gotten him this job. He couldn’t lose his temper.
He went back to his crust.
Timothy drained his mug and slapped Macon on the shoulder. “You finish that up. I’m going to go deal with a problem I’m having.”
He stepped out and Macon could breathe again. He let the sounds of the kitchen wash over him. He loved it here. With the singular exception of Timothy, he got along with everyone. Sean Taggart liked to hire vets. Chef Taggart was a former Green Beret and his kitchen staff came from all the arms of service. The sous-chef was a former SEAL, the saucier a former Air Force pilot. The line chefs were all Marines. Even the sommelier had spent time in the Coast Guard. Only Timothy and a few of the servers were civilians.
He fit in here. He wasn’t the only scarred fuck-up.
His life had taken on a pleasing rhythm. Wake up, exercise with his brother and Jake, lunch with his sister-in-law, who asked an insane amount of questions, work, and sleep. He had PT three days a week and saw the shrink twice. He was getting comfortable telling Kai Ferguson things he’d never told another person.
The only problem was Kai thought he was holding back and he was. There was one thing he couldn’t tell anyone. Not ever. He would take it to his grave.
He shoved the thoughts aside and concentrated on the individual crusts.
“You coming out with us tonight?” Eric Vail’s white apron was still pristine at this point in prep. The sous-chef was a lean man of roughly forty, with a jagged scar running from above his right eye to his jawline. He also was the best freaking chef short of the big boss. Eric’s sea bass rocked Macon’s world.
Macon had decided that men who’d been forced to live on MREs for most of their life took food seriously.
“I’m going to close tonight.” He liked closing on Sundays. Yes, it took longer because they weren’t open on Mondays, so he ended up helping Sean with the accounting. He liked it because he was learning how to run a business. Once he’d offered to help with the books, Sean had been thrilled to teach him. He helped with accounting and payroll. Sean’s wife, Grace, had spent hours teaching him how to use the accounting software. He loved baking, but he also loved the sense that he had a hand in the working of the business.
Eric shook his head. “You are crazy, my brother. I’ll drink some tequila for you. Or maybe not since I saw that you’re closing with the lovely Ally. It has not escaped my notice that you watch her.”
“I’m not stalking her or anything.” Not really. He just liked the way she moved when she didn’t think anyone was watching. After close, they would turn on some music and she’d move to it, her feet finding a rhythm as she mouthed the words to the songs she knew.
Eric’s emerald green eyes rolled. “I didn’t say that. I said you obviously have a thing for her. I think you should ask her out.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. “I’m not in a place to take care of a girlfriend.”
Eric frowned and leaned in. “If you give a crap about that girl, maybe you should rethink your position.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve been talking to Deena.” Eric was cozy with the hostess. She was a pretty blonde who didn’t seem to give a shit that Eric was scarred. She beamed when he walked in the room. “No one knows where Ally lives. A couple of the guys have asked and she puts them off with that smile of hers.”
He wasn’t stupid. The waitstaff was tight. They watched out for each other. Even after a few weeks, someone should have been to Ally’s place. Eric was right about that smile though. When she did smile, it kind of lit up the room. “Maybe she’s staying with a friend.”
“Or maybe she’s staying in that piece of shit Ford that’s always parked down the street on the nights she works. I walked by after Deena mentioned it. There are a couple of blankets and pillows in the back. I’m telling you if you like the girl, you better make your claim because someone’s going to take an interest sooner or later. The minute Sean Taggart figures out one of his employees is living in her car, he’ll take over. We don’t call it Top for nothing, brother.” Eric put a hand on his