Recipe for Romance

by Olivia Miles

  “I live here,” she said calmly, even though her pulse was doing jumping jacks.

  He combed a hand through his hair and chuckled. “George and Lucy’s old apartment... I’m staying in the spare room at the end of the hall.”

  “I figured as much. It was either that or a break-in.”

  His frown deepened. “Oh. Sorry about that. I...Well, I should let you get back to your evening. You’re probably busy.”

  Emily opened her mouth to respond but Julia’s voice purred smoothly from behind her. “Oh, but quite the contrary.”

  Emily whipped around and flashed a warning look at her sister, who pretended not to catch it.

  “It isn’t often we’re graced with the talk of the town.” Julia smiled sweetly, and Emily closed her eyes, bracing herself. “Please, Scott. Come in. We have a lot of catching up to do and I was just about to put the water on for tea.”

  * * *

  Scott cupped his tea and saucer in his lap and glanced up at Julia. She’d grown up from a freckle-faced, scrawny little teenager into a striking beauty with creamy skin and distinct coloring. Deep auburn hair and green cat eyes stared back at him.

  “So, Scott,” she said, setting down her mismatched cup to pick up her knitting. “I heard Emily really let you have it today.”

  She arched an eyebrow as her lips curled mischievously, and it was then that he realized she was talking about the pie toss. He chuckled, feeling some of the nervous energy roll off him. “Ah well, it was all in good fun. It washed off.”

  Julia’s eyes were sharp. “Not quite the same as a dagger to the heart, I suppose.”

  “Julia!” Emily snapped, but Julia just pinched her lips and casually returned to her knitting.

  “You’ll have to forgive my sister,” Emily said, reddening.

  Scott shrugged. “I probably deserved that one.”

  “My goodness!” Julia snorted. “Is that actual remorse I detect?”

  “Julia!” Emily said sharply. “Don’t you have to finish knitting those cashmere socks for the window display at the shop?”

  Julia let out a sigh. “I know when to take a hint.” She stood, gathering her yarn in her hands. “Besides, you two have unfinished business to discuss.”

  She held Scott’s gaze as she retreated from the room, and he made a mental note to steer clear of her until she’d calmed down.

  He waited until he heard the door click shut, but as he looked down the hall to make sure, he noticed the brass handle silently turn, and the door to Julia’s room remained open exactly an inch after that.

  “Sorry about that,” Emily said as he settled back against his chair. She rubbed her forehead, something he remembered she did when she was feeling stressed.

  “She’s protective of you,” he said affably. “I think it’s sweet.”

  Emily dropped her hand, spearing him with a sharp look. “I can fight my own battles.”

  She sat less than three feet from him, but the distance felt much greater as she stared at him flatly, her eyes sad and tired, her face pale. She looked weary and exhausted and Scott had never felt like a bigger jerk in all his life. He had intruded on her home, interrupted her evening and now he was sitting in the heated silence of her living room like an unwanted piece of furniture.

  He glanced around the small room, sweeping his view into the adjoining kitchen. A small hallway led to two rooms that scarcely qualified as bedrooms and a shared bathroom. He hadn’t been in this place in years—not since Lucy and George moved in when they were first married at barely the age of twenty. It seemed bigger then. Special and grown-up.

  “So how long have you lived here?” he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

  Emily heaved a sigh. “Julia and I moved in about six months ago when our mother sold the house and moved down to Florida to be with our aunt. It’s small, but it’s convenient.”

  He stole another glance at the living room. It was cramped but cozy, but not cozy enough to make him wish this on her. If she’d been able to go to college, instead of sticking around to support her mother, she would have had more options. Instead... He set his cup on the coffee table.

  “I should probably get going,” he said, pulling himself to his feet. “Please thank your sister for the tea.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Emily’s tone shattered the silent chill of the room. “That’s all you have to say?”

  No, it wasn’t all he had to say. He had a lot more to say. A hell of a lot more. Things he’d been aching to say for years. Things he’d kept bottled up. Things he’d tried to bury.

  Scott drew a ragged breath. “It’s late,” he settled on. He would make things right with Emily, but what that entailed he wasn’t yet sure. All he knew was that tonight the best thing he could do was to walk out the door and leave her alone. “I should go.”

  “This seems to be the way you operate.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Against the well-worn floorboards, her bare foot tapped expectantly. Unable to resist, Scott let his gaze trace the curve of her calf to her toes. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look back to her face as heat rushed to his groin.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Emily’s shadowed gaze remained cool and steady until she abruptly shifted her eyes to the clock on top of a nearby bookshelf. She shook her head and, standing, muttered, “Forget it.”

  “No, I can’t forget it,” Scott said. “I’ve never forgotten it. Any of it. Emily, I can explain—” He stopped himself. He could explain, of course he could, but explaining why he had so abruptly broken up with her would entail telling her about the horrible, tragic, irreversible thing he had done.

  She chewed at her bottom lip, sizing him up, deciding perhaps if she wanted to hear what he had to say, or if she’d rather let it go.

