Chapter Two
DIANE
If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. But right now, the corners of my lips tilted up in a smile as I knocked my elbow on my sister's bedroom door.
"I'm awake," she said.
I walked in carefully, putting a tray with breakfast on her bed.
Celia yawned. "What's this?"
"I want to spoil you a bit. What's the use of having an unwanted house guest if they don't bring you breakfast?" I said in a teasing tone, though I was half serious.
"You're my sister. You're not unwanted."
I was usually such an optimistic person, but over the past six months, my life had taken a complete nosedive.
First, my boyfriend broke my heart. Then my work started downsizing.
At least I got lucky and wasn't fired, but they reduced my hours to part-time, and unfortunately, that wasn't nearly enough to pay rent.
Shortly after, my landlord evicted me. He probably thought I was a huge risk, and…
he was right. I'd debated taking legal recourse, but I didn't have any money for that.
Bottom line was, I had to see the positive in all this. One, I still had a job, and two, I had a roof over my head, even though I was living with my sister. Honestly, I'd missed being this close to her. Growing up, we’d always been real tight.
"You're eating with me?" she asked.
"Obviously. You think I broke my back just so you can eat all these goodies by yourself?"
"I can't believe you did this. Thank you. When did you wake up?"
"About an hour ago."
Her jaw dropped as she checked and saw it was now just six o'clock in the morning. "Why would you wake up so early?"
"I couldn't sleep well," I admitted. "The better question is why are you up? You came home late."
Celia yawned. "You know I have a weird sleep schedule."
She had a waitressing job during breakfast hours between nine o’clock and twelve o’clock. She usually slept in the afternoon before waitressing at the bar. She was a damn hard worker. I was determined not to be in her hair for too long.
I'd made an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, plus pancakes with blueberries and a dip that I mixed from honey and a dash of vanilla extract, all topped with whip cream.
"Oh my God. If you spoil me like this every morning, I'm going to get used to it."
"Well, as long as I'm in your hair, you will definitely get spoiled," I said.
I loved cooking, and my sister appreciated it.
She always had. My mom had been sickly even when we were kids, so both of us had been on cooking duty for as long as I could remember.
Celia disliked being in the kitchen, but I relished it.
Creating something from scratch with my own hands was truly my thing.
She yawned, then asked me, "What are you doing today?"
"I have a tour in an hour. Then in the afternoon, I’ll unpack and apply for some jobs, but I'm also thinking about tutoring French. I found some online platforms where you can set up a profile and schedule sessions."
Her eyes widened. "You're a genius."
I smiled. "I just want to make the best use of my skills. I can tutor as a freelancer—and the best part is, I’d get the money right away.”
"I can lend you some money, sis."
I shook my head. "Don't even say it, okay?"
She bit the inside of her lip. "But I want to help. You're family."
"You're doing enough by letting me stay here."
We both fell silent as we devoured the breakfast.
"What did you think of Gabe?" she asked after a while.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, "Why did you never tell me that he’s basically the hottest man alive?"
"He seems friendly enough," I said instead, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"I know, right? I can't believe I'm lucky enough to work for him. Most of the time it feels like I'm working with him.”
I simply nodded, finishing off the pancakes. Mentioning how hot Gabe was would be akin to opening Pandora’s box. My sister would berate me and tell me to stay away from him.
As if.
I had enough on my plate as it was, and my heart was still covered in scars from the breakup.
After breakfast, Celia left for her job, and I left for mine as a tour guide with Boston Guided Tours. I’d been working here ever since I moved to the city.
I was heartbroken that they’d cut back my hours and I could only do it part-time. Soon enough, I wouldn’t be able to do it at all if I found another full-time job. Though maybe I could squeeze a few tours in during the weekends.
As I got on the bus, my phone lit up with a notification. My entire body tightened when I saw it was from my ex, Chuck.
Chuck: Did you take anything out of my storage?
I stared at the phone. Is he for real? He went off the grid for months, and now this? No "Hi, how are you?"
I wasn't even going to dignify his text with a response. My body was completely wound up, and I hated that he still had this effect on me. Every time I saw his name or thought about him, that wound opened up again.
