’ve decided I do need to tell to Charlotte about the Dock’s End’s troubles, but part of me still isn’t sure it’s the best idea.
“It’s the Dock’s End and your dad,” I say, not knowing where else to start.
“I heard you two fighting the other day.” Charlotte surprises me. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really,” I say, caught off guard at the revelation that Charlotte had overheard Hank and me fighting.
“I don’t understand—I thought this place was doing really well,” Charlotte says, frowning into her pasta.
“It is,” I say, “but we’ve also got, or I think we’ve also got, a thief to contend with. We’ve had thousands of dollars go missing, and there’s food from the pantry gone, too, and to top it all off, we’ve got this surprise inspection coming up, right before the Naval Ball.”
“Oh my God,” Charlotte gasps, “thousands of dollars?”
“Yeah, and things have been getting worse for months. I want to call the police or investigate it further myself, but Hank—your dad—keeps telling me it’s nothing, that it’s not a big deal,” I say, frustrated just thinking about it.
“Are you suspecting it’s someone who works here?” Charlotte asks, looking worried.
“I have no idea, honestly. I do know that a few months back, we fired this asshole, Anthony, and he wasn’t happy about it. He works a few blocks away now, but he still has friends on our staff,” I say. Anthony is still my number one suspect, and not just because I’ve never trusted or liked him at all.
“Wait, you think this is all his revenge?” Charlotte asks like she’s putting together the same pieces I am.
“That’s exactly what I think,” I confirm. Charlotte twirls noodles around on her fork thoughtfully.
“What does my dad think?” Charlotte asks, “and why haven’t either of you told me until now?”
“I wanted to. Your dad didn’t, though, because he didn’t want to worry you. He’s convinced it’s all internal error – like we’re doing our numbers wrong. Honestly, I think he’s so caught up in our success and in wanting us to open a second location that he doesn’t want to consider the idea that anything is seriously wrong.” I say.
“Dad does get like that,” Charlotte sighs. “Once he has an idea in his head, it’s almost impossible to derail him, even with all the evidence in the world piled up against it.”
“Oh, believe me, I know,” I say, watching her.
“Why’d you decide to tell me, anyway?” Charlotte asks, studying me.
“I wanted your help,” I admit, “I thought you could talk to him.”
“How about I help you investigate first?” Charlotte says. “That way, we can find proof this is a real issue and we can bring him that.”
“That could work,” I say, thinking. I’d been putting off doing any sort of real investigation, but maybe with Charlotte working with me, it was time to really look into this.
“Great, and I won’t tell him I know until then,” Charlotte says, giving me a smile that reminds me of all the other secrets the two of us have from Hank right now.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I owe you for dinner,” Charlotte says, “and for the conversation.”
“Like I said, anytime,” I say, making her smile warmly again. It makes the air in the kitchen feel warmer than normal, makes everything feel a little brighter.
Chapter Fifteen - Charlotte
I’m so worried about Dad now.
I can’t stop thinking about everything Danny had said, about the Dock’s End. I can’t believe Dad didn’t tell me, and it really concerns me. I can’t help but think it’s not just the success, not just that he doesn’t want to ruin his own great idea with a problem. Though I do think Danny is right and that’s a part of it, I also know the divorce is playing a big part here.
He and Mom were never happy, for as long as I can remember. She’s always hated the whole restaurant business, and this town, and Danny—all the things that were so important to Dad. She was also his high school sweetheart, and I think he always thought he could make it work if he tried hard enough. That if he could just make enough money, that if he could run a restaurant successfully enough, she’d come around and they’d be seventeen and happy again. I think now, being the most successful he’s ever been, finally running something that’s his, but her being gone? I think it’s been hard on him.
I worry that he’s not letting himself see this as a problem because the Dock’s End has prospered while their marriage ended for good. I think he needs the Dock’s End to turn out good, for it not to feel like it was all a waste. Like every fight they had was for nothing and she was right after all.
When I was a kid, they used to fight until late in the night. He’d come home after being gone at whatever restaurant he was managing for eighteen hours, sometimes longer, and she’d be furious about the things he had hadn’t done, accuse him of caring more about the restaurant that his family, of being married to his job. He’d beg and tell her to understand that it would all be worth it someday. That she’d see, that the restaurant was for us, to build us a better life.
Now that she’s gone, I think he needs the Dock’s End to be perfect. He needs to have been right about that, even if they weren't right about each other. I think he’s not seeing what Danny’s seeing about the situation, what seems obvious to me now that I know because it’s all tied into Mom leaving.
So I call Dad and ask him if he’ll come Christmas shopping with me. I want to just check in on him, touch base a little. He agrees happily, saying Danny is handling the people coming to look at the pipes. I get dressed and glance over my list, looking at the few last things I have to buy. I’m still not sure what to do about Danny, but after the other night, after how kind he was in the kitchen, about Catherine, I want to get him something.
I meet Dad for coffee first, at the coffee shop on my block that has become a regular part of my week.
“Danny said this coffee was good,” Dad says, sitting down across from me and smiling. His eyes look tired. His whole face does, to be honest.
