Eight Months Later
JORDAN YOUNG FOLLOWED the other passengers through the little airport. It wasn’t like she’d get lost. The place only had one baggage belt.
Which she didn’t need. All her stuff was in the wheeled backpack—her mother insisted on wheels, made a huge stink about how bad carrying backpacks was on the spine—that Jordan dragged behind her. It wasn’t going to be a long trip.
Forget the aplastic anemia. Her mom was gonna kill her.
But at least she would meet her father first.
A tall blonde woman holding a sign with Jordan’s name on it stood near the revolving door.
The whole plan had been ridiculously easy once she’d finally found the investigator’s report about Finn Hawkins—Finn Hawkins. He had such a cool name. Plan the escape during the real chiropractic conference in Boston. Convince her mother to take her along. Use Mom’s TravelEasy online account and stored credit card info to book the flight from Boston to Erie. Use Uber to get her from the airport to her father’s restaurant, Fresh.
Ridiculously easy, thanks to the Internet.
Which she’d probably never have access to again.
“Hi. I’m Jordan Young,” she said to the sign holder.
The lady did a double take. “Aren’t you a little young to be traveling by yourself?”
Jordan shrugged. “I’m thirteen. My parents aren’t together. School’s out, and it’s Dad’s turn to have me.” Not a lie at all. She and Shelby, her BFF, whose parents actually were divorced and who shuttled her back and forth across the country several times a year, had come up with the cover story.
“Ah,” said the driver, nodding. She reached for Jordan’s pack. “You want me to take that?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
Outside, Jordan climbed into the backseat of the silver car. “You have the address, right?”
The driver pointed to her phone. “Yep. Fresh. I’ve been there. I had dinner there a few weeks ago for my birthday.”
“How was it?” Jordan asked as they pulled from the curb.
“Great. The food was amazing. I had lamb chops that were probably the best I’ve ever had.”
Jordan smiled. “My father’s the chef there.”
The driver looked at her in the rear-view mirror. “My compliments to the chef, then.”
“I’ll tell him. How long will it take to get there?”
“You haven’t been here before?”
“No. It’s his new place. I haven’t been down since he opened it.” No lies there, either.
“About twenty minutes. Maybe a half hour.”
Exhausted, but too anxious to grab a quick nap, Jordan pulled her cell phone from her bag and shot a text to Shelby: In Erie. What if he hates me?
A few minutes later, Shelby responded: What? Y u think that?
Jordan’s fingers flew over the keyboard. IDK. Nerves?
Shelby’s answer came faster this time. Worry more bout ur mom. She’s gonna b crazy mad!
No kidding. Call u later!
Kk. Send pics. Dying 2 c him!
They’d actually found pictures of him on the Internet. Loads of articles and reviews about him and his cooking had shown up on Google searches. Shelby had a huge crush on him, which sort of creeped Jordan out. Okay, so he was cute. So what? The guy was her father, not some movie star. Not even a TV chef.
Jordan stashed her phone and settled back against the seat. They’d gotten onto a highway, leaving her with little to look at. One highway looked much the same as another, from Maine to Boston to Erie, apparently. Road surrounded by trees, broken up by exits, dotted with buildings.
The longer they drove, though, the more her stomach churned.
By the time they pulled into an overflowing parking lot, she was certain her father’s first impression was going to be of her racing to the bathroom. Or worse, puking on his shoes.
The driver opened the door for her, and Jordan slid out, handing her a five-dollar bill. Shelby, her personal travel expert, had instructed her on tipping.
“Thanks,” the woman said. “Hey, are you all right? You look a bit pale.”
Unless she’d had a recent transfusion, pale was normal for her. “Traveling does that to me. Airport food is the pits.”
“I’m sure your father can take care of that. Enjoy your visit.”
As the car backed onto the road—the packed parking lot made anything else impossible—Jordan shouldered her backpack by one strap and trudged down the sidewalk. At the bottom of the steps, she paused.
Now that she was here, she wasn’t so sure about this. He’d been good enough to go along with Mom’s “save Jordan” plan, and now Mom was six months pregnant with her brother or sister.
Mom had said he was a nice, kind man. And that, yes, there were certain resemblances between them.
