Ava had seriously miscalculated the benefits of mindless work. She would have been better off stopping by the corner store on the walk home and buying a pack of cigarettes, she thought, as she moved the steamer in a slow, rhythmic motion over the hardwood floor.
She’d volunteered for the job in hopes it would relax her. She’d needed to relax after her stressful first day as a server. Not only did she have to deal with a fake French chef, but she also had to wait on Griffin. She’d tried to hand off his table to Erin, but the younger woman had apparently thrown in with Greystone’s matchmakers and refused.
Without anything else to keep it occupied, Ava’s mind was playing a constant loop of her interactions with Griffin tonight. It was as though her brain was using the images and his words as evidence, trying to sway a jury. The left side using them as proof he didn’t love her, the right side as proof that he still did.
She wondered if the jury was as confused as she was.
Though the last image, the one where Griffin had decided he was too full for dessert and gave her an offhand “See you around,” should have been enough to clear the confusion. It would have been if she hadn’t made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Indigo eyes that had darkened with the same desire she’d seen earlier, only this time the want and need seemed to be accompanied by frustrated regret.
She used both hands to maneuver the steamer into a corner of the octagon dining room. Obviously she was frustrated, too, because she rammed the black head against the baseboard, sending a shooting pain up her arm. She did a quick scan of the now shiny hardwood floors, relieved to discover she was done and a little disconcerted to realize she’d gone over the floors twice.
More than ready to go home to put her feet up and ice her arm, Ava turned off the steamer. Her arm had begun to twinge toward the end of her shift. Thanks to the forceful contact between the steamer and baseboard, it had grown into a bone-deep ache. She made a mental note to bring Advil with her tomorrow. It was the first day of the bridal show and would no doubt be busier than today.
Carrying the steamer to a storage closet near the window, Ava glanced at the stars studding the black velvet sky, a half-moon shining down on Kismet Cove. At least her walk home would be a pleasant one. Over the past week, the temperatures had been slowly climbing, melting most of the snow.
She pressed on the door that was hidden in the wall and set the steamer inside. Turning to flip off the sconces that graced the stone walls and the three burnished gold chandeliers hanging from the exposed beams of the ceiling, she frowned. The light was still on in the kitchen. Erin and the other server had left an hour ago. And Gaston had left an hour before they did.
As Ava approached the kitchen, she heard someone softly crying. She pushed open the door. It was Helga. Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her white chef coat, the older woman hadn’t noticed her. Ava began to tiptoe backward and then sighed. Helga might hate her, but Ava’s conscience wouldn’t let her leave until she made sure the older woman was all right.
“Helga, are you okay?”
Short and heavy-set with dyed red hair that looked almost orange in the fluorescent light, the older woman covered her face and shook her head.
Ava approached, taking in the two trays of pastries sitting on cooling trays. She gingerly placed a hand on Helga’s shoulder, fully expecting to be rebuffed. “Is there anything I can do?”
Helga lowered her hands, a hopeless expression on her heavily powdered face. “He’s going to fire me.” She lifted her quivering double chin at the pastries. “I’ve been making dozens of these things all day, and he says he wouldn’t serve them to a dog. A dog, he says.”
Since the day Sophie had taken over at Greystone, her cousin had been thinking of ways to get rid of Helga. Not only was the older woman cantankerous and contrary, but for the past several months, the guests had also been complaining about the food. But Helga had worked in the manor’s kitchen for decades, so as much as she may want to, Sophie would never fire the older woman.
“Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what’s he’s talking about. He nearly poisoned three guests with undercooked mussels, and the veal was overcooked.” Ava picked up a pastry. “Are these for the bridal fair?” They were to serve hor d’oeuvres to the attendees throughout the three-day event.
Helga nodded. “He says I have to have sixteen dozen of them made by tomorrow morning. If they don’t meet his approval, he’s says I’m done.”
Ava took a bite and then wished she hadn’t. The pastry was thick and doughy. The filling, what little there was, had no taste. She worked the pastry down her throat with several hard swallows, forcing a smile for Helga, who watched her closely. “They’re not too bad. What exactly did Gaston say he wanted? Did he leave you instructions or a recipe?”
“Some puff things with brie and mushrooms and a palmier with ham, Gruyère, and mustard.” Helga pulled two pieces of lined paper from under a stainless steel mixing bowl.
