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Serving Up Devotion
Serving Up Devotion
Serving Up Devotion
Ebook355 pages4 hoursLadies of Westside

Serving Up Devotion

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Her house may need repairs, but it's her heart that's broken.
Since her mother’s death, Audrina’s become her adult brother’s legal guardian. While her home suited her, it’s not for someone with disabilities, and with his comfort in mind, she hires the perfect person to make the required changes.

Chad is just the right man for the job – sweet, caring and handsome – he sees what she needs and is willing to help her no matter what, even if she can’t afford it. He’ll enlist in her help to finish the work, although he knows she barely has the time to spare.

More hands, cheaper cost. Win-win for both.

However, Audrina ‘s loyalty is to her brother, and his needs, but what about hers? She simply doesn’t have the time or energy to dedicate to a relationship. Nevertheless, assisting Chad awakens a desire in her that refuses to be silenced anymore.

As Chad rebuilds her home, can he also repair the damage to her heart?

Serving Up Devotion is for fans who enjoy a low heat romance that is high on swoon and emotions!
Scroll up and one-click this tear-jerking, slow burn romance today!

LanguageEnglish
PublisherH.M. Shander
Release dateNov 21, 2018
ISBN9781775392224
Serving Up Devotion
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Author

H.M. Shander

USA TODAY bestselling author H.M. Shander is a star-gazing, romantic at heart who once attended Space Camp and wanted to pilot the space shuttle, and not just any STS – specifically Columbia. However, the only shuttle she operates in her real world is the #momtaxi; a reliable electric car that transports her two kids to school or work and all their various sporting events. When she’s not commandeering LeBolt, you can find the elementary school librarian surrounded by classes of children as she reads the best storybooks in multiple voices. After she’s tucked her endearing kids into bed and kissed her trophy husband goodnight, she moonlights as a contemporary romance novelist; the writer of sassy heroines and sweet, swoon-worthy heroes who find love in the darkest of places.If you want to know when her next heart-filled journey is coming out, you can follow her on Twitter(@HM_Shander), Facebook (hmshander), or check out her website at www.hmshander.com.

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    Serving Up Devotion - H.M. Shander

    Chapter One

    I slammed my empty tray on the table beside the computer a little louder than I’d intended. Customers didn’t notice, but it sure made my manager startle. When are you getting new help, Niall?

    He looked me over as I waited expectantly for answer I knew I wouldn’t get. At least not one I wanted to hear.

    Niall looked like crap. He slumped more than usual, and his eyes wore tired like a neon sign. He wasn’t used to waiting tables, but for the last few weeks we’d been short staffed, and he came out onto the floor to help us out. Well, good for him. If he’d hired staff by now, I wouldn’t be so irritable and overworked, and he could go back to doing whatever it was I kept pulling him away from.

    I tapped my foot, and Niall looked back to the screen.

    Damn, that supper rush was crazy. I forgot how demanding being on the front end was, especially trying to keep the floor running smoothly. I’ll punch in L7’s order, and you can finish it up for me. When I didn’t move, his shoulders rolled inward, followed by a sigh. I’m sorry, but the applications just aren’t coming in.

    Any help is better than no help, right? I can’t keep going on like this. I stuck the notepad into my apron and marched around the wall that separated the front end from the tiny server station, calling over my shoulder. As of next week, I’m back to working a max of six shifts a week. Double shifts on the weekend are a no-go.

    Evanora, we discussed this already. Like a gust of wind, he followed me into the station and stopped in front of the pop machine.

    No, you said, and I disagreed. There was no discussion. But I’m telling you, Niall, as of Monday, I’m back to working a regular schedule. Either that, or you start paying me double time and a half. With that kind of money, I’d be tempted to work more, but I knew better. I have no issues with taking my employment elsewhere.

    Niall stepped exceeding close to me. Is that an ultimatum?

    I snorted as he called my bluff. It was Edmonton, in the middle of a recession. Jobs were scarce.

    Only if you don’t hire help. You won’t work me to the bone. I refuse.

    And what about Michael?

    I froze in my tracks. The whole point of working my ass off was because of Michael, well, more for him. He deserved a home that worked with his disabilities, not against it, and those never came cheap. Nor did his fabulous caregiver who spent more time with him lately than I was.

