Secret Vows. Rochelle Alers

had decreased appreciably because there were days when Bobby refused to get out of bed. Greer had taken time off to fly to the West Coast and have an in-depth conversation with Bobby, pleading with him not to let Stella’s dream die with her. His comeback was that there was no Stella’s without his wife. It took a while, but Greer had convinced her uncle to restructure, incorporating family-style dining with activities that would attract a more diverse crowd. The result was two days for table service and four days for buffet dining.

      Also her uncle had resisted raising his prices when everything was going up. Thankfully he owned the building outright so, instead of mortgage payments, he only had to pay property taxes. Karaoke night always brought in new customers who would eventually become regulars, and hiring the live band had reestablished Stella’s popularity. Greer picked up two pitchers of beer, mulling over which song she would sing.

      * * *

      Jason really didn’t want to commit to sitting in with the band because it meant rehearsals and playing four-hour sets on Fridays and Saturdays, but the band had willingly performed as session players whenever he had needed driving, funky baseline tracks.

      “I...” His words trailed off when he saw Bobby’s niece approach their table with a pitcher of beer in each hand. Their eyes met when she set them on the table. Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, he withdrew a money clip and handed her a large bill.

      “Put your money away, Jason,” Chase ordered. “I’ve got this round.”

      Grasping Greer’s hand, Jason gently squeezed her fingers. “Take it and keep the change.” Pushing back his chair, he stood. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to get something to eat. And, Doug, you’ve got yourself a keyboard player.” Agreeing to sit in with the band was a no-brainer, but getting to see Bobby’s niece two nights a week was an added bonus. He wasn’t certain what it was about her that drew him, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that.

      There hadn’t been so many women in his life that he hadn’t been able to recall their names or faces. However, none of them were willing to take a backseat to his music. His last relationship had ended when a woman he really liked had complained that she didn’t see him enough. Writing and editing music and working long hours with temperamental singers didn’t lend itself to a nine-to-five workday.

      Jason likened his lifestyle to the wind. It could change direction at any time. There was no pressure for him to marry and give his parents grandchildren. His brother, Gabriel, and sister Alexandra had fulfilled that obligation. Ana and Jacob had decided to wait until their six-month anniversary before starting a family. No one was more surprised than Jason once his twin announced she didn’t want to end her marriage of convenience to Jacob Jones. The man who’d appointed himself her protector had become her lover, husband and life partner.

      Picking up a plate, Jason moved along the buffet station, selecting baked chicken, dirty rice and collard greens with pieces of smoked turkey. He viewed the dessert section, eying a sweet potato casserole with a pecan crust. He’d never been one to favor dessert, but as a born and bred Southern man, he loved sweet potatoes. Moving over to the beverage section, he filled a glass with sweet tea.

      By the time Jason returned to his table, karaoke had begun in earnest. One young woman with waist-length extensions belted out “Proud Mary,” while her two backup dancers gyrated as Ikettes. He enjoyed the dance moves more than the vocals. An elderly man, supporting himself on a cane, had to be lifted onto the stage. He sang an incredible rendition of Louis Armstrong’s version of “Hello Dolly.” Everyone stood and applauded him as he bowed before someone physically lifted him off the stage.

      MC Oakie applauded along with the others. “Good people, I’d like to call Stella’s own Greer Evans to the stage.” An eerie hush fell over the assembly as she made her way to the stage. Oakie dropped an arm over her shoulders. “Have you selected your song?”

      She nodded. “I’m going to sing ‘And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going’ from Dreamgirls.” She took the microphone and waited for the musical lead-in and lyrics to appear on the screen.

      Jason felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up the moment Greer opened her mouth. If he hadn’t been there in person, he would’ve sworn it was Jennifer Hudson singing the heartfelt torch song, along with superb acting that had earned her an Oscar.

      Doug whispered a curse under his breath. “I had no idea she could blow like that. I’m going to ask her to sing with the band.”

      Doug wanted Greer to sing with a local band of musicians who, although extremely talented, still hadn’t made it big. Their only recording credits were on records produced by Serenity. Jason witnessed in Greer what he and Ana had recognized in Justin Glover. It was untapped raw talent. The song ended to stunned silence. Seconds later Jason found himself on his feet, applauding and whistling through his teeth. She was magnificent!

      Greer stepped off the stage, eyes downcast as she walked quickly in the direction of the kitchen. She smiled at Bobby who shook his head in amazement. He extended his arms, and she moved into his strong embrace. “You were great.”

      She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest, listening to the slow, steady beats of his heart. “You’re biased.”

      Bobby dropped a kiss on her hair. “Damn straight. You sing as well as my Stella. I used to love to listen to the two of you singing whenever you cooked together.”

      “Do you know that I still cook and sing?” Greer had stopped trying to understand why her aunt’s quirks and idiosyncrasies had influenced her more than her mother’s. Perhaps it was because her mother was a scientist and only dealt in what could be proven so that Greer had found her aunt’s lifestyle much more offbeat and exciting.

      Easing back, Bobby cradled her face. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

      Going on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “So am I.”

      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!”