by Deb Kastner
“I’m sorry, what was that? Were you saying something about the way I work in my kitchen?”
Phoebe moved her pies back to her counter and then turned, crossing her arms in front of her as she glared at Chance’s back.
“This isn’t going to work, is it?” she asked pointedly.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “You tell me.”
“Honestly, I think this kitchen is too small for the both of us. If you aren’t willing to concede just a little, I might as well leave now.”
Chance put his spatula down and wiped his hands on his apron. He studied her for a moment without speaking and then gave a clipped nod.
“I get what you’re saying,” he admitted.
“And?”
“I’ll try harder. Is that what you want to hear?”
The words were right, but the attitude wasn’t. It was like talking to a teenager who said one thing and meant something entirely different.
Still, it was probably the best she was going to get out of him, and he hadn’t bulldozed her right out of the kitchen for having the nerve to confront him.
“You’ll share oven time?”
He frowned. “I guess.”
“And counter space.”
“Hey, now, I told you that—”
“You need a lot of room to work,” she finished for him. “We’ve been through all this. Now that we’ve had some time to work together, I think we’ve clearly established that we are going to be bumping into each other on a regular basis, and that we are going to have to share our toys. But I’m willing to try if you are. Agreed?”
Chance turned back to the grill and picked up his spatula. The sizzle of the bacon as he turned it over almost covered up his soft, gruff answer, but Phoebe heard it. Barely. “Agreed.”
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: Pies and cookies and cakes, oh, my! I’m having a wonderful time baking for the country potluck. It’s a different experience altogether, and I’m loving every second of it. Or at least, almost every second. There’s this man…
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: No wonder your pies and cookies are world-famous. You are truly blessed by God with special creativity, and I am blessed by God to get to sample it!
PHOEBE YATES: Thanks for not commenting on the man, lol.
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: I would never think to intrude, my dear. At least not yet.
Chance sat at the kitchen table, a mug of steaming black coffee in his hands. He was waiting on the ladies to finish their personal preparations for the barn-raising, and it was taking forever. What, he wondered, could they possibly be doing that would take them that long? Even Lucy had not yet wandered into the kitchen, and it wasn’t like the girl had to apply makeup.
She’d better not be applying makeup.
He sighed, thinking back over the past few days. Sharing his kitchen with Phoebe was tough on many levels. It was every bit as much of a pain as he had imagined it would be, and then some, in ways he hadn’t even considered before she’d walked into his kitchen and his life.
Elbow-to-elbow, they bumped into each other all the time, which was thoroughly annoying. Sometimes Phoebe wanted to use the oven when he wanted to use the oven; and though she asked nicely, it still irritated him to have to share.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, she lingered around every day after he closed up shop, her car keys held prominently in one hand. He knew what she was doing, even if she never said so aloud.
He didn’t say anything, either. Every day, he just turned and walked away.
And every day as she passed by him in her rental car, she would slow down and gawk at him as if he were an anomaly, some strange creature walking down the side of the road.
What? Hadn’t the woman ever heard of the benefits of fresh air and exercise?
If he were being honest, though, it wasn’t the counter space or the ovens or even the way she stared at him like he was riding a circus elephant home from the café that bothered him most.
It was the close proximity thing.
He tried not to notice Phoebe as a woman, he really did; but how could he not notice her when she would become completely absorbed in her baking and would accidentally smear flour across her cheeks and dot her nose? Did she not realize how cute she looked when she did that?
And if that wasn’t bad enough, she smelled delicious—some kind of vanilla-scented musk that was completely at odds with the usual smell of greasy country cooking. How was a man supposed to concentrate on his work when he was enveloped in the sweet vanilla scent of the finest French pastries—not from the pies and cookies she was baking, but exuding from the woman herself?
How fair was that? Thank goodness they’d closed the café today in honor of the barn-raising. At least there he could keep his distance from the distracting woman.
As if on cue, Phoebe entered the Hawkinses’ country kitchen, rosy-cheeked and freshly showered, her eyes brimming with delight and exhilaration over the day to come. Her vanilla scent wafted in with her, and Chance inhaled deeply despite himself.
“You ready?” he asked, though it was obvious that she was clearly anticipating the day.
“I’m so excited I may burst. Do you think I’ll meet everyone in Serendipity today?”
He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “You’ve already met practically half the town.”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” she gushed. “It’s just that this is just so completely out of my range of experience.”
But not out of her comfort zone, Chance mused. He had no doubt that she would mesh right in with the locals, and apparently, she didn’t, either. Everyone who’d met her at the café already like her.
What was there not to like?
Aunt Jo bustled into the kitchen. “Chance, dear, the picnic baskets are ready to be placed into the pickup. Phoebe and I will have the cooler loaded with soda and water in short order.”
Chance nodded and reached for the baskets on the counter, one in each hand. They were surprisingly heavy, but then, his Aunt Jo never did anything halfway. If she was going to bring food to the barn-raising, she was going to bring food, and lots of it. Not only that, but Phoebe had spent the previous day baking fresh pies and cookies for the event.