    I softened my tone but firmed my words. He’ll be just fine regardless of where I work. Him I’ll go the extra mile for, but not you, Niall. Not anymore.

    Filling three glasses with Heineken beer, I stormed by.

    However, Niall wasn’t done with me yet. It sucked having a former boyfriend as your boss even though it had been a long time since we were together. Although he tried, and it probably pained him, he kept the personal stuff out of the restaurant, better than I was. But not always.

    He cornered me and Joy as she danced her way into the station. Seriously the girl leaked happiness out of her with every step and I for one, tried to avoid walking through it. No one should be that happy, all the time. It was weird. That’s why her nametag read Joy.

    Joy, can you hold the fort down for a few minutes, I need to speak to Evanora in my office.

    Sure thing, she said, her voice pitching in a childlike voice. Anything I need to take care of?

    I rolled my eyes. Nope. I’ll drop this off. Otherwise, I’m just waiting on two steak bowls, but I won’t be that long, will I, Niall?

    He gave me a compassionate half-smile which always had the power to defuse my anger, along with a gentle pat on the shoulder. Not really.

    A quick turn, and he headed to the office at the back of the restaurant, while I dropped off the drinks.

    The building Westside occupied was built in the 1970s as an old pizza joint, complete with a takeout area. Aside from the spacious dining area, the rest of the interior was tightly squeezed together, but it was an efficient layout. Our server station was smaller than the average sized apartment kitchen, but held a pop machine, a coffee machine, two taps of draft, a small beer fridge that even held two varieties of cheesecake we offered as dessert, and a small sink. The shelving space around it was packed with supplies.

    As I walked through the server station, where I dropped off my tray, I passed the cash register, a definite relic from the 80s, and the takeout area, nestled off to the side of the main entrance. A stainless-steel half wall on my left divided the cash area from the kitchen where the cooks whipped up the dishes we’d become famous for—our steak bowls. And the aromatic spices floating in the air smelled delicious.

    What’s up? I folded my arms across my chest. As much as I didn’t like being on the floor, I didn’t like wasting my time in limbo either.

    I stood at the door of the office, or a closet if you really wanted to know. Designed as an after thought because the office door opened out. There was barely room for an office chair, and the built-in desk was just big enough for a computer, a few file stands, and a cup of coffee with a ring around the inside.

    He rifled through a file on the desk and handed me a stack of papers, as he cleared his throat. Take a look and tell me if any seem suitable to you.

    The lone office chair creaked as he leaned back into it, putting his left ankle atop his right knee.

    I hopped onto the desk as there wasn’t another chair and crossed my legs. My skirt shifted up a little, but whatever. I was no longer his for the taking, and he could stare all he wanted. It didn’t bother me. Why are you showing me these?

    You’re the senior server. I figured you’d maybe be able to help me out.

    What does Meghan say?

    Meghan was the daytime manager and owner, bitchier than me, and not someone I got along with. A huge reason I never worked the day shift.

    She said none will work.

    I raised an eyebrow and yanked the file. There wasn’t much I enjoyed doing more than proving people wrong.

    Inside were seven applications, and none listed serving in their previous experience. Each of them as green as the last hire had been, although I hated to admit it, Jade worked out okay. Minor spillage and tray dumping, but that was expected. One application caught my eye though, and I pulled it free of the stack.

    Pushing it into Niall’s hands, I said, He could work.

    He read over the application. He’s got no restaurant experience.

    A minor detail. He’s trainable and he’s willing to work evenings and weekends. I closed the file and handed it to him. A huge plus, since that’s where we’re short staffed.

    Daytime shifts were easy to fill, no shortages there. But no one wanted to work late during the week and on the weekends. Except for the romantic duo. Suddenly, I started to miss Jasper and Jade being around.

    Fine. Interview him with me, he said as a plea with hope in his voice. Niall put both his feet on the floor and scooted his chair closer.

    Why? I’m no manager.

    Because someday you’re going to be.

    I laughed softly in his face and shook my head. Not here, I won’t.

    Please. I trust your judgement.

