Chapter One
Present Day
People liked to tease Colby that, if she were ever late, they’d assume she was either dead or arrested. She’d prided herself on her punctuality. Today, however, a quick glance at the car’s clock warned that she’d be late for her appointment.
It couldn’t be helped.
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she stopped at the entrance to the Queen of Heaven Cemetery. Its gates always triggered the same flashback—Mark taking flight off their ninth-floor balcony several weeks after Joe’s funeral. Like a cascade of dominoes, next came the sour stomach, the pasty mouth, the sweaty palms. Breathe.
Mark’s refusal to properly treat his bipolar disorder had doomed their marriage, but Colby had never wanted that ending for him or herself.
The echo of survivor’s guilt—as unshakable as her shadow—often steered her into the graveyard. Today, the second anniversary of Joe’s death intensified the summons. Inevitably, a mental fog descended, clouding her thoughts about the two important men in her life who now lay buried beneath earth and memories and broken dreams.
Although her last three visits to these graves hadn’t ended with mascara-streaked cheeks, the jury was still out on today. Having only recently weaned herself off the medication that had been prescribed to manage her PTSD, this visit would be a test. She’d been feeling stronger, banking on new memories and dreams to mend her broken pieces.
Colby parked along the narrow road that separated two larger plots of land. To her right lay Mark. To her left, one hundred yards across the road, was Joe’s headstone. A bouquet of fresh hydrangeas lay at its base. No surprise, considering the anniversary. Thankfully, she hadn’t run into his family. But for her whirlwind courtship and impulsive elopement with Mark, the Morgans wouldn’t be visiting Joe’s grave—a fact no one could forget.
Cold fingers of dread crept up her neck when she thought of meeting with Alec later this morning. Their former friendship had been another casualty of these tragedies.
Joe had been her childhood playmate, Alec her protector. Opposing images of Alec cycled through her mind like a flip book: him patiently tutoring her in French (which she’d only taken because, when she’d heard him speak it, it had sounded more romantic than Spanish), then politely brushing her off at the grocery store a few months after the funerals. Knowing her face would always be a painful reminder of Joe’s death, she’d given Alec the space he’d demanded without words.
He must be desperate to be willing to work with her now.
She shut off the engine but remained inside the car with the window cracked open. Leafy branches swayed in the breeze, sounding like the ghostly whispers Mark had often spoken of during manic phases. In those moments, he’d declared himself a prophet, which had frightened her, although no more than many other things he’d done or said during their marriage.
If she hadn’t become benumbed to his brain’s pattern of recovery from mania, she might’ve noticed that his depression following Joe’s death had been more acute. Might’ve realized that taking a little time off from work to comfort him wouldn’t be enough. Might not have missed the fact that he’d been lying about taking his meds and seeing his doctor.
But Mark had been a pretty good liar, and maybe she’d been too caught up in her own disillusionment and grief about Joe to notice. She’d been running on autopilot just to get through those days, reluctant to do or say anything to make the situation at home even worse. It wasn’t until Mark had mumbled incoherent apologies and hurtled toward the balcony that she’d awakened from that haze.
By then it had been too late.
Mark had jumped to his death, much like Joe had in the fatal dare.
She closed her eyes now to block the image of Mark’s broken body on the sidewalk below. Defiantly, the gruesome vision of bone, blood, and gray matter surfaced. She forced her eyelids open, fixing her gaze on the rustling leaves as if they could erase the memory engraved on her brain. The tightness in her chest eased slightly, although her eyes still stung.
Two deep breaths later, she offered up a prayer. If she had one fervent wish since her husband’s death, it was that he finally found the peace that had eluded him in life. Assuming things went according to plan, she might also know peace soon.
She twisted the platinum wedding band she still wore out of respect—and guilt—while staring blankly at the light rain now dotting the windshield. Like tears, she thought. She started the car and let the automatic wipers clear them away before heading out of the cemetery, toward her new venture, A CertainTea.
Toward the future.
