Always (With Bonus Material) (Always & Forever Book 1) Page 3

  "What a nice invitation…" was all he got out.

  "Great. My husband and I own several of the properties downtown. We just used your law firm on one of the more recent deals. I'll make sure I give you a call to get that set up just as soon as you can fit us in. Avery, it's super good to see you again." She didn't wear out her welcome and left in the same way she came…abruptly. Better for him, as he'd much rather scan the restaurant looking for the hot proprietor.

  Kane kept his cool, letting all those long-standing walls drop into place as he walked through the restaurant. His outward calm showed nothing of the panic raging through his mind. The only clue he gave that something might be wrong was when he bypassed his waitstaff, not listening or answering one of their questions as he made a beeline directly to the kitchen.

  His pleasant facade was nothing more than his body's natural defense mechanism kicking into place. Calm, cool, and collected were always what he projected to the world when his heart and mind raced completely out of control. And dear Lord did the greeting with Avery Adams, aka table thirty-four, seriously qualify as one hell of a stressful situation.

  Kane pushed through the first set of double doors, leaving the tranquility of the dining room behind. The second set of doors opened to the bustling kitchen. Paulie, along with their head chef, Antonio, worked together on one single plate, trying to achieve their desired perfection before sending it out the door. Kane suspected that meal belonged to Avery Adams. Paulie's policy was any new VIP was treated with care until everyone got a feel for their likes and taste.

  "You don't look so good." At Paulie's words, Kane jerked his head up to see the concerned glance Paulie sent his way. Paulie never stopped in the middle of the kitchen during peak business hours. Yet, he did this time. Whatever was on Kane's face caused a scowl to cross Paulie's, and the man stopped in mid-motion of taste-testing a sauce. After another solid few seconds of silence, he lowered the spoon. "What's happened?"

  "I don't know. Nothing," Kane said, replaying the entire exchange he'd had with Avery Adams through his mind, trying to see what he might have done to cause such a reaction.

  "Don't nothing me. What's happened?" Paulie asked, his tone gruffer than normal and anger clear on his face.

  "We need to make sure dinner for thirty-four's perfect. I think I've misstepped somewhere. Mr. Adams seemed a little put out with my greeting," Kane said. As he spoke, he moved closer to where they were working, taking a good long look at the meal. Paulie knew him too well, and Kane's complete calm no doubt scared the crap out of him.

  "What did you say?" Paulie asked suspiciously. The whole kitchen slowed, watching them closely, but Paulie wasn't having any of that. It was as if he had eyes in the back of his head. At five foot nothing, Paulie ran an efficient kitchen, and he barreled around, clapping his hands, motioning everyone back to work. This time, he moved Kane out of the way for privacy and lowered his voice. "What did you say?"

  "I don't know. Just my normal greeting, I think. I'm not sure. He just wasn't into me at all," Kane said. He ran his palms down the front of his suit, before looking down at his hands, willing himself to shake off the unwanted feelings.

  "Maybe it's Markie—he's the server, right?" Paulie asked, his voice a sharp, graveled whisper.

  "Yes, but I didn't see anything out of place. I was watching before I ever approached the table. He worked it like clockwork." As if on cue, Markie came through the kitchen door, pushing into them.

  "VIP plate ready?" he asked, looking between Paulie and Kane, his face showing immediate concern at their huddled meeting. "What's happened?"

  "Are you taking care of thirty-four?" Paulie asked, still somewhat hushed. Paulie's hard Bronx accent was more pronounced with each passing second.

  "Of course I'm taking care of the table," Markie shot right back, looking between Kane and Paulie. "What happened? He seems fine to me."

  "So he's talking and participating. You're engaging him?" Kane asked.

  "Yeah, why?" Kane stared hard at the waiter. They never had issues with Markie. Kane cut his eyes back down to Paulie.

