David’s smile faltered and the lines around his mouth tensed. Marlowe felt her own smile disappear. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

There was something so sad about David. There was always a shadow of it when his guard was down. As though there was a part of him broken inside and he didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t want anyone to know it existed or didn’t know it was there himself. He was meant to be a hard-arsed businessman, after all. After all, that's how Charlotte described him.

He cleared his throat. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

She reached over the table placed her palm over his and squeezed. “You’re upset about something, David. It’s okay to be upset. If I’ve done something to offend you, please let me know.”

“You haven’t done anything. It’s nothing.”

‘Clearly, something has upset you…"

“It’s nothing. Alright!” He withdrew his hand. Her palm fell flat onto the linoleum tabletop. She gaped at him for a moment, knowing she’d overstepped the line of a new and budding friendship.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what possessed me. I'm not usually so upfront with people I don't know." She usually wasn't one to speak to a family member like she'd just done with David. People were free to be however they liked to be and she respected that.

That, and the fact she really didn’t know David, did she? This was only the second time she’d seen him in her life and here she was telling him how sad he looked.

Just then Joe placed their breakfast on the table. David pushed the computer away to make room for the plate. The professional businessman veneer snapped firmly back in place. She missed his smile already.

“Enjoy,” Joe said.

“Thank you,” David said.

“Talkin’ bout the company. Not the food,” Joe said his bushy brow drooping over his eyes.

Marlowe’s face heated. Joe was like one of her big, burly brothers and was just as protective of her as one of them.

David's mouth tensed before cutting into his eggs and bacon. "Marlowe is wonderful company and we have work to do. Smiling or not smiling won’t help feed people who can’t help feed themselves. Isn’t that right, Marlowe?”

She nodded, her neck stiff. If he just wanted to keep the conversation to business that’s exactly what she’d do, no matter how much she’d enjoyed their much more relaxed conversation. He was easy to talk to, and to her surprise, she’d had a good time despite the early hour and the freezing temperature. “Thank you, Joe. This looks delicious as usual, but we do have some costings to go over. We won’t be here too long. Will we, David?”

He shook his head, “Not too long at all.”

The rest of a breakfast was finished talking about which columns were which and then logging in the receipts. It was dry and boring and David was the same. She inwardly sighed, wondering why speaking about a smile had changed him so severely. It seemed her nickname was spot-on. From now on, that was how she was going to think about him.

* * *

The next few weeks passed in a blur of days, cooking at the kitchen, extra shifts at Sophia’s to help Tom out and falling into bed at the end of the day to do it all again. The restaurant was packed with Christmas cheer, hungry people coming in to have a good time and eat some good food and celebrate working together. It was just that time of the year.

Her mind stuck in a loop, thinking about David, and trying to reason out what happened at breakfast and getting angry with herself because she couldn't stop thinking about David and wonder why thoughts of David constantly popped into her mind and then getting upset with herself because he was never far from her thoughts when he had no reason to be there at all. She was driving herself crazy with her constant spiraling thoughts that didn't have an answer to any of them.

Exhaustion was creeping in. She desperately needed some time off just to sleep, but there was no respite. She was just as needed at Sophia’s as much as the kitchen. Unless the kitchen found another chef that would volunteer their services, she was stuck.

She’d spoken to Charlotte about it. She’d been wonderful, but the truth was that her meals sold very well, and selling all the meals meant money for the kitchen and food for the homeless. If she didn’t cook, the kitchen didn’t earn any money. She just couldn’t say no.

She knew she was extra tired when a burning smell emanated from the bottom of the pot. She’d been cutting the vegetables for the Shepherds Pie’s she was making and was too slow to catch the onions from burning.

Strong, lean hands took the pot off the flame before she could drop the cutting knife. She closed her eyes and counted to three. She knew who it was before she turned around. Why did she have this sixth sense when he was near? Great. Why did it have to be Grumpy Cat catching her with a burning pot? “Why are you here?” She didn’t sound happy either, but she was tired, overworked and didn’t want to be more frustrated than she already was.

“I have a meeting.” Although she was irrationally upset with him, the sound of his voice calmed her, soothing her internal bruises.

“In the soup kitchen?”

