Chapter 5

Anya

I'm swimming with pride. Everything is going perfect, and the guests are having a great time. The food looks so good, that I'm sort of hoping Griffin made enough for me to have a few bites.

I giggle to myself thinking about eating some of the leftover food in the kitchen.

I'm sure grumpy Callum would never allow that.

The thing about Callum is he never goes away. He practically lives at Atta Boy. I mean, I get it, maybe I'd live here too if I had as much at stake as he does. He keeps things running. I just wish sometimes he'd let loose a bit.

But that'll never happen.

He's been like this since we were kids.

Bossy. Grumpy. An arrogant a-hole. There, I said it. Asshole.

I giggle to myself again, and realize I probably look like a psycho person standing in the corner of the room giggling while a private party is going on.

It's Clara Workman's 60th birthday party, and she's got all the book club members, their families, and her own personal friends here. It's a small intimate group, but they're having a great time.

I step over to where Clara is finishing up her pistachio-crusted grouper. "How's everything?" I ask her.

She wraps her hand around my arm, gazing up at me with unshed tears in her eyes. "Better than I ever could have imagined. I couldn't ask for a lovelier evening. Did you see Myrtle even showed?" She glances across the room, and we both smile over at Myrtle who is sitting at another table.

"She even looks happy," I say with a grin, and quickly add, "Everyone looks happy."

"Everyone is happy. It's all because of you. Harold and I love this place. Been coming since it opened, and I think it's great you all now offer private parties. Our 30th is coming up soon, we might book something."

I smile at Harold who sits next to her. "We'd love to host it for you."

"Thank you, dear."

I step away so they can enjoy the rest of their meal, and walk around to make sure everyone is doing okay.

Even Myrtle laughs. She's always been the grumpy old lady who lives across town and never comes out of her house, except to go to church on Sundays. It's almost sad if you think about it. Story is, she worked her whole life for some big company in New York, and never married. Never had any kids. Worked until she finally snapped one day and decided to move to a small town and relax. Maybe one day she'll enjoy her retirement, and meet somebody new.

I continue crossing the floor, and step over to where a few servers fill bus tubs with dirty dishes to take to the back. "I think once we get all the dinner plates up, we can serve dessert and then we can turn the music up a bit in case anyone wants to dance," I say to Gabby.

She nods, and then steps closer. "Did you see Mr. Charleston talking to Myrtle?" Gabby's worked at the restaurant for a few months, and is fresh out of high school, working until she leaves for college in the fall.

I snap my eyes to Myrtle, and sure enough Mr. Charleston is chatting away happily with her. "Do I hear wedding bells," I say with a laugh.

"I thought he always had a thing for Hartford's Aunt Nora," Tripp says, grabbing the bus tub of dishes to bring to the back of the house.

I shake my head. "I don't know."

Before Tripp heads into the kitchen, he smiles. "He's a player. He's got a woman in Florida, and now he'll have a woman here in Magnolia Ridge."

Gabby and I laugh as Tripp leaves. Another server by the name of Patrick steps over.

"Everyone's water is filled, and I'm grabbing a few drinks at the bar," he says.

"Okay, perfect. Thank you both so much," I say, happy that they're doing such a great job.

Callum strides back into the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floors. With long strides, he navigates through the room until he stands before me. "Great party," he remarks, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm heading up to my office if you need anything."

Feeling a pang of concern, I reach out and gently lay my hand on his bicep, the fabric of his suit jacket smooth beneath my touch. "Callum, everything is under control. Why don't you go home? You've been working tirelessly, and you're clearly exhausted. We can handle things from here," I offer, mustering my most reassuring smile.

"I'm fine," he insists, his voice gruffer than usual. But his facade crumbles under closer scrutiny. The lines etched in his face speak volumes with how little sleep he's actually getting, and his eyes have lost their glossy shine.

He's tired.

Anyone can see it.

"You're not fine," I tell him, softly.

"Maybe I can head out. Shep is here if you need anything, and I know Griffin is going to stay until the end of the party."

"Oh, he doesn't have to do that." Normally chefs leave once the last dessert has been served. "He can go."

Callum digs his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it momentarily before answering, "He doesn't mind. Okay, I need to call Paxton before I head out. Call me if anything comes up. I can be here quick."

"We'll be fine." I pretend to roll my eyes at him, letting him know he's being overly bossy.

As soon as he leaves I head back into the kitchen to look for the birthday cake.

"I'm going to take the cake out on this table with wheels, and everyone can sing happy birthday, and then we'll bring it back here and cut it," I say to Patrick and Gabby.

