Must Love Sandwiches

by Janel Gradowski

  “You don’t have to come back. I’ve had many migraines and none of them have killed me yet.” She slid down the pillow ramp and burrowed back under the sheets. That was such a stupid statement. Migraines weren’t lethal and they both knew that. Was it the pain or his presence that made her mind take a break from rational thought? She slid the sheet down, to uncover one eye, and focused on the clock on the nightstand. “Wait. It’s just past one o’clock. What about the food truck? Don’t you have to get back to it?”

  “Nope. Whale had an appointment this afternoon, so we shut down early. That’s the beauty of having a food truck instead of a restaurant. We can open and close whenever we want to do things, like helping damsels in distress.” He patted her foot. “I’ll stop back later.”

  After the door thumped shut behind him, Emma pried the plastic lid off the foam cup and chugged the tea. If a little bit helped, maybe finishing it off would make her feel good enough to get cleaned up. There was no way Brad would see, or smell, her like that again. Even though she didn’t want to date him she still had some pride.

  An hour later Emma finally felt good enough to crawl out of bed. It was never a good thing to wake up with a migraine firmly rooted in her head. There was only so much stress her body could take before it shut down in protest. The break-up with Max, increased orders, developing a jewelry line, swearing off men and then almost immediately meeting hunky Brad, the ultimate temptation. All of those things ganged up and attacked her with an imaginary baseball bat of pain.

  Emma sat on the edge of the bathtub as it filled. She sprinkled in a handful of lavender-scented Epsom salts and lowered herself into the warm, soothing water. The heat loosened the last knots of pain in her neck and scalp. When she finally emerged the migraine was gone, but she was so sleepy she could barely move. She slipped into her threadbare, pink robe, instead of the jeans and t-shirt she had hung on the hook on the door, and climbed back into bed. A little nap would make dealing with Brad’s return visit easier. He had been so sweet and gentle, her fickle heart had almost forgotten he was off-limits. She repeated a mantra as she drifted asleep, “I will not be like my mother. I will not be . . .”

  A persistent knocking woke her. She rolled over and stretched. The room was filled with murky, gray light. Outside the window dark storm clouds were crowded in the sky. She jumped as another series of knocks reverberated from the door. The digital clock numbers glowed like a red beacon. It was almost 6 p.m. She had been asleep for hours.

  “Just a minute,” she called as she scrambled out of bed. She tripped over a shoe, unnoticed in the dim light, as she hurried to the entranceway. She yanked the door open and was greeted by Brad’s 100-watt smile. “Come in. Have a seat wherever you like. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said as she backed into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it. Why hadn’t she set an alarm?

  The quick change routine went well, until she tried to balance on one foot while wiggling into her jeans. Her hip slammed into the edge of the vanity. That’s going to leave a bruise. She grabbed her brush and prepared to do battle. Taking a nap with damp hair was a bad move. She wielded the brush with one hand and pulled bottles of make-up out of the medicine cabinet with the other. When most of the rat’s nests were untangled she abandoned the brush and squirted a blob of foundation into her palm. She dipped her fingertips into the peach-colored cream and looked into the mirror to apply it. What was she doing? Scrambling to make herself pretty for a man she couldn’t have. Maybe Brad wouldn’t be so nice and charming if she looked like an ogre. She washed the makeup down the drain and opened the bathroom door. He smiled, instead of running away in terror.

  “You look like you’re feeling better.” He pointed at a plate sitting on the kitchen counter. “I forgot to tell you about another one of my migraine treatments, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. They’re kind of like the chicken soup of the dessert world. They cure almost everything.”

  “Another remedy I have never heard of, but I am definitely willing to try.” Emma loosened the edge of the plastic wrap and removed two cookies from the sweet stash. The intoxicating smell of chocolate and butter escaped from the plastic tent. Her mouth watered. She took a bite out of one cookie and offered the other to Brad. “Thank you. I think I shall make a full recovery.” She took another bite and mumbled, “These are delicious. Why don’t you make these into sandwich cookies?”

  Brad took a bite of his cookie. “What kind of filling do you think would be good?”

