Currant Creek Valley(62)
She opened her door and would have stepped inside and probably closed the door on him but he shoved a hand out to keep it open, framing her with his arm.
“You probably ought to know that my nickname in the Rangers was Unstoppable. When I go after something, I’m all in. I don’t back down.”
She was silent and he saw her throat work as she swallowed.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing there’s nothing here you need,” she said softly.
“Wrong,” he murmured.
She looked at him and for the first time he saw something in her expression that made him pause. She looked...wretched.
“This isn’t some mission, Sam. This is your life. And Ethan’s, too. Remember that.”
Without another word, she tugged her dog inside and closed the door, leaving him standing on her porch wondering how in the space of about five minutes, she could leave him just about trembling with hunger one minute, frustrated enough to pull his hair out the next, and aching to comfort her after that.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BRAZEN WAS A HUGE HIT.
He had always figured as long as a meal was filling and tasty, he didn’t need to quibble about spices or cooking methods or whether the flavors melded together in just the right proportions.
He freely admitted his ignorance on culinary matters but even he could tell Alexandra’s restaurant was destined to be a smashing success, just as he had predicted.
For one thing, the place was packed to the gills on opening night, with a waiting list that spilled out the door.
She had enough friends and family around that he imagined a huge first-night crowd wasn’t necessarily enough to guarantee success. The appreciative murmurs and exclamation of delight he heard all around him, on the other hand, were much better indicators.
He sensed a buzz of excitement about the place as palpable as that pleasant evening breeze rippling the trees around their large table on the outdoor patio.
He sat beside Katherine Thorne, adjacent to Brodie and his beautiful wife, Evie, and listened to the conversation flow around him like water around his waders in the middle of a fly-fishing stream the few times he’d gone.
“You’re getting married at Harry’s house, aren’t you?” Katherine was asking Mary Ella, who sat across from her, beside Harry Lange.
“We haven’t made any final decision yet,” Alexandra’s mother said as she took a bite of her entrée, a delicious-looking plate of salmon with some kind of fruity salsa on the top.
“What about a date?” Claire asked.
“We thought Christmastime, but we haven’t made a final decision about that, either. We need to time it right so we don’t interfere with all of you children getting married and having babies.”
“I think you’re safe for a while,” Maura put in. “Alex and Lila are the only unattached McKnights left and they’re both committed to the fancy-free single life.”
“For now,” Mary Ella answered.
He shouldn’t be so shamelessly eavesdropping upon a conversation that didn’t concern him but he was fascinated by everything about Alexandra.
Pretty pathetic, actually, how he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
He wondered how she was holding up. He couldn’t imagine a restaurant opening was all that pleasant for the chef, despite his advice to her the night before to relax and take joy in what she had accomplished.
She was probably too busy chopping and stirring and whatever else she did to truly savor what she had accomplished here, knowing she had given all these people a truly memorable meal.
He hoped he had the chance to tell her but so far she hadn’t appeared in the dining room.
A few moments later, when their server appeared to check on their table, she discreetly pulled a note out of the pocket of her short black apron and set it beside his plate.
It had his name written on it in the big, bold hand he recognized as Alexandra’s. My kitchen is perfect, it read. It’s better than I could have dreamed. Thank you.
He laughed softly but beneath his amusement simmered something else, something warm and tender. In the middle of what she herself had called the most important night of her life, she had taken the time to think about him.
He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.
He grabbed a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and scribbled back, Just breathe. You’re rocking the house.
He folded it and wrote To the Chef on the outside and handed it back to the server when she returned to take their dessert orders.
He didn’t think anybody noticed the little interaction but after the server left, Claire McKnight leaned over and spoke to him in a low, amused voice. “Why am I suddenly reminded of our eighth-grade social studies class?”