by Nancy Toback
Frank flipped his necktie Groucho Marx–style. “Things have not been working out as you expected—for how long?” He shifted lazily in the leather armchair. “Okay, Jessica used to sit in front of you in grade school, but get over it already.”
“High school, junior year,” Tom countered, sounding pitiful in his own ears.
“Whatever.” Frank sighed. “Look—I’m on your side, but what are you waiting for?”
“A miracle.” Or maybe a few more lingering looks from Jessica. Why the looks when she thought she needed a dating service to find the man of her dreams? Tom dropped into his swivel chair and drew in a breath. “You know, sometimes I envy you.”
Raking his fingers through his cropped, black hair, Frank smirked. “I’m the bomb.”
Tom gave a mild snort. “I’ll give you this much—you have a load of female friends, and you never get stuck on any of them. Kudos.”
“Hey, I like being a bachelor.” Frank wriggled his dark brows. “You, on the other hand, want to be married. Nothing wrong with that, except you’ve got a thing for one woman.”
Tom nodded. “Right.” The thing he had for Jessica would have to die a sudden death. He’d nearly forgotten that as he listened to her sing a solo in church Sunday, her face waxing angelic. His heart clenched at the memory.
“Two of the administrative assistants out there”—Frank jerked his thumb toward the door—“would love to go out with you. Why don’t you—”
“Now she’s got it in her head she’ll find a Christian husband on the Internet.” A cold knot tightened in his chest. Since Saturday in Flavors, going over the questionnaire with her between sips of cappuccino, he’d tried to pray it away—force it out of his mind. Speaking the words disheartened him all over again.
“Jessica’s looking for a husband on the Internet?” The shock in Frank’s voice brought him an odd sense of relief. So he wasn’t the only one to think the idea of it insane. “Things are going from bad to worse, Buddy.”
“You’re right.” Bad to worse. Flipping open the file on his desk, Tom shook his head. The few times he did date, he’d done it more as a favor to Frank. Not surprisingly, his colleague attracted women who wanted to double date. Maybe Frank’s slick demeanor elicited a safety-in-numbers response. Tom suppressed a grin at the errant thought.
“Last you told me, Jess was off dating. Career first and all that. When did marriage enter the picture?”
“I guess she’s achieved everything she’s ever wanted career-wise. I’m happy for her. But now,” he said with a shrug, “she says her ‘biological clock is ticking.’ ” Drumming his fingers on the desktop, Tom switched his gaze to the window and stared at the skyscraper across the way. “Strange this should come up now. I had every intention of telling Jess how I felt about her this weekend. God’s timing, I guess.”
“Man, that’s rough.” Frank rose to his feet and crossed his arms. Tom watched him pacing a small section of carpet. His familiar posture meant a bright idea was brewing, probably one he could live without. “Why don’t you join the Christian dating service yourself?” He raised a hand to forestall a response. “You actually care if a woman has a good personality.” Frank chuckled. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
Tom grimaced. Leaning back in his chair, he weighed the proposition he’d solidly rejected when Jess presented it to him. “What kind of women could I expect to meet on there?”
Frank cleared his throat. “I think you’ve just insulted Jessica.”
Tom managed a smile. If he were going for the transfer to California, there was no sense starting up a relationship in New York. Though it wouldn’t kill him to interact with some like-minded females. Maybe it would be the elixir he needed to put Jessica out of his mind once and for all.
Frank pushed back his shirt cuff and glanced at his watch. “Whoa! Got to get back to work.” He strode to the door and turned. “I’m going to the gym at six. Want to catch up with me?”
“Yeah, sure, see you later.” The door snapped shut. Tom resumed drumming his fingers. Maybe he’d meet other professional Christians online—women like Jess who had no time to socialize. “Yeah, maybe Jessica’s clone.”
Tom shook his head and picked up his pen. Frank nailed it. Bad to worse.
❧
Juggling three tubs of ice cream, Jess navigated the creaky wooden stairs from the pantry into the kitchen. She dropped the slippery containers onto the counter and heaved a sigh.
