Juniper Hill (The Edens)

Memphis laughed as I strolled into the hotel room she was cleaning. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I’m on a break.”

“Uh-huh,” she deadpanned. “You had a break fifteen minutes ago.”

“Twenty.” I handed her the latte I’d just picked up from Lyla’s.

“What’s this?”

“A latte.”

She stared at the paper coffee cup like I’d brought her a brick of gold, not a drink my sister had refused to let me buy. Memphis sipped from the black plastic lid, and that look of sheer joy on her face . . .

For that look, for a laugh, I’d bring her a coffee every day.

“Thank you.”

“It’s just a coffee, honey.”

Her eyes softened. “Not to me.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I stepped closer, fitting my hand to her jaw. “Like you need to be kissed.”

A smile lit up her face as she stood on her toes. She was too short to reach my lips so I bent and sealed my mouth over hers, my tongue sweeping across her lower lip.

She gasped, her hand with the coffee stretching for the TV stand to set it down. But her arm wasn’t long enough so I took it from her, setting it aside, then I swept her up and carried her to the freshly made bed and laid her on the plush white comforter.

Memphis clung to me as I gave her my weight, pressing her into the mattress and wishing like hell I’d thought to close the door.

This woman made me hungry. Ravenous. Her tongue tangled with mine and I let loose a low moan into her mouth. She tasted like sweet coffee and vanilla.

She was the best damn time I’d ever had and so far, all we’d done was kiss.

In the past week, I’d barely managed to keep my hands off her. I’d had to put at least one hotel floor between us to get any work done, but even then, I’d constantly found excuses to leave the kitchen and hunt her down. And I’d kissed her as often as she’d let me.

But as soon as I’d been on the cusp of tearing her clothes away, I’d stopped. And for a week, my showers had run as cold as the early November air.

Fuck, but I wanted her. If kissing her was any indication, we’d be goddamn fire in bed. But she wasn’t ready.

Memphis needed slow. Steady. Maybe I did too.

But I’d been real with her last week. I knew what I was stepping into. With her. With Drake. And it was time to let go of the past.

She whimpered as I nipped at her bottom lip. That sound shot straight to my aching cock so I tore my mouth away and let out a groan, dropping my forehead to hers as we breathed.

“Knox?” Eloise’s voice carried down the hallway.

Memphis gasped, trying to shove me away, but I didn’t budge. “Knox.”

“What?”

“She’s going to see us.”

“So?” My sister was either going to see me on top of Memphis or she’d see me standing with a larger than normal bulge behind my jeans.

Memphis shoved harder so I stood, swiping her hand and tugging her to her feet. She pushed the hair out of her face as I wiped my mouth dry and adjusted my dick. Her cheeks were flushed. She scurried away to the bathroom as my sister reached the threshold.

“Oh, there you are. What are you doing?”

I nodded to the coffee cup. “For Memphis.”

“Ah. That was nice.” She gave me a smirk, like she knew exactly what I was doing in this room. Maybe she did.

Memphis came out of the bathroom with a can of glass cleaner and a rag. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Eloise smiled. “I just came to get Knox. There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

Eloise shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t give me his name.”

Maybe it was a happy customer. Or a pissed-off one. “’Kay. Where is he?”

“The lobby. I’ll point him out.”

I nodded and glanced at Memphis, giving her a wink. “See ya.”

That wink made her cheeks flame brighter. “Bye.”

I chuckled and walked with Eloise out of the room, following her down the hallway to the stairway door. Behind me, Memphis was beside her cleaning cart, her eyes glued to my ass.

When she realized I’d caught her staring, she simply shrugged and smiled.

I grinned and hit the stairs, following my sister to the lobby.

Eloise pointed to the man standing beside the roaring fireplace, taking her seat at the front desk while I went over to introduce myself.

The guy stood with his back to me, his frame covered in a tweed blazer and his neck wrapped in a thick plaid scarf.

“Good morning,” I said, maneuvering around the couch to stand by his side. “Knox Eden.”

“Morning.” He pulled off his brown felt hat, revealing his dark, bald scalp. He clasped the hat by the brim as he turned, his hand extended. “Lester Novak.”

Lester Novak.

Fuck. Me.

I shook his hand, taking in the mustache above his lip. That mustache was the logo he used in his magazine articles and on his website.

Lester Novak, a wildly popular food critic, was standing in my family’s hotel. And he wanted to talk to me.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, my steady voice betraying the racing of my heart.

“Same to you.” He motioned toward the couch. “May I have a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

Lester didn’t ask if I knew who he was either because he expected a chef to know his name or he’d seen the recognition on my face. Probably both.

We settled on the leather couch, twisting to face each other.

In the hearth, the fire roared, chasing away the late-fall chill that blew in whenever the lobby’s doors opened.