  "Then it's me. Stay on the table, I've upset him. I'll stay away. Comp his bottle of wine. I'll make it up in your tip," Kane said, forcing himself to remember the restaurant. Slowly, sound, reasonable thought trickled back in place. He was a business owner, not an emotional mess from a simple awkward greeting.

  He turned away from the others, first walking to the sink, before he changed course and headed toward the back kitchen doors. He needed a minute alone to gather himself. Something was very wrong with this whole table thirty-four deal, and if he didn't get a hold of himself, he'd never make it through the night without another problem. And Kane never had problems like this. He worked too hard to head off these kinds of complications before they ever occurred.

  "I need a minute," Kane said over his shoulder.

  "What cha lookin' at? Get to work!" Kane heard Paulie call out. "Markie see if you can salvage the table. Of all people, we don't need him giving us a bad review out there. Get cha asses to work, people!"

  Kane left the kitchen and didn't stop until he hit his office. He closed the door behind him, locking it before he gave in to the chaos coursing through him. This wouldn't do. This would never do. He tugged off his suit jacket and paced the small room. What the hell just happened to him? How had he managed to offend Avery Adams, on his very first visit no less. He was completely baffled by the way he'd been dismissed; Mr. Adams had ignored his offered hand and hadn't bothered to say a single word to him. What had he done to upset Avery Adams?

  He scrubbed his hands over his face and then down the front of his slacks. Why would an upset patron affect him in this manner anyway? He only needed to figure out how to turn the evening around and ensure they had a pleasant experience. It wasn't until that moment he realized his cock was rigidly hard. Not the simple irritating hard-on that happened from time to time in life, but something ready to explode, and he had no idea how or why he had this reaction.

  Kane panicked and immediately bent over, making sure he was tucked in, not sticking straight out. Maybe that was what turned Avery Adams off. Relief struck when he found he was hidden under his clothing.

  Dang it, I'm attracted to Avery Adams.

  "Pull it together, Kane Dalton. This is not a game. This is your life, and your burdens are too heavy to mess it all up now, especially over a man I just offended," Kane lectured himself as he scanned the top of his desk. He must find perspective. It would never do to have someone as high profile as a United States president's grandson avoiding his restaurant. Shoving papers aside on his very organized desk, he found the letter from his sister. It had arrived that morning in the mail.

  He reread the entire letter as he dropped down in his office chair. His sister had been her normal short and to-the-point self, but never sweet. His mother was dying. No one in his family wanted him there.

  In fact, her last dying wish was to make sure he didn't arrive and soil her funeral ceremony, but they needed money for her burial. This particular sister never minced words when she wrote to ask him for money. Never gave anything personal about herself or the rest of his family. She just said what needed to be said.

  When he'd received this letter, he hadn't let himself believe his mom was actually dying. Even after fifteen years of not seeing his family, he still loved her dearly. Through all his mistakes, Kane still honored her and his father, even from a distance. This morning, after reading the straight-to-the-point letter, he closed himself in his office and prayed like his father taught him to do when he was a young boy. Kane was specific in his prayer. He prayed for her health and wellbeing, but he also prayed for God's will.

  Only after his lengthy prayer session had he thought to pick up the phone and call the hospital. His efforts were in vain; his mom had passed away last night. Kane hadn't hesitated. He'd left the restaurant in the middle of dinner prep and gone immediately to wire money to his family. He sent more than they'd asked for,
he always did. Then Kane called a local Alabama florist asking for a large standing spray full of yellow roses to be sent to her funeral, no card attached. In his heart, he knew his family would see the spray as a slight against their wishes, but his mother had always loved her rose garden. It was something the two of them shared throughout most of his childhood. He wanted her to have her yellow roses, regardless of the harsh letter he would certainly receive about the embarrassment the arrangement caused.