“How are you, Chef?”
Jess glanced up to see Juan standing at the opposite end of the long table, eyeing one of his heavenly confectionery creations. If anybody loved his work as much as she did, it had to be the pastry chef. “Hi, there. When did you get in?”
“About ten minutes ago,” Juan said, slathering frosting on the chocolate decadence cake. “It’s six o’clock. You leaving?”
“Nope.” Jess brushed her hands against her white apron. “I’ve got to pull another double till we find a new sous chef. Martha quit on your day off.” She scanned the slip of paper hanging from the peg above the stove, grabbed a frying pan, and set it on the flame.
“You better tell boss-man to get somebody quick. With the busy season coming”—Juan glanced up from his masterpiece—“you work too hard.”
“Yeah, well—” Double shifts weren’t so bad when all you had to go home to was a parakeet and a couple of goldfish. Tom hadn’t phoned in four days. A record. “You know, Juan—men are strange.”
“We’re strange?” He grunted.
“Sorry.” Jess scooped butter into the pan. Juan had enough problems on the home front to know better than to make the offhand remark. “Just thinking out loud.” If Tom was too irritated to phone her and was worried about Jack the Ripper, why the pleasantness when he’d helped her fill out the questionnaire? Why help her at all?
Tossing shrimp into the pan, Jess went to the refrigerator for the provolone. After Tom’s warnings, she hadn’t joined the dating service after all. But if Tom persisted in being unreasonable and stubborn, she wouldn’t tell him she had qualms about signing up.
Dora pushed through the swinging doors in her customary breathless fashion. She slapped a receipt on the peg. “Hey, your friend is out there.”
Jess closed the fridge door and blinked. “Which friend?”
“The hunk.” Dora’s munchkin laugh echoed through the kitchen. “Tom Winters.”
Delight hit the pit of her stomach, working its way to her face in the form of a smile. She’d missed him more than she cared to admit. “Oh, right, Tom.” Her smile faded. He could at least have phoned to let her know he’d be in.
“Ay, caramba!”
Scowling, Jess switched her gaze to Juan. Balancing a cake platter in each hand, he gestured with his chin to the stove. Dora screeched.
Jess pivoted just as the smoke alarm clanged in her ears. “Yikes!” She lurched forward, yanked the pan off the range, and tossed it into the sink. “What’s the matter with me?”
Juan set down the cakes, picked up the broom, and poked its handle at the ceiling alarm. He jammed the stick into the button, restoring the kitchen to silence.
“I’ll tell everybody false alarm.” Dora dashed through the doors before Jess had a chance to snag her back. All she needed was Dora telling customers not to panic.
“Oh, Juan.” Jess grabbed a clean pan. Stupidly, she felt on the verge of tears.
“I told you, you’re working too hard.” After opening the side door, he eased up beside her and began cleaning up the ashy remains.
“Yes, that must be it.” Layering cheese atop a crock of onion soup, Jess slid the bowl into the toaster oven. She glanced into the small wall mirror. What a tired mess! She flicked a sideways glance at Juan, who was scrubbing the burnt pan.
Making her way to the doors, she slipped out of the kitchen quietly. All she wanted was a sneak peek at Tom without his detecting her. She strode forward about ten paces and halted behind a wide pillar. From this vantage point, she
’d be able to catch a glimpse of Tom’s favorite table. She peered around the pole like a kid playing hide-and-seek.
“What are you doing?”
Jess spun and released a soft gasp. “Nothing!”
Tom tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowed. “I heard the alarm. You okay?”
Clamping her hands behind her back, she straightened. “Yes, of course. A little mishap, but—”
“When you have a minute”—Tom smiled, sending a whirly-twirly to her stomach—“could you stop by my table?”
Why was she thinking whirly-twirly about her best friend? More than a little dread washed through her. Jess pulled in a deep breath. “Sure. Business or pleasure?”
“Business.” Tom winked. “Make me look good.”
