by Jeannie Watt
“He lost his dog.”
“Oh, no.” Eden put a hand to her chest. “A little dog like that? Lots of things could happen to her.”
Actually, Reggie was more worried about Tom. He hadn’t sounded right. He’d been too matter-of-fact. No hint of emotion.
For a guy who blew up in the kitchen so often, there were times when he retreated.
Focus. You have a professional commitment here.
Reggie did focus—for almost half an hour. No call from Tom, which meant he hadn’t found his dog.
She made it another half hour, putting together her own version of chicken filling, then she gave up. Yes, they were busy, but an emergency was an emergency.
“I have to help Tom look for Brioche,” she said, pulling off her apron. “I’ll work late tonight. I just…have to go help Tom find his dog.”
“It’s about time,” Eden replied, taking Reggie’s apron from her. “Patty and I can finish most of the prep.”
Reggie hurried to her car and was inside before she realized she was still wearing kitchen clogs.
She drove slower once she got within a few blocks of his house, looking for Brioche. What she saw instead was Frank on one side of the street and Bernie on the other, peering into bushes and over fences, calling and whistling. Her heart sank.
So much for the hope that Tom was late because of a happy reunion with the dog he’d pretended he didn’t care about.
Reggie pulled into Tom’s driveway and parked. The house was empty, as she’d suspected, so she started down the driveway and turned in the opposite direction from Frank and Bernie, calling Brioche’s name over and over again.
She’d made a circuit of the block, then started up the next street when, in the distance, she saw Tom walking toward her cradling something to his chest.
Reggie hurried to meet him, jogging awkwardly in her clogs.
“I thought you were overloaded in the kitchen,” he said when she stopped in front of him, reaching out to pat the little dog, who was panting after her big adventure.
“I was worried about Bree.” Tom met her eyes briefly, then focused back on the animal.
Bernie rounded the corner, then broke into a smile and waved for his brother to join them.
“So there you are, you little escapee,” he said when he got close enough to pet her. He rubbed the dog’s silky ears, oblivious to the fact that Tom wasn’t smiling like the rest of them. “Where was she?”
“On a playground,” Tom said, his expression taut. He started walking and the others fell into step. Bernie and Frank began making plans for an escape-proof yard as they traveled the three blocks home.
“It’s easy,” Frank said to Bernie. “I read it in the Family Handyman. You bury chain link along the edge of the fence.”
“Sorry about this,” Tom finally said to Reggie in a low voice as the men debated the best kind of chain link to use. “I overreacted. I’ll just grab a shower and head down to the kitchen.”
You didn’t overreact. You reacted normally.
But for some reason, he wouldn’t or couldn’t acknowledge that.
“Thanks,” Reggie said. “I wasn’t able to figure out the chicken sausage filling.” She’d made her own, but wanted his recipe.
“I’ll write it down when I get there.”
Once they reached Tom’s house, he thanked Frank and Bernie, who headed off to their place, and told Reggie he’d be at the kitchen within the hour.
She started for her car, then stopped as the thought that had been nudging at her brain finally took form. How on earth could she have been so dense?
TOM STOOD UNDER THE SPRAY longer than necessary, despite the water stinging the healing cut on his side and back. What had started out as a quick shower ended up being a fight with himself.
Reggie had made it more than clear from day one that she didn’t want him in her life, because she believed he’d put his career first. And he was doing just that.
Was he running out on her?
She’d never wanted him to stay.
But if he worked a year or two without getting fired…well maybe he could then get a job in the States, close to Reggie and the kid. See if he could get to know his child. It probably wouldn’t be too late…would it?
He’d loved his father, respected him, even if he hadn’t been able to spend as much time with him as he’d wanted. Even though Tom was just a kid, he’d understood. Would his kid understand and love him? It seemed reasonable, given his own experiences.
But the one thing he was absolutely certain of was that he had to go. It was time. Whenever he considered not leaving, his anxiety spiked.
He needed to put his career on track, then work on everything else. Try to repair his life one aspect at a time.
When he came out of the bathroom, tying the towel at his waist, he almost dropped it when he saw Reggie sitting on the bed, her feet crossed at the ankles, her hands in her lap. Brioche was curled up in a ball beside her.
“Damn it, woman. You scared me.” He hitched the towel higher.
“Second time today.”
“How so?”
“Brioche,” she said, stroking the dog’s head. “That had to have been frightening, having her disappear like that.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” he said dismissively. “I was concerned. She’s small, you know. Big dogs and fast cars out there.”
“I see,” Reggie said, in a tone that put his back up.
“Do you?”
“Mmm.”
“Why aren’t you at the kitchen?” he asked.
“Because I’ve spent too much time there, using my business as a shield.”
“From what?” he asked, dropping the towel and grabbing a pair of boxers off the top of his suitcase. Reggie kept her eyes on his face. Mostly.
“Anything I didn’t want to deal with. It’s so much easier to focus on the urgency of getting ready for an event. But you know what? Eden and Patty are capable of prepping.” She touched her belly. “And I need to get used to believing they can function without me, just like we managed to function without Eden.”
