by Dawn Atkins
He’d let her disrupt his kitchen, use up dozens of eggs and loaf after loaf of bread and pop the clutch on his sex drive.
She was far too pretty and way too bouncy, a temptation he didn’t need. Casual sex was all he could offer anyone and CJ wasn’t the type.
He’d been wrong to let Suzanne coax him into marriage and a family. He’d held it together okay until they lost the babies. Then he’d cracked like paper-thin veneer. I’m lonelier with you than by myself, she’d said. He hadn’t blamed her for seeking solace elsewhere. What hurt was that she’d found it with Jared.
When his wife and his best friend and business partner had slept together, that had pretty much taken down all the load-bearing walls in his soul.
So, yeah, he’d be better off without a delectable pixie dancing around his kitchen making him want what he didn’t dare have.
CHAPTER FOUR
BETH ANN STARED at the fried-egg sandwich her mother had ordered for her. It looked toasty, at least. Eat one bite. Then one more. Then another.
If she ate half, her mom said she could ask to pet Jonah’s cat.
She lifted the sandwich to her mouth, but the icky egg smell made her gag, so she put it back down again. Eating had been hard since The Terrible Thing. The Terrible Thing happened because of how much Beth Ann loved ice cream on Family Night.
She glanced up and caught her mom watching her, looking all worried. She’d gotten worse since they’d left Grandma Price’s. She wanted Beth Ann to be all right, to be better, to be happy and regular.
It made Beth Ann tired trying to pretend she was. Tired and mad.
Try again. She held her breath and brought the sandwich up, but her stomach heaved. She set it down.
“Psst, Bunny.” Jonah called to her from the silver kitchen.
Bunny sounded so fake, so babyish. Whenever someone called her that, Beth Ann felt lonelier. She should have picked a better name.
Too late now.
Too late for everything she wanted.
“What?” she called back.
“Try the cure.”
Oh, yeah. She squirted the bottle, smashed down the bread and took a bite. Her stomach jumped, but the ketchup hid the egg smell and the sweet taste made it easier to swallow.
Whew. When she looked up, Jonah wasn’t there. Good. He didn’t watch her like her mother did. She sighed and ate another bite. Four more and she could ask about the cat.
Serena had an orange cat named Chulita—Cutie in Spanish. When Serena watched TV, the cat sat on her lap, all puffed up and purring. Beth Ann had wanted a cat, too, but Grandma Price was allergic.
She wished she could tell Serena about the black cat here. She missed Serena so much she ached everywhere like when she had the flu.
They were like twins, the two of them. Sometimes they didn’t even need words, which was good because Serena’s English wasn’t that great yet. They’d been teaching each other their languages.
Would Serena be mad that Beth Ann had disappeared? Or hurt? She’d be too shy to call Grandma Price and ask what happened.
That made Beth Ann ache even more. She had to explain to Serena. Her mom said no phone calls, but how could one hurt? There was a pay phone by the bathrooms. She could slip down here at night. Easy peasy.
Her mother zipped behind the counter to clip slips to Jonah’s wheel. “Every single order has French toast,” she told him in a bossy voice.
“Quit selling it so damn hard. We’re low on eggs.”
“Take the heat down a hair. The crust was a pinch too dark.”
“A pinch? Really?” He held out his spatula handle. “Be my guest, Ms. Pinch. Grill as you will.”
“I’m just giving you a tip.”
“Save your tips for Rusty. You’ll need them to pay for your car.”
“I didn’t understand what he was trying to say on the phone.”
“I’ll drive you over after we close. But not until you scrape the stalagmites of batter off the ceiling.”
“You mean stalactites. Stalagmites grow from the ground up.”
“Scrape those, too.”
“Oh, please. It’s not that bad.”
Her mom was way more cheerful in the café, almost like before they found out about Beth Ann’s dad.
It was funny, but even when Jonah sounded mean, her mom didn’t act afraid, not like she got whenever she talked about Beth Ann’s dad.
That’s why they had to move—because her dad was after them.
Beth Ann was scared, too, because her dad might tell her mom what Beth Ann had done and her mother would stop loving her like she’d stopped loving him.
The thought swelled in Beth Ann’s mind, turning into the black blob and making her feel so bad she wanted to tear off her skin.
Think about the cat. You’ll get to pet the cat.
She gulped down two bites at once and chewed fast.
“Look how much you ate,” her mother said, so relieved it made Beth Ann’s heart tighten. Her mother’s worry felt like a pile of dictionaries on Beth Ann’s head.
“It was the ketchup cure,” she said.
Her mom’s eyes shot toward Jonah.
They stared at each other like they were having a contest. Beth Ann couldn’t tell if they wanted to yell at each other or laugh or talk or what.
Lots of the time, adults made no sense. She wouldn’t be like that when she grew up. She would always say what she meant and mean what she said and never say, you’ll understand when you’re older. If a person knew enough to ask the question, she could understand the answer.
