It was a quiet lunch service, and while that was bad for business, part of Libby appreciated the easy pace because it allowed her kitchen staff to get into a comfortable working rhythm. A few of the cooks were left over from the former kitchen staff, but Libby had chosen her own sous-chef, butcher, and fish chefs. They had had a few trial runs earlier that week, practicing prep for some of the dishes Libby had created for the new menu, but nothing could really prepare a team for working together in an open kitchen for the first time. There had been a few hiccups last night, but because it had been a slower night, they had been able to smooth out the wrinkles, and they were running more efficiently today.
As head chef, Libby had creative license over the entire menu and made sure her kitchen ran like a well-oiled machine. They were getting there, and she was more than happy with her team.
They were halfway through lunch service, and Libby—whose passion lay in confectionaries—was in her happy place, at the dessert station. She turned to pick up her piping bag and froze in her tracks. For a heart-stopping second, she thought the tall, dark, gorgeous man standing staring at her with a tentative smile on his lips was Greyson. But the crooked nose, so unlike Greyson’s, and the loose-limbed relaxed stance, nothing like the rigid, military precision of her husband’s posture, quickly identified him as Harris.
“Hey, Bug. I’ve missed you.”
“Oh my God, Harris.” She choked on his name before happily walking into his arms. He enfolded her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground in the process.
“I’ve missed you too,” she said into his shoulder, her voice muffled. They stood wrapped up in their embrace for a moment, happy to reconnect after such a long and emotional absence. Libby pushed at his chest after a few self-indulgent moments more, and he let her go. She wiped her damp cheeks with the backs of her slender hands and cast a self-conscious glance around the kitchen. The rest of the staff were pointedly keeping their heads down.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice pitched low.
“The waitress said it would be okay if I popped in to say hi.”
“Not in the kitchen, here in Riversend.”
“I wanted to make sure my brother toed the line and didn’t hurt you again.”
She compressed her lips before looking around for Agnes Ngozi, her second.
“Agnes, continue prepping for dessert, please. I’m stepping out for a few minutes. Send for me if you need anything.”
“Yes, Chef,” Agnes responded in her usual unruffled manner. Libby appreciated the woman’s calm demeanor; it projected an air of serene confidence that was invaluable in a busy kitchen.
Libby hooked her arm through Harris’s and tugged him back into the restaurant.
“Where are you sitting?” she asked, and he led her to his table, where they sat down together. Libby rested her chin in her palm and stared at her brother-in-law for a moment, a soft smile on her lips.
“I’m really happy to see you, Harris, but you didn’t have to follow him here,” she said quietly, and he lifted and dropped his broad shoulders in a quick movement.
“I know, Bug, but more than you, I wanted him to know that I have your back. What did he say to you last night?”
“He didn’t have the opportunity to say much of anything. I let him know that I wasn’t too thrilled to see him.” She sat up straight with a heavy sigh, her hands dropping to the table in front of her. She restlessly toyed with the silverware. “Harris, I don’t want you to interfere.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” Libby said, her resolve deepening. Her marriage to Greyson was over—that was a given—but Clara complicated matters. The fact that he was here spoke volumes as to his intentions. He wanted more. Libby wasn’t stupid; she knew that that “more” was probably Clara, or at least some kind of contact with her.
Libby needed to decide how much, if any, access she would grant him. Right now she had the upper hand; she could negotiate from a position of strength. But it would be best if she and Greyson figured this out without any external interference. She was only grateful that this “negotiation” would take place on her turf. She knew her husband well enough to know that he hated not having complete control over his environment and emotions. He was out of his comfort zone here, and she wanted that. She wanted him wrong footed.
Libby would have loved to deny him any and all privileges regarding their daughter; it was what he deserved. But realistically she knew that once lawyers and courts got involved, he would be allowed to be a part of their daughter’s life, regardless of Libby’s personal feelings on the matter. It would be best for Libby, for Clara, to find a solution that favored them rather than Greyson. And the best time to do that was now, while she had the upper hand. And she knew she did. She had seen it in his hesitation last night.
