“You’re a Brighton?” Grayson asks from next to me while Jake grabs his apron from a kind man who takes him as far away from Dakota as possible. They glare at each other from across the room, and she chops the onion in her hands so harshly, as if she’s imagining it’s his head.
Gathering the courage to look at Grayson, I say, “Yes, but I only go by Haywood.”
His jaw tightens a bit, and I feel some eyes on us. “How come?”
“Because of this.” Waving my hand around the room andthen back to his face, I pop out a hip and let out a sigh to prove my point.
He smiles grimly, realizing it once he looks around the kitchen. “Nothing to see here, busybodies. Get back to work.” I smile, silently thanking him for that. “Do you want to ask me the questions before or after we close?”
“Are you staying until closing time?” Hope lines my voice as I think about asking him my questions after I’ve seen more of the hectic environment.
“Yes.” He smiles again. It’s the most I’ve seen him smile since the night we met, and it already makes me feel more comfortable around him.
“Afterward, then.” I motion my hand to the stack of aprons. “I’ll start peeling those carrots.”
Grayson walks over and tosses me one. “Good luck.”
Chapter Eighteen
GRAYSON
“Bye, guys.” I give the last people that leave a grin and lean my forehead against the doorframe once it closes.
Fuck, today was exhausting. It was busier than usual, and I can only assume it’s because the weather is getting a bit colder. It’s one of those odd weeks where it feels like fall, but next week it’ll go back to being hot for a while.
Walking back to the main hall, I see that there are still a couple of trays to take to the kitchen. I pick them up and head toward the back. As I grow closer, I hear laughter and music behind the closed doors, which is not something that’s happened before. Not the laughter—I like to think that the people who come here are happy to do so—but the loud music is new.
Carrying trays in both hands, I bump the door open with my back and find something completely unexpected.
“Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” by Shania Twain is playing from a portable speaker in a corner of the kitchen at full volume. The girls, who make up about half of the people here, are cleaning, dancing, and singing along. I blink a couple of times to make sure what I’m seeing is real, and it sure fucking is.
The kitchen is big enough for them to do what they’re doing, and they are taking full advantage of it.
Dakota catches my attention by spinning with another girl whose first day is today, and then my eyes widen at the sight of Emma trying to drag Marina to join them.
Her apron is stained with all sorts of things, showing how hard she worked today. When I learned who she was earlier—one of the few younger members of the Brighton family—I feared my perception of her might change, but it didn’t. If anything, it made me respect her more.
She’s kind, generous, and humble. Emma doesn’t name-drop or show off her wealth to get ahead, which is more than I can say for most other rich families I’ve met at the events I’ve attended.
“Come on, Marina! Just one song, please!” Emma squeals loudly enough for me to hear.
The woman who’s basically a second mother to me relents and follows Emma, who is jumping and singing in the middle of the circle she’s probably responsible for. Eventually, they all grow louder, each in their own little world.
The kitchen here has never been this crazy, and it just happens to be on Emma’s first day?
Not a coincidence.
I’m about to shout over the music when my eyes land on her, and she throws her head back laughing the way I haven’t seen in months. The sound and her action make my body relax, and I can’t help but smile.
This is why I invited her today. Not to dance or sing with that great voice of hers, but to see me in a different environment with some of my favorite people.
She twirls Marina, and Marina laughs, looking at her with a gaze she doesn’t give many people. It’s no surprise that Marina would like her right away. Emma’s happiness is infectious, and that was one of the reasons she caught my attention so quickly when we met. It’s rare to meet someone like that—someone whose emotions are so obvious and contagious.
When she looks sad, the people around her tend to feel the same way. From what I’ve seen and felt, anyway. The same goes for her anger and joy.
And the most unbelievable part is how oblivious she is to that…again, from the limited amount of time I’ve spent with her. I could punch myself in the dick for how badly I want to get to know her, spend more time with her, but as long as we’re in the situation we’re in, it’s not going to happen.
I fucked up when we ran into each other at Simone’s and again after my lab. I won’t do it again. Not for me, but for her. She needs this article, and I’m willing to set everything aside—though I don’t really know what that entails—to give her what she needs for it to succeed.
