Chapter 6
SUTTON
I peek at my phone to check the time. I need to leave in the next hour to catch my usual Sunday afternoon flight to Sterling Springs. But I don’t want to leave before we get our coffee delivery, which should be any minute.
Tucking my phone away, I slide the bowl of pasta across the counter to TJ.
He leans over the dish, inhaling the aroma.
The homemade pasta with hot Calabrian chilis and Italian sausage, made with local elk meat instead of the traditional pork, is the kind of dish we’re known for.
Combining traditional recipes with fresh, locally sourced, made-from-scratch ingredients is exactly how Grandma Gloria taught my mom—and then Slade and me—how to cook.
She always insisted that any man worth a damn knew how to cook, and that lesson has served us well.
“Wow. I think you’ve outdone yourself again,” he says, shaking his head.
I grin at him. “My version of a mountain bolognese.”
He nods. “I dig it.”
Basically since we opened, he’s been coming into Gloria’s and sitting in the same stool at least once a week. When we designed the restaurant, Slade and I wanted the place to be open. My personal touch was the chef’s tasting counter.
The counter runs along the back wall of the restaurant, almost the entire length of the main room.
Most of the seating is for the bar, but the far end has a handful of stools reserved for diners wanting a different experience.
That end of the bar is right in front of the open kitchen, with a full view of the beautiful chaos that is Gloria’s on a busy night.
With this setup, I can serve and talk about the dishes myself. With TJ, I use it as a chance to experiment because he happens to be one of the least picky eaters I’ve ever met. This tradition has worked great and hasn’t really changed except for one small detail lately.
He reaches for the dish with his fork before his hand is batted away.
“Ladies first. You know the rules,” his wife says from the stool next to him. “I swear you were raised by wolves.”
He laughs. “Again, former foster kid.”
Grace twirls a bite of pasta onto her fork and points it at him. “I know, but still no excuse for bad manners.” She makes a kissy face at him and takes her bite.
I don’t miss the little breathy, almost inaudible moan that she makes when she tastes the food.
“Oh my god. That’s so freaking good,” she says mid-bite, bringing her hand to her mouth while she chews.
I chuckle. “Glad you like it.”
“I don’t like it. I love it.”
This is exactly why I enjoy cooking for TJ, and now Grace. Getting live, real feedback on my ideas has been so helpful over the years I’ve spent working in this industry.
Also, I have to admit I’m beyond happy for the two of them. Seeing how much direction TJ has now, with Grace in his life, has made me consider what I want the next chapter of my life to look like.
“If you make my wife moan again, I might have to kill you,” he says gruffly.
I laugh to myself, but he glares at me in a way that almost convinces me that he’s serious about that threat.
“Oh shut up, Tommy. You know he’s too young for me anyway,” Grace chides before turning to me, giving me a playful wink. “So, will this be on the Seattle menu?”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, making a noncommittal sound. “Not sure yet. You know we like to go with a somewhat local theme, and the Pacific Northwest has a decidedly more seafood vibe to it. Maybe we’ll make it seasonally.”
“When do you think you’ll be moving up there?” TJ asks. I can tell from the look in his eyes that he has the same concern as me.
"Because when you do, I’m not sure he knows how to feed himself.” Grace gives her husband a playful flick of her eyebrows.
The question is innocent enough, but it still raises the thought I’ve been fearing the most.
We both know Slade pushes himself too hard. I’m not much better, but even I know my limits. I always help the people close to me, just like I help Sly too.
The restaurant in Seattle feels different though.
I know Slade wants me to take on more with that restaurant.
But the truth is, I’m not like him, I thought I was earlier in my career.
I still want to earn my own star, like every other committed chef.
I still love cooking and experimenting and giving people memorable meals, but I’m not obsessed with growing our reputation and pushing myself to the breaking point like he is.
It’s also further from home than any of our other restaurants.
Maybe—more importantly—it’s also further from Jackson than I want to be.
I like it here. Over the last two years, this little mountain town has stolen my heart.
It feels more like home than Sterling Springs, or Denver, or any of the other places I’ve lived.
I don’t know if I could just leave this place.
Thinking of Sterling Springs, I check the time again. Damnit. I only have about fifteen minutes before I need to leave for the airport.
The little bit of me that is like Slade and cares about details would say I should get our coffee beans from someone that will deliver on Wednesday when the restaurant opens for the week. Who’s really going to notice in an overpriced espresso martini though?
