Becca

The Next Day

I’m facedown in the bathroom sink—a sink filled with ice water. The frigid water is burning my pores. I emerge, mouth open as I gasp for air. Lara, next to me, hands over a towel and then inspects my eyes as I pat the water from my face.

“Definitely better. Nothing gets rid of the crying puffies from the night before like ice water. Maybe one more dunk?”

“Forget it.” I shudder. “That’s my fourth dunk and I can’t feel my eyeballs.” I toss the towel into the hamper. “It doesn’t matter if everyone at work knows I’ve been crying. I’m leaving anyway.”

A tear trickles from my itchy eyes, hot against my hypothermic cheek.

“Becca.” Lara comes toward me in hug mode, her arms out. I grip her wrists to stop her.

“Please. Don’t hug me. I’ll dissolve.” After I hung up with Dax last night I felt three simultaneous emotions. Longing. Love. Regret.

I messed up. I’m a ginormous chicken. I called not to tell him that I was fleeing to New York but to ask if he’d reconsider my living in Ohio. Then he answered the phone and after only a few seconds, I could tell it’d never work. I felt the distance between us. He might as well have been on Mars.

It wouldn’t have been fair to ask to intrude on his life. I bet he would’ve said yes. He lived with his mom for months to help her clean out the house and be there for her while she grieved her late husband—Dax’s father. Dax let Barrett move in, and I found out last night he still lives there. Dax has a habit of putting what he wants on the back burner to make everyone around him comfortable. Why would I be any different?

I can’t do that to him. I can’t ask him to put me first and ignore what he wants. He said I deserve great things—well, so does he, dammit.

Realizing I’d lost him for good cut like a thousand razor blades. And when I said that final goodbye . . . trust me, it was final.

“New York will be a great beginning for you.” Lara doesn’t hug me, but she’s unable to keep from stroking my arm in sympathy. “You never know, Bec. Maybe your true soulmate is in NYC. You could meet the man of your dreams. What’s meant to be will be. Right?”

“Right.” I’m not sure I believe that, but I have to hold onto hope or I’ll curl into a ball and cry enough to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool, and honestly, who has the time?

“Are the tears done completely? I’m not bothering to do your makeup until they’re dried up.”

“Dry.” I sniff mightily and square my shoulders. “Mojave Desert over here.” I gesture to my eyes. “Waterproof mascara just in case, though.”

“Oh, that was never not an option.”

I sit on the closed toilet seat. While Lara applies my makeup, I busy my brain with recipes and ingredients. I mentally slice, dice, prepare, and plate them.

Anything to avoid thinking of the phone call last night.

To avoid thinking of Dax at all.

—

The Day After That

“Here they are.” Tad strolls into the office and plunks down a small stack of printed menus. “All we have to do is slide ’em into plastic.”

I lift the front-only menus, running my fingers over the thick paper and the words I wrote.

Two of my recipes. Served in my brother’s restaurant. It’s monumental.

“I thought I was done crying yesterday,” I tell him, my voice watery. “I’m leaving you high and dry after I promised I wouldn’t! I’m a horrible sister. The worst.”

“Bec. We talked about this.” Tad sits in his usual spot at the corner of the desk. “Your food isn’t good. It’s beyond. You’re wasting your talents serving this sort of high-end fare to hillbillies in the sticks, like me.” His smile is one of good humor.

“You’re not a hillbilly in the sticks.”

“I want you to be happy. I can’t pin this on you. This is my business. My responsibility. Plus, Dominic about shit himself when I asked if he’d like to have more responsibility and more money.”

“Thanks for that visual.”

“Hey, I’m the lucky one who will profit off your amazing creations. Those fried cheese nacho thingies?” He makes an “okay” symbol and kisses his fingers. “Superb.”

My smile is real for a change. Lately real smiles have been few and far between. “Thank you, Tad. For everything.”

“Don’t act like you’re not coming back to visit. You will. Your old room will now be our guest room. Limited time, though. Lara and I have restarted our baby-making endeavors.”

“Eww.” I’m kidding. Tad and Lara make beautiful babies. And if they give me another niece or nephew, I’ll be overjoyed.

“What time do I need to have you to the airport tomorrow?” he asks.

“No, no. I can’t ask you to do that. I can take an Uber. It’s not a big deal.” I’m flying in for an interview at the restaurant in New York and taking a few suitcases to my new shared apartment. I’m scheduled to fly back a day later, when I’ll rent a U-Haul and hook it to the back of my Toyota and take the rest. I can’t believe it. Back to the city. I blink, but my eyes are too dry to cry any more tears.

“It is a big deal,” Tad argues. “My baby sister is chasing her dreams. Again.”

I sock him in the arm at the dig, but follow it by standing from my chair and embracing him in a huge hug.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out like you wanted, Bec,” Tad tells me, his hand rubbing my back.

There are more tears. Fabulous.

“You didn’t like him anyway.” I pull away and swipe the hollows of my eyes, trying like hell to hold myself together.

“I like him less now. He broke my baby sister’s unbreakable heart.” Tad gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I’d better get back out there. Dom is behind the bar, but Anna called in. We don’t have a server today.”

