He forced his eyes to stay on her adorable pixie face and not check out her ring finger. “Are you sure?”
Her lips tugged into a lopsided smile. “Yes. Can you let Tilly know I’m fine and just needed to go lay down?”
“Will do.
“It was—nice seeing you again.”
Garrett crossed his arms across his chest, trying to chuck the desire to tug on her ponytail for old times’ sake. “I’m not sure nice describes what you’re feeling right now, but maybe we can catch up later when you’re not a fire-breathing dragon.”
She cupped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks reddening under the light freckles that dotted her skin. He’d used to dream of kissing every single one of them. “I’m sorry.” The words came out muffled.
He grasped her wrist and lowered her hand, ignoring the heat that ran up his arm at the feel of her skin under his fingers. He let go and jammed his hand into his pocket. “Your breath is just fine. I was referring to how your mouth must feel.”
It was only a little lie. He’d smelled worse things. Like the time he hadn’t realized his garage freezer had gotten unplugged, and he’d opened it to the smell of month-old rotten meat—
She smiled and opened up her car door again. “Thanks. I really need to be going home. Good luck.”
He glanced back at the restaurant, dreading what was to come. “I’m afraid I might need more than luck.”
Waving goodbye, he turned and walked back, feeling very much like a rogue pirate walking the plank to his doom.
He’d come back to his hometown of Sandwich, Illinois feeling like he was starting on a whole new journey. The Sandwich Emporium was a novelty restaurant that was going places, and Reuben had wanted a professional chef at the Sandwich location, not only to manage the kitchen but to work eventually as the head chef for the entire franchise, in charge of developing new menu items and training chefs at new locations.
It was different than the uppity Chicago restaurant he was used to. Being master chef at a kitchen had been his dream. He’d even secretly dreamed of starring on one of those reality TV cooking shows.
But dreams changed, and being back home with Mom was critical right now. He’d have taken a job as a cook at McDonald’s if he had to.
Then again, after today, he might be getting up-close-and-personal with fast food deep-fryers.
He paused at the door and swallowed the lump of nerves in his throat. “Lord. I have no clue how I screwed this up, but please help me keep my job. And if you could help douse the fire in a few customers’ mouths too, that’d be great.”
Pushing into the restaurant, he was relieved to find the dining room relatively quiet with only the normal hum of conversation.
Instead of heading to the kitchen, where he hoped Stephen, the assistant chef, had things under control, he walked to Reuben’s office just off the waiting area and knocked on his partially open door.
Man up, Garrett. Lifting his chin, he opened the door to face whatever came.
Reuben motioned to a chair. “Beth okay?”
“She will be. Went home to lay down.”
“I’d forgotten you and Jeff were good friends in high school. She hasn’t changed much, has she?”
That was an understatement. The only change was for the good—her curves had filled out in all the right places. She was still down to Earth. Still had that amazing hair he longed to take out of her ever-present ponytail and dip his fingers through. And she still had the ability to entice him with a single glance, dragon breath and all.
But he didn’t want to sort through his thoughts about Beth right now. In fact, it’d probably be wise to shove them back in the past where they belonged. He needed to focus on the present. Taking care of his mom. And to do that, he needed to keep his job. “Listen, Reuben. I’m sorry about—”
The Emporium owner held up his hand. “I talked to Stephen about what happened. He thinks he handed you the wrong sauce.” Reuben leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “You came highly recommended, Garrett. You’re the most responsible guy I know, probably even more so than myself. Mistakes happen, and while I don’t love that a handful of my customers got an overdose of ghost pepper, what I do love is your new recipe.”
Garrett blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right. “You what?”
“In a much smaller quantity, of course. I added a bit to the normal sauce and tried it and, dude. That’s one amazing kick. I think it’ll make a great addition to the menu. Let’s roll it out as a special in a few months—maybe let the memory of today fade—then see how it goes before adding it to the menu. We’ll just need to take some extra steps to make sure a repeat of today’s disaster doesn’t happen at any of the other locations.”
Stay calm, Garrett. He wanted nothing more than to jump up, punch a fist in the air, and give a big yell of victory. Instead, he smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Reuben. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“No problem. Now, you’re probably needed in the kitchen. Oh, and—” He winked. “Beth’s single. Just in case you cared.”
There was no controlling the goofy grin that spread across his face as he stood and headed for the door. “Thanks for the tip, man.”
“Anytime.”
Two
The house was quiet as Garrett let himself in and tugged off his snow-covered boots. He’d managed not to set anyone else’s mouth ablaze the rest of the evening, but it was a long, stressful day. At close to midnight. His bed was screaming his name.
After sloughing off his coat, he glanced into the living room, relieved at its vacancy. Mom must already be asleep. Thank you, God. Lord knew she needed the rest. He’d come home to her sitting in Dad’s recliner, staring at the blank TV, almost every night since he’d come back to Sandwich.
She’d resisted him moving in at first, but when he told her about his job offer from Reuben, she’d finally agreed, seeing it as a favor to him instead of a son coming home to care for his elderly, widowed mother.
