by Dana Volney
He double-checked the completed plates before putting them up for the servers, watched them leave the kitchen, and then grabbed the new tickets. “Two chicken, one steak,” he called out to his kitchen.
His staff worked efficiently; they’d resolved the kinks by now and had found their rhythm. He didn’t watch the clock, he focused on the food. Because when ten o’clock came around he didn’t know what would happen. The only thing that made sense to him was food—the women in his life, because now there were two to consider, and how he felt about them only scrambled his brain.
• • •
By the end of the shift, Marc had worked himself to the bone. The kitchen had been cleaned, the front of house was being tidied, and Kurt had retreated to his office.
Exhaustion pulled at his neck, and he rubbed his forehead only to look up and see Felicia walk through the metal kitchen doors.
“Hey there.” Her warm smile made him feel a little better.
They were just going to talk and hopefully not fight. Anything could happen. He’d decided nothing.
“How was dinner service?”
“Great. We had a good number of people for a Monday.” He was happy with the turnout.
“Yeah. Dad still says Mondays and Tuesdays are the worst.”
“I bet he does.” Calm down. She didn’t mean anything by it. It had been his choice to leave; he hadn’t been forced out, and Felicia’s dad had paid him fair market value for his half. The buyout money was what he used to start Sizzo’s. He couldn’t fail because he wouldn’t have anywhere to go or any money to use to rebuild.
She flattened the black dress she still wore from this afternoon, and he watched her hands run over her thighs. He remembered those thighs and had to literally shake his head to vanquish steamy images that flashed across his mind. They’d been good together, very good, in bed.
“Wine?” He asked and pulled out a bottle he had chilled for them.
“Of course.” She smiled at the bottle of Malbec. “My favorite.”
He nodded. He figured the night would be better with a glass of wine—they’d both be less uptight.
“Shall we?” He motioned to the dining room, and she followed him to a corner booth in the back of the room by the kitchen. “How are your sisters?” He poured two glasses of a plum Argentine Malbec.
“They are doing well. Fern got a new job at a marketing company managing social media, Fallon is still happy running the books for Dad by day and acting at the local community theatre by night, and Faith is getting married.” Her eyes diverted to her glass at her last sentence, and she drank.
Is this all about jealousy? None of her sisters were married. Felicia would’ve been the first.
“Robbie finally popped the question, huh? Good for them. Send them my best.”
“You can do that yourself if you come back home with me.”
His turn to focus on his glass of wine. “You don’t like my new place?”
“It’s great. But it’s like two states away from home.”
“Yeah. Kind of the point.”
He could close down and go back to Tacoma, and this would all become some funny story he told fifty years from now about the three months he lived in Wyoming. He could, but the thought alone made him grumpy. The story might be funny in five decades, but today it would feel like failure.
“You had to move this far away?”
“I researched a lot of states. Wyoming has many perks for small businesses, low cost of living, and I like all four seasons. It’s like Tacoma but with no humidity and a higher elevation.”
She reached out her hand and caught his. “Marc.”
He started at Felicia’s soft hand lying on his. It would be so easy to fall back into his old life.
“Felicia.”
She looked at him with big, pensive eyes. Damn. He’d always been a sucker when she looked at him all sad, like he was the only one who possessed the ability to make her happy. Yep, this is how we never broke up and why I proposed.
“What do you want me to say, Felicia?” Irritation filtered into his voice.
“I don’t know, that you’ve been thinking of me too and want to work things out. That you still love me.”
“You can’t just show up out of the blue with no contact for five months and, and”—he looked past her to the front door with his last name etched on the glass—“think we’re going to automatically work things out.”
“At least I’m trying.”
She had a point. Did he even have cause to be mad? He was so confused at this point, he wasn’t sure what he should and should not feel.
“I’ve started over. I like it here,” he said in a quieter tone.
“I could move here with you. Help you out or find a job at a salon.” There wasn’t a trace of sadness on her face, only a smile and resolute eyes.
He shook his head. “Listen. I feel really badly about how our relationship ended. I know it was my fault, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry you had to do what you did. But it happened for a reason. We weren’t good together anymore.”
There. He was going to lay it all on the line—be honest about what he wanted instead of trying to give her everything she wanted.
“At one time we were.”
“That hadn’t been for a while.”
“Think of all the good times. There were a lot of them.” She sing-songed her last sentence.
He had to hand it to her—the woman had always been determined and rarely gave up when she’d made up her mind. Usually she was very persuasive, but tonight he didn’t feel like giving in—he didn’t feel like going back to a life that was already planned out. Casper was an adventure—the trials that came with starting a restaurant from scratch, having to rely on himself to get everything done, and then hiring good staff that he’d learned to trust to help Sizzo’s thrive.
And then there was Sophie. No, Casper had not been boring. It had been an ass-ton of work, a lack of sleep, and exciting, all at the same time. The new life he’d created was hectic, titillating, and arousing—that last part thanks to Sophie. The thought of leaving, or Felicia joining him here, soured his gut.
