Julia was surprised. That sounded like someone who planned to keep the business, but she shoved the thought away. Donovan had been clear that his intention was to sell and he’d given her no reason to distrust him. “I’m pleased to hear it.” And she meant it. “I very much want to see her restored to her former glory.”
“Then we have something in common,” Gus said.
Donovan cleared his throat. “Dad, why don’t you sit down and I’ll show you some of the ideas Julia and I were discussing.”
Discussing before he’d laid a lip-lock on her that still had her insides in disarray.
Gus frowned at his son. “I don’t need to sit down. I’m perfectly fine standing.”
“Dad.” Donovan frowned back, leaving no question as to whether or not they were related. They looked like a before-and-after for anti-aging cream.
“I’m not an invalid and I’ll sit when I’m ready. It’s bad enough with your mother hanging over me, worrying about my diet and my blood pressure. I don’t need it from you, too.”
Julia watched Donovan’s lips tighten, but he did as his father asked and backed off. “Fine. Then why don’t you stand and I can show you some of the ideas Julia and I were discussing before your arrival.”
Gus’s mouth twitched. “Well, now you’re just being a smart-ass.”
Donovan nodded. “And we both know that’s Owen’s role in the family.”
“Hey,” Owen said, “how did I get dragged into this?”
And then Evelyn stepped in, assuring Owen that he was only a smart-ass some of the time, that Donovan was perfectly capable of being a smart-ass in his own right—as he’d just shown—but that he was also correct in noting that Gus should take a seat if he wanted to stay longer.
Gus grumbled at his wife, but took a seat at one of the tables. “I would have sat down when I needed to.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” Evelyn said and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Now, let’s see some of these ideas.”
Julia stood by quietly, curious to see how Donovan interacted with his family. She’d always been drawn to large, noisy families. So different from her own singular upbringing. Also, it gave her free rein to eyeball Donovan without appearing to do so. Yes, he definitely looked strong enough to support her against a wall.
And then she reminded herself that those were not the thoughts she was supposed to be having. She was supposed to be grateful that they’d been interrupted. She was supposed to remember that she had a career that needed all her attention.
Instead, when she looked at Donovan, her insides lit up, flared as though they’d been touched with a match. And she not only found the idea of kissing him delicious rather than deplorable, but she also wondered if she might find a good excuse to do so again. Which was really, really bad.
Julia was so focused on her own thoughts, she didn’t immediately notice when Donovan’s attention turned toward her. Not until he cleared his throat and she looked up to find a knowing smirk on his face.
Great. Just great.
“This is wonderful,” Gus said, giving Julia a reason to break the eye contact without looking as if she was backing down. “I think you’ve got a great start here.” He reached out and laid a hand on his wife’s arm. It was an easy gesture and clearly one that happened often based on the way Evelyn leaned toward him.
“I agree.” Evelyn included all of them in her comment. “I can’t wait to see the finished product.”
Julia let Donovan take the reins in describing the time line, how long they’d need to close the restaurant to complete the renovations and some of the plans Mal was already putting in place for the reopening. She adored the overlap of voices and ideas as others chimed in, the web of support that was clearly the family’s normal way of communicating, and felt a pinch of sorrow that it was something she’d never experience with her mother.
But it was too late for regrets. She felt a prickle behind her eyelids and swallowed. “Can you stay for lunch?” Any excuse to get out of the room, away from the togetherness she’d never have again, and gather herself.
Evelyn looked at her husband. “How are you feeling?”
“I already told you, I’m fine.” Gus’s hand fisted until Evelyn gave it a calming stroke. “And we’d be honored to stay.”
Julia had always enjoyed the social aspect of cooking. Food was such an integral part of the human experience. More than just fuel or survival, but a bond between people. A way of nurturing and cherishing, and an indication of trust. Eating someone else’s cooking meant allowing them unguarded access to your person, and was something Julia thought about with each dish she prepared. It did something to her soul, helped fill the space that was left when her mother died.
She pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, glad that it was an off day and she didn’t have to worry about the staff rolling in at an inopportune moment. Not that she planned for anything inopportune to happen. No, she was just here to cook. Not have sex against a wall.
She stepped into the walk-in, perusing the silent and gleaming shelves and plucking quart jars and other food items that she’d bring together to make a fantastic meal. Gus would probably be on a special diet. Low-fat and heavy on the veggies due to his heart attack. But cooking for health-conscious, heart-smart Vancouver residents for the past couple of years had given her an excellent place to start.
Chicken breasts, marinated and roasted, and green beans with a lemon-mustard sauce. A light hand with oil and other fats. Because, in this particular instance, butter didn’t make everything better. She’d make some other dishes, too, ones that were mainstays on the menu.
Julia set to work, twisting her hair into a tight, work-safe bun, slipping on an apron, heating up pans, chopping ingredients and whisking spices and herbs with oil for the marinade. She figured she’d be finished in about thirty minutes, give or take.
The sound of the kitchen door swinging open interrupted the rhythm she had going. She didn’t mind. Until she saw who it was.