She had had a lot of time to think about what she wanted last night, and she knew the best thing for her and Clara was to allow him to be a part of the baby’s life. No matter how much she hated that prospect.
That didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.
“If the look on your face is anything to go by, my brother is in for a tough time.”
“I can handle him,” Libby said with a lot more confidence than she felt. “Thank you for being such a good friend, Harris.”
“You kidding me, Bug? You’re like my baby sister! There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“Would you like to say hi to your niece?”
“Would I? Does a duck cluck?”
“Not really,” Libby said with a chuckle as she got up and led the way to the office.
“You know what I mean,” he said, sounding disgruntled, and she laughed as she opened the door to the tiny back office. She halted when she saw Tina at her desk, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. She hadn’t seen Tina in front, but she hadn’t really expected to see her friend in the office. Not in the middle of the lunch service.
Tension seemed to come off both Harris and Tina in waves, and Libby winced inwardly at the awkward situation. Tina had attempted to talk to her earlier about Greyson, but Libby hadn’t been prepared to answer questions about her estranged husband’s unexpected appearance in town yet. It had completely slipped her mind that Tina had mentioned Harris coming around to her house last night, and now she wondered what that had been about.
Nothing good, if the atmosphere in the office was anything to go by.
“Tina,” she said awkwardly. “I thought you’d be on the floor.”
“I had to do some accounting,” the other woman responded softly, immediately angling her laptop screen downward, which made Libby doubt the veracity of her friend’s words.
“Harris wanted to say hi to Clara,” Libby said, and Tina’s lips lifted in a sickly imitation of a smile, her already-pale features almost ashen.
“That’s nice.” Tina’s voice was faint and lacked any semblance of sincerity. Libby shifted her gaze to Charlie, who was watching everyone with lively curiosity in her pretty green eyes.
“Charlie, this is my brother-in-law, Harrison Chapman.” Harris, who had been watching Tina intently, seemed to shake himself, and he offered Charlie a fleeting smile before focusing on Clara. His face was alight with tenderness.
“God, she’s gorgeous,” he said, sounding almost awed. “The pictures didn’t do her justice. She’s bigger than I was expecting.”
His hands left his pockets, and he reached for Clara, who was asleep in her foldaway bassinet. He paused before touching her and looked at Libby uncertainly.
“Can I . . . is it okay if I hold her?”
“Of course it is, Harris,” Libby said, lifting her sleeping baby herself and carefully handing her over into her uncle’s strong, capable arms. He hugged her close and began to rock her. Libby felt a pang of regret that she had denied him this for so long. Harris hadn’t repudiated his niece—he shouldn’t have been punished for Greyson’s mistakes. Neither should his parents. Or her parents, for that matter.
She watched as Harris whispered soft little nothing phrases into Clara’s ears. He nuzzled and kissed and cuddled the baby, clearly in love with his niece, and Libby couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She instinctively glanced at Tina, wanting to share the sweet moment with her. But she was shocked to see anguish and something close to hatred burning in her friend’s usually gentle sea-green eyes as she stared fixedly at Harris. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as she surged to her feet, rocking her desk chair with the violent motion.
“I have to get back to work,” she said, her voice trembling, and Libby shook her head, alarmed by Tina’s reaction.
“We’ll be out of your hair in . . .”
“I’ll see you later, Libby,” Tina interrupted. She fled from the room, leaving a shocked silence in her wake.
Harris murmured a vehement curse word beneath his breath. Clara was starting to fuss, and Libby, still stunned by Tina’s reaction, absently took her baby from him.
“Uh. I should get back to work,” she murmured, and Harris gave Clara another kiss on her cheek.
“Right,” he said, his voice filled with patently false cheer as his eyes drifted back to the door through which Tina had just exited. “And I’m starving, so I’d better get back to my table. I’ll be in town for a while, Bug. I promise I won’t interfere, but I need a vacation, and this is as good a place as any to hang out for a short while. Besides, I want to spend more time with my niece.”