    Do you really? That’s a first. Even I recoiled as my snark flew out. Well, I didn’t mean it like that, but it was too late to take it back.

    Niall’s blue-green eyes were already wide, the hurt shining through painfully stabbed what bit of compassion I had left for the guy.

    The Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down in his throat and he rose, bridging the distance between us, which was already constricting and made me feel like I was being smothered. Way too close for my preference. You’re painfully honest. I think we need the applicants to know what they’re getting into.

    So, you want me to drive them away? Because telling them like it is will not work out to Westside’s benefit, I can tell you that.

    I need your help.

    Then you’re a shittier manager than I expected.

    He sighed; a big, heavy weight of the world on his shoulders sigh. Meghan has threatened to become night manager.

    Deep down, something in my gut twisted and churned. Her joining the night squad would be a disaster of epic proportions. The limited amount of fun the staff enjoyed now would all be gone. She was a drill sergeant of the highest order. If she switched to nights, I may as well turn in my apron. No way was I going to work under her, and there weren’t enough dayside tips to keep it interesting. Niall, I could easily handle. Her? Nightmare.

    I tugged down the hem of my skirt but kept my focus on him. Tomorrow night, after the rush. Joy can hold the floor for a few minutes.

    Thank you, I’ll set up the interview.

    Anything else I can do for you?

    He rose and closed the door, trapping me. Audrina… He switched from manager to former boyfriend in a heartbeat. Using my real name at work was a no-no. I know you’re overworked, and the shortage is hard on all of us, but something else is bothering you. You’re not usually this short.

    I cocked an eyebrow.

    His hand twitched, as if he wanted to comfort me, even though I wasn’t a touchy-feely person. Is everything okay with Michael?

    I jumped off the desk and fanned myself with the heavy, green polo we were forced to wear. We’re going to be fine. A lump suddenly formed in the back of my throat. We have to be.

    Like a flame blown out, so was my anger. Michael was my heart and soul, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Niall either.

    He grabbed my wrist gently as I headed for the kitchen. Tell me what I can do to help.

    My expression hardened and my focus drifted to the front of the restaurant. I need a miracle. Do you have any of those?

    Niall fell back into his chair. Don’t I wish.

    Chapter Two

    It was a solid hour before I made it home as my last table camped too long. It never failed—when you want to go home, something always prevented it. Exhausted, I parked in the back lot of my house, and stared at the freaking blinds left wide open into the kitchen. I could see clearly inside, and this was not the kind of neighbourhood I wanted to showcase my life to, not even with the roaming police cars that alluded to a false sense of safety. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times - once the sun sets, the blinds close. Geezus, it wasn’t rocket science.

    Cracking my neck and shaking out my limbs, I breathed out work and inhaled home. My sanctuary. My peace.

    My place was an older style home in a rundown part of the city; a place where sidewalk cracks were the norm, instead of the exception, and cost less to attempt a fill rather than replace. The trees lining the road were old and ancient. Their giant limbs covered the narrow roadway and provided an idyllic look — if you looked past the weedy, unkempt lawn beside my house, and ignored the dilapidated house facing mine. However, once you stepped onto my front porch and through the door, you’d never know it was in the ghetto.

    The house came with hardwood flooring throughout the main level, and wall to wall carpet in the basement which was fine as it took away some of the chill. The walls on the main floor had a light taupe colour brushed across them, and the south-facing windows were huge, making the tiny space bright and airy. The bungalow’s main floor contained the living room, the kitchen, a full bathroom and two tiny bedrooms barely big enough for a bed and dresser.

    But the best part of coming home were the voices I heard as I walked up the back stairs into my kitchen, twisting the blinds closed as I went. Two voices chatted in the living room, and I leaned against the wall separating the back of the fridge from the living room, listening for a moment.

    My pick. I’ve had enough Ninja Warrior, the short brunette said, and pinched the remote out of Michael’s hand.

    No, m-m-more. His speech slurred a bit, but nothing I couldn’t understand.

    It would never get better, nor crisper. Sadly, it was also an indicator of the pain he was in. The more the slur, the higher the pain. The more the stutter, the more tired he was.

