Feel the Heat (Hot In the Kitchen) (37 page)

Still freezing him out, she knuckled the corner of one eye. There was something important here and he tried to grasp on to it without losing his cool.

“Anyone can do that job, Jules. I know I push, but surely you don’t hate me that much.”

Finally, that elicited a response that wasn’t blasé. “Jack, I don’t hate you.”

“It certainly feels like it sometimes. I’ve no idea why you came to me. Why you left London in such a hurry. You won’t tell me anything. I set you up with interview after interview. I try to help and you throw it back in my face.”

She gripped the arm of the sofa. “Like I said, I just can’t do those jobs. I’m not good enough.”

If she had told him she was thinking of joining a nunnery, it wouldn’t have shocked him more. “Good enough? You could do those hostess jobs with your eyes closed.”

“They may as well be closed for all the good they do me.”

“What does that mean?”

Her swallow was so hard it sounded like she had gulped down a golf ball. “I need to pee. I need to pee all the time.” She stood, tears streaming down her face. All hopped up on baby hormones was his best guess.

“Jules.” He reached for her but she skirted him like his touch could burn and headed into the house. Something about what she’d said poked at him, the important thing he was missing just on the edge of his consciousness.

With purpose in his stride, he followed her. This ended here, or it would if he could get by Lili, who stood sentry. Her raised hand stopped a couple of inches before his chest.

“Give her a moment. She’s been pretty emotional the last couple of days.”

He looked over her shoulder into the inviting, homey kitchen, the heart of Casa DeLuca, where his sister’s heart felt at ease. Another few steps and he would feel the warm splay of Lili’s palm on his chest. For some reason, that enraged him beyond all sense.

“I know I can’t possibly compete with the DeLucas when it comes to happy families,” he said, unable to keep the vitriol out of his voice, “but that’s my bloody sister and she’s going to talk to me whether she wants to or not.”

“Of course,” she said in a reasonable tone that immediately deflated him. She stood back to let him by, and he walked in, feeling like a prize idiot for getting his nose out of joint. Despite the knock-back, he loved that about her. How she held no truck with his moods, how a single look could cut him down to size.

“Slow down and listen to her. Getting frustrated is not going to help,” she said, still as reasonable as all get-out.

“Oh, shut up,” he jabbed back, just to see if he could still make her smile. He could and that knowledge pierced like a knife in his heart.

“How are you?” she asked.

Oh no, they were not doing this.

“Busy with the restaurant.” He waved a hand to fill in the rest. Full sentences needed full breaths and he was having a hard time inflating his lungs to speaking capacity. The two women he loved more than life itself didn’t need him, and hell, that hurt like a mother.

Unable to look at her, he turned away from the pain to find Jules in the doorway to the living room, her eyes red-rimmed and going back and forth between them. Lili offered her a glass of water and Jules accepted it with trembling hands.

“I’d sell this kid for a vodka martini if I could.” At his raised eyebrow, she rolled her eyes, then finished off the water in a couple of swift gulps.

“Tell me what you meant about your eyes being no good.” He held back, his arms taut at his sides instead of crossed, trying to project nonthreatening body language. He’d read it in a book once.

“Just my usual backchat,” she mumbled.

“No, it wasn’t.”

She rinsed the glass in the sink and cast her nervy gaze about in search of a dishtowel. Or a way out of this conversation. With care, she turned the glass over on the draining board.

“Jules, he only wants the best for you,” Lili said.

He could feel Lili’s pitying gaze prickling his cheek, but he refused to look at her, preferring to focus on his sister. “Talk to me, baby girl.”

The endearment softened her face but all the tension transferred to her hands, now grasping the edge of the sink. The silence sat weighted but he let it ride.

“I can’t read all that well.”

“Because you need glasses?” he asked, confused. She did squint a lot.

“It’s not my sight. I wish it was.” She ducked her head and her speech streamed in low tones. “I stare at the words and sometimes I can see a picture of it. But other times, it means nothing and it takes forever to figure it out, if I can at all. The worst is names because I can’t imagine anything. By the time I work out what table to bring someone to, they’d be dead from hunger.”

He swore the room tilted. This could not be…His next words sounded like they came from a spot two feet to his right. “When did this start happening?”

She gave a defeated shrug. “It’s always been like this. I muddled through in school until I was old enough to leave.”

His sister couldn’t read.

She hated texting. She didn’t have an e-mail address. How had he not known this?

“Did you know about this?” he asked Lili, who shook her head slowly. The surprise on her face confirmed her response.

“Why didn’t Daisy and Pete tell me?” In answer, Jules dragged her teeth along her quivering lower lip. “You mean they don’t know?”

“I could get by with copying other people’s work in class. Badly. I’d usually fail all the tests.” He had known she never did well in school but her aunt said it didn’t matter. The world can never have enough hairdressers, she’d announce in that malevolent East End accent. He had despaired but then bought into the presented narrative that she was lazy because it was easier than making the effort. The failure he had felt then rose up to choke his throat now.

All his pain—and hers—reflected back from her shining eyes. “So, it doesn’t matter how many interviews you set up or how many jobs you try to get for me. I’m too stupid.”

His heart, lately fragile at best, broke at last. All this time, she had been alone, coping with this terrible burden. If only someone had paid more attention to her in school, if only he had visited more often, if only she had asked for his help.

If only
could take a running jump. From here on out, there was only Jules.

He wrapped himself around her, willing her stiff frame to relax into him. “You are not stupid, baby girl. You’re my amazing, gorgeous, funny, clever, and incredibly annoying sister. You can do anything you want.”

“Except hold down a decent job or read a book without giving up two sentences in or have sex without getting preggo.” With every self-accusation, he grasped her tighter. “Oh, God, Jack. I was on the pill, I swear. But sometimes I get confused and miss a day. I’m so ashamed.”

