Chapter 7
After a day of sitting in limbo, I turn up at Hope Pizza during the dinner rush in search of answers.
This morning, when I woke, the house was quiet, and I snuck out of the guest room like a criminal who didn’t want to be caught. After a few minutes, it was clear Evan was already gone, but I wondered if that would be permanent. Should I unpack more of my things or leave them? I almost had an anxiety attack trying to decide, so I did nothing instead.
Because of that stress, I gave myself an out on setting up a meeting with the lawyer handling my mother’s will. Come on, I can only handle one thing at a time, or at least that’s what my denial and projection are having me believe.
So, after a day of pretty much doing nothing but stressing out and driving myself crazy, I walk in the door and am greeted by the familiar smell of wood-fired pizza. God, I’ve missed it in here. I guess I hadn’t noticed the subtle changes in decor, tableware, and atmosphere when I slept on Warren’s couch the other night, but the dining room looks like it had a classy upgrade while still remaining true to its roots.
The homemade, secret recipe of the sauce the Ashton family uses on their dough and pastas stings my nose in the best way possible, and I know I need to sneak something from the kitchen as soon as possible.
“Oh! I heard you were home!” I’m mere feet from the door when a body envelops me in a hug.
Right away, I know this is Leona Ashton. Because, just like her restaurant, she has a unique smell. That of fresh farm air and the perfume she’s been wearing since the first time I walked in to interview with her. This woman is like a surrogate mother to me or a very well-intentioned fairy godmother who likes to mess in my personal life. One time, she asked out a player on the high school lacrosse team for me. I ended up having to go out with the guy on a miserable movie date because I couldn’t disappoint her.
Leona always means well, and that’s what I love most about her. She has the purest heart, unlike the woman who raised me. Raised being a huge overstatement.
“It’s so good to see you.” I turn, squeezing her back.
“Look at you, a beautiful grown-up woman. Not that you haven’t always been beautiful, but my gosh, you are an adult now, August.” Leona shakes her head and looks like she might tear up. “And with so much on your plate. Tell me, sweetheart, how are you doing?”
Her voice takes on a note of gravity when she says the last part in a hushed whisper. I know the whole town probably knows that my mother died, but no one besides the Ashtons and a few other select people she pissed off personally know that my mother was an absolute nightmare of a human being.
“I’m … all right. I mean, it’s not like we’d spoken since I’d left. But she was my last … well, calling her a family member seems like a stretch. It’s complicated, I guess.” I don’t need to lie or guard my feelings when it comes to Leona.
“And that’s all fine to be feeling. You feel how you feel, no need to justify or rationalize. We’re all here for you, whatever you need.” She quirks an eyebrow at me, probably because she knows I’m shit at asking for help, even if I desperately need it.
“Speaking of being here for whatever you need, I came in to talk to Warren, but you guys look swamped. Let me put on an apron for old time’s sake.” I beam at Leona because, in truth, I would love to waitress tonight.
They don’t even have to pay me; the nostalgia alone is worth it. Being back out in the dining room, greeting customers I haven’t seen in forever, knowing that I’m helping a family that has given me so much … yeah, I want to do it.
“Sweetheart, you do not need to do that.” Even as she says it, the cash register receipt machine runs out of paper, and it looks jammed as she tries to open it.
I scoot around it, using my trick to hit it, open it, and reload the paper that’s been in the same spot forever.
“Please, let me help.” I grin at her, and she sighs.
“It would be a hugely appreciated favor, thank you, my girl.”
My insides always melt like goo when she refers to me in that way. The fact she thinks of me as one of her own is what made a lot of my teenage years bearable. Without another thought, I scoot back to the beverage nook and grab a waist apron from one of the shelves, throw a notepad and pen in there just in case I’m not as skilled at remembering orders as I used to be, and then head out onto the floor as I twist my hair up into a claw clip.
The first table I greet is my eighth-grade science teacher and his family of five. He’s so happy to see me, and his kids are all so grown up since the last time I saw them that the whole experience is more like a fun catch-up than work. I enter their drinks and food into the point-of-sale system, just like old times, and then move on to the second table in the section Leona put me on.
At one point, Liam wanders in and hugs me, actually hugs me. He must have softened since becoming a husband and father. The next half hour consists of waiting on tables, running to the drink station, and checking the POS system to see if appetizers and dishes are ready. When I see that my former teacher’s meals are up, I wander back to the kitchen, steeling my stomach for the inevitable flip when it recognizes that Evan is in the room.
“Are you even stirring the sauce? It’s getting clumpy and can’t go on the pasta like that.” His voice is harsh as I enter through the swinging door, and I see a twenty-something guy hanging his head in defeat.
