Jasper’s: Takoda Outreach Center #1

  Copyright © 2020 by Sammi Cee

  Published in the United States by Sammi Cee

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or transmitted in any format or by any means without the prior written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence. As are any similarities to any businesses, events or locations.

  All products and brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holder and or company. I do not own the rights to these, nor do I claim to.

  Cover by Designs by Morningstar

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Caleb

  2. Jasper

  3. Caleb

  4. Jasper

  5. Caleb

  6. Jasper

  7. Caleb

  8. Jasper

  9. Caleb

  10. Jasper

  11. Caleb

  12. Jasper

  13. Caleb

  Connect With Sammi

  Also by Sammi Cee

  Prologue

  Jasper

  March

  Waving a sad goodbye to my coworker, who I’d likely never see again, I watched as his little white Toyota disappeared out of sight. There went my last link to what had been my life for seven years. The modest gray-blue three bedroom ranch with white shutters and glass door in front of me had come to represent peace and safety, but I realized now that it was all an illusion. Saul was gone. One minute he’d been laughing and joking with customers while kneading dough, and the next he’d been grasping his arm, falling to his knees, pale and shaking. I’d watched the light fade from his eyes as we’d waited for the ambulance to arrive.

  There wasn’t time to dwell on that now. I’d lived with Saul since I’d graduated from high school, but it would be his lawyer’s job to kick me out. Walking slowly toward the front door, my gaze lingered on the perfect placement of the lanterns leading up the path, the bushes that Saul had trimmed into shape with care, and to the rainbow flag he’d displayed proudly when I’d moved in. This was the last time I’d walk through this door. Battling my emotions, I sniffed back the sobs working their way through my chest, tingling my eyes, and twitching my nose, and moved quickly through the house gathering supplies. I hadn’t cried yet, and I wasn’t starting now. I was scared I’d never stop.

  Opening the kitchen cabinets, I yanked out what Saul had considered emergency food; a jar of peanut butter, boxes of granola and protein bars, plus trail mix. Next I turned my attention to the wall of bottled water where Saul had always kept enough cases stacked to put out a small fire. As I worked, my thoughts wandered to where I’d end up, but all of my close friends had left for college or moved on and had their own lives. I didn’t want to be a burden on any of Saul’s former employees, and I couldn’t leave Takoda because of my little brother, but…

  Shaking my head, I trudged back and forth through the patio door, out to the shed and back to the kitchen for provisions. After I was done with that, I went to my room and methodically went through my clothes. Saul had been upset that I wouldn’t decorate my room or buy myself things, but this was why. Life had taught me early on that you never knew when you’d have to pick up and go. Better to not grow attached to things, only to have to leave them behind. Possessions didn’t matter anyway. Trailing my fingers over the old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock Saul had given me when I’d first moved in, I tried to convince myself that was true. Unable to resist, I wrapped the clock with care into a pillow case, and then stuck it in my green and blue plaid backpack. Since I didn’t know when I’d have to leave or how fast, I packed up a duffel bag and then trotted out to the shed to leave that, too.

  Then letting myself back into the house, I locked the back door, double checked the lock on the front door, and nestled down in the recliner that faced the front window, with the small black and red throw blanket—another piece of Saul that I could justify taking with me. My plan sucked and I knew it—waiting until the lawyer or some realtor showed up and running out the back door to hide in the shed—but it was all I’d come up with. I was too tired. So so tired.

  Sleep wouldn’t come any easier tonight than it had in any of the days since Saul died. His lawyer had arranged everything, the wake, funeral, and repast. He’d told me ominously, immediately upon Saul’s death, that we’d be talking soon. So like last night and all the nights since I’d been alone, I stared out the narrow slit in the curtain in front of the picture window that looked onto the driveway and pushed down my anxiety.

  Worrying about where I’d sleep or what I’d eat wouldn’t help me, picturing the things that happened to people like me roaming the streets on their own was only borrowing trouble, and dwelling on the fact that I was essentially homeless and squatting in the house that still smelled like Saul and felt like home, but only until I saw the lawyer’s car pull up, only made my stomach clench.

  April

  The inside of the restaurant was dark and gloomy, dust already settling on the counter like it had been years instead of mere weeks since it was the lively, thriving home of the best pizzeria around. I backed away from the window pane, noticing the streaks that Saul would've never allowed to remain there. With cutting sadness, I remembered the sound of his voice as he’d demanded I get outside and clean the windows. How I wished to hear that deep gruffness right now. But for the hundredth time, I reminded myself that Saul was gone, and with this second loss, the same as with the passing of my mother—death had come to represent more than just pain and grief, but loneliness and nowhere to lay my head.

  “We miss this place being open,” a raspy feminine voice said. “The owner was a good man.”

  So lost in my own thoughts and confusion, I hadn’t realized that Miss Emma, the old homeless woman Saul used to set aside leftovers for, stood at my side. “He was,” I choked out past the lump in my throat.

  “I imagine you miss him a lot. You’d worked for him a long time, hadn’t you?”

