Secret Vows

At no time since she’d come to Mission Grove had Greer forgotten why she was working at the restaurant. She wasn’t here to reconnect with her uncle or old-timers who’d watched her grow up. Someone was selling guns to those who couldn’t pass the background check. Every two hours she took a break, lingering in the parking lot to observe those coming and going. Charles Bromleigh was still the only name on her list of suspects. He came to Stella’s a minimum of four of the six days they were open for business. Chase always sat at the same table, ordered the day’s special or took advantage of the buffet Thursdays through Saturday. Tap beer was his drink of choice, with never more than two glasses on any given day. Despite his taciturn demeanor he was generous when it came to tipping. Most of the restaurant patrons avoided him as if he carried a communicable disease. The exception was Jason Cole.

She patted Bobby’s shoulder. “I better check the buffet trays. It looks as if the dim sum, pot sticker dumplings, spring rolls and barbecue spareribs are a big hit tonight.” Greer’s favorite was the steamed dumplings filled with chicken, pork or prawns.

Her uncle had hired an assistant cook whose mother’s ancestry was traced back several generations to Western China. Although they’d intermarried and assimilated, the women in Andrew’s family continued to prepare the dishes that had been passed down from great-grandmother to grandmother to mother to daughter.

Greer walked out of the kitchen as Andrew walked in through the opposite swinging door carrying an empty tray. He winked at her. “Great job.”

She smiled at the slender blond man with sparkling hazel eyes who had legions of young women chasing him. What they hadn’t known was Andrew was in a committed relationship with a much older woman.

“Thank you. What needs replenishing?”

“Nothing right now.”

She returned to the dining floor, picking up discarded plates and flatware, and stacking them in a large plastic bin for the waiters who did double duty as busboys and dishwashers on buffet nights. Greer acknowledged those with a smile and a nod whenever they complimented her singing.

“Yo, miss. Over here!”

She turned and made her way to a table with six young men, some who didn’t look old enough to shave. “Yes.”

One with a five-o’clock shadow held a twenty dollar bill between his fingers. “I’d like to order a pitcher of beer.”

Resting her hands at her waist, Greer gave him a direct stare. “I have to see some ID. You must be twenty-three to be served alcohol.”

“Isn’t the legal drinking age twenty-one?”

“It is.”

“Then what’s the deal?” he asked.

“The deal is I can’t serve you alcohol unless you’re twenty-three.” She smiled when he tucked the bill into his shirt pocket. “There is unlimited soda, tea and fruit punch.” Greer turned around so they wouldn’t see her smile, running headlong into Jason. She almost lost her balance but he managed to steady her, his hands going to her shoulders. Standing so close to him made her aware that he was very tall. She was five-seven but he had to be at least three or four inches over the six-foot mark. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Jason countered.

Why, Greer thought, hadn’t she noticed his slow, drawling speech pattern that identified him as someone who’d grown up in the South? His voice was deep and soothing at the same time. He also smelled wonderful. His cologne was a combination of musk, sandalwood and a hint of bergamot. It was as intoxicating as its wearer.

“Is there something I can get you?” she asked quickly, recovering her physical and emotional equilibrium.

Jason handed her a folded napkin. “I’d like you to call me.”

Greer glanced at his name and a number on the paper, recognizing the Florida area code. She continued to stare at the napkin rather than let him see the delight shimmering in her eyes. Jason had made the first overture, which eliminated her need to concoct a ruse to come on to him.

“Why?” she asked, not wanting to appear too eager that the record producer had approached her.

“I’d like to discuss some business with you.”

She looked up at him. “You want to talk business? What happened to your business card, Mr. Cole?”

Jason looked sheepish. “I didn’t think I’d need them tonight. I could always go home and bring some back with me.”

Greer saw people watching them instead of directing their attention to the stage where a quartet harmonized a Boyz II Men classic. “Please follow me.” She led him down a narrow hallway to an Employees Only door, stepping out into the cool late-summer night. Stopping, she turned to face Jason. The light over the door illuminated the area where Dumpsters were labeled Garbage, Paper, Plastic and Glass. Bobby was pedantic when it came to recycling.

Crossing her arms under her breasts, Greer angled her head. “What type of business did you want to discuss?”

Jason didn’t want to believe Greer wanted to carry on a conversation surrounded by Dumpsters. He wrinkled his nose. “Is there someplace else we can talk without smelling garbage?”

Greer shook her head. “I’m sorry, but this is the only place where we can talk without someone eavesdropping.”

“Okay, then I’ll make this quick. I’d like to make a tape of you singing several songs.”

“As in a record?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

Pushing both hands into the pockets of his slacks, Jason gave her an incredible stare. “Has anyone told you that you have a remarkable voice?”

Greer shook her head. “No,” she admitted truthfully. She’d been told she had a good voice, but not a remarkable one.

“Well, you do.”

“Because you say so?” she asked.

“No,” Jason countered. “Because I know so. You have perfect pitch.”

Greer paused, stalling for time because she had to make him believe she was wary that he’d approached her. “How do I know if I can trust you? I’ve heard too many stories about men offering women—”

“Stop it, Greer,” he interrupted. “I’ve never taken advantage of any woman and I happen to have too much respect for Bobby to mess over you.”

She decided on another approach. “Let me think about it, and then I’ll call you.”

Jason smiled. “Thank you.”

She returned his smile, silently admiring the dimples creasing his cheeks. “You’re welcome. Hold on,” Greer urged when Jason reached for the door handle. “I have to unlock it.” She hadn’t yet put the key into the lock when the door opened. Danny stood in the doorway gripping a black plastic bag.

He stared at her. “Sorry. I didn’t know you...”

“It’s all right, Danny. We were just coming in.” Jason’s arm circled her waist as the ex-Marine continued to stare at her.

“Is he your man?”

A beat passed as she replayed the totally unexpected question in her head. Jason wasn’t her man, and if he was, then what was it to Danny? Something about the way he was looking at her was off-putting, and Greer wondered if he was experiencing a flashback.

* * *

Jason didn’t know if Greer and the man she’d called Danny were previously involved with each other, then remembered Chase’s comment about her going through a nasty divorce; he doubted whether she would continue to work with a man to whom she’d once been married.

“Yes, I am her man,” he stated firmly.