Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
She nods, and then steps closer. “Did you see Mr. Charleston talking to Myrtle?” Gabby’s worked at the restaurant for a few months, and is fresh out of high school, working until she leaves for college in the fall.
I snap my eyes to Myrtle, and sure enough Mr. Charleston is chatting away happily with her. “Do I hear wedding bells,” I say with a laugh.
“I thought he always had a thing for Hartford’s Aunt Nora,” Tripp says, grabbing the bus tub of dishes to bring to the back of the house.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Before Tripp heads into the kitchen, he smiles. “He’s a player. He’s got a woman in Florida, and now he’ll have a woman here in Magnolia Ridge.”
Gabby and I laugh as Tripp leaves. Another server by the name of Patrick steps over.
“Everyone’s water is filled, and I’m grabbing a few drinks at the bar,” he says.
“Okay, perfect. Thank you both so much,” I say, happy that they’re doing such a great job.
Callum strides back into the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floors. With long strides, he navigates through the room until he stands before me. "Great party," he remarks, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm heading up to my office if you need anything."
Feeling a pang of concern, I reach out and gently lay my hand on his bicep, the fabric of his suit jacket smooth beneath my touch. "Callum, everything is under control. Why don't you go home? You've been working tirelessly, and you're clearly exhausted. We can handle things from here," I offer, mustering my most reassuring smile.
"I'm fine," he insists, his voice gruffer than usual. But his facade crumbles under closer scrutiny. The lines etched in his face speak volumes with how little sleep he’s actually getting, and his eyes have lost their glossy shine.
He’s tired.
Anyone can see it.
“You’re not fine,” I tell him, softly.
“Maybe I can head out. Shep is here if you need anything, and I know Griffin is going to stay until the end of the party.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have to do that.” Normally chefs leave once the last dessert has been served. “He can go.”
Callum digs his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it momentarily before answering, “He doesn’t mind. Okay, I need to call Paxton before I head out. Call me if anything comes up. I can be here quick.”
“We’ll be fine.” I pretend to roll my eyes at him, letting him know he’s being overly bossy.
As soon as he leaves I head back into the kitchen to look for the birthday cake.
“I’m going to take the cake out on this table with wheels, and everyone can sing happy birthday, and then we’ll bring it back here and cut it,” I say to Patrick and Gabby.
Griffin steps closer. “I also made some tarts, chocolate covered strawberries, and mini cannolis. You can set two plates on each table.”
I look at the plates of dessert. “They look amazing.”
Griffin raises a brow. “Next party you should make your own chocolates to serve.”
My chest warms that Griffin even thought of this. I have to admit, I’ve had a few thoughts about serving my own chocolates at parties, but didn’t want to assume anything. What if Callum hated the idea?
“Thanks,” I tell him, and then for the rest of the party, we’re a mad rush of dishing out birthday cake, clearing plates, serving coffee, and making sure the guests have a great time.
Once the party is over, and the last guests have left, Gabby and Patrick finish cleaning, and I head into the kitchen.
“How was it?” Griffin asks, the party ending way after the restaurant has closed.
So, Griffin’s the only one around.
“It went great.” I’m holding the finalized receipt of the bill, and smile. “The party brought in an extra five-thousand of revenue.”
Griffin takes off his chef coat, and I laugh a little when I see the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. There’s two kitchen knives crossing with the words, ‘Nobody’s better with their hands than a chef’ scrawled across the front.
It makes my mind wander. Is he good with his hands? Would he know just where to touch me? How to touch me?
Griffin notices the silence stretching between us, and sets his chef’s coat down on the stainless steel prep table. “Everything okay?”
I’m sitting here gawking at him, and I realize I need to close my mouth. I snap it shut, and smile. “Everything’s perfect. I should make sure Patrick and Gabby make it out okay.”
“I can walk everyone to their cars.”
“That’s okay. Patrick can walk Gabby to her car. I’m going to input the numbers into the computer, but let me check on them first, make sure they got everything done.”
“I’ll be here,” he whispers in a throaty growl, and it makes my body tingle.