Carly’s shoulders shifted in a slump of both weariness and relief. On occasion, she’d go out to the dining room to greet a customer, although it was usually one of the resort execs or some other VIP. Usually Adrian went for civilians, mostly because she couldn’t be spared from the kitchen.
“Whaddaya say, Ade? You want this one?” While it was good PR—not to mention a lovely ego boost—to go out into the dining room when someone came offering praise, what Carly really wanted was to go home and soak her aching feet until they resembled prunes. “Pretty please?”
“Oh, no.” Adrian’s gravelly laughter cut through the kitchen. “As you can see, there are no weeds in the kitchen.” He gestured to the back of the house, which was sparkling clean and silent. “It’s your name on the menu, gnocchella.”
Carly’s mouth popped open. “Tiny dumpling? Seriously?”
“You started it. Go, bask in the adoration of your fans. I’ll catch you on the flip side, Chef.” Adrian didn’t even bother to hide his amused smile as he sauntered toward the service exit that led to the back parking lot.
“The customer’s at table twelve. Goodnight, Chef,” Bellamy murmured as she ducked back toward the dining room, the swinging door making a thunk-thunk as she disappeared.
Carly smoothed a palm down her jacket, which other than being splattered with a little bit of lemon dill sauce, was in fairly decent shape. She took a deep breath, letting it press against her ribs before exhaling in a slow puff. Five minutes of meet-and-greet and then she could go home and put this crummy day—hell, the whole crummy week—behind her.
God, she really wished the ache in her chest would take a hike. It was bad enough her feet were killing her. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have a full-bodied mutiny on her hands. Of course, the ache in her chest had nothing to do with the breakneck pace of her job or the arduous hours spent in the kitchen.
Nope. That could be attributed to a certain broad-shouldered, blue-eyed con artist whose kiss she could still feel on her lips, despite numerous teeth scrubbings and half a bottle of Listerine.
It really had been a hell of a kiss.
“Get over yourself, di Matisse,” she grumbled, nudging the door open with one shoulder. Earth-moving kiss or not, Jackson Carter was a thing of the past.
Jackson sat back, shifting his frame against the polished wood of his chair, and drummed his fingers on the sage green tablecloth beneath them. The dishes had been cleared and the check taken care of, but unlike everyone else who’d enjoyed a late dinner at La Dolce Vita, Jackson’s mind wasn’t on heading home. He’d waited until the end of the dinner shift on purpose, and with the exception of a couple people still straggling at the bar, the place was finally empty.
Bellamy appeared from the back of the restaurant, making his pulse tap along with his fingers. She dipped her chin in a definite nod, blonde curls bobbing from their haphazard ponytail, before disappearing through the front entrance.
It had taken some doing on both his and Shane’s part to convince Bellamy to play along with his apology strategy so he could avoid getting the manager instead of Carly. Admittedly, the appreciative-customer ruse was pretty weak, but it was unlikely that Carly would come out if she knew he was the customer, and waiting for her in the parking lot seemed less apologetic and more scary-stalkerish. So lame pretenses and a little misdirection would have to do the trick, at least to start.
The ironic part was, the minute he’d crossed La Dolce Vita’s threshold, Jackson’s stomach had roared to life with all the subtlety of a stampeding bull. Everything on the menu had piqued his interest, even the stuff he’d never heard of. In the end, even though the idea of calamari made him wary at best, he’d ordered what he’d come for. It might be the only way Carly would listen long enough for him to at least apologize.
Okay, so she was probably going to tell him in no uncertain terms to go to hell as soon as she saw him sitting there. The mere glimmer that she might hear him out had been enough for his stomach to get on board, but strangely, regaining his appetite wasn’t the top item on his agenda.
He owed her the mother of all apologies, even if she threatened to throw him out on sight.
Jackson glanced at the back of the restaurant. If she didn’t show up, he couldn’t apologize, and if he couldn’t apologize, he’d be right back at square one. No kisses, no sexy banter, no desire to eat.
