Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
JULIET
Sixteen emails.
Sixteen.
I stare at my laptop, the sip of strawberry lemonade I just had still sitting in my mouth because I hadn’t even swallowed yet when I opened the emails, and now I’m just sitting here, frozen, staring in disbelief.
Because that bitch has sent me sixteen emails in the past two days.
The audacity.
Finally, I swallow my drink.
At least she’s not texting or calling me, but still. That’s a whole lot of emails in two freaking days. And every single one gets more aggressive. When I open the last one, all I can do is laugh. Because she’s lost her mind if she thinks she can talk to me like that and still get her way.
WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER ME? I need the fucking money, you stupid whore. Just send me the five grand! He would want me to have it! He gave me anything I wanted, and now you’re holding out on me, you selfish, jealous bitch! He never loved you. You were a joke to him. Give me what you owe me!
Without responding, I shut the computer and sigh into my glass of lemonade. I fucking hate her. I wish with all my might that delegating money to her wasn’t my responsibility.
Why did you do that to me, Justin? After everything else, you had to add in the fact that I have to pay your mistress until the end of time?
Asshole.
I move to my small dresser and pull out some clothes for today.
I don’t have much that isn’t dirty since I haven’t been able to go to the laundromat.
I also have towels, aprons, and other linens from downstairs that I need to wash.
I've heard that there’s a laundry service run by a really nice woman named Abbi Wild.
I wonder if I could hire her until my car is fixed?
In fact, I pick up the phone and call her. She owns a cleaning service in addition to the laundry services for businesses, and I’ll happily carve out the funds to pay her to help me.
“This is Abbi,” she answers.
“Hi, Abbi, my name is Juliet. I own Sage & Citrus here in town.”
“Oh, I love your restaurant,” she says, and has a smile in her voice. “We eat there at least twice a month. How can I help you?”
“I’m so happy to hear that you like it, thank you. Hey, my car has broken down, so I can’t get to the laundromat for both my personal and professional laundry. I was hoping—”
“Say no more. I’m happy to help. If you bag everything up for me, I’ll have one of my employees pick it up from you this morning. I can give you a two-day turnaround, if that’s okay?”
Holy shit, it feels like a weight has just been lifted, and I sigh in relief. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Abbi.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure. It sucks when you feel stranded, even in a small town.”
“And just to clarify, you’re okay with washing my personal clothes?”
“Honey, that’s no problem. Happy to do it. I’ll even do it myself. Don’t even worry about it.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You got it. Happy to help.”
I end the call, and with a smile, I get dressed, put on my makeup, tie my hair up in a bun, then gather up my clothes to take downstairs.
Today is looking up.
We’re past the lunch rush, and we’re sitting in that quiet lull before dinner, when we have a couple of people in the restaurant, but it’s slow enough that we can get some cleanup and restocks done before the next wave of hungry customers.
Christy just went home for the day, and now I have Tandy and Hazel with me. The girls are chatting about the concerts they want to attend this year, and I’m trying to decide how many eggs I need to order from Beckett. The bell over the door chimes, and when I glance up, I freeze.
Because for the first time ever, Brooks Blackwell is walking into my restaurant.
He glances around and then pins me with that intense hazel gaze as he strides toward me. Seeing him is always a punch to the gut. He’s so tall, so broad and muscular. And maybe the worst part is, I know what he can do with that body.
Or what he used to be able to do.
I’m sure it’s only gotten better.
Don’t think about that.
“Hey,” he says as he reaches the counter.
“Hello. Are you hungry?”
His eyes rake down my body. Then he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
Okay, that might have hurt my ego just a bit.
“I was across the street and thought I’d pop by to give you an update on your car.”
“Great. Is it dead?”
Brooks’s lips tip up in the slightest grin, but then his eyebrows pull together in a frown.
“No, but it’s going to take me a while to figure it all out and clean it up. He made a goddamn mess of it.”
“Yeah.” With a sigh, I cross my arms over my chest and lean my hip against the counter. “Brooks, it doesn’t have to be a priority. I’m fine. I walk almost everywhere anyway, and I found Abbi Wild to help me out with laundry.”
He scowls at that. “Just come to my place to do your laundry.”
“I don’t need to. Abbi’s got it. I mostly eat down here, so I don’t need groceries. As pathetic as it sounds, I really don’t have anywhere to go. So the car isn’t a rush job.”