“I can help.”

“We’re okay for the moment, but I’ll let you know. Since the mountain’s full, we may have a dinner rush.” He strolls out of the office and I set aside the menu I helped create.

Two hours later, I take a break from incoming bookings and cancellations to stretch my arms overhead.

“Need you, Bec.” Tad sticks his head in the doorway.

“Are we full?”

“Filling quickly. Can you help bring food from the kitchen?”

“Absolutely.” I steal a drink from my largely ignored water bottle and lock the office door behind me, hustling to the kitchen to find Steve and Eric buried. Baskets of food with tickets on top line the shelf.

I deliver basket after basket to the dining room, helping relieve the kitchen, and Tad too.

“Take this special order to table thirteen for me.” Tad takes the fish-and-chips basket out of my hands and swaps it with a different one.

“Sure.” In get-er-done mode, I dart from the kitchen to the dining room, my mind on autopilot as I stride to table 13.

I stop short as I spot the hulking figure sitting at table 13.

He’s rugged. Even from behind, he has a presence.

Table 13.

His jeans are ragged at the bottoms and he’s wearing a pair of motorcycle boots with buckles on the sides.

I’m standing behind him, frozen in shock, when a guest behind me calls out, “Miss?”

That’s when the guy at table 13 turns his head.

He has a strong nose below a strong brow matching his firm, strong jaw.

Lips that I’ve kissed over and over tip into half a smile and his eyes go to the basket. I take my first real look at the food in the checkered basket liner and finding a quesadilla alongside a pile of fries.

“Looks like a chicken and cheese quesadilla.” I clear my throat and set down the basket in front of Dax. “Interesting choice.”

“You didn’t have one on the menu, so I made a special request,” he says. “I have this at my bar. I call it the Princess.”

“Miss?” the guest calls again.

“One second,” I call over my shoulder. Then to Dax, “What are you doing here?”

“Tasting the competition. Did you make this?”

“No. I didn’t know anything about it.”

“Well it’s not a fair comparison unless the chef in the kitchen has your recipe.” He stands from the table. Every lumbering, sexy inch of him.

“I gave that recipe to someone else, so I didn’t think it was fair to use it here.” I hazard a look at his silver-blue eyes filled with . . . Is that hope?

Oh, God, I hope it’s hope.

“You gave away your best recipe? That’s not very smart.”

“How do you know it’s my best?”

“I’ve had a few.”

“Those recipes made it onto Grand Lark’s new menu. They came in today.”

“No quesadilla on that one, either?” His low voice trickles down my spine.

“I meant what I said. That one was for you exclusively.” I swallow thickly.

Him being this close messes with my equilibrium.

“Are you really here to eat?” I’m half scared of his answer.

He shakes his head. Slowly. “No.”

I’m in his arms a second later. I’m not sure how I got here, but I’m relieved as hell that he’s holding me. Big, strong arms pull me close and cradle me against his impossibly broad chest.

I squeeze him tighter. I don’t want to let go.

“Don’t leave, Becca,” he breathes into my ear. “Don’t leave for New York. It’s a shitty thing for me to say, because I know you want it. I don’t want you to go there—it’ll feel like you’re on the dark side of the moon, and I can’t deal with that.”

I move my hands to his biceps. A shake works down both his arms.

“I’m selfish,” he says. “I tried like hell to fall out of love with you. I’m horrible at it.”

A tear-filled laugh escapes me and I cover my mouth with one hand.

“Just the worst.” His laugh follows and his eyes mist over, damp and filled to the brim with emotion.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

I nod. “I’m probably worse at it than you are.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He lets go of me but we can’t stop looking at each other.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Didn’t have a choice, Princess. You pulled the rug out at a time I was trying to find my footing.”

“You’re not selfish, Dax. I’m trying not to be selfish. I called you that night to ask if you still wanted me—in your life. Maybe in Ohio. But I didn’t want to ask more than you were ready to give. I didn’t want to be one more person in your life taking from you.”

“Silly girl.” He shakes his head before turning and reaching into a backpack sitting on his table. He pulls out a slightly wrinkled, folded sheet of paper. “I have an offer for you if you’re not one hundred percent sure about New York.”

He knows I’m not.

I unfold the paper and smooth it on my thigh, holding it up to read the bold, black header at the top.

“North Street Bar. Menu by in-house chef, Becca Stone.” I blink up at him.

“I want you there. I want you, period. If you’d like , I’ll put you in charge of the place, which will be like having your own restaurant. It’s not in New York, and you’ll be settling, but . . . babe.”

I smile, remembering the first time he called me babe.

“Princess,” he corrects, and that’s even better. “You’re it for me. I love you just the way you are. I know value when I see it. You’re it,” he says again.

I must be in shock. My extremities are cold and my brain’s slogging through thoughts like thick mud.

“I’ll pay you whatever Tad is paying you here. I can’t open yet, but we’re close. I’ll pay you even though we’re not open. You can design the menu. Hell, design the restaurant. Whatever you want. As long as you’re there. With me. As long as you—”

I slam into him, my lips crushing his. I give him a bruising kiss and he kisses me back, holding me close. His tongue plunges deep, his teeth scrape my bottom lip, and my entire body weakens against his.

