Truly Madly Deeply: Chapter 10

“Why Can’t We Be Friends?”—Smash Mouth

“Great. Now we’ll have to sage the whole fucking house.”

Row was glaring at me like I’d just crawled from a sinkhole to suck the soul out of his mouth. Standing next to him was his BFF, Rhyland, who I remembered as sex on legs with a dry sense of humor. Rhy was wearing black cargo pants, designer sneakers, and a white V-neck. Row was wearing a gray Henley, dark jeans, and the expression of a man who’d love nothing more than to attend my funeral.

“That was my initial thought,” Dylan said levelly, placing a reassuring hand on mine. “But then she tried bribing her way into my good graces with treats and gifts.” Dylan collected her hair into a crusty, cupcake-y bun. “I have no principles and a sweet tooth, so you can guess how that went.”

Row and Rhyland had run upstairs when they’d heard our breathless giggling. Row had said we sounded like distressed seals trying to communicate carnage.

“What’s on your face and hair?” Row demanded, his eyes swinging between us with a frown. He really ought to look less sexy. He made my hormones go wild. In fact, even though I thought he was a prick, I never feared him like I did most men. He rarely made my eyes tick, either.

“Cupcake,” Dylan answered airily. “Dot brought me some sugar bombs.”

“Then proceeded to bombard you with them?” Her brother quirked an eyebrow.

“She started it.” I coughed into my fist.

“Snitch!” Dylan slapped my thigh with a gasp.

I winced. “Dude, he is big and bad-tempered and already hates me. He won’t touch you.”

“Yeah.” Rhyland’s eyes ping-ponged between us. “But he sure as fuck would touch Cal, as history has taught us.”

That earned Rhyland a slap on the back from Row.

“Aw. Too soon?” Rhy laughed.

“Behave yourself.” Row’s voice was a lot of things: calm, menacing, and blood-chillingly threatening. Surely, he didn’t know I feared men. Even if he did, why would he care?

Rhyland seemed unbothered by the chiding. “When have I ever? Too late to start now.”

I scooped pieces of cupcake out of my bra, dropping them into my palm. Rhyland whistled low. “In other news, Cal Litvin is all grown up and looking delicious, all puns intended.”

“Seriously?” Row turned to him again. “Look away before I pluck your eyeballs out with a spoon.” Row’s gaze flicked along my locks briefly when he realized that I had changed the tips, but he didn’t comment on the matter.

Rhyland pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Goner.”

“This time it was done faster than a light laundry cycle,” Dylan told Rhy. I had no idea what they were talking about. I just knew that with each sentence, they brought Row closer to obtaining a criminal record.

“Cal, leave,” Row barked.

“No, Cal, stay.” Dylan knotted her arms over the top of her belly, staring at him pointedly.

Wow. Way to make me feel like a Labrador getting trained to be a service dog.

I looked between the siblings, itching to remove myself from the situation. “Who should I listen to?”

“The person who can toss you out the window without breaking a sweat,” Row recommended dryly. “And has every inclination to do so.”

“The person whom you’d like to make amends with.” Dylan dipped a finger into my bra and sucked some icing into her mouth. “And is also on bed rest and shan’t become upset.”

I firmly planted my ass back on her bed, sending Row an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, buddy. Not gonna make the same mistake twice.”

“Speaking of mistakes, how’s that baby cookin’, Dylan?” Rhyland asked conversationally, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

Row shot him a pissed-off look, which, in my humble opinion, was the only look he was capable of. “Hey, shithead, don’t you have new staff to find me?”

“You need new staff?” Dylan cocked her head. “How come?”

Actually, I was intrigued too. He owned a bougie restaurant. The tips must be divine. And I was used to working for top-notch eateries in Manhattan. Plus, it would show Dylan that I could keep my hands to myself this time. I was going to be platonic and professional with that mountain man.

Also, did I mention that I needed to pay my New York rent? And utilities? And general existence?

“Two of our waiters ran off to elope and do a coast-to-coast.” Rhyland perched against a wall, popping a thick eyebrow up skeptically. His main job seemed to be leaning against sturdy objects and looking sensual. Kind of like Jason Momoa. With better hair product.

“Ugh. So romantic.” I fanned my eyeballs, feeling teary-eyed. Then I saw the look Row gave me and quickly added, “And irresponsible. Totally irresponsible. Especially with the time it takes to learn every ingredient on the menu and correct timings. I would never.” I paused, then clarified, “Leave without at least a month’s notice, not…get married. Although, judging by my love life, ain’t nobody needs to save up for a wedding gift.” My inability to exist without saying or doing something stupid never ceased to amaze me. They said the spotlight can either make you shine or melt. I knew where I was standing. My eyes ticked like crazy.

Rhyland gave me a once-over. “Did you say timings?”

I nodded enthusiastically. Mom was right. Getting out of the house was a great way to find job leads. “Yeah. I looked at Descartes online. You do a prix fixe menu, right?”

Rhy took a step deeper into the room, in my direction, looking enchanted. “Table d’hôte.”

