“Sorry, don’t remember it.”
She shrugged. “Well, the sentiment remains the same. You two were so young when you met. You’re older now. Why not take the chance?”
Part of me wanted to agree, a large part. But how could I afford the risk? I still didn’t know what stopped him from getting the PhD. The very thing that broke us up. I closed my eyes, hoping she didn’t see the moisture gathering there.
“I guess with Ramón gone you won’t have to worry about working with Marc anyway.”
I faced Kitty again. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Her blonde brows lifted. “Do you mean you and Marc?”
“No, not that. Marc asked me to stay on to help. I have to prepare lunch for the board on Tuesday and a memorial meal for one hundred on Wednesday. I’ll be there at least a week, and if he’s made director, I may have the job.”
Her eyes grew round as quarters. “One hundred guests? That’s a lot of people.”
“I’m getting a volunteer helper Tuesday afternoon.”
She slipped out of her jacket and tossed it over the back of her chair. “I could be your soup chef,” she gushed. “Remember the time I threw that reception here for Pastor Shay and his wife on their twenty-fifth?”
I remembered it all right. If I hadn’t flown in from Atlanta and come to her rescue, the chicken salad would have been too salty and the yeast rolls wouldn’t have risen. Aunt Kitty had many gifts, but commandeering a stove wasn’t one of them.
“It’s called a sous chef. Thanks, but no. I need to show the board I’m capable of whatever they throw at me.”
“I thought you wanted out once you realized Marc worked there. You’re confusing me.”
The knot inside my stomach twisted. She wasn’t the only one confused. “I do, but they need someone to help with food. I’m not doing this because of Marc.”
I ignored my aunt’s skeptical expression and changed the subject. “Which leads me to what I need to be thinking about. Can I borrow your computer to look up some information for tomorrow’s menu?”
She let out a sigh. “My computer is broken.”
I knew I should have brought my laptop, or at the very least purchased the iPad I’d had my eye on. Internet and e-mail had become a business necessity as much as a stove in my world. Maybe this was a sign I should have told Marc to find a catering outfit and moved on.
“I should have gotten it fixed when it broke, but I was spending too much time on Facebook.”
“You have a Facebook account?” Even for Kitty, this revelation surprised me.
She flashed me an impish smile. “Social media isn’t only for you young people. There’s a Facebook group I enjoy for senior Christians. Then there’s the online book club I belong to. Right now we’re reading a romantic comedy.”
I shook my head. All I had was an email address and membership in one of those business social sites. “Maybe that’s where you got the idea to get Marc and me together again. One big comedy.”
“I’ll call Roy Nettles from church. He’s a computer whiz.”
Chapter 8
I wobbled into the kitchen Sunday morning on the four-inch high espadrilles I’d bought on a whim.
Kitty grinned. “At least the warmer weather can be thanked for your not covering up those gorgeous legs for a change. Marc’s going to love seeing you in that outfit.”
I counted Kitty’s opinion as prejudicial, not rational, and shrugged. “If I look that good, maybe I should change. The last thing I want is to be eye candy for Marc.”
“Eye candy?”
“Something nice to look at. He doesn’t need to be encouraged. We’re friends only.”
She tossed me a look that said, “Yeah right,” and motioned for me to follow her outside.
Ten minutes later, Kitty pulled her 12-year-old Mercedes into Canoga Community Church’s parking lot. Marc waited on the sidewalk near the church’s front door. My stomach did a cartwheel. Make that two. There ought to be a law against men with olive-toned skin and hair as dark as coal wearing powder blue. Especially powder blue polo shirts that showcase muscular arms. How was I supposed to sit through a church service with Mr. Hunk next to me?
Kitty pulled up to the curb. Marc opened my door and flashed me the crooked smile I’d loved since we met. He’s only a friend. I sighed. One very good-looking friend.
