Now That You're Here. Lynnette Kent
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pursued this particular piece of business. She would hate to let him down.
An hour later, she once again stepped out of a cab across the street from The Indigo. She wouldn’t press too hard tonight, when Jimmy was overworked and understaffed. But the music called to her. And if they happened to talk, and she happened to mention the medallion, what could it hurt?
BY 10:00 P.M., Jimmy wished he could close the club for the night. He was sick of lettuce, pickles, tomatoes and nacho cheese. Or maybe he should just close the kitchen down. People who really liked jazz didn’t care about the food.
Darren came in with a tray full of paper plates and crumpled napkins. “She’s back.” He dumped the tray in the garbage can beside the back door.
Jimmy leaned back against the counter. His hip was on fire. “Who?”
“The lovely lady from last night. Tall, red hair…” A certain appreciative light in Darren’s eyes said he was ready to elaborate on the description.
“Yeah, that’s Emma. Did she ask to see me?” The server shook his head. “She asked for a table and a drink—a Pimm’s Cup, if you can believe it. She had to tell Tiffany how to make it—tall gin and lemonade, in case you’re interested. Now she’s just listening to the band.”
“Great.”
Knowing she was out front destroyed what was left of Jimmy’s patience with food. He cleaned up fast, before Darren could bring in another order. Then he straightened his tie, pulled down his cuffs, locked the back door and went out to see Emma.
She looked up in surprise as he dropped into the chair at her table. “Jimmy! I didn’t want to bother you while you were working.”
“I just hung a Closed sign on the kitchen. You gave me the excuse I needed.” Darren set a whiskey at his elbow and he nodded his thanks. “What brings you down tonight?”
“I was in the mood for jazz. Maybe not acid fusion,” she said as the band went for a far-out chord progression, “but the silence in my room was deadly.”
“TV?”
“All the police and attorney programs are reruns.” She smiled at him, and his pulse jumped. “I thought live music would be more fun.”
They listened for a couple of hours, talking during the quiet spots, trading glances at high points in the music…and low ones. During the last break, three different customers stopped to harass Jimmy about closing the kitchen.
“You’d think the food actually tasted good,” he said after the last couple left. “The bread was fresh tonight, anyway. That might have impressed them.”
“Fresh is always a good start.” Emma’s eyes laughed at him over the rim of her glass.
He enjoyed her good mood, maybe a little too much. “What do you know about cooking, Professor?”
“Quite a lot, actually. I’ve taken classes for years.”
“No kidding? I’m glad you didn’t take more than a bite of that sandwich last night, then. I didn’t know I was feeding an expert.”
Her smile was preoccupied. “You know, Jimmy…”
He recognized that look. Emma’s troublemaking face hadn’t changed in twenty years. “What?”
“I could cook for you.”
“That’d be great some night.” He deliberately misunderstood.
She didn’t let him get away with it. “No, I mean here. At the club. I could be The Indigo’s cook.”
“But…” Jimmy shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “Emma, I can’t hire you, especially not as a cook.”
“Why not? I can do the work, I know I can.”
“This isn’t the kind of place you ought to be working at all. You could get a teaching job in any school in the state.”
“But I’m not going to get a teaching position. I…I’ve taken some time off.”
“A…what do they call it? A sabbatical?”
Her eyes avoided his face. “More or less.”
“Then you really don’t want to tie yourself down to a job like this. Anyway, I can’t see me being your boss.”
She folded her arms across her chest, which meant she was about to get stubborn. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re friends.” More than friends, for one summer. “That complicates the situation when you’re working together.”
“You aren’t friends with your other employees?”
His face heated under her accusing stare. “Sure. Except when the club closes, they go their ways and I go mine.”
Emma hesitated a few seconds, then cleared her throat. “We can do the same.”
She watched as Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “You mean—”
“I think that will work quite nicely, for us to see each other only at the club, as employee and employer.” The whole idea was preposterous, insane…and yet felt exactly right. As if she’d been brought to Jimmy’s club at this very moment for a purpose she wasn’t sure she recognized.
All she had to do was convince Jimmy. “You do need a cook, don’t you?”
“I thought so. Now I’m not sure.”
“Good food would bring more customers in.”
He shook his head. “The money’s in the liquor.”
“But food persuades them to stay longer and buy more drinks.” She lifted her chin, daring him to contradict her. Silently praying he would allow her this chance.
Finally he shrugged and sent her one of his sexy grins. “We can give it a shot, I guess. I was planning to offer seven bucks an hour for six nights a week, five to two.”
She fixed him with that look. “Fifteen.”
Jimmy choked. “What’s your experience working a restaurant?”
“What other choice do you have?”
“Jeez.” He rolled his eyes. “Nine.”
“Ten.”
“Damn. Ten.”
She smiled in relief. “That’s good, then. You won’t be sorry.”
“I could never be sorry to see you again.” Jimmy walked her to the front door and stood with her while she waited for a cab. “If you change your mind…”
“I won’t.” No uncertainty allowed. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to make some calls about provisions.”
He put his hand on her arm. “What about lunch?”
Emma hated to give up the chance for a private encounter with this stunning man. But in the long term, resisting might prove a better plan. “I’ll make lunch here—give you a sample of what I can do.”
He tightened his grip, then stepped back quickly just as the cab drew up to the curb. Opening the door, he leaned in as she settled on the seat.
“This is crazy, you know. Not what I planned at all.”
She took a risk and ran her fingertips lightly along the smooth line of his jaw. “Everything will work out, Jimmy. I’m sure of it.”
With a smile, he shut the door. Emma turned to the window and saw him still standing on the pavement, watching the cab out of sight.
Back in her hotel room, combing out her hair, she acknowledged her own qualms. “Everything will work out,” she assured herself. “I may have totally ruined the rest of my life. But surely I can manage to do this