16. Jonah #2
He shook his head. “I was wrangled into that faculty job, and she assured me she would be safe.” Again, begrudging respect and maybe a little subtext of his own apology.
“But I came home not knowing you would be here, not knowing my daughter was your employee, and not knowing that the man I had personally warned to keep his distance from her had moved into her room in my absence. That is the part of which I do not approve.”
“Fair.”
Marcel looked at him. “That’s all on her, not you.”
Even more fair, Jonah thought, but carefully did not say.
“You did a man’s work on that door. I owe you for it. I do not, however, owe you my daughter. But I owe you for the door.”
Jonah breathed out for what felt like the first time in twenty minutes.
“Chef. Can I say a thing?”
“You will, regardless.”
“I have been trying to figure out why you don’t like me. Since the day you talked to me at The Grind. Will you tell me?”
Marcel stared at him, silent, so Jonah dove in deeper.
“I thought maybe you don’t want a student dating your daughter,” he started. “Conflict of interest when it comes to grading. Was that it?”
His eyes shuttered in disgust. “As if I don’t have more ethics than to grade you based on your relationship.”
Jonah nodded, grateful to hear that, and tried number two. “Your own marriage broke up due to long hours and the tough life of a chef. Maybe you’d prefer she not get involved with anyone in the restaurant business.”
His eyes flickered as though there might be a fraction of truth in that, but he shook his head. “She is free to date in any industry.”
“Then…the baby? You want her to have her own and not be a stepmother to mine?”
Another flicker, maybe sharp enough to be significant. That had to be it.
“Stepmother? Aren’t you getting a little over your skis, Lawson?” He actually laughed, but it sounded forced. “You met her last month. I fully comprehend your sizeable ego, but I don’t think she’s ready for marriage after a few weeks, and neither are you.”
But he didn’t deny that it bothered him that Jonah had a child. Also, he so didn’t have a sizeable ego, but opted not to fight that now.
“Any other dumb theories?” Marcel asked.
“I just want the truth,” Jonah replied.
The other man leaned in and beckoned Jonah closer, as if about to deliver a secret.
“My daughter is carrying something,” he whispered.
Jonah did not move. She was…carrying something? What did that mean?
“It is a hard thing. She has carried it for a long time, alone, mostly. It is the most personal thing she owns. I will not tell you what it is, Lawson, because it is not mine to tell. She has had a great many things taken from her, and I do not want there to be another.”
Jonah tried to process this, like the chef had laid down all the ingredients but never named the dish. What was this thing?
“It is the reason for…her situation. And it is the reason I told you to keep your distance—not because she would be bad for you, son, but because you might be bad for her, and she would not survive that again.”
Jonah’s throat had gone tight and he got stuck on the word “son” and the fact that whatever this thing was, it cost her that guy in New Orleans, and maybe the one standing in this kitchen. Marcel, for whatever reason, was protecting his daughter.
“She has not told you,” Marcel went on, quieter, “because she is afraid of you, Lawson.”
“Chef! I would never—”
The hand came up again. “Not afraid that you will hurt her. Afraid that you will be the kindest man she has ever met, and that you will still not be able to stay when you know. And by then, she will have lost her heart to two men.”
“To me and…that other guy in New Orleans?”
He gave a sad smile. “To you and the little guy in the playpen.”
It took Jonah a moment to find his voice. “Thank you for telling me that much, Chef.”
Marcel eyed him critically, thinking before he spoke. “As far as ‘that other guy’?” He scoffed. “You’re ten of him.”
His jaw loosened. “Thank you.”
“That might not be enough.”
Jonah looked hard at him. “I lost my mother at fifteen, Chef. And my son lost his at three weeks. We can weather storms, Atlas and me. And we both…” He almost said love. “We both care about Pepper.”
Marcel sighed and pushed off the counter, seemingly satisfied that the conversation was over. “Let’s please get my chair back in place.”
As they dragged it in silence back to the den, Pepper came back into the kitchen with the baby on her shoulder.
Had she heard any of that conversation? All of it?
“Okay?” she asked quietly enough that he hoped she hadn’t.
“Okay,” Jonah said.
Marcel did not say okay. Marcel walked, without further comment, out the back kitchen door into the yard, where Roux and Gumbo immediately rose from a wet patch of sun and followed at the heels of his boots.
A few minutes later, Jonah and Pepper stood in the yard, surveying the downed branches and two toppled birdfeeders. Somewhere far off, Marcel’s voice could be heard talking to his two dogs.
Jonah loaded the baby paraphernalia into the trunk of his “pitiful” Honda as Pepper watched, holding Atlas.
“What did he say to you?” she finally asked.
“Not much.”
She gave him a “get real” look.
“He said our relationship isn’t a conflict of interest and you can date anyone you want,” Jonah said as he closed the trunk.
“Our…we don’t have a….” Color drained from her cheeks. “Jonah, this was great and I loved having you here and…and…can I take him to Sunset Shores next Saturday for the dance class? Because they are expecting me and if I don’t go, I’ll lose that gig, too. And it doesn’t pay.”
He smiled, thinking of how she taught sweet old people how to waltz on Saturday evenings. Just another thing he…no, no, not loved about her. But really, really liked.
“You’re not losing this gig…or guy,” he said. “You’ll have him on Saturday. As far as your dad? He’ll come around. I don’t think he’s as opposed as you do.”
“But what about me?”
He looked at her. “You? You’ll come around, too?” He meant it as a joke, but she didn’t smile. Not even close.
Instead, she just swallowed hard and looked scared.
“We’re going to talk about it, you know,” he said, lowering his voice and coming an inch closer to her.
“Not today. Maybe not this week. But Pepper, you and I are going to talk about whatever this thing is. And I’m going to make you see that it doesn’t matter.
I am not the man before me. And I want a real chance to prove that to you, on my own merits, on the schedule you set. But you have to give me the chance.”
Her eyes filled. “Not yet,” she said.
“I get that.”
She shook her head as if to say he wouldn’t get it, but he ignored the subtext. Instead, he tipped her face up, leaned in, and kissed her, quick and light.
Then she passed Atlas to him, and lifted his small hand and waved it at herself. “Bye-bye, Miss Pepper!” She smiled up at Jonah. “I’m determined to teach him bye-byes.”
His heart darn near collapsed at the admission—she was darling, she was perfect, and whatever she was hiding, it wouldn’t end her job or their relationship. Didn’t she know that?
“Driftwood will open later this week,” he said. “So…”
“I’ll be at the Summer House, right on time.”
“Awesome.”
He buckled Atlas into the car seat, shut the door, and pulled the driver’s door open, pausing, one hand on the frame, to look at her one more time.
“Pepper…”
“Bye!” She got up on her toes with dancer’s grace, did a playful pirouette, and leaped to the front door, leaving him with an image that he would replay a thousand times.
On his way home with six million other evacuees, the sun came in through the windshield and Atlas snoozed. The road was wet and shining in patches, packed with trucks and chainsaws and people doing the work of putting the world back together again.
She is carrying something. It is a hard thing.
Afraid you will be the kindest man she has ever met and still not be able to stay.
He had no idea what hard thing she was carrying, but he did know that Melissa and Eli Lawson didn’t raise a quitter.
He was going to be the man who stayed.
Whatever it was.