by Hilary Dartt
“Welcome to my world, Josie,” Delaney said. “You guys were spying on me. Remember that?“
“I do remember that. It was for your own good. Because you suck at making decisions.”
When Delaney and Summer stared at Josie, her shoulders slumped. “But what if I don’t get it?” she said. “What if I’m a finalist but then I don’t get it?”
“What if you do?” Summer said, her voice gentle. “What if you get it, because you’re the perfect person for this job?”
“Don’t use your mommy voice on me,” Josie said. “Now you guys have to help me get ready for my interview.”
“Don’t say it like it’s a punishment,” Delaney said. “We’ve been telling you all along we’d help you with your interview.”
“Fine. I’m still mad, though.”
“We did it from a place of love,” Summer said.
“I know,” Josie said. “But I’m still mad.”
“Okay,” Summer and Delaney said at the same time.
And now for a change of subject, Delaney thought. “I invited Jake over for dinner this weekend.”
“You’re cooking?” her friends chorused in what she hoped was mock shock.
“I’ll have the fire department on standby,” Josie said.
“Oh, Josie. She’ll be fine.” Summer turned her attention back to Delaney. “You’ll be fine, Dee. Don’t listen to her.”
Josie’s answering chuckle sounded good-natured, but Delaney detected a definite wicked gleam in her eyes.
“Beth, my cooking partner, says that should seal the deal. He’ll want nothing more than to be with me and only me.”
“Has she tasted your cooking?” Josie said.
“Shut up,” Delaney and Summer said.
A huge group of real-life cowboys chose that very moment to saunter into Rowdy’s, and the conversation was put on pause as the girls admired their Wranglers.
“That’s right,” Summer said. “The rodeo’s in town next weekend. I guess these guys are here a week early to adjust to the elevation.”
The rodeo came to town three times per year, once each during spring, summer and fall. Horsemen and women drove their big, shiny trucks into town, hauling horse trailers full of athletic, majestic horses and set up camp at the rodeo grounds. The town bustled with activity throughout the entire week, from daytime kids’ sheep races to the evening rodeos and the nighttime rodeo dances on the high school football field. As a real-life cowboy establishment, Juniper thrived on these events.
“I wanted to take the kids,” Summer said. “And speaking of that, I have a special surprise for you.”
“What is it?”
“The Sweets are playing at the rodeo dance on Saturday night!”
“What? Why didn’t you tell us before now?” Josie asked.
“Well, I don’t know, to tell you the truth,” Summer said. “It’s a big crowd. A lot bigger than the one at The Blue.”
“Oh, I love the rodeo dance,” Delaney said.
“I know. You’re going to love this. We’ve been practicing all these country songs. It’s going to be so much fun.”
“I am so there,” Delaney said. “I can’t wait.”
“Hey, if you can talk Jake into going with us,” Josie said, “you can have hot hay bale sex under the bleachers after you do a couple of slow dances with him.”
“That was a long time ago,” Delaney pouted. “And it was hot.”
His name was Colby. He was tall and slim and wore his flannel shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He approached Delaney at the beginning of the rodeo dance the summer she turned twenty-one and they spent the entire evening together, hopping from the dance floor to the bar at the end of the stadium and back again, twirling, singing along to the music. That perfect evening culminated in sweaty sex on a hay bale under the bleachers. Of course, they never spoke again. Colby lived on a ranch in Montana and they didn’t even exchange numbers.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like to do that with Jake.”
The visuals came unbidden into her mind: Jake taking her from behind as they stood against the posts under the bleachers, his hands grasping her hips and his mouth near her ear.
She shivered.
“Geez, Dee,” Summer said. “Don’t get carried away. We’re sitting right here.”
“Sorry.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Why had she thought inviting Jake over for dinner would or could be a good idea? How could this possibly turn out well?
Delaney wandered through the produce section of the grocery store, carefully examining apples as if her life depended on finding one of just the right shape, size, color and firmness. She actually knew she wasn’t going to buy any apples, but as she had no idea what she was going to buy, examining the apples seemed like a good way to give the appearance that she knew what she was doing.
I should have planned a menu.
She strolled casually along in front of the shelves stacked with vegetables she couldn’t even identify. Summer would know what to do. She was a mom. She had about a dozen go-to meals she cooked in a pinch. Delaney pulled out her phone: What should I cook Jake for dinner tonight?
Summer: Didn’t you learn roasted chicken?
Delaney: Yeah. But what if it comes out dry?
Summer: What if it doesn’t? Download a recipe app on your phone and look up a good recipe. Or just use the one from class. Didn’t you get a recipe book?
Delaney: Yeah.
Summer: Where is it?
Delaney: At home. I’m at the store.
Summer: Oh, for goodness’ sake. Just get a whole chicken, celery, onions, salt, pepper, butter.
Delaney: I have salt and pepper, Summer.
Summer: Don’t get snippy.
Delaney: I’m not.
No response.
Delaney: Okay. I am.
Summer: I’ll come help you. Don’t refrigerate the chicken.
Delaney: What? What about salmonella?
Summer: Trust me. Get stuff for a side dish. That cucumber salad?
