by Shirley Jump
She was still beautiful. And undoubtedly still trouble. The kind of woman who wanted more out of him than he could give.
“Jenna.” Her name was almost a whisper, scraping past his throat with the rawness of a word that hadn’t been spoken in years. He cleared his throat, tried that again. Why was he still so affected by her? It had to be the passage of time, the shock of seeing her. Nothing more. “How can I help you? Do you need a reservation?”
“I need a chef,” she said. “And according to Betsy and Earl, you’re the one I should be talking to.”
The words were as devoid of emotion as a recipe book. He should have been glad. Their relationship had been over for years, and he wanted to keep it that way. He had his hands full with the restaurant. But for some reason, Jenna’s business-like approach ticked him off. “I’m too busy right now to take on anything extra. Thanks for the offer, though.” He turned and went back into his kitchen.
The warm, expansive space wrapped around him. The rich scent of fresh spaghetti sauce carried on the air, married by the warm, sweet notes of baking bread. He had chosen every countertop, every plate, every fork, himself. When he walked into Rustica every morning, he knew this place was his. Every inch of it.
The restaurant brought him a solace he hadn’t found anywhere else, a peace he wasn’t even aware he needed until he held it in his soul.
He’d loved food all his life, and on the rare occasions when his father was home, the two of them had bonded, not over a football in the backyard, but over a plate of lasagna in the kitchen. Stockton had begged his father to let him try his hand with some of the dishes, but Hank Grisham was firm about one thing—the kitchen was his domain, and no one was allowed to handle so much as a ladle but him.
Now Stockton had his own kitchen, and though he didn’t ascribe to the same theories as his father, he understood the love Hank had had for his kitchen. Working at Rustica wasn’t his job, it was his passion. His days here filled the holes in his nights, gave him something to look forward to, a vocation that completely suited him. He had a job he loved, a business that was doing well, and enough friends and family to fill a boat.
Now Jenna Pearson had walked into his restaurant and disrupted that quiet peace he’d spent years attaining.
The kitchen door swung open with a slight squeak. “You have to take this job, Stockton. I…” She hesitated.
He waited.
“I need you.” The three words hung in the air. Her gaze darted away from his and lighted on the stainless steel countertops. “To work for me, I mean.”
“Of course. What else could you mean?”
She jerked her attention back to him, a fiery flash in her green eyes. “This is business, pure and simple. I’m planning a party for Eunice Dresden’s birthday, and I need a caterer.”
He retied the apron around his waist, grabbed a kitchen towel and then crossed to one of the massive ovens to peek inside at the baking bread. Better that than to look at her and say what he really wanted to say—that she had never been about anything other than her career and her future when they’d been together. That her heart had been as remote as the other side of the world, and that distance had kept them from ever becoming truly close. He had no intentions of wrapping himself in that vicious, pointless circle again. “Since I own this place, I choose who I do business with.” He withdrew the loaves, then set them on racks to cool. “Today, that’s not you.”
“Why are you being difficult?”
Because he hadn’t been prepared for Jenna Pearson to walk through his front door. Because he knew if he took this job, he’d be spending hours with her. And most of all, because he knew where spending hours with her could lead—to rehashing a past he’d done a darn good job forgetting. He was his father’s son in one way—he could whip up a killer coq au vin, but he couldn’t make a mixture of business and relationships work.
“It’s not a good idea for us to work together.” He closed the oven door, then faced her. “Don’t you remember how badly things ended between us?”
“That was different. We were young and foolish…and made rash decisions.”
Rash decisions. His mind rocketed back to a heady weekend they’d spent in Chicago, a single night of insanity that had been the culmination of a long, hot summer. The last summer before the start of college, the summer he’d thought they were moving forward, when really, they’d been moving apart. An image of Jenna, nestled in the fluffy white comforter that had covered the hotel room bed, her dark hair spread out in an airy cloud around her head, intruded on his mind. He could still smell the vanilla notes of her perfume, a scent that had dusted every surface of the room. Could still feel the hope he’d felt that weekend, before everything had changed.
“I remember,” he said, and pushed the memory aside. “I remember everything, Jenna. Do you?”
She ignored the question. “Working together would be different.”
He closed the distance between them. “Would it? Really?”
Her chin jutted up. “Of course.”
He told himself it would be, that he could provide the food for Eunice’s party and not get wrapped up in Jenna again, and was about to say exactly that, when he drew in a breath, and with it, the scent of her perfume. Warm, spicy—
And exactly the same. Every inch of him wanted to trail a kiss along her throat, to taste her skin again. To feel her in his arms, to have Jenna against him. To make a mistake he knew would be monumental.
It had taken him a long time to get over her after they’d broken up. To give up the dream of a future that was never going to happen. To realize that being with her had nearly derailed him from his own plans. And most of all, to realize that if he had stayed with her, he would have ruined her life, as surely as his father had ruined his mother’s.
“I don’t have time,” he said. It was a lie. He could easily make the time if he wanted to.
Operative words—if he wanted to.
“Because it’s Rustica’s first anniversary this month?” She gestured toward the dining room. “I saw the sign.”
