Page 61 of Sawyer
“You’re in good hands, Doc,” Kyle only said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Night, you two. Phoebe, thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for having me.” She threaded her arm through Sawyer’s. “Shall we brace ourselves and step into the mysterious night, Horatio?”
He almost groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this one, am I?”
She laid her head against his arm, bringing a warmth he’d never thought possible into his heart. “You know you love it.”
“I do, my rose, I must confess,” he said softly, walking her to the doorway.
The silence behind them felt deep, though, and he turned and looked over his shoulder in concern.
Kyle and Madison were standing across from each other with the island between them, staring at each other.
He turned to leave, wishing he could do more than leave them alone to work it out.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
He watched Madison start for the kitchen doorway.
“This can’t continue,” he called out quietly.
She pulled up short, a rigid tower of black. He heard the front door shut. Sawyer and Phoebe were gone. They were alone. It was time for them to talk. Really talk.
When she didn’t turn around, he put his hands on the island and girded himself to do this.God, let him say the right things.
“You’re my best friend, and you’re staying at the restaurant late and leaving early to avoid me.” His breath whooshed out. “I don’t want to add to the pressure you feel, Mad. Tell me how to help you.”
“Let. This. Go.”
But she didn’t move. A painful knot filled his throat. “I can’t. I’ve thought about this every day for… Christ, I don’t how long. You’ve got circles under your eyes, which means you’re exhausted?—”
“I’ve just opened a restaurant back up.” She swung around, and Jesus, the fire in her eyes could destroy him. “The restaurant life is a grind. You know that.”
“Except instead of coming home at eleven thirty like you were doing at first, you’ve been coming home around two.”
He would not mention Rico, but for a moment his name seemed to hover between them.
“Do I have a curfew or something?” she shot back, striding forward. “I’ve been going out. Chefs often do that after we close. We’re wound up, Kyle?—”
“I know that, dammit. But you’re leaving early every morning?—”
“There are a million things to do.” She stalked closer, her combat boots slapping the tile floor. “It’s the holiday season. Do you have any idea what kind of expectations come with having a Parisian Christmas celebration? We have to bring down the house every night. I’m checking everything—from the gleam of our serving plates and utensils to the water levels in those amaryllis bouquets you ordered. Nice touch, by the way. People have been raving about them.”
She sucked in a breath, her shoulders coming down from her ears. Fight mode had been deactivated, thank God. She’d remembered they were on the same team. Now he needed to crash them into the next surf.
He went to the cabinet where he’d stored the mezcal he’d bought her. Not that damn Olvido Divino 30 that Rico had brought to Nanine’s. But another top brand with a special name and story, because she deserved the best. He hated that he and Rico agreed on that, because he really wanted to dislike the guy showing interest in Madison. Total jealousy.
Grabbing a glass, he purposefully pulled out a barstool and sat down. She stood there staring at him, a little wary, more than a little unsure.
He understood. They were in new territory.
Best friends who couldn’t talk to each other anymore.
Best friends who trusted no one else like they trusted each other.
Best friends who wanted each other so much it was ripping out their guts.