“Right.” Pressing her hand flat against the pillar, she watched him walk away, tall and handsome in his dark suit. A distant bell rang in her head. The alarm! Pivoting, she ran toward the kitchen, banged through the doors, and clamped both of her hands to her face.
Speaking Spanish furiously, Juan was taking aim at the alarm with the broom handle again.
Jess flew to the toaster oven, tears spilling down her face.
“I got it already,” Juan called.
Staring down at the blackened cheese on the soup crock, she dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. She could easily rip off her chef’s uniform, jump into her street clothes, and run out the back door. And keep on running. Trade in all of this for—for what? Since marriage proposals weren’t plentiful, did she even have options? She didn’t know how to do anything but cook, and judging by the amount of black in her kitchen, she was beginning to doubt that.
She shook her head. Her father had worked double shifts all her life to ensure she had the best education. He didn’t want her to become the damsel in distress after he was gone. If you’re looking down from heaven, Daddy, I’m sorry for acting so ‘girly-girl’ under stress. It’s not what you taught me.
More tears came unabated, running hot and zigzagging down her face. Grasping the edge of the counter, Jess took in deep breaths. I can do this. She moved to the refrigerator.
This job was everything she’d ever wanted. She’d practically broken her back to become the top chef at one of Manhattan’s best restaurants, and she wasn’t about to blow it all in one emotional outburst. Her gaze skipped over Juan’s sympathetic smile. She grabbed another pan.
Assembling each dish methodically, her thoughts returned to Tom. He was virtually the only man alive who knew the weak and needy Jessica. It was far too dangerous to be thinking of Tom in terms of whirly-twirlies. That would never do. She could show her best friend that side of her, but never the man she intended to marry. Her father was right—it was fine to want a man, but not to need one.
And she needed Tom.
She’d have to put a lid on whatever sparked the wild attraction in the dining room. Four days without speaking to him probably accounted for overreacting at the sight of him.
“Juan, I’ll take the desserts out to Tom’s table.”
Spooning an extra dollop of heavy cream on the brownie, Juan pushed the plate toward her. “Finished.”
“Beautiful.” Jess smiled. She picked up the tray and walked through the doors. If Tom had bothered to ask her to make him look good, his dinner guests must be important—
Jess stopped a few feet from the table, hesitating to intrude on what appeared to be an intimate exchange between Tom and the beautiful woman sitting beside him. But she tilted her chin, smiled, and approached.
“Jessica.” Tom stood, as if surprised to see her in her own place of work.
“Good evening.” Jess set down the desserts. “Was everything okay?”
The two older, distinguished gentlemen nodded and smiled. The woman stared at Tom starry-eyed, perhaps hoping he’d do the talking for her.
“This is Heather Webster,” Tom said.
She looked like a Heather Webster. A pale, blond beauty who rode horses in Connecticut. Jess shook her outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you.” After being introduced to Tom’s two other guests, she stepped back, only too happy to make a hasty retreat.
“Oh,” Heather whispered, “the salmon was a little dry.”
Jessica’s already shaky smile froze on her face. “Was it? I’m so sorry.”
Heather waved her delicate hand. “No big deal, actually.” She turned to Tom, a benign smile on her face. “No big deal,” she mouthed.
Tom cleared his throat. “Everything I had was delicious.”
“Great—well, have a nice rest of the evening.” Jess turned and strode quickly toward the kitchen. There was no way she’d permit herself another bout of tears.
“Jess, wait.”
She spun toward Tom’s voice, finding he had followed her. There was no good reason for her to feel stabbed in the back. But that’s precisely how she felt. Like she was losing her grasp on something—her stability or their friendship.
“Sorry about that rude comment. Heather was fine with the dinner while she was eating it.” Tom grinned.
“No problem,” she fibbed. “I can’t be perfect.” Everything in her wanted to ask why he hadn’t called. She forced back the questions. “By the way, I decided not to join the online dating service.”
“You did?” Tom dipped his chin.
