With No Reservations

by Laurie Tomlinson

  “Did you, uh, need something, Dad?” Cooper forced an edge of pleasantry in his tone. For Owen’s sake.

  His father ignored him. “I heard the opening went well.” Still looking around.

  “We did okay.” What on earth with this chitchat?

  “I wanted to talk to you about Frank Maldonado.”

  Cooper forced himself to remain still. “What about him?”

  “I never asked him to do anything that would hurt the girl.” The way he said it, it sounded like an apology. At least the Graham Cooper version of an apology. “You haven’t been yourself since you started spending time with her, and I didn’t want...” His father capped his sentence with a cringe Cooper didn’t need a translator to interpret.

  He didn’t want Cooper to destruct again.

  “If anything, Sloane’s the one who’s kept me balanced. She—”

  “Are you balanced, though?” Peppery gray eyebrows rose.

  “Oh, save it, Dad. I’ve been busting my butt opening a restaurant and making sure nothing slides at work—which you’ve kept a very close eye on, might I add. What do you want from me?”

  “You don’t have to work at the company, Coop. There are several people who would give their right hand for that job—and be all in.”

  Cooper crossed his arms. “You know I can’t just leave the company. Not after everything this family’s been through.”

  “Enough with Marianelli’s.” His father released a heavy, wounded sigh. “I’m done.”

  “What?”

  “I’m done letting you hold on to that stupid fire, because you know what?” His fingers jabbed into Cooper’s chest. “You’re not going to turn out like me.”

  “Dad—”

  His father raised his hands. “No more. Do you know getting that call and seeing you in the back of an ambulance was the most terrifying moment in my life?”

  Cooper stepped backward, as if that could prevent him from reliving that night.

  “It was never about the restaurant—it was about you. About seeing myself in you and knowing that’s what I create. But this—” He waved his hands around the restaurant. “This is what you create, son.”

  Cooper shook his head. The man standing in front of him seemed different—shirt wrinkled, face lined, unable to cope any other way but muscling and drinking. And if it weren’t for the void Sloane had left in his life, a void his father had helped create, Cooper might almost feel sorry for his father. When it came down to it, the man might have had riches and power and success, but he was alone except for his sons. Since Jordan’s death, he’d alternated between unhealthy cycles of work, drink, women. Nothing seemed to stick.

  While Cooper had given up drinking, he’d done the same thing. In the back of his mind, he’d known for a long time that staying at J. Marian Restaurants wasn’t really about the fire. He’d replaced the bottle with work—the high stakes of hitting quotas, of boarding planes to do damage control, of collecting and maneuvering contacts to meet his goals. He’d been trying so hard to lead Sloane to a breakthrough, to show her what life could be like. But he wasn’t there yet himself. As long as he threw himself into his work, he couldn’t be.

  “I’m done, Dad.” Cooper took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out of his mouth. “I can’t work for the company anymore.”

  The decision was easy: there was no decision.

  “Fine.” His father blinked a few times and then nodded. “Take the weekend and hand in your formal resignation on Monday if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” He and his father exchanged brisk nods, nothing and everything left to be said.

  “So.” His father broke the silence. “Do you have anything to eat around here?”

  Cooper raised his eyebrows, and after a few seconds of stunned disbelief, chuckled. “Of course, Dad.” He led the way to the kitchen and whipped together a quick ham and Gruyère omelet with a chocolate croissant from the pastry case. He set the plate in front of his father and watched him eat.

  “It’s good, son.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin when he finished. “Really good.”

  Cooper had waited for this moment, the first step in what felt like a shift in their relationship, from employer and employee to father and son—and, if he was honest, for the debt he’d long perceived between them to be absolved. But now that it had arrived, it sat differently than he’d imagined. His father’s approval didn’t change anything. The restaurant was something Cooper had done for himself, a pivotal next step in his recovery nobody could take for him and nobody could take from him as a result.

  Someone had reminded him that, to move forward, a person had to choose—one day at a time—to step outside that unhealthy hollow of pain and grief. Cooper would forgive his father eventually. He would keep going. But he wasn’t going to do it alone if she would have him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  LIVING AGAIN FOR Sloane meant taking small steps—making a counseling appointment, enrolling in a driving course, baking a cake without a recipe, finding the crumpled business card from the cookbook acquisitions editor and scheduling a meeting with her—and a few very big ones.

  It involved summoning a little bravery and lot of support from Grace to buy an early-morning plane ticket. It meant baking some of Levi’s favorite chocolate bars and asking him to remove all ties to VisibilityNet from her website before calling Aaron’s parents to tell them she was finally taking them up on their offer. More than twelve years later.