  “Chocolate frosting, or better yet, ganache. That would be so decadent and yummy. Or . . . what about marshmallow fluff? Then they would be kind of like a whoopie pie.” Emma worked her way around the room, turning on lamps to offset the dreary darkness. Brad sat on the couch and she settled into the battered chair across from him. The lumpy recliner was covered with a raucously colored, scrap afghan she had found at a rummage sale. A dislodged spring poked into her hip, like an accusing finger pointing out that she was supposed to be staying away from men. No cozying up for a long conversation allowed.

  “Now that is something I could definitely do. Thank you for the wonderful idea.” He was talking to her, but his gaze was focused on the wall behind her. “What is that little door?”

  “It’s one of my fairy doors. You’d be surprised at how many people like to pretend fairies live in their walls and gardens.” She pointed at the terrarium sitting on the table next to him. “One of my miniature benches is in there.”

  He leaned closer to the glass bowl. “That’s amazing. How do you get so much detail into something so tiny? I can see the pattern in the wood.”

  “The bench is made out of polymer clay. The stuff is easy to sculpt. I use a lot of dental tools to add detail.” Customers in the gallery often commented on her work, but the praise from Brad made her heart rate skyrocket. Her fingers brushed his thigh as he squeezed around her chair to get a closer look at the fairy door. She jerked her hand away. Off-limits. No touching. “I modify wooden doll house doors for those.”

  He read the minuscule welcome sign on the door. “Welcome to the O’Donnell House. I see your fairies are of Irish descent.” Brad returned to the couch. He focused his full attention on her this time. “I love your idea for the cookie sandwiches. Anything else you can think of that we can make for the truck?”

  Emma squirmed as she looked into his eyes. When she was a teenager she used to read the romance books her mother kept stacked next to her bed. Often the heroine would get lost in a man’s eyes. Emma had always thought it was just a literary phenomenon that didn’t happen in real life. Until now. “What about fruit soups? I had a really great cold, cherry soup in Traverse City a few years ago.”

  “You are brilliant. I should hire you as a recipe development consultant. You figure out what dishes sound good. Then Whale, Geek and I can figure out the recipes. Why don’t you and I have dinner together on Wednesday night? I promise it’ll be strictly a business meeting, not a date.”

  Emma sucked air in between her teeth. A trickle of pain snaked up the back of her head. One, last blow from the migraine to accompany another bit of temptation. A diversion might work to throw him off topic. “Whale and Geek. What kind of names are those?”

  “They’re like brothers to me. How many times have you heard siblings make up nicknames for each other? Will is pretty obvious. He’s as big as a whale. Since Hank always wears those ugly, black rimmed glasses and can’t live without a thousand tech gadgets, he’s Geek.”

  Weird. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t remember what the guys looked like. When she stopped by the truck she always focused completely on Brad. The other men just drifted through her peripheral vision like indistinct ghosts.

  He tilted his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. “Now that I’ve answered your question it’s your turn to answer mine. Will you meet with me to discuss more dessert ideas?”

  That didn’t work. She squirmed in her chair. “On Wednesday night? I need to get a bun
ch of orders ready to ship, but I guess I could get away for a few hours.”

  “Great! My friend just opened a new restaurant I think you’ll love. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Daisy tied the apron strings into a big bow behind her back. There was barely enough money in the checking account to make the rent. Replacing stained clothes, even at a second hand store, was not an option. As the weather got warmer sales of cozy, wool accessories dropped. Her fingers were sore from making lacy scarves and hats out of light cotton yarn, to replace the winter items in the gallery, but not many had sold yet. Emma had found her a commission for some baby blankets, but that money was sitting safely in the bank, waiting to pay the rent. Luckily lunch was inexpensive and should be delicious.

  She quartered juicy, ruby-hued grape tomatoes and piled them into a large bowl. Usually a sprinkle of garlic powder was added next, but Emma didn’t need to have bad breath later that night. There was a soft knock on the door as Daisy chopped kalamata olives and capers to add to the mix. The door swung open as she wiped her hands on a towel and said, “Lunch will be done in a few minutes.”

