Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

“That’s not true. It’s just not something you can see,” she replies, squeezing again. She pauses, her thumb stroking along the back of my hand. “Do you know what caused it?”

I sigh, deciding in that moment that I should tell Murphy about Gabriel.

“The bartender,” I say, glancing at her briefly. “He’s my father.”

Murphy’s silence is enough for me to know I’ve shocked her.

“Since when?”

At that, a laugh bursts from my chest, and Murphy giggles too, the simplicity of it slicing a sharp blade through the thick tension filling the car.

“You know what I mean,” she corrects, still smiling. “When did you find out?”

“I knew before I moved here, actually. My brother and I never knew our father growing up, always heard these really weird stories from our mom that just seemed …” I shake my head. “My mom is an addict, and it’s hard to believe anything she says, but when we were kids we just assumed she was telling the truth. That he abandoned us right after my brother was born.”

“I’m assuming that’s not true?”

“We don’t really know what’s true. Ash took one of those DNA tests during college and it connected him with a guy who lives in New York. And everything we’d heard my mom say made it seem like our father lived in California. So I took the test too, and we found out we’re actually half brothers.”

Murphy’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh.”

“Yeah. Different fathers. And mine is here. In that bar. And I don’t think he even knows I exist.”

She turns so she’s facing me and leans to the side against the headrest, then adjusts her hand in mine so our fingers are linked together.

“He has a family,” I continue. “A wife and a son named Preston. I guess he just turned twelve, which means I have another brother.”

We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of what I’ve just said resting heavy on my shoulders.

“What can I do?” Her sweet voice is so earnest and caring.

I squeeze her hand in mine, wanting her to know just how glad I am that she came to find me.

“Just be here with me.”

Murphy nods. “I can do that.”

Then she lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses the back of my palm.

And even though I’ve just had this terrible anxiety attack, and I feel shattered and broken and exhausted in so many ways, I’m still able to pinpoint it.

This is the moment I begin to fall in love with Murphy Hawthorne.

The next two days fly by way faster than I would like them to, considering how much there still is to do if we want to be ready for the opening. But that’s how it always is, so it’s actually a comforting kind of chaos.

I lose myself in prepping the galley with everything we might possibly need, refining the menu and setting up orders for ingredients, and teaching the two young part-time line cooks who are going to be helping me in the kitchen.

Kellan and Mark aren’t that much younger than me, but they both have limited experience, so we spend a lot of time reviewing standards for certain menu items and expectations for plating.

Memphis asked me why I hired two green twentysomethings without culinary degrees instead of chefs like me, and I told him the truth: these kids will bust their asses to learn, and sometimes that’s what you need in a kitchen to make it a success.

I’m not entirely sure that I sold him on it, but he didn’t question me any further.

It really is nice having someone trust me with the decisions. It always felt like someone was critiquing my every move in my previous positions. It was understandable—if someone invests millions in opening a restaurant, they’re going to have opinions and concerns.

Thankfully, Memphis’s investment into this place wasn’t quite in seven-figures territory, and it seems like his concern is on par with the dollar amount.

“Do you have a second?”