The Lottery Winner. Emilie Rose
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be an asset to the Widow, then you’ve lost nothing.”
Except her pride. Logan had gotten her hopes up. How would she feel if no one wanted it? She had to take the chance or forever regret it. “Okay.”
He nodded. “See you in a few hours.”
She walked him out then caught herself checking out his broad shoulders and strong back as he descended the stairs. She shut the door a little harder than necessary and locked it, then pressed a hand over her pounding heart. She didn’t release her pent-up breath until he’d boarded his boat and driven away.
Logan liked her work. Someone outside her family actually liked her work. What’s more, he thought that others might, too. Joy and pride bubbled inside her. She danced in place, then sobered.
Putting herself out there meant possible criticism. Could she handle it? Then again, if this venture was a total flop, her family and friends—if she had any left after the lottery debacle—would never have to know. She’d go back to real life and leave her childish dream of becoming an artist behind forever.
* * *
WHEN THE KITCHEN door swung open, Miri checked the clock. The restaurant didn’t open for two hours. But instead of one of the kitchen staff, Logan’s investigator walked in. Ignatius was the last person she wanted to see.
“He’s not here,” she told him and experienced a twinge of shame at her nasty tone. Being a business owner meant being polite to everyone—even parasites. That was especially true in Key West. As cosmopolitan as the city seemed, it was truly a small community.
“I’m not here to see Logan. I’m here to see you.”
Suspicion trickled through her like water through a cracked levee. “Why?”
He removed his ball cap, revealing a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, and shifted on his feet. The big goofball looked so uncomfortable, her protest that the public wasn’t allowed in her kitchen stayed locked behind her clenched teeth.
“Today’s my daughter’s birthday. She and her girls are meeting me here for dinner tonight. I need it to be...special.”
Not even close to what she’d expected him to say. “I appreciate your business. I’ll do my best to resist the urge to poison you.”
“No. You don’t...” He hadn’t laughed. Had she expected him to? “I’m not explaining this well. Bethany and I... We don’t... We’re not close.”
That wasn’t a surprise. “What did you do to piss her off, Ignatius?”
“Don’t call me that. It reminds me of Catholic school.”
“It’s your name. I is only a letter. What did you do to turn your daughter against you?” she pressed.
His cheeks turned ruddy. “I wasn’t there for her and her mother when she was young. I worked all the time, trying to make detective. Then when Bethany was sixteen, Eileen split and moved down here. I couldn’t afford to come down more than once a year, so I didn’t get to see my daughter or granddaughters much. Other than birthday and Christmas cards and social media, we don’t communicate.”
“Why try to change that now?”
“Because Sydney and Chloe are the spittin’ image of their mama, and when I see their pictures online I realize how much I missed of Bethany’s childhood. I want a chance to do right by those girls.”
Sympathy surged like a storm tide inside Miri. She wished Logan’s father would have a similar revelation before it was too late. “How old are they?”
“Ten and twelve.”
She gave him bonus points for knowing their ages. “Have you bought your daughter a present?”
“Yeah.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a small, unwrapped jewelry box and shoved it toward her. “Just picked it up.”
She took it and lifted the lid. A gold heart necklace with three different-colored gemstones sparkled on the satin liner. The little tab said fourteen karat. It wasn’t junk.
“Those are Bethany and the girls’ birthstones,” he added. “I special ordered it.”
Kudos to him. He’d spent time and effort and had even planned ahead. She’d have expected him to just grab the closest thing—from the clearance rack, if his clothes were anything to go by. She snapped the box shut and handed it back. “She should like it.”
“Ya think?” He sounded so hopeful. Someone ought to tell him he was too old to have that puppy-dog look in his eyes.
“I think she will. What about a cake? Not that our desserts aren’t delicious, but a cake would be a personal touch.”
His dumbfounded expression gave her the answer. He hadn’t thought of that. Two of the kitchen staff came in. She greeted them then motioned Ignatius toward the dining room. She wanted him out of the sanctuary of her workspace.
“I have a friend who’s a baker. I’ll get something special from her. What’s Bethany’s favorite dessert?”
He shrugged, and his cheeks darkened again. “Does she hate anything?” Another shrug. “Allergies?” Same response. Miri sighed. She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for the guy or be angry with him for knowing nothing about his child. “Which birthday is it?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“Not a milestone, then. I’ll put you in Jessie’s section. She has a way with our younger customers that’ll put the girls at ease. And I’ll seat you right over there.” She pointed at the table she usually reserved for honeymooners. “It’s quieter so you can talk, and you can see the fish on two sides. Your granddaughters won’t have to fight for the best seat.”
“I...thanks, Miri. I appreciate it.”
“Now I need a favor from you.”
“Name it.”
“Drop Logan’s case.”
His expression turned from gratitude to pugnacity in a blink. Probably his cop I’m-writing-you-a-ticket face. “If I do he’ll just hire somebody else.”
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear even if she suspected it was true. “He’s so focused on finding his ex-wife he won’t even date anyone else.”
Green eyes searched her face. “Have you dated anyone since your husband passed?”
Taken aback by the unexpected attack, she struggled for an answer. “We’re not talking about me.”
“You’re accusing the man of not moving on with his life. I’m just saying, you might want to look in the mirror.”
She straightened to her full height at the offensive remark and opened her mouth to tell him where to go. But then she spotted the bartender close enough to overhear. With tremendous effort, she reined in her temper. Having a business to run required her to mind her manners no matter the provocation. Word got around. She couldn’t afford to tell the fathead what she thought of his rotten psychoanalysis skills. Not here. Not now. But one day...
“Leave dinner to me. We’ve got you covered.”
“Thanks, Miri. I owe ya.”
“Yes. You do.”
Logan plowed through the kitchen door into the dining area like a man on a mission. His eyebrows jacked up when he saw Ignatius, but he didn’t slow until he was beside them.
“You look all nice and tanned. Did you take the morning off?” Miri asked him.
“I’ve been out on I’s boat. Did you know Jessie’s an artist?”
She struggled with the news that Logan and Ignatius knew each other well enough to share expensive toys, then the rest of his comment sank in. “And you know that how?”
“I