Rehv’s smile was slow. “I never promised I was good at interpersonal stuff.”
“Let me tell you, you’re straight-up awful at it. I believe you also just threatened me with bodily harm.”
“I would have sent Mary, who’s a professional, but you would have given her a hug and then tossed her out.”
“True.”
“So you’re left dealing with me. Sorry, not sorry.”
Trez looked down at his hands as his mood shifted away from any levity. But at least it didn’t go back into the rage. “So my grid doesn’t look good, huh. Don’t know why I have to even ask. I’m living it.”
“I don’t want you to do something stupid. That’s all.”
“You know what’s crazy… even with all this? With everything that happened after my Selena died? I have no regrets about being with her. Even though she’s gone and it hurts like hell… and there’s no end in sight? I do not regret a thing.”
Rehv came over and sat down on the sofa. “Listen, I don’t know how else to help. That’s the reason I came. I don’t want you to think it’s a failure if you go on some meds, either. Look at me. I’m the poster boy for better living through chemistry.”
Trez shook his head back and forth. “I just don’t care. About anything really.”
Rehv reached out and Trez felt the male’s heavy hand land on his shoulder. “But I care. And that’s why I’m here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Three prime ribs of beef. Full cuts, not the princess stuff. Two plates of the osso buco. A plate of pork pappardelle and an order of the chicken scarpariello. Seven different sides including rollatini, risotto, and the polenta—as well as a single, desultory dish of peas that the male had explained was for the fiber.
Although on that theory, Therese decided as she tallied up the check, the little side bowl was a drop in a bucket, nothing that was going to make any difference to the guy’s colon.
Standing at the automated cash register, she realized she hadn’t done the appetizers. Okay, so the male had had the minestrone soup. A caprese salad—more fiber there, actually. The antipasto assortment and the crostini. Wait, also the bruschetta. Was that everything? She was fairly sure. And what about dessert? He’d had the tiramisu, the cannoli, the tartufo, and profiteroles.
“I think I’ve got it,” she said to herself. “Now, she had—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Therese jumped and glanced over her shoulder. When she saw who it was, she nearly dropped her order pad.
“Oh, Chef.” She inclined her head. Then bowed fully. “I’m sorry, Chef.”
She had no idea what the hell she was apologizing for. But she had been late, and she needed this job, and even though the head of the house managed the waitstaff—when a storm wasn’t sending him home at the start of the shift—this was the big boss, the male in charge. iAm, blooded brother of Trez.
The male smiled a little, but the expression didn’t last more than a heartbeat on his handsome dark face. She had the feeling that he didn’t like her, but he was never mean, and she wasn’t even sure it was personal. He was a silent presence in the kitchen, unlike the stereotypical master-chef types who thundered around, red-faced and yelling—and somehow, the quiet was more powerful, more intimidating.
“They’re comp’d,” he said as he nodded out to the dining room, to the couple Therese had been waiting on for the two hours it took the hellren to be part of the clean plate(s) club.
With a quick surge of composure, she hid her disappointment, that tip she had been looking forward to going poof. “Of course. Certainly, Chef.”
“You can leave after they’re done.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you, Chef.”
iAm paused, and she braced herself for a command not to come in the next night or any night thereafter. Because she had been late two times. And because… whatever else she’d done wrong on any shift she had ever been on in any position she had ever held, going back to the moment of her birth.
Not that she was catastrophizing. At all.
“Listen,” he said. “About my brother.”
Therese was aware of her heart stopping and her breath stalling in her throat. “Yes?”
“He’s…”
“He’s what?”
For some reason, she wanted to know whatever was next with a single-minded focus that bordered on addiction.
Except iAm shook his head. “Never mind. You just finish up here and head home.”
Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched his arm. “You can tell me. Whatever it is.”
“It’s not my story, and that’s only part of the problem.”
iAm turned and went back toward the kitchen. And as she watched him go, she wanted to chase after him and make him talk to her. But that wasn’t her place, and not because she was only a waitress. You didn’t get between siblings. She used to live that firsthand with her own brother.
To keep from sliding down that slope of regret and recrimination, she canceled the transaction out of the register, tucked her order folder into her half apron, and headed over to the only occupied table. She wasn’t sure where Emile was. The couple he had been waiting on were long gone, which was what happened when you just ate an app, an entrée, and a dessert. As opposed to four apps, seventeen entrées and the entire dessert menu.
As she came up to the table, the blond male and the human-ish female looked up at her with expectation.
“Chef is pleased to comp your meal,” Therese said. “With his best regards.”
The male shook his head. “iAm doesn’t have to do that. Where is he?”
“I believe Chef is in the kitchen. Would you like me to get him for you?”
“Nah, it’s cool. He’s probably working.”
“Is there anything else I can get you both?”
“We are so full. Even him.” The female smiled, and tilted her head. “Tell me, where are you from?”
“Michigan.”
“So you’re used to the long, cold winters,” the male said.
“I am.”
“And what brought you to Caldwell?” the shellan asked.
Therese shrugged through the lancing pain that went through her chest. “I just felt like a relocation.”
“Caldwell is a wonderful place to live.” The female smiled. “Do you know anyone here?”
“Not really. But it’s okay. I’m just getting settled.”
“Well, remember to be kind to yourself. Transitions are hard even when they’re exciting.”
It was as she stared down into the female’s eyes that she understood the male’s attraction. She totally got it. There was something incredibly wise and kind about the shellan, a depth of knowledge and understanding that transcended the physical and made her resplendent.
“I do what I can,” Therese heard herself mumble. “Anyway, be careful out in that storm even if you aren’t driving.”
“Thank you. You, too.”