“I wish you had told me. Everything.”

She didn’t answer, just sank into him more. This is what comes of being a bloody optimist. He expected so much of people that his own sister couldn’t confide in him, fearful of his disappointment.

“Jack, I’m worried about the baby. What if he’s got th-this same thing I have?”

“What if he does?” It sounded like a learning disability, dyslexia perhaps. He would get her diagnosed and hire tutors or whatever was necessary to make this better. Make it right. Drawing back, he cradled her face in his hands.

“Now, I know you don’t want to hear this, but for the love of everything that’s holy, would you please, please let me help you?” He just wanted someone he cared about to let him love them. His world had been upended by her revelation, then righted again as he realized what he was dealing with. He would fix this because that’s what he did, but for the moment he would give her what she needed most. He would hold her and never let her go.

“Jack, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t. I want to and you know what I’m like when I don’t get what I want.”

Her eyes flew wide, shiny and filled with something he hadn’t seen before. Hope.

Supporting her would be his highest priority, and his thoughts tumbled over each other, his mind racing with everything he needed to do. First on the list, a chat with Evie.

“And you won’t send me away?” she whispered against his shoulder.

“No, you’re stuck with me. Wherever you are, I am.”

Turning his head, he sought out Lili, but the spot of tile she had occupied a moment ago was empty. She had stepped up to the plate to help, then receded back into the shadows. Just like always.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The message from his sister had said Tony would be cooking at DeLuca’s tonight and that he wanted to talk about the cookbook offer. To say that astonished Jack would be a massive understatement, but then his life over the last month had been a cavalcade of surprises, most of them at the hands of a certain Italian family. And now, just as he had cut his ties to Lili, the man who was adamant he didn’t want to encourage Jack’s connection to his family was holding out his hand.

Hell if he could figure out those crazy DeLucas.

The restaurant was closed on Mondays, so she wouldn’t be here. Still, as he approached the large oak doors, his body primed in anticipation of seeing her like it knew she was nearby. Upstairs watching those trashy reality shows he teased her about. Or over at the studio on the next block, cataloging her secret photo collection. Crossing paths at her house had only made his need burn hotter, and now, almost three weeks without her, he was a junkie jonesing for his fix. A clammy, jittery bundle of nerves.

More likely, he was nervous about Tony. Sure he was.

He stepped inside to find the place was hopping. And filled to capacity. And different.

He tried to put his finger on it.

The tables looked to be in the same configuration, but gone where the crisp white cloths, revealing lacquered tops that took it from staid to hip. The ceiling was still frescoed, but the imaginative drop-bulb lighting over the bar looked like something out of a modern art museum. The walls were still exposed brick, but the art—

The art. The swanlike curvature of a neck, the subtle arc of an inked calf, the graceful taper to a well-turned ankle. Sensuous, quirky, but tasteful enough so as not to scare away the regulars. Something unfurled inside his chest, a tentative curl of warmth and hope that he stamped down before it could race to the photo finish.

He blinked, and a blond, cherubic vision materialized before him. Francesca. Her serenity faltered for just a moment before she made a smiling recovery. Clearly not expecting him.

“
Ciao
, Jack. It’s good to see you.” She leaned up, he leaned down, and they did the Euro double-kiss exchange.

“New hours, Francesca?”

“No, just a special occasion.” The smile stretched wider now and his heart turned over. Looked like he didn’t even need Lili’s presence to get the yen. “We are showcasing a new menu and, well, you see…” She gestured to the end of the bar where a large flat-screen TV had been placed kitty-corner to give everyone an unobstructed view. Even from a distance of thirty feet, Jack could see images of cookware carouseling across the screen.

His heart swooped to his stomach. Commercials. Cooking Channel commercials.

Ad break over, the volume was unmuted and the graphic he had okayed six months ago came into focus, the lead-in for the premiere episode of
Jack of All Trades
. Pulse accelerating, he looked around, his brain finally catching up to his vision. This was a viewing party.

“Quiet, everyone. It’s starting up again,” Cara called out, waving the remote control. A hushed awe descended across the room. Jack hadn’t exactly forgotten that it was broadcasting tonight; he’d just preferred to ignore it. Maybe watch it later and wallow a bit. He had assumed Tony’s wounded pride would demand he forget about it, too.

He knew it was a long shot, but what the hey. “I got a message saying Tony wanted to see me.”

Francesca’s brows dipped in a chevron and Jack cursed his meddling sister.

“He is rather busy now but let me get you a glass of Brunello. Would you like to see the new menu?” she asked, as cool as the other side of the pillow.

“Sure,” he mumbled, taking it from her. Then he looked down, surprised at the weight in his hand, or lack thereof. Just a single page on quality cardstock. A few appetizers and salads, the best pastas and entrées. The veal meatballs. The gnocchi with brown butter and sage. Clean, inviting, fresh.

The cutting-edge art. The scaled-to-superb menu. His girl had won.

Damn if that didn’t excite the hell out of him.

At the bottom of the menu, a line proclaimed the chef would prepare any Italian specialty and that patrons only had to ask. Jack couldn’t hide his smile. He supposed that was what’s known as a compromise, the art of which he supposedly knew nothing about.

Francesca had moved off to talk to someone who was clearly related—he still hadn’t met them all—and Jack rested against the hostess podium, trying to blend in. All eyes were riveted to the screen, their attention only interrupted by brief dips to shovel that kick-arse gnocchi into their mouths. Everyone, that is, except a severe-looking blonde in a tight skirt and tighter blouse, who fiddled with a microphone and whispered to the guy with the video camera behind her. Local news crew, from the looks of it. Jack scanned the room and tried to convince himself disappointment felt close to relief when his search for the manager came up empty.