He’d hung a banner yesterday announcing the restaurant’s birthday, and inviting the patrons to a celebration dinner on New Year’s Eve. And while, yes, he’d be insanely busy with that, it wasn’t the reason he was avoiding her job. Rather than tell Jenna the truth, he leapt on the handy excuse. “That party will consume a lot of my time. I’m sure you can find another caterer in Indianapolis.”
Jenna pursed her lips, and crossed her arms over her chest. Avoiding her gaze, he turned out the bread loaves, then put another half dozen balls of dough into bread pans and slid those into the oven. The heat hit him in a thick wave, ebbing when he shut the heavy door again.
“What if I helped?” Jenna said.
Stockton chuckled. “You? Helping me? Cook?”
She shrugged. “I can cook.”
“This isn’t home ec, Jenna. It’s real life.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.
Her gaze darted to the wall of spices, then returned to him. “What about planning your anniversary party? I’m sure you could use a hand with that.”
Undoubtedly, Samantha had planted the same seed in Jenna’s mind yesterday. “I’m fine. All under control. If I need help, I’ll call—”
“This job is important to me, Stockton.” She bit her lip, an action he knew meant she was worried. “I really want Eunice’s party to go perfectly. It’s going to be a huge event, for the whole town.”
“Why do you care so much?” He pushed off from the counter and neared her, until he could see the gold flecks in her emerald eyes. Once, her gaze would have affected him. Made him find a way to compromise, to coax a smile from her lips. Those days were over. “Last I knew, you wanted to stay as far from this town as possible.”
And me, but he didn’t add that.
“Because…” She took in a breath, let it out, and he got the feeling whatever she was about to say was coming from some place deep inside her that she rare
ly visited, that side of herself that held the honest assessment of her life. He’d known Jenna Pearson since first grade, and knew she wasn’t a woman who liked self-analysis. “Because I want to prove to this town that I made it, that my business is capable and successful.”
Something in her words didn’t ring true, but he couldn’t figure out what. “And you had to leave New York to do that?”
A frown knitted her brows. “I’m here, and I need a caterer. That’s really all you need to know.”
“I hope you find someone,” he said, returning to his sauces. “Whatever caterer you use, Eunice will undoubtedly be happy with the food. Because last I checked, it was the thought that counted when it came to parties, not the lasagna.”
Jenna sat at one of the small rectangular tables in the dining room of Rustica, a hot cup of coffee she’d poured herself sitting on the white linen tablecloth. Delicate tendrils of steam filled the air. The steam only added to the tension still hanging in the air, a storm she’d stirred up from the minute she saw Stockton Grisham again.
Drat that man. Even after all these years apart, he could still push the wrong buttons.
She should have left. Should have gone down to Indianapolis and found another caterer, as Stockton had told her to. Hell, she shouldn’t have come here in the first place, knowing she’d see him again.
She had to admit, Stockton had done an amazing job with the restaurant. It embodied his personality, yet maintained an authentic Italian feel. Rustica’s décor was filled with rich russet hues, offset by the antique water jugs lining a shelf near the ceiling, and the multicolored hand-made round platters mounted above the booths. Stockton had created a warm, inviting atmosphere. Not too dark, not too light and definitely not too kitschy. No wonder he’d been such a success.
If she’d been another person, she would have been envious that he had made it—and she had lost what success she’d had. But she wasn’t. She’d known Stockton forever, and his success was well-deserved. It was what he had wanted—what he had always wanted.
More than he’d wanted her.
She shrugged off the thoughts. She didn’t have time to dwell on the past. She toyed with the hot mug, and considered her options. It didn’t take long. She had none.
Her business in New York was nearly defunct. The last few jobs had been disasters, with one thing after another going wrong. Caterers who didn’t show up, florists who delivered the wrong stems, bands whose music disappointed. The word hadn’t taken long to spread, and before she knew it, her growing party planning business was almost dead.
Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her mojo. Every day, she woke up, faced the mirror and told herself that the pity party was over. That she would get this business, and by extension, her life, back on track.
But for some reason Jenna couldn’t pinpoint, she kept derailing. Her passion for party planning had deflated, and every time she tried to go back to the way things had been before—before the day that turned her life upside down—she got even more lost.
She glanced at the closed kitchen door and decided no more. She would turn things around with this party. No matter what. Jenna got to her feet, crossed to the unattended bar and poured herself another cup of coffee.
“I thought you were leaving.”
Stockton’s voice drew her up. She took her time returning to the table. “You’re the one Eunice wants. I’m not leaving until we’ve arrived at equitable terms.”
Stockton laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “Equitable terms? Is that we’re doing now? Working out a contract?”
“I like to work with a contract. It’s standard business practice.”
He placed his hands on the table and leaned so close, she couldn’t help but inhale the woodsy notes of his cologne. Not the same scent as before, and she had to wonder who had picked out the new cologne. A wife? No, his left hand was bare. A girlfriend? Or Stockton himself?
