Chapter One: You’re Fired

Hannah

I was late to work. Again. Vinnie was going to kill me. My mom’s chemo treatment had run late and there was literally nothing I could do. Especially with her treatments being an hour away and two towns over.

I passed main street as the volunteers of the Willow Harbor Christmas team took down the decorations for the year and began to back them up.

Easing my ten-year-old Toyota Camry behind Vinnie’s, I screeched into an empty spot and threw the car in park. Grabbing my apron, I ran from the car like my hair was on fire, clomping through the snow like a wild woman. Crossing the lot quickly I charged into the back door of the restaurant, passing through the hectic kitchen.

Fragrant smells of basil, cream and garlic hit my nose and I realized I hadn’t eaten lunch. I’d been too focused on entertaining my mother and making sure she was okay.

“Oh honey, I wouldn’t go out there! He’s positively evil today!” Sydney tried to get in my way and stop me from going out into the restaurant. Sydney was in her fifties and treated me like a daughter, always looking out for me.

“What’s new, he’s always on about something,” I said and side stepped her.

I was over an hour late for my shift but it was just past lunch so hopefully slow. He’d yell, probably in front of customers, and then he’d get over it.

“No honey, this time-,” she tried to finish, but I had no time to stay and listen. I burst through the doors and into the restaurant. I was still tying my apron, and nearly ran right into my boss.

Crap.

Vinnie was an angry Italian who had owned and run the place for over thirty years. But to make up for his hot temper, he served the best gourmet Italian in the entire state of Idaho. Right now, he was wearing an expression I’d never seen before. Not rage. There was no anger there. Just a deadly calm that scared me. He was also wearing a serving apron, something he never did. The owner and my boss wearing an apron. Which meant he’d had to pick up my tables. This was bad. Really bad. Why were we so busy? It was the day after New Year’s. People should be back to work.

Please don’t fire me. I need this job.

“You’re fired, Hannah,” he said through clenched teeth.

No.

In that moment, my gaze flicked to the gorgeous man at table nineteen. He was in his late twenties and looked like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine perfume ad. What was a guy like him doing in Willow Harbor, Idaho? And why on earth was he witness to this mortal embarrassment of mine?

“Vinnie, I’m so sorry. You know my mom’s sick, and I had to-” He raised a hand in front of my face to stop me.

“I’m sorry your mom got cancer, Hannah, but that’s not my fault. You need to get over it, and I need to run a business here.” He flicked his hand as if I were a fly that wouldn’t shoo.

Get over it? Get over my mother having cancer? Did he really just say that? No, he must have meant something else.

I frowned. “Just give me another chance. I tried to call,” I begged. The line had been busy, probably with to-go orders. He had to understand. “Please, you can’t do this, Vinnie.”

Table twenty and thirteen were staring now and I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, but I held my chin up.

Vinnie looked over at me. “What did you just say?”

I gulped. “You can’t do this… Vinnie?”

He nodded, and that angry mask he usually wore began to show itself. “That’s right. Vinnie, my name, is on the sign out front. And until yours is, I can do this. You’re FIIIIIRED.” He drew out the last word like I was slow on the uptake, and turned and walked away to tend to another table. My desperation turned to rage. How dare he speak to me like that. I’d been through hell the past three months, feeling abandoned by God and working two jobs to keep the bills paid, all while I tried to help my mother cling to life. Him speaking to me like I was an idiot, in front of the entire crowded restaurant at that, was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

No more nice-Hannah.

With a composure that would make my nana proud, I walked over to GQ’s table and grabbed the plate of red pasta out from under him. Arrabbiata with grilled chicken. Good choice.

GQ said nothing, just watched me as if watching a caged animal, probably afraid of what I might do. Which was wise, given how I felt right now.

Walking over to Vinnie, who was now helping another customer at table twelve, I upended the plate of pasta over his head, and watched in delight as he screamed like a fifteen-year-old girl and spun on me with a glare.

“I quit,” I said, and then took off my apron and let it fall to the ground.

A single clapping noise filled the restaurant. I turned in the direction of the sound to see GQ smiling at me. I burst out of the restaurant, immediately mortified by my immature behavior. It was just the way Vinnie spoke to me, the way he drew out the words “you’re fired” slow like that. It triggered something inside of me.

By the time I made it to the side alley between Vinnie’s and The Shake Shack, the tears came.

What was I going to do? Vinnie’s was the nicest restaurant in town. The food was expensive, which meant the tips were good. That was stupid of me.

Willow Harbor was small, and people would talk. Hannah having a mental breakdown at work would be all over town tomorrow.

Vinnie was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve pasta being dumped on his head in front of everyone. I shouldn’t have done that. I was late. I deserved to get fired. Shame burned my cheeks.

I sat down right on the asphalt and looked up between the two buildings at the blue sky.

“God, if you have a greater plan here, I’d love to be let in on it,” I told him with a whimper.

My mom’s numbers weren’t looking good today on her blood test, and now we were probably going to lose the house, the one she worked so hard as a single mom to get us. I was twenty-three with no job and facing eviction.

Awesome.

We could probably stay with Aunt Ellie in North Carolina for a bit, but her house was full with all of her foster kids. She had a good life there; I didn’t want to screw it up. Maybe if I found another job really quick and asked the bank for another late payment schedule---

“Hannah?” a male voice said, and I looked up, wiping at my eyes.

It was the GQ model. Now that we were up close and I could see him properly, I realized I hadn’t given him full credit. He wasn’t a perfume ad model, he was a cover type of model. Impossibly tall; thick, dark hair slicked back; chiseled jaw, and arresting, green eyes. He was one of those guys with such great bone structure you wondered if they had work done on them, or were just genetically blessed.

And I stole his pasta to dump on my boss. Great.

I took in a cleansing breath and stood.

“I am SO sorry about that in there.” I gestured to the building. “I owe you money for the pasta. That was not my best behavior. I just… I’m having a bad day.”  I muttered the apology, feeling mortified.

He waved me off like it was nothing. “Your boss shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. So, it’s Hannah with two N’s?” he asked, as he whipped out his phone and typed something.

Okay… that was very specific.

I frowned, confused at his question. “Yeah…?”

He looked up at me. “Will you meet me here tomorrow morning, like, let’s say eleven AM?”

What was happening? Was he a stalker or something?

I took a step backward, and his face changed, eyes going alert. “Oh no, this isn’t a weird thing. It’s about a job. I heard you get fired and I’m just trying to help.” He pulled out a card and handed it to me, and my posture relaxed.

Did God seriously just answer my prayer 30 seconds after I’d sent it? A job! Exactly what I needed.

“I can meet you at eleven,” I said eagerly.

He dipped his chin and gave me a heart stopping smile. “See you soon, Hannah with two N’s. What’s your last name?”

“Hannah Phillips.” I extended my hand.

He gripped mine in a strong hold, and my belly flip flopped at the contact.

“Jack. Jack Marrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Jack,” I told him brightly, and released his hand.

“Jack, your meeting!” a woman called down the alley. I followed the noise to see a pretty brunette in a black skirt suit hanging out of the back of a blacked-out SUV.

Who was this guy and what kind of job was he going to offer me? Because people in Willow Harbor didn’t dress like he did, and they didn’t drive cars like that.

I flipped over the card in my hand and frowned.

Jack Marrow was written in white text on a black background, with a phone number and email, but no company information.

I guess I’d have to wait until tomorrow to find out what the man did for a living, and what kind of job he was offering me.