But that had been all she’d said. And her expression always got sort of weird when Jordan asked about him. More than it had before Mom had met him.
Jordan climbed the steps. The door opened into an entryway lined with empty coatracks, and another set of double doors. Inside, tantalizing aromas made her stomach growl. Maybe she was just hungry.
A young woman with shoulder-length dark hair came out of the dining room on the right, several menus clutched to her chest. She wore black pants and a crisp white blouse. “Hi, there,” she said to Jordan as she placed the menus on a small wooden podium at the bottom of a wide staircase. “Can I help you? Is the rest of your group still outside?”
Jordan shook her head. “I’m here to see Finn Hawkins, please.”
“Chef’s really busy right now. Saturdays are kind of crazy.” The woman gestured at the room on the opposite side of the foyer, where people clustered around the bar, or small tables, drinks in hand. “All those folks are waiting to be seated. Do you want me to take a message for him?”
Jordan set the backpack on the floor. “Yes. Please tell him his daughter is here to see him.”
The hostess’s mouth dropped open, then closed with a click. She cocked her head, looking at Jordan from all angles, her blue eyes growing wider and wider. Then she pointed to the stairs. “Why don’t you sit there for a minute?”
She whipped a cell phone out of her pocket, turning toward the wall and saying in a low voice, “Hayden? Get down here right now. The front desk, that’s where. Yes, now. I don’t care if you have a date tonight. I think you’re going to want to cancel it.” She whirled around again as she set the phone on the podium. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Jordan.”
“Jordan, I’m Kara.” The woman took her by the arm, guided her to the stairs. “You look tired. Sit down.”
At the top of the staircase, a door opened and closed. Feet hammered down the wooden treads. A muscular man in jeans and a tight red shirt eased past her. “Excuse me. Kara, what’s the big emergency? Finn will pitch a fit if he catches me out front on a Saturday night dressed like this.”
“How old are you, Jordan?” Kara asked.
“Thirteen.”
She grabbed the man who’d come down the stairs by the arm and dragged him toward the hallway—to move out of hearing, Jordan figured. But she had ears like a bat.
“Fourteen years or so ago, did you sleep with someone and tell her you were Finn?”
“What? Did you get into the wine cellar? Fourteen years ago I was eighteen, pipsqueak. You were just a runt.”
“I might have been a runt at the time, but I remember you had an ID in Finn’s name so you could get into the ‘wine cellars’ yourself. You and Ian both. So answer my question.”
“No, I did not sleep with anyone and tell her I was Finn. Why the hell would you ask me that?”
“Because it appears someone did. Oh, my God. You don’t think it was Ian, do you? After all, he knocked up Ronni about that time. Nick’s thirteen, too.”
“And Ian took responsibility for his son. Besides, he was crazy about Ronni. He wasn’t sleeping around on her.”
Although she wasn’t quite sure how it all fit in with her father, Jordan filed away the juicy tidbits to share with Shelby later. Kara led the man back over to her. “Hayden, this is Jordan. Finn’s daughter.”
After an initial double take, Hayden gave her the same long examination Kara had.
Jordan stood up. “Can I please see him now? I’ve come a long way. And my mother is going to find out I’m here any minute. Not that she can do anything about it right away, but still, I’d like to meet my father before that happens. Please?”
Hayden grinned. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of that. Come on, sweetheart, I’ll take you to the kitchen. Let me carry your bag.” In a flash, he had her pack over one brawny shoulder and was ushering her down the hall.
“You can’t take her to the kitchen now! You’ll throw everything into a complete mess.” Kara scampered after them. “No offense, Jordan, but really, can’t you wait until he’s done cooking for the night? Or did you plan to take over, Hayden? God help the customers.”
With every step closer, Jordan’s feet grew heavier. The hall seemed to expand in front of her, looming longer and longer. Outside the door labeled Women, she stopped.
Hayden bumped her, recoiling with an apology.
She didn’t move.
The man stooped down. “You scared?”
She jerked her head once. Terrified. She’d imagined this moment her whole life and now that it was here...
“Listen, my brother’s a good guy. It’ll be okay. If there’s one thing that a Hawkins values, it’s family. Remember, his bark in the kitchen is way worse than his bite.” Hayden gripped her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze.