Apple pies, cherry pies and rhubarb pies. Dozens of chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies, and his own personal favorite, snickerdoodles. His mouth watered just thinking about it.
It didn’t take long to get everything situated in the back of the truck, and Chance was antsy to get moving. It was several miles’ walk to the Sparkses’ ranch. If he didn’t get started soon, he wouldn’t be arriving until the barn was already built and the sun was setting in the western end of the sky.
Aunt Jo hopped behind the wheel, and Chance opened up the passenger door for Lucy and Phoebe. Lucy crawled in first and reluctantly scooted to the middle, effectively ignoring all the adults present with the use of her ever-present MP3 player.
Phoebe hesitated at the door.
“I don’t think there’s room enough for the four of us to sit,” she observed. “I am happy to follow you all in my own vehicle, as long as you promise not to lose me.” She chuckled at her own joke.
“Oh, no, dear. Chance doesn’t ride,” Aunt Jo explained before Chance could say a word.
Phoebe turned to him and addressed him directly. “I know you walk to and from work, but I was given to understand that this homestead is several miles out of town.”
Chance confirmed her statement with a clipped nod.
Her unwavering hazel-eyed gaze caught his. She was quiet for a moment, her full lips pressed together. Her thoughtful perusal made him uncomfortable. He felt like she was trying to probe his mind for something, and it took all his willpower not to break the connection.
“I see,” she said at last, though he hadn’t offered her a word of explanation. “In that case, I’ll walk, too.”
“What a delightful idea,” Aunt Jo stated enthusiastically.
Chance thought it was a ho
rrible idea, but he was apparently the only one not warming to the idea.
Despite theoretically being unable to hear their conversation with her music on, Lucy quickly slid over to claim the passenger seat for herself and was already reaching for the door handle.
Chance held the door handle tight, refusing to give in. It wasn’t necessarily that he minded Phoebe’s company, but why should she suffer walking for several miles just because he had peculiar hang-ups? She ought to catch a ride with Aunt Jo and Lucy.
He was long past obsessing every time one of his loved ones rode in an automobile—it would have driven him crazy within a year if he had. It was only his own self he didn’t trust. No matter how irrational it was—and he knew it was—he just couldn’t—couldn’t—get into a car.
Which now left the issue of Phoebe joining him on the walk to the Sparkses’ house, though whether it was out of the goodness of her heart or else to try to prove her point, he didn’t know.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he stated, voicing his opinion at last, though he suspected he might as well be speaking another language, for all the good it would do him. He was outnumbered, and he knew it. And by females.
“Nonsense,” Aunt Jo replied. “We’ll see you two at the Sparkses’.”
“I’m walking. Don’t try to talk me out of it,” Phoebe said, a determined look on her face.
As if he could. “Suit yourself.”
“Buckle up,” he ordered Lucy before he closed the passenger door and waved them on their way.
Chance turned toward the road. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Oh, I think I did,” she replied cryptically.
What did that mean? What did she think she’d be proving by walking with him?
That she was in good shape? Any man with eyeballs in his head could see that.
That she had a kind heart? She had already demonstrated that in any number of ways, not only to him, but with Lucy and Aunt Jo.
That she cared about him? He didn’t even want to go there.
They walked together in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Thankfully, Phoebe wasn’t the type of woman who felt the need to mindlessly chatter every time there was a lull in the conversation. She was a thoughtful woman in more ways than one.
To his surprise, he was the one who opened up the conversation.
“Did you really come to Serendipity just to work at Cup O’ Jo?”
“Mostly,” she answered in a soft, pensive tone. “It may be hard for you to fathom, but I missed the simple pleasure of baking. My world has gotten pretty hectic over the past few years.”
He could well imagine. And he could understand her need for a sabbatical. But it was her first statement he remarked upon. “Mostly?”
“Well, to be honest, there was a man involved,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “Isn’t there always?”
Why did a knot form in the pit of his stomach at her admission? He adjusted his bandana around his throat, which felt suddenly tight.
Of course there was a man. She probably had many admirers, were he to guess.
He scowled. It was the truth, but he didn’t have to like it.
“I see,” he said when nothing else came to mind. He was still thinking about all of the rich, exotic men she must have met on her travels.
“Josh and I had been together for a year. When we broke up, I just wanted someplace else to go for a while, somewhere where I could find a little peace and regain my spiritual equilibrium.”
“What an idiot.”
“What?” She came to a grinding halt, creating a cloud of dust as she turned. “Why am I an idiot?”
He laid a consoling hand on her arm. He hadn’t even realized he’d voiced his thoughts aloud, and now she’d completely misread them.
“This Josh guy,” he elaborated. “He is the idiot. Not you.”
“Because…?”
“What man in his right mind would break up with you?” He knew his voice was getting heated, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. And he was well aware he was admitting more than he cared to.
