“I followed you here because I want to be with you.” He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. Julia shivered. “I want you to be happy. I needed to show you that.”
He’d definitely shown her something. “Donovan.” She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. He was still warm from their lovemaking. “I understand. I do. But you have to let me figure this out on my own.”
He nodded, a short bob of his head. “About us, you mean.”
“About everything. You, the restaurant, the future.” Everything was too tangled up right now—her thoughts, her wants, her legs with Donovan’s.
“I love you.”
Her throat ached to say the words back. She didn’t.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT HURT THAT Julia didn’t say she loved him. But Donovan didn’t push. It wouldn’t be meaningful if he pushed.
Instead, he tugged lightly on the sheet she’d tucked under her arms to get her attention. “Julia.” She leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes. But Donovan wasn’t so easily denied. He’d flown more than half a day to get here, so a pair of closed eyes wasn’t going to stop him.
He knew he could keep pushing, could insist that she tell him what was going through her head, her concerns and fears, and then explain that he could help her with all of that. Or he could try a different tactic.
He ran a hand up and down her arm. He never grew tired of touching her skin. Must be all the hours she spent in a hot, humid kitchen that kept it so soft. He captured her wrist and drew it toward him so he could kiss the inside of her elbow.
“I thought you wanted to talk.”
“This is a form of talking.” He licked the soft skin this time. She always tasted sugary, as though she spent her days working in a bakery. “So sweet,” he murmured.
“I splashed chocolate affogato on myself.” Her voice was gentle in the quiet room. The curtains were still open, the soft glow of streetlamps illuminating the bed.
He kissed the spot again, ran his tongue along the delicate folds to lap up any missed spots. “What is that?”
“A dollop of vanilla ice cream drowned in hot chocolate.”
Donovan hummed his approval. He could do a lot with chocolate. And the idea of drowning portions of her body in it, where he would gallantly come to the rescue, sounded incredibly appealing. And tasty.
He pressed another kiss to her skin. “Maybe you should put it on the menu.”
“Donovan. Stop.” She rolled away. “Don’t distract me. You can’t stay here.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
He wanted her to say yes, to point at the door. She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m confused.” She glared at him. “You confuse me.”
“I love you.” Because in his opinion, that was the most important thing. “That means I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy. You don’t have to decide about the restaurant tonight.” He lifted both hands to offer surrender. “But I want you to know that I’m serious. About you and the restaurant.”
“What does that mean?” She watched him warily now.
“Just what I said. I want to be with you.”
“And the restaurant?”
“If you want to buy it, it’s yours. It was always more yours than mine. More yours than any of ours.”
She nodded. “I appreciate that. Really. But I’m not ready to make that decision.”
“Is it because of me? What if Owen were the one to make this offer?”
“Owen wouldn’t be naked in bed with me.”
She flipped over to face him. Her nipples brushed against his chest, peaking at the gentle touch. He’d have thought she was trying to distract him again, but her expression was serious. “I’m not refusing. But this would be easier if I didn’t—” She halted.
“Didn’t what?”
She tilted her face down and away. “If I didn’t love you.”
Donovan released the breath caught in his lungs. She loved him. In his world, that made everything okay. Or pretty close. He reached out and put a finger under her chin, raising it up until their eyes met. “I’m going to need to hear that again.”
She scowled. “Maybe I don’t want to say it again.”
He waited, patiently, smiling until she blinked.
Then he leaned forward, pressed his lips to hers. Their eyelashes practically touched. “I love you.”
He felt her intake of breath, a pulse, almost a hiccup, saw her eyes soften. “I love you.”
He reveled in the admission for a moment until she poked him in the chest, and this time not with her nipples.
“Stop looking smug.”
“I love you. You love me. What’s not to feel smug about?” He gathered her so close that their bodies pressed together. “Since we’re admitting what’s in our hearts, you want to tell me what’s holding you back about the restaurant?”
She stiffened, but he didn’t let go. He ran a hand up and down her back in a slow, smooth rhythm until he felt her muscles slacken. Then he rubbed some more.
“I thought you wanted the restaurant.”
“I did.” She let her chin fall to her chest again and exhaled, her breath brushing across his pecs. “I do.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
“I did a lot of thinking over the past month.” She kept her face averted. “And I convinced myself that I didn’t need the restaurant to feel fulfilled or happy. That it wasn’t La Petite Bouchée I wanted. I could be equally happy owning any restaurant.”
“Even the diner?”
She flicked a glance at him. “Let’s not talk crazy.” She lowered her eyes again. “And now you’re back in my life and you’re offering everything I want and I want to say yes.”
“But?” he asked helpfully.
“But I don’t know which feeling is real. Do I really want a brand-new space with no memories or does it just feel safer, less scary because if it failed, it wasn’t really mine yet?”
Donovan considered that. “Did I ever tell you about my first foray into the industry?”
She glanced up. “If you tell me how it was scary, but it ended up being a big success and—”
“That’s not what happened. I failed. Miserably. We shut down after only a year and after bleeding my trust fund dry. So I understand the fear of losing something you really want to succeed.” He reached up to stroke her hair. “But that doesn’t mean you stop trying.”
