Tempting Donovan Ford (27 page)

When he got home, he changed out of his suit and into jeans and a T-shirt. He could casually drop by her apartment, though really there would be nothing casual about it. And they’d both know that.

Donovan exhaled. He’d told Julia that he’d give her some time, even though it felt like the wrong thing to do. He’d given her time before and he was pretty sure it had made things worse. If they’d talked, maybe he would have realized sooner what an idiot he was being. Maybe she’d already be back heading up the restaurant kitchen, back in his arms.

But he’d said he’d give her some time. And now he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t want to go back to the office, didn’t feel like sitting around at Elephants
or one of the other bars, but he didn’t want to stay home, either.

He got into his car, and drove to his parents’, thinking he could hit them up for a family dinner, but they’d eaten early and were sitting in the backyard waiting for some sort of night plant to bloom. He’d declined the invitation to stay. He was desperate, but not that desperate.

Donovan would never have believed it, but his father actually seemed to like mucking around in the garden. Gus had even started to talk about growing his own lettuce and cucumbers, though there was some sort of disagreement about that with his mother, who claimed that she wasn’t giving up the plot where her peonies were located.

He left the two of them discussing it in the backyard and got back on the road. But he still didn’t feel like going home. His stomach growled. And he was starving.

He turned the wheel and headed to La Petite Bouchée.
He wasn’t expecting to see Julia there. As far as he’d been able to discern, she hadn’t been back since she quit. He didn’t know why that hurt him as much as it did. Maybe because he knew how much she loved the space and felt as though he’d ripped it away from her.

The hostess brightened when he walked through the door. “Mr. Ford. Do you need a table tonight?”

“Thanks, but I’ll just grab a seat at the bar.”

“Of course. I’ll let the kitchen know you’re here.”

“No, that...” But the perky hostess was already moving toward the kitchen, obviously thinking she was fulfilling her duties. Donovan sighed. She probably was.

The dining room was full, as it was most nights, according to Owen. He dropped in regularly to check on the staff. It was just one more thing he’d taken on of late. Donovan knew Owen was changing—had changed. It was just hard to believe that it would be permanent this time.

He greeted Stef with a nod. But maybe it was time to give Owen a larger role. Not too much, more of a gradual adding of responsibilities, but a larger role than the one he had today.

Donovan found a stool and hunkered down, but didn’t feel the satisfaction that normally came from taking what had been his usual spot only a month earlier. Yes, it was still his restaurant, but it felt empty without Julia.

He ordered the special and a beer. He sipped while he waited for his plate to come out, and was surprised when it was hand-delivered by Sasha.

“Donovan.” She put the plate in front of him and pulled up a stool. “Julia’s not here.”

“I know. I’m just here to eat.” But he didn’t pick up his fork, didn’t even glance at the plate of food. “Have you talked to her?”

Sasha nodded.

“And?”

“And she’s not here.”

Donovan looked at the plate. It was visually perfect, worthy of a magazine ad. He still didn’t make a move to taste it. “Is she okay?”

Sasha sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Donovan.”

It surprised him, the easy casualness of her gesture. He’d expected she’d be mad at him, too. Which was one of the reasons he’d avoided the restaurant until now. “You’re not mad at me?”

“No, I’m still pissed at you.” She smiled, which took the sting out of her words. “But I can tell you’re hurting.”

He was hurting. Not a quick jab like the kicks Owen used to deliver to his shins when they were kids, but a bone-deep throb that took over his entire body. “Just tell me that she’s okay.”

Sasha looked back at him with massive green eyes. She was a stunning woman, and one a man would have to be blind not to notice, but Donovan barely spared that a moment’s thought. He preferred dark eyes with a thick fringe of lashes that looked up at him in bed. Or down at him, depending on their position. “She’s fine. Well, not fine. But you know what I mean.”

Donovan did know. Julia was hurting because of him. A level of sickness joined his pain. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He thought he’d been doing the right thing for the business and the family. But maybe he’d gotten too wrapped up in the business. No, there was no
maybe
about it. “I feel like I didn’t really explain myself.” He’d focused mainly on the business, but that had been a mistake because the important part of all of this was him and Julia. The business was only that.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to wait until she’s back to tell her that.”

