Chapter 1 #2
Concern etched deep lines across Tom’s forehead.
“I know you were. I looked it up after agreeing to hire you,” he admitted.
“I read about how you were tipped to win before you got the news about your parents.” He met Jude’s gaze and held it.
“And I read that if you won the competition, you planned to use the prize money to set up a place of your own in London. You’d grown up cooking pub grub, you said in one interview, but you thought fine dining was special.
You certainly wowed our charter clients with your menus.
” Tom glanced at the pub Jude had grown up in.
“Do you truly think you’ll find anything as special here? ”
Anything as special?
Jude’s gaze slid to the front of the pub too, peeling paintwork visible as the sun rose, too much maintenance here for one person alone. Guilt weighed heavily, like the black anchor painted on the sign above the pub’s front door.
Tom’s voice dropped. “Or maybe you’re determined to come back because of someone special, instead? You know, I couldn’t help feeling there was a subtext to the interview I read. It mentioned sparks flying during the contest between you and another contestant. Rob, wasn’t it? Rob Martin?”
Jude’s brain conjured a mental image of someone he’d tried so hard to forget.
“The interviewer implied you two were opposites. Said you were deadly serious about winning while this Rob guy was a joker who only played at competing. Was it a case of opposites attracting, Jude? Is that why I never noticed you pick up anyone the whole time we sailed together?”
“No,” Jude murmured, doing his level best not to see the feathers of Rob’s laugh lines superimposed over Tom’s deep ones, or Rob’s wide smile when Tom’s lips lifted slightly.
“Rob Martin’s not my type.” Jude also tried not to relive the one kiss they’d shared the night before a typhoon changed the course of his life.
“He doesn’t take being a chef seriously. Or anything else, for that matter.”
“No? So why was he competing?”
“To annoy his father.”
Tom squinted, so Jude explained, abbreviating a story he’d taken months to think over.
“His dad’s got a whole chain of five-star restaurants that he expects Rob to take over.
I don’t know why when Rob doesn’t deserve them.
He’s bone idle, but I guess blood’s thicker than water.
” And wasn’t that exactly why Jude had left London the moment his parents went missing?
“He only ever flirted with me for the cameras.”
“So if there isn’t someone special here for you, maybe you could think about me?
I think we’d be good together.” Tom tugged him closer.
“Tell me you haven’t ever thought about it.
About us.” His touch skimmed from Jude’s wrist to his elbow, thumb pressed to the hollow where his pulse surged.
Then it skimmed over the swell of biceps before coming to rest on Jude’s shoulder.
“Because I did,” Tom said, plain and honest.
From this close, Jude could smell the engine oil ingrained on Tom’s hand, and a hint of the peppermint tea he favoured, his hold on Jude rock-steady. “You never let on. I didn’t have any idea.”
“I wasn’t about to come on to you while you were so low. And then I decided not to while you still worked under me, in case you felt pressured to say yes. Now that I’m not your boss, I can ask.” Tom made it sound so easy. “So, what do you think?”
It would be easy—so easy—to say yes.
Jude could spend the summer cooking for Tom’s wealthy clients while continuing his search.
Tom faked a glower at his new hire who blew him a kiss. “I should have asked you before I signed up that sauce-pot.” Tom sighed. “He’s going to be nothing but trouble.” Then he focussed on Jude again. “Yeah, I should have asked you before, and then showed you what you’d be missing.”
Jude moistened suddenly dry lips to find Tom studying his mouth, intent, his lips parting as he leaned in.
Jude almost met his mouth—wanted to for a split second—until something inside pulled him away from Tom instead of towards him.
The new hire seemed to agree with that decision, hefting Jude’s duffle up from the deck to dump it between them.
“So you’re staying?”
“I have to, at least for the summer.”
“Okay.” Tom nodded, firm, as if he’d come to a decision.
“Do what you have to do here. Get it out of your system, Jude, and then call me on the satellite phone. Call me,” he repeated as if he was issuing his usual orders— scrub the deck, hoist the sail, start a new life with me .
“You call me, and I’ll change course; sail wherever you want, if you ask me. ”
Sea legs struck Jude as Tom untethered lines and jumped down onto the deck of the Aphrodite , issuing instructions to Jude’s replacement.
He braced himself on the sea wall to keep from following as the yacht that had become home headed into open water, leaving him stranded where he’d finally have to face the music.
His keys were in the bottom of his duffle, snug between rolls of colourful fabric that spilt onto the cobbles as he fumbled beneath them, so bright compared to the grey reality of home. Jude stalled before drawing a deep breath. Then he crossed to the pub’s front door to slot his key into the lock.
It wouldn’t turn.
In fact, the whole lock looked new.
Had Louise mentioned changing it in any of her messages lately? If she had, he’d skimmed it. Jude almost knocked on the door until a seagull cried behind him, a reminder that only fishermen and gulls were awake at this hour. His watch showed confirmation; it was too early to wake her.
That left one more option: he’d bed down in the boatshed before facing his sister.
Maybe he’d sleep instead of lying awake like usual, thinking about what-ifs with someone spoiled to the core, like Rob.
There was no point thinking about him now, Jude knew, despite the sparks Tom had mentioned.
And there was definitely no reason to replay their one kiss, not when Rob would have forgotten that he even existed.
Jude shouldered his bag and walked to the far end of the harbour.
The boatshed looked unchanged from the outside, the upturned hull of its roof was the same as ever, just like the weathered lock on its door, thank goodness.
This time, his key slid in. It was dark inside, inky, but Jude knew the layout like the back of his hand.
There were two bunks at the far end. No doubt the bedcovers would be dusty, but he’d slept in much worse places before Tom had hired him. He made his way towards them.
Jude’s shin struck something solid. He bit back a curse and tugged aside a curtain covering a porthole window. The dawn light was weak, but Jude caught his breath at what it revealed.
Far from living it up in London, or fighting with his famous father, Rob Martin slept in Jude’s bunk, sprawled across the mattress as if he owned it.