by Jan Moran
“Why, of course.” She blinked. She was often asked that question.
“I thought you might be wearing contact lenses. Your eyes are such a deep shade of sapphire.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “That was Father’s nickname for me—Sapphire, for my eyes.”
His eyes roamed across her face, and he frowned. “And that bruise on your cheek?”
“Stupid bike accident,” she mumbled. Feeling self-conscious, she put her sunglasses back on. The sun was so bright, it illuminated everything.
He stared at her for a long moment, and Verena wasn’t sure if he believed her.
“And how’s your boyfriend?”
“He left for a business trip to Japan.” Why didn’t I correct him and say fiancée?
Lance nodded and started up a path alongside the building. “We can leave the bikes in the garage.” He led the way, and Verena walked behind him. She couldn’t help but admire the firm muscles in his legs.
“Do you ride often?” she asked.
“I like to ride early in the morning before work. It improves my focus, and since I like to taste everything in the kitchen, cycling keeps me in shape. Occupational hazard, that.”
She followed him into the elevator and upstairs, where he opened the door.
The view caught Verena by surprise. The condo was a wall of glass on the ocean side, and it opened onto a wide balcony overlooking the waves. He slid the glass doors open and stepped out, and Verena followed him. His skin was tanned to a dark golden shade, and his back glistened in the sunlight.
“You should see the sunsets,” he said.
“I’d love to.” She nearly died inside. Why did I say that?
Lance grinned at her again. “I don’t have much food in the kitchen because I usually eat at work. How do you feel about French toast?”
“After a ride like that, sure. Besides, I still have to ride back to Marina del Rey.”
“Then you need good food for fuel.” He washed his hands, put a white apron over his neck, and then began to pull ingredients from the cupboard and the refrigerator. “The bread’s turned green, but I have croissants. You’ll eat strawberries and macadamia nuts?”
“Sounds delicious.”
He pulled a knife from a wooden block of professional stainless knives. The ebony-stained handles were curved to fit the hand and the blades glinted in the sunlight. He handled the knife with precision, slicing a small slit in the croissants.
“You have incredible knives here, too,” she said.
“I like to use the right tools.” He looked pleased that she’d noticed. “Each one is handcrafted in Japan in the tradition of samurai sword makers.”
As he worked, Verena perched on a stool and looked around. The kitchen opened into the living and dining areas. His furniture was simple but fine; a white canvas couch rested between two polished tree trunks, which served as end tables. On one sat a colorful Tiffany-style lamp. On the other, a brilliant azure blue glass wave caught the sunlight. An antique surfboard stood in one corner, and next to it, a large oil painting of the ocean. She was looking at it when he said, “Like it?”
“I do.” She squinted at the signature. Lance Martel. “You painted this?”
“Guilty as charged.” One corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. “When I first moved here, I didn’t have any furniture in this room, so I set up an easel and let the paint fly.”
She looked at him thoughtfully, appreciating his skills. “You’re awfully creative; you paint, you cook.”
“I like to work with my hands. Here, take a look at this.”
Verena looked at his creation, and her mouth watered. He had piped a creamy strawberry filling into the croissants, dipped them into a light batter, and rolled them in finely chopped macadamia nuts. A copper skillet sizzled on the stove.
A few minutes later, they sat on the balcony, enjoying his version of French toast, along with tall glasses of blended passion fruit and pineapple juices. They chatted easily, and Verena marveled at how quickly he had produced such a delicious dish.
“It all starts with the best ingredients,” he said. “The best butter, salt, berries—everything. And as fresh as possible.”
“Sounds like my formulas for skincare. In fact, my grandmother still whips up masks and scrubs in the kitchen from simple ingredients.” She took another bite, thinking about the similarities in what they did. “What are you growing in the planter?”
“That’s my herb garden. I have basil, thyme, chives, cilantro, oregano, rosemary. Only the freshest herbs will do.”