Even the rain couldn’t mar the sight of the newly renovated restaurant. The elegant, one-story glass-and-stone structure sat at the end of a private driveway, amid a wooded, two-acre parcel bordered on one side by Lake Sandy. A lush, manicured lawn sloped toward the hexagonal cedar gazebo at the water’s edge, where visitors could enjoy a panorama of the four-hundred-acre lake and its shoreline, which was dotted by private homes, docks, and boats.
Colby could hardly wait to be surrounded by families celebrating engagements, birthdays, and anniversaries here. Celebrating life!
Convinced that hosting other people’s happiest moments in this peaceful setting would draw her from her perpetual state of limbo, she’d persuaded her father to invest some of Cabot Tea Company’s funds in this endeavor. Of course, that purse had strings. Technically, CTC owned A CertainTea. She’d manage it, but she’d report to her brother, Hunter.
She accepted that condition because CTC had assumed all the risk. It wasn’t like her former legal career had prepared her to be a restaurateur. But if she could run multimillion-dollar real estate and banking deals, she could manage this place.
“I was about to call a bail bondsman,” Hunter teased, standing in the open doorway. Her brother’s wire-rimmed glasses framed his owlish eyes, which constantly assessed his surroundings. His wife, Sara, had helped him acquire the bit of polish he’d never cared about: taming his thick brown locks into a neatly cropped style, and dressing him in well-made clothes. “I can’t stay long. Meeting with Dad and Jenna.”
His nostrils flared while mentioning their stepmother, like always.
When Jenna married their dad twenty-six years ago, Hunter hadn’t cared much. Unlike Colby, he’d worshipped their father and looked for every opportunity to spend time with him instead of with their mother. But when Hunter finally graduated from Berkeley and returned to take his rightful place in the family business, he and Jenna had started butting heads over everything from strategy to paper clips.
“Sorry.” Colby kissed his cheek before ducking inside, where a small cadre of workmen were finishing punch list items, like installing switch plates and drawer pulls in the bar, and touching up baseboards. “What do you think?”
“Beautiful. Now we just need Alec to work his magic.” Hunter grinned for the first time since her arrival, delighted to hire his lifelong friend.
“I know how much you want that, but I’m concerned.” Colby lowered her voice in case Alec was in the kitchen.
“Why? We’re lucky to get a chef of his caliber.” Hunter crossed his arms. “Besides, he needs this second chance.”
As if she needed that reminder.
Alec’s former restaurant, Une Bouchée, had won the elite James Beard Award for Best New Restaurant. That coup had happened just before Joe’s death. The following year, Alec lost his mojo and, within months thereafter, his restaurant.
The veiled accusation Mark had hurled at Alec at Joe’s funeral sifted through her thoughts, making her question—not for the first time—whether it had exacerbated Alec’s downward spiral. Then again, having lived with secrets and regrets of her own, she could hardly criticize his.
“Is he ready, though?”
After losing his life’s work, Alec had gone off the grid, returning home only two months ago. Colby wanted to help him, but the part of her that Mark’s illness had wrung dry now cowered from the idea of working with another broken spirit. Especially one whose presence forced her to think about everything she wanted to forget.
“If your chef hadn’t bailed last minute, I wouldn’t push. But why go through another round of interviews when we don’t need to?” Hunter glanced at his watch. “Not long ago, Alec was arguably one of the best chefs in the country. He’s worked in some of France’s finest restaurants. No one’s better qualified than him.”
“Except I’m not chasing awards and acclaim. I don’t want this place to be stuffy. I want it to be a casually elegant place for people to relax and have fun. To celebrate, not judge. Can Alec put his ego aside and take orders from me?”
“What you should want is a customer wait list and big profit margin. This little place is yours to manage, but you can learn a lot from Alec.” He impishly pushed her shoulder with two fingers. “Maybe it’s you who needs to check your ego.”
Colby bristled. “I know ‘this little place’ is nothing compared with the empire you all run up the road, but it’s everything to me. I’m not stupid. Alec has experience that I don’t, but that doesn’t mean we can work well together.”
“Sorry I offended you.” Hunter tipped his head, his gaze softening.
