Mountain Man Santa (Naughty and Spice)

Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

JERRY

“ J eremiasz?”

I shouldn’t have picked up the phone. Dammit!

My mother’s stern voice launches into a punishing Polish diatribe. She’s perfected the art of making me feel like a piece of shit. Amazing how she can still get to me thousands of miles away in a language I’ve tried to forget.

“Look, Ma, I’ve already told you. I’m not interested. I’m done with that life, and I’m never going back.” I grit between my teeth. The string of insults continues, and I don’t know if she’s listening to anything I have to say.

“I’m sending your brother out there. Maybe he can talk some sense into you.”

“No, no, no,” I reply without hesitation. The last thing I need is my family causing more trouble for me. After Stacey’s revelation about her kin, I’ve already got more than enough to worry about.

“You need to come home to take over Dziadek’s restaurant. Nobody else is going to do it.” As much as I love and respect my grandfather or Dziadek, no part of me wants to go back to the life I lived before going to prison. Refusing to give her the response she wants to hear, Mom launches into a lavish guilt trip, telling me I’m a terrible person, a failure, and the black sheep of the family…on both sides, including cousins.

“I’m in the middle of work. So, I have to go. Cze??.”

I hang up the phone, put it on silent mode, and stick it back in my pants pocket. My grandpa taught me everything that I know about the restaurant business, and if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t own the Silver Fork now. Despite all this, or maybe because of it, I refuse to return to New York City. I’ve never been a massive fan of burning bridges. Sometimes, that’s all you can do, though.

Glancing at the clock, I kick myself. It’s almost time for lunch service, and I’m hours behind on everything that needs to get done before the Community Chest Christmas Party tonight. At least we got a head start this morning with the new employees, but I need to quit getting so distracted by my voluptuous server. I haven’t been able to keep my hands off her since she first announced breaking up with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Elliott.

Well, in all fairness, I did wait one week before catching her under the mistletoe in my office and kissing her breathless. But I knew I had to act before she and that dumbass got back together again. I honestly don’t think she even loves him. And the same goes for him with what she’s told me about how he treats her. But they’ve been together so long their relationship seems like a force of habit.

A force of habit I kicked squarely in the ass with our kiss. I knew it would be amazing. After all, I’ve found her insanely attractive over the past two years and tried hard to keep those emotions to myself. But even I was unprepared for the fireworks that flew when our lips touched. Now, she’s the only thing I can think about, and it’s fucking me up work-wise and personally. I need her by my side so badly. I can feel it in the very roots of my being. But after this morning, I don’t know what to think.

A law enforcement family? Could my luck get any worse? Reminding myself of my mom’s conversation earlier, I admit it could get far, far worse if my brother Szymon shows up. A visit from the Polish mafia is the last thing quaint little Hollister needs.

“What can I help with?” I ask my line cook, Jose.

He shakes his head, frowning. “It’s pretty quiet at the moment. Just starting to prep for lunch.”

I scrub my hands, nodding to let him know I’m listening.

“Victor’s on a break. But then, he’ll be ready for the lunch rush, too.” Victor, Jose’s younger brother, washes dishes and does general restaurant cleaning as needed.

The door to the dining room swings open, and Stacey rushes in. A thick knot of desire lodges in my throat, even as I remind myself she’s the daughter of a cop, a less-than-ideal match for a guy like me.

“Chef,” she calls in my direction. “Do you have a moment? There’s a table of people who’d like to meet you.”

Annoyance flashes in me, but I tamp it down. Part of owning a restaurant is being gracious and hospitable, no matter how anti-social I sometimes feel. Scanning my apron to ensure I look presentable, I say, “Jose, I’ll be right back. Stace, lead the way.”

She walks ahead of me a few steps, and I can’t help it. My eyes slide down her curves, savoring the lines of her ample hips and round ass. Knowing how those curves feel under my palms from the limited kissing and caressing we’ve done over the past couple of weeks intensifies my urgent need for her.

She leads me to a table with three men, and I smile and nod as she introduces, “Chef, these are my brothers, Will, Mark, and Collin.”

I swallow loudly and hard, watching three pairs of eyes bore into me. Fuck, did they catch me admiring their sister on the way to their booth? This takes the kicker. The least Stacey could have done is warn me. I lean forward, offering my hand to each man in turn. Everything about them, from their buzz cuts to their clean-shaven faces and rigid posture, says law enforcement. I wonder how many more minutes it’ll take before they figure out I’ve done hard time.

On a deep breath, I ask gruffly, “Did you enjoy your meals?”

All three nod. I look at their faces, recognizing the slight resemblance of each man to Stacey. But their features are hard, severe versions of her delicate beauty.

“What brings you three to this neck of the woods?”

