Best Laid Plans Page 12

  At that, my mom truly goes off the deep end, but I can’t really say I blame her. “Natalie? Little Natalie? Nate’s sister?”

  “Yes. That Natalie.”

  I hear my dad mumbling, and I know what’s coming next. “You said the girl’s three. That puts you at what, twenty, when she was…conceived? Son, correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s statutory.”

  Yep. Called it. I go on to explain the ins and outs of mine and Nat’s incredibly delicate situation. Our conversation is long and, rightfully so, my parents have a lot of questions. I answer them all to the best of my ability, and when we end the call, it’s with the promise of a video chat date soon so that they can meet their granddaughter.

  I tried my best not to paint Natalie in a bad light to my parents, but I’m still holding a slight grudge toward her, and I’m sure it shows. I’m trying not to, but fuck, easier said than done.

  To make things even more confusing, a few times during dinner tonight, I caught her giving me these looks—on the scale of one to ten with one being awe, that’s sweet and ten being holy shit take me now, she was a solid eight. Which took my brain nowhere good. I guess I get it though. Though things are tense between us, my body still reacts to hers—much to my mind’s dismay. I can’t help it; she’s just so effortlessly sexy. She always has been. Natalie’s the kind of girl that you fantasize about and take home to meet mother—basically, she’s the whole package—you know, aside from being a liar.

  But is she really a liar? I mean, on the one hand, fuck yes, she lied to me and everyone about who Tatum’s father was. However, the more I think about it—the more I try and put myself in her shoes—the more I get where she was coming from. And really, it was more of an omission of the truth than an outright lie. Doesn’t stop me from being salty about it, though.

  * * *

  It’s been eight days since I went over to Natalie’s house. To say that things have been tense between us ever since would be an understatement. Hell, I’m pretty sure the tension swirling around us is so thick that everyone in the same vicinity as us can feel it.

  The fact that the paternity test results should arrive any day now also has me feeling like I could crawl out of my skin. Which explains why I’m holed up in my office, anxiously waiting for her to arrive for her closing shift. Will she have the results, or won’t she? What’s even more strange is that I think I’m more nervous about seeing her than I am about the test—probably because deep down, I already know the answer.

  To make matters worse, my mind keeps reliving our last closing shift together. If I think hard enough, the memory of how her body felt pressed against me and the sear of her lips on mine has my pants growing uncomfortably tight in the crotch.

  This shit has to stop, I think to myself, standing and stalking into the kitchen. My head chef, Darren, shoots me a wry look when I walk in. “What brings you out of the cave tonight, boss?”

  “Got a new recipe I want to sample Friday night. If it does well, I want to add it to the menu.”

  His expression immediately transforms. Excitement lights his eyes. “No shit?” He turns to his sous. “Javier, cover me?”

  “Yes, chef,” Javier calls back.

  Darren wastes no time huddling up with me where I dive into the nitty-gritty of my new dish. “I want to make Friday night more upscale—a romantic and cozy date-night kind of thing. Not just a meal, but a destination, an experience.”

  Darren’s eyes are filled with intrigue. “But I also want to highlight our local and regional cuisine.”

  “I’m down with all of that, but get to the good stuff, Boss.”

  I laugh, appreciating his straightforwardness and passion. “Okay, check it, I want to do a small, intimate tasting Friday night. Fresh fish, blackened shrimp, collard greens cooked with Conecuh sausage, red rice, and a Cajun cream sauce.”

  “I’m down with all of that. You gonna be able to get the fish in time?”

  “Yeah, I talked to the market. I’ve been toying with this idea for a while.”

  “What made you pull the trigger?” he asks, but judging from his tone, I’m not sure how much he actually cares.

  “I…the new menu has been doing well, and it just felt like the right time.” Not to mention, I fucking need a distraction like he wouldn’t believe. Then again, maybe he would. I mean, my entire staff knows mine and Nat’s dirty laundry. Luckily, Carlos threatened their asses and told them they would continue to act professional or else. Guess their fear of him outweighs the juicy gossip my impromptu office meeting created.