    I silently stood there watching my brother and his caregiver play and have fun. Such a change from a few months ago when I pulled him out of the hell-hole home he was in. The aides there abused him, mentally and physically, and to a small degree, financially as well. My mother never saw it though and as much as I begged her daily to move him, she never did. When she passed away seven months ago, the best thing about that whole situation was becoming Michael’s legal guardian.

    I got him the hell out of Billingsgate Manor and moved him into the empty bedroom in my house. It took a bit of time, but he lightened up and became the boy with the happy smile and positive outlook on life. Something I envied and tried to be in his presence.

    H-hey, look. He pointed in my direction.

    Hey, Michael, Melody. I padded around the couch and took the oversized chair in front of them.

    She w-w-won’t let me w-w-watch anymore N-N-Ninja W-W-Warrior.

    Because you’re tired. It’s nearly ten.

    I w-w-wanted you t-t-to t-t-tuck m-m-me in.

    His hair was dishevelled, the dark brown waves standing out. Michael reminded me of Flint Lockwood from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, but he only had a tenth of the IQ. A ten-year-old boy trapped in the body of a twenty-two-year-old man.

    Are your teeth brushed?

    He shook his head.

    Say goodnight to Melody and brush your teeth. I smiled at the goofy grin plastered on his face. I’ll be there in five minutes.

    He pushed himself to a stand, taking close to a minute to do so. I wanted to jump up and help him, not because I was impatient, but for the pinched expression he held. Melody, bless her heart, had told me to only help if he asked for it, or truly needed it, or was in any danger. He was in none of those situations, so I sat helplessly and waited. Standing on his own two feet, he walked to the bathroom, slapping his bare feet against the hardwood as he limped his awkward gait across the floor.

    The door clicked close.

    How was he tonight? A standard question to ask. If anything had arisen, she would’ve texted me at some point, so nothing major had occurred. Still, as the big sister, and mother figure, I needed to know.

    Good. A little stiff in the joints, but I think the approaching weather change is the catalyst for that. She was a perky little thing, but oh so good to Michael.

    From the very first time I met her, I knew she had to be Michael’s aide. Kind and compassionate, I never had a reason to worry when she was around.

    I removed my Evanora nametag from my shirt and tossed it onto the side table.

    Melody laughed as it skittered onto the floor. She bent over and quickly picked it up. I always find it amusing how they call you Evanora at work.

    I countered her laugh with one of my own. You should see me there, I’m a complete witch. If they’re going to give me that name, I may as well live up the reputation.

    A few years back, a safety issue arose with the use of our real names on the bills, and someone suggested fake names based on personality. When it came to mine, I joked about being a witch but hated the name Glenda as I wasn’t pure and good, so some dingbat suggested Evanora, the wicked witch of the east. It stuck.

    I hardly believe you’re that bad, Audrina, when you’re so sweet with Michael.

    Thanks. I try to keep work and home very separated.

    Oh, you should check out the book.

    She retrieved a logbook from the table and tossed it in my direction. It had been her idea to give me a run down of what they did during their time together. I enjoyed the peek into how he spent his evenings while I worked my ass off. Inside was a very detailed running list of the timing and dosage of his medications, and any rare trips they made into the backyard.

    You took him outside? I was stunned as I hadn’t seen an entry for that in days. It caused a smile to bubble up out of me.

    Yeah, it took a while to descend the front stairs, but he wanted out. Wanted to see the woodpecker he heard in the tree up close.

    That’s great.

    But my heart stung a little. I’d tried earlier to encourage some fresh air, but he said no, and I didn’t push it. It took way too long to get in and out of the house, and I always worried about him falling and getting hurt. My house was older, with tight narrow stairwells and most certainly not adequate for someone with disabilities. It was the main reason I worked myself to the bone, so I could pay for a new deck with a ramp.

    Should be easier to get in and out soon. The new carpenter’s supposed to start around nine tomorrow.

    My original guy cancelled late last month, and after I gave him a piece of my mind, he refused to answer my calls. Dammit. I did more research on my number two selection and interviewed Chad, who allegedly should arrive by nine. I rolled my eyes and hedged my bets. Trade workers were never punctual in my experience, yet if you were one day late in paying, they threatened to take you to small claims court. The lunacy was ridiculous.

