Chapter Twenty-Three
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Carly’s voice, familiar and yet rusty in Adrian’s mind, struck a direct bull’s-eye into the center of his chest. “I bumped into the bar manager in the parking lot, and he let me in. I got your message, but I shouldn’t have . . . I can just—”
“Wait.” Teagan slipped around him, her eyes moving over Carly from her trademark dark French braid to the tiny yet definite swell of her belly that hadn’t been there even three weeks ago. “You must be Carly. Come in.”
Surprise dominated Adrian’s chest as Teagan offered Carly the welcome that lay lodged beneath his sternum. He stood, completely frozen to the rubber mats behind the bar, with his pulse moving in a thousand directions, watching Teagan walk toward the spot where Carly appeared equally frozen by the door.
“Teagan O’Malley. My dad owns the place.” She extended a hand, inviting Carly in with a nod of her head.
“Carly di Matisse. Carter,” she added, her face flushing. “Sorry to, um, interrupt.”
“Not at all. It’s nice to meet you,” Teagan said, swinging her gaze to Adrian. “I’m going to go help Jesse with prep so you two can catch up.”
She threaded a quick glance between him and Carly, giving a tiny nod before slipping past the swinging door. The muffled clink of pots and pans being put to use filtered past the heavy silence in the dining room, and the sounds of the kitchen, coupled with the reassuring look in Teagan’s eyes as she left him to it, made him kick his feet into gear.
Adrian might not know the right words to express his feelings, but he sure as hell needed to try.
“I’m glad you came.” He rounded the bar, hooking his fingers beneath the back of one of the stools to flip it upright and turn it toward Carly. “You want to sit down?”
“Sure.” She crossed the hardwood to settle herself at the bar, taking a quick visual inventory of the dining room before sending a longer gaze back in his direction. “You look really good.”
“Thanks. But to be fair, the last time you saw me, I’d just gone ass over teakettle on Rural Route Four,” he reminded her, moving back behind the mahogany to pop the lid on the cooler beneath the bar. Grabbing a carton of orange juice, he poured her a glassful, the simple motions knocking his unease down yet another notch.
Carly bit her lip. “No, I mean . . .” She fumbled to a stop, reeling back whatever she’d meant to say. “Look, you and I have never beat around the bush with things, so I’m just going to come out with it. I know you’re really mad at me for telling you to take time off, and maybe I shouldn’t have made assumptions about what you need. I didn’t mean to shut you out. But—”
“I’m not mad at you.” The words shot from Adrian’s mouth, hitting his ears before they’d even registered in his brain, and Carly pulled back against her bar stool.
“You’re not mad.” The words betrayed her disbelief, and okay, it was time to start manning up with the truth.
“Well, I was mad. But I was also an idiot, because you were right.”
“I’m sorry.” A shot of surprise streaked over her expression. “What did you say?”
Adrian met her wide-eyed stare across the bar. “You were right. I needed some time off to figure out what was really important. I wasn’t living with no regrets. In fact, I wasn’t really living at all.”
He might have hated every ounce of Carly’s six-weeks-no-exceptions mandate at the time, but the truth was, if she hadn’t put him on leave from La Dolce Vita, he wouldn’t have ended up here at the Double Shot, helping Teagan.
And wasn’t hindsight just a bitch and a half?
“I was worried,” she said, fiddling with the end of her braid over one shoulder. “And mad at you, too.” That got a tiny smile out of her. “But mostly just scared you’d lost track of who you are.”
“You’ve always had my back, gnochella. You’re a better friend than I deserve.” Adrian straightened, stabbing his boots into the floorboards with purpose. “And I talked to Big Ed this morning. You don’t have to worry about him harassing you anymore.”
Carly scoffed, but Adrian caught the relief beneath the gesture. “Yeah, he’s a peach. Can’t say I’ll miss him when your parole is up next month.”
“You took a huge risk telling him you’d seen me and that I was fine.”
“I know. Jackson already read me the riot act. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I didn’t lie to your parole officer, Adrian. I told him you were fine, and you are.” She paused, taking in the quiet hush of the Double Shot’s dining room. “But I should’ve known you wouldn’t stay out of the kitchen.”
