Page 35 of Reckless
Just when Zoe thought he couldn’t say anything that would shock her. “I run a nonprofit, Alex. Of course I’ve heard of the Collingsworth Grant. A better question might be how on earth you’ve heard of it, though.”
“Let’s just say I have a black belt in Google-fu and I don’t sleep very much by habit. What do you know about the Collingsworths?”
Zoe shrugged. Albeit a bit strange, it wasn’t the worst topic they could’ve chosen for discussion. “They’re the richest and most influential family in Fairview. Marcus and Emily Collingsworth both do a ton of philanthropic work at Fairview Medical Center, along with a handful of select local charities.” The grant was a whopper—or twenty-five thousand whoppers, if you wanted to get technical—and the application process was about as rigorous as the bar exam with Navy SEAL training sprinkled on top. “What does their grant have to do with anything?”
Alex followed her past the door of the walk-in, his breath coming out in wispy white puffs around his face as he said, “Hope House could use that money about a thousand different ways, right? So why don’t you get a little ballsy and apply?”
“Because I’d never get it.” She didn’t skip a beat, reaching for the carton of green peppers on the metal-wire shelving in front of her, but of course she should’ve known Alex would take the wordneveras a personal challenge rather than a concrete impossibility.
“What makes you so sure?” He slid the box of peppers from her grasp, balancing it solidly over one forearm, and Zoe added two containers of mushrooms to the pile as she picked the most obvious answer out of the ten she could’ve offered.
“Most nonprofits have to be up and running for years before an organization will seriously consider them for a grant.”
“Great. So you’d be a pioneer,” Alex said, his half smile loaded with full confidence, but she just huffed out a laugh and continued.
“Even then, for every available endowment, there are usually dozens of applicants. In cases like the Collingsworth Grant, it’s probably more like a hundred, each one equally deserving and in need.” Zoe pulled a tray of eggs off an adjacent shelf, bracing it between both palms as she bumped her hip against the push-bar on the walk-in to pop it open. She’d done a boatload of research on available grants about six seconds after she’d seen the soup kitchen’s proposed budget. Finding one she actually had a Hail Mary of getting right out of the gate? Definitely more fantasy than reality. She had no track record, no time to take from the kitchen to apply.
No prayer of getting the grant, no matter how much Hope House might need it.
Alex tipped his head, watching for a minute as she assembled the handful of necessary utensils to get them started on breakfast prep. “I’m still not seeing a good reason not to at least give it a shot. The deadline for the Collingsworth Grant isn’t for almost a month.”
“It would take three of me to get that application done in time, and I can barely run this place as it is. Look, I get where you’re coming from.” Zoe paused, meeting his stare with a soft smile that said she meant it. “But realistically, my chances of getting a grant like that for Hope House are negligible. I’ve got to put what little energy and resources I have into less risky endeavors. Spending all that time on an application for a grant I won’t get just isn’t a shot worth taking—not when I could be using that time to do things I know will make a difference, for sure.”
Alex paused, and for a second, Zoe thought he might actually argue. “Okay,” he finally said, dropping his eyes to the stainless steel countertop on the worktable in front of them. “So what’s first for breakfast?”
She let out the breath she’d been unknowingly holding, angling her body to face the prep table. “Well, the bacon’s pretty self-explanatory, but if you want to get started on the veggies, I’ll get the egg mixture together and we can meet in the middle.” She pressed a vegetable brush into his hand, and he promptly looked at the thing as if it had sprouted wings and asked to be cleared for takeoff.
“You say ‘get started on the veggies’ like I have a clue what that entails,” he said, holding up the brush in one hand and a cardboard container of mushrooms with the other. “I take it I should scrub these first?”
Zoe nodded, cradling an egg in each palm and popping the shells apart with a gentle slide of her fingers. “Yes, but not with water. Just give them a gentle dry brush to loosen any dirt on the undersides. Easy.”
“Looks like you got the fun job.” Alex flicked a glance at the oversized bowl propped beneath Zoe’s wrist, and she couldn’t resist the curiosity tickling at the back of her mind.
“You forget, being in the kitchen is all varying degrees of fun for me. You, on the other hand, seem to have had a change of heart.” The quiet stretched out between them, made no less comfortable by the steady hum of the walk-in and the soft crack and pop of eggs going into Zoe’s bowl, and finally Alex lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant half shrug.
“I’m not going to lie. The only place I want to be is the firehouse. But I don’t get to pick that right now, and Idosee that this place matters to you. I’m stuck here anyway. Seems kind of stupid not to help.”
She creased her brow in thought, reaching for the last two eggs in the row. “You were pretty anti-cooking last week.”
His shoulders hitched, the increase in tension so slight that Zoe would’ve missed it if she hadn’t looked up at just that second. “You were pretty anti-rock climbing, and you still did it.”
She opened her mouth, the fact that he hadn’t answered the question burning on her tongue. But the look that crossed his features, there for barely a blink before it was gone, made her capture the words back at the last second.
He hadn’t balked at learning how to cook because he thought it was stupid. He’d pushed back for the same reason she’d wanted to resist rock climbing.
The kitchen was outside the perimeter of Alex Donovan’s wide, vast comfort zone. And for some unexplained reason, even though he was willing to brave learning how to cook, he didn’t want her to know it.
Zoe moved without thinking. “What do you say we get these vegetables diced together? Then we can get to the good part and you can scramble some eggs.” She pulled her padded knife roll from the utility drawer beneath the prep table, sliding both of her multipurpose chef’s knives from their reinforced resting spots. Placing one on the counter in front of Alex, she paused to give him a tiny smile before reaching for one of the green peppers in the carton in front of them.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just give me the grunt work? I know you’ve got a limited amount of food, and I don’t want to screw up breakfast.” His words arrived on nothing more than honesty, which was exactly how Zoe answered them.
“You won’t.” She held up the pepper, admiring its smooth, jewel-green skin beneath her fingers for just a second before placing it on the cutting board between them. “This part is a lot like coring lettuce. All you have to do is remove the parts that aren’t edible, and then cut the rest into pieces. Like this.” Purposely slowing her movements, she went through the process, removing first the stem, then the ribs and seeds before treating the pepper to a neat, efficient dice. Then she nudged the box in his direction, turning most of her attention to assembling the first batch of egg mixture.
Alex fumbled the pepper he’d unearthed across the cutting board, chasing it with a swift grab and a low swear. “You make it look easy.”
Zoe laughed, although without heat or disdain. “Well, for me, it kind of is, but I’ve had a little practice, remember? Try cutting off the bottom, too. The flat surface makes it easier to remove the seeds and get to slicing, see?”
She guided him through the motions one more time before turning the cutting board back over. Although his effort lacked finesse, all extended elbows and tight, hunched shoulders, the motions were functional enough, and Alex muddled through without destroying the bell pepper. For the most part. “Okay. That’s not so bad.” A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, pure mischief, and he slid the fruits—or in this case, the vegetables—of his labor into the bowl waiting on the counter. “What’s next, Gorgeous? I could do this all day.”