The scents of coffee and cedar and charred pine filled the room. Scents that would normally give me a sense of peace. But I was sitting across from Lester Novak and his dark eyes gave nothing away.

“I believe we have a mutual acquaintance,” he said. “Cleo Hillcrest.”

“We do. Cleo was a guest here a couple years ago. She, uh . . . well, she took over my kitchen one morning and made enough breakfast pastries to feed the entire county.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like Cleo. Her bakery is a favorite stop of mine whenever I’m in Los Angeles.”

“She’s damn talented.”

I’d wanted to strangle Cleo the day I’d found her in my kitchen. Matty had let her in to do a little baking. She’d used more flour and sugar in a morning than I did in a month. But one bite of a muffin and another of a cinnamon roll and I’d gotten over my irritation. Then I’d stood back and just let the woman bake. It was her gift.

In her latest email, she’d mentioned that she was trying to plan another visit to Quincy with her bodyguard turned husband. Cleo didn’t know it yet, but Austin had already arranged to bring her to Quincy after Christmas.

If Lester Novak gave me a positive critique, I’d comp Cleo and Austin’s entire holiday vacation at The Eloise.

Hell, I should anyway simply because she’d sent me Memphis.

“Cleo told me about this charming hotel in Montana,” he said. “I had a break in my schedule and decided to make a quick stop. As per usual, Cleo has exquisite taste.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your visit.”

“That I am.” He grinned. “Knuckles. Interesting name for a restaurant. The atmosphere was . . . unexpected. It reminds me of something I’d find in a city, not a small, country town.”

Was that a good thing? I couldn’t tell from his tone. “I could have put cattle skulls on the walls and let people toss peanut shells on the floor, but I’ll let the bars on Main do what people expect.”

“Good.” His grin widened. “I had dinner at Knuckles last night.”

Shit. What had I cooked? It hadn’t been all that busy, and I’d rushed through the last hour because I’d been anxious to get home before Memphis fell asleep.

There’d been a few burger orders. Lester might have been one, but given that his reviews of anything with red meat were rare, I was guessing not. Maybe he’d been the grilled trout tacos. Or the sunny-side-up pizza.

“And?” I asked.

“I don’t eat a lot of burgers.”

Damn. He’d had a burger. They were good, all my food was good. But they were just burgers. It was hard to get truly creative—which was why my father, a lifelong cattle rancher, thought burgers were beautiful.

The burgers were a local favorite but I could do so much better with so many other things.

“It was . . .” He stroked his mustache. Plain. Repetitive. Ordinary. “Fantastic.”

Oh, thank fuck. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“The waitress mentioned that you source all of your beef from your family’s local ranch.”

“I do. My older brother runs the ranch. Every year he finishes a handful of his best steers for me.”

“I particularly enjoyed the ketchup. That’s not a condiment I’ve ever been able to compliment before.”

I laughed. “I’ll have to give credit for that recipe to my mother.”

“There’s a story there, isn’t there?”

“There is.” I grinned. “Growing up, there were six of us kids. We went through ketchup like crazy. One day we ran out. It was the middle of winter and Mom didn’t feel like driving into town on bad roads, so she decided to make some of her own with some tomatoes she’d canned from the garden the previous summer. I don’t think she’s bought a bottle of Heinz since.”

Lester laughed and pulled a notepad and pen from the pocket of his blazer. “Would you mind if I used that story in my review?”

“Not at all.”

He went about making a few notes, all while my mind reeled.

Quincy, Montana, was not known for its food scene. The locals didn’t give a shit about a critic’s review. They didn’t worry about presentation. They cared that the food was hot when it reached their table and the prices were fair. It was a bonus if I sourced items from local producers.

That was the fantastic part about living here. There was no posh. Food was to nourish hard-working bodies and if it tasted good, well . . . that was the goal.

A review from Lester wouldn’t drive foodies through Knuckles’ front doors. But it was an accomplishment for me. It was something I’d be proud of for years to come.

“I’ve just started writing a monthly piece for Travel and Leisure magazine.” Lester tucked his pen and notepad away. “I’d like to feature Quincy, The Eloise and, in particular, Knuckles.”

“I’d be honored.” I didn’t bother hiding my smile.

“I’ll be staying tonight and am looking forward to another dinner.”

“Friday nights I run a special. I haven’t decided what it will be yet. Any requests?”

He rubbed his hands together. “Surprise me.”

“You’re on.” Ideas raced through my mind. Dijon chicken. Pork medallions. Beef Wellington. I dismissed them all instantly, needing to hit the walk-in to see what I had on hand. Maybe a fish?

Quincy was all about comfort to me. It was home. Maybe I’d make Memphis’s mac ’n’ cheese and fry up a chicken with my favorite chipotle batter.

“For the article, the magazine will want to send out a photographer,” Lester said. “Would you mind?”