Most thirty-seven-year-old sons didn’t have to care for seventy-eight-year-old mothers, but he’d been a surprise, late-in-life baby after many years of infertility.
His parents had spent their older years showering him with love and doting on his every move. Some said he was spoiled. And they were probably right. But now it was his turn to give back.
His father, God rest his soul, would expect nothing less.
Entering the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of water and an apple from the fridge, then sat at the small, wood table.
Man, he missed Dad. Garrett had become skilled at shoving his feelings aside to be strong for Mom, but in the moments of quiet, memories assaulted him. Sitting at this table, a family of three, eating Mom’s famous meatloaf and hearing Dad’s low, baritone voice telling about the crazy antics of the middle schoolers in the biology class he taught. Or sifting through hundreds of college pamphlets on the table, Dad insisting they select only the ones with the best culinary programs to visit.
Or that moment when he confessed his crazy crush on Jeff’s sister, Beth.
Dad had been so wise, advising him to tuck the feelings into a safe place in his heart for later. Garrett was going off to college, and Beth was only a freshman in high school. She had her whole high school experience to live, and Garrett was leaving in a mere four months. Other girls might come into his life, and other guys might come into hers. Nothing good could come of dating her then even if she reciprocated his feelings, which was highly doubtful now that he looked back on it. After he left for college, it seemed she had “gone out” with a different guy every time he came back at holidays or summer break, and once Jeff moved to the West coast to follow his dreams of being a big-shot Hollywood director, Garrett’s excuses for visiting the Jamison house had vanished.
He’d all but forgotten about his high-school crush until today.
That dusty spot where he’d tucked away his feelings sprung a leak.
And the fact she was single?
Maybe
now was that later his dad had mentioned. But then again, maybe not. A lot had happened since he was a hormone-raging eighteen-year-old. He was sure she’d probably changed too.
And experience had shown him attraction could be a pretty shallow gauge of a person.
“Garrett, is that you?”
He turned to see his mom standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in her blue, floral housecoat, her long silver hair wrapped into a bun. Her arm was snug in its sling, reminding him of his failure. “I thought you’d be sleeping, Mom.”
“I was trying like you said. Just haven’t gotten used to being in that bed by myself, is all.”
It had been three months since Dad had passed, and he wasn’t sure if Mom had gotten more than a few hours of sleep any night since. She’d woken up to find Dad having passed peacefully in his sleep from a heart attack. He was older than her. Eighty-five, and they’d known his heart was on borrowed time.
Garrett couldn’t imagine sleeping in the bed where his life-long mate had died either. He’d suggested she take the guest bed, but she adamantly refused.
“Can I get you some soup or something? Maybe that will help you sleep.”
She shuffled over to him and pressed a kiss on his head. “No, sweetie, I’m just fine. I keep telling you that.”
“Is your arm feeling okay?”
“Much better. I saw the doctor today, and he said I should be able to take the sling off in another week or two.”
He cringed at the memory of the phone call he’d gotten two months ago now. She’d been telling him she was just fine on her own ever since Dad’s death, but to get a phone call that she’d fallen and been taken to the hospital almost made him quit his job on the spot. A chance meeting with Reuben and the subsequent job offer to come back to Sandwich had been nothing but perfect timing.
He stood and threw his apple core in the trash. “Don’t rush it. I want you feeling better. And rest is the best thing to help.”
She offered a weak smile. “All I do is rest these days. I’ll be fine. Stop fretting over me like I have one foot in the grave. Your daddy told me not long before he died that he would save me a seat in heaven, but not to rush, and I don’t plan on doing so either. God’s not through with me where I am just yet.”
An ache seized his heart as he hugged her. He couldn’t imagine life without his mom. Never had he been so thankful for moving back home than this moment. “I agree.” He offered his arm to her. “Now, let’s get you off to bed.”
She slid her frail hand onto the crux of his arm and smiled. “How was work tonight, dear?”
“Remember Beth Jamison? Jeff’s little sister?”
“Oh, yes. The girl you used to have a crush on.”
Garrett’s pulse hitched as he stopped in the hallway. “How do you know about that?” The only person he’d ever confided to, and privately, was his dad.
She squeezed his arm. “Oh, sugar. Your daddy told me. We had no secrets. Besides, I’d guessed a long time before that, so he was only telling me I was right. You always had eyes for that sweet girl.”
“Well, I saw her again for the first time in—wow. Probably fifteen years or more.”
“That’s nice, dear. I see her around town quite a bit, though. I’m surprised you two have never bumped into each other. How is she doing?”
“Not sure, but today wasn’t one of her better days. There was a mix-up at the restaurant and let’s just say, it might be a few days before her taste buds start working again.”
She swatted his arm with a force that surprised him. “Now, Garrett. What did you do to the poor girl?”
He gave her the ten-second version of the disastrous dinner and gained a huff from his mom.
“You and your spicy food obsession. I fully blame your father for feeding you that jalapeno when you were two.”
Every family had their stories that got retold thousands of times, and him downing that pepper and using baby sign language to ask for more won the award for most-retold in their family. “If I remember correctly, Dad always said I stole it off his plate.”
