by Scott, Lisa
She walked over to shake his hand goodbye, but he held up his hands telling her to stay back. “Right, sorry. Well, see you. I mean, bye. Have a good life.”
She forgot her umbrella, but zipped out to the car through the rain anyway, so she wouldn’t have to go back in and face him again. She slid behind the steering wheel and started laughing and crying and feeling all around pathetic. That dinner had been quick enough to qualify for speed dating.
Whose shoulder was she going to cry on? Tonya’s? Kate’s? She narrowed her eyes. Better yet, whose butt was she going to kick?
Chapter 6
THE KITCHEN TIMER went off just as someone starting pounding on Brad’s front door.
“Hang on!” He pulled the hors d’oeuvres out of the oven and dashed to the hall. There were a few more rapid-fire knocks before he could fling open the door. “What is it?” Jeanne was the last person he’d expected to see. “What are you doing here? Wait, he didn’t stand you up, did he?” He gritted his teeth.
Pushing past him, she made her way to his couch and plopped down. “Oh no, he showed up. And then I almost killed him.”
He scratched his head. “Huh?”
“He’s allergic to cats, Brad. You were his college roommate. How could you not know that?”
More head scratching. “No, I just lived next door to him. But I guess now that you mention it, I remember him being allergic to something. Like shrimp. Or shellfish.” Right?
“Not exactly. A little bigger and a lot furrier. How could you confuse shellfish with a cat?” Jeanne’s eyes were bright beads of anger.
“Well, it’s not like you brought the cat with you.”
“No. But I might have had some fur on my coat,” she mumbled.
“Man. Sorry. I thought I did good with this one.” Although that cat business did ring a bell. He wouldn’t have purposely done that … hell, no. He was trying to find someone for his … his … damn, what was she? His best friend? No, more than that, really. At least, he wanted more than that. The sooner she was off the market the better. He had to get this matchmaker thing right.
“What smells so good?” Jeanne sniffed her way toward the kitchen, suddenly sounding a lot less angry.
Too bad they’d never get married. Their fights would never last long. He’d be able to smooth over any rough spots with her favorite foods.
He untied his apron and tossed it on the kitchen table. “The latest appetizer for Elegant Eats. Wanna taste?”
She popped her behind onto one of the stools at his tiny island. “I’ll hurt you if I don’t. I’m starving. I didn’t get dinner out of the deal. Just a few sips of wine.”
“Well, let me get you a few sips more and a sample of what’s sure to be a hot new seller.” He scanned the kitchen. Seemed like every pot and pan he owned was out on the counter or sitting dirty in the sink. The disorder made him antsy. He pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, poured her half a glass, and slid it in front of her.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him, and he felt his Adam’s apple catch in his throat. Damn, she looked good in a deep-blue dress with a vee-neck, that was a bit lower than he’d like other men to be looking at. Her hair was wet and sticking to her cheeks, but she looked bright and beautiful.
He pulled a clean plate out of his dishwasher, and piled a few appetizers on it. “Now close your eyes and see if you can guess what this is.”
“I guess you missed the part when I said I was starving. Hand it over!”
“Close your eyes.”
She gave him her best annoyed look and closed her eyes.
He stared at her beautiful face for a moment, wishing his could trace a finger down her cheek and under her chin. He figured her skin was cold from the rain. He was just the man to warm her up. He could spend hours running his fingers over her soft skin. Like hell you could. You’d never last that long.
His throat clenched, and then he stabbed one of the coconut shrimp, dunked it in the butter-rum sauce and brought it to her lips. “Open wide.”
Her lips parted, and he set the shrimp on her tongue. The look of ecstasy on her face felt like a kick in the gut. He wanted to make her look like that, and no, not with food.
“Oh. My. God.”
She licked her lips, and he had to look away. “Want more?”
Her eyes flew open, and she grabbed the plate from him. “Where’s that dipping sauce? I could drink it. I swear our food is so much better than what we served back at The Hideaway.”
