by Lee McKenzie
Now there was an understatement. “Especially your mother. I spent most of my time being a mediator. Collingwood Station is a small town, but it seemed to me that everyone had a huge agenda.”
“Unless you were dead set against any redevelopment of any kind, you were the opposition as far as my mother was concerned. She takes that committee very seriously.”
“No kidding. She treats everyone like an adversary.”
He gave her a sharp sideways glance.
“I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
“Trust me, I can quote all my mother’s reasons, chapter and verse, for why redevelopment should stop. But I make my living by turning some of those rundown properties into showpieces. Don’t think she isn’t on my case from time to time.”
“That must be awkward.”
“My mother’s heart is in the right place. It’s her mission in life to help those less fortunate than she is. I guess it’s a good thing she isn’t all that well off, so those less fortunate make up a relatively small group. I do what I can to help out around the shelter and that seems to appease her.”
Leslie didn’t know what she could do to help the shelter but she could do something for Hannah. And she would. “Do you know what’s being built to replace Hannah’s old building on Railway Avenue?” she asked.
“Condos.”
“I see.” Did Brent’s mother think Leslie had something to do with that? The woman was so unreasonable that her opinions weren’t worth losing sleep over, but Leslie hated it when people judged her. Or, in the case of Colleen Borden, misjudged her.
Brent pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. Then he covered her hand with his. “Give her a chance, okay? She’ll come around.”
He sounded so certain that she didn’t have the heart to disagree. Besides, did it really matter? She and Brent would go their separate ways when she went home and it wouldn’t matter what Colleen thought of her.
Brent made no move to get out of the truck. Leslie glanced at him then averted her gaze, suddenly feeling awkward. Was he reluctant to go inside? Was he wondering the same thing she was? What were they going to do for the rest of the day?
“Your house has so much character. How long have you lived here?”
“Three years, although the first two were more like camping. The place needed a lot work, but I think it was worth it.” He finally opened his door.
Remembering how he’d carried her to the front door yesterday, Leslie quickly opened hers and climbed out before he had a chance to help.
Brent slammed his door and paused. “That’s weird,” he said.
“What?”
“Max isn’t barking. I wonder what he’s up to.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping.”
“He’d have woken up the second he heard us pull into the yard.”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
“Yeah, but I hope he hasn’t destroyed anything.”
Chapter Seven
After Brent unlocked the door, Leslie followed him inside, hoping Max was all right. And that he hadn’t found her teddy bear on the nightstand.
“Max?” Brent called. “Oh, no.” He bent down and picked up her wedding shoes.
Her very badly chewed wedding shoes.
“Max!” he yelled. “Where are you?”
“Please don’t worry about this,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left them here.”
“They’re ruined.”
That was true. Several of the thin straps had been completely chewed through. There were teeth marks in the heels, and the end of one had been gnawed off.
Brent handed the shoes to her and went in search of Max. They found him in Brent’s bedroom, hiding under the bed. Rather, he’d stuck his head under the bed frame. The rest of him was out in the open and his back end was aimed toward the doorway.
Leslie laughed, but Brent was clearly not amused. “Max, come out of there.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Don’t yell at him. It’s not his fault.”
“I’m really sorry about this. I’ll pay for them.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Besides, she’d be too embarrassed to tell him how much they cost. “I’ll never wear them again.”
“I’ll say.” Brent pointed to a severed ankle strap. “There’s no way these can be repaired.”
“I wouldn’t have worn them again even if this hadn’t happened. They were only going to end up in the back of my closet.”
He gave her an odd smile. “Well, at least they were too big to fit down the drain.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I was kidding.”
“Ha, ha.”
“You’re awfully blasé about all this stuff.”
“I’m not ‘blasé’ about anything. These things are all about the wedding that wasn’t. I don’t need those kinds of reminders, and FYI, Mr. Borden, I will not apologize for having money. It’s bad enough that your mother thinks it’s a fatal flaw, but I didn’t expect it from you.”
He ran a hand across his face. “I was out of line, and I’m sorry. But I will replace the shoes.”
“Please don’t. I don’t want another pair.”
Max was still in self-imposed exile. She set the shoes on the bed, trying not to be distracted by the tousled sheets and the dent in Brent’s pillow, and knelt beside the dog. “Does he really think he’s hiding?”
“He can’t see us, so he thinks we can’t see him.”
The dog’s head appeared as soon as she touched him, but he kept it low, gazing sheepishly at her through his bangs. “Poor Max. You feel badly about this, don’t you?” She glanced over her shoulder at Brent. “I think he’s trying to apologize.”
“He always seems to know when he’s done something wrong but for some reason he can’t figure that out until after he’s done it.”
“We all make mistakes.” Leslie put her arms around the dog’s neck. “It’s okay, Max. No one’s mad at you.” She stole another look at Brent. “Right?”
“I’d better take him for a w-a-l-k and let him run off some steam.”