While avoiding his eyes, I took his hand and let him help me out of the car. As soon as I had both feet on the sidewalk, I let go and looped my purse strap over my shoulder, then took a step and toppled off my right shoe and into Marc’s chest. Thanks to his good reflexes, he managed to stop both of us from landing on the pavement. I’d worked so hard to not hold his hand any longer than necessary and now here I was so close that the mix of citrusy aromas from his aftershave were assaulting my nose and distorting my sensibilities. I wanted to stay awhile and enjoy the place that had been exclusively mine so long ago. But I couldn’t.
I stepped out of his hug and a nervous giggle burbled. “And for my next act, I’ll do a triple flip off the church roof.”
Marc gave a hearty laugh. “Do we want to retake the scene?”
He enjoyed it too? If so, we were both in trouble. What’s more, we were about to go into church. God should be on our minds and not a lame effort at trying to resurrect a bad romance. We couldn’t go there. No matter what Aunt Kitty said or thought.
We let my aunt direct us to “her” pew, second row from the front. Certain every eye in the place was on us, the women likely raising their brows and wondering if we were once again a couple, I busied myself by studying my feet to make sure I didn’t tumble off my ridiculous shoes again.
Settling in our seats, I sat close to Kitty, leaving several inches of real estate between Marc and me. She removed her wrap and elbowed me in the ribs. “Good heavens, April,” she whispered. “Give me some space. The man isn’t going to bite you.”
At the same time, a couple squeezed into the row at the opposite end, causing Marc to slide over. We both aimed for the same spot and collided. His bare elbow brushed against mine. My arm tingled, and I peeked over and caught his lip twitching into a smile. He’d felt it too.
The pastor’s voice broke into my thoughts. He was praying. How did I miss that? Heat tinged my cheeks as I bowed my head and prayed for spiritual blinders on my heart.
Walking up the aisle after the service, Kitty remarked how much the sermon challenged her. I had to take her word for it because I’d spent the entire hour torn between enjoying Marc’s elbow rubbing against mine and wanting to flee.
In the atrium, Marc and I bid Kitty good-bye, and he led me to a side door close to where he’d parked.
“Mr. Thorne, Mr. Thorne, wait up.”
We paused at the exit.
A husky blond boy with a buzz cut ran up. “Mr. Thorne, I wanted to come to practice yesterday but my mom made me stay home. Did I miss anything?”
Marc hunched down and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We missed you, Tyler, but I’m sure your mom had good reason.”
The boy stared at his feet. “I was grounded for lying.”
Marc nudged Tyler over to a bench where they sat. They talked for a few moments then bowed their heads.
I gave in to a sudden need for air and stepped outside. Seeing his compassion with the boy almost had me wondering why I was so afraid to let things play out. A family hustled past me, the mom holding a squalling baby, while the dad kept a tight hold on a toddler’s hand. Would such a scenario ever be a part of my future? Not a good time to dwell on those kinds of thoughts.
“I wondered where you got off to. Ready to go?” Marc stood several feet away.
“Sure. I’m starving.”
We arrived at the restaurant and were shown to a window-booth overlooking a bubbling stream. After a short wait filled with small talk, Marc gave the waitress our order for the buffet, and we ambled to the serving table to mound our plates with eggs, ham, and fruit salad.
“So,”
I said, as I spread butter over a fluffy biscuit from the basket left by our waitress, “I presume you still went to California right after graduation.”
“Yep.” Marc forked a piece of ham and put it in his mouth.
I waited for him to continue after he swallowed. Instead, he attacked his eggs, as though it were his first meal in days.
“Your appetite sure hasn’t changed. How can you eat like that and not look any heavier than when we were in college?”
He picked up his coffee mug. “I run daily and hit the gym three times a week for strength training.”
My eyes went to his muscular arms. Forget food. Feasting on the sight would have satisfied me, but I succumbed to my stomach’s growl and forked a strawberry. “I suppose while I was paying my dues to my dad those two years, you were getting your master’s degree.”
“I carried as many credits as possible and finished in a year and a half. Worked as a Teacher’s Assistant and began the doctoral program six months later.” Marc reached across the table, nearly knocking over his water glass, and grabbed my hand. “Let’s not talk about my boring life anymore. I want to know what you’ve been up to the last eight years.”