He laughed and handed her the bowl of sauce. “Your Friday specials were always a hit. Don’t sell yourself short. We kept that place packed.” He could still remember the shock he’d felt when she’d showed up for an interview one day while he was tending bar. The owner, Butch, wanted to bring on a chef and start serving real food instead of the bar chum they offered. He and Jeanne had ended up working in the kitchen together. After so many years of avoiding each other, it was a surprise to have become such fast friends.
And then to almost ruin it all with their short-lived romance.
Jeanne poured the sauce over the shrimp and crossed her legs, which tugged the fabric of her dress higher up her thighs. Just when he thought her eyes were her best feature, she’d show off a flash of leg. Or bend over in a low-cut shirt. Truth was, he loved everything about her.
She smiled at him. Another great feature. “You talk while I eat. Tell me how you made these.”
He leaned against the counter across from her. “Wasn’t too hard. I soaked the shrimp in a lime garlic marinade and then dredged them through a coconut flour mix, broiled it, and made a rum butter sauce.”
“Sure. Easy peasy.” She popped another shrimp in her mouth. “Poor Mark couldn’t enjoy this, what with his allergy and all.”
Oh, she wasn’t going to let him live this down. “His name is Mike, and I swear to God I didn’t remember about the cat.”
“Mark, Mike, I’m never going to see him again.” She finished off another shrimp. “Guess you never made these for your college buddies. Allergic to cats …” She shook her head and grabbed a pinch of flour and coconut from a bowl on the counter and flicked it at him.
He jerked back. “Hey! I just vacuumed yesterday.” He flung some back at her, and she dashed into the living room. “What was that for?” he asked.
“For setting me up on the worst blind date ever.” She ducked behind the couch and then sprinted back into the kitchen. She picked up the pastry brush and spattered rum butter sauce at him. Droplets sprayed his face and splattered against the wall behind him.
“Well, I suppose the walls needed a good cleaning.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
She laughed. “Wait, no, the two worst blind dates ever. You owe me! You owe me big time. Do you know what that does to a girl’s self-esteem when she almost kills her date?”
He grabbed the bag of shredded coconut and threw the rest of that at her. It fell like snow on his couch and coffee table.
“Looks like you’re dusting tomorrow, too.” She slipped past him back into the living room. He doubled back around the couch and caught her in his arms, his fingers sticky on her skin. “So I owe you, do I? What do you want?”
“I’m not sure,” she said in a breathy voice. Her heaving chest pressed against his, and her tongue swiped her lips.
“I’d say you owe me for this mess, J.”
She looked up at him and blinked. His breath hitched. He was a whisper away from kissing her. Every part of his body was screaming for it.
She reached up and brushed his eyebrow with her thumb. “You’ve got a little bit of coconut.” Her fingers trailed down his face and lingered over his lips. “And here.” Then she rubbed her thumb across his chin and licked her finger. “And some sauce.”
He wanted to walk her up against the wall and take those fingers and … But he stepped back. “I’m sorry … I should, I should clean this up.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked at the floor, sucking in a deep breath.
She cleared her throat. “No, this is totally my fault.” She smoothed her hands down her thighs and darted to the kitchen where she grabbed a broom.
Brad was humming, but he couldn’t stop it. “So you like them. Good. I’m going to make another batch and hand out some samples Monday.” His heart was still pounding. That was close.
She nodded, but wouldn’t look at him. “It’s a great idea. Business will be booming before we know it.”
He cursed himself for having let things get out of hand. He was disappointing her in more ways than one. He wasn’t keeping things professional, and he wasn’t being honest about their shaky finances.
I can handle this. I’ll get us back on solid ground, and I’ll get her out of my heart.
He wiped the flour off the counter. “If you liked those, check out the Reuben wraps in the refrigerator.”
She rinsed her hands off and dried them on a paper towel. “I should get going. I’ve got to babysit for my sister tomorrow morning. She’s getting her hair done and all that jazz before Rick comes home from deployment.”
The atmosphere had definitely chilled. Like meat-locker chilled. “How’s Becca doing?”