He gave Libby a quick hug and left abruptly. Libby’s eyes dropped to where Charlie was very pointedly reading her e-book, obviously trying to mind her own business.
Tina’s baffling behavior was becoming a real concern. She had tried to talk to her friend about Harris, about her strange behavior around Clara, and now she was starting to think Tina wasn’t being honest about exactly how much buying and relaunching MJ’s had cost her. While she gently rocked back and forth, humming softly to the contented baby, she tilted her head back and hated how much she resented whatever it was that Tina was going through. She felt selfish and hateful, but she really didn’t want to have to deal with Tina’s dramas in addition to her own stresses right now.
“Your mummy is a terrible best friend, sweetie,” she whispered against Clara’s soft hair, keeping her voice low so that Charlie wouldn’t hear her. She would try to talk with Tina after the lunch service. Try one more time to discuss whatever was bothering her. Libby owed it to their friendship to try and figure out whatever the hell was going on with the other woman.
She gave her baby one more cuddle before handing her to Charlie and heading back to the kitchen.
Greyson was jerked out of a sound sleep by the sound of an engine idling and then stopping outside. He blinked blearily at his phone and was shocked to see that it was close to twelve fifteen in the afternoon. He had been asleep for nearly three hours. It was unusual for him to sleep during the day, and he felt groggy and out of sorts.
He yawned, stretched, and crawled out of bed like an old, arthritic man. He stood waiting in the living room, but when he heard no tread on the porch stairs, he frowned, wondering if he’d imagined the sound of the engine. He strode to the front door—wincing because he’d forgotten to put his shoes back on—and swung it open. He stepped onto the porch, surprising Harris, who was standing beside his 4x4 staring at Martine’s front door. The other man’s head turned toward Greyson, and his eyes widened.
“Greyson.” His name emerged cautiously from Harris’s lips as he slowly climbed the patio steps. Approaching Greyson as one would a wild animal. “You okay?”
He came to a standstill in front of Greyson, and damned if his nostrils didn’t flare slightly as he inhaled discreetly.
Shit! Harris thought he’d been drinking. How mortifying. Yet another embarrassment brought about by Greyson’s appalling lapse in control after Olivia had left. Harris had been aware of Greyson’s fleeting entanglement with substance abuse. And Greyson hated that his brother knew about his weakness. But he knew that he owed Harris for taking care of the business and protecting Greyson’s reputation during that time.
He swallowed down the humiliation and pretended not to notice Harris’s concerned gaze sweeping up and down his body and face.
“Where have you been?” Greyson asked gruffly.
“To Knysna for a new mattress and then to the restaurant . . . to see Libby and Clara.”
Greyson forced down the swell of bitterness at that revelation. The knowledge that Harris was free to see his wife and child whenever he wanted, while Greyson himself hadn’t even been allowed much more than a glimpse of Clara last night, burned like fucking acid. He kept his face expressionless, batting away the urge to ask Harris how Olivia was today. He knew his reappearance in her life had come as an unpleasant and unwelcome surprise. But he didn’t want to panic her or upset her. He just wanted to figure out a way forward from here.
“There’s no food in the house,” he said instead, and Harris’s eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline. Not hard for him, when his hair was a shaggy mess that fell almost to his brows anyway.
“So go and get some groceries,” Harris said, and Greyson blinked. Somewhat arrested by his brother’s words.
Get groceries? What? To say shopping wasn’t Greyson’s forte would be understating it. He couldn’t actually recall ever setting foot in a grocery store in his life before.
“Maybe later,” he mumbled quickly. He closed multimillion-dollar deals every day of his life; he could damned well buy a few groceries. He turned back toward the house, and once inside, Harris’s shocked voice broke the silence between them.
“Greyson, are you wearing my clothes?”