  After her plane landed she took her parents to breakfast to tell them everything, how she’d essentially existed in isolation except for her City on a Hill kids. How she’d fallen in love and fallen in loss, only to decide she wanted to live again.

  And then she asked them to drive her to Aaron’s parents’ house. Somehow, her heart didn’t hammer its way out of her body on the way, even though she felt it was a distinct possibility. Somehow they welcomed her, as if they’d been mourning her absence as much as Aaron’s. After she left, she took a long walk, reveling in the memories they’d shared.

  It was unseasonably mild for early winter in Indiana, the sky calm and clear. The road, once flanked by woods and fields, was paved now and lined with a gas station, a church, a shopping center, the heart of the city now stretched all around it. And the tree—their tree—stood like an indignant matriarch, tall and regal with a broad girth despite its scorched trunk.

  Children played on equipment that had been built near the tree. Aaron Jacobsen Memorial Park. The sign took her breath away.

  She sat on a bench that was situated in almost the exact place where she and Aaron had watched the car burn. Her attention alternated between the playground, full of children enjoying the sun, and rewriting the area in her memory. The town had built a guardrail by the tree and installed a stop sign just before that severe curve in the road. How many lives had those simple constructions saved?

  The screams and laughter of the children were punctuated by the sound of a car door, and the prickle of every cell in Sloane’s body told her who it was before she could turn her head.

  Cooper. Not an ounce of her was surprised to see him. It was the most natural thing in the world that he had come for her.

  Sloane stood when he was close, opening her arms to his warmth and leaning into that place that was hers. “Cooper. How did you find me here?”

  “Grace told me.” He eased away from her but kept his hands wrapped around her waist. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I think I would have regretted not following you again the most.”

  She kissed him. “I’m so glad you did.” When she rocked back on her heels, the glimmer of tears in his eyes constricted her throat and blurred her own vision.

  “You were right, Sloane. I may have quit drinking, but I just switched to drowning out the emptiness with work. I ha
ted that you weren’t the first to know that—”

  “Did you quit your job?”

  “Yes, finally,” Cooper replied with a laugh, sliding a piece of hair behind her ear. “From the moment I met you, you’ve surprised me. And not just because you’re the strongest...loveliest person I’ve ever met, but because I never imagined in a million years that I could have this with someone.”

  She nodded, shaking loose the first pair of tears.

  “You’ve helped me remember that I can be someone regardless of who I’ve been or...” His head dipped for a breath before his gaze was back on hers. “Or what I’ve done. I love you, Sloane Bradley.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Oh, do you like the sound of that?”

  She grinned. “Oui, chef.”

  Cooper’s eyes crinkled with a wide, knowing smile. His lips pressed against her right cheekbone and then her jaw before his low, husky voice whispered in her ear. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Sloane looped her arms around his neck, and he rested his forehead against hers. “All of you.”

  She took his hand and led him to the tree.

  So this was what full circle felt like, standing where her life had been totaled. Simultaneously filled with the old ache and bursting to tell Cooper about the new developments in her life. To make up for all the kisses they’d missed.

  That sacred juncture between past and present was a powerful departure from the vicious cycle her life had been. The hand in hers was the love that had taught her to breathe again.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this debut Heartwarming book by Laurie Tomlinson, you’ll also love these romantic stories that feature culinary delights and foodies!

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  All available at Harlequin.com.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from AN ALLEGHENY HOMECOMING by T. R. McClure.

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  An Allegheny Homecoming

  by T. R. McClure

  CHAPTER ONE

  “A COLD FRONT coming in from the north gives our area a dusting of snow for the overnight forecast.” Wendy Valentine turned toward the camera with a smile. “So far this week it’s been mild, but then into the weekend it becomes colder.” Eyes on the monitor, she waved a hand over the center of the green screen. “Tuesday we’ll have 44 degrees with a few passing clouds. High Wednesday only 37 with a few snow showers Thursday morning.”

  From his position behind the anchor desk, Casey Knight flashed bright, white teeth in her direction. His thick blond hair gleamed under the lights. “Thanks, Wendy, what a nice way to start the week, with a few more warm days before winter sets in. Not bad for central Pennsylvania in November.”

  “But don’t forget it looks like snow later in the week!” Elbows tucked, Wendy linked her fingers and rested her hands at her waist as the camera pulled back. “Better dig out your snow boots, Casey.”

  “This will be my first experience with snow since I moved here. I’m not sure I’m ready.” With a charming grin and a sly wink, Casey spoke to camera one. “Well, that does it for us this morning. Stay tuned for national news. Our chief meteorologist, Mark Murphy, and I will see you at noon.”