Carly’s smile was too bittersweet to hold any of the zing she’d likely wanted to pin to the gesture, and Adrian jumped to reassure her.
“I know you meant for me to take time off to heal, but Teagan’s a paramedic, and I stuck to the doc’s orders. I’m not cooking. Well, not really. I’m still stuck with this thing.” He held up the arm trapped in its fiberglass stockade. “But the physical therapist says my shoulder is healing even better than she expected, so once the cast comes off in a couple of weeks, I should be good to go back and start cooking again.”
Her dark brow popped. “You want to come back to La Dolce Vita?”
For a brief flash of a second, both yes and I don’t know fought a turf war for Adrian’s response, and really? Was he losing his mind?
“Of course I want to come back. I belong in the kitchen.”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, but you’re in the kitchen now,” Carly said, and oh shit. He’d never considered that she’d think he didn’t want to come back to work.
“I am. But me working here is temporary. Teagan needs the boost, and I’m on board with helping her. But she knows that once I’m clear, I’m not staying. Well, not in her kitchen, anyway.”
“But you’re staying with her otherwise?” Rampant curiosity covered Carly’s face, and Adrian’s gut knotted in an all-too-familiar trip toward lockdown status.
“Yeah.” He stretched the word all the way out before letting it go. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Oh. Okay.” Carly nodded, taking a sip of her juice. She’d always sensed and respected his need for a wide berth with personal stuff, and his born-in survival instinct had always kept him from doing anything other than take it, carte blanche. When his nonna died. When he fell in love with Becca. When he lost control of everything around him and got arrested.
But for the first time, Adrian didn’t want to stuff his feelings aside or pretend they weren’t real.
He was tired of guarding who he was for fear of being rejected.
“Move over,” he said, taking the handful of steps needed to eliminate the bar between them, and Carly sat up so fast, a healthy splash of orange juice sloshed over the rim of her pint glass and onto the napkin beneath.
“Why?” she asked, but Adrian didn’t budge. Instead, he pulled down the bar stool next to hers, angling himself against the black leather cushion with a grin he hadn’t felt in far too long.
“Because I want to get comfortable, that’s why. This is gonna take a while.”
Teagan slung a blue and white kitchen towel over one shoulder, breathing in the spicy punch of chili powder and smoked paprika so deeply, she could feel the pop of flavors on her tongue.
“Gotta hand it to you, Superman. I never thought of adding chili to the menu in the beginning of the summer, but this smells too good to pass up.”
Adrian stepped in behind her, and the insinuation of his nearness alone sent Teagan’s pulse into a lather. “Throw a couple of seasonal vegetables into a dish, and you’d be shocked what you can get away with. Plus, it stays cool here in the mountains until at least June, so this should go over well on the trial menu.”
“Along with everything else,” she said over a laugh. “I swear I think each idea you’ve come up with over the last four days has tasted better than the last.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” He pushed her ponytail over one shoulder of her dark red T-shirt, leaning in to watch her movements from where he stood. “You’re the one who cooked those dishes. All I did was advise.”
Teagan gave a less than ladylike snort, melting into the hard, sturdy plane of Adrian’s chest with a smile and sigh combination that felt so freaking good, it should really be illegal. “The best you’re going to get out of me is that we’re even on this little endeavor. Take it or leave it.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Red.” His mouth brushed over the sensitive skin of her neck, his dark and sexy smile threaded all the way through his words. “But I’ll take it.”
With a week and a half to go until the street fair and all the planning locked in place, she and Adrian had been able to take a look at some of the downward trends the Double Shot had spiraled through lately. Adrian’s suggestions for some subtle yet definite changes to the menu by testing new dishes as daily specials had generated several great ideas over the last few days—not to mention a lot of rave reviews from Brennan, Jesse, and the waitstaff as they taste-tested the recipes. With Adrian spearheading the concepts and Teagan channeling her energy into executing them just right, they’d come up with plenty of options to give business a boost. If the plan worked, they’d pull off a much-needed brightening to both the menu and the restaurant’s income while still keeping the Double Shot’s tried-and-true classics.
Teagan trailed a wooden spoon through the stockpot in front of her, admiring the bright yellow burst of corn kernels peppered throughout the burnished brown chili. “It was really nice of Carly to sit down and talk with me about how she’s using the produce grown on-site at the resort to boost La Dolce Vita’s menu. I had no idea it could work so seamlessly.”