The male indicated the table with his broad palm. “And thank you for working so hard for us.” rsquo;s smile was slow. “I never promised I was good at interpersonal stuff.”
“Let me tell you, you’re straight-up awful at it. I believe you also just threatened me with bodily harm.”
“I would have sent Mary, who’s a professional, but you would have given her a hug and then tossed her out.”
“True.”
“So you’re left dealing with me. Sorry, not sorry.”
Trez looked down at his hands as his mood shifted away from any levity. But at least it didn’t go back into the rage. “So my grid doesn’t look good, huh. Don’t know why I have to even ask. I’m living it.”
“I don’t want you to do something stupid. That’s all.”
“You know what’s crazy… even with all this? With everything that happened after my Selena died? I have no regrets about being with her. Even though she’s gone and it hurts like hell… and there’s no end in sight? I do not regret a thing.”
Rehv came over and sat down on the sofa. “Listen, I don’t know how else to help. That’s the reason I came. I don’t want you to think it’s a failure if you go on some meds, either. Look at me. I’m the poster boy for better living through chemistry.”
Trez shook his head back and forth. “I just don’t care. About anything really.”
Rehv reached out and Trez felt the male’s heavy hand land on his shoulder. “But I care. And that’s why I’m here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Three prime ribs of beef. Full cuts, not the princess stuff. Two plates of the osso buco. A plate of pork pappardelle and an order of the chicken scarpariello. Seven different sides including rollatini, risotto, and the polenta—as well as a single, desultory dish of peas that the male had explained was for the fiber.
Although on that theory, Therese decided as she tallied up the check, the little side bowl was a drop in a bucket, nothing that was going to make any difference to the guy’s colon.
Standing at the automated cash register, she realized she hadn’t done the appetizers. Okay, so the male had had the minestrone soup. A caprese salad—more fiber there, actually. The antipasto assortment and the crostini. Wait, also the bruschetta. Was that everything? She was fairly sure. And what about dessert? He’d had the tiramisu, the cannoli, the tartufo, and profiteroles.
“I think I’ve got it,” she said to herself. “Now, she had—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Therese jumped and glanced over her shoulder. When she saw who it was, she nearly dropped her order pad.
“Oh, Chef.” She inclined her head. Then bowed fully. “I’m sorry, Chef.”
She had no idea what the hell she was apologizing for. But she had been late, and she needed this job, and even though the head of the house managed the waitstaff—when a storm wasn’t sending him home at the start of the shift—this was the big boss, the male in charge. iAm, blooded brother of Trez.
The male smiled a little, but the expression didn’t last more than a heartbeat on his handsome dark face. She had the feeling that he didn’t like her, but he was never mean, and she wasn’t even sure it was personal. He was a silent presence in the kitchen, unlike the stereotypical master-chef types who thundered around, red-faced and yelling—and somehow, the quiet was more powerful, more intimidating.
“They’re comp’d,” he said as he nodded out to the dining room, to the couple Therese had been waiting on for the two hours it took the hellren to be part of the clean plate(s) club.
With a quick surge of composure, she hid her disappointment, that tip she had been looking forward to going poof. “Of course. Certainly, Chef.”
“You can leave after they’re done.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you, Chef.”
iAm paused, and she braced herself for a command not to come in the next night or any night thereafter. Because she had been late two times. And because… whatever else she’d done wrong on any shift she had ever been on in any position she had ever held, going back to the moment of her birth.
Not that she was catastrophizing. At all.
“Listen,” he said. “About my brother.”
Therese was aware of her heart stopping and her breath stalling in her throat. “Yes?”
“He’s…”
“He’s what?”
For some reason, she wanted to know whatever was next with a single-minded focus that bordered on addiction.
Except iAm shook his head. “Never mind. You just finish up here and head home.”
Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched his arm. “You can tell me. Whatever it is.”
“It’s not my story, and that’s only part of the problem.”
iAm turned and went back toward the kitchen. And as she watched him go, she wanted to chase after him and make him talk to her. But that wasn’t her place, and not because she was only a waitress. You didn’t get between siblings. She used to live that firsthand with her own brother.
To keep from sliding down that slope of regret and recrimination, she canceled the transaction out of the register, tucked her order folder into her half apron, and headed over to the only occupied table. She wasn’t sure where Emile was. The couple he had been waiting on were long gone, which was what happened when you just ate an app, an entrée, and a dessert. As opposed to four apps, seventeen entrées and the entire dessert menu.
As she came up to the table, the blond male and the human-ish female looked up at her with expectation.
“Chef is pleased to comp your meal,” Therese said. “With his best regards.”
The male shook his head. “iAm doesn’t have to do that. Where is he?”
“I believe Chef is in the kitchen. Would you like me to get him for you?”
“Nah, it’s cool. He’s probably working.”
“Is there anything else I can get you both?”
“We are so full. Even him.” The female smiled, and tilted her head. “Tell me, where are you from?”
“Michigan.”
“So you’re used to the long, cold winters,” the male said.
“I am.”
“And what brought you to Caldwell?” the shellan asked.
Therese shrugged through the lancing pain that went through her chest. “I just felt like a relocation.”
“Caldwell is a wonderful place to live.” The female smiled. “Do you know anyone here?”
“Not really. But it’s okay. I’m just getting settled.”
“Well, remember to be kind to yourself. Transitions are hard even when they’re exciting.”
It was as she stared down into the female’s eyes that she understood the male’s attraction. She totally got it. There was something incredibly wise and kind about the shellan, a depth of knowledge and understanding that transcended the physical and made her resplendent.
“I do what I can,” Therese heard herself mumble. “Anyway, be careful out in that storm even if you aren’t driving.”
“Thank you. You, too.”
The male indicated the table with his broad palm. “And thank you for working so hard for us.”