Verena could feel his eyes on her as they ate. Without meaning to, she thought of Derrick, and the differences between the two men. Lance was so easy going. He seemed to have a perpetual grin on his face, whereas Derrick was always in a hurry, often interrupting her to take, or make, a phone call. Derrick’s job was important, but so was Lance’s, and yet, the two men couldn’t have been more dissimilar in their temperament.
She shifted in her chair, uncomfortably aware of her attraction to Lance. I’m here as a friend, a casual acquaintance, she told herself. But going to a man’s home for breakfast wasn’t a usual occurrence for her.
They finished, and Lance said, “I’ll take your plate.” His hand brushed against hers as he collected the dish, and Verena felt something akin to a small jolt of electricity surge through her. What was that?
When he returned, she said, “That was a wonderful treat, but I have to go.”
He looked crestfallen. “Are you sure? I’m going to the farmer’s market. I’d love for you to come with me.”
“I’m sure.” The faster I leave, the better, she thought. Although she had promised Mia she’d go to the market for dinner.
“Then I’ll help you with your bike.”
They made their way downstairs, and Verena couldn’t help but admire his manners.
As he wheeled her bike out of the garage for her, he said, “I called you at your office. Did you get the message?”
“Yes, but it was a busy week. I have some pressing work issues.”
He nodded. “May I call you again?”
Verena’s chest tightened. “Lance, you must know, I’m engaged to Derrick.” There, she’d said it.
He stared for a moment, and then gave her a quick half grin. “Look, I enjoy your company. Nothing wrong with that. Drop by the hotel anytime for a bite. It’s not a date, just two friends commiserating.”
Verena couldn’t help herself. “Okay, I can do that.”
Lance brightened when she said that, and she suppressed a laugh. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye now, see you next week,” she said. She got on her bike and cycled away before he had time to react.
Lance stood and watched her until she disappeared into the crowd on the path. He questioned how she could love a man like Derrick. His grin turned to a scowl as he thought of the man. As soon as he’d met Derrick, he suspected that something was off with him. Overhearing Derrick and Thomas Roper at lunch was confusing; on one hand, Derrick seemed to be protecting her, but on the other hand, Lance still didn’t trust the man. What if Derrick hasn’t told her about Roper’s intent?
She doesn’t deserve someone like that. He turned to go upstairs, resolving that he would not let Derrick destroy her life.
He couldn’t deny the physical attraction he felt for Verena, but he truly liked her, too. It was easy to see the goodness in her. Even if Verena isn’t interested in me, he thought, I can’t stand by and let a woman like that marry a man like Derrick.
8
Juggling groceries, Verena opened the door, and then made her way to the kitchen. “Hello, Mia. How about stir fry tonight?” She put the groceries on the counter.
“Sounds nice and healthy,” Mia said, sipping a cup of tea.
“Where are the girls?”
“With friends, shopping for shoes for the trip. They’ve grown another size. Say, what’s that bruise on your cheek?”
Verena touched her face
, realizing she must have sweated off the makeup she’d used in the morning. “Minor bike accident.” Verena pulled out vegetables she’d bought: snow peas, carrots, sprouts, mushrooms, and green onions. She began to scrub them.
“I can slice those for you,” Mia said. “How was your ride today?”
“Wonderful! It felt good to get some exercise, and I love the smell of the ocean.”
“It must have been quite a ride; you were gone a long time.”
Verena smiled now, remembering her impromptu breakfast with Lance. “I saw a friend, and we had breakfast together.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Lance Martel. He’s the executive chef at the Beverly Hills Hotel. I met him at the gala, and he prepared a late night dinner for me after the event.”
“Nice to have a man cook for you, isn’t it?” Mia’s eyes brightened. “Emile was a great chef. I miss that about him, and so many other things, too.”
Verena gave her grandmother a sympathetic hug. Mia had never stopped missing her late husband. She’s been talking about him quite a bit lately, Verena thought, concern edging into her mind. Mia’s indomitable spirit was intact, but Verena was always looking after her grandmother’s physical well-being.