His brother? That made this man...her uncle. And Kara, who’d called Hayden big brother, her aunt. Jordan’s family was growing by leaps and bounds, and she hadn’t even met her father yet. “Ready?”
The hallway had stopped getting longer. She nodded.
###
Finn swirled wasabi sauce along the edge of the seared ahi plate, then slipped it onto the ledge beside the three other entrées. Gina came through the swinging door. “Table four’s ready,” he told her.
“Thanks.” She started stacking the dishes up her arm.
Tracey stood behind the island at the pass, staring at him. “What?” He wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his apron.
“I need the soup and salad for table seven.”
“Yeah? So get it. Where the hell is my sous-chef?” Finn bellowed. “Jon!” he hollered at the busboy unloading dishes from a gray tub into the dishwasher tray. “Run outside and tell Marco to put out the butt and get his ass back in here or he’s fired!”
“Yes, Chef.” The teen darted out the back door.
Finn checked the tickets stuck to the ledge, then hauled open the oversize fridge, gathering two chilled bowls and quickly assembling Caesar salads. Moving them to the pass, he ladled out two bowls of the soup du jour, wiping the rims before setting them up. “Go! And next time, do it yourself if no one else can.”
Marco ambled in the back door, followed by the busboy. “Sorry, Finn. What’s next?”
“Table nine. One salmon, one ahi. Get the garnish going.”
“You got it, boss.”
Finn was turning toward the stove when Hayden, in jeans and a T-shirt, came through the swinging door. “Hayden, what the hell were you doing in the front of my house dressed like that?” he demanded.
“See, told you,” Hayden said. Finn had already grabbed his fish from the fridge and was firing the entrées. He dashed some oil into a pan.
“Finn?” Kara said.
“What’s up? Everything okay out there? Everybody happy?” He didn’t turn to look. His baby sister, who also worked as an elementary teacher, ran the front of the house at night like she ran her fourth-grade classroom. No nonsense.
“Finn, there’s someone here who’d like to meet you.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Hayden and Kara, at the far end of the work island, sensibly out of the traffic flow. They flanked a petite girl who looked too old to be one of Kara’s students, but not old enough to be applying for a job. “What’s kitchen rule number two?”
“No customers in the kitchen.”
“Exactly. I’m happy to come to the dining room. Let me get these entrées out and—”
“I’m not a customer.” The girl’s voice, thin and reedy like she was, shook. “Wow, it’s hot in...” Her eyes rolled back.
“Catch her, catch her! She’s fainting!” Finn yelled at Hayden. His brother grabbed for the kid. “That’s why customers aren’t allowed in the kitchen!”
“She’s not a customer,” Hayden repeated, easing the girl to the floor. “She’s your daughter.”
“My what?” The kitchen fell into relative silence, the sizzle of the fish in the pan now audible.
“I said she’s your daughter. At least, that’s what she told us. You gotta admit she’s got the Hawkins jaw.”
“And your eyes,” Kara said.
Finn bolted around the island, dropping to his knees beside the child. He pressed his fingers to her neck. The steady beat reassured him. “Kara, wet a clean towel with some cold water.”
“She’s stressed, Finn. The poor kid was shook up about meeting you. And it is hot in here,” Hayden said.
Finn took the towel, laying it across the girl’s forehead. After a moment, he wiped her face with it. She had to be Amelia’s. The cheekbones were the same...the chestnut hair. Though for all he knew, Amelia’s hair color came from a bottle.
“She’s sick, idiot! She’s got severe aplastic anemia.” After Amelia’s visit, he’d studied the blood disorder on the Internet, learning how it affected production of the different types of blood cells, making sufferers susceptible to infection, fatigue, bruising and increased bleeding. “She needs a bone marrow transplant.”
Kara gasped. “You knew about her?”
“Kinda. Not really.” He’d done his best to put it out of his mind, as Amelia had suggested. Fat lot of good that had done. “It’s a long story.”
“Bone marrow transplant?” Hayden cursed like the former Marine he was.
Knowing what he was thinking, remembering, Finn stole a quick glance at his younger brother. He’d gone as pasty-white as the girl on the floor, raking a hand through his short-cropped hair.
