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Me: Yeah, I’d like that.
Daphne: Also, next Saturday I’m volunteering at a soup kitchen from 10 in the morning till around 2. Want to come with me?
Me: Hmm. I’d like to, but will you be able to handle it?
Daphne: What do you mean?
Me: Last time you saw me being charitable, you got all hot and bothered. Can I expect the same this time?
Daphne: I won’t lie…probably.
Me: I’M IN.
Daphne: The soup kitchen appreciates your kind, albeit horny, gesture.
Me: I would have done it anyway. This will just make it more fun. Should I bring them a check, too?
Daphne: That’s your call, but they are strapped for supplies right now, so I know it would make a big difference for them.
Me: Done. You need more volunteers? I could ask some of my players to come, too.
Daphne: They always need people to pack the boxes people can pick up, but they’re so low on supplies that I’m not sure how much packing there is right now. I can ask, though.
Me: I’ll have my assistant coordinate with them. We’ll get supplies delivered and have people there to help pack on Saturday morning. But the guys have a game that night, so they won’t be able to stay until 2.
Daphne: Anything at all would be amazing. Thank you.
Me: Glad to do it. And what day is good for lunch?
Daphne: Tuesday?
Me: Sure, I’ll text you about lunch and you text me the name of the soup kitchen.
Daphne: Okay.
Me: Have to get back to the game. Talk soon.
Daphne: Okay, see you soon.
Chapter Seventeen
Daphne
“Look at this!” Marla Cook cries, leading me back to the warehouse area of Annie’s Kitchen, the soup kitchen where I’m volunteering. “Every shelf is full! We didn’t even have enough room for all of it. The rest is in my garage right now.”
“Wow.”
I scan the shelves, which are now loaded with boxes and cans of nonperishable food. I’ve never seen this much food at Annie’s in the year I’ve been volunteering here. Olivier really came through.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Daphne.” Marla takes both of my hands in hers, tears shining in her eyes. “This is going to make a big difference for a lot of people.”
“It wasn’t me. Thank Olivier Durand.”
She nods. “I plan to. But he said you told him we needed some help. And if you hadn’t, this never would have happened.”
“I wish I could take credit, but when I told him, it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t trying to get him to give anything, he just…offered.”
“Girl, where can I find me a hot billionaire who will rescue me from my burning car and donate lots of money to good causes?”
I smile. “We’re not officially together or anything.”
She scoffs. “Well, unofficially, that man has it bad for you. And you deserve it. Good things happen to good people. I always say that.”
“It is pretty amazing that he managed all of this so quickly,” I murmur.
“Well, he had help. You know he owns Madeleine, right?”
I lower my brows in confusion. “No, what’s that?”
“The shelter for women and children on the South Side. It has that restaurant attached to it, Madeleine. I think the shelter is called The Madeleine Durand Home, after his mother.”
A light comes on. How could I have forgotten the name of that shelter, and made the connection to him? And why hasn’t he ever mentioned it?
“I didn’t know that, actually,” I admit to Marla.
“They train homeless people for food service work there. The restaurant does pretty well, I think, but I’ve heard there’s still a deficit because of the shelter, and Durand covers all of that.”
A few people walk into the storage room, all of them oohing and ahhing over the fully stocked shelves.
“Is this for real?” a man asks, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen so much food at once.”
I smile and take part in the conversation, but inside, I’m reeling over Marla’s revelation about Olivier. The first time we met, he could have told me he was the benefactor for Madeleine, and it would have impressed me. So why didn’t he?
The storage room gets louder as a new group of people comes in. It’s a bunch of men, several women and a few kids.
“Hi, I’m Anton Petrov,” one of the men says to Marla. “We’re all together, from the Blaze. Here to help with whatever we can for the next couple of hours.”
“Oh!” Marla’s face lights up. “Welcome, all of you. We’re so grateful you’re here. There are boxes to pack, chickens to cook, potatoes to peel and pie crusts to make.”
I look around at the faces in the Blaze group, not recognizing anyone but still feeling a connection to them through Olivier. The men are all tall and built, and they seem to have a strong bond, joking with each other and smiling.
“Hey there,” a deep voice says in my ear as an arm slides around my waist.