  “Yeah, okay, Boss.”

  “Bring the crew up to speed. I’ll prep the front of house.” We bump fists and I pivot to head back to my office, only to run smack into Natalie.

  And I mean that literally. The momentum of our collision sends her sprawling backward, but thanks to my stellar reflexes, I’m able to catch her with an arm around her waist just in time, leaving us in a tango-esque dip. The only thing missing is a rose clenched between my teeth.

  I reach my free hand forward and grab her shoulder, hauling us both upright. We remain locked in our semi-embrace for far longer than necessary. In fact, neither of us moves a muscle—I don’t even think we breathe—until Darren coughs…loudly.

  And just like that, the spell is broken. Natalie jumps away from me as if I’m a bonfire and she’s a highly combustible solution. Ha. Highly combustible. If that doesn’t describe us, I’m not sure what does.

  “Jesus! Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Nate texted me.”

  “It’s all good,” I say to her. “Plus, I wasn’t exactly watching where I was going, either. No worries.”

  Her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. “Can we talk really fast?” she asks.

  “In a bit. Right now, I need you to go ahead and get clocked in” She looks crestfallen, and I feel like an ass, but somehow I know she has the test results with her and me…I just need some time to compose myself.

  “Yeah. Sure. Okay.” She scurries around me, and as much as I hate to admit it, my eyes stay glued to her ass—her plump, juicy, bitable ass—until she’s out of view.

  I start again to head for the door when someone else stops me…Darren this time. “Hey Boss!”

  “Yeah?”

  He snorts out a laugh. “Real smooth.”

  I shake my head and walk away; I’m not dignifying that with a response. I mean, it’s not like I was trying to be smooth. It’s not like I even want to be smooth around her. Even if she is my greatest temptation—much to my chagrin. She’s also my biggest weakness—just look at my inability to stay mad at her. Maybe that’s due in part to her being the mother of my child? Fuck if I have a clue. All I know is with every day that passes, my anger decreases.

  * * *

  I’ve managed to avoid Natalie for most of her shift. Pathetic, I know. But, I swear it’s like she’s out to make me crazy. From the feel of my hands on her body earlier, as innocent as it was, to the narrow indent of her waist before the sinful flare of her hip…damn, it’s all I can think about. Which is truly insane, seeing as I should still be upset with her—not lusting after her.

  It doesn’t help that the first time we crossed paths after her shift started, she was walking in front of me a few paces and dropped her order book. She bent to retrieve it, presenting me with the sweet apple of her ass, and, oh my God, I almost came in my pants. Honestly, I think it’s the universe punishing me for not manning up and talking to her when she asked.

  After that incident, I confined myself to my office, only leaving if absolutely necessary. The fact that I’m hiding out in here pisses me off. This isn’t the kind of owner I want to be. My style is hands-on and elbows deep, yet here I am cowering in my office because I’m too chicken shit to face the truth.

  Sitting at my desk, I stew. It feels like we’re engaged in some form of silent warfare. Logically, I know the notion is insane and completely a figment of my over-agitated and under-sexed imagination. But my heart’s not listening t
o my brain. The muscle in my chest refuses to take this war sitting down and wants retribution. My heart, the foolish bastard, screams what right does she have to dump the shit she did on you and then prance around looking like every wet dream you’ve ever had?

  Finally, I decide I’m being ridiculous. In an effort to prove to myself just how crazy I’m being, I head out to the floor. Only, right as I step out of my office, Natalie walks past me toward the kitchen, her hips swaying like a pendulum.

  Covertly, I watch as she enters the kitchen, all the while trying to convince myself not to follow her, but I’m helpless to resist her pull. When I enter the kitchen, my little lying temptress is leaning forward with her elbows propped on the counter and her ample cleavage shining like a beacon to every red-blooded male in the kitchen.