    Melody stood and stretched out her petite framed body. Shorter than Michael by a full head, nevertheless she was a powerhouse, her strength hidden under her clothes. Someone better and more qualified than a babysitter. Someone who could help him with any kind of issue. Someone who could love him better on his worst day than our mother ever did on his best.

    Alright, I’m going. I’ll be back at four tomorrow. She ran her hands through her short hair.

    That would be great, thanks.

    She walked over to the bathroom and rapped her knuckles against the door. Night, Mikey.

    N-N-Night, M-M-Mel.

    I tucked Michael into bed and rubbed my fingers over his forehead in slow soothing ovals. My knees creaked and groaned from kneeling beside him on the floor, but I wasn’t ready to leave. Instead, I watched as sleep overtook my little brother in a matter of minutes. The sweet relaxation wrapped him like a blanket. Confident Mr. Sandman was sprinkling sweet dreams over him, I kissed his forehead and ventured the ten steps into my own closet-sized bedroom.

    I sat on my bed and opened the white envelope containing my nightly tip out. It had been a good night, and for a family place like Westside the tips were decent. Sure, I wasn’t making the tips like I could at a fancier place, but I was reasonably content with my earnings.

    Hidden in the wall, behind a picture, was my wall safe. Opening it, I added today’s cash to the stack nestled deep inside. Things like making a ramp off the front porch didn’t come cheap, and the tip money helped greatly. There was no way I was dipping into Michael’s government cheques like mother had; those meagre amounts aided in paying for Melody, who he needed while I worked. Besides, I preferred cash over credit cards and certainly over cheques. Some people took forever to deposit those and waiting… grr.

    As a bonus, in my negotiations with contractors, paying cash netted a small discount. It was win-win for us both. He was paid ASAP, and I didn’t have a bill hanging over my head. It had taken me a few months of saving every tip dollar, but it was so worth it. Michael was worth it, and he deserved a home he could function in and out of. Locking the safe, I twisted the dial and closed the picture back over it.

    The large 16x20 picture looked right at home; the bright greens and tree bark browns matched my bedding. It was one of my favourite pictures in the whole world, and I adored the story within the frame. We were innocent back then, our youthfulness stretched out before us; I was eight and he was just four. In search of fairies and ghosts, we left the safety of our back yard with our digital camera in hand. We were going to capture one and prove to the world the existence of all things magical. How he giggled as he tromped through chest-high wild grass, hunting and whispering and begging the green fairy to show herself. It was so sweet, I took his picture.

    Later when I showed our mother, she claimed the picture as her own, to show off to her friends that she was a good mother, because look, she went fairy hunting in the forest with her children, see? She lied to her friends to make herself look better, but I knew the truth. Despite my begging, she denied me a copy and it was only years later when we moved Michael into Billingsgate Manor that I found the camera card and made myself a giant copy. Housed in a simple Ikea black frame, it reminded me of everything he still was, and how the simple pleasures in life are there if you truly believed.

    Chapter Three

    The fresh scent of August rain as it wafted in through the three-inch opening of the bedroom window, was a perfect way to rise. A cut-up broom stick prevented it from being all the way open. I loved fresh air, but not at the expense of safety. According to the neighbourhood watch page, three nights ago a neighbour’s house two streets over was broken into. Not something I wanted to go through.

    I tiptoed into Michael’s room to check on him. Sound asleep and breathing fine. Thank goodness.

    Once not long ago when Michael came to live with me, I was heading to bed when I heard this god-awful gasp of air, almost like he was holding his breath. I freaked out and rushed my dozy brother into the emergency room. The ER doctor confirmed he was okay, said he may have sleep apnea, and to follow up with his doctor. Of course, I did, but without further testing, he wouldn’t deny nor confirm so I kept a tight watch over him. Sometimes, I’d even check on him in the middle of the night if I was up for a bathroom break or a sip of water. But there hadn’t been too many issues, and his doctor said as his disease progressed, any apnea that showed itself will be the least of his worries.

    Still, I checked.

    Michael was sprawled over his covers, a trickle of drool

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