“What can I do for you, Donovan?” And why did he have to look so good? Or maybe it was the heat from the stove that was making her cheeks flame. Ignoring the fact that the stove and pans were nowhere close to temperature yet.
“You don’t have to cook for us, you know.”
She did know. “I want to.”
“Julia.” Donovan crossed the kitchen and stopped beside her. Close. Maybe a little too close. Or maybe she just liked it a little too much.
“Careful. The stove is hot.” Like her face.
But he didn’t move away. Neither did she. “About before.”
Julia swallowed. “I don’t think we need to discuss that.” Didn’t need to think or dream about it, either.
“And what if I want to?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She wished she had a glass of water. Surrounded by taps and fridges and all means of food prep and not a drop to drink. She swallowed again. “This is going to take a half hour. I need to start cooking.”
She could hear the sizzle of the pan, knew exactly how any ingredient placed into it would react.
Donovan exhaled. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”
“It might. Have we tried?”
He stepped even closer. “It won’t.”
Julia could feel the tear of indecision inside her. He was probably right, but she didn’t want him to be. “I can’t, Donovan.”
“Can’t what?” His breath tickled her ear. She didn’t respond, just gripped the handle of her spoon more tightly and stared at the pan on the stove in front of her.
She couldn’t do this. Not with him. She had a career that needed her attention, a reputation she was trying to build. And her hard work and position weren’t things she would throw away over a handsome face.
“You okay?” he finally asked.
Julia blinked, still staring down. “Fine.” But she didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.
She sensed when he took a half step back, but somehow that didn�
�t give her any relief. “Look, I didn’t mean to cross a line here. I’m attracted to you. I thought you felt the same.”
She did. She totally did. Which was why she couldn’t look at him now. Afraid that if she did, he’d see the invitation in her eyes. To do it again. Kiss her again. Take her right here against the wall of the kitchen, even with his family outside.
“If I misinterpreted that, I apologize.”
He hadn’t. Not even a little. She looked up and knew it was a mistake even before she saw the flare of heat in his eyes. Her brain stuttered, causing her mouth to open and shut. So attractive. “I need to start cooking,” she told him.
But he merely smiled and brushed away a lock of hair that had slipped out of her bun and across her eye. She shivered and his smile widened.
Yeah, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER FIVE
DONOVAN WAS STILL thinking about Julia when he parked in front of his parents’ house later that night. The feel of her skin under his hands, the responsive tilt of her body, the knowledge of how close he’d been to getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of her body. He thought about when he’d pulled back to look at her and she’d been standing there, staring back at him with those eyes that made him picture wicked, naked fantasies. When her body had wavered toward his and he’d read her invitation as clearly as if she’d delivered it to him on a platter.
And then his family had barged in and wrecked the moment. As if they’d planned to cock-block him. Which might have been funny, if it hadn’t actually happened.
He walked up the steps to the house he’d grown up in and pushed open the door. Hell. He wanted to be walking into Julia’s house, picking up where they’d left off and learning how her body felt underneath his. Or on top of his. Really, he was willing to try both ways. He found his mother in the kitchen tossing a salad. “Hello.”
“Hello, dear.” Evelyn lifted her cheek for a kiss. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Of course.” He stole a carrot from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. He tried to have dinner with them at least once a week. “I even brought wine.” He stowed it in the fridge. “Do you need anything?”
“I’ve got it under control.” She waved him away. “Go visit your father before he comes in here and starts whining about having to eat salad with his meal instead of potatoes.”
Donovan grinned. “Where is the old man?”
“In the den.” Evelyn turned to check on something in the stove. “And don’t give him a beer, even if he begs. Doctor’s orders.” Though kind and caring in every way, Evelyn Ford could be ruthless when it came to those she loved. And she loved her family fiercely.
Donovan decided against pouring one for himself—that would just be cruel—and went to find his father. He discovered him just where his mother had said, lounging in his den, trying to hide a beer behind his seat. He straightened when he saw it wasn’t his wife.
“Dad.” Donovan plucked the bottle out of his father’s hand. “You know Mom is going to think I gave this to you.”
“A good son would give it back.”
Donovan took a sip and then handed it over. “I saw and know nothing.”
Gus grinned. “It’s only one. But your mother. You know she worries.” They all did. But his dad looked better every time Donovan saw him. Perhaps not as robust and energetic as he’d been pre-heart attack, but the gray pallor to his skin was gone and the gleam of ideas was back in his eyes. “I like your new chef.”
“What? No hello, how are you, good to see you?”
“I did see you only a few hours ago.”
Donovan had to admit that his father had a point.
Gus lounged back on his favorite padded leather chair with a tall back that he refused to replace. Just getting it re-covered when the leather had been torn—a youthful incident involving Donovan, Owen and a Scout knife that they never saw again—had been a battle. “She’s a hell of a cook.” He patted his stomach in appreciation of the food Julia had served this afternoon.