She huffed again. “Gerald always had a tendency to fib, too. Now, what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“Beth. You can’t poison a girl with peppers and expect her to fall in love with you.”
Garrett threw back his head and laughed. “Fall in love? Who said anything about that?”
“I did, of course. You’re single. I know for a fact that Beth is single. Her mother and I chat now and then on the Facebook.”
The fact that his mom was on the Facebook still never ceased to shock him. He wasn’t even on it or any other hokey social media site for that matter. It was a big waste of time, and he didn’t care to be glued to his computer screen like so many of his friends were. He’d fired more than one assistant chef for posting food pictures on Instagram while on the job. Distractions like that were how good food got burnt, not to mention germs spread by touching bacteria-covered phones and food interchangeably.
His mom was constantly trying to get him to join, but it wasn’t going to happen. “Is Beth on the Facebook?”
“Oh yes, I’m friends with her too. Sweet girl. She bowls in a league. Did you know that?”
“She and Jeff used to skunk me every time we went, so I’m not surprised.” Jeff had never liked his little sister tagging along, but the older she got, the less Garrett had minded.
“Well, you should join and friend her. She’d like that.”
It was the only time the website had sounded even a tiny bit appealing. “Maybe some time, but not right now. Do you have her address, though? Might send her some I’m-sorry flowers or something.”
His mom’s face lit up like her son had just won the Nobel Peace Prize. A glint sparked in her eye. “Yes, that’s perfect.”
“Nothing romantic, Mom. Just something small to apologize.”
She clasped her hands together, sling and all, her lips curved into a dreamy smile. “Maybe roses with a box of chocolates and one of those cute little bears—”
“No.” Although Beth had a weak spot for chocolate, if memory served him correctly. “Just something simple.”
“Well, whatever you decide, my address book is in the top drawer of my secretary. You can find her information there.”
He leaned down and kissed her silvery hair. “Thanks. Good night, Mom.”
She patted his arm and smiled. “Good night, sweetie.”
After she shut her bedroom door, he took long steps to the living room and slid open the top drawer of the small, roll-top desk. It was an antique, passed down from his great-great-grandmother. Much like most of the other furniture in the old house. They all made up what home should feel like.
A stark difference from his pristine, modern apartment he’d kept in Chicago.
Flipping through the book, he landed on the J’s. Beth was near the top. He debated. He could wait till tomorrow and call a local florist or try to order some online now.
The idea of not having to deal with some lady asking him what type of flowers and colors he wanted sounded more than appealing, so he tugged his iPhone out of his pocket and tapped in the national flower site he always saw advertised. It had been years since he’d ordered a woman flowers, but it was like riding a bike, right?
And these weren’t romantic flowers. Totally different.
Scrolling down the flower options, he picked a small daisy bouquet with a few other flowers he couldn’t name if his life depended on it. Pinks and yellows and white, that was platonic, right?
After a few more taps, he chose a medium size, not too big but not too cheap, and typed in a simple message, entered Beth’s address and paid via PayPal. Next day delivery by a local participating florist.
Done.
Feeling accomplished, he whistled all the way to his bedroom.
***
Beth tugged her knee-length, black pea coat tighter around her as she unlocked the back door to The Flowering Petal. Winter
had hit with a vengeance overnight, leaving a colder bite to the air and a fresh three inches of white blanketing the already snow-covered town of Sandwich, Illinois. Orders would probably be slow today, but she needed a slow day after the awful night she’d just had.
Her mouth was finally feeling normal, but her stomach had churned until the wee hours of the morning. She’d managed to eat breakfast, though, so that was progress.
She opened the small fridge in her office and stuffed her lunch in it just as a ringtone blared.
She groaned at the quick check of her cell phone’s caller-id. Not again.
Peeling off her glove, she slid her finger across the screen. “Hey, Sierra.”
She held the phone away as a loud sneeze blasted in her ear followed by a pitiful nasally voice. “Sorry boss. I woke up with a—a—,” a-choo. “A wicked cold. I can come in if you want but—” a-choo. “I’m not sure you want me there.”
Beth would bet her entire week’s profit those sneezes were a gross exaggeration if not fake, but business was bound to be slow today. Not having an employee to pay was probably a good thing for her bottom line. But the eighteen-year-old who decided to work instead of going to college needed to learn a little thing called work ethic if she expected to keep her job. But that was a conversation that needed to take place in-person. “I understand. Get to feeling better, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I should be—” a-choo “better by then.”
Ending the call, Beth sank into her desk chair. She still had an hour before she needed to put the Open sign out, so time to do what Sierra normally handled, printing online orders and checking the shop’s email.
And maybe checking out Sierra’s Facebook page while she was at it.
Suspicions gnawing at her, she logged on and after a few clicks, Sierra’s selfie smiled back at her. Scrolling down the page, Beth smirked. Busted.
A photo Sierra was tagged in at four-thirty in the morning showed a group of girls in the back of a car, Sierra in the middle of them. The caption read, “Up early and on our way to you-know-where!”
A Side of Faith, Hope and Love: The Sandwich Romance Novella Collection Page 20