I managed to shove Chuck Forrester to the back of my mind during the tour.
Afterward, I spent my afternoon unpacking my boxes.
Yesterday, I’d only opened one with kitchen utensils—my sister had next to nothing, and I needed them to prepare meals while I was here.
I didn't have many belongings, which was a sad state of affairs for someone who was now the ripe old age of twenty-six.
I moved to Boston for Chuck, who'd promised me the moon and delivered nothing. I’d thought we were in love and marriage was in the future.
I was wrong. But I didn’t regret moving here.
I was happy to be closer to my sister and mom too.
Our mom lived in Baltimore, less than a day’s drive away. But right now, my life was a mess.
Thank heavens Celia could help me out with her spare bedroom. It was tiny, but I was very happy with it. If she could have only put me up on the couch in the living room, I probably wouldn't have taken her offer. I knew she valued her alone time, and I wanted her to have her space.
After unpacking, I created an account on the tutoring platform, which took up the entire afternoon.
I was beyond grateful that I'd taken accredited tests for my French because they qualified me for this job.
I'd done that primarily so I could advertise it on my résumé, but it had benefited me in many different ways, and I was nothing if not flexible.
"Richardsons don't give up" had always been our mother's motto, and it served me well.
After I set up the account, I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I felt restless, so I got dressed and went outside. It was a sunny April day, but I also grabbed a jacket because the weather was finnicky.
I loved Boston and couldn't be too mad at Chuck for jerking me around, as I probably would have never moved here otherwise. For better or for worse, I was glad that my journey had led me here, though I had hoped I’d be at a more stable point in my life by now.
I passed a small delicatessen shop that sold pancetta, not just regular ham. That gave me an idea, but I wanted to check with my sister first.
Diane: Hey, sorry to disturb you at work. Do you like spaghetti carbonara?
She replied a few seconds later. I thought that was a good thing, as it meant she wasn't too busy. But her message proved the opposite.
Celia: You know I eat anything. Love you for wanting to spoil me. I’m up to my eyeballs in work. Two bartenders are sick. I can't wait for the flu season to be over.
I had no idea the flu was still around. It was April already.
Diane: Holy shit, that is not good.
Diane: You want me to come help? I'm good behind the counter.
Celia: You don't mind? You’ll get paid, of course.
Diane: Of course. I'm on my way.
We lived quite a ways from the bar, but I immediately looked up the route online.
Even though I’d been there yesterday, I didn’t remember the name of the subway station.
The public transportation system in Boston was so efficient that I'd already put my car up for sale online and was sure I’d sell it any day now.
On the way there, I browsed Craigslist, looking for a shared accommodation because I couldn’t afford anything else.
Part of me wanted to ask Celia if she was tempted to move into something bigger with me. But even though she loved me dearly, she liked living alone, and I respected that.
After getting off from the subway, I hurried to the bar. Stepping inside, I glanced around, wondering if Gabe was here too. My heart was beating a bit quicker at the thought, but I told myself it was simply a knee-jerk reaction to the fact that he was so absolutely, impossibly handsome.
Celia should have warned me, and I would have braced myself. Still, it didn't matter. I was certain that I wouldn't see him again.
Five seconds later, I was proven wrong, as Gabe was with my sister behind the bar.
Gabe looked in my direction as I joined them. Sweet Lord, those blue eyes were far too sinful. And his light brown hair… how could it be so thick and shiny?
"Thanks for saving our butts. I'm in your debt," he said somewhat theatrically.
I couldn't get a good read on him. Celia had mentioned that he owned the distillery and wasn’t a fancy-ass CEO.
But judging by his suit, he was. Yesterday, his cuff links were pretty extravagant, engraved with his initials.
On instinct, I lowered my eyes to his wrists, wanting to check if he was wearing a pair today.
Then my knees weakened because Gabe had rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, revealing ink that crisscrossed both his forearms. I didn't recognize the pattern, but it was damn sexy. Swallowing hard, I looked back up.
"All right. What do I have to do?" I asked. My voice was a bit on edge, but I didn't think he could tell. The bar was already quite busy and loud.
