Chapter Four
Darius wanted to crawl into his restaurant by the time he was done working on gingerbread with Poppy. He hadn’t expected baking for a few hours to be that taxing. Normally, he could work all day in the kitchen without getting tired. Maybe it was because he’d been up all night the night before, planning his pathetic attempt at an apology. He’d actually been surprised when she accepted.
“Hey, boss,” Trixie, his hostess greeted him. “You look baked.” In her late fifties, Trix tried her best to stay up on the latest lingo. Usually, she failed, but she was his hardest worker and the most dependable of his staff members.
“You have no idea. I just spent the day baking. Literally.”
“You did it?” She high fived him. “She let you in? That’s amazing.”
“Not that amazing,” he contradicted. Okay, maybe it was.
“Sure, it was. You burned her good in high school. Honestly, in her position, I would’ve run you over in the street. Guess she’s a better person than I am.” She laughed lightly. “I’m glad you’re in. It’ll be good for you to make amends and if you get in the top three, it’ll be great for this place.” She shook a finger under his nose and gave him what the staff called her stink eye. “Don’t do anything stupid and mess this chance up. You feel me?”
“I feel you.” He laughed with her, the lightness of the moment erasing his exhaustion. “I’m going to order some food. When it’s ready, I’ll get you to run it down to the bakery for me. On the house. Poppy has to be as tired as I am. I know she gets up ridiculously early to prep the day’s treats.”
“Gotcha. I can handle that. Any message with it?”
“Nope. Just drop it off and tell her I sent it. And don’t make anything up either.” It was his turn to shake a finger under her nose.
She saluted saucily and returned to folding napkins.
The evening lasted at least a thousand hours, or so his feet told him. His shoes were comfortable, but not for sixteen hours on his feet. They’d been busy. The busiest day since he’d opened. Business was slowly growing. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least he wasn’t sitting around an empty restaurant every night.
Short staffed, he’d served as boss, waiter, cook and host in turn. Then, to top off the busy night, the kitchen sink had exploded. Thank heaven it hadn’t happened until just before they closed. He’d been able to get the last of the orders out and send his staff home.
He cleaned up as best he could while waiting for the plumber to arrive. Sink repaired, he spent two hours cleaning and sterilizing the kitchen and running the dishwasher. He’d been tempted to put it off until morning, but no unpleasant chore improved with age.
He stumbled into Sweet Treats Bakery right on schedule at ten the next morning. He’d barely had three hours sleep and felt like he’d been on a bender. Not that he’d done that recently. A chef’s life was full of late nights and early mornings. There was no time for parties. Not even after opening night of his new restaurant when he’d shared a celebratory beverage with his staff after closing and headed home for a glass of wine, alone in his apartment while he recounted the evening’s income before making the deposit the next day.
“Oh my,” Poppy greeted him, concern etched on her face. “You look awful. Are you okay?” She hurried around the counter to his side. “Come. Sit down. Let me grab you a coffee. Do you need something to eat?”
Like an obedient sleep walker, he followed her to a table and slid into the floral print fabric booth. Part of his brain was impressed that the fabric was spotless, not easy in a restaurant; especially one which catered to families and kids while serving sugary treats. The rest of him was just grateful to be off his feet. The day wasn’t even started yet and he was done in.
“I’d love a coffee. Strong. Lots of cream and sugar. Please.” He watched her scurry away like a woman on a mission. Even in haste, she was graceful. She always had been, even when she was heavier, in high school. He’d been such a jerk to her. Weight hadn’t mattered to him then, and it certainly didn’t matter now.
The saying was trite, and more than a bit cliché, but what was inside, really did count. Beauty was only skin deep. She’d been beautiful before. Now? She’d matured into a stunning woman with a quiet beauty and sexiness that was making him crazy. He shouldn’t want to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but he did. That was one thing that hadn’t changed over the years.
He felt better already, less tired, just because she’d been concerned for him. It had been a long time since he’d felt an attraction so strong. Soul lifting attraction. And even longer since he’d been the beneficiary of a woman’s concern. Unless you counted his mother.
She rushed back to his side and placed a steaming mug in front of him. “One double-double. Two cream, two sugar,” she explained, as if there was a Canadian alive who didn’t know what a double-double was.
She sat opposite him, encouraging him to drink up. “Now, what can I get you to eat?”
“I do know how to feed myself; you know.” Her caring tickled his heart and a smile bloomed on his face.
“Did you eat breakfast? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” She waggled a finger at him, tried to look stern and failed. He doubted she had a stern bone in her delectable body. “Did you?” she repeated when he didn’t answer.
“No. I got up and came right over. We’ve got gingerbread to bake. Just let me finish this gift from heaven, and we’ll get started.” He lifted the cup and chugged a quarter of the delicious creamy drink. The sugar perked him up almost instantly, but he was already dreading the sugar crash.
“You can’t survive on coffee alone. Let me fix you some breakfast. We do a great breakfast sandwich. If I say so myself. Bacon or sausage on that?” She popped out of her seat and stood looking at him, concern pinching her brows together.
“Surprise me.” He didn’t have the energy to make the choice.
“Fine. I will. But after you eat, you’re going home to sleep.” She turned to go.
“I made a promise to be here every day and I’ll stick to that promise.” It was more than a promise. He said he’d be here and he would. But he wouldn’t take the chance of making her lose, not after she graciously, if reluctantly, permitted him to join her team. They’d win this thing if it killed him.
She whirled around. “You came. You kept your promise. You’ll eat, and then you’ll go home. I’ll drive you. You’re probably too tired to be on the road anyway.”
