Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

But with the way life seems to constantly beat me back, I guess it makes sense.

I drag my attention away from the corner where Murphy disappeared and knock gently on the doorjamb to Memphis’s office. He glances up and then waves me in with a tight smile, and I step into the room that has become quite familiar ever since he hired me last month.

Even though most of my work is done in the restaurant on the other end of the property, I’ve been spending a few hours a week sitting across from Memphis at this desk, the two of us discussing big-picture items and shooting the shit.

He seems like a good enough guy, if a little high strung.

All I know for certain is that he’s the man who hired me, and for that, I owe him.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, his voice gruff as he shifts papers around on his desk. “I wasn’t expecting Murphy to have a complete meltdown.”

I scratch the back of my head for a second before tucking my hands into my jeans. “She seems … spirited.”

And sexy as hell, though I keep that part to myself.

“Spirited,” Memphis repeats, then huffs out a chuckle. “That’s one word for her. I’ve got about a million more, but I don’t want to scare you off by detailing all her faults. I’m sure she’s a lot easier to get along with when you’re not her big brother.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, considering him. Memphis told me his sister was intense, sure, but he said it in an affectionate kind of way. A way that hints at normal brother-sister fights over two decades of growing up in each other’s business.

That’s the way I talk about my brother, anyway.

Ash has plenty of faults, and the two of us have gotten into some serious arguments and at least a few scuffles over the years as a result. But I don’t broadcast those things to anyone outside of our unit.

The way Memphis is clenching his jaw and glaring at the paperwork he’s sorting through, and his mention of all her faults … It just makes me think he and Murphy have a few old wounds that haven’t healed.

It worries me a little bit, the idea that I might wind up at the center of some family drama that I have nothing to do with.

But with my background and all the toxic workplace drama I’ve experienced in my years working in kitchens, whatever little skirmish is going on between Memphis and Murphy isn’t enough to have me jumping ship.

I need this job.

Desperately.

So if that means I need to put up with hearing about the problems between my employer and his sister, so be it.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Memphis glances up briefly before focusing back on the documents in front of him.

I freeze, though thankfully he seems far too distracted by whatever he’s working on to notice.

I hadn’t even thought about a reason why I’d stick around after putting Murphy’s boxes in the hallway. Sure, I might be living on the northern perimeter of the property in one of the studio cabins, but this is the first time I’ve been over here so late. Memphis and his father told me I was welcome inside their home anytime, even if it was just to rummage through the fridge, but I haven’t taken advantage of that generous offer just yet.

Normally, I stop in here and there to connect with Memphis and talk through any updates or changes to our plans for the restaurant, but the only true time I spend in the main house is when their aunt Sarah makes everyone dinner in the evenings. It’s one of those old-world, employees-as-family things that I don’t think is that common anymore. But it’s a pretty nice benefit, and Sarah is an incredible cook.

Outside of my hours working, I’ve kept primarily to myself, wanting to enjoy my last nights of freedom before I begin the real hours as the head chef of a brand-new restaurant.

So sticking around during a family squabble on a Friday night is a bit out of character for me. I scramble to come up with anything I can think of for why I’m still here.

“Your dad told me your aunt usually keeps some killer desserts in the fridge for whoever might want them after hours,” I say, remembering what Jack said to me when he gave me a tour of the house and the property.

Memphis glances up at me. “Got a bit of a sweet tooth?”

I nod. “A little bit, but especially when I’m running on an empty tank. It’s been a busy day.”

He sets his pen down and then tilts his head from side to side before pushing away from his desk and slapping his knees. “I could definitely use the break. I’ll show you where Sarah keeps the goodies.”

I follow in his wake as he leads me through the large ranch-style home and into the kitchen.

Tugging open the fridge, he rummages around for a second before pulling out two large white platters. One is filled with cheese, salami, and other charcuterie elements. The other has a bunch of bonbons covered in cellophane.