My jaw tightened and a pulse of worry shot through me. “Is she okay?”
“Haven’t talked to her much. Said she can hardly stay awake. She helped out at her friend’s restaurant when her staff had the flu and now it got her.”
“Poor thing,” I said, and Miguel shot me a quizzical look. Fuck. I was being way too obvious. “I mean. Poor you. That’s a lot of work. For you.”
A stinging slap landed on my shoulder. “This guy giving you hell, Miguel?” Colton appeared at my side. He leaned over and grabbed a cherry tomato from Miguel’s toppings bar. “Where’s Chef Em?”
“She’s sick,” Miguel and I said in unison.
“Aw.” Colt puffed out his lip. “What happened to her?”
“She has the flu,” Miguel said.
“That sucks,” Colt said. “Hope she’s okay. Does she need anything?”
That dog in me wanted to snarl and bark at him. Chef was mine to take care of. “I’m sure she’s fine,” I growled.
“Geez, I know you guys hate each other but have a little sympathy. The flu sucks,” Cap said.
Nice. I managed to stay on brand for my little spats with Chef. Everyone here was none the wiser.
“Well. Tell her I hope she feels better,” he said, then sauntered off to bother someone else.
My brain started running some thoughts. Could I take something over to help her? Had she been eating? My chest squeezed at the thought of Emma wasting away while she was sick. What if it wasn’t her custody week with Liam? What if Liam was sick too? Was anyone checking on them?
“Mr. Royce,” Miguel said, clearly annoyed. He held a plate out my way. “Your omelette.”
I went to the store.
I bought a rotisserie chicken, wild rice, lemons, and mirepoix, the combination of celery, carrots, and onions signature to French cooking.
I paid an absurd amount of money for ready-made bone broth because I didn’t want to waste time making my own. I shredded the chicken, sautéed the veggies, and stirred in the rice, then waited for it all to take hold.
I did all of those things so I could make soup for Emma.
Well, partially for Emma, partially because I knew she couldn’t be dropping soup off at the shelter while she was sick.
I was nervous driving to the shelter. Would my mom see me there and make some kind of connection? I felt like a teenager trying to hide my crush from my mom, but mostly, I wanted to spare Emma from being subjected to my mom’s bullshit. If she caught wind that something was happening there, neither of us would hear the end of it.
Yes, it’s a bit of a family tradition to get under each other’s skin. Needling somebody is a love language to us, because if you know how to push somebody’s buttons, that means you know them.
The only bullshit I wanted Emma putting up with was mine.
I dropped off the soup at the shelter without notice from Mom or recognition from the volunteers, and soon I was back in the singular spot on the planet that could give me instant bubble guts.
Chef’s porch.
I thought I was nervous the last time I stood there, but this was notably worse. Liam’s car was parked on the street, but the house was quiet. It looked like a light was on at the back of the house along with a lamp in the living room. I rang the bell and waited, but no one came. I knocked gently, and still there was nothing. I pinched my lips together and my stomach tingled. Something felt off.
I knocked one more time, then tried the handle. The door opened with little resistance.
Was this breaking and entering? I’d just make sure they were okay, drop off the soup, and leave.
“Emma?”
The house was silent except for a soft buzzing sound, only heard every few seconds.
“Em? Liam?”
