Chapter Two WES
Chapter Two
W ES
“It’s bullshit, Memphis!”
I wince, knowing I’m certainly about to involve myself in something that is very clearly a family dispute. Something that doesn’t warrant my opinion.
Still, though, I wait outside the room, hoping to eavesdrop long enough to determine whether there might be a chance for me to swoop in and hopefully alleviate the tension between Memphis and his sister.
Fuck me . . . his sister .
“It’s not bullshit, Murphy, it’s progress. We’ve been talking for years about making changes to the vineyard to bring in more tourists. It’s not my fault you haven’t been around to be part of those conversations.”
I know jack shit about the Hawthorne family drama, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that they seem to have plenty of baggage to unpack.
“I could care less about the changes you’re making,” Murphy spits back, and I can just picture her glaring at her brother, those gorgeous caramel-colored eyes of hers glowing with anger. “I’m part of this family too, but now I’m the only one with a boss ? What the hell is that about? You said I’d be in charge of myself.”
“Yeah, well ... things change. Circumstances change. So if you want to move home and work here, you’ll report to Chef Hart on Monday morning.”
“If I want to move home?” Murphy shrieks.
I glance through the crack in the door. On the other side, she’s standing across the room from where her brother is probably sitting at his desk. Murphy’s hands are in little fists at her sides, and even from here I can see her jaw is tight. Less than an hour ago, I was kissing her sweet mouth and arguing with myself about asking her for her phone number as we sat on the tailgate of the truck. I was not expecting to see this other very real side of her.
“I misspoke,” Memphis corrects himself, his tone losing some of the bite. “Whether or not you can move home is up to Dad. But if you want to get paid and have a job, the job that’s available is waitressing. And Chef Hart is in charge of the new restaurant.”
There’s a long silence before I hear Murphy’s voice slice through the quiet.
“You know, it only took me fifteen minutes of being home to remember all the reasons I left.”
Without warning, the door to the office flies open and Murphy comes storming out, halting as she notices my presence. But just as quickly as she comes to a stop, she’s going again, leaving me in her wake as she heads down a long hallway and around a corner.
Memphis told me his sister was a handful when he mentioned she’d be working for me, but I hadn’t expected ... this . For her to be the gorgeous woman I thought I was helping out at the gas station. For her to be all kinds of fire and heat.
Why couldn’t she have just been some girl? Any girl, really. Anyone other than Memphis’s sister.
But with the way life seems to constantly beat me back, I guess it makes sense.
I drag my attention away from the corner where Murphy disappeared and knock gently on the doorjamb to Memphis’s office. He glances up and then waves me in with a tight smile, and I step into the room that has become quite familiar ever since he hired me last month.
Even though most of my work is done in the restaurant on the other end of the property, I’ve been spending a few hours a week sitting across from Memphis at this desk, the two of us discussing big-picture items and shooting the shit.
He seems like a good enough guy, if a little high strung.
All I know for certain is that he’s the man who hired me, and for that, I owe him.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says, his voice gruff as he shifts papers around on his desk. “I wasn’t expecting Murphy to have a complete meltdown.”
I scratch the back of my head for a second before tucking my hands into my jeans. “She seems ... spirited.”
And sexy as hell , though I keep that part to myself.
“Spirited,” Memphis repeats, then huffs out a chuckle. “That’s one word for her. I’ve got about a million more, but I don’t want to scare you off by detailing all her faults. I’m sure she’s a lot easier to get along with when you’re not her big brother.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, considering him. Memphis told me his sister was intense, sure, but he said it in an affectionate kind of way. A way that hints at normal brother-sister fights over two decades of growing up in each other’s business.
That’s the way I talk about my brother, anyway.
Ash has plenty of faults, and the two of us have gotten into some serious arguments and at least a few scuffles over the years as a result. But I don’t broadcast those things to anyone outside of our unit.
The way Memphis is clenching his jaw and glaring at the paperwork he’s sorting through, and his mention of all her faults ... It just makes me think he and Murphy have a few old wounds that haven’t healed.
It worries me a little bit, the idea that I might wind up at the center of some family drama that I have nothing to do with.
But with my background and all the toxic workplace drama I’ve experienced in my years working in kitchens, whatever little skirmish is going on between Memphis and Murphy isn’t enough to have me jumping ship.
I need this job.
Desperately.
So if that means I need to put up with hearing about the problems between my employer and his sister, so be it.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Memphis glances up briefly before focusing back on the documents in front of him.
I freeze, though thankfully he seems far too distracted by whatever he’s working on to notice.