“Nothing between us has ever been standard. Or business-like,” Stockton said. Jenna started to speak and he stopped her by laying a piece of paper on the table. “I assume you aren’t as familiar with this area as you used to be—” he paused a beat, long enough to make sure she got the hidden meaning, that she had been away too long to know much about anything or anyone here in Riverbend “—and so I took the liberty of writing down the names of a few chefs I would recommend. I suggest you call one of them.” He picked up her still full coffee cup and left the room. The double doors of the kitchen swung into place with a deep thud-thud.
Jenna glanced at the list. She considered picking it up, and taking the easy way out by calling someone else. Her hand hovered over the white sheet, but in the end, she left it where it was. Eunice and Betsy wanted Stockton. If pleasing the client meant getting Stockton to agree, then that was what she’d have to do. Clearly, it was going to take more work than she’d expected.
Jenna grabbed her purse and walked out of Rustica. It wouldn’t do any good to stay and keep arguing with him. She needed time to think, to figure out a way to bring Stockton around to her point of view.
Had she really thought it would be that easy? That she could just walk in there and convince Stockton to do what she wanted, as if they had never dated? Never had that turbulent breakup?
Jenna drove the few miles from Rustica to her aunt’s house and worked on a plan. There had to be something she could leverage with Stockton. As she pulled into the driveway, she flipped out her cell, first dialing the number for her business voice mail. Maybe there’d be good news. A bunch of potential clients interested in booking parties through her, or a satisfied customer leaving a recommendation. But no…there were only two messages, one from a creditor and one from a client—canceling her upcoming anniversary event, the only other booking on Jenna’s calendar for the next three months. Through the woman’s sobs, Jenna gathered the marriage was over, and thus, the need for a tenth-anniversary party was, too.
Deep breath. This wasn’t the end of the world. She had a booked event right here in Riverbend. One that would be a success, on every level.
With that newly cemented resolve in place, Jenna placed another call. A moment later, a cheery hello greeted her. “Livia. I’m so glad you’re home.” Of course, where else would Livia be? She used to work for Jenna, until business dried up, and she’d been forced to let her assistant go last week.
Olivia Perkins laughed, a light airy sound that seemed a million miles away from the worries crowding Jenna’s shoulders. “Hey, Jenna! I’ve been wondering how you were faring in the backwoods of Indiana.”
“Riverbend’s not exactly the backwoods. We have a stoplight.”
“A stoplight? As in one?” She could hear Livia shaking her head on the other end. “Tell me you at least have running water and electricity.”
“Oh, no. It’s all water pumps and gas lanterns here.”
Livia laughed again. “Remind me never to vacation there.”
“Actually…” Jenna let out a breath. “I was hoping you’d fly in and help me out.”
“I thought you said this was a job you could handle with one hand tied behind your back.”
She’d said that—before she’d encountered Betsy’s resistance. Before she’d realized she’d be working with Stockton Grisham. And before her entire plan for the party had blown up before she got so much as one napkin in place.
A part of her worried that this simple birthday party would fall apart, just like the Martin wedding and the Turner Insurance Christmas party. And her plans for her great comeback would derail, as surely as her business had in the past few months. Her confidence, which used to be as solid as granite, had been shaken over the past few months, and she couldn’t seem to get it back.
Damn it, she would. She refused to let this…this funk…last another minute.
“You’re right,” she told Livia. “This job’s a piece of cake. I just had a crazy moment of doubt.”
“Aw, Jenna, that’s normal. You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
&n
bsp; “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jenna ran a hand through her hair. Outside her car, a light snow began to fall. Snowflakes danced across the glass then slid onto the wipers. “Once I convince the caterer that working with us is in his best interests, it’ll be downhill from there.”
“Show him some of that Jenna Pearson determination. The same moxie you used to build your business. That man will be putty in your hands.”
Jenna let out a laugh. “You haven’t met Stockton Grisham. He’s not so easily swayed.” A tightness grew in her gut at the mention of his name. Why did she care? The last thing she’d come to Riverbend for was to reopen old wounds and past relationships. Work—that was her only focus.
On the other end of the phone, Jenna heard the click of keys on a keyboard, and Livia hmm-hmming for a moment. “It’s probably not much help, but how about I come down on New Year’s Eve?”
“Don’t you have some hot date in the city?”
Livia sighed. “No. I broke up with Paul last week. I’m officially single again.”
“Sorry, Liv.”
“I’m not. Who needs a guy who looks in the mirror more than he does at his date?” Livia laughed. “Hey, you never know. I might just find Mr. Right in your one-stoplight town.”
“If you do, let me know.” Maybe Livia would have better odds than Jenna, who’d only found Mr. Definitely-not-Right here.
“No problem,” Livia said. “I’ll see you at the airport on New Year’s Eve. Until then, chin up. You’ll do fine.”
The support rallied Jenna’s flagging spirits. She could tackle this—and definitely tackle the Stockton Grisham…problem. “Thanks, Livia. You’re the best.”
“No,” Livia said softly. “Just a good friend who knows when another friend is in trouble. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”
CHAPTER THREE
STOCKTON THOUGHT HE had seen the last of Jenna. Hell, he’d thought that eight years ago, and clearly he’d been wrong. Because she was back in his restaurant again. After yesterday, he was sure she’d abandon this insane plan of having him work with her.