Since getting home hours ago, she and Hamish had waxed lyrical about the virtues of Eliza Coleman. He himself still wasn’t 100 percent convinced. While she’d relaxed a bit as the day went by—they’d even enjoyed a little fun banter about the secret ingredient—and had been friendly and engaged with his kids, her sudden departure had him unsure all over again.
One minute, she’d been happily trying to hold her own in a game of chess, the next minute, she’d been rushing out the door as if her chair had caught fire.
What had happened that had made her so skittish?
He wasn’t questioning her expertise to do the job he’d hired her for—her résumé was more than impressive, her references had all gushed about her and it was clear to see she knew the restaurant business as well as, if not better, than he did. But he needed her to charm customers and to manage staff without being so awkward. Since the interrupted interview, she’d rarely smiled and he wanted a head hostess who never stopped smiling.
“Dad?” Hallie reached up and palmed her hand against his cheek. “I said, do you think Eliza liked my drawings?”
“Of course, she did. How could anyone not love your drawings?” he asked, stifling a yawn as he leaned over to kiss her good-night. “Now, you need to get some sleep. School tomorrow and dance after school.”
“Okay. I’ll try,” Hallie promised, although her eyes sparkled as if she wasn’t tired in the slightest. Hamish had been the same when he’d put him to bed five minutes earlier. Where did kids get their energy from? If only there was some way he could transfer their energy over to himself, because right now he felt like he could sleep for a month and he knew things were only going to get worse as the opening day loomed.
He needed more hours in the day.
With a final, “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he switched Hallie’s light off and then headed down the hallway with a wistful glance into his own bedroom. His bed looked very welcoming but he knew, despite his exhaustion, he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d ticked a few more things off his to-do list.
Although he’d pretty much finalized the menu—they were off to the printers next week—he still wasn’t satisfied with all of the dishes. He wanted each item on the menu to be a unique take on the traditional, which required a little more experimentation before he felt ready to introduce them to the rest of his kitchen team. The team that was due to start a few hours a day next week.
“Would you like to join Blair and me for a nightcap?” His mom held up a bottle of McKinnel’s finest as he entered the living room to ask if she could keep an ear out for Hamish and Hallie.
“No, thanks. I was hoping to head back to the restaurant to do a few things. Do you mind listening out for the twins?”
As Blair aimed the remote at the TV and flicked through the channels, his mom frowned. “Of course, I don’t, but you’re working too hard, honey. Why don’t you take a night off?”
While he appreciated her concern, it also frustrated him. He could slow down once the restaurant was open and running smoothly but you only got one opening night. And he wanted to wow the town and do his family proud. He might not be a success when it came to relationships but this he could control.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he said, stifling another yawn. “Please, don’t fuss. The twins should be asleep soon, but buzz me if there are any problems.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” She relented with a sigh. “Don’t stay out too late.”
“I won’t,” he said, having no intention of coming home before he was good and ready. That was the problem with still living at home in your thirties—your mom sometimes forgot you were an adult. Maybe it was time to get a place nearby for him and the kids and hire a nanny to help him out, rather than always rely on his family. Then again, he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone else to look after Hamish the way he deserved.
Blair lifted the remote to wave goodbye. “Catch you later, bro.”
And Lachlan decided opening the restaurant was enough for now, that the other stuff could wait a little longer. Without another word, he headed out of the house and across the property to the restaurant.
* * *
Over the next few days, some of his anxiety about Eliza started to abate again. Every day, she arrived punctually (often before him), dressed to impress and proceeded to work hard for all the hours they were in the restaurant together. She still didn’t give much insight into herself but then again, with back-to-back interviews, there wasn’t really much time for deep and meaningful conversation.
She shone in the interviews, asking all the right questions, posing scenarios of difficult customers that the applicants had to role-play their way out of. He had to admit her businesslike manner was rather attractive and a number of times he found himself staring at her when he should have been concentrating on the task at hand. Thankfully, he didn’t think she’d caught him out.
In the rare moments between interviews, she showed him the progress she’d made on the social media accounts and he fed her to show her his appreciation. Watching anyone enjoy food that he’d thrown his heart and soul into gave him a buzz, but watching Eliza eat, he sometimes found himself harboring rather unprofessional thoughts. The way her lush red lips closed around her fork and her long eyelashes fluttered as she closed her eyes in satisfaction made him wonder if that was the expression she’d have during hot sex.
“Oh, my God, this is amazing.” Eliza almost moaned as she finished her first mouthful of butternut squash gnocchi with whiskey cream sauce, and he felt his trousers get a little tight. He loved a woman with a healthy appetite. Thank God there was a table between them hiding the evidence.
“Thanks,” he said—secretly pleased at her words—as he picked up his own fork to start on his lunch.
“Is there anything you can’t cook?”
“I’m not that good at scrambling eggs,” he admitted. Silently adding that he wasn’t bad either.
She laughed. She actually laughed—and he felt as if he’d won a gold medal in the freaking Olympics. Although their interactions had grown easier the more time they spent together, a smile from Eliza was as rare as a red banana. And it made him want to tell her all his best jokes, simply for the reward of another upward flicker of her lips.