“Why are you spelling walk?”
Max perked up and stared at her for a few seconds before tearing out of the room.
She stood up, laughing. “He knows what that means?”
“He’s gone to get his leash. Come and see for yourself.”
She followed him into the kitchen in time to see Max pull his leash off a hook by the French doors. “Wow, that’s pretty smart.”
“Bring it here, boy.” Max dropped the leash into Brent’s outstretched hand. “He also knows c-a-r, b-a-l-l and r-a-b-b-i-t,” he said as he clipped the leash to the dog’s collar.
“Rabbit?”
That word sent Max into another frenzy. He raced to the door, dragging his leash behind him and nearly knocking Leslie over in the process. His ears stood at attention, then he started barking wildly as he scanned the backyard.
“That’s why you have to spell it. Come on, Max. Let’s go.” Brent crossed the room and grabbed the leash. “We’ll be back in half an hour. Or you could come with us.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here.” If she could run into someone she knew at the homeless shelter, anyone might see them together at the park. There was going to be plenty of gossip and she didn’t want to drag Brent into it. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll decide what to make for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow.”
“Unless it’s macaroni minus the cheese with maybe a side of ketchup, I’d say we’re out of luck.”
“Then I’ll make a shopping list and you can go to the grocery store when you get back.” It sounded more domestic than she’d intended, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“You don’t have to cook.” But he sounded hopeful.
“I don’t mind.” And part of her wanted him to be impressed that she was a very good cook.
Max pulled him toward the front door. “Gotta go. There’s a notepad stuck to the fridge,” he said
before he disappeared.
She watched them from the living room window and when they reached the end of the block, she returned to the kitchen and dialed in to her voice mail.
Eight more messages. “Why can’t you people leave me alone?”
She deleted them as she listened. Allison; her mother; two more from Allison, who had sent her poor husband to the town house again that morning; a neighbor who wondered if everything was okay; one of the partners from the law firm; and a reporter from the local paper.
She pictured herself going home and fighting her way through a crush of microphones and flashbulbs. “You’re being ridiculous,” she said to herself. “It probably has something to do with one of the cases you’re working on.”
But was she ready to go home and find out? No.
The last call was from Gerald, and this time he’d left a message. “We need to talk, Leslie. This was all just a misunderstanding.”
Sure it was, Gerald. Exactly which part of you feeling up one of my bridesmaids did I misunderstand?
She tore a sheet off the notepad on the fridge and sat down to make a grocery list. Brent had been right. What was the point of listening to messages when all they did was make her furious with everyone, including her family and her best friend?
After a quick inventory of Brent’s cupboards, she sat down and listed everything she needed to make dinner. She was adding the ingredients for French toast when Brent and Max returned. Brent unfastened the dog’s leash and put it back on its hook. Max headed for his water bowl for a drink.
“He seems much calmer,” Leslie said. Surprisingly, so was she.
“That was the plan,” Brent said.
Sure enough, Max wandered from his water bowl to the living room where he flopped onto a big green-and-maroon-plaid cushion in front of the fireplace and closed his eyes.
Brent picked up the list and scanned it. “What’s fennel?”
“It’s a vegetable. A white bulb…” She indicated the size with her hands. “With long, feathery green stems.”
He looked puzzled. “Never heard of it.”
“It tastes like licorice.”
“Ah, they say licorice is an aphrodisiac.”
Her face went warm. “Well, this isn’t licorice. It only tastes like it.”
“Works for me.” There was a sexy promise in his smile.
“I’m making pasta sauce, not oysters Rockefeller.”
“But it’s licorice pasta sauce.”
“It’s fennel-infused marinara sauce.”
“Interesting.”
“It’s delicious.”
“I’m sure it is,” he said, eyes still filled with mischief.
“But fennel is not…”
He leaned close, within kissing distance, and her breath caught in her throat. Before she had a chance to react, he planted a kiss on top of her head. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
She heard the front door close, and then his truck as it backed out of the driveway. “By the way, fennel is not an aphrodisiac.” Still, putting up with Brent’s occasional nonsense was infinitely easier than having to cope with everyone else in her life.
BRENT MANEUVERED his shopping cart up and down the aisles of the grocery store, scanning the shelves for the things on Leslie’s list. The place was crazy busy, which seemed strange for a Sunday afternoon.
He wedged the cart between one that was equipped with a baby seat, complete with a sleeping baby, and a stock boy with a trolley-load of canned mushrooms. Canned tomatoes had to be around here someplace.
“Help you find something?” the stock boy asked.
Brent watched, mildly amused, as the kid tossed each can and caught it before sliding it onto the shelf. That explained why so many cans ended up with dents in them.
“I need a large can of Italian tomatoes.”
“Sure thing. They’re halfway up the aisle on your left.”
“Thanks.” He tried to swing back into traffic and bumped the cart next to him. The baby’s mouth made little sucking motions but its eyes—her eyes, judging by the pink outfit—remained closed. “Sorry,” he said.