Since I’ve been gone, the restaurant has had a pretty big overhaul. From waitstaff to sous chef to line cooks, it appears that Evan took over and implemented a lot of his own practices. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing; as much as I love Thomas Ashton, his organization could be a bit of a mess at times. From the looks of things, Evan has whipped this place into shape to become a more polished, upscale restaurant. It still has its family vibe; it’s still dishing out takeout pizzas by the hundreds on a Friday night, but the atmosphere is definitely different than when I left.
“Sorry, Chef. Won’t happen again.” The guy on the line seems to stiffen his upper lip and get back to work.
“Better not. Now we’re behind on apps. What’s the window on those mushroom caps?” Evan is barking orders from the shiny silver table at the front of the kitchen, a new layout in here being part of the changes I see.
Someone answers him, and I observe how the kitchen works more like a machine than ever before. There is double the staff than when I worked here in high school, and the quality of dishes can’t be overstated. Thomas is a fine chef; his food is delicious, but Evan is an artist.
“August, you have to try Evan’s new lasagna dish. It’s this deconstructed take on it; he had to explain what that meant to me, but my goodness, it’s so good!” Leona walks in, singing her son’s praises.
Evan’s head whips up, our gazes colliding for a moment before he pulls his away and scowls at the apron I’m wearing. “What are you doing?”
“You all looked busy, so I’m just lending a hand,” I explain, feeling like one of his minions more than a family friend.
For some reason, he looks annoyed to have me here.
“Did anyone brief you on the new waitstaff procedures or etiquette?” He nearly scoffs, and my ego bristles.
Gone is the guy who was smirking and flirting with me in here just days ago.
“No, but I’m not a moron. I think I can handle being polite and courteous to the diners.” My voice has a little bite to it, and he rears his head back the tiniest bit.
As if he wasn’t expecting someone to stand up to him in his domain.
“Gosh, you are formidable. I knew you’d do great things someday, you’ll be the best manager or front of house anyone has ever seen,” Leona compliments me, seeming to derive joy from me taking her son down a peg.
She was the one who inspired me to get into hospitality. Watching her interact with the people of Hope Crest, be so kind, and brighten someone’s day simply by giving them a wonderful experience, that’s what I want to do. The hospitality industry, the rules and organization of it makes sense to me.
“You’re too good to me. My last internship was for a restaurant group. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Anthony Markorint, but he was my boss. A tough guy, but he showed me all the ropes for front of house and managing high-class dining rooms.”
“Wait. So are you saying you worked front of house at Le Bleu?” Evan has just put down his knife and is staring at me, shock present on his face.
I shift uncomfortably. “I mean, I didn’t run it, I was an intern, but yes. It was one of the hardest jobs I ever had, they were so stringent and strict, but the standard of service they provided was absolutely incredible.”
“You could teach us a thing or two these days. I’m so proud of you,” Leona says, rubbing my shoulder.
“I cooked on the line there for about a month when I was in culinary school. It was just a temporary gig, an internship, if you will, but I remember the same thing. Hardest job I ever had, but damn, it was rewarding.” Evan gives me a small smile.
Even having his appreciation and attention on me for a millisecond has my blood heating.
“You two have more in common than we all knew. I bet Evan has even dined at some of your other internships.” Leona beams like we’re her two pet projects.
“Maybe. Anyway, are table twelve’s entrees ready? I can take them out.” That’s enough praise for now, especially in front of Evan.
Having to converse about our similarities makes me nervous because then we’d have to exchange more than a few words, and I can’t be trusted to remain confident and cool.
“I’m just putting the finishing touches on.” He looks away now, his mind absorbing back into the chaos of the kitchen.
“Please, let me show you the local inn that just came on the market. I’ve been eyeing it just as a dream property, but truth is, I have no time to develop that. I’m an old woman, but it’s such a beautiful piece of history and I just know someone with your background would love to see it.” Leona gushes over this inn as I wait for the food, and I’m instantly intrigued.
“When was it built?” I almost lean into her, images of a place I’ve never seen floating in my head.
“Nineteen oh two, it’s a gorgeous place. Someone restored it in the seventies but left a lot of the original finishes. It needs a full overhaul again, but the bones are so perfect. Sometime this week, if you’re free, let’s take a little tour. I just know you love that kind of thing.”
“Pick up, table twelve,” Evan hollers out, letting me know that the entrees are ready to take to my table.
I step up to the stainless-steel top that he stands on the other side of; bright lights overhead warm the surface where the food is plated and inspected. Reaching for the dishes, I begin to stack them up my arms like Nonna Ashton taught me to all those years ago.
Except as I go to reach for the last one, Evan’s hand darts out to wipe a bit of errant sauce off the rim. Our fingertips brush, sparks shooting up my arm, and I bobble just a little. The shock of his touch has me faltering, even for just a moment, and I hate that he has that ability.
“Don’t drop my food,” he warns, but when I regain my composure and look up at him, his jaw is too unhinged to make the command resonate.
