Page 28 of Juniper Hill (The Edens 2)

Knox went back to cooking as I ate with abandon. He tore off an order slip from the printer, and it joined the lineup of others. While Skip manned the flat top, Knox arranged plates, then dropped a basket of shoe-string-cut potatoes in a fryer.

“Why Quincy?” His question was spoken as he sliced a ciabatta roll. He was so intent on the bread that it took me a moment to realize his question was for me.

“I wanted a small town. A safe place to raise Drake. I was thinking California. An influencer I follow on Instagram was raving about these small towns up and down the coast. But they were too expensive.” As much as I would have loved to live beside the ocean, there was no way I’d be able to afford it.

“You’re from New York?”

“I am. I was tired of the city.”

He pulled the fries, then smeared the ciabatta with an aioli, balancing what seemed like ten orders at once.

When I was in the kitchen, I had to concentrate only on

the food, cooking one thing at a time. He’d probably grimace if he knew that preparing my blue-box macaroni had taken me just as long as it had taken him to make it from scratch.

“So how’d you land on Montana?” he asked.

“That same blogger did an interview with this baker in LA. She, the baker, said her favorite place to vacation was Quincy. That she and her husband spent a Christmas here and fell in love with the town. So I looked it up.”

The pictures of downtown had charmed me instantly. School ratings and the cost of living had sealed the deal.

Knox gave a dry laugh as he shook his head. “Cleo.”

“Cleo. Yes, that was the baker’s name. You know her?”

“She invaded my kitchen on her vacation here that Christmas. I’ve never seen anyone make so much food in a few hours. We’ve kept in touch. I actually just sent her some recipes a few weeks ago. Including that one.” He pointed toward my plate. “Small world.”

“That it is.”

Though I hoped, for my sake and Drake’s, there was a bit that remained big. That over the miles between Montana and New York, I’d be able to put some distance between the future and the past.

Montana had an appeal for many reasons. This intimate, friendly community was one. Another was the lack of Ward Hotels in the entire state.

My grandfather had started the first Ward Hotel in his twenties. Over his lifetime, he’d grown his enterprise into a chain of boutique hotels before passing the business to my father. Under Dad’s rule, the company had quadrupled in the past thirty years. Nearly every major metropolitan area in the country had a Ward Hotel, and he’d recently begun expanding into Europe.

But there were none in Montana. Not a single one.

“I read Cleo’s interview, then saw the application for a housekeeping position and applied,” I said.

“And now you’re here.” Knox stopped plating and braced his hands on the table, locking his gaze with mine. Questions swam in his eyes.

Questions I wasn’t going to answer.

“Now I’m here and had better get back to work.” I stood from the table. “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”

“See ya, Memphis,” Skip called over his shoulder.

“Bye.” I headed for the door, glancing back one last time.

Knox’s gaze was waiting. His expression was almost unreadable. Almost. Suspicion was written across his handsome features. And restraint. Probably because he wanted my story.

But that confession was mine and mine alone.

I was halfway through the restaurant when my phone rang in my pocket. I dug it out, checking to make sure it wasn’t the daycare. It wasn’t. So I hit decline and stowed it away.

Sixty-three.

At this rate, it would be one hundred before the end of September.