The One You Can't Forget

by Roni Loren

  She cocked a brow. “A deal?”

  “Yes.” He laced his fingers with hers. “I will allow you to buy this school bus for the program, and I promise I will throw everything I have into refurbishing and making it a great experience for the kids. We will also continue to practice this senseless kissing thing, and you can have rights to these talented lips.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

  “The kissing part is a guarantee, no fine print,” he said. “But I’m only doing the first one if you agree to be part of the project, too.”

  She stilled. “What?”

  “No writing a check and walking away,” he declared. “I know you’re busy and have obligations. We can work around that. But you told me that first night that you wanted a passion project. I know you don’t think you have a passion, but you should’ve seen your face when you told me about your idea for the bus. This project means something to you, something that roots pretty deeply, from what I can tell. So, it needs you as much as it needs me.”

  “Wes, I can’t just… Work is crazy. I’m up for partner, and I’m helping with my dad’s campaign. I don’t know anything about kids or food or restaurants and—”

  He pressed his fingers over her lips. “I’m not negotiating this part, lawyer girl. Don’t try to use your secret ninja attorney moves on me because they won’t work.” His hand slid to the back of her neck. “You need to do something that makes your eyes light up like that. I know because I need that, too. Plus, the kids liked you. They could use a strong, successful woman to look up to, one who isn’t afraid to do the hard, messy work to make a difference.”

  All the breath sagged out of her. “Now who’s the lawyer? You’re laying kid guilt at my feet. Are you going to bring out sad-eyed puppies next?”

  He smiled. “Kid guilt is the worst. But super effective. And if we need puppy eyes, we can stop by my brother’s clinic and visit your rescuer.”

  She groaned and looked to the star-flecked sky overhead. How the hell could she commit to this? She was already stretched for time, and the partners and her father were watching her every move to determine if she was dedicated enough to become partner. She was not the girl who put aside work and responsibilities for a whim.

  However, the thought of building something from scratch, of giving Wes’s kids a project that could help shape their future, that could give them an outlet, made her blood pump harder and something bright and sharp bloom inside her chest. Did she really want to be the type of person who wrote a check and left others to do the real work? That was her dad’s method. “One hour. I can probably find one hour in the afternoons that I’m not in court to help out.”

  His lips curved into a satisfied smile, and he pulled her fully against him, looping his arms around her waist. “I’ll take it. One hour of work. Then maybe a little bit of this once the kids go home.”

  He bent his head and his lips captured hers again, soft and sweet, but enough to get her heart picking up speed and her mind emptying of all other worries.

  Her cases. Her battle for partner. Her father’s campaign. She’d figure out. She had to. Because right now, there was no way she was giving this up.

  This feeling of exhilaration. Of being wanted. Of enjoying someone without any of the heavy stuff attached to it.

  Good sexy fun. This was exactly what she needed.

  No, Wes Garrett was exactly what she needed.

  That was the scariest part of all.

  chapter

  THIRTEEN

  To: RLindt

  From: ChefG

  Dear Ms. Lindt,

  It has come to my attention that after you gifted me with a very expensive bribe for my kissing skills and made promises to partake of those services on the regular, I have not heard from you in a few days. I am sending a formal request to share space with you in the near future. I can offer food temptations including pretentiously expensive cheese and cured meats. Dessert will be provided for good behavior.

  Yours truly,

  Mr. Wesley Garrett, chef and cheese aficionado

  Rebecca had never resented her job. Work fueled her. She liked being busy, capable, and successful. She liked winning. But when she saw Wes’s email come through on Tuesday morning, she had a moment where she wished she could toss her jam-packed day planner in a bonfire.

  She’d returned to the office on Monday feeling hungover after the weekend with Wes. Friday night, she’d surprised him with the bus, which had been even more exhilarating than she’d expected because, well, kissing…and now the food truck was partly her project, too. Then they’d spent Saturday afternoon together at a coffee shop, plotting and planning how the business could work and make money for the program. Then there’d been more kissing. Not too much since they’d been in public. But enough that the crackle of possibility had sparked between her and Wes at every moment.

  That sense of not knowing what was going to happen next, of not knowing how far they were going to take it, of teasing and flirting and feeling each other out was like a jolt of electricity to her system. Even the discussions about the bus and how they should set up the business had gotten her jazzed, the excitement a palpable thing. It was like she’d adjusted the setting on her life and now everything was plugged in and in high-definition color.

  But when she’d strolled back into work on Monday with a spring in her step, the grayness of the office—something she’d never really noticed before—had hit her in the face like a cinder-block wall. And not just gray in color but in mood. The same people. The same clicking keyboards. The same burnt coffee smell.

  A new stack of cases on her desk about the same old marriage problems.

  A list of things her father needed her to do for the campaign.

  The whole thing had made her feel deeply tired and…out of place.

  Which made no sense since she’d worked there all her adult life and her name was on the goddamned building. If ever there was a place just for her, this was it. But it’d been like pulling on a sweater she’d owned for years and suddenly discovering it was itchy and that the tag irritated her neck.