Delaney: Fine.
Summer: And you need a starch. Grab a couple of potatoes.
Delaney: A whole bag?
Summer: No, you’ll never use them and they’ll grow eyes and you’ll have an entire potato patch in your pantry.
Delaney: Fine.
***
Summer and her four children descended on Delaney’s house two hours later, armed with aprons, chef hats and a variety of cooking utensils including tongs, spatulas and a whisk.
“We’re not going to need all that, are we?”
“Don’t look so panicked,” Summer said. “It was the easiest way for me to get the kids out of the house. I told them we were coming to help you cook and they had a blast collecting all their cooking stuff. Just don’t let Nate put that whisk in your pot. God only knows where it’s been. How long do we have?”
“He’ll be here in an hour,” Delaney said.
“Perfect.”
Summer was like a sweet-voiced drill sergeant, directing the lot of them in every step of dinner preparation. Even tiny Hannah helped, washing the potatoes while sitting on the counter. Sarah sliced cucumber, tomato and onion. Nate sprinkled salt and pepper on the chicken and Luke mixed the dressing for the salad.
“I’m in awe. Do you do this every night?”
“Oh, no,” Summer said. “Not every night. But on weekends, when we have time. I love being in the kitchen with the kids. It’s so much fun. As you know, it’s never this quiet in my house. Look how busy they all are.”
Within moments, the chicken was in the oven, the salad was made and the potatoes were boiling on the stove.
“Okay, can you handle mashing the potatoes and mixing in some butter, milk, salt and pepper?” Summer said.
Delaney rolled her eyes.
The kids lined up at the door, tallest to shortest. Nate held Hannah’s hand and all four of them looked soberly up at Delaney.
“I hope I can handle the
potatoes,” Delaney said.
“Don’t disappoint me,” Summer said.
“I won’t. They’ll be delicious.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Summer said, “and you know it.”
“No funny business, Aunt D,” Sarah said.
Without speaking, Delaney pointed to the door. Obediently, the kids – and Summer – filed out.
“Thank you!” Delaney called from the front door. “It’s already smelling wonderful!”
***
Delaney heard the Jeep’s engine rumble into her driveway a minute before Jake was due to arrive.
“Why am I so nervous?” she asked Pixie, who had jumped onto the windowsill to see who had come to visit. “It’s just dinner. Oh, I should open the wine.”
Her phone chirped.
Summer: Good luck. Open the wine.
It chirped again.
Josie: You got this this. Don’t sweat it. It’ll go great.
Delaney: Thanks, guys. He just got here. I’ll text you when it’s over. xo
Despite the words of encouragement, Delaney’s hands shook as she fought with the wine opener before realizing the bottle had a screw-on lid. She took a deep breath to steady herself, then bobbled one of the wine glasses and nearly dropped it.
“Get yourself together,” she muttered.
Jake knocked on the door. Delaney quickly poured the wine, left it on the counter and went to the door. When she opened it, Jake pulled a bouquet of bright yellow tulips from behind his back with a flourish.
All at once, most of Delaney’s anxiety melted away. Bringing her flowers a second time meant something. Hopefully her cooking wouldn’t scare him away. She thanked him and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.
“It’s the least I could do, considering you’re cooking me dinner,” he said.
“Wait ’til you taste it. You might take the flowers back. They’re so cheerful.”
He chuckled and followed her to the kitchen.
“Wine?” she said.
“Sure.”
“My cooking class partner, Beth, said I should give you a glass of wine before I feed you. To soften you up.”
“Smart woman.” His eyes locked with hers over the rim of his glass.
“Cheers,” he said. “To your first adult, home-cooked meal.”
Delaney raised her glass and finished the entire thing in one gulp. “Cheers.”
As she set the table, mentally kicking herself for forgetting to do it before Jake showed up, he refilled her glass, then leaned against her counter and took in the house.
“I can see why you fell in love with this place,” he said. “It’s so light and airy, and cozy at the same time. And the hardwood floor’s incredible. Is it original?”
“Yeah, it is. It’s a little squeaky, but it has personality. My parents thought it was a terrible investment. A money pit, I think is what my dad said. But I love it.”
“It’s great.”
“The chicken should be ready in about fifteen minutes,” she said. “Summer said –”
She stopped herself, not sure if she wanted him to know Summer and her miniature Army had been here, helping with dinner.
“What did Summer say?”
“Summer said it might take a little longer to cook since it hadn’t come all the way up to room temperature before we put it in the oven.”
“We?” Jake said.
“Okay, I admit it,” Delaney said, realizing the tension was melting away. “I had help with this dinner. I was so afraid I’d ruin it, Summer brought her kids over and they helped me. It took six people to cook this meal. You’d better like it.”
“Tell me more about your friends,” he said.
For the next fifteen minutes, she shared the best Summer and Josie stories from their teenage years, from Josie sneaking them out of school in the trunk of her car junior year to Summer proposing to Derek right after graduation.
She expected black billows of smoke to greet her when she opened the oven, but on the contrary, she smelled the homey scent of roasted chicken. She could hear the drippings sizzling in the roasting pan, and was pleasantly surprised when she pulled it out and saw the bird’s skin was a crispy, light brown.