  Wendy bit the corner of her lip to stop her frowning as she gazed at the new anchor. This was who she had lost the position to? This Mr. Perfect? Navy blazer, crisp white shirt, blue-and-gray-striped tie. No one should look that good, even if he was the new morning anchor for WSHF. “And we’re clear.” The voice of their college intern came out in a high-pitched squeak.

  Wendy hadn’t taken two steps before Casey was at her side. “Join me for a cup of coffee, Wendy? We should get to know each other.” He winked.

  “I’m going home. But maybe another time.”

  Casey looked her up and down. “You have a nice camera presence. You should try for an anchor position sometime. Catch ya later.” Another wink and he was gone.

  Wendy shrugged off the comment and her blazer just as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. No matter how cold her forecast, under these lights the temperature was usually hot. Yet she always wore a suit in an attempt to be taken seriously by her peers. So far it hadn’t worked.

  She weaved through the collection of television equipment and thick cables strung across the floor to get to the hallway, en route to the tiny office she shared with the chief meteorologist. With more seniority than she, Mark had the cushy working hours of noon and six, leaving Wendy with early morning and late evening. The man wouldn’t show at the station until shortly before the noon report. On the plus side, Wendy had all day to search for that one perfect story that would shoot her to the top and far away from this small-town television station.

  “Wendy, could I see you for a minute?” Another new addition to the station, Walt Crosby stuck his head into the hallway. The station manager’s thick white hair appeared perpetually tousled. Red blotches colored his cheeks. Rumors of an incident on the West Coast that chased him east had accompanied his recent arrival.

  On her way to the coffee station for her first cup, Wendy resisted the urge to frown. She couldn’t afford to antagonize the man. Part of her plan involved doing something, anything, other than weather, and she needed his approval. “Sure, boss.” She made a U-turn and followed Walt into a cluttered office, which no longer smelled of the former station manager’s perfume but of smoke. “What’s up?”

  The husky man lifted a pile of newspapers from the single chair in front of his desk and motioned for her to sit. He settled into his own chair with a heavy sigh. Rolled-up shirtsleeves displayed hairy, muscular forearms. “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. Did you know Mark will be gone for the next three days?” He didn’t sound pleased with the chief meteorologist.

  Wendy was curious. “He is? Since when?”

  “Since he had Sharon approve it before he left. Apparently the man has an uncanny knack for predicting snowfall. He’s headed to Vermont to ski.”

  Wendy slumped in her chair. She knew what that meant. She would be doing the early morning, noon, evening and eleven o’clock weather. In other words, she would be living at the station. She hadn’t comp
lained when Mark had married last year and spent a month in Cancun for his honeymoon. But skiing? “So I’ve got it all.”

  “You have a problem with that?” At the end of the sentence, his bushy eyebrows rose, almost meeting in the middle.

  Wendy bristled at the man’s tone. She kept her answer short. “I can handle it.” She had seen Mark just last Friday. Funny the man hadn’t bothered to mention he had planned to take a few weekdays off, but then, ever since the news of her Atlanta offer had made the rounds at the station he had distanced himself.

  The wooden desk chair creaked in protest as Walt leaned back and cupped his hands behind his head, as if trying to figure out if she were telling him the truth. “He already had the leave approved by the time I arrived. Sharon must have thought you could do it.”

  “To be honest, the three years I’ve been here Mark has always taken off for fresh powder. Early this year, though.” Wendy drummed her fingers on the arm of her wooden chair. Her chair didn’t tilt back.

  Walt stared at the tile ceiling. Then he stretched and brought his chair forward with a thump. “The station had additional staff then.”

  Wendy nodded. “Budget cuts.” She looked around the small office and wondered how much, if any, the previous station manager had shared with Walt. Sharon knew all about Wendy’s drive to the big time. And she had almost made it. “How often did you talk with Sharon before she left?”

  He pulled a cigar from his center desk drawer and stuck it in one corner of his mouth. “In the thirty seconds she had to tell me everything I needed to know, she might have mentioned you had an offer from an Atlanta affiliate last year.” He held her gaze. “I understand the job didn’t materialize.”

  Wendy squirmed. “That’s one way to put it.” She had been mortified, after telling everyone and his brother she was leaving, the deal had fallen through. Walt seemed to be waiting for more. She was well aware of the technique. Don’t say anything, until the person across from you felt compelled to fill the silence and blurted out the information you’re looking for. She never seemed to have an opportunity to use it. Lips pressed tightly together, she met the gaze of the blue-eyed newsman sitting across the messy desk.