“Don’t even think about it, Rhy.” Row raised a finger to his best friend, and I swear that thing was thicker than an oak trunk. “Don’t even think about thinking about it.”

Too late. My mind was reeling. The money I would make could set me up not only with rent and utilities but also with maybe renting out a little studio to record my podcast. Or perhaps just the equipment to set up in my own apartment.

“Ever worked as a high-end server, Cal?” Rhyland asked. I’d read on the Descartes website that he had a management position there. Growing up, Rhy was to Row what I was to Dylan. But I couldn’t imagine him doing something so straitlaced. He was more the type to bull-ride and axe-throw. Run away from a burning castle with a princess tossed over his shoulder. He had always been too charming for his own good.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, ignoring Row’s death glare that was currently burning a hole through my temple. “I worked for Avant Garden for two years while I was in college and just finished a two-year contract at Tsukimishi.”

“Don’t care if she won the Georges Baptiste Cup for best server for seven consecutive years.” Row jabbed his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. “She isn’t hired.”

“I was also a chef de partie at Teddy’s one summer.” I perked up sunnily, flashing Row what I hoped was an adorable smile. “I have three references and a bevy of experience working under pressure. And under assholes too!”

Rhyland barked out a laugh, clapping at my little performance. “She’s the one, Row.”

“Glad you’re familiar with assholes.” Row checked his phone, tucking it back into his pocket. “Because the only job you’ll be getting in this town is scrubbing toilets, and not mine.”

“Honestly?” Dylan ignored her brother. “You sound perfect for the job. Doesn’t she, Rhy?”

“Chef’s kiss.” Rhyland touched his fingers to his lips. “And other party favors, if this guy has his way.” He wiggled his brows and looked at me just a moment longer than he should.

I stiffened. I didn’t like men’s eyes on me. Even if I knew Rhyland.

“You’re about to be six feet under if you don’t knock it off.” Row’s lips barely moved, and my muscles immediately uncurled and relaxed. One thing hadn’t changed—he was still protective of me because I was an extension of Dylan. Growing up, Row was always one phone call away if I needed a ride home, even if he spent the entire drive ignoring me.

“My interest in Cal is purely professional,” Rhyland drawled, and he wasn’t only good-looking—he was good everything. He had that aura that made him look famous somehow. People gravitated toward him, like planets circling the sun. “No offense, but I like ’em with a bit more meat and edge. You look like an infant saint in a medieval painting.”

“A cherub,” I burst happily. “That’s the best compliment.”

“It’s an insult he’ll pay for,” Row countered. “And it’s not happening.”

“Get your head outta your ass. She has experience.” Rhyland threw a hand in the air, losing patience. “We can’t afford to pass that up.”

“Besides, she is the only person who would agree to work for you.” Dylan laughed evilly. “You’re dead to everyone else in this town, and I’m too pregnant to pull doubles like yesteryear.”

Why was Dylan vouching for me? Did that mean our beef was officially squashed? Or was working for her brother her idea of a cruel punishment for me?

“He isn’t dead to people here, but they’re sure about to kill him,” Rhyland corrected with a smug smile. “This reminds me—Row, you do have life insurance, right?”

Row opened his mouth, no doubt to give him one final warning before he broke his nose, when the door whined open.

“What’s going on here? What’s the commotion?” Zeta stuck her head in the door, scanning the four of us. Dylan sat dutifully on her bed, looking like a birthday cake had exploded on her. I was by her side, Rhyland was standing next to us, and Row was on the other side of the room, looking fifty shades of pissed off.

“Row is two servers short, and Cal just offered to fill in. She has experience.” Dylan threw out her hands in a can-you-believe-it gesture. “Talk some sense into your son, Mamma.”

“You’d be crazy not to hire her.” Zeta tutted, palming her cheek worriedly. “No one else would work for you in this county.”

“I think you missed the R in country.” Rhyland took out a small tin box from his pocket, rolling himself a joint.

Whoa. What had Row done, and why wasn’t he in jail for it?

“In less than two months, the restaurant will be permanently closed. Cal is probably looking for long-term.” Row’s jaw ticked in annoyance.

“Two months from now, I’ll be leaving. I’m flying back to New York January first, so actually, this is perfect,” I countered.

“Of course, you are.” He scrubbed his face, muttering, “Shit.”

“What now?” I sighed. Was there anything I did that he didn’t find appalling?

“I’m flying to London the same day,” he explained.

“Why, what a coincidence!” Rhyland looked between us, amusement adorning his sculpted face. “You can share an Uber to the airport. In the meantime, you have less than eight weeks to suffer one another. Doable, right?”

“Wrong,” Row said at the same time I exclaimed, “Easy peasy!”

Seriously, what was his deal?

“What happened to your faces and hair, girls?” Zeta took us in for the first time, her grip on the doorknob loosening.

“Cupcake fight.” Dylan pretended to flex her biceps, kissing her nonexistent guns. “I won.”

Zeta’s eyes landed on my face. “I see you played dirty and aimed for the eyes.”

Dylan laced her fingers under her chin and blinked innocently. “What can I say? I fight like a girl, which means I always win.”