  The tears that hadn't come earlier finally fell. His guard was down. Maybe this was why he'd been off his game tonight. Kane brushed away the tears that wouldn't stop flowing and dropped his head in his hands. All the things he wanted to say to his mother would now remain unsaid. The memories of his past came barreling forward, robbing him of his carefully placed resolve. When Kane was eighteen years old, freshly graduated from high school, he never imagined his life playing out like this.

  At the time, he'd been kicked out of his house, he had the Lord's Prayer broken over his head—literally, the framed picture that had been hung in a place of honor by the front door was shattered across his skull—right after his brother dropped him to his knees with a couple of solid right hooks and his father shoved him out the front door with nothing more than the clothes on his back.

  He supposed his father's sermon of tolerance, patience, and love, given that same morning in the Southern Baptist church where he pastored, didn't apply to his own family members. Kane should have known better. And for the love of God, he certainly shouldn't have picked the Sunday afternoon lunch to tell his large family he was gay. He still cringed today thinking about his own stupidity.

  Fresh out of high school, tossed on the streets of a town with a population of no more than a couple thousand people, didn't leave too many options. He walked for days, slept in barns and old broken down vehicles, and starved as he made his way to Birmingham. Nothing more than pity and kindness made an Italian pizzeria owner give him a job. Three advantages came with that job. He got to eat, make money, and meet Paulie, the pizzeria owner. At that point in his life, the first two were high on his list of priorities.

  By the fall, Kane found out his father had sabotaged his full scholarship to Oral Roberts Christian University in Tulsa. By then, he had worked sixteen hour days, seven days a week, and saved up a pile of money, but apparently he couldn't buy his way into the university. Those had been dark days. Every goal and dream of his future washed away because he had opened his stupid mouth and trusted his family with the truth about himself.

  With Paulie's unwavering support, Kane even pulled himself up enough to get a little self-assured. That attitude was what gave him the strength and courage to actually follow through and fly to Italy, Paulie's homeland. Paulie taught him when one door closes, a window generally opens, and his saving grace came in the way of that little man who ran the La Bella Luna kitchen like a drill sergeant.

  Without question, Paulie had saved his life. Kane would have none of this if it weren't for him. Paulie had lost his own son in the Vietnam War, and just like he had come to expect from the man's generous spirit, he had no problem taking on Kane as his own. They didn't share too many things in common, except for the most important one, the love of cooking. Paulie taught Kane everything he knew, and Kane found he had an innate understanding of food, a natural ability to blend and create delicious combinations.

  When Paulie suggested he study in Italy, Kane jumped at the chance and enrolled in culinary school. Lord, he'd been so far behind compared to the other students' abilities, but he worked hard those years and eventually caught up, graduating with honors and many job opportunities. Paulie came to Italy for his graduation, watched him walk across the stage. Paulie had been so proud of him. That should have been enough, but secretly, it wasn't. The entire time he was in Italy, he sent monthly letters home to his family, begging for their forgiveness. He wrote passages to his family, trying to show them he held on to his parents' strong Christian values while making a decent life for himself. No one in his family ever responded to any of his letters. The only thing he ever got back from them was his father's scribbled penmanship marked across the envelope—return to sender.

  Kane had reconciled himself a long time ago that Paulie was his family now, but as he sat in this office, the ache of missing his mom returned. In all honesty, he probably should have stayed home tonight. Given himself the day to grieve instead of believing he could push through, make everything all right if he just kept working. That had to be his problem tonight, too much weighed on his heart.

  He leaned back in his chair and looked down at his crotch. Finally, a positive for the evening, his cock had settled down. And he couldn't help the harsh chuckle he gave. The past always had a way of knocking the wind out of his sails. Kane made a decision right then. He'd take it easy tonight. Stay hidden behind the scenes and completely away from the Adams table. He would maintain a quiet presence for his staff until closing.

  Kane had comped the wine, and he would send a bouquet of flowers tomorrow apologizing to Mr. Adams for what he'd done— whatever that was. Certainly by tomorrow he would have a clear mind and could easily see what he had done wrong. Feeling like he had a solid plan in place, Kane left his office only to be met right outside the door by Randall, his door greeter.