During the past two years, he’d voiced concern about the circles under her eyes, earned from months of nightmares. He’d noted the way she’d no longer watch gory movies, go out on any balcony, or keep in touch with Mark’s remaining family. How, for the most part, her sense of humor had withered. Like everyone else, Hunter had attributed the changes to her witnessing Mark’s suicide—the very worst day of her life, yet only a part of what haunted her.
Given Hunter’s ignorance of the diagnosis Mark had insisted remain carefully hidden throughout their marriage, she couldn’t complain about how Alec’s presence ripped the lid off a past she’d been working so hard to bury.
“Don’t overthink this,” Hunter continued. “Alec wouldn’t have accepted the offer if he couldn’t work with you. You two always got along well before. This is the perfect solution.”
“‘Before’ being the operative word. I’m not sure this is the best solution for either of us now.” She hadn’t seen Alec in more than a year and wondered if he, like his parents, still blamed her for bringing Mark into their lives. Would he treat her coolly, or was he so in need of this job that he’d bend over backward to put her at ease? Either way would be awkward unless they could rebuild their former friendship.
“Well, suck it up, buttercup, because this is what Dad and I want.” He patted her shoulder. She’d hated that dumb saying since they were kids, but, in a weird way, Hunter’s consistency reinforced the familial link that gave her life an anchor.
“I think I’m going to hate answering to you.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I know you will.” He grinned. “You want to get rid of me? Buy out CTC. Alec can expedite that.”
Hunter had kept her safe at high school parties, taken swipes at Jenna whenever she’d made Colby feel less of a daughter to their dad than their half sister, Gentry, and supported her idea for A CertainTea. Remembering those things made his bossiness easier to tolerate.
For a moment, her muscles unwound. Then Alec walked in.
The restive energy pulsing off his body magnified his presence, making him appear ten feet tall instead of six. Maturity had continued to transform the nerdy teen in skinny jeans into even more of a stunner than when she’d last seen him. Rather disconcerting, actually. She needed another awkward thing between them like she needed a bad hair day.
“Hunter.” Alec shook his hand, then clumsily hugged Colby hello. Little more than two years ago that would’ve been natural—smoothly done and barely noticed. Today, her body flushed with discomfort. “Thank you both for this opportunity.”
To the casual bystander, Alec’s clasped hands and slight smile might’ve looked sincere instead of tightly wound. Of course, life with Mark had skewed Colby’s senses. Years of living defensively—scanning for the warning signs of mania, as if seeing it coming might somehow prevent its pandemonium—had made her a slightly paranoid observer.
She could hardly trust her judgment about anyone anymore, even an old friend like Alec. Perhaps Hunter was right and Alec didn’t harbor hard feelings.
“Don’t mention it. We’re lucky to have you,” Hunter assured his buddy. “Listen, I’ve got another meeting, so I’ll leave Colby here to show you the kitchen. You two probably have a lot to discuss before we open.”
“Four weeks, correct?” Alec’s intense gaze startled her.
“Yes,” Colby replied.
“No time to waste.” He appeared to have stifled a skeptical sigh. Or maybe that was her paranoia again.
“Agreed.” Hunter shook Alec’s hand, then kissed Colby’s head. “See you later.”
She and Alec stood in the entry, watching Hunter leave as if he were a life raft wrenched from their hands.
Her brother’s absence let the elephant otherwise known as Joe stampede into the room. He’d always be there between them, as would Mark. But given today’s anniversary in particular, Joe loomed large. Should she say something? No. Better to say nothing than risk saying the wrong thing.
“Guess you’re eager to see the kitchen?” Colby smiled, determined to tiptoe across the eggshells.
“Sure. Let’s start there.” As he followed her through the dining room, he asked, “Who planned it?”
“The architect.” She halted, curious as to why this would matter.
He stopped short of walking into her. “Not the chef?”
“No. But the architect had designed other restaurants, so he knew what he was doing.” She flashed a reassuring smile, although the quirk of tension in his face told her he doubted it. Great. Reclaiming her peace of mind when forced to work with—and rely on—another demanding personality would be challenging.
“We’ll soon find out.” Alec shoved his hands in his pants pockets. For an instant he resembled the old friend who’d done that quite frequently. The one she’d liked and trusted so well.
