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She tapped on the most recent section he’d added. “Maybe one of the salads?”
“Sure.” Malcolm had learned with Celia not to complain at any choice. Food was food, as long as she ate it. The bell above the door rang, distracting him. He called out that the new customers could take any table, then crossed the room to grab a couple of menus before taking their drink order.
When he turned back toward the bar, Jami was taking a last limping step to the kitchen window, grabbing the plate that was ready for their only other customer.
He stalked over to her, silently, it seemed, if her sudden gasp as he took the plate from her was any indication. He set it on the bar before lifting her into his arms.
“I just wanted to help,” Jami said, her body rigid against him.
He swallowed his irritation as he carried her through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. Reggie lifted an eyebrow, but Malcolm ignored it, not wanting to risk opening his mouth and scaring Jami with just how frustrated he was. The lump on her head was still an awful green, and she was limping. She was as bad as Celia when it came to her health.
“Malcolm?” Jami asked, her tone tentative when he shouldered open the office door just beyond the kitchen. It was cramped inside because of the couch he still had in there. He’d slept on it a couple of times when the room upstairs was being worked on.
He set Jami down on the cushion as gently as he could, then pointed a finger at her. “Rest.”
When he turned back to the kitchen, he ignored Reggie’s smirk. “Make her a salad, and some of those sweet potato fries with the brown sugar butter,” he said, escaping out of the heat and into the main room again. He paused, listening to see if Jami would fight him on his order to rest.
“I barely did anything,” he heard her muttering. The pouty tone got rid of the last of his anger.
“He worries,” Reggie said. “You’re more itty-bitty than that cousin of his.”
Jami didn’t say anything.
“His mad don’t last. Eat all I cook, and he’ll smile. You’ll see.” A sizzle followed, likely Reggie dropping the fries in the deep fryer.
Malcolm grabbed the plate from before and delivered the food to the waiting customer. He ignored the older man’s knowing grin, going over to grab the new customers’ drink order.
When the lunch crowd hit a lull, he found Jami lying awkwardly on the couch, asleep. She’d been pushing herself too hard, just like he thought. He picked up the half-finished salad plate from the floor. The basket beside it was empty, the little plastic cup wiped clean of the sweet butter. He stared down at her, wondering if he should have left her to rest at the house instead. His gut had told him no, but his gut had been wrong before.
“Another one?” Reggie asked from behind him.
Malcolm didn’t bother confirming it. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves to help with the dishes.
Reggie chuckled. “Such a soft touch.”
Malcolm grunted. “We’ll see how soft I am when we spar again.”
“Tonight?” Reggie asked, starting on his prep for the impending dinner crowd.
Malcolm glanced over to the office, his eyes skimming Jami’s sleeping face. “Not for a little while, probably.” He didn’t want to leave her alone. Not until he was sure Andrew Raneer was no longer a threat.
Jami’shairclungtothe back of her neck when she woke. The couch hadn’t been the most comfortable, but with her tummy full and the warmth of the kitchen, dozing had been easy. She wasn’t going to admit as much to Malcolm. Him carrying her around in front of the customers had embarrassed her enough.
Her cheeks were warm from the heat of the kitchen, she told herself, not from anything Malcolm had done. Andrew had been caring for her over the years, and all she’d felt was a stone in her stomach. When Malcolm did the same, why did it feel so different? Of course, the ways they went about it were nowhere near the same. Andrew wouldn’t dream of manhandling her and ordering her about.
The weight of the cast helped her to struggle into a sitting position on the well-used sofa. The material wasn’t stuffy or smelly or anything. Instead, it held a hint of cinnamon, as if Malcolm had sat there recently.
Wanting to groan, she pushed to a stand, running her hands through her hair. The short bob surprised her like it always did. When she’d had long, flowing waves, the way it swayed around her ass had made her feel pretty. Andrew had loved sinking his hands into it and holding her still as he pushed inside her. He’d been so disappointed when she’d chopped it off less than a month ago. That had been the point, but she hadn’t let on that she missed it too.
She stepped into the kitchen and took in the burly cook, who was busy at the fryer. Reggie, he’d said his name was. He wasn’t fat, but his barrel chest fed into quite the guns, with tattoos decorating the darkly tanned skin everywhere she could see. He stopped what he was doing at the stove, turning to the nearby fridge. The water bottle he handed her cooled her fingers.
“Hot back here, chickadee. Hydrate.” Reggie moved fast for all his bulk, returning to the grill to flip a burger before she could blink.
“Thank you,” Jami said, finding herself guzzling most of the bottle. She rubbed the damp outside along the back of her neck, glancing through the window into the main tavern beyond.
She must have slept longer than she thought. The place was packed full of customers again, with Malcolm steadily working in the middle of it. He never seemed overwhelmed, just calmly moved from one thing to the next. He was so different from the slightly awkward boy he had been, the one who had blushed when he asked her to dance with him in an empty high school hallway.
“He should have woken me,” she murmured. Ringing up the customers was the least she could do.