Her mom looked away first, losing the staring contest, and grabbed a bunch of dishes then ran off to serve customers.
Jonah watched her go, his elbows on the silver ledge, a funny look on his face.
“Can I pet your cat? Jonah?” He didn’t seem to hear her at first.
“Huh? My cat? Louis isn’t mine. He’s feral.”
“What’s that?”
“Wild. He was born outdoors and lives there, too. He doesn’t like people.”
“But we saw you pet him.”
“He’s used to me because I took care of him after he got hurt. He’s only got one eye and one leg’s messed up.”
“Would he get used to me?”
“That depends.” Jonah studied her for a few seconds, then got a bowl and poured cream from a carton into it. “He likes to lie in the sun. Take this to the clearing just past the big pines. See what happens. Don’t rush him.”
“I won’t. Thanks.” She told her mom the plan so her mom wouldn’t freak out and set off for the trees.
Beth Ann put the bowl in the middle of a sunny circle and sat on the edge, half in the sun, half in the shade, feeling hot and cold at once.
The pine needles looked golden brown in the sun. They smelled like Christmas mixed with dust. Nearby, a creek made a friendly bubbling sound. No wonder Louis liked it here.
She held very still, since Louis was wild and quick moves would scare him off, ignoring the way the pine needles poked her butt and legs.
It was so hard to wait and hold so still.
Come on, Louis. Where are you?
She waited until her legs went to sleep. She was about to give up when she saw a flicker of blackness against the trees. She stared so hard her eyes watered.
Yes! There he was. When he saw her he froze, blinking his one golden eye, holding up his broken paw.
He
looked so lonely. She felt the same way. He had secrets, too—where he lived, how he got hurt.
Would he go for the cream? She looked away like Jonah had when Louis had sneaked up to be petted, listening with all her might for the crackle of the cat’s paws in the dry needles. She held her breath.
Come and get your nice cold cream, Louis. Please, please, please.
When she finally dared to look, Louis had run away. Not even cold, fresh cream would make him get close to her.
Stupid loser girl. Not even a broken-down cat wants to be your friend.
Now the sun was too hot, the trees too scary and the bubbling creek seemed to be laughing at her.
Beth Ann’s nose tingled. Don’t cry. Do not cry. You are no baby. She told herself that all the time. She didn’t deserve to cry after the bad thing she’d done, so she made herself be strong.
She went back to the café with the bowl of cream. Rosie was at the counter. “What’s with the face? You look like you lost your best friend.”
She had lost her best friend, but she told Rosie about Louis.
“Come help me at the shop. It’ll be lots more fun than waiting on that god-awful cat.”
It sounded boring, but she was too polite to say no, especially when her mom thought it was a good idea. She put books and drawing paper in her backpack in case she ran out of stuff to do. At the store, Rosie gave her a duster and lemon spray and told her to dust all the old furniture and vases and junk.
When she was done, she returned to Rosie, who sat at a black-metal desk clicking a calculator and grumbling. She balled up a paper, then noticed Beth Ann. “I’m not paying you to stand around.”
“You’re paying me?”
“That depends on the kind of job you did, Little Miss Speed Demon. Make yourself useful and bring me that trash can.” Beth Ann liked that Rosie said stuff straight out, no puzzles or tricks.
When she picked up the can, she saw that a cell phone had fallen into it. She took it to Rosie. “You dropped your phone.”
“I didn’t drop it. I threw it where it belonged. It was a come-on. They loaded it up with minutes to start with, but then you pay through the nose. I’m already paying for too many phones.”
Rosie had tossed out a phone with minutes on it! A phone that didn’t belong to anyone. Beth Ann’s heart turned over in her chest. She could call Serena and it would be totally safe.
When she could do it without Rosie noticing, she hid the phone in her backpack. Her mother would be mad if she knew, but she didn’t understand how terrible this was for Beth Ann. Her mom wanted her to act normal. If Beth Ann could talk to Serena, she might be able to.
* * *
WHEN THEY GOT to Duvall’s, Jonah opened his truck door for Cara and held out his hand.
She braced herself, then took it. Zing. Heat zoomed through her, head to toe. At least she was prepared this time. In the pantry, she’d been caught off guard. She’d been trying not to laugh at him with sugar puffing from his mouth, as she brushed the dust from his shoulders and hair. Then she saw his face, the tiny gold flames in the center of his dark eyes.
He wanted her.
She’d been thrilled…and scared.
Cara felt the same way now, holding Jonah’s hand, as she stepped down from the truck. He gazed over her, head to toe, the same glow in his eyes. It was like the heat swooshed back and forth between them. Her stomach jumped and it was hard to breathe. She was playing with fire and she knew it.
Jonah let go of her hand, as if he realized it, too.
They turned at the same time and started for the shop. She saw her car was in the left bay. “Maybe it’s fixed.”
He gave her a skeptical look.