Tom stepped into his cargos, then shrugged into a white T-shirt. “Well, maybe we better get down there now.”
“Bury ourselves in work and avoid everything else?”
“However you want to put it,” he said impatiently.
“You’re worried about more than Brioche and the job, aren’t you?”
He stared at her. How in the hell was he supposed to answer that? “Look. In hindsight, it was probably ridiculous to get that upset over a dog.”
“Really?” she asked flatly, her expression radiating disbelief. “Come on, Tom.”
“What do you want, Reggie? Should I break down and sob or something? Would that satisfy you?”
“I want you to answer the question,” she said with maddening calm. “What else is bothering you?”
“The baby, damn it. All right?
“There hasn’t been a guy alive who hasn’t felt some kind of trepidation at the prospect of fatherhood. So, yes. I’m a guy. I feel some nerves in that regard. And I’m concerned about putting my career back on track.”
She cocked her head, telling him she wasn’t satisfied with his answer. Tough. It was his answer. A solid, truthful answer.
And it was all he was giving.
“Let’s go,” he said, stepping into his canvas shoes. Reggie got off the bed, but Brioche stayed there, curled up, watching him.
He was leaving her in the house. No more chances. And before he handed her over to Frank and Bernie, they had to swear that their fence was unbreachable. As he’d told Reggie, Brioche was a small dog and there were a lot of dangers out there. He felt responsible.
THE TALK WITH TOM HAD BEEN just as frustrating as Reggie had anticipated. But she’d lobbed the first volley. Another would follow. She could be stubborn, too.
As promised, Tom wrote out the chicken sausage recipe as he made it. Otherwise, he said, he’d forget a step, beca
use he tended to cook on autopilot.
After he was done and had stored away the trays of empanadas they’d made together in stony silence, he asked Reggie if she needed more help. It was only eleven o’clock and yes, she did need more help, but he was so closed off that it was uncomfortable having him around—especially when she needed to think.
She shook her head. “No. I think we have it from here.”
He also had things to say—she could see it in his expression—and quite possibly had no idea how to say them.
Good. He needed to mull this through, as did Reggie.
“I’ll see you later,” she said as she walked with him to the rear entrance. “Thanks for coming in.” He stared down at her, his mouth held in a tight line. She put a palm on his chest, felt the rhythm of his heart, then slid her hand up and around the back of his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss. When his lips touched hers, she felt the heat, but he was holding back. Retreating.
Fine.
For now.
After Tom left, Reggie worked quickly to get the rest of her prep done. Yes, they could have used him, but she wanted him out of there while she settled a few things in her head. She worked with intense focus, ignoring Eden until her sister finally said, “What gives?”
Reggie looked up from the olives she was pitting for tapenade. “I’m plotting.”
“Something to do with Tom?”
Reggie finished the last olives, then went to rinse her hands. “You know…it’s funny how you can get your mind set in one direction and just keep chugging along, twisting everything around to fit this theory. A theory that, on the surface, seems solid.”
Eden twisted her mouth sideways. “Uh, yes. Like when I believed that if I made cheerleader I could win David Summer’s heart?”
“Something like that,” Reggie said. “I thought I knew Tom. We lived together for a year. Planned this business together.”
“And then he left you.”
Reggie took Eden by the shoulders, leaving wet finger marks on her blouse. “I missed the boat, Eden.” Her sister frowned when Reggie didn’t elaborate, but instead shook her again.
“Just…you missed the boat? No explanation?”
Reggie let go and went back to the counter, where the pitted olives lay waiting on a cutting mat. “All that bluff and bravado? Smoke screen.”
“For what?”
Reggie reached for the sharpening steel to take the burrs off her knife. “Fear. He’s afraid, Eden.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TOM WAS PACKED. IT HADN’T taken very long, he was leaving one of the two suitcases of clothes he’d brought cross-country in the house, and taking the other one with him.
Frank and Bernie had agreed to let him drop Brioche off in the morning, and to keep her inside until the fence bottoms were secure. In return Tom would bring them back French postcards…if such a thing even still existed.
And he’d see Reggie when he got back. They would set up some kind of an account for medical bills, child support, etc. He’d do his best to get back to the States for the birth of his child. He couldn’t miss that.
Nope. And maybe by then…
He wasn’t going to delude himself. Reggie was right. His career would always come first. He was exactly like his father.
Tom sat on the futon and stared across the room. He needed to jump into action, do something to stop the raging anxiety inside him, yet had no idea what he could do.
The rattling of the front storm door sent Brioche on high alert, all the hair standing up on her neck as she poised stiff-legged on the futon, ready to attack.
Reggie. He knew it was her before he opened the door. She stood on the porch, looking up at him without saying a word. She was dressed in a smock thing. Looser than necessary for the small bump she’d developed, but a reminder of what was to come. What he would miss.
Brioche peeked between his legs, then turned a circle. Reggie was welcome.
“Come on in,” he said, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t holding the door.