“Back? Where did she go?”

Sasha got a panicked look on her face. “I did not say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. Nothing to see here. Move along.” She shooed her hands at him.

“Can I eat first?”

“Fine, fine.” She hopped off the stool. “I need to get back to the kitchen.”

Donovan watched her go. So Julia was away. Out of town, presumably. He forked up a bite of fish. It was good, though not as good as when Julia had been cooking. Of course, he was a little biased.

He wondered where Julia might have gone. Clearly, Sasha wasn’t going to tell, but she wasn’t the only person he knew who was close to Julia. If he knew where she’d gone, he might get a hint of her state of mind. Whistler? Maybe she was thinking about him, remembering how much fun they’d had up there. Over to Vancouver Island? She might be sourcing out local suppliers in preparation for accepting his offer. Alaska? Probably planning to freeze him out forever or find a hungry-looking polar bear.

He pulled out his phone and punched in his brother’s number.

Owen answered his call with a cheerful greeting that Donovan didn’t return. Donovan cut right to the chase. “Did you know Julia was leaving town?”

“What?” Bar sounds came through the phone. Donovan recognized the sounds of Elephants, the low jazz music and the particular jingle of glassware. “She didn’t say anything to me about it. Where did she go?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

The bar sounds quieted as though Owen had walked off the floor and into the manager’s office. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really.”

“Ah.” Donovan heard the satisfaction curl through his brother’s voice. “So you’ve finally realized that you were an asshat to let her go.”

“Better late than never.”

“Okay, it ruins all the fun if you just admit it.” Owen’s tone grew serious. “I’ll call her.”

“Would you?” Donovan knew it was a lot to ask.

“Of course.” Donovan appreciated his brother’s honesty and loyalty. Maybe Owen had grown up more than he’d realized. “Don’t get me wrong. I still think you’re an idiot, but I know you care about her, and God knows why, but she cares about you, too.”

“I think Sasha knows where she is.”

Owen was quiet for a moment. “She probably won’t tell.”

“I know.”

“A woman thing.”

“Yep.”

“All right, give me some time and I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Donovan swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “Thanks, Owen.”

He hung up and went home. Donovan didn’t rest, though. He was lying in his bed wide awake, feeling how big and empty it felt when Julia wasn’t there with him, when his phone rang. He picked it up from his nightstand and looked at the screen. But it wasn’t Julia’s number; it was his brother. He answered. “Yeah?”

“I talked to Sasha. She went to Paris.”

“Paris?”

“She caught a flight out last night.”

“And Sasha just willingly gave up this information?” Donovan couldn’t help but wonder if this was a cover and Julia was really at her apartment, tucked securely into her bed.

“Donovan.” Owen’s voice was patient, as if he was talking to a young, not particularly bright child. “I’m friends with Julia, too, which Sasha knows. So I only tell you this because I trust you to do the right thing with the information.”

“And that is?”

“Get on a plane and bring her back.”

Donovan was stunned. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You’re both miserable without each other. So go fix it.”

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. “I told her I’d give her some time.”

“And normally, I’d tell you to honor that, but I think she needs to see you. I think you need to tell her how you feel. No more business, Donovan. Tell her how you feel.”

Donovan swallowed. Would she listen? “Do you think it’ll be that easy?”

Owen laughed. “I don’t think it’ll be easy at all. If she doesn’t make you work for it, I’ll be disappointed. But she’s happier with you. I already checked. The earliest flight leaves at two tomorrow afternoon. I’ve booked you on it.”

And if Donovan didn’t exactly smile, he felt as if he was on his way to smiling. “I don’t say this very often, Owen. But good work.”

“Aw, I think I just teared up.”

This time, Donovan did smile.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

J
ULIA SPENT HER
second and third days in Paris seeing the sights. The air was thick and hot. She could taste it when she breathed. Her head felt heavy. She hadn’t slept well, plagued by restless dreams and thoughts of the restaurant.