Feed her.
Before he could even contemplate where on earth that strange voice was coming from—was he that crazy from lack of food?—Carly appeared at the back of the room, dark eyes scanning the nearly empty restaurant. Jackson ducked his head, examining his empty table with sudden interest. Man, she looked good with that pretty blue scarf pulling her hair away from her face. He watched surreptitiously until she got about ten paces away, then jerked to a stop on the glossy hardwood floor.
“You . . . you asked to see the chef?” She stood perfectly straight, her bright red clogs rooting her to the spot.
Jackson nodded and bit the bullet. “I wanted to compliment you on the calamari. It was incredible.” He gestured to where his empty plate had been, which was kind of stupid since the waitress had taken it ages ago.
“I thought squid wasn’t your thing,” she replied, her tone arctic.
“I was wrong. About lots of things.” Jackson’s gut tightened, but he forced the words out before she could reply, or worse yet, flee. “Carly, listen. I wasn’t completely honest with you, and I’m really sorry.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a gentle hand to halt her words. “I’m not going to make excuses. I know it looks, uh, pretty bad.”
“Pretty bad,” Carly echoed, crossing her arms over her chest.
Way to point that out, his inner voice snapped, but Jackson took a deep breath. He wasn’t here to make excuses or talk his way out of this. He might’ve gotten himself into this mess with a series of fibs, but it was time to own up to the truth.
“Yes. It’s not what it looks like, but that doesn’t really change the fact that I gave you the wrong idea and pissed you off.” Jackson paused to let Carly send a you-got-that-right look in his direction, which she did in spades, and then he continued. “So I thought I’d take what you said to heart, about how you never really know what you might like. I took a chance on the calamari, ’cause I was kind of hoping you might take a chance on hearing me out. What do you say?”
Carly stood perfectly still for what felt like an ice age. Finally, she took a couple steps toward the table to look him in the eye. “Shane said Jenna’s not your girlfriend.”
“She’s not. See, the thing is . . .” Jackson paused for a breath. She’d let him get this far without decking him or calling the authorities. Might as well go for the whole enchilada.
“It was my younger brother’s engagement party. I would’ve been fine going without a date, but my ma . . . well, that’s kind of another story. She’s got this crazy idea that if you’re not in a relationship, you’re not truly happy. So I just asked Jenna to embellish our friendship to make it look like we were dating. I didn’t know I was going to run into you, and that we’d . . . well, you know . . .”
Jackson broke off and shook his head. Man, he was botching this big time.
“So everything with Jenna was just for show?” Carly’s expression was neutral enough to make Switzerland green with envy.
“Yeah. I know it sounds pretty stupid. But that’s the truth.”
She tightened her arms across the front of her jacket, but didn’t say a word. The eerie stillness of a place normally bustling with noise and movement unnerved him, as did her lack of a response. Finally, he had to admit defeat.
“Yeah. Anyway, I’ll go now. The calamari really was good. Great.” Jackson tossed his napkin onto the table, wondering if it was humanly possible to be a bigger oaf.
“You pretended to have a girlfriend so your mother would think you were happy?” Carly’s arms loosened from her chest and fell to her sides.
“Yeah.”
Jackson nodded, frozen in place. “Sure.”
“If you wanted your mother to think you were happy, why didn’t you skip all the bullshit and just be happy?”
The answer hit him all at once. “I was happy. In the garden, with you.”
Somewhere in the corner of his mind came the dark little reminder that she was going through a divorce, but oddly enough, it didn’t matter. Maybe tomorrow it would, or next week, or next month even, but that seemed incredibly far away and unimportant.
Jackson wanted to kiss her again right now!
“It took a lot of nerve for you to come down here,” Carly said, her brown eyes widening to reveal tiny flecks of gold around her irises. Christ, she was beautiful. And her tone was telling him in no uncertain terms to get out.