His jaw muscles tic, and he looks pissed.
“Would you rather I told you I need it by tomorrow?”
“I’d rather you weren’t so stubborn and would just do your goddamn laundry at my place.”
“I don’t need to.” I sound like a jerk. I’m snapping at him, and he’s doing me a favor, but dammit, he’s so grouchy with me, makes it no secret that he doesn’t want me around, and now he wants to have me at his house?
No. Because it would be too easy to take him up on that. I don’t need him to save me and then rub my nose in it later.
“Fine.” He shakes his head, and without another word, he turns and walks away, storming out the door. I let out the breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding.
“Wow,” Tandy says, fanning herself. “All of the Blackwell men are sexy, but Brooks is next level.”
“And he looks at you like he wants to fuck you on this counter,” Hazel adds, and I choke on my own spit.
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Yeah, he does,” Tandy joins in. “Or on the floor, or against the wall …”
“Stop.” I laugh and shoo them back to work. “Trust me, he does not want to do any of that.”
“She’s blind,” Tandy says to Hazel. I simply shake my head and get back to work, figuring out how many eggs I need before calling Beckett to place an order.
I don’t honestly know what Brooks wants from me, but it’s not sex.
Actually, he probably wishes I’d move away. But I’m not going to.
I’ve just come out of the walk-in refrigerator when I see a woman scowling at my staff.
“How many times do I have to tell you no dairy?” a woman yells at Tandy, whose eyes are huge, and I notice her hands are shaking.
“Hey, how can I help?” I ask as I walk over.
My restaurant is set up for customers to place their orders at the counter, and when the food is ready, we deliver it to the tables.
That way, they can customize anything they want, and if they want to watch us assemble their meal, they can do so.
I know that many people with stomach sensitivities prefer to keep an eye on how their food is prepared.
“Are you the owner?” the customer demands as Tandy steps to the side, chewing her lower lip. I rest my hand on her shoulder and give her a nod before turning back to the customer.
“I am the owner, yes. Was something wrong with your meal?”
The woman narrows her eyes at me. She’s tall and willowy thin, with perfect nails and makeup and a designer handbag slung across her body. She’s beautiful.
And I can see that she’s about to be a bitch.
“This idiot who works for you doesn’t seem to understand what it means when I tell her no dairy. She’s made this same salad for me three times, and every time she brings it to me, it’s wrong.”
I frown down at her salad. “I don’t see any dairy there.”
She scoffs and shoves it forward, almost making it spill over the side and onto the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me? What do you call that?”
She points her red-tipped nail at the center of the lettuce. I look from the bowl to her and raise an eyebrow.
“I call that a hard-boiled egg.”
“Exactly.”
“I told her—” Tandy begins, but the bitch in front of me cuts her off.
“You told me what? That you didn’t do it wrong? Because you clearly did, you stupid little—”
“Stop.” The hard crack of my voice has her taking a step back. “Number one, you won’t abuse my staff. Not today or any other day. Number two, eggs are not dairy. They’re poultry.”
“You’re stupid if you truly believe that,” she says. “Why are they in the fucking dairy section of the store?”
“Because the store keeps them cold to make them last longer, but they’re not dairy. Google it. In the meantime, if you don’t like eggs, we won’t add them to your salad. But you won’t call my staff, or myself, stupid for knowing our jobs.”
“You’re wrong.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“You can go now.”
Her jaw drops. “I’m not leaving until you make me the salad the way I want it.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re done.”
“I would never be treated this way in LA.”
“Then go back to LA. Now, are you taking this with you or not?”
“Are you hearing impaired, you stupid redneck?”
I glance at Tandy, who’s staring in shock. “Call the police.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” The customer is screeching now, and everyone in the restaurant has stopped what they’re doing to watch us.
“You have five seconds to get the fuck out of my building before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
Her lip curls in a sneer before she turns and stomps away, and once she’s gone, the place erupts in applause.
“You go with your badass self,” Billie says, a grab-and-go salad in her hand as she steps up to the counter. “What a bitch. I hope she doesn’t go over to the bookstore.”
I rub a shaky hand over my forehead. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I feel unsteady.
“I hate people,” Tandy says with a deep sigh. “Thanks for having my back, Jules. I knew that eggs aren’t dairy.”
