With No Reservations

“That’s very European. And the name? Where does Simone come from?” Some bimbo he’d met while enjoying the Parisian nightlife?

Cooper’s expression clouded. “Someone who was very special to me in France.”

For how long? A week?

“She taught me how to appreciate food and enjoy cooking it. More important than anything I learned at Le Cordon Bleu.” His words became more flavored with French as he spoke, as if saturated by the remnant of this woman in his mind.

“And, let me guess, she was a little reluctant to leave the motherland?”

Cooper looked up, his forehead creased. “No. She died right before I moved back.”

Died. The word snapped against Sloane like a whip. “Oh. Wow. Well, she must have been...something...to, you know, name your restaurant after her and everything.”

She focused so her breath didn’t release in shredded gasps as Cooper launched into a story about Simone. Something about standing next to her over her stove top.

But Sloane’s mind could only focus on one thing.

Aaron.

She’d unintentionally wandered into an area of Cooper’s life she didn’t have security clearance for. And the intrusion only served to land her square in the middle of the place she kept under lock and key in her own life. Every instinct told her to take cover from the impending explosion.

“Can I use your restroom?” She stood so abruptly that her chair clattered to the floor.

“The water’s not connected—”

“That’s okay. Just tell me where it is.”

Cooper furrowed his eyebrows and pointed to a hallway on the far side of the kitchen.

The door to the restroom closed with a thunderous crash when Sloane heaved her hip against it. She pulled the jade-green sleeves of her cardigan over her hands and clutched the pedestal sink, leaning into it. Deep breaths.

She willed her racing heart to slow, trying to abate the pressure of backed-up tears.

Refold short stack of hand towels.

Angle off-center soap dispenser.

Normally she could handle talk of death just fine. It happened every day. But sometimes the jolting blow of emptiness sneaked up on her when she least expected it, even more than a decade after her best friend’s death. The days and weeks surrounding his birthday were always terrible—agonizing at best and unmanageable at worst. Well, she’d have to learn how to manage it better if she wanted to keep her job. Even if it was clear Cooper wasn’t a fan of the arrangement either.

With a few more deep breaths, the pressure softened a little, leaving a dull ache in its place.

Sloane straightened and watched in the mirror as the peach undertones returned to her pale skin. Her fingers worked with practiced precision to tame the stray strands in her blond braid. And then she was ready to face the world again. Ready to give Graham Cooper some lame excuse and retreat to the safest place she knew.

But she wasn’t ready for the look on his face. For the way he stood and stepped in her direction when he saw her walking down the hall. For the trace of remorse in his confident facade that made her knees shake when he asked if she was okay.

“I’m fine,” Sloane said. “But I need to be somewhere right now. Unless you have anything else to tell me, I think I’ve completed everything on the agenda for today.” And, unfortunately, a bit more than she’d bargained for.

“No, of course. I think we’re good.” Cooper started gathering dishes as Sloane packed her bag. He disappeared into the kitchen then returned to walk her out.

Sloane paused in the doorway, a sputtering explanation forming in her mind. Maybe she could tell him she had a situation with her contact lenses. Or something to dispel the truth he’d certainly picked up on that she was a total wreck. But she fled with a flick of her hand the instant his eyes met hers. Before the tightness in her chest could escalate. Before the moisture in her eyes turned from annoying drip to full-fledged leak.

Once she’d made it to the end of the street and turned the corner, out of Graham Cooper Jr.’s sight, she leaned against a building and wafted air into her lungs with flailing hands. She called her car service and practiced her breathing exercises while she waited.

Inhale, two, three, four.

Exhale, two, three, four.

She’d try anything to keep her mind off Aaron.

Nine stoplights, sixty-seven trees and fifty-nine footsteps later, Sloane was in her apartment, hands scrubbed clean. Curled up in her bed where she finally emptied her lungs.

I can’t take this forever.

CHAPTER THREE (#uc058528e-df7d-5147-8ac4-738b40217515)

GETTING THE RESTAURANT ready had spoiled Cooper, and now that he’d gotten used to the loose cotton of his work clothes, his go-to suits felt like wool straitjackets. But today he was leading a training seminar at the J. Marian corporate offices, so he had to be on his game and look the part for the group of franchise owners who’d flown in from across the country.

To mentally prepare, he’d taken his black Lab Maddie to their favorite park. The mechanics of throwing the ball and watching her bound after it had reset his focus from repairs and recipe testing. A long shower had washed the smells of the kitchen from his skin and gave him the chance to rehearse talking points for the training he’d led countless times.

But in the clean confines of the old Land Rover Defender he’d rebuilt, Cooper’s mind veered from the gray Dallas streets to his sawdust-covered restaurant, alternating between his massive to-do list and scenes from the mind-boggling encounter he’d had with his new PR person.

He’d been too busy to do his research before the meeting. Totally unprepared for how stunning she’d be in her own unassuming way. She reminded him of those cartoons he used to watch with his sister, a fairy-tale princess who’d been forced to get a real job—milky skin, a healthy rose to her cheeks, immaculate braid in a warm, golden blond. Natural, he could tell, not bottled. But she’d traded in her ball gown for business garb. And judging by the revolving door of faces he’d seen on the woman, she’d traded in her happily-ever-after, too.

As he parked in his spot in the garage next to his brother’s limited edition Audi R8, he shuffled the few facts he’d collected about Sloane Bradley. She was hesitant yet professional. Bold, yet there was something fragile about her that had nothing to do with the fact that she couldn’t be much taller than five feet.

He moved on autopilot through the dim parking garage, remembering how Sloane had practically bolted when he told her about Simone. Cooper recognized the pain in her eyes like he was looking into a mirror. Yes, he was very familiar with the kind of grief that sneaks up on you. With the dark, smothering bag it throws over your head and the way it pushes you into the back of a moving van.

As he opened the sleek glass doors, he catalogued all thoughts of Sloane with the mental list of things left to do at the restaurant and stepped into the massive lobby—clean and white and futuristic with purple LED uplighting. The smell of new construction was acrid, more glue and fused metal than the round scent of aged wood he’d become accustomed to.

“Sandra said to tell you he’s in a mood.” The receptionist covered the mouthpiece on her headset and motioned Cooper to the elevator bank with a curt wave before continuing her phone conversation in a polite, robotic tone.

Perfect. He rode an empty elevator to the fifth floor, and when the doors opened, his father’s assistant’s desk was empty.

Graham Cooper Jr. His name in red marker on the top of a cream folder caught his eye.

Why was his file on Sandra’s desk?

He reached for it, double-checked that he was alone and flipped it open.

“Are you looking for these?”

Cooper whirled around at the sound of his father’s voice and pressed his back against the desk, closing his file with a nudge behind him.

His father brandished a trifold flier with the Simone logo and glossy images of Cooper’s food that had been redone four times before he finally approved them. He didn’t consider himself picky on principle, but this was his restaurant and it had to be just right. Only, the images still weren’t quite there.

“Yeah, thanks.” Cooper took the stack of proofs from his father and turned toward his office. “I’ll send off these final revisions when they’re—”

“I still don’t know why you insisted on hiring some computer girl when you have a full staff of top MBAs at your disposal,” his father muttered.