“That looks perfect,” Jake said.
“It does.”
“You sound surprised,” he said.
“I am.”
He carved the perfectly-roasted chicken while she served the salad and mashed potatoes. Then they sat down at her dining table.
“Was that a huge sigh of relief?” he asked.
“It was,” Delaney said. “Even though we haven’t tasted any of the food, yet. Maybe I should rescind that sigh of relief until we’ve tasted everything. Go ahead.”
Jake cut a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth. He chewed, staring into her eyes. He chewed. And chewed. Impatience took hold.
“Well?” she said.
He held up a finger. And chewed.
“The suspense is killing me!”
He swallowed. “It’s good. Really good. Well done.”
“Now I can sigh that sigh of relief.”
“You deserve it. Cheers, again. To a perfectly cooked chicken.”
As Jake cleaned his plate and she did the same, Delaney felt a tiny glimmer of pride taking shape in her chest. She’d done it. Sure, she had a little help (okay, more than a little) from Summer and the kids, but she’d taken the chicken out of the oven on time. She’d provided the salad recipe. And she had even mashed the potatoes. And someone other than her parents, Summer, or Josie was eating it. Devouring it.
Maybe it’s because he was raised to be a gentleman, her inner critic whispered. Maybe he actually hates it but his mom always told him he has to clean his plate. But she knew better. She was tasting the food, too, and it was pretty good.
“So I imagine you’ll have to report back to Summer and Josie after this, huh?” Jake said.
“Yeah. I imagine I will.”
Although she tried to maintain an air of calm, inside, she felt jittery. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why until Jake licked his lips. She wanted him. Bad. And she was simultaneously hoping and not hoping he’d go for it tonight. She knew the timing wasn’t right and she didn’t want to mess things up. She had to wait until he’d confirmed they were an item. A couple. Boyfriend-girlfriend. Seeing each other. Something. Something official. Something besides, “I really like you but I’m super busy.”
She’d put herself out there, hadn’t she? And now she just had to wait. He knew what she wanted. And he must like her. The flowers, the sledding, the dinner…
Couldn’t she just make a cootie catcher or pull out the Ouija board to find out if he wanted to go steady?
“I have to ask you something,” she said.
“Shoot.”
A long pause.
“Can I get your number?” she said.
“Geez. I thought you were going to ask me my deepest, darkest secret or something. Of course you can.”
After they’d exchanged numbers, Jake said, suddenly, “I have a surprise for you.Wait here.”
He walked out the front door and returned a moment later, holding a movie case in front of him.
“You’re full of surprises,” Delaney said.
“It’s a specialty. This,” he said, “is my all-time favorite movie. I couldn’t let this relationship go on any longer without watching it with you. Youngblood.”
Did he say relationship? “Is it a hockey movie?”
“‘Is it a hockey movie?’ Only the best hockey movie ever made!”
“Do you show this to all the ladies?” she said.
“Absolutely not. Only to those who invite me over for a lip-lickin’ home-cooked meal.”
So she was special to him. Or did all the ladies make him a home-cooked meal? He did seem to inspire strange domestic tendencies.
“Looking forward to it,” she said. “I’ll just clear the table.”
“One more thing,” he said,
pulling something out of his back pocket. “Popcorn.”
“I love popcorn.” Delaney opened the pouch and put the bag in the microwave to pop while they cleaned up. She put the movie in the DVD player and they settled on the couch.
“I love this movie,” Jake said as the previews played.
“I’m honored that you brought it for us to watch together,” she said.
“You should be.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Even though she tried her best to pay attention to the plot, the characters and the scenery, Delaney was distracted by Jake’s warmth, his soap-and-spice scent, the rise and fall of his chest. She wanted to lay him down on the couch again, just like she had in his apartment. But she resisted. This movie was important to him and she was determined to watch the entire thing.
Hockey games, hazing rituals and fights were enough to put her to sleep, but she held on. At one point, Pixie hopped onto the couch and plopped down on Delaney’s lap. Jake stroked her, rubbing her neck. She purred.
I’d be purring right now, too.
The movie ended. Jake stretched.
“So? Did you like it?”
“I did,” Delaney said. “It was really good.”
“Good. I would love to stay longer, but I really should go. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow to work on … some stuff.”
That sounds highly suspicious and ambiguous, Delaney’s inner voice whispered. She swatted the thought away. It was probably something to do with his gallery. Probably. Most likely.
“Thanks so much for coming over and eating my food.” Delaney’s cheer felt forced and she imagined she was grimacing at him. Jake didn’t seem to notice. He kissed her and headed for the door.
“Thank you. It turned out great. I look forward to eating lots more of your cooking.”
***
Sure, he’d kissed her goodnight. And it had been a warm, lingering kiss. Full of promise, she’d say, if she had to describe it. But promises just weren’t doing it for Delaney Collins’ libido. She felt needy, hungry. Starving.
Instead of running down the walkway after Jake, she sent the girls a text: The evening is over. Went well. Food was perfect (thanks, Summer).