Before I Knew (The Cabots #1)(42)
“It was excellent, but it isn’t what I’d planned. I want A CertainTea to have broad appeal and be a venue for parties and weddings and whatnot for ordinary people. Believe it or not, ordinary people like me don’t give a fig about amuse-bouches.”
Alec’s focus snagged on the sexy pout her lips formed when pronouncing the “sh” end sound of “bouches,” so it took him an extra second to reply. “If your primary goal was to be involved in planning parties, then maybe you should’ve started an event-planning service instead of a restaurant.”
She glared at him, making him regret that last quip. Now she might institute the happy hours out of spite.
“Have a good night, Alec.” Colby fished her keys out of her purse.
He’d already stepped in it, so he might as well ask the other question that had been bugging him for the past twenty minutes. “Did you make that no-dating rule because you don’t think I’m good enough for Gentry?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course not.”
“Honestly?”
“I promise.” She hugged her purse. “Why would you think that?”
“I know your whole family thinks Gentry needs some direction, so I would’ve thought her interest in me would be welcomed, given that I’m older and certainly more stable than her current boyfriend.”
Colby nibbled at the corner of her lower lip. “Are you interested in Gentry?”
“No.” Only you. It seemed impossible that she couldn’t feel the depth of his longing.
She huffed. “Then why are we even talking about this?”
“Because I get the feeling you don’t trust me anymore. With few exceptions, you’re edgy around me lately.”
She sighed. “I think we both know why.”
“I don’t.”
“Well . . .” Her voice trailed off before she finished her thought.
“Well, what?” His demand made her flinch. Carefree Colby no longer existed. Now all she did was jump and recoil, or lash out defensively. All changes caused by her witnessing Mark’s suicide. If possible, he loathed himself even more for the way he dismissed Mark’s note. Two men dead, one woman splintered, all unwittingly because of him.
“Your temper . . . it’s not like the friend I remember. You were never so ruthless.” She looked at him now, her luminescent eyes seeking reassurance that the old Alec still existed.
That stopped him. He was harder. And given his secrets, he couldn’t reassure her. She shouldn’t trust him. Why the hell was he pressuring her when he couldn’t be honest? Did he want to lose his job? His one path to some kind of redemption?
“You’re right. I have changed, and you should keep your distance.” He turned before she could grab hold of his arm. Without glancing back, he waved over his shoulder. “Drive safely.”
Chapter Seven
“Welcome to A CertainTea.” Colby shook hands with Melissa Westcott, an ambitious young reporter from Portland’s largest newspaper to whom Gentry had reached out as part of her PR strategy. “I’m thrilled you’re writing a feature piece on us.”
“Alec Morgan’s return to the Portland restaurant scene is exciting news in the ‘Lifestyles’ space.” After introducing Colby to the photographer, Phillip, Melissa scanned the room with an alert gaze. She looked to be slightly older than Gentry. Although not as striking as Colby’s sister, Melissa shared a similar cavalier air and disregard for punctuality. The arrogance of people who valued their own time more than that of others annoyed Colby. “Is Chef Morgan here?”
Alec’s claim that the executive chef gets all the credit or blame was proving to be true. Not that that fact justified his periodic outbursts, which seemed to have increased since she mentioned her happy-hour idea the other night. If Ms. Westcott interviewed the staff, Lord knew what they might reveal.
“He’s in the kitchen at the moment.” For days now, Colby had mulled over his recent warning about keeping her distance. Naturally, it had only made her more curious. Her weakening resolve would frighten her if she had spare time to think about it. “Should we get started first and then call him in?”
“I’d prefer you to be together.” Melissa smiled and then mumbled something to the cameraman about taking some photos of the venue.
Colby could either bemoan the fact that, as usual, her desires ranked beneath everyone else’s agenda or exploit the reporter’s enthusiasm for Alec’s local celebrity. Intellect was always better—and less dicey—than emotion.
“Let me grab him.” Colby excused herself and scurried to the kitchen, where she found Alec criticizing one of the line chefs. Now wasn’t the time to address the untenable friction that had become commonplace in the kitchen. Privately, she conceded that the daily staff pep talks might actually be making things more awkward, not less. “Alec, the reporter is here.”