Juniper Hill (The Edens)

Try harder.

It was a dick thing to say. I blamed lack of sleep for my short temper.

“Morning, Knox.” A loan officer from the bank waved as he walked my way, slowing like he wanted to stop and chat.

“Hey.” I raised my cup and kept on going toward the hotel. Given my mood, it would be better to stay in the kitchen today and avoid conversation.

The fall air was crisp and clean. Normally I’d take a few minutes to breathe it in, slow my pace, but at the moment, all I could focus on was the coffee on my damn shirt.

Downtown Quincy was quiet this morning. Kids were in school. The shops and restaurants on Main were open, but the bustle from summer was mostly over. People were enjoying the September lull and recovering from their months spent pandering to tourists. This was the time when locals took vacations.

I’d planned one. A vacation at home. Finish a few projects in the yard before winter. Find out if I still remembered how to turn on the television or read a book. But with Memphis there . . .

Vacation was canceled, effective immediately. I didn’t trust myself around her. Not with those pretty brown eyes flecked with honey and brimming with secrets.

I sipped the last of my Americano as I walked, hoping the half cup remaining would fuel me through the morning. Instead of heading through the hotel’s front doors, I ducked around the corner, following the length of the brick building to the alley and the service entrance to the restaurant.

The key was tight in the lock, something I’d fix on my canceled vacation. The door slammed shut behind me as I stalked toward my small office off the kitchen.

My desk was clear except for the staff schedule I’d been putting together this morning. Bills had been paid. Payroll information was off to my bookkeeper. One benefit of being here before dawn was that for the first time in months, my office work was done before breakfast instead of after the dinner rush.

I tossed my coffee cup in the trash, then went to the closet in the corner, reaching behind my head to yank off my shirt. With it shoved into a backpack, I tugged on the spare shirt I kept here in case of spills.

Try harder.

The shame on Memphis’s face was punishment for my sharp words. What the hell was my problem? She lived in the loft. I’d agreed to let her move in. It was time to stop grumbling and deal.

“Damn it.” I owed her an apology.

The Friday lunch hour would be busy with plenty of locals here to enjoy the end of their week. I was covering all meals today, which meant I wouldn’t get home until after dark. My window to track down Memphis was now. So I strode out of the office and left the kitchen, weaving through the restaurant.

“Hey, April.”

“Hey.” She smiled from her seat at one of the round tops, where she was cleaning check folders. “I’m almost done with this. Then what would you like me to do?”

“Would you mind checking the ketchup bottles in the walk-in?”

“Not at all.” April had only been waitressing here for a few months, taking the job after she and her husband had moved to Quincy. He was a truck driver and gone more often than not, which meant April was always up for an additional shift because home was a lonely place.

“I’ll be back in a few. If Skip comes in before then, would you tell him to start on the list I left on the table?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks.” My footsteps thudded in the empty room.

The restaurant was my favorite like this, when it was quiet and still. Soon there’d be people at the tables, conversation mixing with the clink of silverware on plates. But seeing the tables set and ready for customers was about the only time I could really appreciate what this space had become. Later, when it was busy, I’d be too focused on the food.

For most of the building’s life, this had been a ballroom with gaudy wallpaper, worn carpet tiles and no intimacy. Now it was utterly different, save the tall ceilings.

Knuckles.

The vibe was as moody and smooth as the food. I’d carved pockets out of the large space, shrinking the number of tables. Along the back wall, I’d built a room for the waitstaff to fill water and soda. Beside it was a cooler for wine and beer. There were no available liquor licenses in Quincy, but I’d left space to add a bar one day should one open up.

The tables were a rich walnut. A row of caramel-leather booths hugged one wall. A black grid separated a corner for large dining parties. One of the original, exterior brick walls that had been hidden beneath sheetrock had been exposed. The hanging pendant lights and sconces cast a golden glow onto the tables. The windows along the far wall let in light during the day and added to the mood at night.

This was my dream realized. And part of why I loved it so much was because I could push through the glass doors and walk into the hotel lobby.

