him, fluttered over like nothing. It cut. He wasn’t used to being passed over and he decided he didn’t care for it.
“How was your meal?” Julia didn’t even mention the bottle of wine, which surprised him. Unless she hadn’t received it?
No, he knew it had arrived. He’d insisted on a signature upon delivery and recognized Sasha’s name. While Donovan didn’t know her well, he found it highly unlikely that Sasha would have forgotten to give Julia the bottle or kept it for herself, which meant Julia didn’t want to acknowledge it. Or him.
His brother was practically falling all over himself and Julia, praising the excellence of the meal. Mal was a little more circumspect, but she was incredibly complimentary, too. Of course, they hadn’t had their gifts ignored.
“Did you like your gift?” Donovan said when Julia finally looked at him.
She jolted. “Yes, thank you. The staff and I enjoyed it very much.”
She’d shared it with her staff? The thousand-dollar bottle he’d handpicked from his stash to give to her personally had been passed around the kitchen? But even as the thought flashed through his mind, Donovan could appreciate the magnanimity of her gesture. What better way to show people how much you appreciated them than by sharing your good fortune, which was exactly what he’d done with her. He’d just hoped she might return the favor by sharing the bottle with him. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Julia nodded, a light flush rising on her cheeks. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the kitchen.”
“Of course,” Donovan said before Owen could. He watched her walk away, the sway in her step that made him forget all about the skinny blondes of his past. Tatiana who?
“I didn’t know we were sending wine to our staff now.”
“We’re not.” This was a personal gift from him. But he didn’t tell his sister that. And he wasn’t even sure what had brought on the generosity. He needed to concentrate on getting the restaurant up to par so that when he managed to get his father’s agreement to sell, they could list the property immediately. He needed to focus on work. They all did.
Donovan glanced at his brother, who was smiling at the bartender across the room. “Owen.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, but first Julia and then the bartender? Was there anyone safe from Owen’s charms? “Don’t you have to work tonight?”
Owen should be on-site at Elephants, making sure everything was running smoothly, not sitting in a restaurant. He didn’t appear upset by Donovan’s tone. “I’m heading over after dinner. The staff can handle things without me.”
Donovan was sure they could, since the assistant manager at Elephants was incredibly competent. She could probably handle the Apocalypse without batting an eye. Still, that didn’t excuse Owen from his work. If he wanted to get paid, he needed to put in the hours. “You’re expected to be there—”
“I haven’t had a day off in two weeks and I’m working tonight. Okay?” Owen patted his lips and then rose. “If it makes you happy, I’ll go now.”
But Donovan noticed that Owen stopped by the bar, charmed the woman working behind it, and chatted with the hostess on his way out. Donovan wouldn’t have minded any of that. Owen’s people skills were his greatest attribute. But when Donovan saw Julia duck back out of the kitchen and head straight toward his brother, saw them hug and kiss each other once more, his hands fisted.
No. His brother was welcome to spread his charm across the city. He could date a different woman every night. He could bring them into his bar and comp them drinks and food all night. But he could not date Julia. Hell, no. Donovan had just gotten her to sign a contract. He wasn’t about to have Owen risk that for a quickie.
But he kept his aggravation hidden under a polite smile. This was nothing to get into now. Especially since he’d be sure that it wouldn’t amount to anything.
Donovan and Mal chatted about work for a while, and when their server came by to ask if they’d like anything else, he ordered dessert and coffee. Just getting the full meal experience provided by the restaurant. And if he got another look at Julia, that would be okay, too.
Mal declined. “I’m exhausted,” she told him. “If I have coffee this late, I’ll be up all night.” She did look tired.
“We can go, then.” He started to lift a hand to call for the check and cancel the dessert.
“No, no.” Mal waved a hand. “You stay.” She stood and came over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Enjoy the dessert. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He considered leaving anyway. He didn’t need the dessert, but he really should try to get a handle on the customer service provided by La Petite Bouchée.
Instead of remaining at the table, he caught the server’s attention and said he’d like his coffee and dessert at the bar. The server nodded and walked him over, making certain he had everything he needed before disappearing. Donovan was impressed. Julia had trained her staff well and the food was excellent, which would make his job much easier.
The bar stool he was on was rickety and the cushioning was almost nonexistent, but the bar was clean and the woman behind it was friendly. She answered all of Donovan’s questions knowledgeably, keeping an eye on the other customers and segueing between all of them easily.
While he sipped his coffee, Donovan studied the beer-and-wine list. Satisfactory, but with the number of craft breweries and boutique wineries that permeated the West Coast, Donovan knew it could be better.
The pair of men beside him were waiting for their table and chatting about their day. He eavesdropped, only half listening while he mentally planned the changes. New interior, new seats and bar stools, new menu. Then one of them said something that caught his ear.
“If this place didn’t look so terrible, I would totally consider having our wedding reception here.”
“Excuse me.” He turned on his friendly business smile. He was no Owen when it came to people skills, but he was entirely capable of holding his own. “I’m Donovan Ford. My family just bought this restaurant.” He shook their hands and proceeded to elicit their feelings on the restaurant.
They had a lot to say.
“So why do you come?” he asked after they’d filled him in on their many observances. Apparently, they came often. At least once a week.
“The food,” the dark-haired man said.
“As good as anything we had in Paris last year,” said the blond. “The chef is too good for this place. No offense.”
“None taken.”
The blond smiled. “I didn’t think she’d stay this long.”
“Have you been coming awhile?” Donovan was interested to hear this. Loyal, regular customers were the lifeblood of the industry. If these men were regulars, he wanted to know why.
“Oh, yeah, at least three years. We started coming because we were friends with Alain, the original owner. But when Julia took over cooking from her mom, we started coming for the food.”
“Her mom?” Donovan tapped a finger against the side of his coffee mug. What did her mother have to do with the restaurant?
“Suzanne was the chef here before she got sick. When she couldn’t work any longer, Julia came back to Vancouver to help. I think she only intended to stay until her mom got better...” His voice trailed off.
Donovan studied them, noting the sad tilt to their eyes. “But she didn’t.”
“No.” The brunette shook his head. “She died. We thought Julia might leave then. Go back to Paris.”
Donovan ignored the clamp of his own heart. His father had survived. According to the doctor, as long as he continued to take care of himself, Gus Ford would live a long life.