Page 13 of Until August
“Not exactly. But as I’m sure you know, restaurants don’t see much profit for the first few years, and I needed money. I had a lot of loans to pay off and a ton of bills.” He averted his gaze. “In the end… I lost everything,” he said quietly.
I shuddered. That was my biggest fear. Four years later, I still worried that I would lose everything. Sometimes, it felt like this restaurant was the only reason I got out of bed in the morning. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“And when did you lose everything?” I prodded.
He hesitated. “When I was twenty-nine.”
I did the math. “What have you been doing for the past five years?”
He rubbed his hand over his jaw, his expression shuttered. “I’ve been away for a while. Working in a kitchen. But it wasn’t the kind of place you’d want to put on your resume. I just…” He inhaled a deep breath through his nose and let it out like he was gearing up to say something monumental. “Do you believe in second chances?”
His question took me by surprise.
I wanted to believe in second chances, and in theory, I did. But I wasn’t sure it was that easy. “Is that what you’re looking for? A second chance?”
“It’s what I need, so yeah, that’s what I’m looking for. Give me a shot. You have nothing to lose. I’ll do a trial shift, and you can decide whether I’m an asset to your team.” His confident tone implied that he knew he would be an asset to any team.
But before I agreed to anything, I had more questions. “How did you end up in the Nguyens’ kitchen?”
“David and I used to work together in LA,” he said smoothly.
So, he wasn’t just a random stranger who had barged into their kitchen uninvited. I tried to remember if David had ever told me where he’d worked in the past but couldn’t recall. We were acquaintances, not friends, so we’d never shared much personal information.
“Just give me a chance to prove myself.” He held out his hands in a gesture of peace. “That’s all I’m asking.”
My instincts were telling me that this was a bad idea. Working in close quarters with this man would mess with my head. He was giving off so many pheromones it triggered a chemical reaction, and my entire body tingled with awareness.
But I needed help, and I needed someone good. A resume wouldn’t tell me that. The only way to find out if he was any good was to work with him. So I pulled out my phone and typed in his name. “What’s your last name?”
“Harper.”
August Harper. I tried to jog my memory, but it didn’t ring a bell. I typed the rest of his name into my phone and handed it to him. “Type in your number.”
He did as I asked, and I made sure our fingers didn’t brush when he handed my phone back. After locking the screen, I tucked it into my pocket. “I have to think about it. But I’ll call you.”
Thinking we were done, I opened the door to go back inside, but he called my name. I looked over my shoulder, brows raised.
“Sicilian pistachios.”
Sicilian pistachios?
Oh my God. It washim? How was that even possible?
Before I could respond, he strode away and left me slack-jawed. Sothatwas how I knew him. The memory came rushing back in vivid technicolor. How could I not have remembered that face? Those sea-green eyes? Those lips?
“Wait. August. How did you remember that?” I called after him.
I couldn’t see him and didn’t even know if he’d heard me, but I waited for his answer just the same. Finally, moments later, he responded.
“You’re not so easy to forget.”
Neither are you, August Harper. Neither are you.
CHAPTERSIX
August