As a kid, I’d spent a lot of hours here with Mom. While Dad had been busy running the ranch, Mom had taken charge of the hotel. How many coloring books had I filled sitting beneath her feet at the lobby’s mahogany reception counter? How many toy cars had I sent flying across the floor? How many Lego sets had I built on the fireplace’s stone ledge?

This was the scene of my youth. Griffin had preferred to ride shotgun with Dad on the ranch. I’d tagged along with Mom. When I’d moved home after finishing culinary school and working for years in San Francisco, it hadn’t even been a question of where I’d wanted to start a restaurant.

Mom and Dad had been renovating and updating the hotel for the past five years. Knuckles was the last major project for a while. Eloise had some ideas of her own, but those would have to wait.

At least they would if I took over.

She was talking to a guest at the reception counter. I turned the opposite direction and headed for the laundry room. One of the washing machines was churning while two dryers hummed as the sheets inside tumbled. There was a cleaning cart outside the break room so I moved to the doorway, finding Memphis at the coffee pot.

Her shoulders were slumped forward as she filled a ceramic mug. The phone in her pocket rang and she dug it out, checking the screen. Then as she’d done in my kitchen, she silenced it and shoved it away.

“Thirty-nine,” she mumbled.

Thirty-nine what? Who was calling her? And why didn’t she answer?

Those questions were not my business. And not why I was here.

“Memphis.”

She gasped and jumped, the pot in her hand shaking. “Oh, hi.”

“Sorry to startle you.”

“It’s okay.” She stared at my clean T-shirt. “Sorry about your other shirt.”

“It’s fine.” I eyed the mug. “You didn’t get a coffee from the shop?”

“No, I, um . . . just changed my mind. This coffee is good.”

That was a damn lie. It was bitter and boring, hence why I went to Lyla’s each morning for espresso.

When we’d collided, I’d been focused on my cup, wishing I had put a lid on it. Wishing I hadn’t been texting Talia. I’d sent her a note this morning asking if it was normal for a two-month-old baby to cry so fucking much. She’d replied with yes and an eye-roll emoji.

Memphis’s head must have been down too. And there’d been the distinct sound of coins clattering on cement.

She’d been digging for change. That was why she hadn’t seen me walk through the door. She’d planned to pay for a coffee with loose change. Change that I’d knocked out of her hand.

Maybe she hadn’t collected it after I’d left her on the sidewalk. Or maybe she hadn’t had enough.

“Why didn’t you get a coffee?”

“I changed my mind.” She tipped her mug to her lips. From beyond the rim, she sent me a glare. It was subtle, but fire sparked in those brown eyes. If she let that flame blaze, she’d level me to the ground and leave nothing behind but ash.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m trying not to be everywhere.” Then she breezed past me into the hall.

Yeah, I’d deserved it. And worse.

The cleaning cart rattled as she steered it away, then the elevator doors dinged as they closed.

“Why can’t I say no to my sister?” I muttered before returning to the kitchen, where Skip whistled as he diced a pile of red potatoes.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.” I swiped a clean white coat from the hook and buttoned it up, shoving the sleeves up my forearms. I was about to reach for a knife when I hung my head.

I’d gone to apologize to Memphis.

I hadn’t actually apologized. Fuck.

This plan to keep my distance wasn’t going to work if it took two trips to deliver every message.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Headache, Knox?” Skip asked.

“Yeah.” Her name was Memphis Ward.

She had smooth skin, flawless beneath the moonlight. She had dark circles under her eyes that bothered the hell out of me. She had a men’s black T-shirt that she wore in place of pajamas, and as often as I’d replayed last night, I couldn’t remember if she’d had a pair of shorts on underneath or just panties.

Maybe if we could just coexist, her going one direction while I went the other, we’d survive this short-term lease. With some space, I could banish all thoughts of her toned legs and pink lips.

“I forgot something,” I told Skip, then made my way to the lobby.

Eloise was at the reception counter, perched on a tall chair as she clicked away at the computer screen. The guests she’d been talking to earlier were now sitting on the couch in front of the unlit fireplace. When my sister saw me coming, she smiled. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m looking for Memphis. I saw her head upstairs. Do you know what floor she’s on?”