“Not a problem. Just tell me the day.”

“Excellent.” Lester stood, holding out his hand once more.

I got to my feet and shook it. “Thank you. Truly.”

“As I said, it was my pleasure. Until tonight.”

“If you’re exploring Quincy, I’d like to recommend Eden Coffee. My sister Lyla owns it. Though Cleo’s got her beat when it comes to cinnamon rolls and muffins. Please don’t tell Lyla I said that.”

Lester laughed. “Not a word.”

“But Lyla makes a tart cherry turnover that is incredible. She gets the cherries from Mom’s trees and her pastry crust is magical. She made some this morning. If they’re not sold out already, you won’t want to miss it.”

“You know, I was just thinking about getting a coffee.” He tightened the knot on his scarf. “I’ll have to hurry over.”

With a nod goodbye, I watched him cross the lobby’s floor and head out the doors. When he was out of sight from the large windows, I did a fist pump. “Yes.”

“Who was that?” Eloise asked as I passed by the desk and headed for the stairwell.

I held up a finger. “Tell you in a sec.”

The first person I wanted to tell was Memphis.

I took the stairs two at a time, rushing to find her on the second floor. She was finishing in the same room where we’d been earlier. The sound of her ringing phone chimed down the hallway.

She was sipping her coffee when I walked into the room, declining the call. Memphis declined a lot of calls.

“Hey,” I said so as not to startle her.

Her eyes whipped my direction and the crease between her eyebrows, the one that always came with those calls she never accepted, disappeared. “That was ten minutes.”

I walked right into her space, once more lifting the coffee from her hand. Then I framed her face and dropped my lips to hers for a quick kiss. “Guess what?”

She smiled. “What?”

I repeated my conversation with Lester in a blur and when I was done she beamed.

“Knox, this is . . .” Her hands flew in the air. “It’s Lester Novak. The Lester Novak.”

“I know.” God, I loved that she knew how big of a deal this was. That she was more excited than me.

“When I worked for Ward Hotels, we always tried to get him to stop by the restaurant and do a review. But he is nearly impossible to get. And he’s here.” Her hands went in the air again. “In Quincy.”

“And he didn’t hate my food.”

“Of course he wouldn’t hate your food. Duh. You’re the best chef I’ve ever met.”

The compliment was given so casually, like she was stating the obvious. The sky was blue. Snow was white. I was the best chef in the world.

Funny how weeks ago an opinion like Lester’s would have been the ruler by which I measured my success. Now, as long as Memphis enjoyed her meals, I didn’t need a critic’s review or five stars on Yelp.

“What are you going to make?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I was thinking comfort food. He liked the burger. I think sticking to food that is Quincy tried-and-true will be best. But I’ll probably make it up as I go. That’s usually the best.”

She nodded. “I agree.”

“Want to stick around? Go get Drake and have dinner here?”

“Yes, but I probably shouldn’t. I don’t want to distract you.”

“You are rather distracting.” I tugged at the end of her ponytail. Then because I couldn’t stop, I dropped my mouth to hers and got lost in the woman who was consuming my every waking thought.

She leaned into the kiss, rising up to get closer.

I was banding my arms around her, trapping her to my chest, when a throat cleared from the doorway.

Memphis tore herself away, her eyes widening. Behind us, Eloise stood beside the cleaning cart in the hallway.

“Should I pretend I didn’t see that?” Eloise asked.

“Nope.” I chuckled, snaking an arm around Memphis and pulling her back into my arms.

She stiffened. “Knox.”

“It’s too late now, honey. She’s not blind.”

“Oh my God.” She brought her hands up to her cheeks, whispering, “I’m going to get fired.”

“Eloise, Memphis is worried that she’s going to get fired.”

“Knox,” Memphis hissed, poking me in the ribs.

I ignored her and twisted to my sister. “Are you going to fire her for kissing me?”

“Of course not.”

“See?” I gave Memphis a smirk. “Small town, honey. No one cares.”

“Knox, I just came up to make sure everything was okay,” Eloise said. “And since it is . . . when you’re done here, would you make me an early lunch? I forgot one today and I’m starving.”

“Sure.”

Eloise retreated down the hallway, and when we heard the stairwell door open and close, Memphis sagged.

“I wasn’t sure if Eloise would care.”

“Nah. But I’d better make her lunch before she gets hangry. And before I need another cold shower.”

Memphis gave me a sheepish smile. “Are you okay with this pace?”

“There’s no rush.” I kissed the top of her hair. “I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready, I’ll be here. We’ll take it slow. But no hiding it. I’m not keeping you a secret.”

The caramel flecks in her eyes danced. “No hiding.”

It might be awkward if I took over the hotel and became her boss’s boss. But that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, I just wanted to make dinner for Lester.

Then get home to Memphis.