I wanted to pull my hand away from its snare, but he’d managed to knit our fingers together. “I already told you. Two years with my dad in Chicago, then Atlanta as a CPA during the day, and culinary school at night. Back to your eight years. You began work on the doctorate but didn’t get the degree.” I pinned him with a stare. “Marc, for you that’s major.”
He released my hand as though it was a hot coal. “The program didn’t meet my needs, and I went in another direction. I wanted to call you, but didn’t know what to say.”
“Sorry would’ve been a good start.” I pushed my plate away.
“I am sorry, April.”
“You’re about eight years too late.”
“You’re right. But don’t you wonder what God is doing? It has to be more than coincidence we connected again.”
He had me there, but I wasn’t ready to buy. “It’s been a long time, and I don’t even know if I’ll have a job after the memorial service. If I don’t, I’ll probably head back to Atlanta.” I poured coffee from a carafe into my cup and stirred in cream. “No time like the present to start Lovin’ Spoonfuls.” An ache filled my chest. Talk was cheap as they say. No way did I want to leave, but what choice did I have?
“You’ll have a job working for me.”
I snapped my head up. “Have you been offered the directorship?”
His face tensed into Mount-Rushmore rigidity. “Not in so many words.”
“I heard Bob Cousins wants the position.”
“Cousins doesn’t have a grasp of the overall picture.” He squared his shoulders and thrust his chest forward. “He’s a numbers guy. No vision.”
“Are you saying anyone good with numbers doesn’t have vision?” I folded my arms over my chest and lifted my chin. “I beg to differ.”
His jaw slackened. “Didn’t mean you. Cousins can’t see beyond the costs. Sometimes you need to spend money to gain donations.”
I dropped my napkin on top of my cooled eggs. He’d apologized and in some ways did seem different. But his haughtiness disquieted me. “If you’re my boss now, it’s best to keep our relationship platonic.”
Marc signaled for the check. Fine by me. As far as I was concerned this lunch was over and so was any attempt of rekindling our relationship.
Tension followed us outside and into his SUV. Once we were on the road, I decided to take the conversation to Ramón’s death. The only thing we seemed able to discuss without coming to blows. “Did you ever figure out who ran me over the morning Ramón died?”
“Haven’t given it a thought. What brought that up?”
“Something that popped in my mind. It seemed odd to have someone suddenly there when the place appeared so lifeless. Come to think of it, I didn’t see any cars in the lot.”
“Like I said, someone could have been dropped off early. Maybe used the extra time to go for a run. Why the concern over some random guy coming in early for exercise.”
“Rosa came to me later that day and said she wondered if maybe Ramón had been killed. I know that’s crazy, but it did get me thinking about the person.”
Marc jerked his gaze off the road and focused on me. “How on earth did she get that idea?”
“From a conversation she, Helen and Karl had about how Ramón didn’t get along with some people. I told her just because someone dislikes another person, it doesn’t mean they’re going to murder them.”
“Good answer. The last thing we need is someone stirring up unfounded rumors. Doc Fuller said heart attack, and he should know. I found out after the fact that he’s the county coroner.”
I faced him, almost getting whiplash in the process. “Him? He looks older than my Great Aunt Sadie, and she just turned ninety.”
“He’s up there, but not that old.”
Marc made a turn toward Lake Geneva.
The man had me on a rollercoaster ride. Right then I was on the down loop and I wanted to be home before we reached the top again. “I thought we were going back to Canoga Lake.”
“Not until we get some ice cream. There’s a new place called Dagmar’s.”
Our conversation’s strange tangent had restored some of the earlier camaraderie, but why did he have to show that he remembered my greatest weakness? We drove down the hill into the small town’s business district, a mixture of refurbished storefronts holding gift shops and restaurants.
After we parked and got our cones, me with jamoca almond fudge and him, a double moose tracks, Marc suggested we walk to the lake, a much larger version of Canoga Lake with it’s own collection of fancy 19th Century and modern-day mansions. At the lakefront, we found a bench that faced a small inlet. Across the water sat the Riviera, the brick two-story building that anchored the boat docks where Marc and I met the summer before college. He worked for the Water Safety Patrol and I was a mail jumper on one of the excursion boats that delivered mail to the lakeshore residents.
