Chris looked nonplussed at Jaime’s non-reaction. Luckily, the coffee pot dinged, breaking the tension.
Jaime motioned to the coffee. “Be my guest.”
The day proceeded about as well as the beginning did. Eric showed up an hour late, yawning and laughing about his late night, so Jaime set him on pumpkin prep duty.
Pumpkin prep was the worst, mostly because it involved shaving off the hard rind and then scooping out the mound of squishy pumpkin guts and seeds. But people loved pumpkin-everything around here, and Jaime liked to use it on the fall menu.
“Why don’t we just get the canned stuff,” Eric muttered, shaking his hand of pumpkin guts and making a disgusted noise.
“Because canned is never as good as fresh. Stop bitching and get to work, or you’ll be doing that for the rest of the week.”
Eric scowled and proceeded to prep pumpkins as slowly as humanly possible.
Jaime didn’t have time for his useless sous chef. He chopped, diced, stirred, sautéed, and baked alongside the rest of his team. He didn’t care if Eric bitched and moaned all day long: this was Jaime’s kitchen, and if Eric didn’t like it, that was his problem.
When lunch rolled around, though, Jaime was about to throw his sous chef out the window. He’d left to go to the bathroom, and thirty minutes later, still wasn’t back.
“Aiden, can you go find Eric for me?”
Aiden, a short kid with bright red hair who was interning at River’s Bend, said, “Let me finish whipping up these eggs whites…” He kept whipping, wiping sweat from his red forehead with his sleeve.
Jaime tossed his last bit of zucchini into a mixing bowl. “Never mind, I’ll do it. Keep whipping, but don’t put too much air into them.”
“Right-o, boss.”
Jaime went to the men’s restroom, where he found a grand total of zero Erics. Surprise, surprise. He went to the front desk and asked Kerry if she’d seen him, but she just said as she tapped her chin, “I haven’t seen him since this morning. Maybe try out back?”
Jaime squinted at the windows. It was raining, but not much. He didn’t really want to go outside and freeze his ass off. But as he walked to the front door, he saw a figure not far away. Jaime wasn’t even angry now: just tired. He shouldn’t have to pull teeth to get his employee to do basic tasks.
“What are you doing out here?” said Jaime.
Eric was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, hands in his pockets. “Taking a smoke break. What’s it look like?”
Jaime glanced at his phone. “You’ve been on break—without my permission—for over a half hour now. I’d recommend you get back to work or you can pack your things and leave. Your choice.”
Eric, though, didn’t make a move. Instead, he inhaled on his cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke drifting through the haze of light rain.
“I’m not sure you understand what’s going on here,” Eric said.
Jaime walked up and plucked the cigarette out of his hand, crushing it beneath his shoe. “I’m thinking you’re the one who doesn’t understand. You have five seconds to get to your job that you were hired for, or you’re fired. Is that simple enough for you to understand?”
Jaime knew that Adam would be pissed if he’d fired his fourth sous chef in a year, but he didn’t care. Eric could rot: he hadn’t added anything positive to his kitchen since the moment he’d arrived.
Eric shrugged. “I’m not sure you have the authority to fire anyone right now. Not when you’ve been caught stealing money from your boss.”
Jaime stilled. His fists clenched, and he almost picked Eric up by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. The rain fell a little harder, cold and piercing.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t appreciate threats, either. You’re one step away from being fired.”
“You can’t fire me. You know it, I know it, we all know it. Adam wouldn’t have it, and neither would my dad.” Eric turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “I’d recommend you not try to mess with me, especially since you’re the one who’s looking at charges for theft.”
As Jaime watched Eric walk back inside, he closed his eyes. He breathed in and out, trying to stem the flow of emotion roiling through him.
It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?
Jaime wasn’t one to despair, but right then, it washed over him like a tidal wave. Even if the investigation led elsewhere, Jaime was still tainted by it. He’d still been looked at, considered. He’d been doubted. And not only did his sous chef use that against him, but Chris, a man he’d considered a friend, had already judged him and found him wanting. That fucking hurt.
As the afternoon waned on, Adam asked Jaime to come to his office. Jaime had no real desire to speak to his friend, but Adam was also his boss, so he followed him inside his office without protest.
Adam sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired, complete with bags under his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you that an investigator is coming to the vineyard next week to talk to everyone. We’ve verified that money has been stolen, and now the police are essentially digging deeper to find out who is responsible.”
Adam didn’t say the words, but Jaime could hear them anyway.
“I’m the person they want to talk to?” Jaime asked. He gripped one of the chairs, his hand smarting under the pressure.
“They want to talk to everyone,” Adam assured him. “Not just you.”
“But they want to talk to me the most.” When Adam said nothing, Jaime swore. “I knew it.”
“Look, there are still no charges being filed against you. And I know you’re innocent, because you are a good, decent man. I’m behind you, Jaime. Please believe that. I don’t for one second think you’d steal from me. Besides, you’d think with all of this money you’re supposedly stealing, you’d at least get a new truck.”
Jaime barked out a laugh. “Clearly I’m not a great thief.” He paused, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “But thanks. For standing behind me.”
Adam got up and clapped Jaime on the shoulder. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”
Chapter Five
“I’ll get the dishes, Julia. Grace, do you want to help me?” Joy raised her eyebrows, and Grace had a feeling her brother’s fiancée wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Sure, I would love to.” Grace began piling the dishes from dinner while Joy picked up glasses and serving plates. The Danvers tried to have family dinner a few times a week, although everyone’s schedule didn’t necessarily line up. Tonight, though, both Adam and Joy had attended, for which Grace had been infinitely thankful. Her parents could focus on someone else for a change, instead of grilling her with the same five questions.
“Thanks, you two,” Julia said. “Let us know if you need any help.”
“I think we got it.” Joy went into the kitchen, setting the glasses in the sink with Grace following. The Danvers’ house was old enough that it hadn’t been built with a dishwasher, and Carl hadn’t wanted to spend the money since then to install one. Thus, everything needed to be hand washed. Grace was used to it, and she found it kind of soothing: the same motions, the warm suds, washing, rinsing, until you were done.