“The second, I think. Why?”

“Nothing.” I waved it off. “Just wanted to talk to her about something.”

“How’s it going with her at your place?”

“Fine,” I lied, then before she could ask more questions, I strode toward the staircase, preferring it over the elevators.

When I reached the second floor, I glanced down both sides of the hallway, spotting the cleaning cart to my left. My tennis shoes sank into the plush hallway carpet as I walked toward the room. The smell of lemon furniture polish and glass cleaner wafted from the open doorway.

I paused beside the cart. Her coffee mug was propped between a stack of clean washcloths and paper towels. The black liquid still steamed. When I looked into the room, my mouth went dry. My cock twitched.

Memphis was bent over the bed, stretching a fitted sheet to the mattress. Her tight jeans clung to the slight curves of her hips. They molded to the perfect shape of her ass. Her blond hair swung over her shoulder as she worked.

Fuck me. Why her? Why had Eloise put a woman like Memphis on my property? Why couldn’t she have found me a fifty-seven-year-old retiree named Barb who taught swimming lessons at the community center?

It had been a while since I’d been attracted to a woman. Why Memphis? She was as complicated as duck pâté en croûte. Yet I couldn’t look away.

Her phone chimed again and she stood, digging it from her pocket. She huffed at the screen and, like she’d done in the break room, hit decline.

“Forty.”

Forty calls? Memphis’s nostrils flared as she tucked the phone away and stared blankly at the unmade bed.

What the hell was her story? Curiosity had me hooked. Why was she here? Was it the kid’s dad who’d been calling nonstop?

None of my damn business. Too much drama. And I’d sworn off drama after Gianna.

I cleared my throat, stepping past the cleaning cart like I hadn’t been watching or listening. “Hey.”

“Oh, um . . . hey.” Memphis’s eyes widened as she brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. Then she crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze sparking with that same fire.

She was short, her gaze hitting me midchest. Or maybe I was just tall. I’d never gone for short women. But the urge to pick her up, haul her to eye level and kiss that delicious mouth hit so hard I had to force myself not to move.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

“Came to apologize. About what I said outside Lyla’s. I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders fell. “I’m sorry we woke you up last night. I should have left the window closed but it was stuffy.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

In truth, it hadn’t been the kid’s crying that had woken me up. It had been a pair of headlights. By the time I’d shoved out of bed and blinked the sleep of fog away, I’d only caught the glow of taillights down the road.

I’d chosen Juniper Hill because it got no traffic. But every now and then, someone would take a wrong turn. Or high school kids would think they’d stumbled on a deserted road where they could park and go at it in the backseat only to come up on my house.

After the car, that’s when I’d heard the kid. Once I’d heard his cry, I couldn’t not hear it. It had carried through the night, bringing with it memories I’d tried for years to forget.

“Well . . . I’m still sorry,” Memphis said.

“Do you always apologize this much?” I teased. I thought maybe it would earn me a smile. Instead, she looked like she was about to cry.

“I guess I’m making up for the apologies I should have made but didn’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Never mind.” She waved it off with a flick of her delicate wrist. “Thank you for your apology.”

I nodded, turning to leave, but stopped myself. “Don’t worry about the window. Leave it open at night if that helps.”

“Okay.”

Without another word, while I could still stop myself from asking more questions, I ducked out of the room and returned to my kitchen.

IT WAS after midnight by the time I made it home. The sky was dark. So was the loft. I slipped inside, stripped out of my clothes and rushed through a shower.

It was warm in the house, too warm, so I cracked a window before flopping on the bed. With a sheet tugged over my bare legs, I was seconds away from sleep when a piercing wail split the air.

A light turned on above the garage. It only seemed to make that baby scream louder.

That tiny cry was like a dagger to my heart.

It was the sound of a dream lost. The sound of a family gone.

I rolled out of bed and slammed the window closed. Then I snagged my pillow, carrying it to the other side of the house. Where I slept on the couch.