Was it the beauty of the lake’s blue waters on a warm spring day or the wonderful sensation of butterfat-rich ice cream melting on my tongue that caused the last of the tension to dissipate? Whichever it was, I’d take another helping please. Peacefulness was so much better then anxiousness.
Marc stretched his free arm across the bench back and nudged my shoulder. “Almost like old times sitting here.”
I stuffed the rest of my cone into my mouth. “Uh huh.”
“I really meant it, April, about being sorry.”
I faced him and fought the urge to run my fingertips over his beard. “Me too.”
He cupped my shoulder with his hand and squeezed, then his gaze dropped to my lips. “Did you really mean it about only being friends?”
“Yes.”
He leaned in. “Even when we’re not at work?”
I angled back. Little good it did since he came with me, his gaze still resting on my mouth. “More so when we’re not at work.” I forced the words over my dry throat.
“Does that mean I can’t kiss you?”
He inched closer, and I felt his warm breath tickling my lips.
“Right here in front of God and everybody?”
“Right here in front of God and everybody.”
My thoughts went to the last time we kissed. The heavenly softness of his lips on mine. Who cared that we were sitting out here in the open with strollers passing by? Or that the man was dangerous to my fragile heart?
I wriggled out of his one-armed embrace and stood. “I can’t do it Marc. You won’t hurt me again.” Ignoring his wide-eyed stare, I walked toward the car.
He hotfooted up beside me and matched my stride. “Would it help for me to say I don’t intend to ever cause you anymore pain?”
“I’m sure you didn’t intentionally hurt me eight years ago, but you did. It’s your nature, Marc. Can you take me home now?”
“You can’t go in there.”
I whirled around. Puffs of whipped cream flew from the mochas I’d carried from the kitchen. Marc’s administrative assistant stood beside her desk. With blonde-streaked hair cascading past her shoulders, Taryn Matthews seemed like a sweet girl when we met last Friday. Today, with her upturned chin, set mouth, and arms folded, she’d morphed into a five-foot-high drill sergeant.
“Marc is in an important meeting,” she said, her tone full of authority. “He can’t be disturbed.”
I met her stare. “I think he’ll see me.” Especially when he sees my peace offering, he will.
“I have orders not to let anyone disturb him.”
Like an arrow in a bow, a snappy retort sat poised on my tongue. What was I doing acting like a high-school girl? Wasn’t I supposed to set an example for younger women? I forced out an, “Okay.”
“Taryn, is that April I hear?” Marc’s voice floated out his open door without a hint of the icy tone he’d used when he said good-bye to me yesterday.
My face warmed, and it wasn’t from the steam rolling off the mochas. Had he heard our childish exchange?
“Yes, Marc. She’s about to leave.” Taryn flipped her mane over a shoulder, exposing three tiny hoops lined across her earlobe.
“Have her come in.”
It was my turn to gloat, but I quashed the temptation and stepped to his door.
In shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, Marc sat at his desk scribbling on a yellow legal pad. Some important meeting. Who with? Himself?
He greeted me with a heart-stopping grin.
I held up the mugs. “I come, hoping that little squabble we had yesterday is forgotten.” I set his mug on the desk and offered him a coy smile. “Just remember. No kissing allowed.”
His eyes went to a spot over my shoulder. “April this is Kendall Montclaire, Rescaté’s board president.”
Kendall Montclaire is Rescaté’s board president?
I turned. A man wearing a pinstriped button down shirt un-tucked over dark navy jeans and topsiders with no socks stood in front of the bookcase. His ensemble said 20-something, but his face said middle-aged. Maybe he was in the middle of a midlife crisis. Either way, his red hair gave me no doubt this was an older version of the Kendall Montclaire I remembered. Had he heard my kissing remark? I did lower my voice so Taryn wouldn’t hear, but did Kendall? Was there a trapdoor nearby I could drop through?
Thyme for Love (Cooking Up Trouble Book 1) Page 5