Officially, it wasn’t her restaurant, but still. Her heart hurt. She hadn’t realized just how much letting go of La
Petite Bouchée had been eating at her until now.

She visited the Louvre, then walked through the Tuileries Garden, eating a baguette sandwich she bought from one of the food carts. There was peace in the moment, eating the fresh bread, which always tasted better in Paris, soaking in the sun and greenery. Some of her tension lessened.

She found a seat on a bench and watched the people strolling by. The tourists with their thick-soled sneakers for a day of walking, phones out the whole time as they snapped pictures of the various sights and gushed over the beauty of the city. The locals in their slick European style, looking effortlessly elegant despite the warm day.

She could live here, Julia realized. She’d been happy here before and she could be again. She still had contacts in the city and two years’ experience of running her own kitchen. She could pack up everything she owned and move back.

Her eyes tracked a fiftysomething man, his dark hair graying at the temples, dark eyes focused on the path in front of him as he hurried through the park. He could be her father. As could the man walking in the opposite direction, with the kind smile and wrinkles around his eyes.

It was a game she sometimes played with herself. Wondering if one of the strangers around her might actually be her family. Her mother had claimed her father was a born-and-raised Parisian and Julia had no reason to think she’d lied.

Anger rose in her chest. And now she had no one. Her mother had refused to ever tell her who her father was. Not a name, a description, his age, not even where they’d met. Julia suspected it meant he had another family—one her mother didn’t want to upset with the introduction of a new daughter—but that hadn’t been fair to Julia.

She had been left with no one. Maybe her father and his family—assuming they even existed—would have welcomed her. Maybe instead of staying at a hotel, she’d be visiting them in their city apartment, tucked under crisp sheets. Cooking them a late supper while they all sipped wine.

Julia could picture the scene and she wanted so much to be a part of it, to be a part of something, that her chest ached. But there was no chance of that dream coming true. She had no way of ever finding her father, and though she thought she’d come to grips with that years ago, it appeared there was a small part of her that hadn’t.

She sighed. Great. She hadn’t come to Paris to add to her misery, to flounder in being a poor little orphaned girl. And that wasn’t entirely fair. She wasn’t alone. Not exactly. She had Sasha and the staff at the restaurant. At least, she used to have them.

She pushed herself up and started walking again. She headed in no particular direction, just letting her feet carry her around while her mind whirred. She did have a family. Not a traditional nuclear family made up of a mother and father and siblings. But her team at the restaurant was loyal to her and she to them. They’d come with her to a new place; she knew that.

She’d been their leader and occasionally their maternal figure, advising them on personal decisions and pushing them to reach their full potential. Very few of them had left to take other jobs during the renovation. That was unusual in an industry where high staff turnover was both expected and planned for.

Julia curled her fingers into her palms. She didn’t want to give them up or to let them down. She’d done both. She walked a little faster, the heat making her light dress stick to her back, but she didn’t slow down, afraid some of her thoughts might catch up to her.

It took the better part of the afternoon before Julia felt ready to sit down and think. She settled at a sidewalk café away from the touristy areas and ordered a light meal and a glass of wine. There would be no point to her trip if all she did was run away from herself.

It was time to face the facts. Something she’d known when she’d packed a small bag and boarded the plane to Paris. There was no easy answer. No quick solution that would make everything all better. But she needed to make a decision and stick with it.

The starter of fresh buttered bread stuck in her throat and she had to wash it down with a sip of her wine. Donovan claimed that he cared about her, that he wanted her to have La Petite Bouchée
.
But did he really care about her?

Her heart gave a painful thump. Maybe she was just a convenience. A woman he found enjoyable and attractive but not one worth changing his life for.

She took another sip of wine. It reminded her of the first time she’d tried it. It had been her twelfth birthday, and she’d been sitting in a bistro with her mom on their semiannual trip to France. Suzanne had allowed her a small sip as a special treat. Julia hadn’t liked the taste, too sharp and full of tannins, but she’d pretended otherwise, wanting to appear mature and sophisticated, like her mother and the other people around them.