“Everyone knows that.” Billie rolls her eyes. “I want a brownie, too. I’m eating this salad, which is delicious by the way, but I need something sweet to go with it.”
“You got it, Bug.” I wink at her and ring her up.
“Did you pick up the new book club read?” she asks me. “It’s War by Brittanée Nicole, and it’s so good.”
“I did pick it up, and I started it last night,” I reply with a grin. “Daddy War might be my new favorite hero.”
“He’s so hot,” Billie agrees. “Okay, gotta run back. See you later!”
After Billie leaves, we get swamped, and for the next several hours, the three of us bustle about, taking and filling orders, running them to tables, then cleaning tables between customers.
It’s a chaotic evening, but eventually, it’s time to close.
Once everything is cleaned and put away, Tandy and Hazel leave for the night.
I stay in the kitchen, making dough to bake in the morning. I mix up more brownie batter and decide to try the scone recipe that Jackie sent me.
Finally, at around ten, with everything ready for the morning, I turn off the lights and toss my apron in the laundry basket before walking out the front door and locking it.
I check the lock three times before I walk away and head down the main street in town.
I take two walks every day. One first thing in the morning and the other before bed. I’ve done that for years. It was the only time I truly had to myself, and it’s a routine that I keep.
When I reach Brooks’s garage, I notice that the lights are still on inside, and music is playing.
He’s probably staying late because of my car, and that makes me feel guilty. I don’t want him working overtime because of me. I also feel like shit because I snapped at him, not just today, but the other day when he gave me a ride on the bike and came up to the apartment.
I told him at the time that I refused to be ashamed, but the truth is, I was ashamed.
It’s embarrassing that I live in an attic.
I can call it an apartment all day long, but that doesn’t make it more than it is.
I didn’t want Brooks to see it, at least not until I’ve had the opportunity to fix it up more.
So I got defensive and snapped at him.
And he really is doing me a favor by helping me with the car. I shudder to think how much it’s going to cost me in the end, but at least I’ll have it back.
Without overthinking it, I walk back to the restaurant, let myself in, and head to the kitchen, where I make Brooks a steak fajita with chips and guacamole. It’s his favorite thing.
At least, it was his favorite thing.
I hope he still likes this kind of food.
After putting it all in a brown bag with handles, I shut the kitchen down again, check the lock three times, and walk back to the garage.
The lights are still on, and the music still plays.
Am I stupid to bring him dinner as a thank-you? What if he’s not working on my car at all? Maybe an emergency came in, and I’m being silly.
Maybe he’ll just glare at me the way he always does and send me packing.
That’s the most likely scenario.
I don’t even know why I’m here. However, I know that standing up for myself and Tandy made me feel more confident. Stronger. It made me feel like my old self again, and I like it. If I’m strong enough to put that woman in her place, I can offer Brooks dinner as a thank-you for his help.
So I square my shoulders and try the door, which is unlocked.
And when I walk inside, I almost trip over my own feet.
Because Brooks is shirtless, all those impressive muscles on display and flexing as he leans over an engine—my engine—twisting a wrench. The music is so loud that he didn’t hear me come in, so I can observe him quietly.
Good God, his ass in those jeans.
Every inch of this man is pure perfection. Narrow waist and broad back with muscles that look like they’re carved from marble. I wish he’d turn around so I can see his abs, but then he’d see me, and I wouldn’t get to ogle him anymore.
I also wish I could just walk over to him and kiss him, right between the shoulder blades. Once upon a time, I had free access to touch him any way I liked.
Fuck, I miss him.
He’s right here, and I miss him so much that every muscle in my body aches with it. Tears fill my eyes, and one falls down my cheek, but I don’t brush it away because I don’t want to wipe away the spell of this moment.
This man, my man, oblivious to me watching him, wanting him, yearning for him. I stopped doing this years ago, simply for self-preservation.
But right now, I can admit that every cell in my body wants him.
And I can never have him.
Suddenly, his whole body tenses, and I school my face because he knows I’m here.
He doesn’t turn all the way around. He glances over his shoulder, sees me, and then curses. I can’t hear him over the loud music, but I can see the word fuck leave his gorgeous lips.
And that sets me into action.
I hurry over and set the bag of food on his table, and then turn to scurry out the door, but suddenly the music stops. Just as I reach for the doorknob, his voice stops me in my tracks.
“Wildfire.”