E is for Everett (Men of Alphabet Mountain) - Page 48

I shook my head and kept smiling.

“I need a Cobb on the fly,” Mary, one of the older waitresses I’d talked into coming back after she left during the Carrie days, shouted into the window.

“You heard her, Finn,” I said. “I’ve got the fire. You’ve got the greens.”

“Uh huh,” he said, slowly moving over to the mixing bowls to begin building the salad.

“Maybe sometime today, Finn,” I joked.

He laughed loudly and shook his head. “Yes, chef,” he said.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to put words to what was going on with Everett. Saying what happened might alter the reality of it, like the observer effect in quantum physics. If I voiced my thoughts, I would change how it existed and possibly not for the better.

But I could think about him. And us. Whatever us meant. We hadn’t made anything clear yet, expressly so. As far as either of us were concerned, we could be exclusive or just casually hooking up. I wasn’t sure. We had time to figure all that out, though, and that was the best solution.

I wasn’t the world’s best person at relationships. Mostly because I kept myself so busy that I failed to pay any attention to them, and they fizzled out. Because of that, I hadn’t really had anything serious ever. Carrie mocked me for that every time I came home for a family dinner or holiday or anything. She flaunted the relationships she had, even though there was always a new one. She would go on and on about plans for the future with her partners.

Then there was me. No plans. No partners. Just work, more work, and hey, a little more work. Occasionally, I’d go see a movie with someone, make out, and then forget they existed for six weeks. By the time I called them again or messaged them on social media, they would have forgotten I existed too, usually with the help of a new interesting person. One who didn’t carry around a bag of knives everywhere they went and didn’t have friends who she only knew by nicknames like “Gash,” “Radar,” and “Kush.”

Or Finn.

I shook it off and focused on the work at hand. Between catching up on paperwork, making new orders for supplies for the next two weeks, figuring out the new rotating bistro menu Finn and I were tinkering with to update the food selection, working in the kitchen, and even going out on the floor to do some serving when we were down a waitress at the end of the night, I was exhausted when we closed.

It had been a whirlwind of a day, and I was ready to get inside my apartment, tear down into sweats and Everett’s hoodie, and drink half a bottle of wine.

I locked the door at eleven sharp. Thankfully, the place emptied out around ten thirty, and I was able to close the doors and turn off the lights early. Finn and I spent a little time cleaning up and he waited for me to get out of there before he left. He was a good dude, and I was glad that there didn’t seem to be any rivalry, or worse, attraction from him. Some guys got weird with a woman in the kitchen with them, but Finn treated me just like any other guy back there. With the lone exception of he wouldn’t let me close up without being there for safety. I appreciated that.

I pulled into the driveway of my apartment and noticed something on my doorstep. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a bouquet of flowers and a little card tied to them. I smiled and picked them up, smelling the fresh roses for a long moment before opening my door and locking it behind me. I dropped my knife bag on the chair by the shoe rack and went into the kitchen to fill a cup for the flowers. Once they were in, I opened the card.

It was blank except for a crudely drawn heart in the center.

It didn’t need anything else. I knew exactly who sent them and it made my cheeks flush, and a smile stretch so wide on my face it hurt. Who knew a mountain man like him would be a romantic?

I placed the card on the fridge with a magnet from Wrigley Field. There were a dozen magnets I could have used but using the one I got on a trip to my favorite ballpark to see my favorite team way back when I first moved to Chicago was a special thing. It meant more.

Grinning, I grabbed the wine from the rack, poured myself a nice large glass, and set it on the coffee table. I turned on a show and went to my bedroom to change. When I slipped on his hoodie and curled up on the couch with my wine, it was almost like I could feel him sitting beside me. I wished he was.

Tags: Natasha L. Black Erotic
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