The Waitress's Secret

by Kathy Douglass

  Though she claimed to have sworn off relationships, he knew that vow wouldn’t last. She had too much love inside to keep it to herself. Eventually she’d want to share that love with a man and, later, children. She’d want the white picket fence and all the trimmings. Before Sylvia, he’d wanted forever as well, and Arden would have fit into his life perfectly. But he didn’t believe in happily-ever-after. Not anymore.

  Arden stepped inside the kitchen, bringing with her the happiness and sunshine that followed her around even on the gloomiest day. “Did you need me?”

  “Yes.” He grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the pot. “Taste this.” He held the spoon up to her. Her eyes widened and she hesitated before opening her mouth and then closing her lips over the spoon. She swallowed but didn’t say anything.

  “Well?”

  “Bouillabaisse.”

  “And?”

  She tilted her head. “And what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “It tastes different somehow. Better.”

  “I’m trying to create a new recipe but can’t figure out what’s missing.”

  “Nothing’s missing. It’s good.”

  “But not great.”

  She laughed and her eyes lit as she looked longingly at the pot. “I think it’s great. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

  He filled a bowl, offered it to her, then pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down and eat.”

  “Thanks. I thought you’d never ask.” She ate another spoonful of soup, then looked up with her ever-present smile. “So do you do this a lot?”

  “Work on new recipes? Every Tuesday. I want to offer the best food to my customers and create new twists on old favorites. That requires work.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, not exactly work, but concentration and time.”

  “It sounds like fun.”

  “It is.”

  The spoon disappeared between her perfect lips and she moaned softly. He struggled to keep his imagination under control. She swallowed and he forced himself to refocus his attention on the missing ingredient and not the way her pink tongue flicked against her plump bottom lip.

  “How old were you when you decided you wanted to be a chef?”

  “Nine.”

  “Really? I thought boys that age wanted to be athletes or police officers or firefighters.”

  “Not me. I always knew I wanted to own my own restaurant. My grandfather had a soul-food restaurant. I started hanging out with him when I was about eight. Just a couple of hours a day in the summer and on Saturdays during the school year. I had my own stool in the kitchen where I watched him cook.” Brandon folded his arms against his chest, seeing the past so clearly it could have happened only yesterday. “He was something. A genuine artist. His food was phenomenal. Granddad made macaroni and cheese that was so good it made you want to slap your mama.”

  Arden’s laugh was a sweet sound that battered his flagging resistance. She was getting to him.

  “And his greens? Please. People came from all over the Midwest for a forkful. He didn’t play music in the restaurant because people loved his food so much they sang while they ate. The top choir directors used to get their best inspiration just from eating there.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Exaggerating maybe. But only a little.”

  “Well, if his food was anywhere near as good as yours, then it had to be great.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you study cooking in school, too?”

  “Yeah. I was the only dude in high school who took home ec. All the other guys were taking wood shop and auto mechanics. I might not be able to rebuild a car engine, but I can make a soufflé that can bring tears to your eyes.”

  “And bouillabaisse that is so good one bowl isn’t enough.”

  Taking her less-than-subtle hint, he refilled her bowl. “After high school I studied at the CIA.”

  “You’re a spy, too?” she asked, her spoon frozen inches away from her mouth.

  He chuckled. She really was cute. “No. The Culinary Institute of America. From there I went to France and later to Italy and Spain to learn.”

  “Then you came to Sweet Briar to open your restaurant,” she said, finishing the story for him.

  “Not quite.” His cell phone rang and he looked down at the screen. Sylvia. Again. Think of the devil and she’ll show up. She’d called him out of the blue three days ago. He’d been shocked to hear her voice after all this time. Before his lungs had filled with his next breath, an all-consuming rage had filled him and he’d told her never to call him again. Clearly she’d chosen to ignore that request. No surprise there. She didn’t believe rules applied to her.

  She’d cost him his dream and nearly his life, and yet she still had the nerve to track him down. Nothing she could say would ever be of the slightest interest to him. He’d been fooled once, but it wouldn’t happen again.

  Memories of his time working at a famous Chicago restaurant flashed through his mind, flushing his previous good mood. He’d been close to accomplishing his dream of becoming a nationally known chef when she’d entered his life with her treachery and all but destroyed him. In the end nothing remained of the life he’d mapped out for himself, so he’d moved to Sweet Briar and begun building a new life. A life that didn’t include love.

  * * *

  The sudden glacial look in Brandon’s eyes puzzled Arden. One moment they were laughing and talking, and then his phone rang. He’d frowned as he looked at the screen but hadn’t taken the call. Now the look on his face was cold enough to give her frostbite. A part of Arden told her to leave, but she ignored it. She wanted to know what had made him morph from a charming man into a living, breathing Popsicle. And why pain had flashed in his eyes before he masked it.