  She’d wanted to call Wes and make lunch plans, anything to remind her that the weekend hadn’t been some weird dream, that there was another part of her life that wasn’t this. But when she’d taken a look at her schedule, her heart had sunk.

  Booked solid. Not just through the week but all the way through Sunday. Cases on the weekdays and campaign events on Saturday and Sunday. There was going to be no room for free time. No Wes. No Bitching Brunch with her friends. And no visiting the school this week. No color at all.

  She sighed, her eyes gliding over Wes’s words again. At least the bus wasn’t going to get to the school until next week. They had a bunch of paperwork and red tape to go through to make sure everything was done correctly, that safety standards were met, signatures obtained. She could block off time next week to spend on the project. She wouldn’t miss the reveal. She wouldn’t have to break her promise to Wes that she would help. That was something. But this week was a wash, and she hadn’t figured out how to tell Wes that yet.

  Hell, she hadn’t even known if Wes wanted to get together this week, but the email alleviated that fear. She put her fingers to her keyboard.

  To: ChefG

  From: RLindt

  Greetings, Mr. Garrett,

  I deeply regret to inform you that many people have decided to dissolve their marriages this week, and for some reason, they expect me to assist them with that. I am holding them personally responsible for denying me an opportunity to eat pretentious cheese. I am also blaming them for breaking my favorite fancy ink pen when one spouse decided to use it as a projectile. I’m also sorry to report that this weekend, my father’s campaign has thwarted my attempts to actually have a day off. However, I will be available by phone late at night if you are so inclined as
to speak with me at that time.

  Warmest regards,

  Lawyer Girl

  The response came a few minutes later and put a smile on her face.

  To: RLindt

  From: ChefG

  Dear Ms. Lindt,

  Will you be wearing blue lacy panties during these phone calls? That may be a requirement for my participation.

  Inappropriately,

  Chef Dude

  To: ChefG

  From: RLindt

  Dear Mr. Garrett,

  Your request will be taken into consideration. Perhaps it is better to wonder what I’ll be wearing than to actually know. Perhaps it’s lace panties. Perhaps it’s footie pajamas and an ugly robe. Perhaps nothing at all.

  I assume a man of your creative nature has an imagination.

  Currently wearing a sensible pantsuit,

  Lawyer Girl

  To: RLindt

  From: ChefG

  Dear Ms. Lindt,

  That is dangerous territory, but I am a man of great bravery and will take on that risk. Imagination engaged. I will call you tonight.

  Currently wearing a smile,

  Wes

  The quick exchange was simple and silly, but it made Rebecca’s lips lift into a stupid grin and made the marathon day stretching out before her look a little more manageable.

  She took a long sip of her coffee, stood, and headed out to the conference room to meet with the first client of the day.

  When she got back to her office past lunchtime, there was a package on her desk. She leaned out of her doorway and got her assistant’s attention. “Hey, Marian, what’s with the package?”

  Marian looked up from the pasta salad she was eating and turned Rebecca’s way. “Oh, I’m not sure. It just arrived a few minutes ago. The man said not to disturb you, but that it was perishable so it shouldn’t be stacked with the rest of your mail.”

  “Perishable?”

  Marian shrugged, and Rebecca stepped back into her office. She picked up the maroon-colored box and examined the logo of a local gourmet store. Probably a client thank-you. She grabbed her letter opener to free the tape and opened the box. Inside, there was a small jar of fig jam and a sleeve of fancy crackers, but it was what sat in the center of the display that made her grin. Tucked inside was perfectly packaged, super-pretentious…cheese.

  She picked up the folded note inside and opened it, finding scrawly handwriting.

  If anyone throws another pen today, just toss this bottle of jam at them. No one should be denied the opportunity to eat their pretentious cheese in peace. Talk to you tonight. —W

  Rebecca held the note in her hands and sank into her chair, some weird combination of giddiness and fear going through her, like that feeling of plummeting down the tracks of a roller coaster.

  “Everything okay?” Marian asked, poking her head inside Rebecca’s office.

  Rebecca looked up and offered a small smile. “Yes, it’s just a gift.”

  “From a client?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No, from a…friend.”

  Marian’s eyebrows went up. “Well, if it’s the same friend who dropped it off, I know why you’re smiling.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Marian.”

  “What? I’m old and married, but I’m not dead.”

  Marian left with a playful grin on her face, and Rebecca leaned back in her chair. A friend. She needed to remember that. This thing with Wes was a friendship with some added benefits. Just because the man had brought her a snack didn’t mean anything more than that he was a nice guy who wanted to sleep with her. A guy who wanted to sleep with a woman did nice things for her. She couldn’t let that hopeless romantic teen she used to be surface and pin meanings and feelings onto this thing with Wes that would only lead to her getting burned.

  It was just a damn box of cheese.

  chapter

  FOURTEEN

  Wes slipped on the generic black chef’s hat and adjusted it, the hat feeling foreign even though he’d had to wear one often enough in his early years of cooking. This one was mainly for show, though, at the Sunday brunch event.