Julia was a hell of a lot of things. Chef, woman, kisser. But Donovan wasn’t about to share that with his father. “She is. That’s why she runs the kitchen.”
“Pretty, too.”
Donovan pointedly ignored that comment. Prior to his health scare, Gus had seemed content to let Donovan and his siblings run their personal lives as they saw fit. If they wanted to be serial monogamists, play the field or ignore dating altogether, it didn’t bother Gus.
But since then, his concerns appeared to have shifted. Donovan didn’t know if it was the fear of missing out on their future families, weddings and grandkids or if he just had too much time on his hands, but Gus was becoming a busybody.
“Julia is very attractive,” Donovan agreed, knowing that glossing over the comment or changing the subject entirely would only make his father think he was onto something. “Should be useful for the marketing push Mal’s got planned.”
He settled on the chair beside his father’s. It wasn’t quite as tall or as padded, but it was just as comfortable.
But if he thought his polite acknowledgment of Gus’s words would be enough to satisfy any interest his father had, he should have known better. His father would never be so easily dissuaded from his cause. “Good job, good cook, good looks. Sounds perfect.”
“Mom will be thrilled to hear it.”
“Be thrilled to hear what?” Evelyn Ford entered the den that was supposed to be Gus’s domain but was co-opted for family use the majority of the time. She noted the bottle of beer in her husband’s hand and removed it from his grip without comment.
“Dad’s in love with my new chef.” But Donovan’s attempt to twist the subject and make light of his father’s sudden interest in his personal life could only be deemed a failure.
“Your new chef?” Gus grinned at his wife as he tugged her hand so she perched on the armrest of his chair. “Did you hear that, love?”
“I heard.” His mother shot Donovan a what-can-you-do look. They both knew Gus had laser-beam focus when he set his mind on something. Sharp, direct and difficult to hide from. She patted her husband’s cheek. “Don’t tease your son.”
“Or pick on one of your other kids,” Donovan suggested. “Shouldn’t I get some brownie points for being the one who’s actually here?”
He was the one who’d stepped up to lead the company when it became clear that Gus wouldn’t be returning to the office anytime soon. Yes, he knew Mal and even Owen had taken on more responsibilities and larger roles, too, but the majority rested on his shoulders. He should, therefore, be excused from any paternal harassment, well intended or otherwise.
Gus didn’t get the memo. “My heart attack put some things into perspective for me. I want to make sure my family is happy.”
“I’m happy,” Donovan said, and for the most part it was true. “Of course, I’d be happier if you’d consider my idea about putting the restaurant back on the market.”
He hadn’t mentioned it to his father lately. But if his father was well enough to make a surprise visit to La Petite Bouchée and hassle him about his personal life and his pretty chef, then he was clearly feeling better and could listen to what Donovan had on his mind.
Donovan had crunched the numbers and knew exactly how much they needed to get to turn a profit, even with the planned renovations. While he’d originally considered trying to make a quick flip, he saw now that seeing the renovations and grand reopening through made better business sense.
“I know you have a personal attachment to the restaurant.” The nostalgia in his father’s voice when he’d talked about it over lunch had made that clear. But this wasn’t about personal attachments. “Branching out into the gastropub market is a better fit with what we already do and it has higher profit potential.”
Gus nodded. “It’s not always about profit, though.”
“No, it isn’t...” Donovan paused, considering his next words. “I think we should sell.”
“Really.” But that was the only outward reaction from his father. Donovan shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t told his father this before. Gus steepled his hands in front of him. “Why?”
Now, that was a surprise. Every other time Donovan had mentioned his thoughts on the matter, his father had remained unshakable in his stance that a restaurant was their ideal growth market.
Gus smiled. “I know you’ve got a plan.”
“I do.” Donovan felt the fizz of excitement. The hope that maybe this time his father could be convinced.
“So tell me.”
Donovan’s mind whirred. He wanted to share everything, all the details big and small, because he knew he could make the transition not only smooth but successful. But as with most plans, he decided it was best to start with the first step. “If we list the property—”
“No.” His father interrupted before he could even get going. “You’ve told me that before. Plus the financing, the marketing, every aspect of the business side. I want you to tell me why it’s important to you.” He looked at Donovan, his watchful gaze taking everything in. “I can tell this isn’t just business.”
Donovan felt the fizz die out. “It’s not.” But he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell his father the rest of his reasons.
They sat in silence for a moment, engaged in a quiet contemplation. Donovan didn’t want to hurt his father’s feelings, but it didn’t feel right to sit on his thoughts any longer, either. And his dad had said he just wanted them to be happy.
“Did you mean that? About wanting us to be happy.”
“I did.”
“Even if it means doing things differently than you would?” Up until the heart attack, Gus had had the last word on all company decisions, which was why they owned La Petite Bouchée in the first place.
“Yes.”
Donovan drew in a bracing breath. “I need to make my own name.” Make up for his failed initial attempt to crack the market on his own.
His mother blinked at him, but his father merely pressed his fingertips to his lips. “I see.”
Tempting Donovan Ford Page 8