“Hopefully it meets your needs.” Pushing open the door to reveal a gleaming, stainless-steel kitchen, Colby risked a glance at Alec, in time to note the first sign of his approval. To her eyes, the place looked as sterile and unwelcoming as an operating room. But Alec’s expression matched that of a father who’d just caught his first glimpse of his newborn.
She watched him disappear into another world, one in which she ceased to exist. Lovingly, he ran his hand along a prep counter. He knelt down to inspect the various bowls, bins, and other utensils before standing and handling a sauté pan. Utterly rapt.
Having never quite found her life’s true passion, Colby envied his. To her, A CertainTea offered a new beginning, but it didn’t stir her soul.
Alec milled around the kitchen, occasionally stopping to turn one way or another, as if envisioning people working there, checking on the functionality of the space. With each step, his posture relaxed. The lines between his brows faded, and he let out a satisfied sigh, like that of a man who’d come home after a long journey.
His transformation unlocked a piece of her guarded heart. She almost said something, but then he wandered into the walk-in refrigerator and the moment was lost.
Maybe her qualms about working with a living, breathing reminder of the past had overshadowed the merits of her brother’s decision. Reconnecting with Alec might not only be the best thing for the restaurant, it might also help restore a friendship. Given the way she’d retreated from the world in recent years, she could use a friend.
Alec stepped out of the refrigerator, smiling. Not the old smile she remembered—that slightly shy but sincere one. This smile, more of a grin, really, at least was genuine. The first genuinely happy expression she’d seen him wear in two years.
Of course, that thought reminded her of the date. Of the death. Of that damn elephant she didn’t know how to tame.
“It’s a five-star kitchen, Colby.”
Validation from an award-winning chef. Not bad for a first try. She grinned. “Thank you. Have we missed anything?”
“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.”
“This early in the morning?” She shook her head, amazed. “Gaming addiction?”
“No.” He returned the phone to his pocket. “I usually forget to charge it. Honestly, half the time I forget to take it with me. Not many people are tracking me down, anyway.”
In fairness, she didn’t get many texts, either. People tend to stop reaching out when you continually withdraw from them, which she did during her marriage in order to hide Mark’s illness. Since his death, just getting through the workday had drained her energy, so socializing had been infrequent.
“I can wait. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here and familiarize myself further with the facility and grounds.” He glanced toward the lake.
“Of course I don’t mind, Alec.” It was the first time she’d said his name, which rolled softly off her tongue. He turned sharply toward her and stared, making her light-headed. When their gazes finally broke apart, she dropped hers to the floor, hoping staring at her feet might reset her balance. What just happened? Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”
He nodded, watching her with an expression she’d almost describe as penitent. “I’ll be waiting.”
The moment called for something—a handshake, a quick hug—yet she faltered, doing neither.
As she turned to go, he touched her arm. “Colby, I promise to do everything I can to make this place thrive.”
She looked at his hand, which lingered on her forearm, and felt her doubts subsiding. This was Alec, after all. Joe’s death had opened a distance between them, but deep down he might still be the quiet guy who’d used her as a guinea pig in his earliest days of experimenting in the kitchen. The one who’d endured her and Joe’s childhood antics without much complaint, unlike her own brother.
The look in his eyes persuaded her that they could bridge the gap between the past and present with a little effort. “I’m sure you will.”
Alec waited until Colby strolled out the door before exhaling. God, that had been difficult! His feelings for her had always been complicated, even before his mistakes with Joe and Mark.
She’d been an open, enthusiastic kid—a bit of a tomboy, her light-brown ponytail bouncing behind her. Dirt-stained clothes had hung from her thin frame as she dangled from trees. She and Joe had followed Hunter and him everywhere, begging to join them in the tree house, or wherever else they’d bike off to.
His favorite trait, though, had been her big heart. He recalled when she’d been about ten and had cried after overhearing their mothers discussing Mrs. Cannon’s breast cancer. Megan Cannon had only been thirty-six and had two young sons at the time. After drying her tears, Colby had asked for Alec’s help to create a unique pink lemonade she could sell on the street to raise money for the Cannons. The negligible income she’d earned paled in comparison with the awareness and goodwill she’d inspired. Other neighbors then sent the family food and cards during Megan’s chemotherapy, and everyone rejoiced when she survived. To this day, pink lemonade reminded him of her.