  The thought of my kitchen crew checking her out has me seeing red. “The hell are y’all sitting around for? I’m not paying y’all to gossip.”

  Natalie straightens, but it’s Darren that speaks. “Nat was just paying compliments to the kitchen from one of her tables.”

  “Great and now you know. So.” I wave my hands, shooing them. “Get back to work. And Natalie, why don’t you button your shirt up a little more.”

  She sputters, shocked by my words, before turning and stomping out of the kitchen.

  I pinch my eyes shut in frustration, fully aware I’m acting like a psychotic jackass. When I blink them open, my entire kitchen crew is staring at me—probably wondering if I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown…well boys, the jury’s still out.

  28

  Natalie

  Hand on a Bible, I’m about two seconds away from tearing Alden a new one. I came in tonight feeling the kind of hope I haven’t felt in a long time. The still-sealed test results are burning a hole in my pocket.

  I thought he would be as anxious as me to open them—but he’s running so hot and cold that I’m not sure if I’m going to need sunglasses or a fucking parka when we finally sit down to talk. One second, he’s cordial, the next he’s shooting me these lingering looks, and all in the same breath he’s basically calling me a whore.

  What right does he have to tell me to button my shirt up? Not to mention, only the top two are undone. You know, the same way everyone wears a button-down shirt.

  Thankfully, Alden’s pissy, mercurial ass stayed out of sight after that, and I pasted on a fake smile and got through my tables.

  It’s fifteen minutes to closing time, and I have one table left—a cutesy couple on a date. Their meals are long since finished, yet they’re still here, seated at their small table staring at one another all moony-eyed. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me. But the longer they stay, the longer I have to wait to storm Alden’s office and demand he talk to me

  “Maybe they need a little push,” I mutter to myself, heading back to my lone table. I’m so incredibly ready for us to open this envelope—I’m ready for him to know I’m not lying, even if he doesn’t remember that night at all.

  Quietly, I slide their check onto the table. “No rush, y’all. Just wanted to leave this here for whenever you’re ready.”

  Their conversation halts, and they blink at each other and then at me. The girl looks at her phone. “Oh, Andre! Did you see the time?”

  Her date checks his phone and immediately pulls out his wallet. He peels off three crisp twenties and lays them on top of his bill.

  “Thank y’all so much for dining with us. I hope everything was wonderful.”

  They both smile and thank me and then they’re on their way. I immediately dash to the closet and grab the cleaning caddy and set to work on my station. Memories of last Wednesday filter in, very much uninvited. Things like the way his scruff felt against my face and the way he wrapped my hair around his fist. I shut those thoughts down—the last thing I need to be when we talk is turned on.

  I fly through my cleaning and rush to put away my supplies. I’m not giving him another chance to blow me off or avoid me.

  Carlos intercepts me as I approach the office. “You ready to cash out?”

  “Yup. Ready to go.” I edge a little closer to the door he’s blocking. “Just gotta speak to Alden first.”

  “Nah, let’s take care of this first. You’re the only person I’m waiting on.”

  Resigned, I agree. “Fine.”

  I follow behind Carlos, hoping he’s not in the mood for small talk tonight. I’m a woman on a mission, and nothing’s going to stop me.

  Luck seems to be on my side and my book is settled quickly. I slip my tips in pocket, my fingertips brushing against the envelope as I beeline back to Alden’s office. Usually I knock, but tonight I don’t. I bust in, full of fire. “I swear to God, if you keep avoiding me, I’m going to lose my ever-loving mind!”

  I’m slightly embarrassed by my outburst, but there’s no way I’m backing down. We have things to discuss, and he’s being a wimp. I prepared for him to try and put me off again, but nope. Instead he chuckles. He. Fucking. Chuckles—that bastard. I pin him with a frigid glare, letting him know that I’m in no way amused.

  “Actually, I wanted to apologize. I’ve been an ass tonight. And yeah, I’ve totally been avoiding you.”

