15. Dolly
15
DOLLY
“I have one last surprise for you.”
One last surprise…
These last few days have been nothing but surprises. For both of us.
“You said we needed to be up and out the door early,” I reply, trying to keep my confusion from turning into something else. Because if we didn’t really need to be up early, I’m going to be grumpy. Very, very grumpy.
I was an exceptionally happy little girl curled up in bed this morning. Who wouldn’t be, snuggled up next to a naked Hux, those strong, tattooed arms wrapped around them, enveloped in not only his body heat and incredibly manly smell, but whatever that brooding intensity is called?
Then again, getting to play with him in the shower wasn’t exactly a hardship either.
Still, forcing me out of that cocoon of bliss so that we could get a move on —his words, not mine—seemed to have actual, legit ramifications.
“We did.”
“So, don’t we need to get going?”
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, my actions in direct contradiction to my statement. So much for holding that confusion in.
Hux smirks, unhooking my weekender from my shoulder and slinging it over his. There’s a telling twinkle in his eye and a twitch to his lips…that’s not just any old smirk. I know this look. He’s up to something.
“Hux…”
“I’m gonna put these in the car. Be right back.”
“Huxley.”
“Wait for me over by that statue.”
Winking, he turns on his heels and is off before I can object. That doesn’t stop me though.
“Huxley Adams Hayes,” I ground out, moving over to the spot he indicated.
I’m going to strangle him…
“Miss McLain?”
A deep, old-school Southern accent floats through the air, my name sounding like royalty with the way he forms the vowels. I turn, eyes landing on an older gentleman with silver hair and piercing blue eyes standing a few feet from me, dressed in a chef’s jacket, the name Whittaker stitched across the breast.
“That’s me.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss McLain. I’m Chef Whittaker, and I hear you are my personal guest this mornin’.”
He holds out his hand, but not to shake. I extend mine, only knowing how to proceed since my great-grandfather used the same move. He takes it, gently kissing my knuckles, as if receiving me in court. I smile, barely holding in my giggle. It’s been a long time since anyone greeted me like this.
Wait…did he say personal guest?
“I’m sorry…your what?” I ask. I am not following.
“My personal guest,” he repeats. “Ah, and is this Mr. Hayes?”
Looking up and past me, he smiles. I glance over my shoulder, Hux appearing by my side.
“Chef, thank you so much for accommodating this request,” Hux says, shaking the man’s hand.
“One does not tell Harriett Robinson no.” He chuckles, giving us a knowing wink. Miss Harriett. He knows Miss Harriett. Well, I never… “If y’all will follow me.”
We do as we’re told, moving swiftly through the lobby and dining room, past a number of other early risers. Chef Whittaker doesn’t waste any time, barging through the kitchen doors like he owns the place, taking no prisoners along the way.
“Here you are, my dears.”
Gesturing to a small wooden table, draped with a simple white tablecloth, Chef Whittaker smiles proudly. The table is set for two, with a small pastel carnation centerpiece, and my heart sings at the sight. A chef’s table. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Thank you.”
I sit, so overwhelmed by the whole kitchen I don’t know where to look. The busy staff bustles around us, not seeming to notice or care that we’re there—and probably in their way—moving about their business of getting Sunday brunch going. Sighing, I reach across the table and grab Hux’s hand, mouthing a thank you to him as well. He didn’t have to do this. But he did.
“Now, I am told that you are also a chef, is that right?” Chef Whittaker asks, standing by my side.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I own a diner, but that’s not really?—”
“She is,” Hux cuts me off before I can finish undermining myself.
Chef Whittaker nods to him, and I can tell they are both silently—or not so silently in Hux’s case—telling me to knock it off. The older gentleman places a piece of cardstock in front of each of us, then clears his throat.
“Well, today, we are taking care of you . A nice, romantic breakfast for two. So sit back, relax, and enjoy this tasting menu we have prepared. If you need to request a modification, that is no problem. Simply holler ‘Chef!’ and I shall come running. And once you are nice and full, I will show you around. But for now, we will get you started with some drinks, and give you a moment.”
A nice, romantic breakfast for two…
“When I asked Harriett if she still knew the chef here, I didn’t think she was going to send us on the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti date,” Hux mutters.