Instead of setting their friendship back on course, Tom sounded disappointed. “Well, I–I. . .” She searched for words to recover from her embarrassment. “I’m sure I can find husband material some other way.”
“Ah.” Tom nodded. “Well, this may sound funny, but I’m going to join.”
“Funny?” Jess whispered. “I—”
“We’ll talk later. I have to get back to my table.”
Funny? In the kitchen, Jess leaned against the table, shaking her head. What a kick in the shins. Now she would join Love Online if it were the last thing she did! And looking around her, it hit her that it just might be the last thing she did.
Three
Tom popped two slices of bread into the toaster and poured himself a cup of coffee. Yawning, he went to his laptop on the kitchen table and typed in his password. “Curiosity killed the cat,” his mom would say. He smiled, then took a long swallow from his cup. The Love Online idea may have started as a means to get Jess out of his mind, but now he was curious about the kind of feedback he’d get. Would he be the most popular guy of the Internet world or the nerd no one contacted?
Scanning his E-mail, Tom grimaced as he counted the messages. Eighteen responses, and he hadn’t even posted his mug shot. This endeavor might require more time than he’d bargained for. But at least his world had options where they hadn’t existed before.
Opening the first message, he took a few seconds to assimilate his new identity—TCTwo—and how he’d come to decide on it. He never used his middle name, Christopher, but he was born Thomas Christopher Winters II, after all. The long-awaited son after four daughters, his parents thought he was royalty. He shook his head. They meant well, but their decision to retire to Florida turned out for the best all the way around. As far as his family was concerned, Jess was their future daughter-in-law. He wouldn’t fare well, having to explain a couple of visits to their house without her.
At the sound of the toaster, Tom returned to the counter. Jess still might be husband hunting, but at least now she wouldn’t put herself at risk on the Internet—or so she said when he’d seen her last in Flavors.
Poor Jess, he thought, buttering his toast. She seemed shaken Thursday night. Was it Heather’s dry-salmon remark? Jess might be a perfectionist, but he could count on one hand the times he’d seen her cry in sixteen years. And Thursday she’d looked close to tears. She was such an anomaly. She hadn’t had a successful date in years, yet never a tear, but one comment on her salmon and she was putty. Perhaps that’s why he loved her so. He never knew what to expect.
This month had always been a struggle for her—first Mother’s Day, followed by the anniversary
of her beloved father’s death. He grimaced. He felt like a slug for not being there to help her over the hurdles in May.
Tom gave a grunt, jerked open the refrigerator door, and replaced the butter. As if Jess needed him to make it through life! She’d made it clear he lacked what she required when it came to a lifetime commitment.
Taking his juice and toast to the table, he sat down to read the first E-mail, grateful for the anonymity of the process. No real names, they strongly recommended, just initials or handles. Most members posted photos, but there was truth behind Frank’s witty comment. Physical attributes had little to do with being well matched. If physical attraction were the key to compatibility, he and Jess would be celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary. Enough people had referred to them as a “beautiful couple” to make them crack up whenever they heard it.
Tom shoved the thought aside, rested his chin on his fist, and looked at the computer screen.
Dear TCTwo,
I read your profile. My photo and other information are posted on the site. I live on East 34th Street and. . .
Tom’s gaze dropped to the bottom of the message. The woman signed her real name. “Not smart.” He took a bite into the toast and brushed the crumbs off his fingers. He’d have to write and let her know she should be more careful. He closed and saved her E-mail, then opened the next.
No salutation. I’ve never done this before, and I’m not desperate to meet men!
Tom burst out laughing. Wait till he got his hands on Frank for goading him into joining. The more he read of the missive, the more relieved he felt that Jess hadn’t subjected herself to this.
Drinking his orange juice, Tom moved on to the third E-mail:
Dear TCTWO,
If you want to see my personality profile, I’m listed as Lab711. It seems we have a lot in common. I see you’re a backgammon pro. Me too! And I can give you a run for your money. I also enjoy jogging, dining out, funny movies, and antiquing.