The young mother glared at him and then cut him off before he could get rolling.
Man, this place was worse than rush hour on the freeway.
When he finally found the tomatoes, he tossed two cans into the cart.
He double-checked the list. He had everything but the fresh vegetables, so he headed for the produce department. Along the way he grabbed a family-sized box of corn flakes and a half dozen packages of mac and cheese. After all, he’d have to feed himself once Leslie was gone.
The produce section was as insane as the rest of the store but thanks to her accurate description of the fennel, he found it right away. And it did smell like licorice. Her indignant reaction to his calling it an aphrodisiac had made this whole shopping trip worthwhile, and he imagined he could get even more mileage out of that once they were having dinner. Now all he needed were the fresh basil, onions and—
“Hey, Brent. How’s it going?” Nick asked, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
Damn. His best friend, aka Leslie’s brother, was the last person he needed to see right now. “Good. How ’bout you?”
“Good. Maggie sent me here to pick up a few things,” he said.
“I see.”
Nick scanned the contents of Brent’s cart and then focused on the list in his hand. “Since I know you well enough to know you don’t make lists, or cook, I’m guessing somebody sent you here, too.”
“Right, yeah, we’re just doing some kind of pasta thing for dinner.”
“The message you left yesterday said you were going out of town for a few days.”
“Oh, that. We, ah, changed our minds. Decided to stay in town instead.”
“I see. So you’ll be at work tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.”
Nick picked up the fennel and studied it. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“Right, well, I didn’t want to say anything, you know, in case it didn’t work out.”
Nick put the weird-looking vegetable back in the cart. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
It dawned on Brent that he could have said he was shopping for his mother, but it was too late. He’d blown that one.
“So,” Nick said. “Are you going to ask how the wedding went yesterday?”
“Oh, right. How was it?” But he was sure he looked as guilty as a bank robber caught with a wad of cash.
“I guess you haven’t heard, then.” Nick was clearly baiting him.
Brent responded with a casual shrug. “Heard what?”
Nick was eyeing him suspiciously. “Leslie didn’t go through with it.”
“You don’t say?”
“Strangest thing, too. She took off and no one knows where she is.”
“Humph.”
“Well, I should get going. Maggie’s waiting at home for this stuff.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “By the way, I was talking to John Fontaine this morning. He said he ran into you over at the pharmacy yesterday.”
Busted, Brent thought. Still, he wasn’t going to be the one to blow Leslie’s cover. “I forgot about that. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, though.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you know how it is. I never had much in common with that guy.”
“True. So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Bright and early.” He watched Nick walk in the direction of the cashiers and waited till he was out of sight before he looked at the list again.
What else did he need?
Basil, onions and garlic.
He added them to the cart and killed five minutes by pretending to look at the rest of the produce section. There was some weird stuff here, and he’d bet Leslie knew how to cook all of it. When he finally pushed the cart to the checkout area and surveyed the crowd, there was no sign of Nick.
A
fter he paid for the groceries and loaded them in his truck, he dropped into a wine shop and asked the owner to recommend something to go with Leslie’s marinara sauce. He was tempted to stop at the florist next door and buy her a pink rose, but he stopped himself.
This wasn’t a date and if he tried to move too fast, he’d never have a chance. For tonight he’d have to rely on his charm—and the licorice-flavored pasta sauce.
AFTER DINNER Leslie watched Brent turn on the tap and squirt a stream of soap into the sink. “Thanks for cooking,” he said. “That was a great dinner.”
She carried their plates and cutlery across the kitchen and set them on the counter next to the sink. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”
“Hannah’s influence, right?” He picked up the stack of dishes and slid them into the sink.
She reached for a towel. “It was, and as soon as my life is back to normal, I’m going to help her get back on her feet.”
He took the towel away from her. “No way. The cook never cleans.”
“When people share a meal, I always think that cleaning up together is kind of—” Intimate. She couldn’t believe she’d almost said that. The way Brent had looked at her throughout the meal suggested he didn’t need any encouragement. “It just seems like the right thing to do.”
He conceded and gave the towel back. “What do you have in mind for Hannah?”
“Finding her a decent place to live.”
“You heard what my mother said. There isn’t a lot of affordable housing in town. Practically none.”
“Hannah might not be able to afford it, but I can.”
He rinsed a plate and stood it in the rack. “You’d do that for her?”
“She was practically my second mother.” Or she would have been, if Leslie’s own mother had ever seemed like the first. “I used to spend hours in the kitchen with her. That was my first introduction to cooking.”
“So that’s why I never saw much of you when I was hanging out with Nick.”
She shrugged. She had always made herself scarce when Brent was there because she had never been able to figure out how to handle his constant flirting. “My parents were busy, and Nick was into sports and spending time with his friends, but Hannah didn’t seem to mind having me around.”