Something amazing happened after Dylan said that. Zeta’s features softened for the first time since I’d known her.

“You’re smiling again.” Zeta’s eyes glittered, her attention fixed on her daughter. “Look at you. You’re…you’re…happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mom.” Dylan wiped the smile off her face instantly, shooting me an embarrassed look. “Even if I were, it’s not because of Cal.”

“Apropos, Cal—you’re hired as a waitress at Descartes,” Rhyland announced dryly, pulling out his phone and tossing it into my hands. He tucked his joint behind his ear. “Program your number and email in, and we’ll hammer out the small print. Congrats, kiddo.”

“Yes!” I jumped up in the air, mustering some courage and offering my open palm for Rhyland to shake.

He stared at it dispassionately, not making a move. “No thanks, sweetheart. Touching you is not on my agenda. I like my limbs exactly where they are.”

Tucking my crusty cupcake hair behind my ear, I said, “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“I won’t let you in.” Row marched toward Rhyland, fury rolling off him like vapor. “She isn’t hired.”

“I’m vetoing this one, Sir Frowns-A-Lot.” Rhyland clapped Row’s shoulder. “You need employees, and I need you off my back. Fair trade-off.”

“Row, can I speak to you alone, please?” I pretzeled my fingers together. I didn’t want this opportunity to go to waste. Plus, we’d been at each other’s throats ever since I had gotten here. If I was going to worm my way back into Dylan’s life, I needed to patch things up with him regardless of my potential employment.

“No,” he said, point-blank.

“Ambrose Rhett Casablancas, where are your manners?” Zeta shrieked.

“The trash?” Dylan guessed.

“Buried twenty feet under, next to radioactive waste?” Rhyland suggested.

“Maybe he left them in the womb before you pushed him out,” Dylan theorized, picking frosting from her split ends.

“What happened? You used to be fond of her.” Zeta wiped her forehead with her elbow, a smear of spaghetti sauce running across it. “Give the girl the time of your day.”

“Last time I gave her the time of my night, she ruined it.” He bared his teeth at me.

I turned crimson red thinking about the night he had taken my virginity. “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” I asked hopefully.

“Stop saying bye and gone without leaving.” Row’s scowl deepened. “You’re giving me false hope here.”

“Please be reasonable.” My voice was low and steady. I was beyond qualified, and he needed the help. Couldn’t he look past his dislike for me?

“On the contrary, I’m very reasonable. I’m reasonably sure you and I are not going to get along as coworkers. Look, it’s a small town, and I will probably run into you, but by God, I’m not going to actively let you into my goddamn sphere.”

Sensing the urgency of the situation, I flung myself over to his corner of the room, pressing my hands together and bending my knees. My fingertips accidentally brushed his muscular forearm. A shock of electricity shot through my spine at our fleeting touch. “Row, plea—”

He pulled away fast, hissing as though my touch wounded him.

“Jesus Christ, get off me.” Get off him? I had barely touched him. A look of pure panic must’ve shown on my face because I flushed hot, and cold shivers ran through me at the same time. Worse still, I felt my eyes stinging with tears. You’re not going to cry, girl.

Not over a boy, and not over a job.

“Fuck.” His fingers caught the back of his hair, and he tugged roughly on the velvety strands. “You’re hired.” He pulled away from me like I was literal fire, rubbing at the spot where we’d touched like he wanted to clean himself. “Happy? You start tomorrow. Bring comfortable shoes and an entirely different personality. And don’t—I repeat, do not get anywhere near me. The kitchen is off-limits, you hear?”

“Ambrose.” Zeta put a hand to her heart. The overlapping chatter stopped, and everybody was staring at him as though witnessing something greatly tragic.

“You.” Row ignored her, turning to Rhyland. “Send her a contract and our menu to learn. If she fucks up once, she is gone. If she fucks up real bad, you pay out of pocket for whatever she breaks. Understand?”

Rhyland saluted him using only his middle finger.

“I won’t let you down.” I cleared my throat. But Row didn’t hear me, still laser-focused on Rhyland.

“If you come onto her, I will kill you. If you make me regret it, I will resuscitate you, then re-kill you. If she screws anything up, I’m killing both of you. I want her out of my sight, out of my mind, and out of my fucking way. Capiche?” Row continued.

Rhyland flipped him off with a smile, then curled his middle finger and gave him a thumbs-up. “Clumsy me. Yeah, got it.”

He turned to me now. “No verbal diarrhea, no offensive attire, and no arguing. Got it?”

“My attire is not offen—” I started protesting, before thinking better of it. “Right. Right. Sure thing, boss.”

“Isn’t she a ball of sunshine?” Rhyland all but clapped with delight. He loved seeing Row reining in his primal instinct to throttle me.

“Isn’t he a bouquet of grumpiness?” Dylan gestured to her brother.

Row raked his fingers along the back of his neck, fisting his hair. “Goddammit.” He turned around and stomped out of the room.

“You won’t regret it!” I crooned after his descending back as he took the stairs down.

“Already fucking am.”