Ava didn’t need to look at the recipes to know what the problem was. She took them anyway. “A palmier is made with puff pastry, Helga. Not regular pastry. I’m guessing Gaston forgot to mention that.” Either he assumed that Helga knew what a palmier was or he was trying to sabotage the older woman. For now, Ava would give him the benefit of the doubt. He knew how important the bridal fair was to Greystone.
“I don’t know how to make puffy pastry, just the regular stuff.”
Ava smiled and slipped off her shoes. “You’re in luck because I do. You make up new batches of the fillings, and I’ll get started on the pastry.”
Helga stared at her. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because what Gaston did to you wasn’t right. Someone needs to teach that cocky little man a lesson. He thinks just because we don’t have his fancy schooling that we can’t cook? Ha. We’ll show him. He can’t just come in here and ride roughshod over all of us.”
“I’m getting a taste of my own. I was no better to you and your cousin a few months back. Worse, truth be told.” The older woman raised her red-rimmed, tired eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s no excuse, but I thought Sophie was trying to get rid of me. Probably past time I did retire. But I love this old place, you know? It’s home. I don’t have any family. This”—she lifted a hand, her fingers swollen and bent with arthritis—“this is all I’ve got.”
Knowing only too well how Helga felt, Ava spoke around the lump in her throat. “I don’t blame you. In your shoes, I probably would have acted the same.”
Now that she thought about it, wasn’t that exactly what Ava was doing to Gaston? She’d been upset when she’d learned that Sophie had hired him, resenting him for stealing her opportunity to fulfill her promise to her father. But more than the promise to her father, it had been the loss of the opportunity to make more money. Money she needed to pay for Gino’s care. Maybe Gaston really was the best person for the position.
In her opinion, his culinary skills could use some work, but at least he was actually passionate about his job. Which would serve Greystone well. In the end, that’s all that really mattered.
An hour later, Ava discovered that, while Helga appreciated her help, she was still a cantankerous old lady. She slapped the back of Ava’s hand with the spatula. “Get your fingers out of my filling.”
Ava ignored her, pinching some of the ham and Gruyère between her fingers “You have to taste it. How do you know if it’s good if you don’t?
Helga elbowed her out of the way. “You just follow the dang recipe.”
Trying not to make a face as she forced herself to swallow the filling, Ava asked, “So, how many teaspoons of honey mustard did the recipe call for?” She had a feeling she may have discovered the reason why Helga’s meals had been drawing complaints over the past few months. And it wasn’t only because the old lady needed to start tasting what she made.
Helga picked up the paper, squinting at the recipe. “Honey mustard? I thought it said mustard, mustard.”
Testing her theory, Ava tapped her finger on the line. “It’s more the amount than the type of mustard.” Which wasn’t entirely true. “How many teaspoons does it say?”
“You can’t read?” Helga retorted.
“Yes, I can read. But I’m beginning to think you can’t see.” There, she’d said it.
“What are you talking about? Look, right there, it says eight tablespoons.”
“Helga, it says three teaspoons.”
The older woman brought the paper within an inch of her nose and then put it down. “Teaspoons, tablespoons, what does it—”
Ava scooped some of the filling onto a teaspoon and shoved it in the older woman’s mouth.
Helga scowled at her as she chewed and then looked at the filling in the bowl. “I guess it does matter.”
“It does. So until you get glasses, you need to taste what you make, and tell Gaston.”
“No, there’s something off about that man. I’m not telling him nothing.”
Ava crossed her arms.
Helga pulled a face. “I know I said the same thing about your cousin, but this is different. He’s up to something, mark my words.”
“All right, if he gives you another recipe, bring it to me. I’ll go over it with you and rewrite it so you can read the amounts and ingredients.”
“What we should do is get rid of him, and then you and me will take over the restaurant.”
She didn’t like the glint in Helga’s eyes. Ava had enough experience with crazy old ladies to know what kind of trouble they could get up to once they set their mind on something. “Once I’ve paid off my father’s rehab bill, I’ll go back to housekeeping,” she said, taking off her brace in hopes of relieving the throbbing ache. She’d had it on too long anyway.
“Nothing wrong with an honest day’s work, but you’ve been given a talent. Seems wrong to waste it cleaning toilets.”