Greyson turned to face Harris again before casting a glance down at his body. He’d forgotten he was wearing Harris’s stuff and couldn’t tell if his brother was pissed off about it or not. Harris looked mostly confused and a little stunned.
“It was the closest thing available. I haven’t unpacked my bag yet.” More eyebrow lifting from Harris, and Greyson barely refrained from childishly rolling his eyes.
“You look like crap,” Harris said, and Greyson fought hard to keep his expression neutral and his resentment from showing.
Of course he looked like crap! His life was in shambles, his wife hated him, and he hadn’t even held his child yet. Did everybody just assume Greyson was fine with that? He wasn’t fucking fine! Why the hell should he look fine?
“Fantastic,” he said, resorting to facetiousness and self-directed humor. “Nice to know I look like I feel.”
Harris stared at him like he’d never seen him before.
Now the fuck what?
“What?” he asked, swiping at his nose for good measure. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just thought you’d completely lost the ability to laugh at yourself is all.”
Of course he’d thought that. Nobody really understood Greyson. Some days he barely understood himself.
“Yeah, well, when your only options are laugh or—” Cry? Greyson couldn’t believe he’d been about to say that. He clamped his mouth shut and cleared his throat uncomfortably. He directed his eyes down to the floor, not wanting to see his brother’s reaction to that revealing lapse.
“Anyway, when your options are shit,” he awkwardly rephrased, “it’s best to choose the path of least resistance.”
“So what are your plans, Greyson?” Harris asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, and Greyson’s gaze swung upward to meet his brother’s intent stare. “What do you intend to do here?”
Get them back, was his instinctive first thought. But he knew that that was easier said than done.
Lunch service was in full swing, and the kitchen staff had a natural rhythm going. Libby was ecstatic with the way her team was working together and was happy to loosen the reins for a bit to let them do their thing while she focused on desserts for the rest of service. She was absorbed with that when Ricardo, the restaurant manager, walked into the kitchen looking completely flustered.
“Chef Libby, a word, if you don’t mind.”
Irritated with the interruption, Libby glared at the man before nodding to one of her underchefs to take over with desserts, not wanting to disturb Agnes, who was overseeing the rest of the kitchen. She led Ricardo toward the walk-in freezer, where it was less busy.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with barely leashed annoyance.
“We’re running out of napkins.”
“What?” she asked in disbelief. Interruptions were irritating. Unnecessary interruptions pissed her the hell off. “Ricardo, take that kind of stuff to Tina. Unless we have a complaint about the food, there’s absolutely no reason for you to be back here.”
“That’s just it—she’s not here, and I can’t reach her.”
Libby stared at him for a long, uncomprehending moment, and he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Ricardo, a handsome, debonair, compact figure of a man who generally exuded competence, looked wholly uncomfortable.
“She’s not here?” Libby repeated slowly, not quite understanding. “Tina? Tina’s not here, is what you’re telling me right now?”
“Yes, Chef,” Ricardo said with a nod. “She left about forty minutes ago. She seemed upset.”
Forty minutes ago? Just after Harris had dropped by the office.
“And you tried calling her?”
“She’s not answering,” Ricardo said.
“Okay. I’ll try her; maybe she’s on an errand or something. Meantime, you figure out what to do about the napkins. You’re the manager—I’m sure you’ll find a solution.”
“Yes, Chef.” He turned away, and Libby followed him out and headed toward the office. Charlie looked up from her books with a quizzical smile, Clara fast asleep.
“Hey, Mrs. C. Clara’s fine. Sleeping like . . . well, like a baby,” the girl said with a soft laugh.
Libby nodded distractedly. Her eyes went to her baby’s sweet, peacefully sleeping face for confirmation before tracking around the office in search of some clue as to why Tina wasn’t there. “Did Tina say where she was going?”
