by Jeannie Watt
REGGIE SPENT MOST OF THE NEXT day putting her hand to her abdomen every few minutes and waiting to feel the flutter. It made it very hard to cook. But every now and then she was rewarded, and that night, the first since Tom had left, she fell asleep almost as soon as she got into bed—only to be startled awake by the phone ringing.
Mims raised her head and blinked as Reggie snapped on the bedside lamp, then felt around on the comforter for the phone she’d dropped in the process. She’d barely gotten it to her ear when Eden said, “Reggie. You made the tabloids.”
“I what?” She pushed herself upright.
“You’re not on the newsstand, but you are on one of the big websites. Here. I’ll send you the link. Call me back.”
A second later the email zinged into her phone’s internet in-box. Reggie opened it and followed the link to the site. She enlarged the text and started to read, her heart beating faster as she scrolled down. And there she was—with Tom, of course—at the Reno Cuisine, packing up.
That reporter, Christine, must have found a camera with a longer lens than her phone’s. The headline read Volatile Celeb Chef Surfaces at Cooking Competition with Pregnant Girlfriend.
Pregnant Girlfriend?
Sure enough, in the telephoto blowup shot Reggie was no longer wearing her chef’s coat, and the breeze had plastered her thin, white cotton T-shirt against her small baby bump as she stood looking up at Tom. If that wasn’t obvious enough, there was a pink arrow on the photo pointing to her belly.
She quickly read the article, which was nothing but speculation, and not very flattering speculation, about why Tom had disappeared. Apparently, the only job he could get was with his pregnant girlfriend. Okay, there was some truth to that. He’d cut his hair to hide his identity…more truth there, too. But in general the article was just plain nasty.
Reggie called Eden. “I’m the pregnant girlfriend,” she said.
“Not that many people read these things.”
Oh, yeah. That was why they were so popular.
“Do you think the paparazzi will stake out my house?” Reggie asked as she started to get a handle on the situation. This was unexpected and unsettling, but also pretty far down on the page. The reporter had probably made a few bucks from the photo, which was why she hadn’t put anything in her paper…but that must be coming.
“Only if some other celebrity fails to sneeze,” Eden said. “Don’t worry about it.” She paused for a moment, then said, “You aren’t worried about it…are you?”
“No. I’m good. Maybe it’ll bring in new business.”
“Do you want me to come over? Because I can come over.”
“No,” Reggie said, scratching Mims, who was settled on the baby. “I’m fine. It’s really not that big a deal.” Even if, truthfully, it pissed her off having someone shoving her nose into their private affair. For money.
REGGIE WASN’T DUE AT THE kitchen until late the next morning, since she’d caught up on most of the paperwork, including thank-you notes, during her sleepless nights. She made the most of her morning at home, shopping online for baby furniture, ignoring the unsettling feeling of being on a national gossip website.
She was putting on her makeup when someone knocked on her door, and she slapped on lipstick fast, just in case whoever it was took her photo. But it wasn’t the paparazzi at the door. It was Justin, looking like death warmed over. But what was new?
“This is a surprise.” She stepped back as he came inside. “Have you, uh, gotten any sleep?”
He shook his head. “Nope. But I thought I’d stop by and see how Tom Gerard’s pregnant girlfriend is doing.”
“She’s well,” Reggie said noncommittally.
“Patty’s been getting calls at the kitchen from various newspeople. She’s fended them off masterfully.”
Reggie tried to smile, “I guess she knows I’m pregnant.”
“Yeah.” Justin sat on the edge of the sofa and rested his forearms on his thighs, clasping his hands together. “This is none of my business, but…what’s going on with you and Tom? Is he going to move to France? Are you staying here?”
Reggie stood behind her recliner, facing Justin, but looking at the pattern in the upholstery. Then she raised her eyes.
“I suspect the answer to both questions is yes. Has Eden been talking to you?”
“She has.”
“And you’re here because…”
He pulled off the white cotton stocking cap he wore when he baked. “We can run the business without you.”
“So…you’re giving me permission to go?”
“I’m removing one of the excuses not to go.”
“Thank you.” Reggie bit out the words. “But I might be a little lonely in France, unless something changes.”
“You can make things change.”
For a moment Reggie stared at him. Where was her protective brother?
He let his head drop. “A baby needs a father.”
“I know,” Reggie said with a frown. Justin was more serious than she’d seen him in…well…ever.
“Not to get all tough on you or anything, but Reggie, if you can make this work, do it. Forget all the shit that happened between you two before, and give your kid a dad.”
“Justin…I’d do that in a heartbeat. But the thing is, I can go after Tom.” Whom she still hadn’t heard from. “But I can’t force him to stay with me.”
And she wasn’t going to break her heart trying. She was done.
TOM LOVED FRANCE, AND AS LUCK would have it, Lowell’s restaurant, in a converted stucco house with a courtyard behind it, was excellent. Tom was quartered in one of the three upstairs rooms and spent his first days there discussing business strategies and menus, meeting potential employees and flirting with Simone. She loved to have Lowell glare possessively at her.
Tom was miserable.