“I understand.” His gut twisted, but he pushed back from the table and stood up. “Thanks for listening.” He turned toward the front entrance of the nearly-deserted restaurant. Well, that had been an exercise in humility.
“I accept your apology.”
Jackson stumbled to an ungraceful halt. “You what?”
Carly’s lips edged upward in the faintest hint of a smile. “I have a mother too, you know. Though I wish you’d just told me from the beginning, I understand what you did, and I believe you’re being honest. So I accept your apology.”
Holy. Shit.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
Carly laughed, and the sound burned through him like brushfire on dry kindling. “Say good night. We’re closed, and my feet are killing me. Plus, Gavin will throw you out if I don’t, and he’s not as nice about it as I am.” She gestured to a guy in an expensive-looking suit tallying receipts at the bar. As far as Jackson could tell, he was the only other person left in the whole place.
“Oh. Oh, right. Are you on your way out? I could walk you to your car,” he offered, still stunned.
“Okay.”
By the time Carly retrieved her bag from the kitchen and said good night to the restaurant manager, Jackson had regained enough of his faculties to at least stop babbling. The cool night air kicked into a breeze around them, ruffling Carly’s scarf.
“So you really liked that calamari, huh? Or was that just to humor me?” She slid a cautious glance at him, one that told him he wasn’t entirely off the hook yet.
“I don’t kid about food. The first bite was a little rough, but as soon as I tasted it, I knew you were right.” They headed toward her Honda, which was only a few spots away from his truck in the now-deserted lot. “Any chance you’ll tell me what’s in that dipping sauce? It might’ve been the best part.”
Carly laughed. “It’s a di Matisse secret. I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Ouch. Well, I’ll have to settle for just eating it, then.” Jackson’s stomach rumbled in approval, apparently getting reacquainted with the notion of actually wanting food. “Are you the only person who knows how to make it?”
“You are persistent when it comes to food, aren’t you?” Carly asked tartly, but her smile was obvious even in the shadowy light cast off from the restaurant behind them.
“Well, yeah, but that’s not why I’m asking. I was just curious if you ever get a night off. You know, let someone else run the show so you can get a break. Does that ever happen?”
She paused. “Mondays. I usually have Mondays off.”
“And what do you normally do on Mondays?”
“I cook.”
Jackson’s laugh came from deep in his chest. Somehow, her answer wasn’t shocking. In fact, everything about her was so uncomplicated and real that the next thing out of his mouth was surprisingly a no-brainer.
“What do you say to shaking things up this week and eating instead of cooking?” While tonight’s mission had yielded check marks in both the appetite and sexy banter columns, it would probably be pushing the limits of his luck to go for the trifecta and kiss her. Asking her out was the best compromise he could come up with on short notice, even though seeing her again entailed yet another risk. But hell, his stomach was back on board, and she seemed pretty no-nonsense when it came down to it.
When he’d told Shane he liked her, he’d meant it. All he had to do was keep it under control, and they’d be fine.
“Are you asking me out?” Crickets sang in an endless hum in the background, and Carly’s keys jingled softly in her palm. Far in the distance, heat lightning flashed like a silvery blanket being snapped across the sky, but none of that quite made it into his brain as clearly as the woman in front of him. A crooked smile took over his face, and his words tasted like dessert as he spoke.
“From here on in, there aren’t going to be any pretenses between us. I’m asking you out, Carly di Matisse. What do you say?”
Chapter Thirteen
“Tell me you said yes!” Sloane cried, staring at Carly over the rim of her coffee mug. Several birds took flight from a nearby branch in the backyard, zipping through the morning sunlight at the harpy-like pitch of Sloane’s voice.
“You’re disturbing the wildlife.” Carly jutted her chin toward the tree line, trying to mask the smile playing on her lips. She’d probably go to hell for torturing her best friend like this, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.
“Carly.”
