His pursuit of Libby had been an anomaly. Very much out of character for him. She knew that now and wondered about it.
For him to have come here was anomalous too. He was out of place here, off balance, and yet . . . he did not look in any hurry to get back to his routine. He was wearing one of his more familiar suits today, but even with the suit, he still had day-old stubble, his hair was a mess, and there appeared to be a coffee stain on the pristine white cuff of his shirt. And his red silk tie was ever so slightly wrinkled.
Everything was off about him since he’d arrived here, and it was both refreshing and disturbing to witness.
“How can you stay away from the office for so long?” she asked curiously.
“I can work from anywhere, and Mrs. Pegg is keeping the office from devolving into chaos.” Mrs. Pegg was his executive assistant.
“Okay, well, if you’re sure you want to do this—”
“Of course,” he interjected hastily.
“You start tonight, six thirty. At my place.”
“I’ll be there. That reminds me: I haven’t fixed the door handle yet. I had a meeting this morning. I’ll do it tonight.”
She nodded. “Well, I should be getting back to work,” she said, and he made a murmuring sound of agreement. He was still shaken after his run-in with Martine and needed some privacy to process everything she had told him.
They left the office, and Olivia headed toward the kitchen, while Greyson reluctantly made his way back to the table where Martine and Harris were seated. They appeared to be having a very friendly conversation, and knowing how his brother felt about Martine, Greyson was loath to interrupt them.
He also would rather avoid Martine for a while, not keen on having another confrontation with the woman. He would make it quick and easy on everyone, merely tell them he was leaving and be on his way. He was sure they would be relieved to see the back of him.
Tina was worked up about the childcare arrangement Libby had made with Greyson. The two women were back in the office because Tina had stormed into the kitchen earlier, and Libby had once again abandoned her station in the kitchen to finally have that private conversation with Tina. This was so damned unprofessional, but it was probably best for the restaurant if they cleared the air between them sooner rather than later.
“Tina . . . ,” Libby began hesitantly after her friend protested Libby’s decision to move Clara off site during dinner service. She tried to find a way to frame her concerns tactfully, but in the end she could be nothing but blunt. Tact had never been Libby’s forte. “I can’t overlook the fact that you’re uncomfortable around her. I know she’s just an infant, but babies can pick up on stuff like that. She’s so tiny; I don’t want her to fret over things she can’t possibly understand. That I, quite frankly, don’t understand myself.”
Tina swallowed, the clicking sound her throat made as loud as a gunshot in the silence that followed Libby’s statement.
“I-I . . .” She swallowed again, and Libby waited, desperately wanting to understand what was going on with her friend. “I want to be different. I love Clara. But . . .” More hesitation, and Libby tried to remain patient, even though she wanted to take Tina by her shoulders and physically shake the words from her. But this—whatever this was—seemed to be exceedingly difficult for Tina.
“I once had a baby,” Tina whispered, and Libby reeled at the words. The air left her lungs on a gasp of dismay. The profound shock of her friend’s unexpected statement made Libby’s head whirl in confusion.
A baby? When? How could she have had a baby without Libby ever knowing about it? Her eyes remained riveted on Tina’s pale face; her friend looked sick and on the verge of hyperventilating. Libby was about to slide an arm around her waist and lead her to the sofa when Tina spoke again.
“He died.”
Libby froze, her eyes wide. Tina’s green eyes were shimmering with tears, but the expression on her face remained resolute.
“I don’t understand,” Libby murmured. She didn’t know what she had been expecting to hear, but this wasn’t it. This was huge, this was . . . she shook her head. How could Tina keep this from her? Why would she? “You had a baby?”
“A boy.” Tina’s voice cracked, but she forged ahead regardless. “He was two months old when he died. SIDS.”
“But . . . when? When did this happen? How did I not know about this? Why didn’t you tell me?” Libby was confused, upset . . . a little angry that the friend in whom she had confided practically all her secrets could keep one so life-changingly huge from her.