Am I mistaken, or did that accidental brush make goose bumps ignite across his flesh, too?
I don’t stay to find out because my tables need me, and I’m too nervous to be in his presence for longer.
The rest of the night is much the same; between chatting with customers and old faces, I speak as little as possible to Evan when I’m forced to run plates back and forth to the kitchen. As it winds down, I find myself talking to the two busboys as we clean tables. They’re both at Hope Crest High School and can actually hold a conversation without saying asshole teenage boy shit, so it’s not a bad way to occupy my time while I’m here.
“August, come chat with Evan and me?” Warren pops his head into the dining room, and my stomach flips at his words.
Damn, he’s going to kick me out, isn’t he? After all, Evan is family. I have a place to stay, and while Warren was always so supportive when my mother was being awful to me, it’s not like she’s alive to torment me in that house any longer. I have to just suck it up and not react when he tells me I can no longer stay in Alana’s house.
Preparing my nerves and my heart, I head into his office. Evan is already here, perched in a chair with his apron on. He’s currently cutting an apple with a knife and eating it rapidly, like he hasn’t had a break for sustenance all day. I can’t say it’s an easy feat to stop staring at him as that jaw flexes while he slices into the fruit like some sexy lumberjack.
“All right, we’ve got to figure out this living situation.” Warren claps his hands together, and I pull my eyes from Evan.
“I understand if?—”
Evan and I say the same thing at the same time and then break off, looking at each other like the other person has grown a second head.
Warren chuckles. “Listen, August isn’t going anywhere. I offered the house to her first, she and I know the reasons she needs to be there, and that’s final. Evan, you’ll just have to find a different place. We all have guest rooms, there are plenty of rentals, and if you really can’t stomach Mom and Dad having sex next door?—”
My mouth drops open. “That’s why you’re staying at Alana’s old place? Oh my God!”
I can’t help the laugh that erupts from me as Evan’s face goes bright red.
“Yep.” Warren pops the last letter as he laughs, too.
“I’d like to see you two greet them with a straight face at the breakfast table the morning after that happens.” Evan harrumphs and crosses his arms over his chest.
Feeling guilty for taking up residence in the place that he was counting on, a little voice in my head tells me there is another solution. Whether it’s the angel on my shoulder telling me to do something nice or the devil reminding me that being in close quarters with Evan Ashton is all I’ve ever wanted, the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I mean, we can both stay there. If that’s all right with you.”
Regret and embarrassment swamp me the moment the offer leaves my lips. I just put myself on the line by suggesting this, and he could reject it. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of living with me or being close to me. If he says no when I’m aware that he doesn’t want to entertain the possibility of moving back into his childhood home, it’ll be awkward and humiliating.
And who the hell am I to think I can maintain an aloof roommate relationship with him? I’ll be walking on eggshells in Alana’s old home if we live under the same roof.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he hedges, studying me.
I shrug, trying to play it cool now that I’ve already given him the option. “It’s not like we’ll really be there. You’re always here, I have meetings and things to attend to, and in a few weeks, I’ll probably be gone anyway.”
“Auggy, you don’t have to do this. Evan has plenty of places to choose from, and you deserve to have some peace and quiet to go through all you’re going to while you’re back in town. If you want to be alone to do anything, you should have that space,” Warren pipes up, and I know he’s just trying to protect me.
But really, the idea of taking this house from Evan makes me feel icky. There is no other way to put it. Oftentimes, I don’t feel like I deserve a damn thing. That’s what happens when someone tells you that for long enough during your formative years. So, I’ll offer up the second bedroom even if it means I don’t have that space to myself to go through the process of grieving, or lack thereof, over the next few weeks.
“No, it’s really okay. Evan, if you want to be roommates for a short while, I’m completely fine with it.” I nod, acting more confident about the offer than I am on the inside.
My teenage crush regards me almost suspiciously, like he’s trying to search for an ulterior motive. His eyes skewer me, and my skin prickles with awareness as he peruses my expression.
“Yeah, okay. That would be fine,” he says slowly as he nods. “Not like it’ll be for long.”
He tacks on that last part, and I feel a bit of a sting from it. It seems like he doesn’t care if I stay or go as long as he gets the house in the end, like I’m just some minor inconvenience for the time being. Not that I can be annoyed at that since I’m the one who offered.
“So it’s settled then.” Smiling like nothing is penetrating my tough exterior, I reach out to shake his hand.
It’s a test of sorts, to see if that same electric zap jolts me the way it did when our fingers brushed during dinner service. Because a brief contact of skin shouldn’t mean a thing. It shouldn’t have me wanting to pant or see where else this man could touch me and how he’d do it.
Unfortunately, the test fails miserably. Palm to palm, my heart beating wildly, I seal my roommate fate and tread into lust-filled, treacherous waters.