“No. You’ve got it all wrong,” she insisted. “Josh didn’t break up with me. I was the one who ended our relationship.”
“That’s better, then.” He released the breath he’d been holding on a sigh of relief. It wasn’t like him to get riled up about anything, much less something that was clearly none of his business.
“I’m sure Josh doesn’t think so. We had a good relationship. I kept thinking he might be the one, but after a year, I still wasn’t sure in my heart, no matter how hard I prayed about it.
“If I’m not one hundred percent sure of myself and of him, he’s not it, right? Prince Charming. The one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“I don’t believe in fairy tales,” Chance remarked gruffly. He had, at one time, thought the world was full of gallant knights and lovely maidens. But not now. He’d once been married to what he’d considered the love of his life, and look how that had worked out for him.
Phoebe sighed and gestured for them to continue down the road.
“Me, either. It would be nice though, wouldn’t it? Growing old together, sitting on the front porch swing watching your great-grandchildren playing in the yard?”
Chance winced. “I guess.”
“Oh, Chance.” Phoebe stopped so abruptly that he walked right into her. Instinctively, he grasped her around the waist so they didn’t both topple to the ground.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about your loss. I just—I didn’t think. Sometimes my mouth goes faster than my brain.”
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice especially hoarse with emotion.
And it was all right, he realized as he reluctantly turned Phoebe loose. He didn’t know how it had happened, but when he spoke about Lindsay to Phoebe, he experienced as much joy at the memories as he did grief. Something about Phoebe’s caring nature enveloped him and spared him the hot, spiking darts of pain that he’d learned to live with for so long.
“So this isn’t a permanent move, then?” he queried, wondering why it mattered to him either way.
“Didn’t your aunt tell you?” she asked, surprised.
He shook his head. “Aunt Jo doesn’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know you were arriving in town, much less that we’d be working together, until you walked into my kitchen.”
“Yeah, I got that,” she mused, her voice fueled with humor. “But in answer to your question, I’m on a six-week sabbatical. In early July I’m due to start as head pastry chef at Monahan’s—a new, upscale restaurant opening in Times Square. I’m quite excited. I’ve been working for years for an opportunity like this.”
“Hmm,” he answered, mulling over the fact.
They walked the rest of the way to the Sparkses’ house without speaking but in companionable silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts.
“I think I see Lucy,” Phoebe said, pointing to a group of young people crowding around one of the long, rectangular tables that had been set up north of the barn.
Chance looked to where Phoebe was pointing. Lucy was there, all right, slouched next to a boy. They appeared deep in conversation, their foreheads nearly touching.
His protective, fatherly instinct ignited and flared in his chest.
His little girl.
“What is she doing?”
Phoebe reached for Chance’s arm, restraining him from darting forward.
“They’re just sharing music,” she explained in a quiet, calm tone of voice. “See? She and Brian each have one earphone. You can see the cord draped between them.”
“Brian?”
“It’s just a guess.” Phoebe’s cheeks turned an attractive rose color and she looked like she was just about to burst into delighted laughter. This was not funny.
“How do you know about this Brian character and I don’t?”
Phoebe gave him a mysterious smile. “Let’s just say I saw it wri
tten in…the sand.”
Chapter Eight
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: The single women of Serendipity certainly can’t get enough of the chef I work with. Yet he just can’t see it. Maybe he simply doesn’t want to.
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: He’s always been that way, dear. He doesn’t know or care what the ladies think of him—and they do think of him!
Phoebe was having a lovely time. She knew she was a liability when it came to her lack of even the most basic knowledge of carpentry, but Chance had gallantly allowed her to hold the boards for him while he was sawing and hammering.
Wisely, for her sake, he kept all the power tools and sharp objects away from her. Kindly, also for her sake, he made it at least look like she was helping. But it wasn’t easy.
As self-conscious as she was feeling, she was grateful when Jo appeared at her side.
“You look like you could use a break,” the older woman commented sagely.
“That bad, huh?”
“No, not really.”
That was a fib if Phoebe had ever heard one, especially given the collective chuckling of the women around her. She joined in their laughter.
“We’re starting to set up the tables for lunch. Would you like to help?”
“Of course.” Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. Preparing and serving food was way more into her comfort zone than wielding a hammer, or even being in the vicinity of someone who was—by millions of miles, at least.
“Need some help, ladies?” An older gentleman, using a cane for balance, slowly approached. His body was slouched with age and his face was weathered, but the vital gleam in his eyes was that of a much younger man. And though the question had been addressed to the small gathering of women at large, Phoebe had the distinct impression he was talking to Jo in particular.
Her suspicion was confirmed when Jo was the one to answer.
“No, Frank, we do not need help. Ladies only here. Now go bother someone else.” On the outside it might have appeared that Jo was annoyed, yet underneath Phoebe thought she heard a note of affection.
“Not until I’ve been introduced to this pretty young lady,” Frank countered, gesturing at Phoebe.