I sputter out a laugh. “Sir, fresh fruit and muffins, smoked lox crostini, spinach, feta, and sundried tomato frittata, and crêpes suzette are a far cry from spaghetti in a back alley. Oh, and our choice of mimosas or Bloody Marys.”
He shrugs, because he knows I’m right. Sure, the longtime Hayes employee might have had an ulterior motive—or maybe Chef got the message wrong—but this meal is spoiling us. Big time.
“Thank you,” I say again after a server drops off our choice of drinks, along with a basket of warm muffins with house-made whipped butter. “This is really special.”
“You deserve it.”
I don’t know how to reply to that. So I don’t. I let it linger in the air, dissipating into the business of the kitchen. What I really want to ask him is where we go from here. What’s next. If last night was a one-time thing. It’s one thing for all this to happen in a bubble while we’re on the island. It’s another for it to continue when we get back to Hickory Hills.
But I’m also not ready to bring it up. Because if he’s changed his mind, I don’t want to know. Not just yet. I want to sit in the ignorance until this meal is over.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything. Always,” he answers. Two lines appear between his brows, his normally serious look taking hold.
“Promise to be honest with me? Like, brutally honest?”
“Dolly,” Hux huffs.
Right. He always is. That’s who we are.
“Do you think if I cut Dolly’s menu people would get upset? And I don’t mean one or two things. I mean, like in half.”
“I think you’d get comments about it, but I bet you can also back up the decision with actual data as to what you take off.”
“Oh, absolutely. There are things on there that I have never seen anyone order. I don’t know that anyone, in our entire lifetime, has ever ordered a Monte Cristo. Hell, I don’t know why I really offer most of the sandwiches I do, other than Grandma Dolly put them on the menu when she opened up and they’ve been there ever since. Same with salads.”
“Then do it. You’ve been saying that you wanted to revamp the menu for forever. Now’s the time.”
I shrug, taking a sip of my mimosa. He’s right. I know he is. Grabbing a muffin, I pick at it, more because I need a distraction than anything, afraid to admit this next part.
“I’m afraid that if I do, I’m going to let Grandma Dolly down.”
Hux reels backward. He starts to speak, but stops as a server arrives, placing small plates with the smoked lox crostini on the table.
“You’re going to have to explain that one.”
“Because if I change things too much and people stop coming, then I’ve ruined her legacy.”
“Psssh.” He shoves a whole crostini in his mouth, chomping down on it like a caveman, not bothering to even attempt to hide how ridiculous he thinks what I said was. “The only thing your grandmother wanted was for you to take that place and make it your own.”
“You think?”
Hux nods. “Know what else I think?”
I shake my head. He reaches across the table, slipping his hand under mine and interlacing our fingers together. His palm is warm, sending butterflies dancing across my skin.
“I think that you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known and that you can do anything you put your mind to. So, if that’s revamping Dolly’s, then it’s revamping Dolly’s. If it’s something completely different, then…we’re going on some other foodie adventure. But whatever it is, I have zero doubts that my girl’s got this.”
Well, shit. Now I’m going to cry.
My heart squeezes, all the happiness inside of it threatening to ooze out and spill all over the place like a hazmat incident. I can’t help it though. Having Hux by my side, him having this kind of faith in me, makes me feel like I could take over the world.
“As long as you’re there with me. The man in my life.”
He nods. “Someone’s got to do the heavy lifting.”
I laugh, playfully kicking him under the table. That was not what I meant.
“Enough about me. I really feel like we’ve spent all weekend talking about me, and I’m done. No more. So, Hux…start talking about yourself.”
Hux grunts. Himself is his least favorite subject, avoiding it whenever possible. I should have known better than to approach it that way. Okay, time for a new tactic.
“Tell me about Project: Second Star,” I prompt. That should get him going.
He might hate talking about himself, but his projects? Get him going about those and we could be here for hours.
Clearing his throat nervously, he shifts in his chair, taking a long sip of his Bloody Mary. “Errr, I’m Huxley Adams Hayes…Huxley because it was Miss Belle’s maiden name; Adams was her grandmother’s maiden name. I was born on?—”
“Wow, you really do not want to tell me about this project if you were about to list off your basic stats. All of which I know by heart, by the way. I have been buying you birthday presents for most of the past three decades.”