You’re it for me.

“I’ve got you, Princess,” he says when my body goes slack.

I steady myself by gripping his biceps. I still can’t believe he’s here. That he invited me to come back to Ohio. That he loves me.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats. “This time I’m not letting go.”

At that moment we both become aware of the palpable silence around us. Dax’s eyes slide to the side and my gaze follows. We’re surrounded by interested onlookers—the entire packed restaurant, Dom behind the bar, and Tad, who’s standing off to one side, arms folded over his chest. Come to think of it . . . .

“You knew he was here,” I tell my brother.

He dips his chin in a nod.

“And you didn’t kick him out.”

He shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t have left,” Dax says, his eyes trained on Tad. When he snaps his gaze back to me, his eyes are smiling. “Tad and I have an understanding.”

“That’s . . . incredible.” I let out a surprised laugh.

“What’s your answer?” the woman who kept calling me “miss” asks. Her eyebrows are raised into her gray bob, her whole body leaning forward. “Are you going to New York or what?”

I fix my eyes on Dax. “No. I’m moving to Ohio instead.”

That’s when the applause starts. Whistling follows when Dax lifts me off the ground to kiss me.

When he sets me on my feet, the applause dies down, and soon the diners go back to their meals and the low din of chattering guests returns.

“I have one last question for you.” Dax’s eyebrows pull in. “Can I have your phone number?”

I toss my head back and laugh. With all the things we’ve done together. In all the time we’ve spent together—and apart—we never exchanged those ten precious digits.

“To think we could’ve been texting this whole time,” I say.

“No.” He makes a face.

“I prefer you in person.” I run my hand down the T-shirt stretched over his torso. “Much better in person.”

I fist that shirt and tug, but I don’t have to encourage him much. A second later, I’m savoring the press of his lips to my neck. He enters inappropriate PDA territory when he blazes a trail to my earlobe, but I don’t stop him.

“Where are you staying tonight?” I ask when his lips leave my skin.

“Grand Lark is at capacity. But I have a Jeep.” He shrugs as easy as you please. “I’ll park under the stars. Curl up in a sleeping bag. Though having someone there to keep me warm would be better.”

My smile is all the “yes” he needs. I can tell when he grins back at me.

“Barrett’s moving out this week.”

“So you have a spare room,” I tease.

“Sorry. It’s a one-bedroom. I have a couch, or you can take the left side of the bed.”

The cold shock recedes and is replaced by warmth as my heart beats at twice its normal speed. Dax easily reads the terror on my face.

“Too fast?” He pushes my hair behind my ear. Still calm. Still collected.

I have to take a few breaths to become both of those things, but I manage.

“It should be too fast.” I shake my head as I turn over the idea of moving in with him. Moving to Ohio for him. “It feels right.”

Palm on my cheek, he says, “Let me try something else out and see if that feels as right as the rest of it.” He pulls in a breath. “I love you, Becca.”

I blink. Stunned. Thrilled.

Amazed.

“Damn. That felt really fucking right.” He lets out a laugh that might be an exhale of relief.

“Maybe I should try it.” I put my hand over his. He loses his smile and focuses on me intently, his eyes heated, his body stock still. “I love you too.”

Silence hangs in the air between us.

“How’d that feel?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my bottom lip.

“Really right.”

He kisses me again. Softer. Slower. We are so going to need a room. Or the back of the Jeep. Whatever. I’m not picky.

He loves me. Dax Vaughn is in love with me and I love him. It’s unbelievable, but I trust my gut. If I were any happier, I’d be levitating.

“One condition,” I murmur against his mouth.

He pulls back, the slightest trace of doubt in the concerned bend of his eyebrows. I put him out of his misery quickly.

“I’m more of a right-side-of-the-bed kind of girl.”

His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to decide if he should throttle me or make out with me. I know how to tip the scales in my favor. I push up to my toes and whisper in his ear, “I’m really good at blow jobs and pancakes.”

His hand drops to the waistband of my jeans and he grips the material, holding me hip to hip against every firm inch of him.

“Check!” Dax shouts. Then to me, “Can you take the rest of the day off?”

“No.” Tad delivers food to a nearby table and stops in front of us. “You’re fired, Becca. With a smile, he adds, “Get the hell out of here.”

He extends a hand to Dax, who shakes it.

“Hurt her, I’ll kill you,” Tad says.

Dax tugs Tad slightly closer and promises, “Same to you.”

They nod after their caveman agreement is sealed, and then Dax slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“I have a few things to get from the office,” I tell him, and in a way we’re reenacting the first night we met. The first night of the rest of our lives, I think, like a sap. “Meet you out front.”

“Okay, Princess.”

I watch him walk out of the restaurant, admiring his ass and the strong, capable way he has about him. And then I think about how he’s in love with me. How he showed up and asked me not to go to New York, worried that my choosing him was second best.

What he didn’t know was that I love him too. I don’t care what side of the bed I sleep on, as long as Dax Vaughn is on the other side of the mattress.

Damn. That swelling, swirling, too-full feeling in my chest feels good.

Feels right.

Finally.