Dr. Schroeder, her therapist, told her the same thing Fe did: she didn’t want to get close to anyone new for fear she’d lose them. Is that screwed up or what?
The moonlight shifted across the storefront, and Lena looked up from wiping the top of the display case and out onto the quaint avenue that eclipsed over eighty percent of her memories over the past few years. The smell of fresh bread and yeast wafted through the bistro. When she inhaled, she sneezed, squeezing the wet rag in her hand.
As usual, everyone else had already left for the night, and she still had several more hours of work ahead of her. Though Adalyn, Melanie, and Sarah always offered to help, Lena liked to close up alone and really take stock of what had been done that day.
While she looked out at the street, a sudden urge to talk with Tank seized her. As crazy as it sounded, she missed him. So what are you going to do about it? He hasn’t tried to find your number. It would’ve been easy for him to find out the name of her catering company. All he had to do was call the host and ask for it. No, she was just being silly. It was summer, the night warm and breezy, with the scent of jasmine and evening primrose flowing through the air.
But you told him you weren’t interested. Damn that tiny voice that kept niggling at the back of her mind. He probably doesn’t even think about me. He’s got Quinn Fitzgerald to keep him busy.
A few days after the engagement party, Lena had scoured the society page for any mention of the party, and a photo of Blondie with her fake smile and even faker boobs.
Quinn Fitzgerald.
Besides money, what did Quinn have that Lena would want?
Tank.
Grimacing, she turned her attention from the street and back to scrubbing the counter.
Lena
One week later
Lena packed the leftovers from the bread case into a few bags and shelved them for the nightly run to the homeless shelter. Rubbing her left shoulder, she winced at the tightness.
Adalyn popped her head into the kitchen. “Do you need anything else, Lena? I can run everything over tonight if you want to get home.”
“No, don’t worry about it. You have finals to study for this week.”
Leaning against the doorjamb, she gave Lena a knowing look. “I have an hour to spare.”
“Everything is fine. Go home, Adalyn.”
“Okay.” She slung her tote’s strap over her shoulder. “You’ll call if you need anything?”
“Yes.”
Lena watched as one of her best employees turned around and walked away. A few seconds later, she heard the small bell above the bistro’s door ring as she left. Lena saw a lot of herself in Adalyn: driven, overworked, and determined. Whenever she would remind Adalyn to slow down and have some fun, she could hear Fe saying, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black”—one of Fe’s favorite expressions. It’s always easier to give advice than to follow it. But she worried about Adalyn’s crazy schedule. The college junior was studying for her nursing degree while working at the restaurant full-time, which was no easy feat. She wasn’t graced with the privilege that had made Lena’s life a lot easier than most. Both her parents had been doctors, and they had money put away for her education, which meant no student loan to repay—that was huge.
With a sigh, she stared off into space. It was exactly because of her fortunes in life that she was able to do what needed to be done to run a wonderful, thriving business.
Grateful for everything she had, Lena wanted to give something back to the community. She’d reached out to the Harvest Home Shelter for Women and arranged to drop off any unsold bread and leftover produce at the end of the day. Normally, Lena would send over an employee with boxes of food after the restaurant’s dinner rush, but that night, she’d decided to make the delivery herself.
The bell over the door rang.
“We’re closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow,” Lena called out. I forgot to lock the door after Adalyn left.
When she heard shuffling on the wooden floor of the restaurant, she wiped her hands on her apron and headed out of the kitchen. Maybe Adalyn had forgotten something. The young woman had left a textbook or two behind on more than one occasion.
She entered the front of the bistro. “Hello? Adal—”
Lena stopped in her tracks. Two tall, brawny guys stood in the middle of the restaurant, looking at the hand-painted salt and pepper shakers from France that sat on the top shelf of a wrought iron baker’s rack. A small shot of fear wrapped around her spine, but she forced a smile onto her face.
“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for the night. We open up tomorrow morning at eight. I meant to lock the door, but I was in the kitchen, trying out a new carrot cake recipe I created this past weekend. Anyway, I have something in the oven, so…”
The rest of her words hung unspoken in the air between them. One of the large men grunted and narrowed his eyes, while the other shifted from foot to foot, as if they had no intention of going anywhere. The bigger of the two stared at her, gripping his leather vest with both hands.
Shit. This isn’t going to be good.
She froze, but then she took a step back, thinking about the baseball bat she kept behind the counter. Calculating the distance between them, the counter, and herself, she didn’t think she’d be able to make it before either of them got to her first.
Her pulse thrummed in her temples until she could barely hear herself breathing.
The two men stood expressionless and silent, their fixed stares sending ice through her veins. If I had only locked the damn door. I have to get the hell out of here. Her eyes darted toward the kitchen behind her. Maybe I should make a run for it.
As if reading her mind, one of the men stepped right in front of her.
The tension in the air was palpable.
Swallowing, she gathered the frayed edges of her courage. “You—” She cleared her throat. “You gentlemen need to leave. I’ve already told you we’re closed for the night.” She did her best to make her voice sound strong and confident.
The man standing in front of her sneered. “We’re not here for food, sweet piece.” He looked at his partner, then back at Lena. “We’re here to tell you how it’s gonna be from now on. You’re gonna start paying bi-weekly dues.” His gaze slowly ran the length of her body. “And being a hot piece of ass don’t exempt you from collection.”
The man standing by the baker’s rack snorted. “But it may give you a discount if you play nice.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Taking another step back, she tried to covertly reach into her pocket for the phone. “I don’t owe anyone anything. I pay the licensing taxes and the vendors. I don’t even know you.”
The goon noticed her trying to slide her hand into her back pocket and lunged forward, pushing her until she was trapped against the back wall of the eatery, behind the display case.
“Dammit!” she cried out, her head slamming into the wall with enough force, she saw small ribbons of colored lights behind her eyelids.
“We’re here to do you a favor,” the man said. “You need protection. A pretty little thing like you” —he eased a jagged fingernail down the side of her face— “can have all sorts of bad things happen. I’m sure you don’t want that. We’re gonna be kind enough to step in and make sure you stay safe.”