“It’s not about wanting to tell you. Or well, not wanting to tell you. But right now, it stays need to know.”
“And I don’t need to know?” I tease.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Promise.” He winks, the butterflies coming to life all over again. I smile, my cheeks heating up, and I wonder if there’ll come a moment when this will all wear off.
“Fine, no Project: Second Star. For now,” I acquiesce. “What else are you working on?”
“A new sustainability program. Specifically for paper. We’ve got a solid program where lumber is concerned. It’s not perfect, but we’re doing what we can to make a dent in the replant program. Paper, on the other hand…”
I sit back, settling into my seat, letting Hux rattle on. Just as I knew he would. I won’t lie, most of what he says doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. I know food. The chemistry of the ingredients. Making a meal come together. Paper presses, fibers, alternative sources, and all the other things he mentions? Yeah, I get lost.
The words themselves don’t matter though. He could be speaking ancient Russian and I would be just as enraptured. Because his passion for what he does radiates through all of it. All of him. He loves those trees. Those woods out on the Hayes property. The science behind forestry and ethically sourcing lumber and creating its byproducts. And watching this passion pour out of him is one of the most wonderful things in the world.
“The whole process uses so many chemicals, and there simply isn’t a way around that. Even if you try to go the non-wood fiber route. Which defeats the purpose, since the whole reason Hayes took on paper all those years ago was to use up some of the waste from the lumber production. But trying to be environmentally savvy while also being profitable isn’t exactly easy.”
“I wish I had an answer for you.”
“Truthfully, it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t trying to solve it for me,” he says, letting out a heavy breath. Shoveling a large bite of his frittata into his mouth, he takes a moment to chew, his deep hazel eyes trained on me the whole time. “I love my brothers, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Most days. But the problem with your family also being your coworkers is that you’re never not working. Gus will talk work anywhere, any time.”
“It’s better now that he has Margeaux.”
“Sorta. She can be just as bad.” He takes one last bite, then points his fork at mine, signaling for me to finish. It’s not that I’ve been ignoring it, but I haven’t been keeping up with him bite for bite. “And they always have an opinion on things. So, I can’t just bitch about it without one of them trying to then tell me how to live my life.”
I nod. The Hayes boys are good at that. They have an opinion about everything and are not afraid to share it. Actually, it’s not limited to the boys. Willa is the exact same way. And her razor-sharp tongue will cut you so fast she’ll be walking away before you realize you’re bleeding.
“But that’s why you have me,” I assure him. That part hasn’t changed. Never will. “The woman in your life.”
Hux smiles. An honest to God, true smile. “It is. You are.”
Oh, heaven help me…
It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, because if I were standing, my knees would have given out and I would have crumpled to the ground. As it is, I’m one great big emotional puddle.
It’s time. I need to bite the bullet and bring it up. Ask the big girl question. Get the awkward over with so that we have time to talk about it.
Right, here goes.
“And now, for my personal favorite, the crêpes suzette,” Chef Whittaker says, appearing tableside, two small plates in hand.
Another server clears our frittatas, Chef quickly replacing them with the crepes. The sweet, citrusy scent fills my nostrils, making my mouth water.
“Bon appétit.”
I wait a moment, until I know we’re alone again, watching Hux as he cuts into the crepes. A small piece of syrup sticks to his lips, and the urge to kiss it off rushes through me, but I hold back. I need the answer to my question first.
Here goes. For real this time.
“So…errr…ummm…question…”
“Eat,” he orders, pointing to my crepe, his brow furrowed.
“I will. But, first…” I swallow hard. “This thing…is it following us home?”
Hux pauses, chewing slowly, then setting his utensils down. “Are you asking will I still fuck you when we get back to Hickory Hills?”
Among other things…
“I was trying to be less crass about it, but yes.”
“I meant what I said the other night at dinner. I’m happy being the man in your life. Whatever form that takes.”
I nod, slipping my hand under his. “I want it to still take that form. Only…”
“Only…”
“I need to know that I’m it. I mean, not that I’m it it, like endgame kind of it, but as in, there won’t be others. No skinny little brunettes making special appearances.”