“So, is he nice?” Mia’s voice held an intimate note.
Verena arched a brow. “You know I’m engaged.”
Mia sniffed, her displeasure evident. “When Derrick gives you a ring and sets a wedding date, you’ll be engaged.”
Verena ignored her comment. “We were just speaking about that at dinner the other night.” She slid a cutting board and knife in front of Mia, and placed a bunch of freshly washed mushrooms on the board. Derrick’s delay bothered her, too, but she understood how busy he was.
Mia picked up the knife and said casually, “So how did you run into Lance again this morning?”
Verena paused, her hands on her hips. “It was the strangest thing; I rode to Redondo, and when I arrived, there he was. He has a condo on the beach there, and he was just returning from a morning bike ride, too.”
Mia nodded. “Kismet.”
“What?” Verena inclined her head. “Oh no, I don’t believe in that. Anyway, he asked me up for breakfast, and whipped up the best French toast I’ve ever had. He’s an amazing chef. And a fine artist, too. I saw a painting he did of the ocean; it was magnificent.”
Mia listened, smiling. “Sounds like a nice young man. He is young, isn’t he?”
“Probably a couple of years older than I am.”
“Ever married? Children?”
“I don’t know…but he wants a dog, and plans to create his own line of food someday.”
Mia was methodically slicing the mushrooms, taking it all in. “The twins are older now than last time. And this Lance, he’s a good man?”
Verena nodded, thinking about Mia’s reference. Verena had been engaged a few years ago, but her fiancé, a character actor named Joe Stuart, had broken off the engagement a week before the wedding and broken her heart. Joe had been overwhelmed with the twins, then active seven-year-olds. I’m not ready to raise children, he’d told her. And when Mia dies, that’s exactly what will happen. His words had been like a slap in the face to her.
“Derrick is a good man, too,” Verena said, changing the subject from Lance. “Really he is. He’s very successful, hardworking, and he wants a family, too.” She chewed her lip. Was she trying to convince Mia—or herself? He’d changed since they’d started dating, in slow, small ways that now added up.
Mia paused and lifted the knife, gesturing with it. “Verena, I love you, and I must be honest with you. I don’t trust the man.”
Trust—a woman should trust the man she marries. “Mia, no one will ever be good enough for me in your eyes. You didn’t like Joe, either.”
“And look at how well that worked out.”
Verena winced; Mia was right about Joe. “Okay, let’s talk about something other than my love life.”
Verena wondered whether to tell Mia about the problems in the business. It had been years since Mia had turned over the reins to her son, Joseph, and his wife, Angelica. But Mia was well known and friends with many of their guests; she often advised Verena on new products and helped her test them. And she had always been a good sounding board. “There’s something I must tell you. It’s about the business.”
“Yes?” Mia pushed aside the sliced mushrooms, and sipped her tea.
“Our bank line of credit was canceled, and I can’t find anyone to fund our working capital needs for Asia. Product has already shipped, and the debut is pending.”
Mia nodded, taking it all in. “I’ve been listening to the news. I know banks aren’t lending like these used to. Do you have another plan?”
Verena drew a deep breath. “I’ve asked Derrick to see if Herringbone Capital will help us with a short term loan.”
Mia cast a sharp look in her direction. “Be careful about mixing the business and Derrick.”
Verena bit her lip. She hadn’t thought about that, and realized she should have. She’d been so focused on raising money that she hadn’t thought about all the consequences of asking Derrick.
Mia looked down at her hands. “I admit, I’ve been worried, too. The twins and I don’t have to take this trip to Europe right now.”
“You must go,” Verena protested. “I know how important it is for you and the girls. You’ve always wanted to take them to Europe and introduce them to their heritage. Just as you did for me when I was their age.” This was important to her sisters. Who knew how long Mia had left?
Mia smiled, reminiscing. “We had a good time, didn’t we? Remember hiking in the Alps? Can’t do that now, but it was lovely, wasn’t it? Emile and I used to hike every weekend when we were young. The views were magnificent.”