Two hours later, Ava found herself thinking about what Helga had said. She’d sent the older woman home not long after she’d made the comment. Not because Ava didn’t want to continue the conversation, but because the older woman was exhausted. Ava wasn’t, and she knew why.
For the first time in a long time, she was enjoying herself. Tonight, cooking didn’t feel so much like a chore as a pleasure. She’d turned on the radio when Helga left, pounding the butter with the French rolling pin to the beat of ’90s rock music.
She’d found herself moving in time to Pearl Jam’s “Black” while kneading the flaky, light-as-air pastry, taste testing a few other fillings she’d experimented with while singing—quietly so she didn’t wake anyone. She loved the textures, the smells and flavors. Quitting smoking had apparently reawakened her taste buds. Something her expanding chest and butt could attest to.
The oven timer dinged, signaling the moment of truth. Did she still have it or not? If she were to listen to her cousins and aunt, she did. But to Ava’s mind, the dishes she’d made back in late November and December were missing something. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but the food had lacked that special indefinable ingredient. Her Auntie Rosa would say it was love. But Ava wasn’t sure she’d added that intangible element to the five pastries—each with a different filling—that she’d popped into the oven twenty minutes earlier.
She was about to find out, Ava thought, as she bent to open the oven door. She pulled out the tray and smiled. They were perfect, beautiful and golden brown, and they smelled delicious too. Something else occurred to her as she straightened to place the baking sheet on the cooling tray; there wasn’t a speck of tension in her body.
Yes, her arm ached, but other than that she was calm and relaxed. She hadn’t spared a single thought for Griffin in hours.
“Ava?”
She closed her eyes on a groan. Would she have to spend every minute of every single day, cooking just to keep the blasted man out of her head? “Go away. I’m done thinking about you. You’re making me crazy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m done with you acting crazy. It’s three-thirty in the morning, Ava.”
She slowly turned. And there he was in the flesh, perfectly beautiful and golden. As he prowled toward her, she caught a whiff of a delicious lemony scent. It wasn’t her pastries. Her gaze moved from his bare feet to his plaid sleep pants to the navy T-shirt that hugged his wide chest, stopping at his firm, sculpted lips. She wondered if he would taste delectable too.
She lifted her gaze to meet his before she gave in to the temptation to find out. “I’m not acting crazy. Helga needed help with her hors d’oeuvres for tomorrow. So I helped her.”
He looked around the kitchen. “Where is she? You lock her in the cooler?”
The Gallagher grandchildren were well acquainted with Helga. “No, I put her in the oven,” she quipped, hoping to distract him from remembering what she’d said when he first entered the kitchen.
His lips twitched. “Funny girl.” He nodded at the tray. “So Helga browbeat you into doing her work for her and toddled off home. Never thought I’d have to say this to you, but you have to start standing up for yourself, babe. You can’t let people take advantage of—”
No, what she had to do was stop letting his casual endearments reignite the he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not debate in her head. “Despite what you think, I’m perfectly capable of standing up for myself, babe.” She mentally gave herself a pat on the back when his eyebrows shot up to the messy golden brown hair that flopped over his forehead. “Helga wasn’t browbeating me. Gaston was browbeating her. He made her cry.”
“You know what they say about karma. None of her assistants ever lasted more than a month.” Griffin leaned in and sniffed. “I probably should be giving you hell for staying up half the night to help her out, but damn, those smell good. Can I have one?”
“If you promise not to tell anyone you saw me here tonight, yes, you can.” She frowned as she slid a red silicone spatula beneath the golden-brown triangle. “What are you doing up? The music isn’t that loud, is it?”
He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck, the movement causing the hem of his T-shirt to rise, giving her a mouthwatering glimpse of sculpted abs. Maybe she was more tired than she thought because she had an almost uncontrollable urge to brush her lips over the golden skin that was lightly dusted with dark hair…
She drew her gaze back to his face, only her eyes took a detour and got stuck on the flex of his impressive bicep.
“Every time I fell asleep, I was woken up by…my stomach telling me I was starved.” A touch of color flushed his stubbled cheeks.
“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed. It’s no wonder you’re starved. You didn’t eat enough tonight. You should have had dessert.” She offered him the pastry. “Careful, it’s…” He’d already popped it into his mouth. “Good?” she asked when he swallowed.