There was a pause. “Upstairs. I wanted to come and see you while I’m here.”

“Two birds with one stone, then. Glad you didn’t come out of your way. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so angry.” She crossed her arms, shoulders slumping. Why did he have to make her feel like an emotional yo-yo?

David set the pot on the sink, “I haven’t been in town. I was away on business.”

She flicked the gas element off, her expression softening, “Don’t forget to turn the gas off. Never leave a naked flame burning.” Years of cooking and horror stories had taught her that. She rubbed her brows with weary fingers.

“You’re tired.” He frowned at her.

Sighing, she grabbed the spatula to scrape the onions from the bottom of the pot. “That’s life, isn’t it?”

He took the spatula from her and pointed to the chair, “Sit down.”

“I can’t. I need to cook these meals and then get down to Sophia’s.”

If it were possible, his brows drew lower, “Working extra shifts again?”

“Why would you care?” Why indeed? She couldn’t understand why at the markets he’d emotionally shut down on her because of a stupid smile, and now he acted like he cared. Her tired brain wasn’t keeping up.

“Now whose being Grumpy Cat,” he said, remembering her comment from the breakfast.

She crossed her arms over her chest, “I happen to like Grumpy Cat. I think he’s cute.”

"You're obviously delirious if you think that cat is cute." He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pressed her into the chair. His fingers were long and tapered into well-maintained nails. She had a fleeting fancy they were artist's hands. Capable hands. Hands that could manipulate matter into beautiful sculptures. Hands that had the capacity to make her body sing.

She inwardly groaned. She was more tired than she thought. There was no way David was in any way interested in her if his lack of presence in her life since that breakfast was anything to go by.

“He’s got nice eyes,” she said.

“Seriously.” David cleared the pot and started scrubbing the rest beneath the tap.

“You might want to take off your jacket this time,” Marlowe said.

He glanced down at his jacket and soapy, wet hands, “How do I always manage to get into these positions with you?”

"I'll help." She slipped her hands beneath his shoulders and lifted his jacket from his back. Body heat and his spicy, masculine smell surrounded her. Her fingers brushed over his shirt, his skin seared hers even with thin material between their touch. Her heart fluttered at a touch that wouldn't normally be intimate.

She quickly turned to put the jacket on a hook, shaking the heat that blossomed inside of her from her mind. She turned and eyed the rest of his clothing. His broad shoulders stretched his white shirt to the limit. Charcoal business pants smoothed over lean thighs and covered a rear-end she’d like to fry bacon on. She dug her fingernails into her palm. Stop it, Marlowe. You’re only torturing yourself. David had given no indication he was in any way interested in her. She was just getting carried away. Like she had at the breakfast at Joe’s.

“Here, you might need this.” She grabbed an apron and handed it to him. His hands dripped suds. He held a scourer covered with burnt onion. Thinning her lips, she slipped her arms around his waist and secured the apron around his hips. She tied a bow behind him and stepped away as fast as she could.

“Are you feeling all right? You look a little red and jittery. You could be coming down with the flu,” David said.

She felt a flush start at her chest and work its way over her face. Being a red-head, her flush was quicker and deeper than the usual person. She ducked her face and made herself busy collecting some more onions from the onion bin, “Perfectly fine, thank you. You don’t have to help, you know. I’m capable of scrubbing a pot.” She sounded angry and flustered when she really wanted to sound cool and collected.

“Marlowe.”

The way he said her name, like smooth whiskey at the end of a long day, had her facing him, the onions in her hands forgotten. Suds dripped to the floor from his fingers when he turned from the sink to face her. “I want to say I’m…I want to apologise…for…at breakfast…”

She watched in amazement as his cheeks darkened. Not exactly a flush, but she'd never heard him mash his words either. This was a new side to David she hadn't seen and she had a feeling it was a side he didn't often show to people. Knowing he was going out of his way to apologise meant a lot to her. It was costing him.

“And...” She placed the onions on the bench, crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the bench.

He took a deep breath and speared her with his eyes, “Marlowe. I am truly sorry I spoke to you the way I did. I can only say I didn’t mean to upset you in any way. It is entirely my problem. I’m just telling you this so that you don’t take it personally.”