  Emma dropped her keys on the counter. She craned her neck to look into the bowl and then sniffed the air. “I don’t smell bacon. Have you been taking cooking lessons from a certain food truck chef? I thought you put bacon into almost everything you cooked.”

  “I wish I had some bacon. I haven’t crossed over to the veggie-only side yet.” A cloud of steam billowed from a pot sitting on the stove. Daisy dumped a box of penne into the boiling water. “It’s just not in my budget right now. Maybe you can help me come up with some things to make for summer, beyond my usual lace scarves and hats.”

  “That sounds fun, as long as you help me with dessert ideas for Brad. You were the one that asked him for sweets in the first place.”

  She never thought asking for dessert would end up with Emma agreeing to go out with Brad, but somehow it worked. Being a stubborn mule with blinders on might seem to be working for her, but she was going to lose the chance at a relationship with a wonderful man. If only Emma would see it that way. Daisy sprinkled dried herbs into a bowl of olive oil. She brushed thick slices of Italian bread with the fragrant oil and set them in a warm frying pan to toast. “You know I have a gigantic sweet tooth, so I can definitely help. Did you come up with any ideas on your own yet?”

  “When I had that migraine a few days ago he brought me some cookies, so I suggested making them into sandwich cookies with a layer of marshmallow fluff or ganache.”

  “What about jam instead of chocolate? Raspberry or cherry preserves would be fabulous with chocolate chip cookies.” Daisy opened the refrigerator. The shelves were almost empty, except for a few condiment bottles, a pitcher of iced tea and a carton of eggs. “Do you want water or iced tea? Sorry I can’t offer you anything else.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Iced tea sounds good.” Emma took two glasses out of a cabinet and set them on the counter. “The jam is a good idea. What else can you think of?”

  Daisy shook her head. “Uh uh. It’s my turn to pick your brain. What are some summer-y things I can knit?”

  “I like to pull my hair back off of my face when it’s hot. What about headbands or maybe you could modify a scarf to make a headscarf?”

  “Ding, ding, ding! I think we have another winner.” Daisy set a colander in the bottom of the sink and turned on the cold water. As she dumped the pot of pasta into the colander she asked, “Would you wear a headband if I made one for you? I sold quite a few hats this winter after people saw you wearing one.”

  “You know I will. I love your work.” Emma plucked a chunk of tomato out of the bowl and popped it into her mouth. “Now it’s my turn again. I was thinking about sandwiches made out of a sweet bread, like banana. Don’t you think grilled banana bread sandwiches filled with something like chocolate hazelnut spread sound good? They would be all warm and gooey.”

  Daisy nodded as she dumped the hot pasta on top of the tomatoes. The heat released more of the mouth-watering scent. It smelled like an Italian restaurant, instead of a tiny studio with yarn stuffed into every nook and cranny. She drizzled a bit of olive oil onto the penne, dumped in some chopped parsley and tossed the mixture with two wooden spoons. “I would definitely order something like that. How about cutting the sandwiches into strips and serving them with little containers of caramel or chocolate sauce for dipping?”

  “I like it. That way you could add as much sauce as you want.”

  “Lunch is served.” She put the bowl of pasta on the counter in front of the bar stools. Emma slid onto a stool while Daisy filled their glasses with tea. Hopefully the pasta tasted as good as it smelled. She handed a large, serving spoon to Emma and said, “Now cough up another idea for me.”

  Emma piled pasta onto her plate. “Let me try this first.” She shoveled a fork full into her mouth and grinned. “Yummy. Let’s see…people go to the farmer’s market in the summer. What about some kind of mesh tote bag?”

  “Nice. You’re full of great ideas today.”

  “Brad said the same thing.” Emma sprinkled red pepper flakes on her pasta. It looked like a red snow storm had passed over her plate. The woman definitely liked spicy food. Now if only she’d get a clue about the hot chef before he decided to look elsewhere for a new girlfriend. Emma continued, “He even suggested I could be his recipe development consultant. Can you believe it? I barely made it through a year of college. I can’t be a consultant.”