“It’s good to see you two together.”
He smiled tightly. “Is everything okay?”
She ran a palm over her opposite arm, her green eyes wide and serious as they met his. “No, Tom. It’s not.”
His heart skipped, thumping against his ribs. “The baby?”
“Is fine. You and I are not.”
He closed the door. This was not going to be a quick visit to say goodbye.
“Do you love me, Tom?”
That stopped him dead in his tracks. “What?”
“Simple question.” She sat on the futon, the picture of analytical calm, which only made him feel more rattled.
“What if I said no to your simple question?”
“I don’t know that I’d believe you.”
“Pretty sure of yourself,” he muttered, still standing. If he sat, he’d have to sit beside her.
Her chin rose slightly. “I think you loved me when you left seven years ago. I think you love me now.”
TOM’S FACE WENT BLANK, WHICH made Reggie want to grab him by the front of his shirt and shake him. He had no idea how much it cost her to sit on the uncomfortable futon and pretend to be calm.
“And if I do?”
“Then we have to face some issues and make this work.”
“What issues? My job? It’s who I am. You have to admit that I’m not a catering guy. It isn’t like I can just settle in Reno and become part of the family business.”
“I agree.” A month of Tom in the kitchen had convinced her that while they were better off with him there, it wasn’t the right job for him.
“And I can’t start a restaurant.”
“Why not?” Reggie asked.
He sent her a weary are-you-kidding? look before saying, “No one will back me, with my rep. Pete made that quite clear to me. And my people skills suck.” The words came out of his mouth with rapid-fire delivery, as if he’d said them to himself over and over again.
“Agreed.”
“I left you,” he pointed out, as if she wasn’t ultra-aware of that. She nodded, which seemed to make him even more agitated. “We lost contact. I disappeared out of your life.”
“Before I could disappear out of yours.”
He stopped moving. For a minute she thought he’d stopped breathing as he studied her, so tightly closed off that she didn’t know if she would ever be able to break down the wall between them.
Then he rubbed his hand over his head and turned away from her, toward the window, and stared out to the lamplit street. Brioche trotted over and sat on the carpet beside him.
Reggie rose and walked toward him, stopping a few feet away, sensing that he needed his distance, that his defenses wouldn’t allow her any closer.
“Who’s in your life today, Tom, who was also in it twenty years ago? Or even fifteen?” Who hasn’t left you?
He turned back to her and laughed harshly. “Psychoanalysis, Reg? Really?”
“Just an observation,” she said. She wasn’t so foolish as to think she could undo a lifetime of conditioning in a night. But she could crack the surface, give him something to think about.
“It’s just my nature to push people away. I’m a loner.”
“I need you to stop being a loner.”
He gave a dismissive snort. “As if it’s that easy.”
“It won’t be easy,” Reggie snapped. She took a breath, willed herself not to let her emotions get away from her. She reached out and took his hand, placed it firmly against her abdomen.
“This,” she said, holding her hand on top of his, “is scary. There’s a risk of loss. But people keep having kids. Some things last.”
Tom shook his head.
Reggie took a step backward, releasing him. She’d done what she could. Delivered her message. The rest was up to him. She started for the door and was almost there when Tom said gruffly, “You know I love you.”
“Yeah.”
He took a few steps
closer. “But you have your support system here. The business you grew. Everything you’ve worked for. You’re a success, Reggie.”
“And you wouldn’t ask me to leave that.” Too much distance still separated them. He started to speak when Reggie interrupted him to say softly, “Just like you didn’t ask me the last time…no matter how you remember it happening.”
“I thought it was understood.”
“Did you?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he finally said.
But he did. She could tell. And he knew she knew.
“Look, Reggie,” he finally said. “This isn’t going to work.”
“What?” she asked softly.
“You. Me. Maybe you’re right about this psychoanalysis, but I can’t help the way I react. I try to be normal and it just doesn’t work. All I’ll do is disappoint you when you need me.”
“You’re choosing to leave rather than try?”
He nodded. “I’m trying to do what’ll work for both of us.”
“You’re a coward, Tom.”
“And who,” he asked quietly, “wants to hook up with a coward?”
FOUR DAYS PASSED WITHOUT A word from Tom. That was okay, because Reggie was so damned angry with him, with herself—and the universe in general—that she probably wouldn’t have listened to him, anyway.
She hadn’t expected him to instantly accept what she’d had to say, to believe that important things could last. But she’d thought they could open a dialogue. Fear factor or not, she hadn’t expected him to walk away, and then not contact her. The silence was killing her.
But she was giving him grudging points for honesty. He thought he would hurt her, and he was removing that possibility. She’d told him from the beginning that she wanted to raise the baby alone. Wish granted.
And then, on that fourth night after he left, while she was lying in bed and stewing, she felt the baby move. A flutter deep inside her. A butterfly’s touch.
At first she thought it was wishful thinking, but it happened again. An odd fluttering tumble. Her baby… Tom’s baby…making his or her presence known.
Making her believe in miracles.
For a few minutes, anyway.