  "Justice Sawyer's leaving and wants a word with you." Kane nodded and forced the smile back onto his face.

  "Thank you. I'll be right there." Kane would wear this smile the rest of the evening. Everything was all right. Tomorrow would be a new day. He squared his shoulders and went to find the justice. He was always good for a nice compliment or two.

  "Did you see Avery Adams? He's a fox," Randall said, right on his heels.

  "We need to be careful with him. Make sure he has everything he needs tonight," Kane said, rounding the corner back into the restaurant.

  "I plan to," Randall mumbled as he slipped past Kane. Justice Sawyer met him at the bar before he could say anything more to the greeter. The man's big grin and compliments to the chef did help ease Kane's weary soul.

  Chapter 4

  Avery sat quietly, staring at the large mahogany desk in the center of his masculinely-decorated office. Dark cherry wood paneling covered every wall, with deep hunter green shag carpeting and dark red plaids covering the furniture. The drapes matched the furniture and were closed up tight, forbidding any sun from daring to peek inside this office. Avery found the entire room impossible to think within, and it seemed to zap his entire will to work.

  He rose on a huff and stalked across the office. He tore open the curtains, letting the sunshine in. Avery turned back to the office as if he expected a miracle with the influx of light. How had the sun not helped the room look any better? Damn.

  Avery pressed the intercom, his direct line to his secretary, and waited for her to answer. She was sharp and equally as quick, and just as he expected, she answered immediately. Janice had been with him for years, moving to cold Minnesota from sunny California to continue being his assistant. That loyalty said a lot.

  "Yes, sir?" Her voice boomed through the small speaker into the quiet office.

  "Can you find an interior designer to meet with me tomorrow? I can't think with all this brown. It's sucking my will to live," Avery said, holding the intercom button down on the phone as he spoke. "Sure. I figured that was coming. I can arrange to have the company who decorated your office—" Avery stopped her.

  "No, someone new. As a matter of fact, I'll handle this myself right now," he said. He'd fly his designer out from California. Surely he could pay her enough to get her up here to make changes to this god-awful place, something better suited to fit his taste.

  Ignoring the files on his desk and meeting requests from the attorneys who worked for him, Avery dug through his Rolodex searching for his personal designer's telephone number. A thought crossed his mind. The handsome restaurant owner was completely his taste. Perhaps if Kane Dalton would just sit in this office, he might magically ta
ke away all this brown, and there was no doubt the man would definitely make the room look more inviting.

  Avery took his seat, leaning back against the firm leather, and abandoned his task of finding the phone number for the moment. Instead, he twirled a ball point pen through his fingers as he thought about Mr. Dalton.

  Avery hadn't been able to get Kane out of his mind. He stayed transfixed by the man, completely captivated. Even now, with all these case files lying untouched and work piling up around him, he still let his mind wander to the night he'd had dinner at La Bella Luna. He'd taken up residence in the small booth that evening, unwilling to give it up for several hours as he sat and mingled with some of the patrons that recognized him.

  Avery told himself he was doing what the Democratic Party asked of him. Their great strategic plan of being seen out in the community and all that, but he knew the real truth. He only had eyes for Kane and yet Kane seemed to have eyes for everyone else but him.

  They never crossed paths again for the remainder of the evening. Avery left, not even taking the blatant offer made by the greeter. Yesterday, a large bouquet of calla lilies arrived, with an apology note attached on behalf of the restaurant. It was a simple, generic apology. The kind he himself gave over the years when he had no idea what he had done wrong, the gesture meant to soothe ruffled feathers. It gave Avery a clue as to why the owner hadn't come back to his table no matter how long he stayed or how much money he'd spent. Perhaps Avery's awestruck moment had been interpreted as hostile instead of the true fact—he'd been undone by the man standing in front of him.