Page 47 of Comforting the Grump

I couldn’t stop the onslaught of thoughts though. Was I falling for Marnin? The idea sent a shiver of excitement, but also sheer terror, through me. Marnin didn’t do relationships. He was upfront about it. His own history was too messed up for anything long-term. Yet I couldn’t deny the growing emotional connection that threatened to yank me under like a riptide.

But as I watched the server whisk away the dishes to the guests eagerly awaiting their meals, I had to admit—with a mixture of elation and dread—that my heart might not be on board with being sensible. Not when it came to Marnin Rosser.

“Ennio, can you step into my office?” Mrs. Coombe’s voice sliced through the kitchen’s din, sharp as the knives hanging on the magnetic strip. Her tone didn’t bode well—Mrs. Coombe wasn’t one for pleasantries or idle chitchat—and my stomach dropped. This could mean only one thing. Fuck.

“Sure thing, Mrs. Coombe.” I wiped my hands on my apron, plastering on my brightest smile—though it felt brittle enough to shatter—and followed her.

Her office was as cool and organized as she was. Nothing out of place, not even a speck of dust dared settle on the polished oakdesk. She didn’t waste time on small talk. “Ennio, The Lodge has been sold.”

A cold sensation spread through my chest like someone poured ice water down my back. “Who are the new owners?”

My voice sounded distant, hollow. The Lodge had been my second home, my sanctuary. Even though Mrs. Coombe wasn’t exactly the ideal boss, I’d given it my all and poured every ounce of my culinary creativity into this place.

“It’s a gay couple.”

Gay? Well, that at least offered me some hope. “And what are their plans?”

Her face softened a little. “They’re starting with a big renovation that’s expected to last at least two months but possibly longer, so they’ll be closed. And considering they’re not sure of the direction they want to go, they’ve asked us to let everyone go.”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. I was losing my job. “Starting when?”

“Two weeks, as per the terms of your contract.”

Two weeks. My heart thudded, panic clawing its way up my throat. In two weeks, I’d be out of a job…and money, thanks to Rudy Catanzaro. I’d spoken extensively with an FBI agent, but that had only confirmed what the first one had already told me. My money was gone. I’d been such a fool, dazzled by sweet words and sweeter promises. Now, all I had left were ashes of dreams and an eviction notice from life as I knew it.

“I’m sorry, Ennio.” She even managed to make it sound sincere.

“Thank you.” I straightened my shoulders. “I’ll go back to finishing the service now.”

I finished the dinner service on autopilot, only sharing a few words with Lou, my sous chef, after he’d gotten the same bad news. The comfort that I wasn’t the only one, that it wasn’t personal, was a small one, but I’d take it.

Once the dinner service was finished and we’d cleaned up, I headed home immediately. I was about to fall apart, and hell if I was gonna do it in front of Mrs. Coombe. My pride was still too strong for that.

The moment my front door closed behind me, my legs gave way, and I slid down against the wall, the dam holding back my emotions finally bursting. Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless. My chest heaved with sobs that seemed to tear me apart from the inside out. I pressed my palms to my eyes, futilely trying to stem the tide. All the sunshiney optimism I prided myself on, all the color and flamboyance that was so quintessentially me, dimmed under the weight of this new, crushing reality.

Without The Lodge, without the security of my savings, what did I have left? I would be jobless, penniless, and utterly adrift. What the hell was I going to do? Where would I be able to find a job on such short notice? I cried until I was hollow, until I had no more tears to shed.

I forced myself back up, blew my nose, and cleaned up my smudged mascara. Time to make a plan. Maybe I should start by calling that FBI agent in charge of the investigation into Catanzaro. It was eight by now, so he was probably home, but I’d give it a try. Much to my surprise, he picked up.

“Special Agent Marshall.”

“Hi, this is Ennio Frant. I’m one of Rudy Catanzaro’s victims.” I hated using that label for myself, but it was the truth.

“Ah, yes, of course. What can I do for you?”

“Sorry to disturb you this late, but I was wondering if you had any updates.”

There was a pause, and I could almost hear Derek shuffling papers, the sound grating against my frayed nerves. “We’ve tracked him to a country in South America, but it’s complicated,” Derek admitted, frustration seeping into his tone.

“Complicated how?” I asked, clenching the phone tighter.

“He’s got connections there, and extradition is going to be tough. And so far, we haven’t been able to trace most of the money. Unfortunately, what I told you the first time we spoke is still true. The chances of recovering your funds are slim. Very slim.”

I’d known this was coming, but the words still hit me like a gut punch, stealing what little air I had left in my lungs. “Thanks for being straight with me.”

“Ennio, I promise we’re doing everything we can,” he assured me, but the comfort he meant to offer felt hollow. “I will reach out if we have any updates.”

“Okay, thank you.”

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