Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
EMMA
Jake and I walk in our most casual clothes toward the side doors of the brick building that acts as a soup kitchen near the border of Driscoll and the town next to ours.
Most soup kitchens are in churches, but not in this case.
There are only two churches in town, and both are too small for the job, serving only as food pantries, never offering a hearty meal.
I guess that’s why Grayson thought Driscoll was a great place to open one.
“Tell me again why we’re here at eight a.m. on a Saturday?” Jake yawns and stretches his arms.
Rolling my eyes, I swing the door open before Jake catches it. “Because I’m working, and you want to help our community.”
“Yeah, look, I’m all for helping the community, but why me and not Levi or Kamila?”
“Kamila went to bed late last night, and Levi and Stevie are going to visit her moms in Woodstock. You were my only option,” I try to justify.
The Levi and Stevie situation is true, but I didn’t ask Kamila.
Not yet, maybe another day once I sort out what’s happening with Grayson and can answer her questions.
He gives me a side-eye. “And you love me,” I add, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.
He lets out a short laugh. “Liar.”
“Nope, just trying to work and make a difference.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” I don’t look at him as we walk through a hall and emerge into a large dining area filled with long tables and benches to seat as many people as possible.
Jake observes the room with me. I chose Jake because he’s the only one who’s more secretive than I am, so he’ll keep his mouth shut after we get out of here. But he’s observant, so I know he can read through my bullshit.
Then again, I’m one to talk. I’m probably the nosiest person in the group and basically outed Kami and Cam to everyone, but I like to think I’ve changed a bit over the past year.
After everything Levi and Stevie went through, I realized that my nosiness comes from love and care for my friends, but I also needed to tone it down a bit, and I have.
On the other hand, most of my friends are taken and happy, so until Jake is ready to settle down, I’ll really see how much that part of me has lessened.
Ending my thoughts with that, I put my focus back on the room. It’s clean, not fancy at all, but the tables and benches look of good quality. The walls are white, with some event signs around town, but there’s no color or music playing.
I know it’s not a club or restaurant, but jeez, it doesn’t have to look totally depressing either.
If people are allowed to stay for a maximum of an hour and a half after they sit down to eat, then they should be able to enjoy some cheerful music in the background.
Although I’m pretty sure not hearing music is their biggest concern.
A loud crash comes from the back, where two large doors are on either side of the wall. In front of them is the serving station, which doesn’t have any food yet, but that’s only because they are still prepping, according to the email Grayson sent me with all the details on where and when to arrive.
One of the doors swings open, and Professor Hayes walks in wearing a black apron over a black T-shirt and a pair of worn-out dark jeans.
He’s sporting a massive smile as he finishes a quick conversation in Spanish with someone who sounds like she’s yelling at him unhappily, but they’re clearly close to each other by the way he’s looking at her.
He starts running a bit when a short, older woman comes out with a wooden ladle, threatening to hit him.
I catch some of the words like “I’m gonna hit you, you bastard. ”
“Is it weird that I understood most of what she said because it was a lot of cussing and threats?” Jake asks next to me with his head tilted.
Smiling slightly at the carefree Grayson I’m seeing, and the deep chuckle of his that echoes in the large room, I shake my head. “We learned most of our Spanish from Kamila, and she’s cursing most of the time. So, no, it’s not.”
Grayson raises his hands in surrender after she hits him three times when he sits on a bench.
“No mas por favor.”
“La próxima vez me escuchas. Esta es mi cocina, no la tuya. Tú pagas por la comida y vienes cuando quieras a ayudar.”
“Sí, senora.”
I raise both eyebrows, impressed at how she handled him. My Spanish isn’t great, but I got the gist.
After she leaves, Grayson stands and turns his head slightly, meeting my eyes. Instead of frowning like he usually does, his lips turn upward. I return the gesture and wave.
His gaze shifts toward Jake, and his jaw goes rigid. My friend quickly gives me a now I get it look and crosses his arms, as if he’s sizing him up.
“Jacob, that is someone I’m trying not to piss off. Will you relax?”
“Once he gets it through his head that you guys aren’t together, then sure.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Em.” I place a hand on my hip, and Jake sighs. “Is there something going on between the two of you? I’m just trying to be a good friend and make it clear to both of you that this is just work. I have a feeling that’s what I’m here for.”
