Page 39 of Bad Seed

“I had pink roses in my bridal bouquet!” Neelie cried.

“A little bird told me,” Brendan said, then nodded at Anthony, who promptly set two champagne flutes at their places and did the honors. The pop of the champagne cork was heard across the dining room as Anthony began filling each flute with the bubbly wine. The waitstaff, who’d been cued to participate, moved to the celebratory table and cheered in unison—

“Happy fiftieth anniversary, Joe and Neelie!”

The diners joined in by cheering and clapping as the elderly couple toasted each other and took their first sips of champagne.

Then Brendan picked up the cake knife and handed it to Joe. “I believe you two have done this before,” he said.

Neelie was giggling as Joe took the knife.

“We do this together,” Joe whispered.

Neelie laid her hand over his, and together they pushed the knife down through the cake all the way to the plate.

“Allow me,” Brendan said, and sliced a piece of cake for each of them. “With our best wishes,” he said, and as he was turning around, purposefully looked in the corner of the room, to the woman sitting alone at a table for two, and realized she was looking at him.

Their gazes locked, and time stopped.

Lee the waiter wasn’t wrong. She was stunning. But she was looking at him with an intensity that strangers didn’t evoke. Did he know her? Or the better question might be, how did she know him? It took every ounceof restraint he had to turn around and walk away when all he wanted was to hear her voice.

***

Harley was still shaking from the look that passed between them.

Brendan Pope’s picture at the DMV did not do him justice. He was stunning—and tall, so tall—with a massive build to go with it. Broad chest and shoulders. Long, muscular legs. A true giant in the room, and he’d just treated that darling little couple with quiet dignity. No wonder Justine Beaumont had lost her mind over this man.

At that moment, her waiter came back with her food and brought her a refill of her Coke on ice while trying not to stare.

“Will there be anything else?” Lee asked.

Harley nodded. “I’ll be wanting dessert.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll bring the dessert menu shortly,” he said.

“No, just ask the pastry chef to choose something for me,” she said.

A bit taken aback, Lee nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, hurried back to the kitchen, and straight to Brendan’s workstation.

“Chef, the lady at Table 12 will be wanting dessert in a while. She asked if you would mind choosing something for her.”

The hair crawled on the back of Brendan’s neck. He went still, and then nodded. “I don’t mind.”

“Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll serve it,” Lee said.

“No need. You let me know when she’s ready and I’ll deliver it.”

“Yes, Chef,” Lee said, and hustled back to deliver another order.

Brendan went to the cooler with a dessert plate, eyed the trays of ready desserts, chose a strawberry napoleon one from the trays, and then left it on the plate awaiting delivery, and went back to work.

Pans of herb bread were coming out of the ovens, more were going in, and he didn’t have time to let his thoughts wander.

But at the other end of the kitchen area, Chef Randolph was vocally objecting to the cuts of meat his sous-chef just brought from the cooler.

“What is this?” he yelled. “These aren’t porterhouse cuts!”

“That’s what was delivered, and the boxes are clearly marked,” the sous-chef said. “Maybe it was a packing error. I’ll look again.”

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