Jeanne lingered by the counter and ran her finger across the plate, licking the last dregs of the butter rum sauce. “It’s tough for her without Rick.”
“He still hasn’t proposed?”
Jeanne shook her head.
Brad frowned. “When’s he going to man up and take care of this situation? That’s what you do when you get in trouble like that. It’s what Tommy did. It’s what I’d do.”
Pausing mid-lick, she glared at him. “Get in trouble? Trouble? That’s how you see it?”
Brad sighed, crossed his arms, and got ready for an ear-scorching lecture.
But even worse, she said nothing. Jeanne held up her hand. “Let’s just leave it at that. I’ll see you Monday. Mr. March better be a big improvement, or there really will be hell to pay.” She grabbed her purse and pushed her way out of the house before Brad could say goodbye, or thanks for stopping by, or it was nice almost kissing you.
JEANNE WAS still annoyed the next morning when she drove by Brad’s place on the way to Becca’s. Trouble. She sighed. It was a good reminder how serious he was about no babies. He’d never change his mind, not if that’s what he truly thought about a child. Her dream was his worst nightmare. Without realizing it, she was going nearly fifteen miles over the speed limit. Good thing the cop on duty was surely down at the Jelly Jar knocking back a coffee and Danish at this hour.
She slowed down, released her stranglehold on the steering wheel, and pulled into the driveway of the duplex Becca was renting. Walking up to her sister’s door, she forced a smile, knowing time with her niece created a unique combination of love, regret, and envy.
The door flew open, and Becca was yanking on her boots. “Emmy just ate, I changed her, and she’ll be ready for a nap at one o’clock, right after lunch.” She kissed Jeanne on the cheek then flew out the door. “Thanks, sweetie. Be back by three.”
Jeanne just barely had time to wave goodbye before Becca was in her car and out the driveway.
“Bye,” she whispered to Becca’s taillights.
She closed the door and dropped her purse before wandering back to the family room. Emma sat in the baby swing, whooshing back and forth and sucking on her fist.
Jeanne’s throat tightened, and tears pricked her eyes.
“Hey, Baby Boo,” she said, turning off the swing and then scooping Emma into her arms. Emma looked up at her with big eyes and her wet mouth, puckered like a little bird. A string of drool hung from her chin. Jeanne plopped down on the couch and spent the next few hours reading books, singing songs, and making silly faces at her niece, trying to push down the lump in her throat the entire time.
Sure enough, Emma was asleep in her arms, napping right after lunch. Jeanne didn’t want to let her go, so she let her stay snuggled in the crook of her arm, pursing her lips in her sleep. Jeanne kicked her feet up on the coffee table and clicked on one of her favorite cooking channels.
After two hours, and several good new recipes swimming in her brain, Jeanne’s arm was going numb, but she just couldn’t put the baby down. It felt so wonderful to have her warm little body pressed up next to her. It was so easy to imagine this baby being hers—and Brad’s.
Her phone rang, and she reached for her purse next to the couch, fumbling for her cell before it woke the baby. Emma was still snoozing and working her lips on an imaginary bottle.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Ready for the best news so far this year?” It was Brad.
Guilt swept through her for all the baby fantasies that had been dancing in her brain—with him as the star. At least she wasn’t watching one of those baby shows on cable. Motherhood porn, she liked to call it. Always left her feeling empty.
“Good news?” she asked. “You’re canceling Man of the Month?”
He laughed. God, she loved his deep laugh. “Never. Nope, we landed the Residential Center’s Anniversary party in June. All because of your cherry pie. Edna was livid when she tasted a sample. Said you should’ve been making it all those years you worked there.”
She let out a little squeal and felt herself blushing. “I’m sure your rum butter shrimp had something to do with it, too. A lot to do with it.”
“We’re a killer team, Jeanne, that’s why we landed it.”
The baby cried in her sleep, and Jeanne jostled her in her arms.
“Don’t cry, kiddo. This is good news,” Brad said.
“No, no. It’s Emma. She’s sleeping in my arms—or she was, until I got a little too excited about our news.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Right. I forgot you were babysitting. How’s it going?”