“Good? Are you kidding me? That was amazing. What was in it?”
“Ham, Gruyère, and honey mustard.” She handed him a square pastry. “See what you think of this one. It’s chicken, cream cheese, and a sweet chili relish.”
He chewed slowly, a familiar expression coming over his face. She recognized the look. He’d worn it when they made love. Feeling a little flushed herself, she cleared her throat before asking, “Good?”
“You really need to increase your repertoire of adjectives, Ava. Because that…that was…I might have seen stars.”
He seemed closer. She wasn’t sure who was closing the distance between them—him or her. The one thing she knew for sure was the kitchen was growing warmer. She leaned back to turn off the oven. She already had. “Would you like another one?” she asked without looking at him.
“We’ll share.” He reached for the circular-shaped pastry and brought it to her lips.
“It’s Gorgonzola and mushroom,” she said, and took a bite. She closed her eyes, savoring the light-as-air pastry, the sharp tang of the full-bodied creamy cheese, and the chewy texture of mushroom. It was almost perfect. Something was missing though—that intangible ingredient. She opened her eyes to the missing ingredient in her own life.
Holding her gaze, he gently wiped the corner of her mouth with his fingers. “You missed a bit.”
Out of habit, she licked the corner of her lips. His eyes darkened, and his nostrils flared as he tracked the movement. He cleared his throat. “This is wasted on me. I’m not a fan of blue cheese, even Italian blue cheese,” he said, his voice gruff as he brought the half circle to her mouth. She had to tip back her head to look at him. They were only inches apart. She took it from his fingers, and they lingered on her lips.
Afraid he’d move away if he saw the depth of emotion in her eyes, she closed them. She wanted to wrap her arms around him. She wanted him to…
“What’s this one?” He held the small bundle between his large, blunt fingers.
“Spicy sausage and potato.” Her voice was husky, barely a whisper.
“I’m not sharing.” He watched her as he put it in his mouth and slowly chewed. His Adam’s apple moved in his throat when he swallowed.
She brought her fingers to the corner of his mouth. “You missed a little.” She fed him the flakes, barely a crumb. He sucked the tip of her finger into his warm mouth, and she shivered. Without breaking eye contact, he took her hand, gently nipped her finger, and then brought it to his shoulder. “Why did you say you’re done thinking about me?” he asked, placing her other hand on the opposite shoulder.
A groan escaped from between her lips, not only because he’d remembered what she’d said, but also because there wasn’t a whisper of space between them now. Every inch of his hard, muscular body was pressed against her. “Because you’re making me pazza.”
His lips curved, the dimple showing up in his cheek. “How am I making you crazy?” His voice was both gentle and rough.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Would it make it easier if I show you?” he asked, moving his hands to frame her face.
She nodded, her eyes drifting closed.
“Open your eyes, Ava. I want you to see me when I kiss you. I want to look into your gorgeous eyes when I have my mouth on yours.”
She did as he asked. Her knees softened, going weak at the heat in his indigo eyes. She clung to his shoulders, releasing a tiny sigh of complete and utter joy as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were…
“Master Griffin, I…Oh, my apologies for the interruption.”
With a low, frustrated sound in his throat, Griffin stepped back from her and lowered his hands. “What is it, Jeeves?”
“Your father’s waiting for you in the study. He received word from Doctors Without Borders that the hospital Master Finn is working at in Central Africa was attacked by armed rebels. There are casualties.”
Colleen paced the study behind Colin and Kitty, who sat in the chairs across from the desk. Kitty was wringing her hands, her face pale. “Griffin will get through to his friend. He’ll find out what’s going on, what’s happened to Finn,” Colin reassured his mother, rubbing her shoulder.
Griffin sat behind the desk, holding a phone between his shoulder and ear at the same time he typed on the computer. Colleen’s fears eased somewhat watching her great-grandson take control. He had a way about him, their Griffin did. As the oldest, he’d always looked out for his brothers and got them out of their scrapes. Just like he was doing now. His watchful eyes moved to his father and grandmother and then to his brother, who was standing by the window with Sophie.