Also it means I wouldn’t get to see Kelsey come in here most Sundays, which has been the highlight of my week for the last year since she started making deliveries. Seeing her is always the best part of my week. She should have been here already though.
She’s made it clear over the past two years that she wants nothing to do with me.
Sometimes, I’ll leave a little reminder that she made an impression on me I won’t forget, just like I did last week on her birthday.
Most of the time though, I respect that boundary, even if I don’t know what I did wrong that night or the morning after.
The sound of the front door opening fills the mostly empty restaurant, and I look up just in time to see her coming in.
It’s been raining all day. Actually, it’s been raining a lot lately, even for spring.
Her dark hair clings to her forehead and shoulders, only highlighting her pale, creamy complexion.
Even as flustered as she clearly is, she’s breathtaking and I can’t look away.
The only thing that makes me move from my spot behind the counter is seeing her struggle with the large box.
Between after dinner drinks, coffee gelato, and our espresso-based cocktails, our delivery has to be one of their largest each week outside of some of the high end hotels.
I rush around the counter, getting to her side in just a few long strides.
“Hey. Let me get that.”
I reach for the box, but she just glares back at me as usual. “I can handle it, Pretty Boy.”
I stay right by her side—like the lovesick puppy I am for her—as she carries the box behind the counter, and sets it down by the espresso machine.
“Everything OK?” Grace asks, looking up from the pasta bowl, which is now empty. I can’t help but take a little bit of pride in that. Right now though, I have far more urgent concerns than clearing the empty bowl.
Looking at Kelsey, I can tell she’s more than just flustered and running late. She looks worn down. Normally, she would drop that box off and leave without saying a word to me, like being in this restaurant physically pains her.
I’m glad Grace is here, because she and Kelsey grew up together. Maybe today, she’ll actually stick around long enough to answer her friend’s question.
“Just car trouble. Nothing really new.” Kelsey sighs, swiping her wet bangs away from her eyes.
“What’s wrong with your car?” I grit out the words and my tone is so tense that I surprise not just Kelsey, but myself too.
Shockingly, she actually looks me in the eye. “The brakes. My dad says I need to replace them. I’ll get to it when I can fit it in the budget.”
I can literally feel my blood pressure rise and my molars grind. What the fuck? I know she has a long drive each day through the winding mountain pass. Even with good weather and good brakes, that’s a rough drive. With the rain lately and bad brakes, it’s downright treacherous.
“You need to get those fixed. That’s not safe.” My voice is even gruffer and my words more clipped than before and I can feel TJ and Grace’s eyes on me. To her credit, my Shadow doesn’t back down.
“Yeah. Did you just hear me? I’ll deal with it when I can afford it.”
She’s stubborn, and honestly, that’s one of her qualities that I admire. I have tried so hard to respect her boundaries, but today is not one of those days. My resolve snaps and I don’t give a single fuck about crossing that boundary when it comes to her safety.
I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out my keys.
“Here.” I grab her wrist and thrust my keys into her open hand. “Take my car. I’ll fix yours.”
“What the…no? No. There’s no way—” She tries to push the keys back to me, but before she can protest anymore my need to keep her safe wins out. I snatch her carabiner keychain from her belt loop and jingle the keys in front of her face. I am now fully committed to this absurd idea.
“I’ll bring it back in a few days, after it’s fixed. Now I need to get going since you were late.”
She stares at me incredulously. “You’re a chef. What the hell do you know about fixing a car?”
I head toward the door leading to my apartment upstairs to grab my duffle bag.
I look back at her over my shoulder. To my surprise, she’s still standing next to the espresso machine while TJ and Grace look at me with pure amusement on their faces.
I shrug. “More than you.”
As I continue up the stairs, I realize I don’t need to worry about making my flight, because now I’m going to drive her shitbox car all afternoon and through the night to Sterling Springs.
I hear her call out from the kitchen as I reach the top of the stairs.
“I’m pretty sure grand theft auto is a felony in Wyoming!”
I make out the sound of Grace snickering and TJ chuckling. I’m glad someone is enjoying this, but I don’t think it’s funny that she’s been risking her life to get to work every day.
I open the door to my apartment and turn to look back down the flight of stairs.
This time, I see that she’s standing at the bottom of them with her arms folded across her chest. She looks pissed, but she also looks like she’s not going to fight me on this which brings some little bit of joy to my heart.
I tip my chin to her. “Cool. Well, you know where to find me then. I’ll see you later this week.”
With that, I head into my apartment and start to mentally prep myself for the long drive to New Mexico that I just committed to like a fucking psycho.