“How’s your dad and sister?” she asked, still cheery as she sipped her wine.
He took a beat and went with the change of topic but kept his defenses up. “Reagan’s in her last year of college up in Seattle, doing well. Dad’s still doing his construction foreman thing.”
“I don’t understand how you aren’t even considering our getting back together. If I hadn’t called off the wedding we’d be married right now.” The hurt was back in her eyes, and he knew his weren’t all that happy, either.
“We would.”
“Then what is the deal?”
He drank his entire glass of wine before answering. Being honest with his past made him crave alcohol. “You and I getting married would’ve been a mistake. One that we would’ve continued probably forever. And our life wouldn’t have been all that bad.” He smiled a little at the memory of how he pictured his life a year ago. “But that’s not how it worked out. We didn’t get married. We don’t even live in the same state now.”
He met her gaze as a tear rolled down her left cheek. Great, he’d gone too far and made her cry. The forever asshole in their relationship was him.
“I see.” She finished her glass and stared at the dark brown tabletop.
“I’m sorry, Felicia.” I really am. “I should get home. I have an early delivery,” he lied.
There was no way they had more to discuss. What else could he say? The same mystery that had held him back from Felicia before was still holding him back.
He stood and offered her a hand out of the booth. When they locked eyes there was no longer sorrow in her look, but something very different—very seductive. This woman just won’t quit.
“I’m staying at the Hampton Inn.” She put her hotel key card on the table. “Room 512.”
His mouth fell open slightly in shock. Were they not jus
t having the same conversation?
“I don’t think we’re done,” she said. “If you decide we have more to work through, then come over tonight. I check out tomorrow.” She craned her neck and kissed him, right on the lips. She pulled back, smiled, and walked out the front door.
Surprise kept him from moving until he heard the door latch behind her.
Where did that come from?
He loved Sizzo’s and wasn’t ready to shut Sophie out—something he’d been trying to reconcile since he’d met her only three days ago. Three days. Hell. How ridiculous to think you couldn’t live without someone after only knowing them three days. He could have both—a successful career and personal life—he just had to figure out the balance of exactly that would work.
• • •
One day had come and gone with no Marc. This was the best/worst week of vacation ever. There was a good chance part of the blame lay solely on her lie about having plans with her girlfriends. He’d made an effort and actually tried to make real plans with her. Why she didn’t take him up on the offer was beyond her. Really. She’d tried to figure it out. She’d spent most of yesterday and last night analyzing their conversations and all the times he’d made eye contact with her and all the times he had not. Bollocks, she was such a girl. She hated this part of her anatomy. She’d truly believed she was missing the girly, overthinking-relationships gene—Marc had proved her wrong.
They’d bumped into each other in the hall that morning—it had been an honest mistake. She hadn’t heard him at the door. If she had, she would’ve avoided him. Great. Now I have to find a new place to live. What is that saying—don’t shit where you eat? She’d learned her lesson. Although it would be nice if someone would tell her body, because her skin, lips, and tingly bits definitely hadn’t received the memo she wasn’t to like Marc anymore.
Orange Heart had a gig for a corporate party tonight, and she only had a few minutes to spare. Standing by the door, she checked to make sure she had everything: guitar, gloves, and the bag stocked with necessities such as a brush, lip gloss, and the guitar pics she brought to all of their performances.
Okay, go fast. Geez, she’d become captive to her hallway and the door opposite hers. She opened her door, spun quickly to lock it, and scurried down the hall to the stairs. There was always a chance of running into him there, but the hall seemed like the worst spot. She’d made it—she was walking down the stairs and about to open the main door to the downtown sidewalk when Marc entered. So close. Her heartbeat quickened, and she swore under her breath at the excitement the sight of him caused.
“Hi.” She smiled, not wanting him to see the hurt she felt.
“Hey.”
She started to walk past him, then stopped. This is ridiculous. They both knew what was going on. Time to be an adult.
“Listen. We had a great time, and I think you’re a really good guy.” She took a breath, sucking in his rich, sweet scent and willing herself not to shake or chicken out. “I just don’t think we’re in the same place. I really wasn’t looking for anything serious.”
His brilliant blue eyes searched hers. His face was unchanging; the only evidence that he’d heard what she’d said was his shoving his hands into his jean pockets.
“Oh-kay. I’m not sure where this is coming from.”
“Don’t you remember what you said to me? You don’t have anything to offer. Well, neither do I.”
His eyebrows knitted together in an unvoiced question.
“It’s for the best. We’re still neighbors and all.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m actually running late.” She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. “I’ll … see ya later.”
She turned and hurried out the door before he tried to stop her, or didn’t try. A tear slid down her cheek, and the brisk evening air chilled her to the bone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marc slipped into the darkness of the Bombay Club just before nine Tuesday night, he’d put his sous chef in charge of the remaining dinner service, then left early to clean up and make it there by the time Sophie went on stage. He wasn’t sure what was going on with Sophie or him, but curiosity had gotten the best of him. Her out-of-the-blue, weird breakup speech had not sat well, and he hadn’t even been able to ask her to explain a bit more before she ran off.