The word was a warning, and Carly didn’t wait for the flash of narrowed blue eyes that would surely accompany it. “Okay, I give up. I said yes.” She sent her grin into her coffee cup rather than broadcasting it across the yard. It had felt all too right to say yes when Jackson had asked her out last night, a thought she’d been both wrestling with and basking in for the last nine hours.
“Gotta say, the humble apology is a pleasant surprise. Not a lot of men go for that,” Sloane said, her voice tinged with awe.
“Tell me about it. But he was sincere, and it’s not like I don’t get the mom thing. It seemed stupid not to accept his apology.”
When it came right down to it, Carly wasn’t really the type to make men squirm. Dancing around the truth seemed pointless, and as much as it made her squirm, the truth was, she liked Jackson. The fact that she could practically feel his hands on her every time she looked into his crinkly baby blues didn’t hurt, either.
As if Sloane could hone in on Carly’s brainwaves, she let out a suggestive laugh. “Right. I’m sure you forgave him to clear your conscience. You little tart.”
Carly busied herself with her coffee. “Yeah, that’s me. Totally tarty.”
“So where’s he going to take you?”
“I don’t know,” Carly admitted, taking in a deep breath of fresh air and dappled sunlight. “He’s going to call me later in the week.”
“This is so unfair. Your first date since the big D and I’m not even going to be here to harass you on your way out the door.” Sloane frowned and took a sip of coffee, leaning back in her lounge chair with a pout.
“Yeah, rough life you’ve got, jetting to New York to do a couple of high-profile book signings. You’re all over the map, cucciola.”
“Maybe next time I go, you should come with me,” Sloane said, her trademark sass noticeably absent.
A tiny frisson of unease trickled through Carly like ice water on hot skin, but she tamped it down, unwilling to bog down her good mood with thoughts of the city. Visiting would only remind her how much she missed it, not to mention that she really didn’t need any guilt from her mother. No, she couldn’t go back until she could stay, so there was little point in dwelling on it.
“And miss all the fun here? Plus, you’ll be swamped with publicity stuff. That’s what you get for being a USA Today best-selling author.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sloane murmured, her Brooklyn accent curving over the words in a hard snap. “Well, I wouldn’t wa
nt you to miss your date with Contractor Man, that’s for sure. Hey, if I play my cards right in the city, maybe you won’t be the only one around here to get some sugar this week.”
Carly’s coffee made a beeline for her windpipe. “Who says I’m getting anything?” Jeez! Was there no progression to the whole friends with benefits thing? She and Jackson couldn’t possibly end up horizontal right out of the gate, could they?
“What’d you think, you’d be playing Scrabble with the guy? Getting laid is kind of the point of having a bene-friend, sweetie.” Sloane’s lips curled into a cat-in-cream smile. “I thought you liked Jackson.”
“I do, but give me a break. The first date seems kind of abrupt, don’t you think? I mean, how many times do you go out with a whatchamacallit before you sleep with him?”
Sloane tipped her head, sending a swath of black hair over one eye. “That’s not really a fair question. I mean, it depends on how well I know the guy.”
“How do you know none of them is your peacock, then?” Carly crinkled her nose, trying to keep the terminology straight in her head.
“Jesus, woman. Get your birds straight. It’s a swan,” Sloane laughed. “Repeat after me. White bird, long neck.”
“Whatever.” Carly’s grumble—and her question—were cut off by the sound of the phone ringing from beyond the screen door.
“Who the hell would call us at 9:15 on a Thursday morning?” Sloane wondered out loud, sending a frown to the back of the bungalow.
“We’re getting an early food delivery today at the restaurant. Gavin said he’d handle it, but our produce distributor is hit or miss in the reliability department. I told him to call me if there was a problem.”
Carly hustled through the door and reached for the phone. One batch of rotten produce or bad seafood would be enough to sink her entire dinner service, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to send someone to Joe’s Grocery to clean out their stock just to stay afloat. Carly scooped the phone to her ear, poised for bad news.
And bad news was exactly what she got.
Gimme Some Sugar Page 15
