Frankie and the Single Dad: Rosalind Brewery Series, #3

By Palmer Jones

Too many cooks in the kitchen…

 

The man infuriated her.

 

Frankie Wilson needed a cook. A simple, impressive cook to match the incredible beers produced at the Rosalind Brewery. Her best friends are counting on her, and her perfectionist streak refuses to let her fail.

And until now, Frankie controlled the menu for each cook she hired.

But Noah refuses to play by her rules.

He's an obstinate, opinionated, incredible father to his little boy. Each time they call a truce, the attraction flares. He may be the best option for the brewery, but he is the worst option for her heart.

 

The woman will be the death of him.

Noah Adams ditched his musical career to go back to his roots and put his culinary degree to use. Having a child with an ex-girlfriend reprioritizes a man's life that way.

A job at Rosalind Brewery in Asheville is ideal. Except for Frankie.

She contradicts him at every turn. She's exasperating and unbelievably gorgeous and dates an odd array of men that don't even come close to appreciating her intelligence.

But he does. Once he gets Frankie out of the kitchen and into his bed, letting her walk away isn't on the menu.

 

Frankie and the Single Dad, Book three in the Rosalind Brewery Series, is a full-length romance novel full of laughter, sexy-bits with a rakish chef, and a satisfying happily ever after.

 

(Previously published as Frankie.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweet Blooms Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Sep 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393965824

Palmer Jones

Palmer Jones writes fun and flirty, romantic fiction. Born and raised in the South, she loves to travel but will always call Georgia her home. With a degree in accounting, she spends part of her day immersed in numbers. The rest of the time is spent with her friends, family, and hiding away in the worlds she creates through her stories.

Book preview

1

I ’d rather eat one of those greasy hot dogs at the gas station. Frankie Wilson shoved the plate of hamburger sliders away. Calling them hamburgers was generous. They were like miniature, burnt frisbees on stale bread with an odd combination of honey and ketchup.

And the pickle didn’t help.

It’s trash. We’ll never make a name for ourselves with our food if we keep serving crap like this. How’s yours?

Jake Rossi sat across the table from her with a fork in one hand and holding Frankie’s goddaughter with the other. He shoveled the last bite of the slop the cook tried to pass off as chili into his mouth.

I don’t have a problem with it.

Of course, you don’t. You didn’t even hesitate when I asked you to try chili at ten in the morning. Jake was the size of a house, solid muscle from years spent in the Special Forces, and the man loved food. Even bad food. Did you know your wife calls you a human garbage disposal?

Jake wiggled his eyebrows. She calls me a lot of things.

Frankie laughed. None of them are appropriate for your daughter’s ears. She rose and held out her hands. Here, let me take Winnie, and you can finish my plate, too. Do you want a beer? Reese has a new brew on tap. I know it’s early, but it might make the suffering of eating that crap go down better.

He picked up his water, shaking it slightly and rattling the ice in the glass. I’ll have to try it tomorrow. I’m on baby duty for the rest of the day.

Come to Frankie, big girl. Nine months old tomorrow. I think that’s old enough to learn how to fire someone. Frankie set Winnie on her hip.

Jake paused, one of the sliders hanging in midair between the plate and his mouth. Fire? You’re going to fire this cook, too? He frowned down at the burnt frisbee. I know you don’t like it, but he’s a hell of a lot better than the last guy. At least my chili is the right color and hot.

Frankie huffed. And better isn’t the best. They put me in charge of the food, Jake. I refuse to settle. You’ve been married to my best friend for—she glanced at his daughter, Winnie—almost nine months. Ava is great at her job, and Reese makes fantastic beers, but me...the kitchen... She did a thumbs down. It stinks. She kissed Winnie’s temple. C’mon, sweetie. Let’s go fire a cook. Maybe you’ll soften the blow.

Jake held up his hand. Wait. Shouldn’t you get a new cook before you dismiss this one? The last time your timing failed, you were back there serving frozen pizzas and chicken nuggets. I realize Ava played that off with some promotion about the food being nostalgic, but it was still a sketchy three days.

Fine. I’ll wait. But the search starts first thing in the morning.

Ava walked up and set a hand on Jake’s shoulder. Are you stealing my baby, Frankie? If so, let me get you the diaper bag and her bottles. She covered a yawn. Just have her back by tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll miss her.

Frankie shifted Winnie, looking down at her sweet face. She smelled like baby lotion and applesauce. Are you still not sleeping for your mama?

Winnie stuck her tongue out and blew.

Stinker, Frankie said, laughing as she carted Winnie away, giving Ava and Jake a break for a few minutes. She crossed the dining room and into the courtyard.

Something about May in North Carolina made Frankie happy. A hint of coolness lingered in the air, with the summer humidity still a month away. They could leave all the doors open and cut off the air conditioner inside the dining room. The bright green trees made the view of the valley below their little spot picture-perfect.

She placed Winnie on her two chubby legs, holding onto her hands and helping her stumble walk along the concrete path in the courtyard.