I hadn’t even thought about a reason why I’d stick around after putting Murphy’s boxes in the hallway. Sure, I might be living on the northern perimeter of the property in one of the studio cabins, but this is the first time I’ve been over here so late. Memphis and his father told me I was welcome inside their home anytime, even if it was just to rummage through the fridge, but I haven’t taken advantage of that generous offer just yet.
Normally, I stop in here and there to connect with Memphis and talk through any updates or changes to our plans for the restaurant, but the only true time I spend in the main house is when their aunt Sarah makes everyone dinner in the evenings. It’s one of those old-world, employees-as-family things that I don’t think is that common anymore. But it’s a pretty nice benefit, and Sarah is an incredible cook.
Outside of my hours working, I’ve kept primarily to myself, wanting to enjoy my last nights of freedom before I begin the real hours as the head chef of a brand-new restaurant.
So sticking around during a family squabble on a Friday night is a bit out of character for me. I scramble to come up with anything I can think of for why I’m still here.
“Your dad told me your aunt usually keeps some killer desserts in the fridge for whoever might want them after hours,” I say, remembering what Jack said to me when he gave me a tour of the house and the property.
Memphis glances up at me. “Got a bit of a sweet tooth?”
I nod. “A little bit, but especially when I’m running on an empty tank. It’s been a busy day.”
He sets his pen down and then tilts his head from side to side before pushing away from his desk and slapping his knees. “I could definitely use the break. I’ll show you where Sarah keeps the goodies.”
I follow in his wake as he leads me through the large ranch-style home and into the kitchen.
Tugging open the fridge, he rummages around for a second before pulling out two large white platters. One is filled with cheese, salami, and other charcuterie elements. The other has a bunch of bonbons covered in cellophane.
I reach immediately for the tray with chocolate and peanut buttery treats and pop one into my mouth. I’ve been a chef for basically my entire adult life. Ever since my teens, I’ve cultivated a very educated palate when it comes to just about everything culinary. But chocolate and peanut butter are two things that are universally delicious, and always more so together.
“Sorry again. About Murphy.”
I look to Memphis, who is leaning back against the farmhouse sink, snacking on a piece of salami.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I tell him.
“I get that, but I also know what you’re in for with her working for you.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to scare you off, but like I said, she’s gonna be a handful.”
I lick some chocolate out of the corner of my mouth, trying to keep my thoughts about Murphy to myself.
“I’ve worked with plenty of really complicated personalities,” I reply, deciding to stay as neutral as possible. “I’m not worried.”
Memphis chuckles and then shoves another slice of salami into his mouth.
“Help yourself to as much as you want. Just make sure to tuck it back into the fridge once you head out.”
I nod. “Will do.”
He reaches out, and we shake hands before he heads back down the little hallway toward his office.
I swipe another bonbon and pop it in my mouth. I glance around the kitchen. I’ve been in here before, but never alone. Never with the ability to stare and take things in, unencumbered by the observations of others. So I take advantage, walking over to the photos scattered on the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room.
There are plenty of people in these pictures that I don’t recognize at all, but I keep searching until I find what I’m looking for.
Who I’m looking for.
Murphy Hawthorne.
I spot a picture of her when she was much younger—maybe in high school—sitting on a stool playing the guitar, a bright smile on her face.
I’ve seen this picture in passing, having faced toward it on most of the nights I’ve been here eating dinner just a few feet away. Now, knowing who Murphy is, I study it harder, comparing the photo to my memory of the way her eyes watched me as we sat in the back of the truck.
Next to it is a family photo of a much-younger Murphy and Memphis, maybe in their teens, along with their younger brother, Micah, who works at the vineyard as well. Their father, Jack, and their aunt Sarah are on either side of the three siblings, with an elderly couple in the back.
Their grandparents, I’m assuming.
My attention drifts back to the photo of Murphy with the guitar. I reach out to shift it slightly, correcting the crooked slant of the frame on the wall.
Memphis says she’s trouble, and I don’t know enough to agree one way or the other. She seemed sweet enough, playful enough, back at the gas station. But being playful and teasing are things you show to the world. The erratic, frustrating, difficult parts of people tend to come out more with family.
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how the chips fall once we’re finally working together, which apparently is Monday. That leaves only a few days before we’re thrust together in the chaos of all the final preparations that come in the weeks before opening a restaurant. After that, I won’t be able to avoid her even if I want to.
I spin around to grab another bonbon off the tray, but freeze when I spot Murphy in leggings and a loose tank top on the other side of the island, one hand on her hip, the other holding a chocolate confection that she’s nibbling on.
I’m at a loss for words.
Not just because I’m surprised to see her, but also because she’s even more gorgeous with her hair pulled up in a messy bun at the top of her head, a few wavy strands hanging loose around her face.