“But when on earth are you finding the time to make all this delicious food?” she asked. “There’s been no time to cook between interviews.”
As if her question reminded his body of its fatigue, he had to stifle another yawn. “I usually come over here and play in the kitchen for a few hours after the twins have gone to bed.”
“No wonder you drink so much coffee,” she said, nodding toward the mug in front of him.
He shrugged. “It’s a necessary evil right now but I know it won’t be forever. I just want to make sure the recipes are right before the kitchen staff starts.”
She rubbed her lips together. “Well, this one tastes pretty much perfect.”
“Thanks.” He couldn’t help beaming at the compliment—late nights and eyes that felt like they needed to be kept open with matches would all be worth it if it got McKinnel’s on the map.
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked. “And more to the point, why?”
“I always liked cooking. It used to drive Dad wild that I’d rather cook with Mom than watch soccer with him and my brothers—he was very traditional like that. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind soccer—you kinda have to when you have a brother like Mac, who is so good he makes the state team and then goes on to play with the bigwigs.”
“Mac, who built this restaurant?” she asked, wide-eyed. “He plays professionally?”
“Uh-huh.” Lachlan nodded, forgetting that not everyone knew Mac’s history. “Well, he did until recently but he retired a year ago.” There was a lot more to that story—more he suspected than Mac had admitted even to them—but it wasn’t
his story to tell.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not really very sporty.”
He laughed. “It’s fine. Anyway, as I was saying, I used to cook a lot with Mom and my grandma when she was alive, but I never really considered doing it for a career until I went to Scotland. I always just assumed I’d follow in my father’s and grandfather’s footsteps and become a distiller. There’s kind of this rite of passage in our family where we all go back to the county in Scotland where my dad is from and spend some time working at a distillery there.
“Only the year I went, the distillery had a fire and their operations had to close while they rebuilt. I still had six months left on my ticket and didn’t want to come home early, so I got a job in a hotel in Inverness, working in the kitchen. I loved it so much more than I had working at the distillery and I knew then that this is what I wanted to do more than anything. Dad wasn’t very impressed, but luckily Callum was already working at the distillery and Blair had his sights set on a career as a distiller as well, so he got over it.”
“I guess that’s one of the benefits of having so many siblings,” she said. “It takes the parental pressure off you.”
He wanted to ask her then what her childhood had been like—aside from the divorce and the tragic helicopter crash—and whether her mom and dad had certain expectations for her, but she got in with another question first.
“Did you have any formal training?” she asked.
“Yes. When I came back from Scotland, I went to the Oregon Culinary Institute.” He went on to give her a brief rundown of his career to date and then asked her about the places she’d worked and the ones she liked the best while they finished their lunch.
She’d worked with some quite-famous chefs and he laughed as she told him some not-so-favorable stories about some of them.
When she’d scraped her plate clean, she stood and went to pick up both their plates. “I guess we should be getting back to work,” she said.
But strangely, he was in no hurry to do so. He’d enjoyed sitting, eating and chatting with her far too much—he felt as if they were finally getting to know each other a little better—and he didn’t want it to end just yet.
“Leave that,” he said, standing and gesturing to the empty plates. “I’ll deal with them. And can I get you some steamed sponge pudding with caramel-and-whiskey sauce to finish? It won’t be quite as good heated up as it is fresh out of the oven but...”
When he’d been working on perfecting the sauce last night, the caramel component kept reminding him of Eliza and that alluring scent she wore. It had almost driven him to distraction and for the first time in his life, he’d nearly burned the sauce.
“Are you kidding?” She placed her free hand on her tummy. “That sounds amazing and I already know not to expect anything less from you, but if you keep feeding me like this, I’m going to end up the size of a house. Not even a week of working with you and already my clothes are getting tight.”
It wasn’t an invitation to rake his gaze over her body but he couldn’t help himself. And what he saw—delicious curves in all the right places—had all the blood in his head shooting south.
“I think you’re perfect just the way you are,” he admitted, his voice low.
Her cheeks grew pink but their eyes met and held for a few long moments. He held his breath, wondering if he’d overstepped the mark by voicing such thoughts. It was hardly professional to be making eyes at the staff and the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable, but the words had just slipped out.
Lachlan was about to apologize when she said, “Thank you,” and smiled. “Maybe I will have a taste of that pudding after all. I mean, I can’t tell our customers how wonderful it is if I haven’t tasted it myself, now, can I?”
“Definitely not.” Silently, he let out a breath of relief as he headed into the kitchen to plate it up.
Following dessert, they discussed all the applicants they’d interviewed and made a short list of who they wanted to offer jobs to. While Eliza spent the next hour making phone calls to the lucky candidates, Lachlan sat at his computer and did some book work, which included finalizing an advert for the local paper. They passed the next few hours in companionable silence until Annabel arrived with his kids and any hope of silence flew out the open door as they rushed in.