“It takes a lot of hard work to set it up. Carly’s a true testament to that. But yeah,” Adrian agreed, kissing her neck one last time before stepping back to grab a battle-tested pot holder from the shelf above the oven. “The results are worth the effort. Being able to use fresh produce grown on-site is a huge win.”
She nodded, mentally pouting at the loss of his body so close to hers but willing her mind to stick to the topic at hand. “Obviously, we don’t have the space or funds for that kind of project here. But Brooks Farm is right in Bealetown, and to be honest, I’d kind of forgotten how much produce they grow.”
“Plenty of restaurants work out deals with local farms. We could take a look at the ordering overall, see where you might be able to scale back on some of the prepackaged stuff to replace it with fresh ingredients. A lot of the time, the commercial items are more expensive anyway. Then if you want, I can go with you to talk to whoever runs the farm.”
Adrian bent down low to slide a nine-by-thirteen pan of perfect, golden corn bread from the belly of the oven next to the spot where Teagan stood at the burner. She was tempted to tell him to take it easy using both hands in the kitchen, but damn, her mouth was too busy watering.
And then she caught sight of Adrian’s gaze on her, intense and hungry and oh so hot, and all rational thought flew out of her brain. God, she wanted to let go, to give in to the delicious need swirling deep in her chest and fall totally, irrevocably, insanely in love with him.
But her tried and true survival instinct made her bite back the feeling, the same way she’d tamped down the words she’d very nearly uttered when Carly had walked into the bar the other day.
You might be in love with him, but what if he leaves anyway?
“Okay, sure,” Teagan said, shaking off the thought. Adrian had made no bones about his intention to stay with her, even after he went back to work at La Dolce Vita and she returned to the station in a couple of weeks. Though her father’s health wasn’t a hundred percent, he’d finally taken a turn for the better and was steadily improving. Once she found a full-time cook to replace Lou and help her dad manage the bar, plus implement these new changes to the menu, things would look up even further.
Maybe then she could finally lose the ominous pang beneath her breastbone.
Teagan planted her boots into the kitchen tile, her resolve bracketed down nice and tight. “I’d love help getting all the options together for how to boost business and lower cost. I’m going to need all the details I can get before I talk to my father about the menu anyway.”
“You think he won’t go for the changes?” Adrian asked, turning the corn bread out onto the cutting board of the adjacent workstation and slicing it with methodical care.
At that, she had to crack a smile. “I think he’s a little stubborn, especially when it comes to change. But business has been flagging for a reason, and it’s possible the place just needs a few small changes. We’ve come up with some great ideas, so I’m hoping the old man cuts me a break in the listening department.”
“Ah,” came a familiar voice from the alcove by the side door, and Teagan’s heart made a hard leap against her rib cage. “I knew my ears were burnin’ for a reason, pretty girl. But whatever you’re cookin’ up in here smells good enough for me ta consider givin’ ya the benefit of the doubt.”
“God, Da!” Teagan splayed one hand over her chest and the other across the back of Adrian’s shoulder in an effort to stay his lightning-fast defensive stance in front of her. “You can’t sneak up on me like that.” She slipped around Adrian, whose expression morphed to recognition as he took in the exchange, and she served her father with a stern frown even as she moved to pull him in for a hug.
“Looks as if I’m not the sneakier of us,” he tossed back as they parted, sliding a pointed glance at her cooking partner, and ohhhhhkay. This wasn’t going to be awkward at all.
Just as long as the kitchen floor crashed open to devour her in one giant gulp.
“Right!” Her cheeks went thermonuclear, and she hauled in a breath that barely made the trip past her windpipe. “You remember I told you I had someone, um, helping me out in the kitchen? Well, this is Adrian. He’s a chef at the restaurant at the resort. Adrian, this is my father, Patrick O’Malley.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Adrian said, his voice laced with quiet caution, and her father stepped in to squarely meet his handshake even though Adrian’s palm eclipsed his two to one.