Charlie’s eyes looked troubled at the question, and she shook her head. “I think perhaps Ms. Jenson just needed a little quiet time. Clara was crying and resisting the bottle. She was hungry and a little cranky. And it took a while to settle her down and get her to feed. I would have called you if she fretted too much, but she eventually took the bottle with less fuss than last night.”
“Tina left because Clara was crying?” Libby asked flatly, and Charlie’s eyes widened in alarm.
“I mean, I thought maybe she was just stepping out for a few minutes, but she’s been gone awhile. So maybe she had something else to do?”
“Maybe,” Libby said absently, not wanting the girl to think she’d caused any trouble, but seriously, what the hell? This arrangement was not going to work if Tina bailed every time Clara cried. Which, now that Libby thought about it, Tina had been doing since Clara’s birth. She glanced at Tina’s desk and noted that the woman’s laptop was still there.
“Okay, thanks, Charlie. Did you get some lunch yet?” she asked, her mind still working overtime; she barely heard Charlie’s affirmative response. She smiled down at her peacefully sleeping baby and stroked her head with a gentle finger.
“I’ll see you girls later, okay?” she said, and Charlie nodded, her eyes back on her textbooks.
Libby exited the office and dragged her phone from her smock pocket, brought up Tina’s number, and called. It went straight to voice mail. As did the next three calls.
This was definitely not cool. How could she just walk out in the middle of lunch service? And what was her problem with Clara?
The more Libby tried to reach Tina, the more pissed off she got.
Where the hell are you? she texted. No response.
She shook her head and shoved the phone back into her pocket. Yesterday, when Tina had looked so vulnerable and terrified, Libby had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. But it was really hard to continue making excuses for her when she pulled shit like this. Tina might not give a crap about this business, but Libby had a kitchen to run and didn’t currently have time for whatever was going on with her friend.
Greyson had stopped by a men’s apparel store for some casual clothes before coming to the sporting-goods place. It was massive, with every kind of sportswear and equipment one could possibly need or desire.
He wandered from aisle to aisle, piling his cart full of any comfortable-looking outerwear that took his fancy, before finally heading to the checkout. When he got there, he noticed that the place seemed uncommonly empty. He had dismissed any attempts of help from the salespeople, preferring to browse without interruption, and now he noticed that none of them were around anymore. And there didn’t seem to be any other customers either.
There was one checkout counter open, and it was manned by a huge guy, who topped Greyson’s six feet and three quarters of an inch by about two inches. But it was more than just his height that made him massive; he was powerfully built, and Greyson, who was by no means a slouch when it came to fitness, felt like a twig compared to the guy.
“Hey,” Greyson muttered while he unloaded his goods onto the counter. “Where’s everybody?”
“We closed about half an hour ago. Staff’s gone home. Half days on Saturday.”
“How long have I been here?” Greyson asked, startled by that information. He was pretty certain the place had been open when he’d walked in. Of course it had; how else would he have gotten in?
The other guy’s mouth twitched slightly. “About forty minutes.”
Greyson stared at him in disbelief. “You should have said something.”
The man shrugged in response to that. “No harm done.” He sorted through the many items Greyson had offloaded onto the counter but didn’t comment on the—now that Greyson looked at it—ridiculous amount of sportswear.
“Uh, I noticed you have a gym.”
“Hmmm,” the man rumbled, his eyes on his task.
“Do I need a membership card or something?”
The guy’s piercing green gaze lifted to Greyson’s. “Moving to town?”
“Not really, but I may be here awhile.”
“Spencer Carlisle.” He held out his hand, and Greyson, bemused by the unceremonious introduction, took his hand in a firm handshake. Since the store was called Carlisle Sporting Solutions, this guy had to be the owner.
“Greyson Chapman,” he responded with equal brevity.
“A flat fee will cover three months.”
“How many visits?”
“Unlimited.”
Greyson nodded. That seemed like a good deal. “I’ll come by on Monday to sign up. Do all the other businesses in this town close at one on a Saturday?”
“Grocery store and hardware store will be open for another couple of hours.” He finally finished ringing up and bagging the mountain of clothes and whistled appreciatively at the final total.
