Page 32 of Windward Hearts

It did, though. And he couldn’t quite put that thought from his mind.

Speaking of other inconvenient thoughts…

He turned back to see Hope’s lovely, adorable, sweet face twisted in an expression of concern. He let himself think about how wonderful he found her, just for that moment. He couldn’t suppress all his thoughts. He was pretty sure he’d read somewhere that that wasn’t healthy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I’m going to have to run. I have to figure out how to re-shuffle the tables with Molly heading home, and we’re about to get started with the early bird diners. I need to get moving on the dinner prep.”

“Go,” Hope said, just as kindly as he had encouraged Molly only moments before. He faintly hoped that she was having conflicted feelings about this reassurance too, though. That would mean that she didn’t want him to leave her behind. “I’ve taken up quite enough of your time.”

“I promise that it was the nicest diversion I’ve had in a while,” he said. His shoulders clenched briefly as he worried that this had gone too far, that it would make things awkward again, but she just smiled.

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again,” she said. “Small towns, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, rapping his knuckles twice on the table before reluctantly dragging himself back to the kitchen. It was a strange feeling. When had he last felt reluctant to go to the kitchen? It had been before he’d come to Magnolia Shore, for sure.

As soon as Jared got his knives back in his hands, everything else faded away, as it so often did during a rush. He let himself get drawn into the patterns of the dinner service: he chopped this, sauteed that. He tasted sauces, added garnishes, checked and double-checked tickets that had been flagged because the customer had an allergy. He wasn’t certain how long it had been when the sound of a familiar laugh caused him to blink in surprise.

Was that… ?

He peeked out of the kitchen and… yes. Yes, it was.

Hope Landers was, improbably, waiting tables at his restaurant.

Someone, somewhere had dug her up a Riverstone Kitchen t-shirt, the same one that all his wait staff wore. She’d thrown it on over her long-sleeved shirt, and she was wearing jeans and flats while the rest of the staff had on black pants and sturdy sneakers that would support the long hours spent on the job. But, aside from that, Hope seemed to fit in perfectly. She laughed with customers as she took down their orders, and she expertly balanced a string of plates up her arm as she went to deliver a meal to a large group. And goodness knew he hadn’t noticed anything amiss with the order tickets. That was something that would have thrown him off his game right away.

But if anything, the dining room seemed to be running as smoothly as ever. Better, maybe. Definitely more efficiently than could normally be expected with a new person working the floor.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He shook his head, letting a grin slide across his face and a low chuckle escape his lips.

She really was a marvel.

“Oi, Landers!” he called out playfully when she passed the kitchen window to put her latest order ticket on the hanger that rotated them into the kitchen in the order they’d come in. “Do my eyes deceive me? When did you start working here?”

She startled, but only slightly, when he called her name, then grinned and shrugged a shoulder.

“Call it professional courtesy,” she called back. “I could not, in good conscience, stand by and let you guys struggle. Besides, I knew exactly how to help. And I wasn’t exactly busy.”

“The quilting could wait?”

“Believe it or not, yes,” she agreed. “But this plate won’t, not without getting cold. Chat later!”

And, like the utter wonder that she was, she grabbed three plates, stacked them neatly down her arm, and whirled back into the chaos that was any busy restaurant.

The pull of the kitchen dragged him back in after that; he couldn’t afford to get distracted in a room that was basically wall to wall fire and blades. But he periodically stole glances at Hope, who seemed completely indefatigable, even as the dinner service ran into hour three, then four.

It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening when Jared finally hit enough of a lull to step out of the kitchen. First, he guzzled about an entire bottle of water, since working in the kitchen was hot, thirsty work. Then, he grabbed a second bottle and brought it out to Hope.

He found her leaning against a wall in the small alcove that the staff used to catch their breath during busy evenings like this one. Hope had one foot lifted off the floor, and she was rotating her ankle carefully.

Jared winced in sympathy. “Those aren’t the best shoes for a night waiting tables, huh?” he asked. Her thin ballet flats didn’t offer much in the way of support, whereas he, and the rest of the staff, were all wearing the most comfortable shoes they could find.

She shook her head, giving him a rueful look. “I’ll survive, but I’ll definitely be feeling the ache for a little while. In my defense, when I put them on this morning, looking cute was my primary motivation. The opportunity to help out was just a happy accident.”

Jared leaned his shoulder against the wall too, leaving enough space between them that she didn’t feel crowded.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, then winced. “Sorry, that sounded like I was about to probe into your deepest, darkest secrets. I really wanted to just ask you for a favor.”

She laughed, and he was grateful that this didn’t lead to another moment of awkwardness between them.