Kitchen Boss

My gaze goes over to Jackson. I still can’t believe I’m working for him, or that I’ve met him again after so many years. And I still can’t believe how… hot he’s become.

Yes, I admit it. He’s a hunk now.

He wasn’t before. He was a pencil neck with thick glasses that kept sliding down his nose and hair that always looked like he just got out of bed. That’s why I never paid him much attention. Now, though, he’s got these movie star features and a body worthy of a gym ad.

As I watch him, my gaze is drawn like a magnet to his tight ass outlined by his tight jeans, and to his broad shoulders and his toned arms. And I don’t normally ogle men.

I lick my lips. How on earth does someone so puny end up with a body worthy of being enshrined in spandex?

“Why so serious during your break?” Ken’s question breaks into my thoughts.

I quickly turn towards her. “Serious? No. I was just…”

What? Drooling over an old acquaintance who happens to be my current boss?

“Admiring the view,” I say for lack of anything better.

Ken peers over the railing. “Hmm. Some view indeed.”

I blush. “I wasn’t…”

“Save it.” Ken lifts a hand. “I may not act like a woman most of the time, but I still am one. I’m well aware that Mr. Jackson Holloway down there is one premium piece of meat.”

I lift an eyebrow as I look at her. “So you…?”

“What? Want to eat him all up like you do?” Ken snorts.

I frown. “I don’t…”

“Don’t worry. I’m not interested in him. Or men, for that matter.”

I’d guessed as much.

“I’m not worried,” I tell her as I square my shoulders. “I don’t want to… eat him all up like you said.”

What am I? A cannibal?

“Mm-hmm.” Ken nods but doesn’t look at all convinced.

“I was just thinking how much he’s changed,” I add. “Since I last met him.”

“Right. I think Jackson did mention that you knew each other. Something about growing up together? Childhood friends?”

“Not us,” I say. “It was me and… his sister.”

My hand instinctively goes over my chest as I feel it tighten.

Ken taps her fingers on the railing. “I see.”

I wait for her to ask me questions, but she doesn’t. It makes me wonder if she knows about what happened. Does Jackson talk about it?

“How about you?” I ask her. “How long have you known Jackson?”

“About three years,” Ken answers. “Since he put up that restaurant in Toronto.”

So I guess she knows him well. Well, they do seem to get along.

“He may not look it, but he’s an amazing chef,” Ken adds.

I turn around to look at him once more. This time, he’s lying on the grass, lifting Maisie on his knees and holding her by the armpits as she spreads her arms so that she seems to be flying above him.

“He seems to be a great father, too,” I remark.

“Yup,” Ken agrees. “He may not spend as much time with her as he should, but he tries his best. I think that’s what’s important.”

I nod.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s easy being a single dad,” Ken adds.

Single dad? That bit of information piques my interest.

“What happened to his wife?” I ask curiously.

Ken gives a deep sigh. “She died shortly after giving birth to Maisie.”

I frown. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is quite tragic,” Ken remarks. “Then again, things happen for a reason, don’t they?”

“Do they?”

I still don’t know the reason why Trisha had to die.

Ken pats my shoulder. “Some things end so that other things can begin. Jackson lost his wife and Maisie lost her mother, but who knows? Someone might come along to take care of them both.”

“You think so?”

Jackson doesn’t seem like he’s looking for a new wife. Or is he?

“She might even come sooner than they think.”

She turns to me with a meaningful grin.

Wait. She’s not implying that I should marry Jackson, is she? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

I narrow my eyes at her. “If you’re saying – ”

“Whoa, look at the time.” Ken looks at her watch. “We should get back to work.”

Before I can say more, she goes back inside. I let out a breath before following her.

There’s no way I can fill the void Maisie’s mother left behind. I may like kids, but I don’t know the first thing about being a mother. Or a wife, for that matter. Besides, they seem happy enough. They have each other. They love each other. They don’t need anyone else.

Then again, if Trisha were alive, she’d probably be the one taking care of them.

I gaze up at the sky, beyond the clouds.

Is that what you want me to do? Take care of them? Is that why you brought me here?

As before, I hear no answer, so I come up with my own.