Greyson handed over his card, and once their business was complete, he nodded at the man. “Thanks for staying open.”
“Worth it,” Spencer said with a quick grin. He didn’t appear to be a man of many words, which Greyson could appreciate. “Where are you staying?”
Greyson told him, and the man winced. “Place is a dump.”
“I know.”
“My sister-in-law’s house is available for rent.”
“I didn’t see any other vacant places when I was looking for short-term rentals.”
“Word of mouth only. You interested, contact the vet, my father-in-law.”
Oh, Greyson was definitely interested. He couldn’t wait to get out of that hovel and now wondered if Harris had chosen it solely because Martine lived next door.
“Sounds great. Thanks. I’ll see you on Monday.”
The man nodded and unlocked the front door to let Greyson out.
It was bucketing down by now, and Greyson dashed for his car, dumping his packages with the other pile of shopping in the back. After he pulled away from the curb, he headed downtown, then cruised slowly past MJ’s, hoping to catch a glimpse of Olivia. He seriously considered going inside to talk to her again.
He shook his head and drove to the grocery store instead. He passed the hardware store on the way, and a plan started to formulate in his head.
Tina wasn’t there at the start of dinner service either. Now more concerned than angry, Libby tried to reach her again. She couldn’t leave to go check on Tina, so she kept sending increasingly anxious messages.
Finally, just after seven, her phone rang, and she was relieved to see her friend’s name on the screen.
“Tina? What the hell? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Hey, Libby. I’m so sorry. I came home to do some work, and I fell asleep. My phone died, so I got none of your messages until now.”
Libby drew in a deep, calming breath at her friend’s response. Her friend’s lying response. How could she have gotten any work done when her laptop was still in the office? And she’d been sleeping? Sleeping while they worked through two services without her? What in the actual—?
“Charlie told me you left when Clara wouldn’t stop crying,” Libby said, inserting some serious frost into her voice as she finally reached the end of her tether.
“I need to . . . I’m sorry. I needed to concentrate.”
Libby squeezed her eyes shut at that response. Hating the way it made her feel. The resentment, anger, and hurt. Clara had already been rejected by her own father. Tina purported to love the baby, but this didn’t feel like love to Libby.
“I’m sorry I left,” Tina continued when Libby swallowed back the angry words she longed to toss at the woman. She felt like a protective mother bear with a wounded cub. She wasn’t prepared to subject her baby to any further negativity. “I’ll be right over. God, this is so . . .” Whatever Tina had been about to say faded into nothing, and the silence hung awkwardly between them for another beat.
“I’ll see you soon.” Libby knew she sounded cold, but she wasn’t prepared to pander to any more of Tina’s weird behavior.
“Fifteen minutes,” Tina promised before disconnecting the call. Libby shook her head and shoved her phone back into her pocket before focusing her attention back on her kitchen. It was up to her to make up for Tina’s complete lack of professionalism. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she knew she could no longer have her baby around Tina’s negative energy.
She was busy garnishing a dark chocolate mousse when she heard Tina’s timid voice coming from behind her nearly twenty minutes later. Libby’s head snapped up, and she pinned her so-called friend with a cool look before calling Agnes over to step in, interrupting whatever lame apology Tina had been in the middle of uttering.
She was blindingly furious and strode toward the back doors that led to the alley, not bothering to check if Tina was following her.
Two of the busboys were sneaking a smoke, and since she hadn’t authorized the break, she glared at them angrily. They both paled, apologized, and rushed back inside, leaving the two women alone in the well-lit alley.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Tina said, and Libby folded her arms across her chest, unimpressed with her words.
“Having Clara in the office is clearly not working,” she said, cutting to the chase and choosing to ignore Tina’s apology. “I’m trying to find another solution.”
“No. Libby . . . that’s not necessary. I just . . .”
“Tina, it’s not fair that you have to work with a crying baby in your space.”