He shouldn’t have left Reno. The plane had barely lifted off when he realized that the gnawing anxiety hadn’t abated, it had simply changed sources.
And he was still dealing with Reggie telling him that he’d never asked her to come to Spain. Somehow it had never played out that way in his head. She’d given the ultimatum, and he’d taken it—gratefully, as he looked back on it. He may have even pushed her to offer it, giving him the frantic out he needed as the fear of losing her built.
She’d been right on the money with her analysis of him. And the same scenario was playing out with the baby. He wanted to be part of his kid’s life, but he was afraid to be. Hell, he was afraid to become attached to a freaking dog…but he had, by lying to himself for a month.
As he’d lied to himself for years.
So here he was—across an ocean, with as much distance as possible between him and Reggie. And his kid.
He wasn’t loving it.
Lowell being Lowell, hadn’t laid out his offer yet. Tom had over a week left in the country, and he hoped that he wasn’t going to be hearing the terms at the last possible minute. He wanted time to negotiate during the first days of his stay.
As if he had any power to negotiate. But he’d give it a shot. Lowell would think less of him if he didn’t.
Guests were coming over that evening, people Tom hadn’t seen in more than a decade. Simone was cooking and Lowell was off buying booze in copious quantities, leaving Tom with a couple hours to kill before the indulgences began.
He settled in the small courtyard with his laptop, paid a bill, checked his email. An automatic alert that his name had cropped up on the internet was waiting for him. He clicked it and followed the link, wondering what kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into now.
Oh, shit.
For a moment he simply stared at the photo of Reggie looking up at him in the Reno park after the catering competition, the pink arrow pointing at her belly. Then he slapped his computer shut and leaned his head back against the stone fence that surrounded the courtyard, staring up at the cerulean-blue sky, the muscles in his jaw working as he ground his teeth t
ogether.
If those bastards started bothering Reggie…
Logic told him that wouldn’t happen. He knew how fast these things blew over. He wasn’t that newsworthy anymore, not having thrown a public tantrum in over a month. But, still, if those bastards started hounding Reggie…
He got to his feet and reached for his phone. Stopped.
He’d pretty much excused himself from her life. If Reggie had a serious problem, she would have contacted him. By email if not by phone. Wouldn’t she have?
At this point Tom didn’t know, but he was overwhelmed by the need to make sure she was all right. The urge to be there and protect her.
Would this feeling fade in time?
Did he want this feeling to fade in time?
The wonderful smell of roasting duck hit him as he went in and up the stairs to his room. He sat on the narrow bed and dialed Reggie’s number. She took her sweet time answering the phone and then, when she did, her voice cooled several degrees when she realized it was him.
“Tom…what a surprise.”
“I, uh, called about the article.”
“The girlfriend?”
The fact that she responded so quickly made his gut tighten. He knew the hell of being hounded, but he’d always rather enjoyed the battle. Reggie…she wasn’t that way. “That one. Have people been bothering you?”
“No.” He waited for her to elaborate and she didn’t, so he tossed out another question.
“How are you feeling? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. How are you?”
I’m going crazy with this stilted conversation. “So far, so good.”
“Well,” she said coolly, “let me know how it all works out. Anything else?” She sounded as if she was talking to a client. No—she would have been warmer to a client.
Oh, yeah. He’d burned a bridge here. But wasn’t that what he’d been trying to do?
“If you do start getting harassed—”
“I don’t see that happening, Tom. I’m in a meeting and have to go.”
“Reggie—”
“What, Tom?” Her voice softened a little, giving Tom a glimmer of hope, but no answer to her question. What, indeed? What could he say to her over the phone while she was in a meeting? The truth. “You were right about a lot of stuff.”
There was a very healthy silence, and then Reggie said quietly, “I guess the question now is what are you going to do about that?”
He didn’t answer immediately, because he didn’t yet know.
“We’ll talk when you get back. Goodbye, Tom. I really have to go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
REGGIE WAS WORKING ALONE IN the kitchen when her cell phone rang. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked into the office. She hoped it wasn’t Eden with some emergency at the reception buffet she and Patty were serving that afternoon.
It wasn’t.
“Hi, Reggie.” Tom sounded nervous—as well he should, since he hadn’t called her as promised when he’d gotten back from France. Over a week had passed since his scheduled return to Reno, and not one word.
“Where are you?” she asked. Why haven’t you called? What gut-wrenching news are you about to impart?
Okay, maybe she hadn’t been exactly warm and encouraging when he’d called during the client meeting, but that was no excuse for him not to keep his promise.
“Actually…I’m sitting in the parking lot.”
“You’re what?”
She went into the reception area and peered out the window. Sure enough, there was a nondescript midsize car with a rental plate in the small lot. Tom stood beside it, phone to his ear.
“I wanted to talk to you alone and I didn’t want to just burst in unannounced.”
Ah, yes. That unannounced part. That lack of communication part.
She was starting to feel a slow burn. He was supposed to call when he got back in the country and he hadn’t. “Where have you been?”
“Do you have a couple minutes?”