Let’s go, sweetheart, she cooed, taking tiny steps backward, encouraging Winnie to walk along with her. Frankie started singing along to the Taylor Swift, playing from the speakers.

Winnie grinned and started to take bigger steps.

You should play better music for her to listen to.

Frankie picked up Winnie, ready to verbally battle with whoever just insulted one of her favorite artists.

The guy flinging the insults stood behind her, half-turned, surveying the courtyard. I think she’d be better off with some Clapton, Pink Floyd, or Incubus. Basically, anything.

I haven’t had any complaints from her. If you don’t enjoy this music, you should come back tomorrow with the playlist changes to rock. Ava’s night for music. You can listen to all the rock you like.

The man faced her. His lips pulled back into a cocky smirk as the afternoon sunlight illuminated his uncommonly green eyes. He sported a five o’clock shadow, which looked to be permanent.

And if she wasn’t totally annoyed by his Taylor Swift jibe, she’d admit he was cute. Who was she kidding? The guy was hot. Not her type, but she’d bet he didn’t have an issue getting a date.

Cute kid, he said, gripping the messenger bag strap slung across his chest, looking like he was there to make idle conversation with her.

Thank you, Frankie murmured, trying to get a read on the situation. We don’t open until eleven on Saturday.

I was told to be here at ten-thirty for an interview.

Interview?

Reese shouted, Frankie, from the edge of the courtyard, waving as she walked across the patio holding her husband’s hand. Hold on.

Frankie switched Winnie to her other hip. What now?

Hi, there. You must be Noah Adams. Eli dropped Reese’s hand and shook Noah’s. I’m Eli Montes. I was the one who spoke with you on the phone.

Interview for... Frankie locked eyes with Reese. What had she missed? More servers? Help with the brewing process? Are we all interviewing him? Why didn’t you mention this to me?

Reese shook her head. I don’t think we all need to interview him. The kitchen is your area. Hell knows you’re pickier than any of us.

Wait. What?

He’s the guy I told you about a few months back, Eli said casually as if her head wasn’t spinning. You asked me to contact him once you finally got fed up with the current cook. Based on what Reese said last week, you were on the verge of letting Grant go. He raised his eyebrows. Is that right?

Yes. Frankie did a once over on Noah, trying not to judge him, but it was difficult. He looked like a rock star. Not leather pants or fishnet shirts, but like a cool indie rocker. Distressed jeans and scuffed boots. His gray T-shirt was so faded that Frankie couldn’t make out the words on the front. His dark hair was short and messy. You’re a cook?

Guilty. He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

Well, even if he did insult her music, she might as well interview him since Eli had issued him an invitation. She hated people judging her based on her looks. She wouldn’t do the same to him.

Winnie tugged on Frankie’s hair, pulling it out of the sloppy topknot she’d thrown it in that morning. Ah! All right. Our fun time is over for now.

I’ll take her back to her mama. Reese held her hands out. Winnie went willingly. Reese nuzzled Winnie’s cheek. Or I may just steal you away, sweet girl.

Eli shook his head. She keeps telling me she’s joking, but sometimes I wonder. He glanced back at Noah. Stop by my office once you’re done with Frankie.

Sure thing.

Frankie felt her hair where Winnie had destroyed it. Her blond hair fell past her shoulders when she tugged out the rubber band. She needed to get it cut but just never had the time.

Noah watched her as she ran her hair through it a few times. It wasn’t a creepy stare. Not like one of those no-blinking, mouth-breathing stares that the odd men at the mall gave her. It didn’t make her uncomfortable.

But it unnerved her. Guys like Noah weren’t her type. First, he was a potential employee. Second, he appeared close to her own age, which meant he was younger than most of the men she dated.

I have an office where we could do the interview, she started, remembering the number of cookbooks she had spread across her desk. But it’s a complete mess right now. The kitchen might work, but the cook already showed up for his shift, and I think that might be in poor taste, you know, to interview someone before I tell him he’s fired.

Noah motioned to a picnic table nearby. We can sit here if you’d like.

That’s fine. Do you want something to drink? Water. Coke. Beer. She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. We have a lot of beer.

He chuckled. I guess you do, but no. Not right now.

You don’t seem like a cook. I mean, you don’t look like any of the cooks we’ve had work for us so far. She walked ahead of him to a table. Odd. She wasn’t used to the subtle politeness while at work. He’d held back, intentionally letting her go first, and didn’t sit until she did.

The men she hung with were her best friends’ husbands, Jake and Eli, or Bradley, Reese’s cousin. They weren’t rude, but they all thought of her as a sister at this point. Well, maybe not Bradley. He still asked her for a date about twice a week.

I’m a trained chef. Studied at the Institute of Culinary Education in New York.

Oh. She wasn’t expecting that, either. "And you want to come and work at a small microbrewery outside Asheville? We’re only open for dinner Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Lunchtime and dinner Friday and Saturday. Only Lunch Sunday. Closed Mondays."

