Breakfast. Kitchen. Menus. Jax.
There’s no food in the fucking fridge.
It plays in my head on a loop, a part of me terrified I’ll forget something, the rest not giving a shiny crap.
My daily juxtaposition.
Unpack.
Right.
I pick up my bag and resume my path to my new bedroom. The door is open, and I step through it into a space that’s pretty perfect. Wooden floors, a big window. A solid oak bed that looks like it could withstand nuclear war.
The bedside table is made from reclaimed wood, scarred and beautiful. I love it. If I could shrink myself and live in that instead, I would. LikeThe Borrowers.That’s what they were called, wasn’t it? I pull out my phone to check. Catch myself and put it away again, before I remember Tanner’s number on the breakfast bar.
I go back to the kitchen. True to his word, Tanner’s left his digits on a post-it. But there’s another one too in handwriting so small I have to squint to read the note below.
Nice to meet you, Kai.
I try to picture the man who comes with handwriting so delicate as I plug the weird American numbers into my phone. They won’t do me much good for a while cos I forgot to upgrade my phone plan, but what the hell. I add a lion to Tanner’s contact page and a mouse to Kai’s, because I’m tip top fucking hilarious.
And I’m tired. I start to feel it as I shuffle back to my room. The shower and nap bullshit is suddenly more attractive, but the itch in my brain won’t quit. The kitchen. I need to see it, or I’m never gonna sleep.
Between Kai and Tanner, they’ve left a key. I claim it and move to the living room window that looks out onto the street below, spotting Tanner as he leaves the building for his hiking date. He’s a big bloke, but there’s an unmissable lift in his step.Yup. He’s gonna get laid.
Lucky git.
Grinning, I peel away from the window and head for the door, abandoning my new home less than five minutes into inhabiting it.
I jog down the stairs and enter the bar, stepping straight into the path of a petite server carrying a tray of glasses. She swerves and the glasses wobble, but I catch the tray before it crashes to the floor. “Whoops. Sorry, luv.”
The girl lowers the tray and blinks at me with huge, round eyes. She’s dressed in dungarees with a flower in her hair. “Ohmygod, are you the new chef?”
“What gave me away?”
“You talk like Jax.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Nope. He’s a bumpkin from the west country. I speak like Del Trotter.” I take the tray from the girl as her frown deepens. She has no clue what I’m talking about. And why would she? She’s American and about twenty years too young for the reference. “I’m a London boy,” I clarify. “Same country, but there’s a six-hour drive between Peckham and St. Ives.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m Molly.”
“Joss.” I shake her dainty hand, grinning as her grip bends my bones as much as Tanner’s did. “I’m a chef without a kitchen. Could you show me where it is?”
“Sure.” Molly moves to reclaim her tray.
I shake my head. “I got it. Just tell me where.”
Molly grins and points beyond the bar to a door half hidden by a cluster of dudes in suits. “It’s over there, but Tanner doesn’t like it when strange men take my tray away from me.”
“Can’t deny I’m strange, but I’m all square with Tanner. He gave me his number and everything.”
Molly laughs. “He must like you, then. Just don’t call him for no good reason. He hates that too.”
“You talking from experience?”