  “I think he’s right. All I have to do is ask you to figure out something for me to design and wham bam boom, you’ve come up with several great ideas. It’s like you have spare creativity just knocking around in the back of your mind. Coming up with ideas for other people, and getting paid for it, would be awesome. All of the fun of thinking of new things and none of the work to actually create them. I bet there are quite a few people at the colony who could use some new product ideas.”

  “Maybe. Considering how most of us don’t have a lot of spare money, I’d probably end up bartering for art instead of getting paid.”

  “That isn’t a bad thing. Trade ideas for art and recipes for food. You could furnish your apartment with all kinds of cool things, never go hungry and start a savings account with the profits from your own stuff.”

  “And I’d be too busy to go out on dates. Now there’s a good reason to become a consultant.”

  Emma paced around the apartment, taking a detour from her established path every few minutes to check her reflection in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. She was on the fourth version of her outfit, and considering changing into a different blouse, when there was a knock on the door. Did she look okay or was the embroidered peasant blouse and tiered skirt too Bohemian? She slipped on a pair of sandals and opened the door. Seeing Brad standing in the hallway made her pulse race, like she had eaten a one pound bag of chocolate covered peanuts in 15 minutes. Not that she’d ever done anything like that, but she felt like she could jog to the restaurant instead of riding with him. She grabbed a pink notebook off the kitchen counter and waived it in front of his face. “I thought of a few more things you might want to try. I even wrote them down so I wouldn’t forget.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to hear them.” Brad smiled sheepishly as he stepped through the doorway. He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his khaki pants and rocked back on his heels. “I don’t want to be rude, and this certainly isn’t criticism about your outfit, but you might want to change out of the skirt and put some pants on. For logistical reasons.”

  It was her favorite skirt. The one that she thought made her look taller and as a result, she always felt more confident when wearing it. She needed all of the confidence she could get to pull off the professional consultant act. “What do you mean logistical reasons?”

  “You’ll see when we get to my vehicle.”

  Emma opened a drawer on her armoire and searched for a suitable pair of pants. It would have been nice if he had war
ned her about clothing specifications for the evening. Had he brought the sandwich truck and the passenger seat was splashed with grease and globs of errant condiments? If there even was a passenger seat. What if she had to stand in the kitchen area, hanging on to the prep table for dear life? She selected a pair of dark blue, cotton pants and retreated to the bathroom to change. Stains would be less visible on the dark fabric.

  “Perfect,” Brad said when she returned from the unplanned wardrobe change. “You’ll have a much easier time now.”

  The vague insinuations were not helping ease her anxiety. She had never liked roller coasters and the evening felt like it was climbing up the first hill, getting ready to drop into crazy twists and out-of-control spirals. “Okay, whatever. Let’s get going. I need to pack some mail orders after I get back tonight.”

  Uncomfortable silence enveloped them as they rode the elevator down to the lobby. A gust of wind swirled Emma’s hair when she emerged from the front door of the building. There was no way her hairspray could combat that assault. Now she was going to look like she felt, a wild-haired, crazy woman.

  “I had to park on the next block,” Brad said as he put his hand on the small of her back and guided her to the left. “I didn’t think parking would be this difficult at night.”

  His hand was warm. The comforting gesture was something she could get used to, if only he wasn’t off-limits. The man was a serious test of her will power.

  “Here we are.”

  They were standing next the biggest Jeep Emma had ever seen. Brad unlocked the door and swung it open. He pulled a stirrup, that looked like it belonged on a horse saddle, out from the space beside the seat. It dangled by a leather strap halfway between the Jeep’s floor and the curb. “The easiest way to do this is hold onto the door handle, put your foot in the stirrup and then use the handle above the glovebox to pull yourself up.”

  “I think I can do that.” There was no way she was going to tell him that she had a lot of practice getting into over-sized four-wheel drives. Almost every one of her boyfriends in high school had a similar vehicle. It was one of the perils of living and dating in farm country. You could make a fool of yourself before the evening even started, if you couldn’t figure out how to make it into the passenger seat. Those dates usually consisted of a trip through a drive-thru followed by long rides on bumpy back roads. While the mode of transportation was familiar, the destination and charming driver were a huge step up the dating ladder.