“No, but I don’t have to put my heart on the line, either. Maybe it’s better to leave the restaurant with you. You’re the one with experience and support from other properties.”
“But you’re the one who loves it.”
“I do.” She nodded. “But it would kill me to see it close down. After how hard we worked.”
He could understand that. “Would it be easier to see someone else take it over? See someone else in your kitchen? Changing your menu?” He could tell by the way her lips tightened that it wouldn’t. “So maybe we consider something else.”
“Like?”
“Maybe you don’t buy it, you buy in. Shares, part ownership.” He’d thought through this eventuality, had found it more appealing than he’d expected.
She tilted her head to the side. “But I’m not part of your family.”
His hands stopped. Did she really not see it?
“I know that’s important to you.” And Donovan recognized the thick tone of her voice, the emotion so strong that it infused every word. “It was one of the first things you ever said to me when we talked about the restaurant. The business is only for family.”
He had said that. He still believed it. Family was still important to him and so was the family business. He’d fight for both of them. Julia clearly understood that, but she didn’t understand one other very important thing.
“Julia.” Now it was his voice thick with emotion. He looked down at her. “Haven’t you realized yet? You are part of my family.”
* * *
BUT WAS SHE REALLY?
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Julia couldn’t quite decide. Donovan was certainly acting as if he believed it. He’d respected her wishes and given her some space in Paris. But after the first day of touring the sights alone, eating by herself and sleeping solo, knowing he was just down the hall, that he’d be by her side in a minute if she asked, Julia had been forced to admit that she missed him. That she didn’t want that space. So she’d called, a sense of relief filling her chest as soon as she’d heard his voice on the phone, and he’d spent the remainder of their nights in Paris in her hotel room, even moving his toothbrush to her bathroom.
They’d talked about the restaurant only once. When he’d brought it up over dinner, reaffirming that La Petite Bouchée was hers if she wanted it and even producing a contract from his suitcase stating as much. But she’d told him she still had some thinking to do and she’d let him know when she was ready to discuss terms or conditions or anything at all to do with his offer.
Part of her wondered why she didn’t just accept his offer. Ten percent ownership, with an option to increase to twenty-five. All she had to do was agree and go back to doing what she loved best: cooking.
But she still felt uncertain about their situation. Sure, they’d spent most nights together since they’d returned from Paris. But that had been only a couple of weeks. He said he loved her, but they had no official ties. Did he see a lifetime with her? Or was this something more transient? Because suddenly, that felt just as important as any shares.
Julia exhaled and stared at the wall in her apartment. They’d flown home two days ago, but she still hadn’t been able to make up her mind.
She didn’t want a minimal stake in anything and she didn’t want pity shares. And that was what this felt like. She exhaled again. Except Donovan said it wasn’t. He said she could turn down the offer. He encouraged her to meet with a lawyer and ask for other concessions. But Julia wasn’t sure she wanted that.
She didn’t want a business relationship. And that was holding her back. She felt as though the business was tied to their relationship and she didn’t want it to be. She exhaled once again and let her head fall back against the gray chair that had been her mother’s favorite.
She’d gone back to The Sun Café this morning and surprised herself by quitting. But the relief in her heart told her it was the right thing to do. She might not be sure where her career was heading, but she knew it didn’t include coming home with the scent of home fries and sausage clinging to her hair.
Then she’d had lunch with Sasha. Her best friend still wasn’t enjoying her new position as executive chef and told Julia she’d better figure out her plans quickly so that she could hire Sasha away from her current drudgery. Julia only pointed out that Sasha deserved a lifetime of drudgery after breaking the best-friend code and telling Donovan where she’d gone. But she couldn’t be too mad, since Sasha had had only her best interests at heart.
Plus, Sasha had told Owen, not Donovan. So really it was Owen who deserved her censure.
They talked about Julia’s trip and reconciliation with Donovan and Sasha’s hellish night of service last Friday. And Julia pretended everything was fine, that her heart didn’t ache whenever she thought of the restaurant, that she didn’t miss the long hours and the laughs with staff. That it didn’t kill her to listen to Sasha talk about it. The good and the bad and occasionally the ugly, like the server who’d walked out in the middle of service because he was “looking for something a little less stressful.”
But it bothered her. She wanted to handle the hellish night of service. She wanted to hire the new server to make sure they were the right fit for La Petite Bouchée. But she couldn’t bring herself to sign that contract. She plucked at the hem of her peach dress and brooded.
She was still brooding when Donovan arrived at her apartment that evening.
“Hello, beautiful.” He kissed her, and when he did, she forgot about all those worries. With his arms around her, she felt sure. But was she? “You ready?”
Julia forced a smile to her lips and the disconcerting thoughts out of her head. “Yes. Where are we going?” She turned to look at Donovan, who’d only told her to wear something nice as he was taking her out for dinner. She’d accessorized her summery peach dress with her mother’s pearls. They felt warm against her skin. She lifted a finger to touch them as they exited her building and headed toward his car.