Then puberty hit. Granted, it hit most girls earlier than Colby, which had caused her endless angst. Having viewed him like another brother, she’d griped to him about her boyish figure, mostly when she’d sat in his mom’s kitchen watching him cook.
Of course, he’d never viewed her as a sister. Barely three years older than she was, he’d battled his growing attraction. Her ready smile and straight white teeth, the intelligence in her cat-shaped hazel eyes, and even the long, lithe line of the body she’d wished were more curvaceous had appealed to him. Not that she knew it.
He’d buried his affection behind the bright line of friendship. Well, except for that one rainy afternoon. That surprising stolen moment when, seeking escape from his father, he’d gone to the tree house to read and found her there crying.
“What’s wrong?” Alec set his book on a milk crate before collapsing beside her onto the musty, quilt-covered mattress on the floor.
An intense surge of delight gripped him thanks to the rare opportunity to spend time alone with her. Raindrops tapped against the roof, awakening the earthy scent of the Oregon forest around them. They sat, shrouded amid the mismatched garage-sale tapestries he and Hunter had hung on the walls. It would almost be romantic if not for her tears.
“Danny broke up with me to date Janey Thomas and her double Ds.” Another tear trickled from her eye.
“Danny Wilcox is an idiot who won’t even know what to do with Janey’s double Ds.” Alec bumped shoulders with her, hoping to make her laugh. No such luck. “You’re too good for him, Colby.”
She shook her head. “If that were true, he wouldn’t have dumped me, and other guys would be interested, too.”
Alec wished he could confess his interest, but he wasn’t her type. She’d always liked the jocks with attitude. Pretty much his opposite. The last thing he needed in his life was more rejection. Maybe one day, when she grew up, she’d appreciate a guy like him. But not now. And besides, Hunter would probably freak out.
“You’re barely fifteen. Trust me, there will be other boyfriends.” He refrained from slinging his arm around her in comfort because she might hear his pounding heart.
“Or not! Besides, all my friends have boyfriends now. They’ve already gone past second base. Who’s going to want me when there’s nothing underneath my shirt to excite anyone?” She tugged at the front of her shirt to emphasize her point, and grimaced. “I’ve barely had my first kiss, and Danny said I did that wrong, too.” Her eyes filled with more tears.
“Proving my point about him being an idiot.” Although not usually violent, Alec imagined the satisfaction of punching Danny Wilcox in the face.
“Maybe he’s right. I mean, I don’t really know anything about kissing.” Colby wiped her tears. She turned then, and he recognized the light in her eyes that often preceded one of her crazier ideas. “Alec, could you . . . would you teach me?”
He went rigid. Did she ask him to kiss her? Suddenly the sound of his racing heart filled his ears, blocking out the rain overhead. “What?”
Smooth he was not.
“Teach me how to kiss.” She blushed. “Sorry. If you don’t want to, maybe I could ask Joe.”
“No!” Alec wouldn’t let Joe—who already had more than his fair share of everything—steal this opportunity, too. This might be wrong, but he couldn’t resist the chance to kiss her, especially knowing he didn’t risk rejection. “If you really want me to, I’ll do it.”
Had he feigned nonchalance well enough, or could she tell that his entire body might explode at any second? Please, God, let the tremors be only on the inside.
“Okay.” A hopeful grin replaced her frown, and, in typical Colby fashion, she became rather curious and businesslike. “So what do I do first?”
“Stop talking,” he chuckled.
She closed her mouth and leaned forward. Holy shit, he was going to kiss Colby Cabot. It would probably be the one and only time, so he had to make it perfect.
His gaze dipped to her mouth. He reached out to touch her cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her breathing hitched. His fell shallow. Fighting the sense of urgency building inside, he forced himself to be tender. Not to overwhelm or scare her. He glanced into her eyes before closing his and brushing his lips against hers.
Featherlight, once, twice. Colby butted against him, clumsy and awkward, so he cupped her face and ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth until she opened it and let him in.