“She’s going to be okay, Hayden.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Of course she is. You’re right.”
“She is. Her mom’s pulling out all the stops for her treatment.”
The child’s eyes fluttered open, and she tried to sit up. Finn pushed her back. “No, take it easy another minute or two.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re lying on my kitchen floor. That says otherwise.”
The girl’s lip trembled and she bit it. That little gesture slammed into his gut. Yeah, Amelia’s daughter for sure.
My daughter. Panic constricted his lungs. Two divorces had convinced him family wasn’t in his future. He wasn’t good at it. And yet...here was his daughter.
Slumped on his kitchen tile.
“Kara, call Elke, ask her to come over here.” Their sister Elke was an RN. He’d feel better having someone with actual medical knowledge check her out, reassure him. He scooped the child up and climbed to his feet, waving off Hayden’s hovering figure. “Hayden, get the door to the back stairs, will you?” She couldn’t weigh much more than his niece, Katie, who was only seven. The girl, his daughter—the foreign phrase kept ricocheting around his brain—looped her skinny arms around his neck.
“Where we going?”
“Upstairs. More comfortable than this.” At the acrid scent of charring food, Finn realized his entire staff had gathered, all staring at him. “Nobody but me smells that? My food is burning, Marco! Earn your paycheck, will you? Refire that fish. And go easy on the sauces when you plate them. They’re not supposed to be swimming when they’re served. All of you, get back to work! We have customers to feed!”
Snapped from their train-wreck trances, they scurried in five directions.
Finn climbed the stairs, his brother two steps ahead of him with a backpack slung over his shoulder. “Open up that flower room right next to mine.”
“This...this isn’t how I imagined meeting you,” the girl murmured.
Finn gave her a wry smile. “It’s not how I imagined meeting you, either.”
“You—you imagined meeting me?”
The incredulous note tore at his heart. He didn’t want to tell her they’d mostly been nightmares in which his sick child accused him of being responsible for the illness...for failing him. Or her, as the case had turned out to be. “I did. Your mother—Amelia is your mother, right?” The idea that he might be faced with two different families his impulsive behavior during culinary school had wrought blew his mind. Couldn’t be possible. Could it?
At her nod, he stifled a sigh of relief and continued as he reached the top of the stairs, “Your mother wouldn’t tell me if you were a girl or a boy. So I imagined meeting both. But never like this. Hey. What’s your name?”
“Jordan,” Hayden said, from the bedroom’s doorway.
Finn scowled at him, easing the girl to the bed. She scooted into the middle. The metal bed frame squeaked as he sat on the edge of the double mattress. “Your name’s Jordan?”
“Yes.”
“Jordan what?”
Hayden hooted. “You don’t remember her mother’s last name? That must have been quite the night, my man. Even I haven’t done that.”
Jordan bolted upright, indignation firing her eyes—eyes the exact same shade that greeted Finn in the mirror each morning. “It’s not his fault. He didn’t know my mom. He was our sperm donor.”
His brother’s mouth gaped. The blabbermouth of the family, rendered speechless.
Finn’s face heated, but something in his chest softened. Five minutes into their relationship and she was defending him. “Keep your trap shut, Jabber Jaw. Not one word to anyone, you hear me? I’ll grind you into sausage and feed you to stray dogs.”
“They’d arrest you for cruelty to animals if you did that.” His brother x-ed his heart. “You have my word. But...can I be there when you tell Mom?”
Finn grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and hurled it. Hayden easily caught it, grinning. Jordan giggled.
Finn returned his attention to her. “Speaking of mothers, does yours know you’re here?”
She fidgeted. “Uhhh...”
“That’s what I figured.” He couldn’t see the woman who wouldn’t even tell him the gender of her child giving the kid permission to meet him—especially without Amelia being present to supervise. “She’s got to be out of her mind with worry. We have to call her.”
The girl’s shoulders slumped. “Do we have to do it now?”
“How long have you been gone?”
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty-two,” Hayden said.
“I left Boston at—”
“Boston? How the hell, uh, heck did you get here from Boston by yourself?”
“It was easy.”