  “Oh. That’s right. You moved from Chicago three years ago. I remember you telling me that. Why did you move here?” She didn’t know if the phone call was responsible for the change in his attitude or if talking about his reason for moving to Sweet Briar was the cause, but she was curious about the rest of his story. Maybe hearing it would help her understand why his mood had shifted so radically. And she wanted to understand. “Why move from Chicago, which has some of the best and most famous restaurants in the country, to a small town? You could get way more recognition there. And you deserve it. With your talent you could have your own cooking show and publish bestselling cookbooks.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  That answer should have been enough of a hint. Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it. A wiser woman would have let it go. She would have, too, if she hadn’t seen the pain behind the wall he’d erected and recognized that pain as one she’d experienced herself.

  It was the pain of betrayal. Although thinking of Michael-the-turd annoyed her, she didn’t hurt with the same intensity as she had when she’d discovered that he was only using her. But she knew now she hadn’t been in love. Not really.

  Whatever had happened to Brandon must have been truly devastating for him to still feel the ache. And it was clear he was hurting. Not only that, he’d uprooted himself, moving from Chicago, where his career knew no limits, to Sweet Briar. No matter how much praise he received from his customers, his career would never reach the zenith it once could have.

  It occurred to her that he was hiding from his life. Something she knew about all too well. Sure, he’d opened a restaurant and continued to create dishes, but his potential was severely limited. Maybe if she pressed, he would talk about it. And maybe, please God, maybe, he would get over the pain. She took a breath and let it out. “I’m sure you do have your reasons. But you have a great gift. An incredible gift. And you’re hiding your light under a bushel. Did you really study all those years just to open a restaurant in a town of less than two thousand people?”

 
He placed both hands on the table and inhaled deeply. When he looked up, she met his eyes and knew she’d made a mistake. He’d been angry before. Now he was furious. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “I’m not asking for an explanation. It’s just that I care. I don’t think your grandfather would be happy to see you’re not living up to your potential.”

  Brandon held up his hand, indicating she should stop. “You don’t know anything about me, so stop. Now.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” Guilt and sorrow filled her. She had wanted to make things better but, instead, had made them worse. Jumping up, she headed for the back door. Blinded by guilty tears, she missed a step and tumbled down two stairs before she was able to grab on to the railing.

  “Arden.” Brandon materialized, reaching out to her.

  She swatted his hand away, ashamed that she’d overstepped. Didn’t she hate it when her brothers tried to tell her what to do, like they thought they knew better than she did what was best for her life? And she had done the same to Brandon. “I don’t need your help. Thanks. I can make it down the stairs on my own.”

  “Obviously,” he said drily, and moved out of the way.

  Straightening, she put weight on her right foot and nearly crumpled. She must have made a sound of pain because he was there in an instant, sweeping her off her feet. Holding her in his arms, he hesitated a moment as if trying to decide what to do with her now that he had her. He shook his head and then climbed the stairs. He strode through the kitchen and down a hall, nudging open a partially closed door to what she guessed was his home office. After shoving books and papers onto the floor, he set her on a butter-soft leather couch.

  The room was bright although nothing to write home about. There were piles of cookbooks and magazines on a brown leather chair, the oak table and the floor. In fact, the only surface that wasn’t piled with books and papers was the enormous, gleaming desk. It held a phone, a desk calendar and a computer, all of which appeared to be perfectly centered. Interesting. It was as if two people inhabited this one space—one neat and the other incredibly disorganized. Sort of like the evil genius meets his anal twin.

  “Let me look at your ankle.”

  “I’m fine.” She tried to pull her leg away, but he grasped her calf firmly. Hot fire shot through her body. She wanted to believe the pain from her ankle caused the reaction, but that would have been the biggest lie ever told. His callused and knife-nicked hands gently holding her foot was responsible for the tingles that wiggled up and down her spine.

  “You’re not fine. Now hold still. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I know. But I feel like I hurt you. I’m just so embarrassed. I shouldn’t have overstepped. I know we’ve only known each other for a short time, but I feel close to you. Like I know you. But, still, I shouldn’t have said what I did. Please, please, please forgive me.”

  His intense eyes bored into her as if trying to see clear to her soul. She looked away and forced herself to continue, her voice much softer. “I don’t have a lot of friends and I thought you could be one. Believe it or not, I was trying to be a friend to you. But I forgot, friends don’t step over the line. Especially one so clearly drawn.”

  “I see.”

  Arden let the silence go on as long as she could stand. Was he her friend or not? Did he accept her apology? “Well?”

  “I don’t think your ankle is broken or even sprained. You just twisted it. I’ll get some ice.” He placed a couple of throw pillows under her ankle before leaving her alone, his actions speaking more eloquently than any words could. He wasn’t interested in being her friend. Her eyes welled and she blinked back tears, determined not to let him see just how deeply his rejection cut.

  “This should help,” he said as he returned. She turned her head away and swiped at the tear that had escaped, then turned back to him. He squatted beside her and gently placed the towel-wrapped ice on her swelling ankle before meeting her eyes. “And I accept your apology.”

  That was it? Well, what did she expect? She’d insulted him. Now she had to accept the fallout. She’d ruined something good. She blinked furiously, but another tear escaped and trickled down her face.

  “Don’t cry.”