Effortlessly beautiful. That’s what she is. The kind of woman who would look incredible gazing into my eyes next to me in bed in the morning. The kind of woman who makes you wish you’d asked for her damn number.
I shake my head and look away, trying to quiet the storm of thoughts beginning to take my mind hostage.
“Have a nice little chat about me with my brother?” She pops the rest of the half-eaten bonbon into her mouth.
I step forward, bracing both hands against the edge of the tiled island.
“No, actually.”
She slows down her chewing, but I can tell by her slightly narrowed eyes she doesn’t entirely buy it.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” she asks, confirming that I read her correctly. “I can’t imagine my brother missing a chance to paint me as the black sheep of our family.”
“Are you? The black sheep?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Depends on your perspective.”
“I’m interested in your perspective.”
Her eyes hold mine for a long moment before she answers.
“I don’t buy into the black-sheep theory,” she tells me. “It implies that one person’s faults and flaws are worse than another’s, when really it’s a matter of preference. Of taste, if you will. My brother, for example, is a bossy asshole who treats his siblings like employees. But he gets praised for that because he’s a man. I openly disagree with him about something, and I’m a handful .”
Something about my facial expression must give me away because Murphy lasers in on it and she almost laughs.
“He used that word to describe me, huh?”
I shrug my own shoulder this time, not wanting to throw Memphis under the bus.
“ A handful is the most common. Intense is another. Aggressive . Bad-tempered . He likes to pick words that dance around how he really feels, things that are just enough to hint that I’m a problem without being intentionally cruel.”
“Sounds like you and your brother have quite a history if you’re able to describe him this specifically,” I finally reply.
It’s getting harder to stay neutral when I can see so clearly that the way Memphis talks about his sister wounds her deeply.
“I haven’t seen him in nine years. I’d just assumed he might be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt before jumping to conclusions about who I am.”
I raise my eyebrows.
When he said his sister was moving home after living in Southern California for a few years, I hadn’t expected it to be nine years. That’s a hair bit more than a few.
I don’t really know how to respond, other than to encourage her to talk to her brother if she’s frustrated. But I’m not sure that’s the right move, for either of them. It assumes they have a healthy relationship where they feel safe while they’re being vulnerable.
And clearly, that’s not at all the kind of relationship they have.
I’m also not her therapist. Hell, we literally just met. I don’t need to be handing out any kind of advice.
“I’m sorry that things between you aren’t ... easier,” I settle on. “Family relationships can be tough, no doubt.”
Her shoulders soften, and it looks like all the wind has fallen away from her sails.
“It’s been a long day and I’m beat, so ...” She pauses, plucking another bonbon off the tray. “I’m gonna head to bed. I guess I’ll ... see you around?”
I nod, letting my eyes wander a half second more to take a mental snapshot of her before she heads off down the hallway. I watch her until she disappears, and I realize I’ve done that twice now, almost like she’s a magnet and I can’t help but follow her presence.
Once she’s gone, I force her out of my thoughts and make quick work of putting Sarah’s treats back in the fridge. I leave through the french doors that lead from the living room to the veranda that spans the back of the house and offers an impressive view of the vineyard under the moonlight.
Taking a deep breath, I soak in the scents around me. The sea-salt air that rolls in with the evening fog. The jasmine vines sprinkled along the sides of the main house with their delicate pink blooms. The chaparral sage edging the stone pathway that snakes through the center of the property.
I’ve been wandering through the vineyard at night, enjoying the quiet. Tonight, though, my mind doesn’t jump to the same recurring problems that normally plague me.
The only thing plaguing me is Murphy. I can’t get my mind off her.
When I first saw her at the gas station, I’d been struck by her beauty. After I’d paid for my gas and emerged outside, I couldn’t not do something when I saw her crying.
But it was in our flirtatious exchanges that I felt hooked. I could feel a thread of connection between us almost immediately, and I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to just turn that off.
And that kiss was . . .
I nearly groan just thinking about it.
The fact she’s a Hawthorne is just ... I kick lightly at the mulch on the path. What kind of a small world is that? I guess not that small since we were at a gas station less than two miles from her family vineyard.
I don’t know what kind of disruption working together will cause, or whether this attraction to each other is a small flame we can snuff out quickly. But she seemed pretty upset to find out she was going to be “reporting” to someone instead of managing things on her own, so I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
But one thing is for certain. This job is more important to me than my attraction to Murphy, and that’s something I need to remember whenever I find myself too enamored by her golden eyes or perfect pink lips.
Eventually I hit the place where the path splits, leading off in several different directions: the brand-new restaurant building to the right, the cellars and warehouse down the middle, and the cabins to the left.
No matter what, I need to remember that I’m here to work, and that getting entangled with my brand-new boss’s sister is definitely not the right path to take.