Avonlea.Avi.
Yeah, I think we’re going to be best friends.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jamie – Now
My hands move on autopilot as I type her name into the reservation system.
Avonlea—I pause, unsure if her last name is still Stewart. I would assume not, based on the last time I saw her, but there it is on the screen.Avonlea Stewart. So she didn’t change her name? That doesn’t mean anything. Many women don’t these days.
Avonlea. Avi.
My Avi.
She’s not mine. She never really was. But fuck if that wasn’t what my brain supplied the moment I caught sight of her grappling with the coat rack.
What is she doing here?
That appears to be a question for my grandad because he sure as hell knew she was coming. Gran did too.
Traitors.
Though I can’t really blame them, considering I never explained what happened between us. I just left and never came back. That cowardice sours my stomach because I know it meant missing out on all these years of seeing them—of seeing Grandad—and now the time we have left is so short. Too short.
But why the fuck isshehere?
I scrawl her name across a note—seeing it there in my handwriting makes my heart ache—and leave her key on the desk. Then I head for the kitchen where I know the old man is hiding.
The door swings open with a cry of rusty hinges, and I drop my head back with a small sigh. I guess this’ll be the next one I attack with WD-40. I continue through, passing the staff stationed around the stainless-steel countertop, then make my way over to where Grandad sits at a desk in the corner. It’s where he’s been spending his days since we brought him home from the hospital last week. He’s not supposed to be cooking, so he’s been overseeing things from the sidelines—much to his dismay.
“Ah, Jameson,” he says, and a wide smile lifts his cheeks. “Did you get our girl all checked in?”
Our girl. God, why does he have to call her that?
“Grandad…” I say with a hint of reproach. “What is she doing here?”
“She’s here as my replacement. I asked her to come and take over the kitchen.”
He—What? His replacement?
That can only mean she followed in her mother’s footsteps and became a chef like she always wanted. I pretend not to file thatinformation away and instead ask, “Why do you need her when you have Hamish?” with a harsher tone than I intended. At his narrowed eyes, I puff out a breath, trying to rein it in. This isn’t his fault. He doesn’t know what seeing her here is doing to me.
“Hamish, lads.” He addresses the kitchen staff who are hard at work preparing for dinner service, though his eyes never stray from mine. “Can we have a moment?”
They all nod and file out the back door, probably for a smoke.
“Listen, Jameson,” he says, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Why does he always have to use my full name? I feel like I’m in trouble. “Hamish is great, but he’s a sous chef—a damn fine one—and that’s all he wants to be. He’s filled in these past few weeks, but I need someone I can trust to take this on full time. To bemewhen I’m gone.”
His bluntness is like a red-hot poker down my throat. He and my gran have come to terms with his future far quicker than I have. I don’t think I ever will.
He continues, pointing his finger toward the front of the inn. “That girl is family. She always has been. And with this being a family business, I want her here.”
Well, shit, those words hurt too. Because he’s right; she is family. Or she was.
But now? Is she really familynow? Doesn’t she have her own?
“You couldn’t have warned me?” I’m grasping at straws, desperate for a solution that doesn’t involveher, here. “You know, when you asked me to stay, you could have at least told me your plan to hire her.”