The person he’d been holding for must have returned. Griffin responded to whatever was being said in a calm and even voice. No indication on his face that anything was wrong. It didn’t mean that there wasn’t because Griffin was good at hiding his emotions. Even as a lad he’d been hard to read. He was different than his brothers that way. He took after his mother in looks, his father in temperament. Griffin had been the serious, responsible one, and Ava had been the only one able to bring out his lighter side.
It was a shame their moment had been ruined. He could use Ava right now. Jasper had driven her home after delivering the news.
“Thanks, call as soon as you have anything else.” Griffin hung up the phone. “It looks like most of the staff and patients managed to escape. But it’ll take them at least a few days to get someplace safe. The rebels are still in the area, so they have to be careful. Good news is there’s a Special Forces team about a hundred miles north of there. I’m working on a way to reach out to them. But if we don’t have a definitive answer as to Finn’s whereabouts in forty-eight hours, I’ll be wheels up. I’ve got a couple friends who’ve offered to come with me.”
The last thing Colleen wanted was for another of her great-grandsons to fly off to the war-torn country. Griffin wouldn’t be deterred though. As they all knew, once his mind was made up, there was no dissuading the lad. If anyone could find Finn and ensure his safety, it was Griffin.
Once he’d finally persuaded everyone to head to their beds, Griffin got back to work on the computer and phone.
Colleen parked herself on the corner of the desk. “If I’d known how the night would turn out, I would have let you get some sleep, my boy.” She’d kept him awake half the night yelling in his ear. Instead of telling Griffin that Ava needed him, this time she’d told him he was hungry, ravenous. Worked as well as any food commercial on TV.
Shame no one else could hear her. She was beginning to wonder if it had something to do with her suite of rooms in the tower. Griffin had heard her there, but nowhere else. She’d have to get Jasper in there to test her theory. Badger him into giving her memoirs back. Though it wouldn’t do a whole heck of a lot of good until she learned to hold an object in her hands. She really needed to work on that.
An hour later, Griffin called the family to relay an update that alleviated some of their fears. A UN security force had met up with the convoy and were escorting them to safety. As Griffin made his way to his room for some much-needed sleep, Colleen started on her rounds of the manor. She’d just passed by the bar when the front door creaked open and someone crept inside.
“What are you up to, Gaston St. John?” Colleen murmured, following him through the great room to the dining room. He looked over his shoulder before entering the kitchen. Colleen walked through the door…and him. A satisfied smile curved her lips when he shuddered.
He walked to the long counter where a lone pastry sat on the baking sheet. Picking it up to examine it, he took a tentative bite. “Oh my God,” he moaned, and took another bite. Licking every last crumb off his fingers as he made his way to the cooler, he opened the door, staring openmouthed at the trays of hundreds of perfect pastries under clear wrap.
“There’s no way the old battle-ax made them herself. The pastry is perfection,” he said without a trace of an accent. Fisting his hands in his hair, he turned in circles, looking around the kitchen. He stopped midturn. “I should have known.” He raced to the counter. Flinging Ava’s brace across the room, he pulled out his phone.
“Yes, I know what time it is. I’m at the manor. We have a problem. I came here to check on Brunhilda’s hors d’oeuvres. Helga, I’m talking about Helga. You know, our fall guy. Anyway, Ava DiRossi must have decided to play Helga’s fairy godmother and made the pastries for her. If the rest are as incredible as the one I just ate, they’re going to get rave reviews from the bridal show’s attendees.”
He winced and held the phone from his ear, counting to ten under his breath before he said, “I tried. That Italian Nigella Lawson wrecked that plan too. Ava, Ava DiRossi. She swooped in and saved the guests from food poisoning and then had the nerve to try and give me a lesson on cooking mussels. I…What? Get rid of her? That’s a little extreme, don’t you…Give me a minute.”
He opened the cooler and moments later started to nod. “All right, I have it. You’re lucky you hired a genius, Paigey. Did I tell you…All right, all right, take a pill. Here’s the new plan. Ava was upset I took her job, so when the attendees get sick on her hors d’oeuvres, I’ll suggest to the Gallaghers that she did it to get me fired.”
He nodded. “Thank you, I sometimes amaze myself. Okay, I’ve gotta get to work and get out of here before anyone comes in. I think I’ll sleep in today. Whatever.” He rolled his eyes, laughing when he disconnected. “Little do you know, Paigey. I’d do this job for free. The Gallaghers are going to pay for what Colleen stole from me.”