  “Forget it,” she said again, this time through a sigh of disgust that punched him straight in the gut. “Actions speak louder than words. You didn’t even say goodbye, Scott.” Her voice croaked and she looked away, blinking quickly.

  He could still remember the way she looked, the last night they were together. It was one of those hot, sticky days in August. The kind of days that never seemed to end, and he never wanted them to—not when he was with Emily. They’d spent the day wandering through town, resting in the cool shade of the trees in the park, taking heat in each other’s embrace and not even caring, so eager were they for the other’s touch. Her long brown hair was damp at the forehead, pulled up in a ponytail, and he remembered the way he traced his fingers down the length of her neck, how her cheeks flushed from more than just the summer sun. He’d spent many days like this with her, but for some reason, on that day, he’d lingered at the edge of her porch, watching as she smiled to him from the top of the stairs, waiting until she was safely inside, and even then, wishing he could still cling to the sight of her for just a few more moments.

  He’d clung to the image for years. The perky ponytail, the bright pink cheeks that made her gray eyes shine, and most of all, that smile. It was the smile of innocence, the smile of a girl who loved him completely, who trusted in him to never let her down. And he never wanted to.

  “It was too hard to say goodbye,” he said gruffly.

  “Too hard?” Emily’s eyes were steely and sharp, darkening to midnight as they locked his. “What was hard, Scott, was waking up one morning and discovering you were gone. And then waking up every morning after that wondering if it might be the day I heard from you again. And then realizing every night that I probably never would. That was hard.”

  Scott held her steady gaze, wanting more than anything to close the distance between their bodies, between the twelve years of disappointment he had caused her and the years of pain he had brought into her life. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss the frown off her sweet mouth, to feel the curve of her wais
t under his hands, to make up for every tear he had ever caused her to shed.

  He nodded, edging toward the door. She was right. Actions did speak louder than words. The way she saw it, he had led her on, made promises he had never intended to keep, and then never spoken to her again. She had no idea how far beyond that betrayal his actions had extended.

  “Just tell me this much,” she said. “Do you ever wonder how things might have been? If you’d stayed in town?”

  He looked her square in the eye, grateful for a chance to be brutally honest. “Every day,” he replied. Every damn day.

  She nodded, but said nothing more.

  “Have a good night, Emily,” he said with a nod, his tone more clipped than he had intended. It was the only way to keep the conversation from continuing down a path that would only lead to more heartache. He needed to let her go. For the night. Maybe for good.

  “See you.”

  See you. See you, she had called that evening, throwing him a casual smile, holding up a slender hand in a careless wave before turning her back and disappearing into the shadows of that old, run-down farmhouse she lived in with her mother and sister. Those were the last words she had ever said to him. If he’d known it then, he would have pressed for more, for an “I love you,” a last kiss—something. But somehow, somewhere deep in his mind, in a nugget of hope that had no right to fight for life, he always found optimism in those two simple words: See you. It wasn’t a goodbye. It wasn’t the end. It was the promise of another encounter and perhaps, he’d sometimes dare to imagine, another chance.

  He watched her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the gentle flare of her hips, the way her long chestnut hair brushed against her shoulders. He hesitated, going so far as to even open his mouth—Just tell her, tell her it was an accident, tell her how you feel!—before he pulled his eyes from her for the night, knowing the image of her would stay with him until morning.

  Her father was gone; her life had taken a new path in his absence. Nothing he could say to her now could make up for that. Nothing at all.

  * * *

  Emily was sitting on the couch reading a well-thumbed paperback, when her sister came out of her room. From her vantage point in the living room, she could see Julia’s wide-eyed sweep of the small apartment. She tucked her head around the door frame and whispered, “Is he gone?”

  Emily bit back a sigh. As if she didn’t know. “You shouldn’t have invited him inside,” she scolded.

  Julia’s eyes flung open. “Are you kidding me? I told you, the two of you have unfinished business to address.” She flopped onto a chair and tucked her feet under her, settling in for a long chat. “So tell me, what did he have to say for himself?”

  Julia was watching her expectantly and Emily reluctantly dog-eared the page in her novel and set it in her lap. “Nothing. He said he had to go home.”

  Julia pinched her lips. “Figures.”

  “You didn’t exactly help matters, Julia.”

  “Me?” Julia frowned. “You might be two years older than me, but I am still your sister. You’re all I’ve got. So if I want to say something to Scott, I will.”

  Emily closed her eyes, even though a part of her was touched by Julia’s loyalty. It was a trait in her sister she had always admired—the ability to speak her mind and stand by her opinions, regardless of the consequence. Growing up, Emily had been the responsible one. The one who put dinner on the table when their mother worked late; the one who made sure Julia completed her homework each night. Julia was the tough one, though. The one who fought for what she believed in, who didn’t take life passively. And Emily...well, Emily supposed she was always just grateful when something eventually worked out.

  “I still can’t believe you slammed that pie in his face,” Julia said. “It’s a start, at least.”