Jordan recounted her travel adventures—how she’d managed all of it, including how she’d temporarily redirected her mother’s e-mails from TravelEasy to a new Zmail e-mail account Jordan had set up for her.
Finn wanted to high-five her for being so damn clever, and shake some sense into her for the risks she’d taken and the panic he knew Amelia had to be experiencing. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”
“Is this going to be my first father-daughter lecture?” she asked.
“Probably.” And hopefully the last. ’Cause he had no idea what he was doing. Nor did he want to know what he was doing at this point in his life.
She folded her hands and broke into a broad grin. “Okay. Let me have it.”
Hayden chortled, still in the doorway.
“Make yourself useful,” Finn told him. “Go see if my kitchen’s intact and Marco’s not poisoning the customers.” He looked at his daughter. “Did you eat dinner?”
“No.”
“Hungry?”
“A little.”
“Allergic to anything?”
“Tomatoes, if I eat too much.”
“Bring her up a bowl of the chicken with wild rice soup and some bread.” The kid could stand a few carbs. “What do you want to drink?”
“Root beer?”
“Root beer it is. Move it, Hayden.”
Hayden hunched over, dragging his foot. “Will that be all, Master?”
Jordan laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand when Finn shook his head. “Don’t encourage him.” He glanced back at his brother, whose cat-in-the-cream grin told Finn he was enjoying all this just a little too much. “That’ll do, Quasi. Try not to spill on the way back up.”
“Yes, Master.” Hayden disappeared from the room, boot still scraping behind him.
“Cell phone.” Finn held out his hand.
“What makes you think I have one?”
“You’re what? Thirteen?” She nodded.
“You’ve got a cell phone. And I want the call to come from it so your mother answers.”
Jordan climbed from the bed, unzipping the pouch on the front of the backpack. She slapped it into his palm and plunked herself on the edge of the bed next to him.
###
Amelia paced the small stretch of carpet in front of the dresser and desk. Pencil poised over a little notebook, the young male officer—who looked like he wasn’t much older than Jordan—fired off more questions while his partner, an older woman, eyed her warily.
Whether with suspicion or because at six months pregnant Amelia already looked ready to pop, she couldn’t decide.
“What was she wearing?”
“I’m not sure. Jeans, sneakers. She was still in her pajamas this morning when I headed down to the conference.”
“And you expected to join her for dinner?”
“Yes. She was supposed to order room service for lunch. She wasn’t supposed to leave the room at all without me. She’s sick.” They’d already been over this.
“What did she take with her?”
“Her backpack with her laptop, video camera and cell phone.”
“Sounds like standard stuff a teenager would want with her while she explores the city,” the lady cop said. “Or runs away. You’re sure she didn’t run?”
Amelia shook her head. “She’s not the runaway type. I’ve never had any problems with Jordan.”
“Are there any custody issues?”
“No. She’s mine alone.”
“No baby-daddy in the picture?” asked the rookie.
Why did everyone always want to know about Jordan’s father? It wasn’t the dark ages. Single moms were common. “No.”
Amelia’s cell phone vibrated, then launched into “Sweet Child o’ Mine,” dancing on the desktop. “That’s her now.” She lunged for the phone. “Jordan? Where are y—”
“Amelia?” said a male voice on the other end.
As if an arctic breeze had blown into the room, cold raced through her body. “Who is this? Why do you have my daughter’s cell phone? What’s going on?”
“Relax, Amelia. Everything’s fine. Jordan’s fine.”
“Who the hell is this?”
The cops watched her intently.
“Finn Hawkins. Jordan is here with me.”
Amelia sank into the chair at the desk. “With you? In Erie?”
“Yep. Apparently she’s quite resourceful. Smart.”
Amelia drew in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. The baby kicked her hard in the ribs, and she winced, rubbing her rounded belly.
“Everything okay, Dr. Young?” the woman officer asked.
“Hold on.” Amelia stabbed the mute button. “Yes, Officers. Thank you very much. My daughter is safe, with, um, a friend.” She wasn’t going to give the male cop the satisfaction of knowing that her daughter was with her... Amelia mentally choked on the term “baby-daddy.” “At least, until I get my hands on her. She’s grounded for life after this.”