“And it’s not fair that you have to move your infant daughter to a place where you won’t be close to her. We can make this work. It’s only day two. We’ll all get used to the arrangement.”
She was saying all the right things, in the sincerest of voices, but Libby was not buying it.
“Like you got used to having us staying with you that first month?” she asked pointedly, and Tina looked stunned by the question.
“I . . .”
“It’s obvious you’re not too fond of babies, Tina,” Libby interrupted firmly, refusing to soften at the utter devastation she saw in Tina’s eyes. “And that’s okay . . . but I’d rather have Clara around people who love and enjoy her.”
Tina reeled back as if absorbing a blow and sucked in a harsh, stunned breath. She blinked rapidly, her green eyes bright with tears. Libby nearly apologized, but she bit back the words. She had a baby to consider now, and Clara’s needs would always come first.
“I do love her,” Tina whispered, looking utterly devastated by Libby’s words. But how could Libby believe her when Tina had never shown any indication of love or affection for Clara? Instead, she had gone out of her way to avoid being in the same room as the baby.
“It’s not just Clara,” Tina admitted quietly. “It’s all babies, Libby. I can’t be around them.”
Was that supposed to make it better? It didn’t; it made it so much worse. And it merely served to confirm Libby’s belief that the woman she considered her best friend found being around her baby a burden. Which was so hard to believe, since Tina had once seemed to adore babies.
“What happened to you?” Libby asked angrily. “You wanted to be an obstetrician, for God’s sake. And now you can’t even stand to look at my baby.”
“I do love her,” Tina said, looking like she was trying to convince herself more than Libby. “She’s beautiful.”
“It’s okay, Tina,” Libby said dismissively, needing to get away from the woman and this conversation as quickly as possible. Because it was not okay. She didn’t understand this. She wanted to understand it, but unless Tina chose to be more forthcoming about what had happened to her, Libby feared their friendship was teetering on the brink of disaster.
She stood for a moment, hesitating, as she stared into her friend’s devastated face. She felt herself softening in the face of all that misery. She teetered on the brink of begging Tina to confide in her, to talk to her and explain what was going on. But she knew that the middle of dinner service wasn’t the time or place. One of them needed to be a leader here. Needed to be strong for the sake of their business. And that person was clearly not going to be Tina.
She shook her head, irritated with herself for lingering out here for so long. There was work to be done.
“I’ll figure something out,” she said, before reluctantly turning and walking back toward her responsibilities.
She didn’t know how she got through dinner service. But it was another quiet evening, and the last patrons left at eleven. The kitchen had taken final orders at ten thirty, and by the time the customers left, most of the kitchen staff had already headed home. Libby and Agnes were the last to leave the kitchen at just after eleven.
She bade the slightly younger woman good night and watched as Agnes met up with her good-looking husband, who was waiting at reception, and greeted him with a tired hug. The man, Dr. Mandla Ngozi, was the local pediatrician and Clara’s doctor. Libby smiled and waved at him. He waved back before escorting Agnes out.
Libby threw back her shoulders and went to the office for Charlie and Clara. The baby was already bundled up in her cute little dinosaur hoodie, a gift from her uncle Harris. Tina was in the office, but after one quick look over at the desk, where the other woman sat staring up at her with mute pleading in her eyes, Libby diverted her attention on Charlie.
“You ready?” she asked the teen. Libby would be driving the girl home tonight, an arrangement she had cleared with Daff and Spencer Carlisle.
“I am,” Charlie said with her ready smile. She gathered her backpack and books and waited while Libby grabbed Clara’s bag and picked the baby up.
“Night, Ms. Jenson,” Charlie called as she bounded from the room.
“Libby, please.” Tina’s soft, imploring voice halted Libby’s movement for a moment.
“I’m exhausted, Tina,” she admitted quietly. “It’s been a hell of a day. I need to get Charlie home. And then I just have to switch off from all of this for a little while.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Libby sighed, her shoulders drooping. There was no mistaking the remorse in Tina’s voice. But she honestly did not know what to do about that now, and part of her resented Tina for making what should have been a positive experience for both of them so damned stressful.