“Did he?” I ask, startled that Danny had mentioned having coffee with me.
“Yeah, he said he ran into you here,” Dad says, and I relax a little.
“He did, last week. We ended up drinking our coffee together,” I say. Dad smiles at me. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything else about Danny.
“Well, it’s freezing out there and I need this, so he’d better be right,” Dad says, laughing and taking a sip of his coffee.
“It is,” I say. “I forgot how cold the wind off the bay gets.”
“Cuts right through you,” Dad agrees. He sounds like himself, like the same voice that read me stories and helped quiz me for middle school tests, but I still think he seems tired.
“It is almost Christmas, though,” I say, “it seems right for it to be this cold.”
“You’re right about that,” Dad says. “You’re off on Christmas, right?”
“I am,” I say, smiling happily. I haven’t been off all day for Christmas in a very long time. Last year, I worked an overnight until 7:00 a.m. on Christmas morning and then had to be back at 3:00 p.m. the day after Christmas, which had hardly felt like time off at all.
“How’d you swing that one, being so new?” Dad asks.
“A lot of patients go home for a few days around Christmas—social services coordinate with our in-home team, so we need fewer people in the unit. Plus a few of my coworkers are Jewish, and a few more don’t have family or anyone around and said they’d rather be at work on Christmas, so it was actually pretty easy to get the day off,” I say.
“It sounds like you really like this new job,” Dad says, grinning at me. I know he’d never really liked me working all those long hours in the city. He always said he was proud of me, but I know it worried him.
“It’s been great so far,” I agree. I sit back to finish my coffee and tell more work stories, glad I’m spending some time with dad. He’s always been a great listener, and I’ve missed this and him. I’m halfway through telling him about our Secret Santa exchange when my phone rings.
“Go ahead and take it. I’m going to get a refill,” Dad says. If he notices my call is from Danny, he doesn’t comment.
“Hey,” I say into the phone. I’m more excited than I should be to be hearing from Danny.
“Hi,” Danny says. “I was hoping you were still up for some investigation.”
“Absolutely,” I say. I feel like I should whisper, even though that’s ridiculous.
“Good. So there’s a big delivery coming in tomorrow evening, and I thought, since food has gone missing, we could watch everyone and see if anything happens,” Danny says.
“I’ll be there,” I say. I know I shouldn’t be looking forward to it, but I am. Even under these circumstances, I’m glad to be spending more time with Danny. I can’t stop thinking about how he made me dinner, how he listened to me talk about Catherine, how he’d been there for me.
“Great,” Danny says, and I can tell he’s smiling. Dad makes his way back over.
“I have to hang up, but can I call you later?” I ask as Dad sits back down.
“Anytime,” Danny says. I flush, and I hope it’s not too obvious. There is something about the way Danny says it that makes my heart race.
“Okay. Bye,” I say, not meeting Dad’s eyes as I hang up.
I think the last thing Dad needs, especially if Danny and I do find a thief, is more stress – the kind of drama I and Danny together could possibly bring.
It doesn’t make me want Danny any less.
Chapter Sixteen - Danny
Charlotte is sitting in Hank’s office, pretending to be doing work for him but actually keeping watch on the inventory unloading. I don’t normally supervise it, but ever since money has started going missi
ng, I have been. I haven’t seen anything yet, but maybe with Charlotte here, I’ll get a lead. I’ve also made her a plate of food to eat while she keeps watching, a small sampler of every Naval Ball dish, and she keeps texting her reactions to it from across the room.
All her reactions are positive, and I can’t help but think they all seem flirtatious, too. I grin while reading them, trying to text back without the staff noticing how often I’m glancing at my phone. It makes me feel like the kind of teenager I never was, like someone sneaking around for firsts and after-school romance. By the time I was a teenager, I had a taste for beer and a temper ready to be ignited at the slightest insult.
The truck unload goes quickly, and soon, most of the staff is heading out. Charlotte comes out of the office to join me, and we go over every line in the ledger and every item on the shelf. It comes out even if someone is pocketing things they didn’t do it tonight.
“See anything weird?” Charlotte asks. I shake my head.
“Nothing. You?” I ask.
“Nothing. Everyone seemed to just be doing their jobs,” Charlotte says.
“I’d like to stay for a while, see if anyone comes back who shouldn't, if you’re up for it,” I say.
“Only if I can have more of those potatoes,” Charlotte says, laughing. I grin too. People compliment my food all the time, but it feels better when Charlotte does it.
“Deal,” I say. I head to get her some, and she heads back to Hank’s office to get her plate.
“There is a busboy still here,” Charlotte says in a loud whisper when she comes back. I frown.
“Which one? What is he doing?” I ask.
“I’m not sure of his name? He’s young, though, he’s got to still be in high school. It looked like he was on the phone?” Charlotte says. I follow her back into Hank’s office and look out at Michael, one of our busboys, who is pacing the dining room.
“That’s Michael,” I tell her, “He’s only worked here for a few months. He didn’t even know Anthony.”
Hot Boss: An Office Romance Page 25