  “Looking good, Garrett,” Suzie said, walking around one of the big prep areas in the event space’s kitchen and grinning his way.

  “Even with my shirt on?” he teased.

  She gave him an up-and-down look. “Well, we could scandalize all the nice ladies and gentlemen at the brunch if you want to flip omelets half-naked and piss off my boss. It would certainly liven things up.”

  Wes buttoned up his black jacket and gave her a wry look. “My Shirtless Chefs stint is done. In fact, this will be my last fill-in of any kind for a while.”

  “Oh yeah?” Suzie asked, perking up. “Did you hit the magic number you were saving for?”

  He pinned a name tag to his jacket. “Not exactly. But now I’m not going to need it. I found…an investor. She bought the bus I was looking at as a charitable donation for the after-school program where I work.”

  “What? When did this happen?”

  “A little over a week ago, so the details are still coming together, but I’ll be in charge of it. We’re going to remodel it, and the kids are going to be a part of the whole thing.”

  He still couldn’t believe the words, even as he said them. Nine days had passed since the night in the used car lot with Rebecca, and his head had been spinning ever since. Half the spinning had been panic. Agreeing to the project meant digging his roots deeper in his current job, something he hadn’t planned on doing. This wasn’t going to be his restaurant. Not in the financial ownership sense. And he knew by saying yes, he was committing to a longer stint as a teacher. That had freaked him out a little, but he’d calmed down by reminding himself that it wasn’t forever. He’d set the goal of getting the food truck remodeled, launched, and running smoothly before he left. Then he could walk away with a clear conscience because he would have left the program in better shape than when he’d joined it.

  But putting long-term career goals aside, the other half of him was filled with genuine excitement. He was going to build a restaurant. He was going to cook again. Be in charge of something again. All because of Rebecca.

  Rebecca, who he hadn’t seen since that night. He’d wanted to celebrate, to take her out again. But she’d been swamped at work and tied up with doing things for her father’s campaign, so their conversations had been limited to emails and late-night phone calls where they spent part of the time flirting and the other part planning world domination with the food truck.

  The week had been great, though. He’d gotten to know her better, and they’d discovered new things about each other. The phone brought out things that wouldn’t have come out in person because late-night conversations tended to devolve into the random. Like how he read cookbooks like novels and how she had to watch Shark Tank before bed. Of course, then they’d had to debate which “shark” they’d want investing in the food truck.

  The whole thing had been strangely easy, the rhythm of talking to her at night like they’d been doing it for years. The phone calls had given him something to look forward to after a long day of work, but they’d also made him realize how lonely his nights had become since getting sober. It’d hit him when she’d told him Friday night that she’d be out of pocket until Sunday night. Before, he wouldn’t have said he minded the solitude, but last night he’d felt the loss when he didn’t get to talk to her.

  Suzie’s face brightened and she did a little clap, breaking him from his thoughts. “Yay! That’s fantastic news, Wes.” She stepped closer and threw her arms around him in a quick, enthusiastic hug before grinning up at him. “I’m so glad it’s all coming together for you. What happened to you…” She narrowed her eyes. “Well, let’s just say there’s a special place in hell for people who purposely try to kill someone’s spirit. Britta
ny’s spot has been reserved.”

  He let out a breath. “I played my own part in that train wreck, but I’m glad that smoking pile of metal is getting smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror.”

  “Well, I’ll be the first in line at your truck,” Suzie declared. “What are you thinking concept-wise? May I suggest no shirt?”

  He chuckled. “Let it go, Suze. I’m going to make the kids a big part of every step, so it will need to be a consensus. We’ll brainstorm this week. I want them to visit the food-truck park, see if they can find a gap in the offerings, see what would make business sense but also be innovative, that kind of thing.”

  She shoved him in the shoulder. “Well, look at you, all teacher-y and stuff.”

  The comment rained a little on his happy mood, but he tried not to show it on his face. “Go ahead, make fun.”

  “No,” she said, palms lifted. “I’m not teasing you. I know it wasn’t your plan, but it’s an oddly good look on you. You were always a good kitchen manager, and so much of that is mentoring and teaching. This isn’t that far of a leap. This is good news all around. Plus, the world needs your food. It’s cruel to deny them.”

  “That’s very dramatic, but thank you. It feels good to be psyched about something again.”

  Suzie put her hand to her hip and considered him. “We should go out sometime. Celebrate this return to the world of the living.”

  He frowned. “You know I can’t do the bar scene anymore.”

  He and Suzie had hung out a lot after hours in culinary school and when he was getting his restaurant ready to go. She was going to be the restaurant’s sous chef, so he’d worked with her closely. Brittany had accused Wes of having an affair with Suzie since they spent so much time together and often ended up drinking late into the evening, but he and Suzie had never crossed any line except staying out too late and drinking too much.

  Suzie huffed, the air making her bright-pink bangs flutter. “I’m not saying let’s go get wasted, Wes. Believe it or not, I’ve dialed back a lot on that, too. I’m saying let’s, you know, go on a date with food and nonalcoholic beverages.”