I’m in the middle of a personal transition right now. Something low-key is what I need. But I’d create my own menu. Eli sent me a copy of the current menu. Some of the staples I’d keep, just because that’s what people expect when they come to drink beer, but I’d get rid of most of it. Did the current cook develop it?

Frankie pulled her shoulders back. No. I did.

And you have a background in what? Based on what Eli told me, I assume it’s not a food profession.

Her cheeks heated. No. And no matter how much she studied books and watched TV shows, she still couldn’t cook a damn thing. She knew how to create complex chemical compounds and not blow up an entire building, but instant rice gave her trouble. Go figure.

Reese and Ava had both excelled at their thirds of dividing up the workload. But, so far, Frankie had to outsource the accounting to Eli. Now, a trained chef was implying that her menu sucked after telling her that her music sucked.

What is your background if you’re in charge of the kitchen? Eli was a little evasive when he discussed that with me. Told me to ask once I came in and met the owners. How many owners are there?

She could make civil conversation with him. She might take exception to his question about creating the menu, but it didn’t make it invalid, just insensitive.

You’ve met two of the owners already. Reese is married to Eli. She handles the beer. Brewing. Creation. Naming. Everything goes through her. Ava is married to Jake. They handle the marketing and building management. She shrugged. And then there’s me.

And you’re in charge of the food? He grimaced and glanced at the speaker mounted in the corner. And this music?

Nothing is wrong with Britney Spears.

There’s a lot wrong with Britney Spears.

Frankie narrowed her eyes. You’re not helping your chances of getting hired.

The damn man grinned.

Hell, if it didn’t make him sinfully handsome in the process.

And the three of you just decided to open up a brewery one day?

Nothing was that simple. We went through school together. We got our chemistry degrees and all worked at the same company. Then, one day, we got sick of the grind. That’s when Rosalind Brewery was created. It’s hard work, but it beats the hell out of sitting in a lab all day. I loved experimenting, but we discovered that running experiments for a large corporation is a little different than the fun we’d had in college.

Noah’s eyes held hers a moment before he stood. Chemists. I wasn’t expecting that. He nodded slowly. All right. Since I don’t have any culinary references besides my degree, do you want me to cook you something? I mean, you can always just take my word for it.

Like an audition? She wrinkled her nose as she followed his lead and rose from the table. What do we tell the cook that’s in there now?

Noah was slightly taller than she was, with a body that reminded her of a soccer player, lean with a perfect amount of muscle. He stepped close, lowering his voice like it was a secret. His green eyes might as well have had those mesmerizing, black swirly things in them. She couldn’t look away.

You could always tell him the truth, he said.

She sighed and shifted to the side, refocusing on the topic. But that might hurt his feelings, especially since I don’t know if I will hire you yet. The cook, Grant, was a nice guy. Crappy cook, but a decent guy. I’ll tell him to take a break.

Noah lifted a shoulder. Suit yourself, but I think you’ll hire me.

Frankie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at his conceited statement. Hopefully, Noah was as good as he portrayed himself to be. Otherwise, her search for a new cook started on Monday.

2

Hell, the woman was gorgeous.

Noah followed Frankie into the brewery's large dining room. A long, stainless-steel bar top ran along the back wall, beer taps lined up like little soldiers. Big, wooden tables were spaced out across the concrete floor. It felt industrial but warm at the same time.

Noah could see himself hanging out here without the prospect of a job.

His gaze trailed back to Frankie as she stopped to speak with a guy named Josh about the napkins.

His brain had run through every scenario when he’d spotted her in the courtyard earlier. He’d assumed that she was the little girl's mom and felt the sharp bite of jealousy at whoever the man was in her life. Did Lisa ever help their son, Oliver, walk that way?

But his thoughts of his ex-girlfriend stalled when Frankie’s bright blue eyes landed on him.

Most people said that about his eyes and their unusual shade of green. Now, he understood what they meant.

Noah readjusted the bag slung across his shoulder. He’d pissed her off with his music comment, too. And that was all right with him. He needed this job, not a date with the owner. The more distance he kept between them, the better. The ink was barely dry from the custody agreement with Lisa. If there was a term for being more distant than just an ex, he’d apply it to her.

Frankie stopped at the opening of the brewery warehouse. This is the heart of the operation at Rosalind Brewery.

Tall, silver machines lined the room. The pungent smell of hops competed with whatever sweet perfume Frankie wore. You should take Bradley's beer tour before you leave today.

If he got the job. I’ll be sure to stop by later.

They turned left down a hallway. She pointed to each door as they passed. This is Ava’s office. Then Eli. Reese spends most of her time back in the lab. She tapped on the last closed door. Then me.

Noah paused behind her, a little too close. Raspberries, she smelled like raspberries.

She continued down the hall. The kitchen is this way. I designed it myself based on several pictures and computations.

Pictures? The function of a kitchen shouldn’t be based on pictures. So why didn’t they hire a designer? He stepped into the room and half-laughed. Well, her pictures had steered her in the right direction because it was great. Perfect for one chef and someone to prep.

"I also performed a scientific