Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(9)

“Got it.” Memphis took a sip of her water, her gaze darting to my hands as I began plating.

Skip made short work of grilling the shrimp I’d had in a quick marinade.

Memphis’s eyes widened as he placed six on her plate, like this was the first real meal she’d had in a while. “So, um . . . how does Chief Eden fit into your family?”

“She’s married to our oldest brother, Griffin,” Eloise explained. “There are six of us. How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“One sister. One brother.”

“Maybe they’ll come out to visit. We give employees a ten-percent discount.”

Memphis shook her head, her gaze dropping to the table. “We’re not, um . . . close.”

That explained why her sister or brother hadn’t come to Montana with her. My siblings drove me bat-shit crazy, but I couldn’t imagine life without them. But what about her parents? Memphis didn’t offer anything else, and Eloise, who I could normally count on to be nosy as hell, didn’t ask.

My hands moved automatically to assemble two plates, and when they were ready, I slid them across the table.

“Thank you.” Memphis inched the plate closer, carefully folding a taco before taking a bite.

Some chefs didn’t like watching people eat their food. They feared the raw reaction. Not me. I loved watching that first bite. In my early days at culinary school, I’d learned from expressions, both good and bad.

Except I should have looked away.

Memphis moaned. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Any other person and I’d give myself a pat on the back and take it as a job well done.

With Memphis, my heart thumped and a surge of blood raced to my groin. Watching her eat was erotic. Only one other woman had had the same impact. And she’d fucked me over ruthlessly.

Trouble. Goddamn trouble. I needed Memphis out of my kitchen and, before long, out of my loft.

“This is amazing,” she said.

“It’s just tacos,” I grumbled, focusing on the other plates. I didn’t want her compliments. I’d rather she hate the food.

“Knox is the best,” Eloise said, taking her own bite.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has cooked for me.” Memphis scooped a spoonful of my fresh pico, readying her next bite. “Unless you count Ronald McDonald.”

Eloise’s mouth was too full for her to speak but that didn’t matter. I told you so was written all over her face. Her phone rang and she plucked it up from the table, muffling a groan as she swallowed. “I’ve got to take this. Come find me when you’re done,” she told Memphis before picking up her plate and scurrying out of the room.

The doorbell at the alley door buzzed. Our food supplier came every Monday. Bless him for being three hours early. It was the perfect excuse to escape this kitchen, but before I could make a move, Skip shut off the flat top and untied his apron. “I’ll get it. You eat.”

“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.

I didn’t take my plate to the stool beside Memphis. I inhaled a taco while standing beside the prep table. The sound of our chewing mixed with Skip’s muted voice as he chatted with the delivery driver.

Then a phone rang.

Memphis put her food down and dug her phone from her pocket. She frowned at the screen, then silenced the call. Not two seconds later, it rang again. She declined it too. “Sorry.”

“Do you need to get that?”

“No, it’s fine.” Except the strain on her face said it wasn’t fine. And she didn’t touch her food again. What the hell? “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”

I waved her off when she stood to clear her plate. “Just leave it.”

“Oh, okay.” She wiped her hands on her gray slacks. Her black sweater hung on her shoulders, like it had once fit but now was too loose. Then she was gone, rushing out of the kitchen with her phone clutched in her grip.

Skip came down the hallway with a box, setting it on the table. The delivery guy followed with a dolly.

I signed for the order, then began putting my produce away in the walk-in.

“So who was that?” Skip asked. “New front desk clerk?”

“Housekeeper.”

He grinned. “She’s a looker. You interested?”

“No,” I lied, picking up an apple to run my thumb across the taut, waxy skin. “Once the lunch rush is over, let’s make an apple pie or two for the dinner dessert menu.”

In another life, another world, I’d chase a woman like Memphis. But I’d spent the last five years in reality.

She was a hotel employee. My temporary tenant. Nothing more.

Memphis Ward was none of my damn business.





CHAPTER THREE





MEMPHIS





The numbers on the microwave’s clock taunted me as I paced the length of the loft. With every turn, the green glow caught my eye and earned a sigh of despair.

Three nineteen.

Drake had been crying since one.

I’d been crying since two.

“Baby.” A tear dripped down my cheek. “I don’t know what to do for you.”

He wailed, his face red and his nose scrunched. He looked as miserable as I felt.