“Dolly, if you’re in my bed, as the woman in my life, then there won’t be any others. In any other way.”
Thank fuck…
My body relaxes, the breath I’d unconsciously been holding on to seeping out of me. Hux chuckles, watching my physical reaction and apparently finding something about it humorous. I’m glad one of us does.
“Anything else?” he asks, returning to his crepes. “Also, please eat.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. Leave it to him to worry about me eating. Picking up my fork, I cut off a corner of the pastry, popping it into my mouth. The sugary sauce melts on my tongue and I let out a little moan, unable to control myself.
“Good girl.”
Oh fuck…let’s not start that, Hux Hayes…
“Errr, so…what if I want things to be more than physical?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure. Which is damn near impossible since I’m pretty sure that two-word sentence just ruined my panties.
“I don’t follow.”
“This…whatever this is. Man, woman, life thing.”
Yeah, that’s nonchalant. Casual. Totally not trying to put a label on anything or stake my claim.
“Doll, what do I need to do here to make you understand that I’m in this? You want me to be your booty call? Fine. Your handyman? Been there, done that. Will continue. You want it all? I’m here. I’m in.”
He’s in. Hux is all in…
I swoon. Seriously swoon. Something that I don’t know that I’ve ever done. This isn’t a feeling Jeff ever managed to conjure up. Even when he asked me to marry him.
“I want it all,” I tell him, then drop my voice to a whisper. “And the cute little white house.”
Yeah, I’m staking my claim. I don’t know if this can work, but damn it, what if it can? What if it’s been in front of me this whole time?
“We have a whole folder full of those.”
That we do. A very full folder. Hux has been committed to helping make that piece of my dream come true for years, acting as my partner in crime as I squirrel away ideas. Supportive of even the craziest suggestions I could come up with. Always.
“There something else?” he asks, examining my expression, reading me like an open book. I shake my head, taking another bite, delaying my answer. But Hux doesn’t skip a beat, calling me out on it. “Your eyes tell me otherwise.”
“Would you object if I said I wanted to keep this between us for now?”
“You want me to be your dirty little secret?” Hux waggles his eyebrows, giving me the same kind of look Joey on Friends would while asking “How you doin’?”
I kick him under the table, my foot barely connecting with his shin, but he mouths “ow,” pretending to be hurt.
“No. But it’s not the world’s business either, and I…”
“Perfectly happy to be your dirty little secret.” He winks again, and fuck, my panties are definitely ruined. I wonder if I can change them before we get in the car. “You know I have no problem not letting Hickory Hills in on anything.”
“The girls will probably figure something is up, and you live with Gus and Jace, so I suppose it won’t be a complete secret but…”
“You know my brothers aren’t going to tell a soul.”
I do. And neither will my girls. We all helped successfully keep Gus and Margeaux a secret from the town. Okay, mostly successfully. Hux and I are different though—no one will think anything about us being seen together.
Smiling, I lean forward, wanting to tell Hux so much. All of the things that are swirling around my head and in my chest. It’s crazy, all of it. I know it is. I also know that I can say all of it to him and that there will be no judgment.
But then his phone rings, the sound piercing through the air. Startling, Hux pulls the device from his pocket, hitting the decline button and grumbling.
“Which one?” I ask, already knowing it’s a brother calling.
“Anton.” He silences his phone and sets it down on the table, turning his attention back to me. “You were saying?”
The buzz of the device against the wood fills the air, cutting me off before I start up again. Rolling his eyes, Hux grabs it, no doubt to silence it, but then his face scrunches as he reads the text.
“What?” I ask, my heart leaping with worry.
“He sent an ARMADILLO text, asking when we’re getting back.”
His fingers move across the screen, typing back. An armadillo? Armadillo is the Hayes sibling distress call, and I can’t remember the last time one of them used it. Of all the brothers to bust that out, Anton would not have been at the top of my list. Feral middle child energy does not often lend itself to panic. Especially about when we’re coming home.
“Oh, shit.”
My heart drops. Something is wrong. Actually wrong.
“What?”
Hux holds out his phone, turning it so I can read it. Five short words fill the little bubble at the bottom of the screen, but they are enough to make my heart skip.
Anton: I’m going to lose trees