The downtown bar was filled with a mix of thirty-somethings. If he went for bars or clubs, this would be a good one to hang out in The mix of vibrant colors and hints of the West with fake busts of moose, antelope, and deer heads in white, gold, and black gave the place a cheery vibe.
After the odd encounter with Sophie yesterday, he really needed to see her again. Hearing her sing in his apartment had touched his soul—would it be the same experience to watch her onstage? Part of him hoped they’d bump into each other again, and they could hash out whatever was going on in her head. It was stupid, but he missed her already.
The hotel card Felicia had left on the table had gone straight into the trash before he’d locked up. She’d made her decision to call off their wedding, and he’d made the decision she was right. Part of him felt a lot lighter since last night, like some type of closure had happened.
A single male guitarist was onstage when Marc ordered a drink and found a seat in the corner.
“Hey, man.” Kurt sat down next to him with a beer in hand. “So, you’ve lived here how long and you haven’t been here yet?”
Sometimes the two of them would have a beer at the end of a service, but at the restaurant. Tonight, Marc had asked Kurt to meet him at Bombay’s for a drink instead. Marc felt a little bad about using their socializing as a way to spy on his not-girlfriend, not-anything, but he didn’t think Kurt would care even if he told him, which he wasn’t about to do.
“Three months, and I’ve been busy. If I need a drink, I have a liquor license.”
“Gotta get out, man. Tonight’s a good night, too. Orange Heart is playing.”
Marc’s heart surged. “You’ve heard them play before?” He casually sipped from his beer, not wanting to raise suspicion about his motive for asking Kurt to hang.
“Oh yeah. They’re hot.”
Sophie appeared onstage then, and her bandmates joined her: one with a guitar, one took her place at the drums, and another sat at a piano Marc hadn’t noticed until now. They started in with some eighties rock, and the place went wild with couples dancing and having a good time.
Marc nodded his head; he didn’t know what else to say—something like, “Hands off the lead singer because she’s mine,” seemed too forward.
“They play here all the time. I know a couple of them—the guitarist and drummer.”
“Guitarist?” His voice cracked.
Kurt was a good-looking man, if you considered someone who looked like he could be on the cover of Men’s Fitness attractive. The two ladies onstage with guitars were both pretty, Sophie being loads ahead, but the blond had a certain charm about her from what Marc could see from his perch. Hopefully, Kurt knew only the blond.
“Yeah. So hot. She’s got a good voice, too.”
Like Sophie was a nun. Of course other men were interested. He was such a chump. He’d had her red-hot in his hands and told her he couldn’t commit. Dumbest thing he’d ever said.
“Callie doesn’t sing much though, only backup.”
“Callie?”
“The guitarist, one on the right.” Kurt waved his beer toward not-Sophie.
“Oh.”
The relief Marc felt deep in his gut was short-lived as Sophie and her band started to play a slower eighties ballad. Her voice captivated him; he felt her coat his skin with every word.
What am I doing here? This was pathetic. Sophie had obviously changed her mind about wanting to hang out with him, that much was clear. So what did he think watching her perform would do? It would only make him more miserable. How had he become so attached to this woman in so little time? He’d been with Felicia for years and never ached for her like this. Dammit, stay on
the course, man. He was off-track. Sophie and her cuteness barging into his life, Felicia returning—he needed to get back to his sole focus of making his restaurant the best in town.
“You seeing anyone?” Kurt asked.
Marc shook his head. “You?”
“Yeah, just started seeing this gal, real firecracker. Keeps me on my toes.” Kurt waved to the waitress for another round. “Have you thought any more about the entertainment we discussed?”
“It’s a restaurant. Not sure we need music playing.”
“These gals would be great for the job. Once a week, make it a special night.”
Then he’d be sure to see Sophie—from a distance when he was in the kitchen and probably exchange an awkward word or two up close.. Or it was the worst idea because she wanted nothing to do with him. The time had come to be decisive, which proved easier in his professional life than personally, and he knew he had to let go. If the building lost power again, he wouldn’t poke his head out to see if she was standing in the hall.
He finished his beer and stood to bail on Kurt when the lights onstage dimmed.
Sophie stood in the center. Alone. She moved her guitar to her chest, sat on the wooden stool, and adjusted the microphone to her lower height. The stage lights practically gave her a halo.
“Good evening.”
Hoots bellowed from the crowd as Sophie spoke, and Marc sat back down on his high stool at the round table in the corner of the main floor. She’d see him now if he walked out.
“I’m Sophie from Orange Heart.”
More hollers. It was nice to see her received so well. She seemed at home. He stared at the brown bottle on the table. The liquid courage was giving him purpose, but his mind faltered. Either way, he’d give just about anything to walk up to the stage and kiss her. Plant a big, tongue-swirling kiss on her perfect, thin, pink lips.