  Shifting the blue and green plaid backpack on my shoulder, I nodded my head stiffly. Her gaze moved to it, then back to study my face. “Where are you working now?” she asked.

  “Uh, I haven’t found another job yet.” And I wouldn’t anytime soon without identification or a social security card. How could I have been so stupid? I’d worked for Saul since I was fourteen. His pizza joint had been my and my mom’s favorite, and we’d gone in once a week for our special mother-son lunch dates for as long as I could remember. From when I was little, Saul had promised that as soon as I had working papers, I had a job working for him. He’d been true to his word and hired me on as a busboy the minute I was old enough.

  Miss Emma turned her head and looked behind her. Hovering in the opening to the alleyway between the restaurant and candle store were the two teenage boys who’d shown up with her about a year ago and had been her constant companions ever since. When she turned back to me, her eyes searched my face, making me squirm under her intensity. “You lived with Saul too, didn’t ya?”

  Clearing my throat, I nodded again, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

  She quickly checked over her shoulder again, then said, “You know, Saul used to tease me for taking those boys under my wing.”

  A happy memory hit me. “Yeah, he used to say you were as bad as him about collecting lost things.”

  “Kindred spirits, him and I. But when you live as long as Saul and I, you see some things. And you know good people when you meet them.” She reached out a wrinkled hand, fingers crooked peculiarly, and touched my arm. “Do you have anyw
here to stay?” she asked softly.

  Struggling to not lose the battle against the tears, I dropped my eyes to where her hand rested on me and admitted the truth. “No, I was still staying at home, you know, in Saul’s house. I knew I’d have to leave sooner than later, so I’d moved some stuff out already that I wanted to keep and hid it and this”—I raised my shoulder to show the backpack—“in the shed in the backyard. When I saw the lawyer pull up a couple of days ago, I ran out the backdoor.”

  Her fingers stroked my arm comfortingly. “And you don’t have anyone you can stay with?”

  “No,” I said, my voice thick with tears.

  “You’ll come with us, then,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.

  Startled, I asked, “What?”

  “I’m adopting you, just like I did those two.” She gestured back toward the boys who were approaching us hesitantly.

  “But why?”

  “Well, why not? You have nowhere to go, and it’s not good for a young man to be out on these streets alone. Trust me. I know the ropes and the three of us stay together. We’ve made a nice little spot in an alley behind an abandoned shop. Things are a little harder now with Saul gone. He always made sure we had food in our bellies. He’d been feeding me everyday for five years. Did you know that?”

  “I did.” Another memory hit me. The first time Saul had taken food out to Miss Emma. He’d slid a hot piece of pepperoni pizza onto a plate and told me to mind the shop, he’d be back. I’d watched with disbelief as he’d marched out to the old lady, dressed in tattered, mismatched clothes and pushing an odd half-the-normal-size shopping cart. She’d pillaged the trash can in front of our shop a few times in the week leading up to that, obviously homeless, but it hadn’t occurred to my fifteen-year-old self to do anything beyond tell her to move on. That’s what happened when your stepdad was a cop, and that had been right before my own world exploded.

  Saul had tried to get her to come in and eat over the years, but she’d refused and after that first time, had only allowed him to give her the leftovers at the end of the night. It hadn’t made sense to me, but Saul had said you had to let people have their dignity, and if she said she didn’t want to take advantage of his generosity, that was her business. At least she let him feed her at all.

  “So I figure if a man as kind as him thought you were worth taking in when you needed it, that you must be a good person, too. After all he did for me and mine, I can’t see leaving you out here on your own. I know offering for you to squat with us isn’t much, but”—she held up her hands to the side—“it’s all I’ve got.”

  My gaze moved from the black women with graying hair tucked up into a bun with tendrils sticking out all over the place around her head, to the two boys who had walked up beside her. Their faces were clean, but the shabbiness of their ill-fitting clothing and too long greasy hair revealed their poverty. I knew their names were Archie and PJ. Miss Emma had introduced them to me one of the times Saul had been busy and asked me to run the food out to them.

  Archie, the older of the brothers, was taller than Miss Emma, and I’d been told he was over eighteen. He didn’t appear to be that old, but I’d been mistaken for younger than my own twenty-one years plenty of times. The smaller boy only stood to his shoulders. They were both thin with red hair and freckles. Where PJ smiled at me timidly, staying close to his brother, Archie’s back was stiff and he eyed me warily, a protective arm wrapped around his little brother’s shoulders.

  “Are you sure?” I finally asked, my gaze moving between the three of them.

  Miss Emma stuck out her gnarled hand to shake, and we shook, three firm pumps, she said, “You’re going to be just fine, Jasper. We’ve got you.” And as the tears I hadn’t allowed myself to shed after Saul’s passing fell, right there in front of the restaurant that had represented a second home to me for so much of my life, the place where I’d seen Miss Emma digging for food the first time, she pulled me down to rest my head on her shoulder and rubbed my back, and I sobbed out all of my grief over the unfairness of this world. But also my relief, because once again, someone had stepped up and caught me when I least expected it.

