Savor You (Fusion #5)(28)

“We put out an ad for a weekend musician,” Addie says, “and Jake came in to apply for it.”

“Were ticket sales down?” I ask.

“I hadn’t performed in a long time,” he says. “And I missed it. But I don’t ever want to go back to touring. The band isn’t getting back together. I’m happy producing music, but I liked the idea of getting on a small stage with my guitar. And the rest is history.”

“He’s a busy man, so he only performs once a month now,” Addie adds. “We have a little girl, and he has a business to run.”

“How did you and Mia meet?” Jake asks.

“In culinary school,” Mia says as she methodically takes her hair down, as is her habit most nights after work. Kat passes us both a glass of wine from behind the bar.

“I don’t think I’ve heard this story,” Kat says. “Spill it.”

“Don’t you have a husband to go home to?” Mia asks with a scowl.

“He’ll still be there after you tell me the story,” Kat replies with a grin.

“I actually like our story,” I say and look to Mia. She nods, and I launch into it. “So, Mia and I went to culinary school together up near Seattle. That’s where I’m originally from. Mia and I were assigned to be lab partners, which worked for me. I mean, look at her.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m a mess.”

“You’re beautiful,” I reply. “Even when you’re a mess.” Kat and Addie exchange a glance, but I keep talking. “Anyway, it didn’t hurt my feelings at all to work with Mia. She was funny and smart, and she had a great work ethic even then.”

“I am pretty awesome.” Mia smirks and sips her wine.

“She would get these ideas, and run with them. And I would just step back and follow her lead.”

“What does that mean?” Mia’s scowling at me.

“Well, you’re bossy. You have a successful restaurant for a reason, Mia. Even if the rest of the place is amazing, people won’t come back if the chef sucks. You’re not exactly warm and fuzzy, but you control everything around you.”

“I’m not warm and fuzzy enough for you?” she asks—her voice deadly calm—and I know that I’ve just royally fucked things up, but I have no idea how.

“It’s not an insult, Mia. You know that I loved working with you in school.”

“Even though I was a bitch,” she says, nodding.

“Whoa. I didn’t call you a bitch.”

“You know, you weren’t complaining about my level of warm and fuzzy last night when you fucked me all night.”

“Enough.” My voice is stern, and I’m disappointed in her. “We’ll talk about this in private.”

“No need.” She shakes her head and chugs the last of her wine before slamming the glass down so hard that the stem breaks. “There’s no need to be around me if you think I’m a bitch. I mean, no one wants to be around someone who’s not warm and fuzzy.”

She stands and marches out of the bar and I’m blinking in confusion.

“What the fuck just happened?” I ask.

“It’s not your fault,” Addie says. “Sometimes Mia gets a little touchy about her stern work ethic. People have quit and marched out, calling her a cunt, and a bitch, and every other name in the book on their way out the door. They think she’s too tough on her staff, but really she just wants them to want to do well. To be competent at their job.”

“She really just needs a whole day off once in a while,” Kat says. “Of all of us, I’d say the transition has been the hardest for her. But she won’t talk about it with us.”

“I see.” I stand and nod at the others before I follow the way Mia went. I find her standing near the hostess stand, her head bowed. “Mia.”

She sniffles and quickly wipes her cheeks dry. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

God, please don’t cry. That’s the worst thing that a woman can do to a man. We just aren’t equipped to deal with tears.

“I’m not crying,” she says, but another tear slips out of the corner of her eye and onto her cheek. “Damn it.”

“I wasn’t insulting you, sweetheart. Your work ethic is amazing. It’s one of the things that I admire the most about you. You kick my ass, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not insulted.”

“Come here.”

She pauses and bites her lip, and then her face crumples in tears and she throws herself into my arms, hugging me tightly around the middle. Her face is buried in my chest as she cries.

“Shh.” I rub my hand in circles around her back. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Talk to me.”

“I’m not mean. I’m not cold or heartless.”

“No, you’re absolutely not those things.”

“I mean, I expect a certain level of professionalism. I always have. The kitchen should be clean and organized. Everyone needs to be mindful of what they’re doing. Pay fucking attention.”

“Otherwise people get hurt,” I add, agreeing wholeheartedly with her.