Fire fanned through him then as his excitement ratcheted up ten notches. Weaving his fingers through her long, silky hair, every part of his brain begged for more, more, more. His tongue plundered her pouty mouth over and over while the rest of his body exploded like a tree struck by lightning. Fortunately, Colby caught on quickly and responded.
As if in a dream, he laid her down on the mattress. He heard and felt their breaths mingling. A satisfied rumble ripped through his chest when her hands found their way into his hair. His heart, one used to disappointment, soared and stretched and jumped around in his chest with a strange, aching joy.
“Colby,” he uttered without thought. But his voice seemed to yank them back to reality. Her body tensed beneath him.
Beneath him!
He opened his eyes and eased away from her. They stared at each other, half-dazed, chests heaving.
“Thanks,” she finally muttered, cheeks flaming, as she straightened her clothes. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or if, well, just thanks. I mean, I think I get it now. So, thanks.”
Fortunately, her embarrassed stammering gave him time to hide his raging erection. Good God, had she felt it?
He tried to play it cool, but cool had never been his shtick. “Don’t mention it.” And then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he asked, “Feeling better?”
Although she appeared somewhat disoriented, she managed to speak. “Yes. But let’s not tell Hunter or Joe about this. That could get . . . awkward.”
“Agreed.” Alec would never tell a soul. He wouldn’t let anyone’s opinion ruin the most perfect few minutes of high school.
“I’d better go home.” She froze, as if still undecided, then stood and headed to the door. “See ya later.”
After giving a little wave, she disappeared down the ladder.
The recollection reminded Alec of how she’d once trusted him. It also reminded him of how she’d never seen him as a man, and probably still thought of him as a brother. Despite it all, those two or three illicit minutes were burned into his brain for all eternity.
Did it ever pass through her mind? Wishful thinking. He laughed at himself, because she’d married someone completely unlike him. An uninhibited, athletic guy like his brother, Joe.
Joe.
His phone rang, thankfully steering him away from the abyss of guilty, dark thoughts. Down to 2 percent battery. He answered, “Hi, Mom.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No.” He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “Colby and Hunter have gone. I’m alone now, checking out the space.”
“I’ve heard it’s quite lovely.”
“It is. The Cabots spared no expense in the front or back of the house. It’s got the potential to be a real destination spot.” It started rising—that yearning to be among the best. To create a one-of-a-kind menu and environment that drew people from afar. He’d done it before. He would do it again. He had to.
“I’m cautiously optimistic, then, that this might work out.” His mom’s voice carried a hopeful note. “It’s been lovely to have you home again.”
She’d been the only person in his family who’d encouraged his passion. Certainly his father hadn’t. “Derogatory” would be a gentle adjective to describe that man’s opinions about Alec’s career. Words like “girlie,” “fruity,” and “weird” were often slung around like hash on a diner grill. His dad’s attitude had gradually infected Joe, too, who’d emulated their father’s machismo and followed him into the police force.
As his once-beloved little brother grew to scorn him, Alec’s sorrow had turned to bitterness, resulting in Alec’s decision that day. That regrettable day before Joe’s fateful hike.
Again, blackness gathered at the edges of Alec’s mind, so he forced his thoughts back to his mother. “You can relax, Mom. I’m home to stay.”
He was. He’d make this restaurant great. He’d give Colby what she needed, as a weak way of making amends for his inadvertent role in her husband’s suicide. And he’d prove to his father that he could be every bit as tough as Joe. That his demanding career was something only someone with strength, discipline, and dedication could achieve.
Maybe then his dad might realize he still had one son he could love.
“Wonderful. So, can you come for dinner tomorrow?” she asked. When Alec hesitated, she added, “Your father’s meeting his old partner, Craig, so I could use some company.”
“Well, then, I suppose that depends on what you’re making.” He smiled, lapsing into their comfortable banter.
“Nothing fancy. How about some old-fashioned barbecued chicken and jalapeño corn bread?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Six o’clock?”
“See you then.” He didn’t even need to hit “Off” because the battery died. He placed the phone back in his pocket and turned toward the kitchen.
Only four weeks until this place opened. It would be tough, but he could make it happen, and make it brilliant.