I elbow his side, annoyed at how obvious everything is to him. “Of course nothing is going on between us.”
He scoffs. “Does he know that?”
Glancing at Grayson, who’s running a hand through his hair and approaching us, I observe his set jaw and the strange expression on his face.
“There’s nothing going on. He knows it, and I know it. He’s a professor, and I’m a student. Period. End of story.”
“I’m not the one who needs to hear that.”
Looking up at Jake again, he dips his chin and tells me with his eyes that he’s serious.
“Good morning, Ms. Haywood.” Grayson’s voice is lighter than usual. When I face him, his eyes are warm for the first time since we ran into each other again, and I can feel my stomach starting to do its thing, but I push the feeling down.
“Hello, Professor Hayes.”
He looks at Jake, who’s about his same height and build. “Who’s your friend?”
“Jake Greymoore.” He sticks his hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Grayson takes his hand, and his eyebrows knit together as if he’s connecting the pieces.
Here we go.
“Greymoore. That sounds familiar,” he says.
Fuck.
Jake shrugs. “Unless you’ve met my family, I’m not sure why it would, Professor.”
“My memory isn’t that great, so it’s possible.” I silently hope he changes the subject, and someone answers my prayers. “All right, Emma, you told me you wanted to help out. Does your friend here want to as well?”
“Oh, absolutely.” I pat Jake’s arm. “He’s the best person for the job.”
My friend gives me a fuck you look but remains all smiles with Grayson.
“Right, well, let’s go to the kitchen.” He begins to lead us from where he came, as Jake leans down to tell me something.
“Am I your chaperone?”
On instinct, I slap him on the arm, and the sound echoes in the room.
Grayson turns his head slightly before he continues his explanation of the soup kitchen in its entirety. Jake and I hold back our laughter as we listen.
“The weekends here aren’t as busy as weekdays,” Grayson continues.
“I usually come to visit at least twice during the week, but there’s plenty of staff and volunteers to help out.
Volunteers can help with meal prep and serving, but most of the cooks are friends or friends of friends who work in the field as well, and all of them take turns working in the kitchen.
Finally, the hours today are from nine a.m. until one p.m., and weekdays are from eight a.m. until three p.m.,” he finishes right before we step into the kitchen.
“There are about ten people in here at the moment, prepping. Most of them are cooks except for one volunteer who always comes in early to help.”
“Are the volunteers always students?”
He nods. “Most of the time, it’s students from the high school nearby or your university. Sometimes it’s regular folks helping the community.” Grayson claps his hands. “Hey, everyone! This is Emma and Jake. They’ll be helping us out today, and you might see Emma around a couple more times.”
I extend my hand to wave at everyone, and the woman who was hitting Grayson with a ladle earlier looks at me with a sweet smile while stirring something in a large pot. She lets go of the spoon, turns what seems to be the stove knob down to a simmer, and comes to face me.
Grayson moves a little closer to the lady with short brown hair and warm brown eyes.
He rests his hand on her shoulder and looks at her with affection.
It’s something I haven’t seen before. “Ms. Haywood, this is our head cook, Marina. She’s from Spain and has taught me most of what I know about Spanish food. ”
Interesting.
Sticking my hand out, I open my mouth to properly introduce myself when she pulls me in for a hug. I’m surprised for a moment before I giggle and reciprocate the gesture.
I’ve always been a hugger, but most people I meet aren’t. This is a nice change of pace from a handshake.
She lets go and places both her hands on my shoulders.
“I heard you’re writing an article about the soup kitchen and that grumpy one over there.
” She points to Grayson, who rolls his eyes and gives a sexy half smirk that I don’t think he means to make, but causes my cheeks to warm.
“I’ve known him since he was ten. I have some good stories I can share with you. ”
“I cannot imagine a ten-year-old Grayson Hayes,” I reply. Having someone who has known him since he was a kid is exactly what I need for the job, but the woman also sounds and looks as sweet as pie.
“He wasn’t very different from what you see now, except when he was with his brother—”
“All right, Marina. I think that’s enough for now.” He guides her back to the stove. “You two can talk all you want later.”
Laughing at the banter in the kitchen, I jump when Jake squeezes my shoulder harshly.
“Dude, that hurts.”