“You’ll see.”
She wished he’d just tell her, but he seemed to enjoy the little secret and she enjoyed letting him have it. She resolved to sit back and enjoy the ride. And she did. Right up until Donovan turned the car toward Granville Island.
Her eyes shot toward him, her body tense. But he remained relaxed, hands easy on the wheel as he steered the car through the heavy throngs of summer crowd and pulled up in front of La Petite Bouchée.
Julia balked. She hadn’t been back since quitting. Not once. She feared it would be too easy to fall into the rhythms she’d built and created, to take up as executive chef once more. Her hands fisted.
“Donovan?” She glanced at him. True to his word, the restaurant was still part of the Ford Group. Even though she happened to know that he’d received three offers on the property in the past month, each one more generous than the last. “What are we doing here?”
“It’s time to come back.” He climbed out of the car, came around to the passenger side to help her out.
Julia didn’t move, didn’t even unbuckle her seat belt. She stared at the hand Donovan held out to her. She wasn’t ready to come back.
Her flowing peach dress felt constricting, as though the straps were going to reach up and wrap themselves around her throat, and the gold belt seemed to cut into her waist. Even her strappy gold shoes, which she had to buckle on the last hole to fit her narrow feet, felt tight, as if everything was biting into her.
“I know you’ve missed it.”
His voice was gentle and warm. It rained down on her like a summer drizzle. “It’s time to face the kitchen.”
She smiled and some of the panic abated. She had missed it. Desperately. She put her hand in his and climbed out of the car.
The air, cooler near the water, eased some of the tightness in her throat. She heard the familiar call of seagulls scavenging for food on the pier just off the market, smelled the briny scent of the ocean and felt it ease a little more. She’d missed this. Not just the cooking and the people, but the place and the location. She probably shouldn’t have stayed away.
She took strength from Donovan, absorbing it the way her pans absorbed heat from the stove. “I have missed it.” And she let him lead her down the walkway to the window beside the front door, still emblazoned with her name.
La Petite Bouchée
Executive Chef: Julia Laurent
She didn’t say he should change that. She didn’t mention it at all. But her eyes stole back to the gold script as they walked through the door. Her name. Her restaurant.
The hostess blinked when she saw her. “Chef.”
“Just Julia now,” she said, though it made her heart hurt. But it was true. Her name might be on the door, but she was no longer the chef here and the staff shouldn’t refer to her as such. She forced a smile.
The hostess nodded. “The rest of your party is already here.” She led them out of the small entry and into the main dining room. Julia was pleased to see the place was hopping.
La Petite Bouchée might not be hers right now, but it was still her hard work that had helped make it a success. Her opinion that had gotten the beautiful walnut bar instead of the glossy white one Donovan had wanted. Her food on the menu.
Her smile grew in size and sincerity when she saw who made up the party waiting for them. She turned to look at Donovan. “What’s all this for?”
“You’ll see.” He merely guided her toward a table at the back. She tensed when she saw who was waiting for them. His parents, Owen and Mal. She was half thrilled, half panicked and sent him a questioning look.
&nb
sp; “They missed you, too.” His hand was warm on the small of her back. “Almost as much as I did.”
Julia wanted to say something. To him, to them. But she couldn’t get anything past the lump in her throat.
“Where have you been hiding yourself?” Gus rose to pull her into a warm bear hug. His arms were strong and protective. “Tell my son to stop hogging you to himself.”
“Can you blame me?” Donovan moved to tug her back, but Gus spun them away.
“I’m not done with her yet.” He gave her another hug then a stern look. “I’m not very happy that you haven’t been to see us, young lady.”
And Julia felt the lump become a boulder. Maybe she should have gone to see Gus and Evelyn. Should have looked past her own hurt, sucked up her fear and knocked on their door. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” He smiled, and the boulder shrank to a pebble. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Because they missed her and they wanted to see her. The affection they shared with her wasn’t wholly based on her relationship with Donovan. Julia realized she was accepted and it was the greatest feeling in the world. “Yes, sir.”
“And don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.”
Owen cleared his throat noisily.
“That’s enough out of you,” Gus told his younger son. He turned Julia back to the table. “Did you hear I’ve taken up gardening?” He looked awfully pleased with himself, which surprised her, given his less-than-enthusiastic response to foods that were green.
She nodded as pleasure spiraled through her. It was as though she’d never been apart from them at all. But maybe that was how it was with family. “I heard you’ve got quite the green thumb. How’s that going?”
“Why don’t you come by and see for yourself.”
“Dad.” Donovan took Julia’s hand back. “Now you’re the one hogging her.”
“I’m just making up for lost time.”
“Gus.” Evelyn rose and put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Let the rest of us say hello, too.”
“Fine, fine,” Gus grumbled, but he sent Julia a wink over his wife’s head. A private communication between the two of them. Like an inside joke that could be shared only between loved ones.
Tempting Donovan Ford Page 24