  “Is that all you wanted to apologize for?”

  He sighs, but it’s through a smile. “Also, sorry about the shirt comment. It was uncalled for. Safe to say I’m a bit on edge.”

  “Why?” I ask, wondering if it’s over what I think it is.

  He drums his fingers over his desktop. “Are the results in?”

  Bingo. “Yeah, I brought them with me. That’s why I wanted to talk earlier.”

  “What do they say?”

  “I don’t know. Well, I mean, I know, but I wanted us to open it together.”

  He looks mildly surprised by my words. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Are you ready?”

  He pinches his eyes shut and shakes his head back and forth a few times. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  I move to his side of the desk and pull the envelope from my pocket. The paper is creased from being folded in half for so long. He stares at it, unblinking and unmoving.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” I ask, nudging him.

  He pushes his index finger under the flap, running it along the seam until it’s fully opened. I watch with bated breath as he slides the papers out and unfolds them. Together we scan over the page, and there in black and white in the bottom right corner it reads: Probability of Paternity: 99.9998%.

  “Holy shit.” The papers fall from his hands, scattering on the desk and floor. “Holy shit! She really is mine!”

  “I told you,” I say weakly, knowing this has to be a lot for him to process.

  “I…I…wow.” Alden shocks me when he grabs my cheeks in his hands and presses his lips to mine. It’s not really a romantic kiss, but it lights me up like a Christmas tree all the same.

  I smile and twirl my thumbs together, not quite sure how to proceed. “Tatum’s really excited about us going to the park.”

  At the mention of Tatum, his eyes light and then immediately dim. “You think maybe afterward, I could take her to lunch…just the two of us?”

  I swallow and look away from him. It’s not that I don’t trust him—I do, with all my heart. I know he’s not only a good father but a good man. And I know Tatum loves him, even without knowing who he is. This hang-up I have is all mine, and I need to get over it. “Yeah, sure.” I whisper the words so quietly, yet they fill the room like a shout.

  He jerks his head back. “Really?”

  I don’t ponder it another second. “Yeah, Alden. Really.”

  * * *

  The rest of the week drags by, but now, it’s finally Sunday. From the moment I told Tatum that we were going to the park today with Alden, it’s been all she’s talked about. Lucky me, I had the foresight not to tell her too soon, but even still I’ve been hearing about it since yesterday morning.

  We’re nearing twenty-four hours of Alden-induced ma
nia.

  “Mama! It’s time to go now?” Tatum bounces and wiggles at the foot of my bed before climbing up onto it and snuggling up to me.

  For the past half hour, I’ve had my nose shoved into my Kindle, reading while she watched Netflix. But it seems the charm of whatever show she was watching—probably Trolls—has worn off.

  “Fifteen more minutes, Tater Tot.”

  “How long is dat?”

  I point to the alarm clock on my nightstand. “When that last number is a five, it will be time to go.”

  She nods, positioning herself so that she can stare at the clock until it’s time to leave. I shake my head at her determination and fall back into my book. I’m at a good part in my book—you know, a gooood part—when Tatum gleefully announces, “Time to go! It’s time to go! Hurry, Mama!”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should wait a little longer,” I say, teasingly.

  “No! No Mama! We have to go now! What if him thinks we’re not coming and he weaves?”

  Her desire to see him simultaneously breaks and heals my heart. I know for certain that when we tell her who Alden really is, she’s going to be the happiest girl on the planet. “I’m only joking. Let’s go!”

  Tatum yelps with joy and throws her arms around my neck before jumping off of the bed and hauling you know what for the front door. I, on the other hand, move at a normal speed, pausing to slip on my shoes. I detour to Tatum’s room to grab her shoes as well, along with a small bag filled with essentials for going out with a toddler.

  “Forget something, Tater Tot?” I ask, dangling her shoes from the tips of my fingers.

  “Oh! Yeah! Thanks, Mama!”

  I squat and help her into her shoes, and then we’re out the door and on our way.

  29