Mark leads, saying, “We always like to bring our families up this way before the holidays. Our women are out and about in Ophir City with the kids Christmas shopping. But we thought we’d stop in to meet the boss our sis hasn’t stopped talking about for the past month.” He frowns.

Fuck! “Well, she’s a great employee. I don’t know what I’d do without her,” I compliment, smiling innocently in her direction.

Mark butts in, “How long were you in for, and where did you serve?”

I knew this was coming. I’ve had more than one cop identify me as an ex-con on sight. They say my body language, how my eyes scan a room, and the way I sometimes hold my hands are all dead giveaways. But who the hell knows?

My gaze immediately goes to Stacey. Her face is bright red, her brows knitted together.

“Seventy months in Eastern,” I say quietly.

“For?” Mark questions, his eyes narrowing.

“Manslaughter in the second degree.”

“And how long ago was this?” the quiet one, Collin, pipes up.

“Four years ago. Haven’t had a problem with the law since. Not even a parking ticket.” I never speak freely about my past because it has nothing to do with my present. But I’d do anything for a shot with Stacey…even as I wonder if it’s already lost forever.

“Who’d you kill?” Will asks.

Stacey’s face hardens, and her gaze narrows. I can feel her shooting daggers at me. I meant to tell her all of this eventually. But I was waiting for the right time and the right place. Talk about a royal fuck up on my part.

“An opponent in the ring. I used to be an MMA fighter, and I also fought illegally for my grandfather and father.”

Collin cocks his head to the side. “Lees out of NYC into illegal fighting? That’s a new one for me.”

“More like the Luczaks outta Brooklyn.”

“Polish,” Mark says.

I nod.

“Mafia?”

“My family, yes. But not me. I’ve spent my whole life getting away from that.”

Will scratches his head, grimacing, and Collin whistles long and low, crossing his arms.

Mark asks, “So, that’s why a chef of your caliber ended up in podunk little Hollister?”

I shrug, not sure where he’s going with this. “Not really. I always dreamed of owning a restaurant in a small town with beautiful mountain views and a simpler way of life.”

Mark says, “I thought I recognized you from somewhere. Your beard threw me off a bit, though.”

Begrudgingly, I nod. “Jeremiasz Luczak. I prefer Jerry Lee because you try getting people in a town like Hollister to pronounce that kinda name right, let alone spell it.”

“How’d you come by Jerry Lee?”

“My roommate in prison. He was a big rockabilly guy. It was either that or Elvis.”

Mark shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re no Elvis.”

“No, sir.” I side-eye Stacey, madder than hell. I could’ve used a warning before this conversation. By the paleness of her face, I imagine she’s thinking the same thing.

“Well, look, guys, as nice as it’s been meeting you all, I have a kitchen to get back to.” I lean forward, offering my hand again. Each man pulls out a card and hands it to me.

“Seeing how much our sister talks about you, we’d like to speak with you more, Jerry,” Mark says.

I nod before turning around and striding back into the kitchen. Well, there goes the best thing that never happened to me… Dammit!

I shake with indignation by the time I reach my office, sitting down and staring at the wall longer and harder than I should. Another server gone, only this one’s departure will hurt a whole helluva lot worse than all the rest.

Throughout the rest of her shift, Stacey works hard to avoid me. I can feel the confusion and anger radiating off her each time she passes me, refusing to make eye contact or flirt. Fortunately, lunch hour bustles, so I don’t have too much time to ruminate on how fucking miserable her lack of attention makes me.

Has she really made me this needy? All I know is when it’s time for her to leave, I command, “Don’t move a muscle. I have your to-go box.”

She presses her lips firmly together, her eyes narrowing as I head in her direction with it. To-go boxes have become a part of our tradition. I give her one every time her shift ends. They started simple enough with cheery phrases or emojis. But over time, they transformed into crude love letters, barely scratching the surface of my feelings for her.

Knowing I can keep her safe, well-fed, and happy improves my whole day. Since I’m already down in the happiness department this morning, I lean into making her well-fed, giving her a box of housemade tiramisu—her favorite dessert. On the top of the box, I wrote in Sharpie:

Don’t…

When she flips up the lid, it reads:

Don’t give up on me or us… Give me a chance to explain. I need you, Shortie.

Her face softens, and her eyes warm as she looks at me before turning and walking out. She doesn’t smile or say anything, which is her MO when she has shit to process.

Staring through the back window of the kitchen, I watch until she gets safely in her car and drives away. As much as I feared what happened today with her brothers, it had to come out at some point.

Despite everything, the tenderness in her eyes reassures me she’ll come around eventually. She has to because with each passing day, I become more convinced I’ll never be able to live without her.