“Take the tram, Mia, you can still do that. Anika and Bella must experience the views from the mountains.”
“Are you sure? It’s an expensive trip. Although I have used the reward points I’ve saved for the airline tickets.”
Mia had always been frugal; Verena had learned how to budget from her. “No, I want you to go. It’s a lifetime experience for them, and for you. It’s been planned for so long.” Verena dried the green onions, and transferred the vegetables to Mia’s cutting board. “Remember what you’ve always told me about the importance of making memories?”
“Yes, but if you need my help, you can count on me, Verena.”
“I always have, Mia.”
Mia sighed. “This is not the first time we’ve been through perilous times in the business. The economy ebbs and flows, but we have always survived, Verena. Women always want to look beautiful, and feel healthy and attractive. And today, men do, too. Never underestimate the power of determination, my dear. You will find a way.”
“I’m sure I will,” Verena said, but even as the words left her mouth, doubt was creeping into her mind.
After dinner and a walk around the neighborhood with Mia and the girls, Verena went to her room to get ready for bed. As she brushed her hair and changed into a nightgown, she thought about what steps she would need to take if Herringbone Capital did not come through with the deal.
Mia’s right, there must be a solution. Three generations of her family had dedicated themselves to the salon. It was up to her to continue the business.
As she mulled over her dilemma, thoughts of Lance kept edging into her mind. Thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
Until recently, she’d always thought she and Derrick had a good relationship. It might not be perfect—he worked long hours and traveled a lot, but then, so did she.
Verena wasn’t desperate for a relationship, but she was realistic. She didn’t believe in happily-ever-after fairy tales. Her life simply wasn’t conducive to such thoughts. How many men would be willing to take on her family? The responsibilities for Mia and the twins would surely spill over into any relationship she had.
As she slid into bed, she reminisced about how she and
Derrick had met. She had chaired a fundraiser for orphaned children last year, and he’d attended. At first she thought it curious that he would go to such an event if tragedy had not struck his family, but later he confided that he’d lost a cousin in an accident in Belize, and that another cousin had adopted the child. He’d even had tears in his eyes.
Belize. Maybe we could honeymoon in Belize. Sometimes it seemed their wedding day would never come. I’m being silly, she thought before she drifted off. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
“Good to see you again.” Lance shook hands with the hotel owner’s representative as the man’s car was pulled under the porte cochère in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel.
“We like what you’re doing here, Lance. Keep up the good work.” The man closed the door and pulled away.
A fiery red sports car pulled up, and Lance hesitated a moment to admire it.
“Welcome, Madame Valent,” the valet attendant said as he opened the door to the car.
“Good afternoon, Alfred, always lovely to see you,” Mia said, swinging her still-shapely legs out of the low car and accepting the valet attendant’s hand. “I don’t know how you get out of this car in a dress, Lacey, without putting on a show for all the men,” she said, laughing. “But thank you for driving me here today.”
The attendant averted his eyes. “Madame Dubois has already arrived; she’s in the Polo Lounge.”
Lance stepped to her side. “Madame Valent? May I introduce myself; I’m Lance Martel, the executive chef here at the hotel. I believe I know your granddaughter, Verena.”
Mia looked at him appraisingly and smiled. “How nice to meet you. I believe she might have mentioned your name.”
“I’d be pleased to escort you to the restaurant.” Lance offered his arm to Mia, and she slid a hand through the crook in his elbow, preening in his company. He smiled at her, noting her porcelain smooth skin and the sweet smile that lit her face. Verena certainly took after her grandmother.
Mia swept into the hotel. “I’ve always loved this magnificent, pink stucco palace. I first visited in the 1950s, when my husband Emile and I celebrated an anniversary—I can’t remember exactly which one now—but I’ll never forget the weekend we spent ensconced in our room here. God rest his soul, but I do miss him.” Her eyes twinkled as she reminisced, and she fanned herself a little.