Hamish and Hallie exploded with news about what they’d been up to that day, both talking over the top of each other. He laughed at their enthusiasm as he tried to direct the chatter and although he was glad to see them, he also couldn’t help feeling disappointed that his time with Eliza had ended for another day.
Chapter Seven
Late Thursday night, a week after Eliza had arrived in Jewell Rock, she lay in bed staring at her ceiling, wondering if she would ever sleep again. Working alongside Lachlan made the days almost bearable but they went far too fast and the nights dragged on like decades. She’d started taking an extralong detour on her way home from work, not only to take photos of Jewell Rock to send to Grammy, Lilly and Dad and to kill some of the calories she’d consumed at work, but also because it helped shorten the hours between getting home and going to bed.
Every time she closed her eyes, an image of Jack’s sweet little face popped into her head, quickly followed by his lifeless one—the latter of which she’d never be able to eradicate from her head.
Almost eighteen months after the day she’d lost her son, that afternoon still haunted her.
If only she’d decided to do something else that day. If only Jack had slept longer, then they wouldn’t have had time to visit her friend Kiana and her new baby. If only Kiana didn’t have a fishpond. If only...
Eliza tried to read books and watch a series that Lilly raved about on Netflix to distract herself from the “if only” game, but her concentration for such normal things—things she used to love doing to relax—was shot. For about five minutes, she’d considered getting a pet—imagined that it might be nice to have a cat to come home to and snuggle with or a dog she could take on walks—but then a little voice reminded her that if she couldn’t keep a child alive, what made her possibly think she was responsible enough to look after an animal?
She understood why Tyler couldn’t forgive her, because she could never forgive herself either.
And thoughts like that brought on the tears that she worked hard each and every day to keep away.
At ten o’clock, feeling as if she’d go insane if she lay there any longer, Eliza flung the covers off and jumped out of bed. She pulled on her comfiest jeans, a T-shirt, a light sweater, her sneakers and then tucked her cell in her pocket and headed outside. As she climbed onto her bike, a little voice in her head warned her that it was late and dark out and possibly not the smartest move for a woman (or anyone) to be out alone. But aside from the streetlights, the whole of Jewell Rock seemed to be asleep, and she figured if she stayed on the roads where there were plenty of houses, she’d be safe from wildlife.
An even darker voice wondered if it would truly be the end of the world if something bad did happen to her, but she pushed that aside. She peddled hard but kind of aimlessly, listening out for traffic and any other dangers as she circled around town hoping to finally exhaust herself enough for slumber.
After about twenty minutes, she found herself slowing in front of the entrance to McKinnel’s Distillery and guessed her legs had come here on autopilot. She paused, pushing herself high up on the pedals and balancing as she looked over the bridge and into the distance. The lake glistened beautifully in the moonlight and most of the buildings were in near darkness but light shone from the restaurant. She thought about Lachlan’s confession earlier that day that he was working late most nights.
Not really sure what she was doing—but knowing that when she was at the restaurant she felt better than when she was anywhere else—she dropped back to the seat and started over the bridge. Tha
nkfully, she didn’t need to go near the residential buildings to get to the restaurant as the last thing she wanted to do was wake Lachlan’s family. She dismounted the bike and leaned it up against a post, then slowly made her way up the couple of steps onto the restaurant’s porch.
As wood creaked beneath her feet, she froze. What the hell was she doing here this late at night? What if Lachlan got the wrong idea? She didn’t know exactly what that would be but she knew she didn’t want him to get it. Working in the restaurant was the only thing she had to live for at the moment and she didn’t want to do anything to mess that up.
She’d all but made the decision to retreat when the door opened and Lachlan’s silhouette appeared. “Eliza? Is that you?”
He wore faded jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt pushed up to the elbows, giving her a lovely view of his nicely sculpted forearms.
“Hi,” she said, feeling like someone who’d been caught trespassing.
He frowned and stepped into the porch light. “Did you forget something today?”
She deliberated a second, racking her mind for a logical excuse for her late-night appearance, then opted for the truth. “I’m not really sleeping well at the moment, so I decided to go for a bike ride. I didn’t really think about where I was going and my bike brought me here.”
“I’m glad,” he said, stepping back and holding the door as he gestured for her to go through. “I wouldn’t mind some company and a second opinion on a syrup I’ve been experimenting with. Want to come in?”
“Okay. If I’m not gonna get in the way?”
“Not at all.” He smiled warmly as she stepped past him and then shut the door behind them.
As they headed into the kitchen, he asked, “Why can’t you sleep?”
“Probably all the coffee we’ve been drinking during the day,” she said. Not wanting to tell him the truth, she quickly changed the subject. “So what exactly are you making?”
He crossed to the commercial-sized stove and turned the heat on under a pan. She guessed he’d turned it off when he’d trekked outside to investigate the noise. “Bourbon-vanilla maple syrup. It’s going to go with pumpkin pancakes, but I’m still trying to get the quantities right. Here, try it for me and see what you think.”
The Single Dad's Family Recipe Page 6