After taking down the details of exactly where Jordan was—needed for their report, they said—the male cop stuffed the notebook into his pocket while his partner nodded sagely. “I’ve got two of my own, so I understand. Glad she’s safe.” The pair headed for the door, the woman speaking into the radio mic clipped to her shoulder.
Amelia unmuted the phone. “Put my daughter on, Mr. Hawkins.”
“Mr. Hawkins? I thought we were beyond that, Amelia.”
The sexy baritone thrum of his voice made her remember that day in his kitchen.
She clung to her anger at Jordan, the mind-numbing fear she’d experienced moments earlier. “I’m in no mood to play games with you right now. How long will it take me to drive from Boston to your place?”
“Drive? It would be easier to catch a flight. That’s what Jordan did.”
Another week’s grounding—from everything!—got added to Jordan’s life sentence. “We drove to Boston, so my car is here.”
“Drove to Boston from where?”
“None of your business,” she snapped. “How long?”
“I don’t know. Long. Eight hours?”
“I’ll get on the road now. I’ll be there as soon—”
“It’s late, Amelia. Why don’t you get a good night’s rest and start out in the morning?”
“And why don’t you put my daughter on the phone, so I can get the yelling out of my system?” Amelia shoved her fist into her lower right lat. The baby squirmed and rolled, a gymnast on speed, thanks to the adrenaline coursing through her system.
“She’s eating at the moment. She, uh, she was hungry. Hold on a sec, okay?”
Jordan breathed into the receiver. Amelia sank to the edge of the bed. “Jordan? I can tell it’s you.”
“Are you mad?”
“Mad doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“I’m grounded, aren’t I?”
“That’s a safe bet. Count on other punishment as well.”
Jordan sighed. “Don’t care. It was worth it.”
“I’ll be leaving shortly to come get you. We’ll discuss it more then. Put—” she fumbled for the right way to refer to him “—Mr. Hawkins back on.”
“Just a minute.”
In the background, Amelia heard him speaking to someone else. “Thanks, Hayden. Yeah, I’ll be down in a few minutes. Tell Marco he’s not to even attempt the risotto for table ten. Basic dish, but somehow he wrecks it every time. Jordan, I’m going to talk to your mom in the hallway for now, okay?”
“Okay.” Her daughter’s voice, even from a distance, was music to Amelia’s ears.
The idea of losing her, in any way... Amelia’s nose tingled, and she bit down on her lower lip. There would be no crying. Jordan was safe. Damn hormones.
She stalked to the closet, yanking clothes from the hangers with one hand and tossing them into the open suitcase on the stand.
“Amelia? Look, take your time getting here. Be safe. We’ll...well...we’ll manage to take care of her. I have three unoccupied bedrooms here, and she can have her pick. I’m certainly capable of feeding her. And not pizza or junk food. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about except for her vulnerable daughter bonding with a man she was never going to see again.
“She’s not your daughter,” she reminded him, bending over to pull Jordan’s pink eyelet socks from the bottom dresser drawer. “She’s mine. I don’t want her hurt because she wants more than you can give her.”
“Seems to me she’s already been hurt because she wants more than you can give her, Amelia. Like a father.”
She straightened up so fast the baby jolted her with another shot to the ribs. The kid, whether male or female, she didn’t know—she was saving that as the one surprise of the whole process—was going to be a hockey player. After unclenching her teeth, Amelia muttered, “Plenty of kids grow up without a father.”
“And isn’t that a shame? I guess when I originally donated my sperm I was thinking more along the lines of married couples who couldn’t have children. I didn’t envision children growing up without a father.”
She wanted to cram Finn Hawkins’s arrogant self-righteousness down his throat. He’d known her daughter all of two minutes, and already he was lecturing her on the importance of fathers?
Finn’s voice softened as he added, “She just wanted to know me, Amelia. To know something more about herself in the process. And I’m going to spend every second between now and when you get here making that happen.”
All the energy and strength drained out of her as she stared at the now-silent phone.
Words failed her. But then, there was no one to hear a snappy comeback even if she had one.
Jordan.
And Finn Hawkins. Together.
The very thought raised goose bumps on her arms.
The man had played his part in Amelia’s life. In her plan. And now he needed to stay out of it.