“Nothing material. I might’ve planned a slightly different layout for the lines, but this should work fine. I’ll do an inventory with the kitchen staff on my own. No need to waste your time with that.” His hands found their way back into his pockets, which made her grin expand. “What?”
“Nothing.” God, it felt good to relax a little. To feel, even temporarily, like they were the friends they’d been before the tragedies. So what if he was pretending for the sake of keeping this job? The old “fake it till you make it” concept worked for her.
“Oh, it’s something.” He shrugged. “Sure you won’t share? You used to tell me lots of things.”
“That I did.” Of course, that was before.
After high school, Alec had taken off for the Culinary Institute of America in New York, and from there, to Europe. By the time he’d returned to Oregon, she’d married Mark and embarked on a new legal career. She’d learned to keep secrets by that point.
Mark had demanded his diagnosis remain private so that people didn’t whisper and wonder. Only Colby’s mother had had any inkling of the truth. Amid Colby’s swirling thoughts, she led Alec back to the dining hall. The next thing she knew, she’d tripped and landed splayed across the floor.
“Are you hurt?” Alec knelt beside her, one hand hovering above her shoulder, concern in his eyes.
Pushing up to a sitting position, she tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Only my pride.”
He didn’t move except for the quirk of his lips.
“Laughing at me?” Colby asked, heat flooding her cheeks.
“No.” He lost the battle against smiling. “But it’s nice to be the graceful one for a change.”
He’d always been a bit self-deprecating, and she had always been the more athletic one.
Suddenly the chaotic emotions of her morning converged, forcing an exhausted snicker. Quiet at first, until she broke into a full-blown fit of giggles. The more she tried stifling them, the worse they got. Partway through her outburst, Alec chuckled, too, and a hint of warmth crept into his eyes—his lovely, kind eyes.
Once her laughter died down, Alec motioned for her hand. “Up you go.”
When she placed her hand in his, he grasped it firmly and tugged her upright. They held hands in silence as if unwilling to let go of the brief moment of levity, which rose above the clouds like a kite.
When she eased free from his grip, Alec widened his stance and crossed his arms, resuming their business discussion. “Did the former chef hire the staff?”
This she remembered about him—efficient, driven, guided by logic. He hadn’t often been one to goof off. Not like her and Joe. Of course, the last time she’d goofed off was probably three or four years ago—a pathetic admission.
“For the most part. When would you like to start working with them?” Colby fidgeted under his scrutiny. That chestnut cowlick flopped over his forehead in a way that made her want to reach up to touch it. That inappropriate urge skittered through her body until it hit her stomach and fluttered.
“Immediately. We’ve a lot to accomplish.” Alec glanced around the dining hall again, his eyes focused. She could tell he was picturing the place in action. “Did you plan a soft opening the week before we open to the public? Invite your family? Some friends and colleagues?”
“Yes.” She and the former chef had planned one. “It seemed like a good idea.”
He grinned at her as if she were a child just learning to read. “Trust me, it’s necessary. I assume you’ve hired a qualified waitstaff?”
“Of course.”
Alec’s perfectionism could be an excellent, if sometimes annoying, trait. Yet the emphasis he’d placed on the word “qualified” sent up a red flag. He doubted her. Would he try to exploit her inexperience?
Hunter’s focus on the bottom line ensured that he’d pressure Colby to compromise with Alec, whose culinary background influenced his tastes. Tastes that, unlike hers, could run toward the pretentious. She’d have to be vigilant to protect her vision and authority. “Mondays and Tuesdays are normally days off, but I’ll have everyone come first thing tomorrow morning to meet you.”
“We should discuss the menu first. Can we do that now?”
“Actually, I promised my mother I’d swing by at ten to discuss ‘something urgent.’” An inward sigh filled her chest at the dubiousness of her mother’s request.
“Afterward?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll text when I’m ready.”
He pulled his phone from his pants pocket and grimaced. “Low batts.”