  The kindness in Brandon’s voice was her undoing and the tears came faster. It would have been easier to maintain her control if he’d acted like a jerk the way she deserved. But his understanding broke the dam holding back the flood of emotions and sobs she’d refused to shed when she’d learned the truth about her so-called friends back in Baltimore.

  He sat on the couch and pulled her into his arms, his masculine scent surrounding her. She didn’t resist, but went gratefully, thankful for the comfort.

  He brushed his lips across her hair. His hands caressed her back gently. Gradually her tears slowed and the mood in the room shifted. It wasn’t a slow shift, but rather a dramatic one. One minute the feel was comforting. The next the room crackled with sexual tension.

  She’d found him attractive almost from the first second she’d laid eyes on him. What woman wouldn’t? With his handsome face, intelligent eyes and muscular physique, he was sex appeal personified. As she’d gotten to know him, she had discovered that a kind man lived within that gorgeous body.

  With her head against his chest, she felt his heartbeat change from slow and steady, the rate increasing until it matched the rapid beat of her own. She lifted her head and searched his eyes. They were so dark that the pupil and iris were nearly the same color. He lifted one corner of his mouth and huffed out what almost passed as a laugh, then lowered his head until his lips almost touched hers. “This is such a bad idea.”

  “I know.” But when he touched her lips with his own she didn’t think about turning away.

  Kissing her temporary boss and landlord might not be among her brightest decisions, but it was definitely one of the most pleasurable.

  Chapter Seven

  Brandon heard Arden sigh as she leaned closer. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, igniting a fire within him. Kissing her broke at least two of his rules, but when she put her arms around his neck and settled more comfortably on his lap, he couldn’t remember what they were. He angled his head and deepened the kiss. She tasted of the savory bouillabaisse she’d been eating and her own natural sweetness. The combination was heady and delicious, and his body responded as his desire grew.

  The telephone rang, bringing with it his sanity. He didn’t look at the screen, letting the call go to voice mail. It was enough to cool him off and help him regain control. He shouldn’t be doing this. Arden worked for him, even if only sporadically and despite the fact that she refused to accept payment beyond her tips. In his mind she was his employee, which put any type of physical relationship off-limits. Not only that, she was vulnerable. She might not be mourning the breakup with the jerk, but she’d been hurt recently. The pain was bad enough for her to go chasing across the country for some time away. Only deep hurt could cause such a reaction. He ought to know. With the two violated rules now clear in his mind, he reluctantly set her on the sofa beside him and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “I know I should apologize, but to be honest I’m not sorry.” Far from it. He wanted to kiss her until she didn’t know her own name.

  “Why should you be? I was a willing participant.” She scrunched up her nose, looking sexier than she should. “Do you apologize to all the women you kiss? I mean, I could see saying you’re sorry if you were a rotten kisser, but you’re not.”

  His chest puffed out with pride, which was ridiculous. He’d been kissing girls since he was thirteen. With fifteen years of practice he should be good. He brushed a finger across her flushed cheek, then across her lips, which were damp and a bit swollen. “That’s not why I’m apologizing. You were upset. I should have considered your state of mind
and exercised more self-control.”

  She shrugged away his concern, then nibbled her bottom lip. “I’m sorry for what I said. I do admire you. But I have no right to try to run your life. I know what that feels like.”

  He considered her words and admitted to himself that she hadn’t been entirely wrong. He had been running from his life when he’d first come to town. He’d been both physically and mentally scarred. But he liked the life he was creating here. “I know. And I believe you spoke from concern and friendship.”

  “I did. I don’t want to be a judgmental know-it-all.”

  “You’re not.” He cut her off, knowing she would apologize ceaselessly if he didn’t. Anyone could make a mistake. Certainly he had made his share. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Arden, this can’t happen again.”

  “The kiss, you mean?”

  “Yes. I shouldn’t have done that. I won’t do it again.”

  “What if I kiss you first?”

  “Still no.”

  “Oh, phooey.”

  He laughed. She was such a determined little thing. But he had rules. He might have considered overlooking the employer/employee rule since she was only temporary, but he wasn’t willing to break the most important rule of all: never become involved with a woman with whom he could fall in love. And Arden most assuredly fit into that category. Heck, the category might as well have been made for her. Even now he had to fight the urge to sweep her into his arms and pick up where they’d left off. But he wouldn’t want to stop there. And it wasn’t just because he desired her physically. He cared for her.

  “Can we still be friends?” Her voice sounded small and tentative, almost as if she expected him to say no.

  “Yes. We can absolutely still be friends.” He just needed to make sure his body understood the meaning of the word and that kissing was not included.

  She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Good. Because outside of my family I don’t have very many people in my life I can trust.”

  He could understand her lack of faith. He could count on one hand and still have fingers left the number of people he truly trusted who weren’t related to him. Somehow she was easing her way into that small circle. As much as he enjoyed holding her and despite how perfectly she fit in his arms or, perhaps, because of it, he needed to establish the necessary distance between them before he did something foolish like let her into his heart.