When I look up, Jake is facing the door. “Fuck me. Fuck.”
“What’s wrong, and why aren’t you paying attention to everything happening in the kitchen? Everyone here is smiling and having fun.” I try to pull him around when he gives me a stare I’ve seen before. It’s scary and hateful.
“Jacob?” I whisper.
“Shhh. She just walked in, she’ll hear you.”
I scan the area for anyone who might look familiar, but come up empty. “Who?”
Grayson returns to tell me where the aprons are and how I can help. “Have you ever peeled carrots and potatoes before?”
“Yes, I just can’t grill, boil, sauté, or do anything like that with them.”
He smiles. “That’s what the cooks are for. But maybe you can make your scrambled eggs sometime.” He meets my eyes. “I heard they’re ‘pretty great.’”
A small, surprised laugh escapes me as he repeats my words from the other day.
Is this why he asked me to take a chance on the soup kitchen? Because he’s more himself here? If that’s the reason, then it’s kind of working. And by kind of, I mean really working.
“Johnathan?” a girl’s voice calls from one of the cutting stations.
She’s a gorgeous, taller woman with a curvy, plump body like Kamila’s, but with paler skin and a longer frame.
She’s supermodel pretty and has almost gray-colored eyes—hold on.
This is the girl Levi and Kami told me about last semester.
A girl they ran into who Jake seemed to strongly dislike for some unknown reason.
The details are a bit fuzzy, but the way they described her looks was unforgettable.
Stevie also met her briefly at an audition, according to Levi.
My head tilts back to see Jake close his eyes and turn slowly. “Nice to see you, Dax.”
Dax? That name doesn’t sound familiar.
The girl’s face reddens. “It’s Dakota,” she seethes.
That sounds a bit more familiar…I think.
My friend smiles devilishly. He must have known exactly where to hit, and I know it’s because he hates being called by his first name.
“What are you doing here?” Dakota asks.
Glancing at Grayson, I notice his eyes have widened a fraction, looking at Jake as if everything has finally clicked.
He also seems to pick up on the underlying hostility between Dakota and Jake when he says, “Jake is helping for the day with his friend Emma, who is writing an article featuring the soup kitchen for the Driscoll Wolf Weekly.”
Smiling, I give her a quick and friendly nod, not knowing what else to do.
Her eyes soften when she sees me, then widen. “You’re Emma Brighton?”
My jaw goes slack. She did not just say that.
“Yes, she just said that,” Jake whispers angrily as if reading my mind.
Some heads turn toward me, recognizing the name, while others don’t. My father focuses more on owning properties, so the last name is only familiar to those who travel a lot, are a bit older, or know their architectural history well. Still, that name is in the news sometimes, unlike Haywood.
“I go by Haywood,” I reply.
Dakota sees that she’s said the wrong thing and mouths, Sorry.
I wave my hand dismissively. If it’s out there, then it’s out there.
It’s not like some people on campus don’t know who I am, and the paps already know where I study, but Jake’s dad took care of them a long time ago.
I’m not exactly sure how, but as always, knowing less is better when it comes to Jake and his family.
However, the name Brighton is never spoken around here unless it’s during campus charity gatherings involving the school’s owner.
“You’re a Brighton?” Grayson asks from next to me while Jake grabs his apron from a kind man who takes him as far away from Dakota as possible. They glare at each other from across the room, and she chops the onion in her hands so harshly, as if she’s imagining it’s his head.
Gathering the courage to look at Grayson, I say, “Yes, but I only go by Haywood.”
His jaw tightens a bit, and I feel some eyes on us. “How come?”
“Because of this.” Waving my hand around the room and then back to his face, I pop out a hip and let out a sigh to prove my point.
He smiles grimly, realizing it once he looks around the kitchen. “Nothing to see here, busybodies. Get back to work.” I smile, silently thanking him for that. “Do you want to ask me the questions before or after we close?”
“Are you staying until closing time?” Hope lines my voice as I think about asking him my questions after I’ve seen more of the hectic environment.
“Yes.” He smiles again. It’s the most I’ve seen him smile since the night we met, and it already makes me feel more comfortable around him.
“Afterward, then.” I motion my hand to the stack of aprons. “I’ll start peeling those carrots.”
Grayson walks over and tosses me one. “Good luck.”