Page 48 of Reckless
Between their last five days in the kitchen and their corresponding nights in the bedroom, reckless, impulsive, all-in Alex Donovan totally bent her spoon.
Zoe pushed up from her over-the-hill chair, bypassing the stack of notes on her desk for the greener pastures of the kitchen. Yes, she and Alex had found a comfortable groove of balancing work and play this week, and more yes, the seamlessness of both felt down-to-her-marrow delicious. But no matter how enticingly good their last week together had been, Alex wouldn’t stay in her kitchen forever. In a measly two weeks, he’d return to a job chock full of frightening risks—a job where he belonged—and that job still scared the hell out of her. Keeping things casual and temporary was the only way to avoid complications for both of them. Plus, she had way bigger things on her plate right now than blowing her supremely hot sex life out of proportion with Serious Thoughts.
Like keeping the soup kitchen she loved afloat despite stormy waters.
After a quick round trip to the walk-in, Zoe unloaded an armful of carrots and celery to the stainless steel worktable in the center of the kitchen, letting the familiar motions do their best to calm her. Her knife roll joined the vegetables, along with a cutting board and oversized bowls, until finally, she released a slow exhale. As challenging as it was going to be to get Hope House right side up and running smoothly once and for all, Zoe was going to dig in and get the job done.
Or die trying.
“Hey,” came a sexy rumble from over her shoulder, and Lord, the tool belt slung over Alex’s faded blue jeans was enough to make her want to break something on principle alone. “Tina was looking for you about an hour ago. Did you find her?”
“Yeah,” Zoe said, reluctantly shelving her Mr. Fix-It fantasy. At least for now. “She wanted to go over some ideas for tightening up security. We hooked up just after breakfast.”
While Tina had finally stopped clucking over Zoe like a mother hen on overdrive, she’d been adamant that Hope House needed better security measures in case of another code-red emergency.
Zoe agreed wholeheartedly. Even if after three extended sessions of brainstorming ways to make the leap from should-happen to would-happen, their budget didn’t.
“Added security might not be the worst plan ever.” Alex leaned in the doorframe between the kitchen and the empty dining room, running a hand over his chin, but Zoe called his bluff before he could cap the whole thing off with that perfectly easygoing shrug of his.
“You don’t have to sweet talk your way into convincing me, Alex. I know this is a rough neighborhood, and as tough as I am, I also didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. Hope House could clearly use better safety measures to keep everyone protected.”
Relief washed over his features, and Zoe nearly laughed. “Thank God. I know guys like Damien are the exception, not the rule, but seriously. The thought of what could’ve gone down the other day still gives me the goddamn shakes.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately, making big changes to things like security isn’t as easy as bribing your volunteer to come in on a Saturday to install new weather stripping on the windows. Which, by the way, was very nice of you to agree to.”
Alex dropped his gaze to the tool belt around his waist, and now his easygoing shrug did make an appearance. “Ah. It was a fair trade. You made me dinner last night, remember? Anyway, I already knew how to do the windows, and the whole project only took me a couple of hours. No sweat.”
Zoe had her suspicions that his morning hadn’t been the piece of cake he was claiming, especially since he’d managed to do the repairsandhelp her get the dining room ready for breakfast service, but she trapped the observation between her teeth. “Well. The fact still remains that Tina and I are going to hit a dead end for security upgrades pretty fast unless we win the lottery. Or we stumble across about ten volunteers the size of linebackers.” Or both, but really, she didn’t want to get greedy.
“That’s a tall order,” Alex admitted, unhooking his tool belt to swap it for one of the aprons hanging on the far side of the kitchen. “I’m guessing security services aren’t cheap.”
“Definitely not.” Zoe’s breath pulled tight in her lungs. She’d wracked her brains trying to think of ways to ensure tighter security without hiring an outside company, but the truth was, half the time she couldn’t even get Hope House’s kitchen properly staffed for meal service. Every potential solution she’d come up with to steer the place into smoother, safer waters required either more money or more human resources, and in some cases both. All except for one.
God, this idea was crazy. Check that—it was downright insane.
And it was also her only hope.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day.” Zoe reached for one of the bunches of celery she’d laid on the counter, desperate for the food to comfort her like it always did.
But Alex’s laugh did the job instead. “For the love of all that’s holy, please tell me you’ve decided that curly fries should count as a vegetable. They’re freakingpotatoes.”
“First of all, they’re tubers, and fried ones at that,” she said over a laugh of her own. “No dice on nutritional value. Secondly...” She looked up to meet the playful glint in his eyes, the last remaining twinge of tension in her chest taking a hike. “That’s not what I’ve been thinking about.”
Alex gave his hands a quick scrub before sliding in next to her at the worktable. “All right, Gorgeous. I’ll bite. What’s on your mind?”
Now or never, now or never, now…“The Collingsworth Grant.”
“Are you serious?” Alex pulled back to look at her, his blond brows climbing high over his forehead, but hell, it was too late to stuff the words back in now. Plus, she really was out of options, and asking for his help just felt right. Even if the idea itself still felt crazy.
“Yes,” Zoe said. “Don’t get me wrong. My chances of actually winning the grant are still pretty much microscopic, and it’s going to take every last ounce of my time and resources just to go through the application process. Hope House is my kitchen, and ultimately I’m responsible for making smart decisions to feed and take care of the people who live here, but”—she trailed off for only a second before delivering the rest with quiet resolve—“I’ve been swimming upstream for three months, trying to play it safe and do everything in this soup kitchen alone. I need to take a risk in order to make a difference, and I was hoping maybe you could help me.”
“Okay. Sure.”
“Really?” She clamped down on her bottom lip as her blush took a tour from her temples to her throat, but Alex just reached for the peeler sitting in front of them on the worktable.
“Yeah, really.” Grabbing a couple of carrots from the tidy pile by the cutting board, he set his sights on the vegetable in his palm even though Zoe felt his attention still firmly on the topic at hand. “What, did you think I was going to say no? I am kind of a captive audience, being your volunteer and all.”
Zoe paused, but screw it. He’d had her back all week at Hope House, and if she was going to trust him with something as important as her kitchen, half measures weren’t going to cut it. “I thought you might, yeah. The deadline is less than three weeks away, and it’s going to take a lot more than unloading inventory and prepping meal service to make this work. Applying for this grant is going to be a huge undertaking.”