Reggie looked around the kitchen for an out, feeling contrary. Nothing.
“Maybe.”
“Can you come here? I have something to show you.”
Reggie frowned. “Fine.”
She took off her apron and laid it over the counter, smoothed her dress over the baby bump, then let herself out the front door, locking it after her. Tom was already halfway across the lot. When he was within a couple feet of her, he stopped. “Are you doing okay?”
“Uh…yes.” He looked tired. Careworn. She probably looked the same to him. Sleep had not come easily lately.
“No reporters?” he asked.
Reggie crossed her hands over her stomach, a protective move that was now instinctive. “None to speak of. I had a couple calls from local papers and refused comment.”
“Good.” He gestured with his head toward the street. “I have something to show you.”
“You mentioned that.” They started walking toward the car. To Reggie’s surprise they walked past it to the sidewalk.
“Only a couple blocks,” Tom said. They turned at the next street and went two more blocks to a tiny, rundown brick bungalow sitting next to a weed-choked lot.
“Why are we here?” she asked, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“I bought this house, Reggie.”
“You’re crazy,” she said automatically, the words tripping off her tongue of their own accord.
“I guess, because I’m pretty much sinking every cent I have into the renovation.”
“Renovation?”
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his and going up to the battered door. He pulled a key out of his pocket.
He couldn’t have closed the deal this quickly. “How’d you get a key?”
She was truly afraid to speculate.
“I was nice to the real estate lady,” he said with a smile that didn’t ease any of the tension in his face. “The paperwork on the sale is still pending, but—” he held up the key “—for once I tried sugar instead of vinegar. If it hadn’t worked,” he said as he inserted the key in the old-fashioned lock, “I would have gone for the vinegar.”
“No doubt.” Reggie somehow kept herself from recoiling as they walked into the dilapidated, damp-smelling living room. “I hope you didn’t pay much.”
“I bought the lot next door, too, so I have some change sunk into it.” He pushed the door shut. The rattling sound echoed through the empty house.
The empty wreck of a house.
The walls had holes, the ceiling was stained, the woodwork seriously marred. The flooring was worn through to the subfloor in places, and impacted with grime.
“Why did you buy this place?” Reggie asked.
“It’s a commitment.”
She tilted her head, her lips parting slightly. “How so? Are you going to live here?” With small furry creatures that no doubt lived here, too. Craziness.
Tom shook his head. “I’m going to work here. This,” he said, “will be the main dining area once we knock out that back wall. I think we can get ten tables in here.” He walked her into the next room. “The banquet area for private parties. Everything else will be kitchen, prep and storage facilities.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Reggie said abruptly. “You can probably stop the sale.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t understand.”
“You put me through hell, Tom. And now you buy what may one day be a restaurant, and everything is supposed to be all right? You left me. Told me it wouldn’t work.”
“You always knew I was leaving. You told me I was leaving a couple hundred times. I’m trying to come back!”
She stepped forward and poked a finger against his chest. Why couldn’t he see what he’d done to her with days of silence? “Communication, Tom. If you do something like this, you communicate about it. You don’t just spring it on a person. I’ve been lying awake at night, wondering if you were ever going to get your hea
d together, and you’re merrily carrying on without me.”
It was just too much to process. She needed distance. Space.
She marched out of the house, down the creaky steps onto the cracked sidewalk. It was going to take a boatload of money to bring this place up to standards. She was halfway to the street when he called her name. She stopped abruptly, closed her eyes, then turned back to him. “What?” she asked. Tom stood on the porch of the dilapidated house, looking very much like the captain of a sinking ship.
“Don’t leave me.”
Reggie’s mouth opened, then closed again as she swallowed.
“I know I left you, but…give me a chance,” he said. “We’re running out of time, Reggie. We need to settle things before the baby comes.”
She pressed a hand to the side of her head, then let it drop loosely to her side. “Yes. We need to settle things, but I don’t want you pretending to change if you can’t. I don’t want you to try to be something you’re not. Like you said before, it just won’t work.” And she’d be here picking up the pieces.
“But…” he descended the steps then and walked toward her “…would you mind if I worked hard to become something that I want to be?”
For a moment she stared up at him, took in the weary lines around his dark eyes, the grim set of his mouth.
“You want this,” Reggie stated flatly. “How many times have you told me you couldn’t run a restaurant? That you lacked the people skills.”
“Damn it, Reggie. Yes. I want this. I can learn people skills.” He took a breath, then reached out to take her by the shoulders, making that contact she hadn’t realized she wanted so much. “I’ve been telling myself over and over that I can’t run a restaurant. And I finally realized that I’m afraid to run a restaurant…because I’ll have to learn a lot of new skills. Take advice from others. Basically stop being pigheaded.”
Reggie nodded, because she wasn’t touching that one.
“I have no track record. In relationships or, honestly, in my profession. I’m good.” He smiled slightly. “No, I’m great, but I have no history of longevity and I’ve made some big mistakes. Because of those two things, I can’t get financial backers, so I sank everything I have into this place. It’s mine alone. No one to answer to. If I fail, then it’s all me.”