“I know that, Tina.”
“Can we—” Clara’s fretful little cry interrupted whatever Tina had been about to say, and she paled at the sound.
Again that extreme negative reaction to Clara’s presence.
“I have to go. Good night.” This time Libby turned and walked away without a backward glance.
The house was freezing. Clara was fretting; she needed a change and a feed, but Libby had to take care of the heating first.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she murmured after putting Clara’s baby seat down on the makeshift coffee table. She looked around for the air conditioner’s remote, figuring the fastest way to warm up the place would be by blasting heat from the air-conditioning unit. The place had no central heating, and the old radiator heater, which had been left behind by the previous owner, had died last night.
She found the remote with a triumphant whoop, and when she turned the heat on, the air conditioner sputtered for a moment before running with a sickly whir. But at least it was working. Thank God for small miracles.
“Okay, bath time for you, munchkin,” she told Clara, keeping her voice cheerful even though she felt like bawling her eyes out. Her day didn’t look like it was going to improve much now that she was home.
For the first time, she looked around the shabby place and worried that she had bitten off way more than she could chew. The plumber still hadn’t come to fix the pipes. The hot water worked . . . until it didn’t, and—she sighed as she walked into the kitchen and stared at the wet floor in dismay—it was now apparent that the roof leaked.
“Just awesome,” she repeated out loud, opening and closing cupboards to look for a bucket. She knew she had one. She had bought it just last week. She finally found it in the bathroom and carried it to the kitchen to place beneath the leak.
Clara was screeching by now, and abruptly overwhelmed, Libby stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the water dripping into the bucket. She covered her face with her hands and inhaled deeply, trying to keep it together.
“I’m coming, baby,” she called soothingly, heading to the bathroom to fill the baby bath with warm water. She placed the pink-and-white plastic bath into the ancient claw-foot tub beneath the tap. The faucet sputtered when she opened it, and the water that emerged was a little brown with rust at first, before running clear. She held her hand beneath the stream, and thankfully, the water warmed after a moment.
“Thank God,” she muttered before heading back to the living room for Clara, who was not a happy little camper right now. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Libby could hear the despair in her own voice as she lifted her baby into her arms. She carried Clara into the bedroom to remove her clothing.
The air conditioner was starting to heat the small house quite comfortably, which Libby was grateful for. She wrapped her plump, naked baby in a fluffy towel before heading back to the bathroom. The adorable, comfortable baby bath—a gift from Clara’s paternal grandparents—was nearly full, and Libby tugged it away from the stream of water before reaching over to close the faucet.
Nothing happened.
“No, no, no,” Libby moaned. “Please, come on!”
The spigot just kept turning without tightening, and the water continued to run. Clara’s cries were escalating now, and feeling increasingly frazzled, Libby wasn’t sure what to do. She glared at the relentless flow of water resentfully, attempting to rock Clara while not at all sure how to deal with this latest in a seemingly endless list of problems.
A loud knock sounded on the front door at that moment, and Libby bit back a juicy curse word at the intrusion. She knew exactly who that was. Seeing him again was inevitable, but of course he had to choose the absolute worst moment to show up. She’d been expecting him all day, and he came knocking after eleven at night. Closer to twelve, actually—it was way too late to be bathing Clara, she knew. But Clara was overdue for a bath, and Libby hadn’t had much time to do it that afternoon, not after dealing with various crises at the restaurant.
She shook her head and swore softly beneath her breath. Then, still clutching a snugly wrapped Clara to her chest, she made her way to the front door. A quick glance through the peephole confirmed the identity of her unwelcome visitor, and for a brief moment she considered ignoring him, before bowing to the inevitable. Might as well just rip the Band-Aid off the wound.
She unlocked the door and swung it open to glare at her soon-to-be ex-husband furiously.