HEAT in New Orleans || Marcel Gerard

Chapter 15: Be Sure, Not Insecure

Chapter Fifteen

I huffed, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. The kitchen was extra hot today. The AC in the restaurant wasn't working. "Chef, you have a guest," a voice called out to me.

I turned to look at the busboy, nodding. I pushed my tray of baked lemon pepper chicken back, so it wouldn't fall. I gave a few orders to the rest of the kitchen staff to prepare for the upcoming lunch rush. It was only 11am. By noon through the new happy hour from 4 to 6pm, we would be swamped. And I would be working late.

I headed out the kitchen to see who my guest was. I wasn't sure who to expect. But I was pleasantly surprised when I saw it was Marcel. It's been a few days. The night of the Harvest he stayed with me. But by the crack of dawn he left. He didn't want to stay for breakfast with me and the kids. And I hadn't seen or spoken to him since, four days ago. Klaus checked in three days ago to tell me he was leaving town. He wanted me to watch out for Marcel. I tried paying him a visit, but it was no use. He was locked in a compound full of vampires who informed me he didn't want to see me. Or anyone for that matter.

"Hi," I said softly, unsure of how this visit was going to go. He looked... terrible. He was wearing baggy jeans, a faded black that was almost gray that matched the denim jacket he wore over a zip up hoodie, hood on his head. I was more concerned with the bottle of whiskey in his hand, nearly empty.

"I came to see Sophie," he told me. "But your sister said she wasn't here. So... I figured while I was here I'd check on you."

"I'm not the one who needs checking on," I quipped, my voice hardening like I was gently scolding one of my children.

Marcel pursed his lips before bringing the bottle up to his mouth for a large gulp. "I know it's been a while," he said.

"It's been days. I've been worried sick. And—You can't drink that here," I spat, walking over to him to snatch the bottle out of his hand. He chuckled then. "I don't find this funny."

"You're cute when you're angry."

I glared then, "I'm not angry! I am concerned. I am hurt. You've ignored my calls. You're pushing me away. And I... I don't like it."

Marcel nodded, "I'm grieving, Gemma."

"I don't care," I stated, shoving a finger into his chest as roughly as I could. "If we are to... make something happen between us, you can't disappear on me like that. I half expected you left town and I'd never see you again."

He frowned then, raising a hand to my face to cup my cheek. I pushed it away, looking around him at the half filled restaurant. Embarrassed as I met my sister's concerned eyes. I was making a fool of myself. There were nosy guests.

"I'm sorry," Marcel said.

I shook my head, "We can't do this here."

Marcel nodded. I reached for his hand and led him into the kitchen where I tossed out his liquor bottle and through it to the back door so we could speak. The front of building arguing or showing PDA was bad for business.

"You don't have to worry. I'll never leave the city. It's my home," Marcel said as if that made me feel better.

"Not to sound needy or clingy or selfish... But I want my man to at least contact me once a day. Let me know you're at least alive."

He smirked, "Your man?"

I scowled, shaking my head, "This isn't a joke, Marcel. You've been grieving so you get a pass. But you only get one."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, against stepping close and caressing my cheek softly. "I didn't mean to neglect you, Gemma."

I sighed, "How are you?"