In Over Her Head: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

both died of the same thing. You’ve been freaking us out all this time and there isn’t even a consistent family history?”

“Death is the history, Mia.”

Staring as if he’d grown a third eye, she mumbled, “Unbelievable. I’ve seen pictures of Grandpa. He was overweight, and according to Grandma, ate red meat every day of his life. Of course he had high blood pressure.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Look at you.” She waved a hand up and down in his direction. “You’re the most in shape person I know. You eat healthy, you work out, you’ve never smoked a day in your life, and you could probably run a marathon tomorrow. If you’re on the brink of death, then the rest of us are living on borrowed time.”

“Dad was healthy.”

“Bullcrap. He ate at the restaurant every day, and not the salad. He also smoked.”

Collecting his empties, Nick corrected that statement. “He quit ten years before he died.”

Mia picked up the bottle Lauren left behind. “That doesn’t matter. The damage was done.” Before Nick could argue further, she said, “Wait a minute. Someone else was here.”

“Lauren Riley.” He shoved the empty bottles into the pack with the full ones.

“You were drinking here with Lauren Riley?”

Nick stood up. “Yeah. So?”

“But you don’t date chefs. That’s your rule.”

“I’m not dating her. We had a beer and talked about her restaurant.”

“In the spot where you bring women to charm them into your bed?”

So maybe he’d created this cozy little area for that purpose, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sit out here with a friend. Or an enemy, as Lauren probably considered them. Would he try to get her into bed if she wasn’t a chef? Hell yes. She was beautiful, challenging, and sexy as hell when those blues eyes snapped with anger.

He could only imagine how they’d looked filled with desire. But she was a chef, so none of this made a difference.

“Don’t read into it,” he said. “There’s nothing going on.”

“If you say so, but if you were ever to make an exception to that stupid rule of yours, this would be the time.”

Mia popped the last empty into the pack as Nick said, “No exceptions. Besides, for all I know she could be more interested in you.”

“She isn’t,” his sister said without hesitation.

“How do you know?”

She sighed. “I just know.”

On their way into the house, he asked, “What about Henri?”

He felt her tense up beside him. “What about her?”

“Why haven’t you asked her out?”

That earned him a smack on the arm. “You know why.”

“She’s let you know she’s interested. Go for it already.”

“I can’t ask her to sneak around like that.”

Nick stopped at the edge of the porch. “Mia, just tell Nota already. She loves you. She deserves to know who you really are.”

Ignoring him, she marched up the stairs. “You worry about your love life and I’ll worry about mine.”

Joining her at the top, he bumped her with his shoulder. “Neither of us has a love life, remember?”

As he’d hoped, she laughed. “At least I have a good reason.”

Not wanting to start this again, Nick motioned toward the door. “Get inside. I’ve got leftover shrimp alfredo in the fridge.”

“Oh, I am on that.”

By the time Nick tossed the empty bottles into the recycle bin, Mia had the alfredo warming in the microwave. No one on the island would probably believe that his sister and grandmother were the only women who’d stepped foot inside his house in months. So long as he maintained the playboy reputation, no one asked any annoying questions about finding a wife or starting a family.

Two things Nick was in no position to do.

7

Lauren’s day with Jackson had gone better than she’d hoped. They’d chosen three dishes from the Marina menu, keeping them as close to the originals as possible while adding small touches that elevated them to the level of the rest of the Pilar’s menu. Two included seafood while the third, a roasted beet and butternut squash concoction, would appeal to their vegetarian customers.

The best part of her day had been the revelation that was Jackson Moore.

Despite the changes she’d made to the kitchen, the man moved through the space with a casual ease. There was nothing rushed or intense about him—unlike other chefs she’d worked with—but he also didn’t move too slowly either. He was a font of knowledge about flavors, especially anything involving seafood, and was an expert on the subject of the islanders.

They discussed what the locals preferred versus the tourists, while exploring what might be lacking on the island that they could provide. If all went well, Pilar’s would fill those gaps and become the place to eat for both natives and visitors alike. Jackson also suggested they add a few kid’s menu items, since Anchor was a family destination and many parties would include the little ones. That was something Lauren hadn’t considered, but the more she learned about Anchor, the more her vision shifted to accommodate her new surroundings.

The next two days had been spent finding ingredients for when the full cooking staff arrived on Wednesday morning. A day that did not prove as positive or productive as those before it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Roxie. They were standing at the hostess station reviewing the menu design now that the offerings had been finalized.

“I’m fine,” Lauren said through clenched teeth.

On a normal day, the sounds of an active kitchen—the tap, tap, tap of a knife on a cutting board and the sizzle of oil in a hot pan—were like a symphony to her. But today, after four hours of having to correct and discuss and debate every damn thing, she wanted nothing but silence.

“Fine enough that you’re going to grind your teeth to dust.” Roxie took her hand and led Lauren to a nearby table. “Sit and tell me what’s going on.”

Desperate for a confidant, she lowered her voice and whispered, “If I hear the words ‘But that’s not how we’ve always done it’ one more