“Sounds divine. Women must line up for a dinner invitation from you.” Melissa’s flirtatious tone irked Colby. “Let’s get Phillip to snap a few pictures of you two, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Like the other night when Gentry had been snapping pictures, this photographer arranged Colby and Alec in a series of poses that had their bodies brush against each other. Colby’s skin flushed from Alec’s touch. Under other circumstances, it might’ve been enjoyable. But today her thoughts ran in circles—Joe, Alec, Mark—right until the moment Melissa and Phillip walked out the door.
Breathing out the anxiety she’d pent up during the interview, Colby barely made eye contact with Alec. “Thank you for making time for that. We should both get back to work.”
Without looking at him, she went to her office and closed the door. She’d barely escaped having Mark’s and her history end up in the paper for everyone to judge. Laying her hands on the desktop, she leaned forward and drew deep breaths, determined not to open her drawer and pop a pill. Determined to be stronger.
Stronger—ha! Instead of coming across as the eager new proprietor of the Portland area’s newest restaurant, Colby had frozen at the mention of Mark, proving she still hadn’t put to rest the history that now buckled her knees.
“Colby.” Alec rested a hand on her shoulder.
She hadn’t heard him come in. Squeezing her eyes closed, she kept her back to him.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course.” Colby blinked back her tears before facing him. “I’m sorry you had to talk about Joe because I shut down. But thank you for keeping Mark out of the article.”
A tremor whipped through her, which Alec subdued with a hug. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”
“I did nothing right, either.” She allowed herself to relax in his embrace. At another time in her life it might’ve led to something else. That thought led to a shameful confession. “I’m sick of feeling weak and confused . . . and lost. I’m afraid, Alec. What if this sorry version of myself is the best I can be now?”
He squeezed her, his voice thick with feeling. “There’s nothing sorry about any version of you. You’re resilient and generous and kind. Someday you’ll be able to look back without being overwhelmed. Until then, lean on me. I’ll start by making you laugh a little every day.”
“That’s not your job.” She sniffled against his shirt, listening to the soothing rhythm of his steady heartbeat. An unbidden memory surfaced of another time when she’d been crying and he’d comforted her. He’d kissed her, actually. Her first real kiss. The one she’d forced him to give her, back when she’d been bold and heedless of consequences. Too bad she wasn’t that bold anymore.
Her grip slackened, so he eased away and studied her face—a favorite pastime. “You’re flushed. Maybe you should sit.”
“I’m fine.” She looked embarrassed by the show of vulnerability. Yet this was how he liked her best—bravely facing life instead of hiding from it. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t write a hatchet job.”
“That’s the only reason I cooperated.” Seeing Colby stricken by the mention of Mark’s suicide had intensified his guilty conscience. Redemption would come only after he made this place a phenomenon and replaced that wary look on her face with her old smile.
“Let’s talk about something else.” Colby smoothed her hair and rounded her desk, putting distance between them. “Is the kitchen ready for the test run this weekend?”
“Almost, but we’ll need every bit of the extra time after the soft opening to prep for the grand opening.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, a poor substitute for having her body pressed against it.
“Should I be worried?” Her delicate brows knit together.
“Still working on attitudes about consistency and perfection.” He tempered his concerns because he didn’t want to give her a reason to revisit his aggressive menu and last-minute changes.
Quietly, she said, “Maybe attitudes would improve if you were less tyrannical.”
This again? He refused to discuss it. The problem was that the daily coddling she’d forced was undermining his authority and making the staff feel like they were performing better than they were. That just increased his stress.
Eventually she accepted his silence and moved on to the next topic.
“I’m working on the seating. I’ve stuck Hunter with my mom, which won’t thrill him but is better than seating him with Jenna. Also, I can’t put my mom too close to Jenna and my dad.” She looked up from the paper she’d been studying, wearing a serious expression. “I’m sorry your dad won’t be coming. I know it’s because of me.”