  Chapter One

  Caleb

  It couldn’t be chance that on New Year’s Eve I’d decided it was time for a change. I’d spent another holiday slaving in a hot kitchen while others celebrated the passing of one year into the next. Invited guests spent the big night dining and dancing in one of the most exclusive restaurants in Takoda, they toasted family members, embraced lovers, and made resolutions for the coming year. My staff and I had been cleaning up from the many courses that we’d served throughout the night.

  You may have had to be an invited guest to attend the swanky place, but you also had to have money— and lots of it. With the price per ticket to attend, people had expected excellence and my menu had more than delivered. Obviously, since they and Patrick Rizziono, the owner of Rizziono’s, had dragged me out of the kitchen while coffee was being served to show me, the head chef, off. I’d received thunderous applause and a standing ovation. My parents had never looked so proud, and I’d never been more miserable.

  While the revelry makers had waited for their Ubers and designated drivers so that they could get home safely, I’d stood in the doorway between the back of house and the dining room and studied them, examining the elegantly dressed women splashed in their jewels and sophisticated men in tuxedos as they ended their evening, still more concerned about being seen and showing off than anything else. I didn’t feel jealous that I wasn’t one of them, or that I still had things to finish up in the kitchen. Instead, I wished to be somewhere comfortable, hanging with friends or snuggled up to someone who loved me. But you’d have to have either for that to be a possibility.

  So the very next week I’d started searching for a new job. I still loved cooking, creating food for people to enjoy was my passion. Being one of the most renowned chefs in the state wasn’t. Worrying about reviews, or whether my mother’s friend from the such-and-such club had liked her meal, wasn’t what I wanted my life to be about anymore. It hadn’t been why I’d attended culinary school, but my parents were willing to forgive my sexuality if I made them proud.

  It had been a no-brainer to take the surprising offer by one of the country’s top chefs to become his main sous-chef. I knew it was about favors and my parents knowing the right people, but it had pleased them. What I had accomplished from there had been on my own merit and I’d enjoyed the success, at least the financial aspect of it, but I’d grown into a thirty-four-year-old man who only had the accolades of online reviewers to keep me warm at night. Enough was enough.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to my black metallic Mercedes-Benz and eyed the building housing the soup kitchen as I grabbed my roll of knives and got out. The door I’d been instructed to enter for my interview opened, and the sweetest piece of eye candy exited with bags of trash in each hand.

  The trim man in front of me had on dark jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, sans jacket which, considering how chilly it was out, explained how fast he moved toward the large dumpster. We ended up approaching the door back into the building at the same time, and his longish black hair and deep emerald green eyes were even more attractive up close. He looked young, but thankfully, legal. He ran appraising eyes down my body and his lips quirked in amusement. I glanced down at my black pinstripe pants, pale blue long-sleeved button up, and tie—that was a swirl of blues that my mother said brought out my eyes—that peeked out from under my long black trench coat and wondered what was so funny.

  He didn’t say a word, but opened the door and gestured with a sweep of the hand for me to proceed into the building in front of him. I crossed the doorway, pretty positive he was patronizing me but unsure I cared, when a bald man, approximately my height of six-four, appeared in front of me. “Are you Caleb Krankin?” he asked with a loud, boisterous voice.

  Startled, I took a step back, right into the much smaller guy who’d let
me in. Embarrassing. “Yes.”

  The bigger than life figure in front of me rushed forward with his hand outstretched. “Chef, Chef Caleb Krankin, it’s so nice to meet you.” He pumped my arm with fervor.

  The black-haired man from outside snickered and scooted around me, yelling, “Avi, Fisher, you better get out here. Jonathon’s about to molest the guy you’re interviewing.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  Hot young guy turned so he was walking backward across the large room I’d entered, and said, “Don’t worry. He wants to molest your food. Not you.” He snickered again, winked, then swung around and disappeared through the doors I assumed went into the kitchen. Would I be working with him? The thought sent a tingle down my spine, and if I hadn’t wanted the job before, I desperately wanted it now.

  * * *

  The interview had ultimately gone well, and by the time I’d left, I’d been hired. I’d met with the three men who had started the soup kitchen—Avi, Fisher, and Jonathon—and after their praise of the food they’d tasted when they’d visited Rizziono’s for Jonathon’s parents’ anniversary dinner, they’d admitted their greatest fear in even interviewing me had been doubting my sincerity in willingly leave a prestigious career to use my skills in a place barely paying above minimum wage. I’m not sure what convinced them to take the risk in the end, but Avi, a petite, blue-eyed blond, had smiled serenely, patted my hands, and said, “I think we’re exactly what you need.”

  I’d been mulling his words over for the last week trying to decipher his meaning. Exactly what I needed? Gazing around my five thousand square foot home, I couldn’t imagine what a place that fed the poor and needy would possibly be able to do for me. I had luxury at every turn. Even if I never worked again, I had a trust fund that would more than adequately meet my every whim. They were getting the benefits of a chef who provided five-star dining and paying the price of a teenage fast-food worker.