WHERE ARE YOU? I’M WORRIED.
When no response came, she called Hunter without thinking it through. When he answered, she blurted, “Have you heard from Alec today?”
“No. Why?”
“He left work suddenly before I arrived, and I haven’t heard from him.”
Hunter paused. “If he needs you, he’ll call. Otherwise, let him sort out his own family emergency.”
Family emergency. The words she’d used when calling off work the morning Mark jumped. At the time, she’d been in shock, locked in a hazy sort of limbo, unable to voice the screaming in her head. Horror had consumed her. She’d acted on instinct, with monosyllabic replies to voice mails and texts. Now her body trembled at the memory.
“Sis?” Hunter’s voice shook her back to reality.
“What family emergency?” she asked, her pulse fluttering irregularly now. “Tell me what you know.”
“Only that Alec wouldn’t leave someone else in charge of his kitchen for anything other than some kind of family emergency.”
No, he wouldn’t.
“Please call me if you hear anything,” she said.
“I will.”
She tossed her phone on the desk and tapped her foot incessantly. Every pore in her body decided to perspire. Hunter was right. Nothing less than a serious emergency would pull Alec out of the kitchen on a Saturday night.
Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her phone and called Julie. That call also went to voice mail. Apparently Alec had learned his cell phone habits from his mother.
Holding her breath, Colby called the hospital. Her breathing settled when she confirmed that neither Alec nor Frank Morgan had been admitted to the ER. Then it caught. Julie Morgan was a patient, but no further information would be given.
She sat, frozen by indecision. Mr. Morgan would lose his shit if Colby showed up, which would only increase Alec’s stress. If he’d wanted her there, he would’ve called. He mustn’t think she could handle it, which didn’t make her feel better. Nor did the fact that, once again, he’d chosen not to share important, if unpleasant, news.
Each time her mind wandered—practically every ninety seconds—she refocused on the tasks at hand. Outside her office, they’d be servicing a full house on this Saturday night. She knew she should be happily checking on customers instead of pacing in her office and checking her phone for messages.
Attachments were complicated. How had she thought she could have a simple, fresh start with Alec? She fingered the white tulips Alec had placed in the vase on her desk on Wednesday. A reminder of exactly why she’d fallen for him.
After four yoga breaths, she forced herself to return to the dining room. Clyde, her most experienced waiter, rushed over, surreptitiously pointing toward table eight. “Ms. Baxter, I think that’s the Trib’s food critic, Gordon Jeffers.”
Tonight? She’d been overwhelmed with foundation work these past weeks and had forgotten all about Gentry’s gossip. This was not good! Alec wasn’t even on the premises. “Are you sure?”
“Not one hundred percent, but I’d bet on it.”
“Please inform Martha, so she’ll be extra attentive. I’ll let Chris know.” Colby beelined to the kitchen. As usual, the flurry of frenzied activity and bursts of noise and heat made her want to run in the other direction. She much preferred the casual elegance and relative serenity of the front of the house.
Carefully, she picked her way over to where Chris was supervising the lines. “We think Gordon Jeffers is seated at table eight with a guest, so pay particular attention to that order, okay?”
“No word from Alec?” Chris’s expression remained unflappable.
“No.” Colby pushed that worry aside for the moment. She couldn’t lend her support at the hospital, but she could protect this aspect of Alec’s life. A good review would be a crucial step in his comeback plan. She’d make sure the staff did everything in its power to earn an outstanding one. “This is it, Chris. Your chance to shine. I trust you’ll be on top of it?”
“Of course.” He kept working at a steady clip, which reassured her.
“Excellent. We’re counting on you.” Colby left the kitchen and methodically worked the room until she arrived at table eight. Gordon Jeffers—at least, that was his pen name—didn’t look like she’d imagined. His name and position implied a certain power that his long, narrow face and nose, thinning blond hair, and, as Gentry might describe it, boring navy blazer failed to convey. At present, his “date”—a middle-aged woman of similar nondescript appearance—sampled Alec’s twist on a French onion soup gratinée.
With her warmest smile, Colby greeted them. “Good evening. Welcome to A CertainTea. I’m the manager, Colby. Is this your first time with us?”
“Yes.” The man smiled.
“Wonderful. Are you a local?” She feigned polite interest while trying not to overplay her hand.
“Close enough. Portland.”
“Well, we’ll make sure it’s worth the journey.”
“So far, so good. The ambience is outstanding.” His smile loosened the knot in her stomach. With a little luck, this could turn out well. They’d been open several weeks—long enough to work out the major kinks—and the cooks had worked with Alec even longer. Alec’s absence didn’t need to be a disaster. In fact, a good review might give him more faith in his staff and make things easier on everyone going forward.
“Thank you.” Colby nodded. “Please let me know if you need anything. Enjoy your meal.”
Rather than hover, she meandered through the crowd. As the evening progressed, she barely recalled a single conversation with any customer. With each minute, she grew more concerned about the Morgans. If she was the impetus for another family tragedy, how could she and Alec stay together?
Alec was in hell. Why did a CT scan take so long? He paced the waiting room, avoiding his father—the asshole who’d clocked his wife in the head with a vase thrown in anger after reading the newspaper. If it hadn’t been for that photo, his dad would’ve likely skimmed right over an article about a local charity.
“I didn’t mean to hit her.” His father drummed his fingers on the chair arm. “She practically jumped into the line of fire.”
“So it’s her fault she didn’t duck?” Alec muttered, keeping his back to his dad.
“I wouldn’t have thrown anything if she hadn’t been sneaking around working on your damned foundation, for chrissakes.” His father shifted noisily in the chair.
“Stop talking.” Alec stood in the doorway, muscles pulsing with quiet rage. He glanced up and down the hall, hoping to catch a doctor or nurse. No luck. He couldn’t sit still in the cramped waiting room, with its plastic chairs and months-old magazines. He needed to put more than a few feet of space between his father and him, or one of them might also end up needing X-rays. “What’s taking so long?”