Griffin steps closer. "I also made some tarts, chocolate covered strawberries, and mini cannolis. You can set two plates on each table."

I look at the plates of dessert. "They look amazing."

Griffin raises a brow. "Next party you should make your own chocolates to serve."

My chest warms that Griffin even thought of this. I have to admit, I've had a few thoughts about serving my own chocolates at parties, but didn't want to assume anything. What if Callum hated the idea?

"Thanks," I tell him, and then for the rest of the party, we're a mad rush of dishing out birthday cake, clearing plates, serving coffee, and making sure the guests have a great time.

Once the party is over, and the last guests have left, Gabby and Patrick finish cleaning, and I head into the kitchen.

"How was it?" Griffin asks, the party ending way after the restaurant has closed.

So, Griffin's the only one around.

"It went great." I'm holding the finalized receipt of the bill, and smile. "The party brought in an extra five-thousand of revenue."

Griffin takes off his chef coat, and I laugh a little when I see the t-shirt he's wearing underneath. There's two kitchen knives crossing with the words, ‘Nobody's better with their hands than a chef' scrawled across the front.

It makes my mind wander. Is he good with his hands? Would he know just where to touch me? How to touch me?

Griffin notices the silence stretching between us, and sets his chef's coat down on the stainless steel prep table. "Everything okay?"

I'm sitting here gawking at him, and I realize I need to close my mouth. I snap it shut, and smile. "Everything's perfect. I should make sure Patrick and Gabby make it out okay."

"I can walk everyone to their cars."

"That's okay. Patrick can walk Gabby to her car. I'm going to input the numbers into the computer, but let me check on them first, make sure they got everything done."

"I'll be here," he whispers in a throaty growl, and it makes my body tingle.

I'm not even sure why. It wasn't anything sexual.

I head back into the event room to make sure Gabby and Patrick are all done, once they leave I make my way back to Griffin.

"Why don't you do the numbers tomorrow? It's late," he says.

"Are you kidding? I don't want to give my brother any ammunition for not keeping this event room going. Besides, I want him to come in first thing tomorrow morning and see the sales the party made."

Griffin laughs. "You know that mother fucker checks the sales from an app from his phone. He's probably sitting in bed right now, waiting on the numbers."

"Knowing Cal, you're probably right."

Griffin runs his hand along the stainless steel. "It's kind of sad, isn't it?"

"What?"

Griffin moves an inch closer. "Being all alone. Callum's never had anyone. He's lying in bed all alone. I'm guessing it gets lonely."

"Well, you're alone. I don't think you've ever even dated anyone." I try to recall if he's ever brought a girl around.

"A few girls here and there. Nothing serious. But Callum doesn't even go out and have fun."

"Do you have fun?" And by fun does he mean sleep around? Is Griffin a player? Like Tripp said about Mr. Charleston. A woman in Florida. A woman here. Does Griffin have women all across the country?

Stop.

That's ridiculous. Griffin is a nice guy. A complete cinnamon roll. He's not the type to play around. I think.

I don't know him that well, but what I do know is he isn't that guy.

He shakes his head and his brown eyes bore into mine. "I guess I don't have fun either." He lets out a tiny laugh. "Callum and I are more alike than I thought."

"You and Cal are nothing alike. He's all work all the time. I'm sure you have days off and have fun."

He raises his eyes to stare at the ceiling before settling back on me. "Honestly…"

My eyes widen. "Oh my god, Griffin. Do you not have fun on your days off?"

"What's a day off?"

"Griffin," I nearly yell. "You need to take some time off. You can't work twenty-four seven. It's not healthy. What do you like to do?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "Besides cooking?"

I crack a grin. "Yes, besides cooking."

"Umm, I guess I like to play golf sometimes."

I twist my nose up at the notion. "Not golf. That's boring. Why don't you, me, and Callum go do something on your next day off. Something fun."

He blinks at me.

"As friends," I rush out, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. "You both need to add some excitement into your lives, and I'm just the girl who can do that. I have Tuesday off next week. Do you think Callum can get the day off? Can you?"

Griffin smiles. "Callum can take off any day he wants. He's the boss, and yes I can take that day off too."

"Great, then it's settled. We'll go blow off some steam."

What am I asking him to do? Is this wise? He's been a family friend for years, and for some reason, the thought of him sitting at home all alone does something to my insides. Makes my chest clench. A sadness grows. I want to help him in some small way.

I have no idea what we'll do, but that doesn't stop me from saying, "Leave it to me. I'll plan everything."