“Likewise.” Her father flashed her with a look that read well, that explains a lot. Ugh, great. She was as transparent as she felt. Her father’s red-gray brows slid upward as he took Adrian in from his scuffed black motorcycle boots to the finger-combed tousle of his hard-edged platinum hair, and Teagan braced for impact.
“Teagan mentioned you’ve been runnin’ the kitchen together the last few weeks,” he said, settling his gaze back on Adrian’s. “It looks as if I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Adrian’s head snapped up, as if it was the last thing on earth he’d expected her father to say, and holy crap, that made two of them. “Oh, ah, it’s not a problem. I had some time off from the resort.” He skimmed his free hand absently over his cast before locking both arms down at his sides. “I’m just happy to help.”
True to his ingrained charm, her father tipped his head with a boyish grin that defied most of his years. “Well, I’m grateful for it. Without you, I suspect this one would’ve worked herself into an early grave. As it stands, I’m shocked to my shoes ta see her in the kitchen without any fuss.”
Oh no. Not a chance. She didn’t care how relieved she was that her father seemed okay with Adrian in the kitchen.
If they ganged up on her, even playfully, she was toast.
“Excuse me, I don’t fuss,” Teagan said, pinning the words with a hearty dose of we’re so not talking about this. She stepped back toward the stove to give the pot a stir, surprised to find the motion soothing. “And if I work too hard, it’s because I learned from the best.”
“Ah, see how she turns it into a compliment so I can’t complain? Tricky girl.”
“Mmm. A wise old man once told me you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. I’m just taking his lead.”
Her father placed a hand over the center of his plaid flannel shirt, feigning injury despite the glimmer of a smile. “Old man! How you wound me.”
“Oh, come on. I said you were wise,” Teagan pointed out, although her own smile escaped without permission. She tapped the edge of the wooden spoon on the lip of the stockpot, balancing the utensil over a spoon rest on the counter before she turned to give her father an appraising look. “So how come you’re out here today? You’re supposed to be taking it easy before your appointment with Dr. Riley this afternoon.”
“Bah, taking it easy is boring. Anyway, I was hungry. Thought I’d see what ya had brewin’ down here. Looks like my intuition served me well, and not just with the food.”
Her father eyeballed both her and the stockpot on the burner with obvious interest, and her gut knotted. There was no point in delaying the inevitable now that her father had clearly overheard her conversation with Adrian, and truly, the Double Shot’s books were running on fumes. Sure, the street fair would take care of the immediate cash flow crisis, but in the long run, they needed more than a quick fix for a slow problem.
“Okay, Da. You’re right. But obviously, things around here need to change a little when you come back. Maybe it’s time we took a look at how to make those changes work for the better.” Teagan swallowed past the knot tightening in her throat. “I don’t want you to get healthy only to come back and burn out again. I want the restaurant to be really successful, like you’ve always dreamed.”
Before her father could answer or she could scoop in a shaky breath to continue, Adrian’s gravelly voice filtered through the quiet of the kitchen.
“I’m going to let you two talk.” He turned to move down the line toward the swinging door to the dining room, and Teagan’s protest flew from her mouth before she could even register forming the word.
“No.”
But it was twined around an identical objection, and both she and Adrian halted midstep to stare at her father.
“No. These ideas for changin’ things, they’ve come from both of ya, haven’t they?” he asked, but Teagan shook her head. Adrian might’ve come up with the specifics, but she’d been the one to push for something different in the first place. If her father was going to take exception, it should be with her.
“No, Da. This was all my—”
“Yes.”
For the barest sliver of a moment, Adrian’s eyes flashed green gray with apology, but then he planted himself at Teagan’s side with resolve rolling off his huge frame in waves.
“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mr. O’Malley. The Double Shot is your restaurant. But yes. The suggestions for changes came from me, and I stand by them. Just like I stand by your daughter.”
Deafening silence battled with the slam of her heartbeat in her ears as Teagan stood perfectly still between the two men, unable to do anything but breathe. Finally, the corners of her father’s mouth twitched upward, displaying the charismatic smile she knew by heart.
“I told ya when I got here, I’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt. I’m not makin’ any promises, but I’m not fool enough to let pride get in the way of savin’ my bar. Now do an old man a favor and fix up a bowl of that chili, would ya? Looks like the three of us have got a lot ta talk about.”