“It doesn’t hurt to hope.”
“That’s later, after it fails.”
“That’s a pretty grim attitude.”
“That’s how my mind runs,” he said as they stepped into the cool garage. “Rusty!” Jonah yelled. “Hello?”
“No need to shout.” A man rolled out from beneath a red SUV in the other bay and got to his feet, wiping his hand with a greasy rag.
“What’s the story on CJ’s car?”
“Rusty Duvall,” he said to Cara, ignoring Jonah. “Nice to match the face to the voice. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a bit greasy.”
“I understand. About my car, I didn’t quite get what you were telling me on the phone.”
“That’s because the bachelor party threw my circadian rhythms off.”
Jonah rolled his eyes.
“It’s true. They’ve done studies. Daylight saving time lowers your IQ. Take SAT scores for instance—”
“The lady wants her car.”
“No need to take a tone, Jonah,” Rusty said, then turned to Cara. “On that, we’ve got a problem complex.”
“A complex?” she asked.
“Interlocking issues.” He laced his fingers. “You know intermittent problems are the worst. Real puzzlers.”
“Intermittent?”
“On-again and off. I tried a few things. Some worked. Some didn’t.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“It means we need a full diagnostic.”
“How long will that take?” Her heart sank at another delay.
“Normally a day, but my unit’s being recalibrated. It should get here tomorrow. Day after at the latest.”
“You won’t know what’s wrong until tomorrow?”
“Or the day after, like I said. But then we’ll get the full picture on your car’s health. Kind of like a CAT scan for your auto.” He grinned, pleased with the analogy.
She was stuck another day. At least.
“Say the unit arrives in the morning,” Jonah said. “Can you fix it by day’s end?”
“Here’s what I tell all my customers. Fast…good…cheap. Pick two. I can do fast and good, but it’ll cost you. Or good and cheap and it’ll take time. Or fast and cheap and that’ll be crap—”
“Just do your best as quickly and cheaply as you can,” Jonah said. “Okay?”
“That’s why people come to me.”
“And you’ll call as soon as you know anything?” Cara asked.
“You bet.” He saluted her, leaving a smear of grease over his eyebrow.
They walked to Jonah’s truck. “Circadian rhythms, my ass,” Jonah groused. “Rusty Duvall likes to hear himself talk.”
He held the door for her, then went around to his side and started the engine.
Cara was grateful that Jonah kept quiet as they started off. She was beside herself with frustration. Even if Rusty could fix the car tomorrow, it was starting to sound expensive. If it was too much, they’d have to give up the car and take a bus. Losing the car would hinder them in a town with as much sprawl as Phoenix. She sighed.
“Rosie will be happy to keep you longer,” he said. “I could use you in the café…long as you leave my menu alone.”
“Thank you, I guess.” He was trying to cheer her up, but panic began to swirl in her head. Barrett’s after you, maybe closing in. You need to move, leave, hit the road. He would be furious when he found they’d run. Just as he’d been when she said she wanted a divorce. She’d seen in his face that he’d rather kill her than lose her and she knew then she was in a fight for her life.
She still was.
“You’re worried.”
“A little,” she lied, fighting for calm.
“How about we swing by the m
arket for some of that bread you wanted? That challah. You can go to town on the French toast tomorrow. How’s that for turning lemons into lemonade?”
The idea did cheer her a little. “Speaking of lemonade…the mix we use tastes awful. Let’s get some lemons. Where I waitressed before, we made tons on fresh lemonade.”
Jonah groaned. “Here we go.”
She smiled. She felt better, she realized. The café had done that for her. All day she’d felt cheerful, energetic and useful. She was glad Rosie had pushed her to try the French toast.
She had another idea. “I spotted a coffee grinder in the pantry when I was looking for the sugar. Fresh-ground coffee would taste so much better. Cheaper, too, in the long run, because you can control the grind.”
“This keeps up and I’ll have to track down Rusty’s diagnostic unit and drive it back myself.”
She laughed, but she started a grocery list as they drove toward town.
* * *
“I THINK I nailed it.” CJ held out another cup of coffee to Jonah.
“You said that last time.” The woman had been trying out blends since five and now his head buzzed and his stomach burned from all the caffeine.
“But this is really it.”
Resistance seemed futile, so he took the cup, his fingers brushing hers just enough to jolt his equipment the way the coffee had jolted his brain.
He sipped the brew. It was full-bodied with a hint of mocha, but he wasn’t about to give her any more to crow about. “It’s good.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Grinding the beans takes more time.”
“It’s so worth it.”
“Coffee is coffee to our customers. They want hot caffeine, period.”
“We’ll test it. Let’s see if anyone notices.”
“No dropping hints now.”
“I swear.” She held up a hand.
“Or lingering looks. Or eyebrow shorthand.”
“Eyebrow shorthand?”
“Yeah. You talk with your eyebrows.” He cleared his throat. “You have…uh…talkative eyebrows.”