  Emily glanced toward the front door, thinking of Scott alone in that small room, and her heartstrings began to pull. She banished the thought, thinking instead of the man high-fiving Jack and Cole at the bakery, the man who was celebrated just for strutting back into town. The man who didn’t have to take responsibility for the pain he left in his wake.

  A giggle began to erupt in her as she replayed the memory of the afternoon. The astonishment in his eyes when she actually hit her target with that pie.

  “What’s so funny?” Julia asked, but a smile was already playing at her lips.

  They laughed together, reliving the hilarious memory. Oh, the look on his face! She didn’t know what had come over her to do such a thing, but oh, it had been worth it. Really, truly worth it.

  “You’re going to be laughing about this for a while,” Julia said, shaking her head with a mischievous smile. She picked up her knitting needles and resumed where she had left off earlier. “Well, half the town will be talking about it by noon tomorrow.”

  “Julia...”

  Julia flashed her a glance, her expression the picture of mock innocence. “What?”

  Emily dipped her chin. “Don’t go spreading gossip.”

  “Me? I’m insulted you would even suggest such a thing. I mean, I can’t exactly help it if I have a knitting circle tomorrow morning, or if the expected topic of conversation will be the return of Scott Collins...”

  Emily picked up her book and stood, stretching until her back arched. With a tired sigh, she regarded her sister and shook her head. “You missed your calling, my dear. You should have taken to the stage. You’re all about drama. Especially when it’s not your own.”

  She walked over to her sister, planted a kiss on her the top of her auburn hair and then padded off down the hall to her bedroom, unable to stop thinking of the fact that Scott Collins—the one man other than her father she had loved with all her heart her entire life—was somewhere on this floor, only a matter of twenty feet away from where she now sat, on the edge of her bed, staring out the window onto the quiet streets of Maple Woods.

  She wondered if he was awake, or if the strange events of the night had exhausted him. She wondered if he was still thinking of her, of their conversation. She wondered if in the past twelve years he had been gone, he had ever really thought of her at all. Or if that was just another one of his lies.

  Chapter Four

  It had rained overnight, a soft and pleasant tapping of drops against the windows accompanied by random bursts of lightning that lit the dark sky. The spring storm started at about midnight and went on until just past three, and Scott knew this because he was awake the entire time. Thinking about Emily.

  He couldn’t resist the relief he felt to know that Mrs. Porter had moved out of town, and that he wouldn’t have to face her, too. She’d always been a kind woman, pleasant despite her circumstances, with a dullness in her soft gray eyes—the light having been replaced by sadness. For all the time that he and Emily had dated, her mother had always been off at one odd job or another, coming home harried and tired, but always with a smile on her face at the sight of her daughters. Mrs. Porter had always been kind to him, even as a child. He remembered the time when he was riding his bike down Willow Road and hit a rock, she had run outside to help him, inviting him to come sit on her front porch while she cleaned and bandaged his scraped knees, offering him a glass of cool, sweet lemonade with a reassuring smile. “I don’t have any sons,” he remembered her saying with a wistful grin, “but I imagine you get into your share of trouble around here.”

  More trouble than she knew.

  The memory of that hot summer afternoon made him feel queasy and restless, and he fitfully tossed and turned as the small room above the diner—just a mere twenty feet from Emily and Julia’s apartment—illuminated with lightning, until the storm passed over and he finally fell into a disoriented sleep filled with nightmares, waking drenched in sweat only a few hours later.

  The morning glow filtering through his window came
as a welcome relief and by seven he was dressed and eager to escape the confines of his small room. He drove past the job site, surveying the damage to the historic town library. It was an accident, he knew: a stupid, careless incident that had resulted in serious structural damage of an entire wing of the building. He didn’t blame Bobby. He hadn’t done it on purpose. But could the same be said for Emily? Would she blame him?

  Scott narrowed his eyes as he inspected the wreckage. Some accidents were pardonable. Others were permanent. They could never be put right.

  He picked up a chunk of cement and tossed it back to the ground with a sigh. The crew couldn’t start until they had plans in place, and with his father’s condition Scott knew it was up to him to lead the project or find a suitable replacement. He should go into the office and get started on this immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

  He shuddered when he thought back on those summers of his youth spent tagging along as his dad went about his work. He supposed it was ironic that he still pursued a career in the construction business, but maybe starting his own Pacific Northwest-based company was his way of taking back control of the events that had gone so awry in his past. Or maybe there were just some things in life you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried. The day Emily’s father died was a fog—a disjointed stream of memories. But the one thing he could never forget were the shouts. The panicked, horrifying shouts. He’d just had no idea at the time that he was the one who had set it all into motion.

  Scott straightened his back and marched to the car. His father had no problems covering up the truth, denying it. Well, not him. So many times over the years Scott had thought of picking up the phone and telling Emily the truth, but then he wondered if he would only hurt her more by setting himself free.

  Scott drove into town and killed the engine at a spot in front of the diner. He needed a clear head before heading over to the office, and a Reuben sandwich with hot coffee would do just the trick.