"I have a list with run-of-the-mill cocktails that are easy to make," he said. "Why don't you take those over, and Celia and I will do the house creations."
Celia told me that when they'd first opened, they only offered surprise cocktails but gradually added a normal menu of drinks.
"Do you have any experience bartending?" he asked.
I nodded feverishly. "Yeah, I did this a few years back. I'm good at it, though it's best if I stick to the simple drinks. Otherwise, I’ll just slow everyone down."
I took in the details. It looked straightforward enough: ice, lime, alcohol, fresh fruit juices. There were also bottles of wine in the fridge underneath the bar. I was ready to go.
Gabe was the one who took the actual orders, and then he passed the easy ones on to me, like Bloody Marys, margaritas, and mojitos. I couldn't help but glance at him every now and again. He looked so at ease talking with customers, making drinks, and slicing lemons and other garnishes.
"Are you deaf?" a male voice asked.
I looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"
"I've been trying to get your attention for ten minutes."
"I've been preparing cocktails," I replied coolly.
"Yeah, but I'm a customer, and I want to order."
"They’ll take your order, sir. I just mix them."
He snorted. "Now listen to me. I'm not going to wait until one of—”
"What's going on here?" Gabe said in that strong, sexy voice. I didn't realize he'd moved next to me. "Someone giving you trouble?"
I pointed at the guy. "This man would like a drink.”
“If you’d come to the register, we can take your order. Diane’s just helping us out for the night,” Gabe explained.
“I’m not waiting in that long line. Get me a bourbon on the rocks.” It was shocking how rude this guy was, even to Gabe.
I leaned over to Gabe and said, “He seems to think that he can skip the line by intimidating us into making him a drink."
Gabe nodded, then looked at the customer. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
The guy snorted, and I wondered if he’d already had one drink too many. "Yeah, right."
"I'm serious. We have security outside. If you don't leave, I'll ask him to escort you."
"You've got some nerve. I'm not going to let a… I want to talk to the owner."
"I am the owner," Gabe said without missing a beat.
The guy narrowed his eyes, and Gabe gestured to someone at the far end of the room. "Security is coming to help you find your way out."
"Now, wait a second," he protested. But he barely got the words out before a tall, strong guy I hadn't even seen until now stepped right next to him.
"I'm here to escort you outside," he boomed.
The guy glared at me, then at Gabe. "This is unbelievable. Fuck your shitty establishment."
"By all means, do us all a favor and leave it," Gabe retorted.
He put an arm around my shoulders, and the contact singed me. I wasn't expecting it. I glanced sideways at Gabe, who was still looking between the guy and the bodyguard. Then he tilted his head downward to me and our eyes connected for a brief second.
I immediately shifted and looked to his throat. For some reason, I couldn't hold his gaze. Heat coursed through me, starting from the point where he had splayed his fingers on my shoulder.
He leaned forward, and I realized he was bringing his lips to my ear. "Are you all right? Do you need a break, or do you want to go home?"
I shook my head and accidentally brushed my earlobe against his lips. I sucked in a breath as goose bumps erupted on my skin.
"No, I'm fine, really. He was just annoying.”
He straightened up. "I'm really sorry about that. If anything else happens, tell me immediately, okay?" He stepped back.
"Sure. Don't worry about me."
He looked me in the eyes, and this time I did my best to keep his gaze. I wasn't one to melt, but Gabe had supernatural powers.
For the rest of the evening, I stayed focused on the job at hand. Fortunately, no one else gave me grief—except for Gabe, but that was a different kind. Every time he came closer to me to tell me what to make, I had to brace myself.
The man exuded trouble, but I wasn't too worried. I knew I wouldn't see him after tonight. I just had to make it until the end of the shift.
But as I counted the money I got from tips and the cash Gabe gave me once we'd closed, I heard Celia tell Darren, one of our busboys, that we needed help the next day moving a huge bookcase from my room into the living room to give me more space.
“No can do,” Darren said apologetically. “I come here straight from my other job.”
“I’ll drop by,” Gabe said from behind me.
Celia whipped her head in his direction, looking at him like he’d hung the moon.
“Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver. Again.”
Sweet Lord. I’d better brace myself for tomorrow.