She chewed on her lip. “Great. She’s just so beautiful. And she smells, oh, like heaven. I’ve been sniffing her head, trying to remember the smell, and her little fingers …” She stopped herself.
“Yeah, my nieces and nephews are great. Especially when you can go home without them.” He chuckled. “Sorry.”
Her heart sank like a rock that had been skipping across a pond and finally ran out of juice. She cleared her throat. “Thanks for calling with the great news. The anniversary party is huge. Plus, we’ll get a bunch of new clients out of it for sure. Thanks for taking such good care of the business side of things, Brad. It’s so great to have someone to count on.” And that’s all she’d ever get from him.
Deal with it, woman.
He said nothing for a moment, then, “See you first thing Monday morning. We’ve got a few new recipes to make.”
Thinking about the recipes they’d tried out the night before—and that near kiss—she hung up and pressed her lips against Emma’s soft hair. Tears trickled down her nose, onto the baby’s head. Emma’s eyes fluttered open, and she started crying again. Which got Jeanne crying. What would she do if she never had this?
She stood up and was bouncing Emma on her hip when Becca walked in.
Becca’s smile fell, and she tossed her coat on the rocker. “Oh, no. Has she been crying the whole time? You should have called me.” Becca stretched out her hands for the baby, wiggling her fingers anxiously.
Jeanne could only shake her head no. Her breath caught in her throat. “She just woke up when Brad called.”
Becca rolled her eyes and took Emma from her. “So, it’s not the baby that’s got you crying like a baby.”
Jeanne opened and closed her mouth because there was no lying to Becca. She knew.
Becca grabbed a bottle from the fridge and plopped on the couch with a greedy little Emma. She patted the spot next to her.
Jeanne sank onto the couch, snatching a tissue from the box on the end table.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. It was good news. We landed a big job. It’s just that I was holding the baby, talking to him, and well it was easy to imagine …” She let the idea trail off, crumpling the tis
sue in her hand.
Becca nodded, her hair shorter, shinier and darker than it had been a few hours ago. But she could be bald in a flour sack, and Rick would be just as happy to see her. Becca wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure this is really about Brad?”
Jeanne choked on a laugh. “You know how I feel about Brad.” Their older sister, Gracie, had left town ten years ago. She really didn’t know the whole history. But her younger sister had listened to Jeanne’s sob story more than once. With a big emphasis on the sob part of it all.
Becca plucked the bottle out of Emma’s lips and propped her on her shoulder for a burp. “I know you think you love Brad. But did you ever think that maybe what you’re really in love with is the idea of the perfect family we never had, and he just happens to play the part of the hubby?”
“No. No! I love Brad.” Jeanne’s voice trailed off to a whisper. When was the last time she’d admitted that out loud?
Becca nodded. “Is it possible you’re picking a guy you know you can’t have because deep down the thought of being married and having a family scares the tar out of you?” Emma burped, and Becca plugged the bottle back into her mouth. “Face it, we don’t exactly have the blueprints on the family thing. It’s scary for me, too. Every day I go to bed and wonder what I screwed up. Growing up with a cranky, two-hundred-year-old aunt doesn’t help you figure much out about being a good parent.”
She was right about that. Aunt Betty meant well. But when Jeanne’s parents had died, and three little girls had suddenly become her responsibility, Aunt Betty’s solution was to be as strict as possible. Dinner was at six o’clock sharp, and if you were a minute late, you didn’t get dinner. Chores took all of Saturday morning. Wasn’t a lot of talking or laughing in their house growing up. Jeanne’s only joy had been cooking fancy dinners and desserts, hoping to bring a little happiness to their strange family.
She’d been shocked to find out Brad had coped with his dysfunctional family the same way. She always thought that was part of the reason they had such an immediate connection when they started working together. Emotions fueled their cooking.
Maybe her sad childhood did make Jeanne more desperate for a family than most single women facing down thirty, but Becca was mistaken. She wasn’t afraid of that. She was afraid she wasn’t going to have it. “You’re wrong.”