Page 46 of Hearty

Plus, if I’m going to impress my father and prove myself to my family, even though our profits have only increased in the years I’ve been running the kitchen, then I better be up on my game. I have hard-backed evidence to back up my points if Dad ever challenges me on certain decisions.

The kitchen door swings open as a perfectly round ass comes around it, a stack of plates in August’s hands as she walks them back to the industrial sink. My God, why do jeans look so much better on her than any other woman I’ve ever encountered? It distracts me to no end when she’s working here.

Not that she acknowledged me at all tonight. Her appearance at the start of lunch service was a surprise, and I’ve been trying to catch her eye for hours with no luck. So maybe I can lay on the charm now.

“Thanks for helping out tonight, I know it really helped a lot. The customers love you, and they always gush about you whenever I end up in the dining room.”

I’m not sure if I’m pandering to her or trying to flirt with her, but August hasn’t been herself tonight, and I loathe seeing it. When interacting with customers tonight, she was her usual polite, curious, friendly self, but it felt off somehow. I wonder if I’m the only one who noticed, and what that says on a deeper level.

“I didn’t want to come in, but your mother is a saint to whom I owe a lot, and of course, we both know I can use the money.” She won’t look at me.

Since she left my bed two nights ago, I’ve thought of nothing but her. The way she looked into my eyes as we both came. The sounds she made as I touched her body. The way she’d tangled herself around my heart without even knowing it.

I hate seeing her in so much emotional pain. It’s clear she’s reeling from it, and I heard her come back from that ambush on Warren. Whatever happened when she found him wrecked her. She might think I can’t hear through the walls, but those sobs into her pillow couldn’t be masked. Part of me wanted to burst into her room and hold her, but the other part told me that would be the worst idea yet.

And because I couldn’t make up my mind on how to comfort August, I kept my distance. My head is all screwed up with trying not to coddle her because she hates that, but also not wanting to send the message that us sleeping together doesn’t mean anything to me. Because it does, in a big way. A switch within me flipped that night, from not being sure how to approach my feelings about August to knowing exactly what I want.

I want her. The hard part now is helping her figure out all the extenuating shit so we can talk about how to make that happen.

“Regardless, it was really nice having you here today. And every day you’re here.”

She blinks at me, those big hazel eyes like warm caramel, giving me a shocked expression. We haven’t spoken since I told her to think about what she said to Warren, and she probably thought I was just leaving her alone at this point.

Nope, like I said, I was giving her space. But that’s over now.

She walks out of the kitchen without another word, going back and forth from the dining room with more dishes, cups, and receipts to put into the POS system. All the while, I help my crew clean up, scrubbing every surface with soap and water to make sure it shines and is spotless enough for a health inspection should one be sprung on us.

By the time everyone says their goodbyes and heads out for the night, the restaurant is quiet and dark. I can’t hear much outside noise from Newton Street, and I settle into my alone time in the kitchen. Normally, I start prepping a dish that’s on my mind. Maybe I’ll play around a little and just invent. Sometimes, I simply do walk throughs of our ingredients to get inspired.

Except a noise has me looking toward the swinging door. August walks through one last time, pulling all that white-blond hair out of its ponytail. The dim light catches it, illuminating her head like some ethereal star, and she’s so beautiful it hurts.

She rubs at her biceps like she’s sore from all the plate carrying she did tonight.

“Can I get you some Advil? Or maybe an ice cream sundae? That usually does the trick when I’m burnt out after service.” I want to take care of her.

“An ice cream sundae seems so childish when I think about your refined palate.” Her sarcasm is laced with bitterness like she’s trying to start a fight with me or something.

“Don’t knock a good scoop of vanilla, it’s the best medicine.” I quirk an eyebrow at her.

She rubs at her shoulder, and I can’t help but move in behind her to take over.

“What’re you doing?” Her tone is a mixture of shock and a groan of relief when my thumb digs into a sensitive spot.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so cavalier as to touch her right now and to make my intentions known overtly, but she’s been driving me nuts walking in and out of the kitchen today.

“Giving you a massage.”

August moans with relief but tries to shrug me off. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” It’s as simple as that.

My hands mold to her shoulders, working my fingers in and out of the grooves as August lets her neck roll forward. Her skin is buttery soft, and she somehow still smells fresh and sweet while I probably stink like a meat locker. Touching her starts innocently enough, with trying to ebb away the soreness of service, but soon I can’t help how my hands roam.

How the tips of my fingers spark as they make contact with her collarbone, tracing it to the dip in her throat. I feel the intake of breath as she leans back slightly, her ass making contact with my groin.

“You ran out of my bedroom before I could get my fill,” I murmur, touching her jaw, her cheeks, and the indent of her upper lip.

Complicating this further is probably not what either of us needs, but I’m tired of doing this dance around each other.

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