by Dawn Douglas
His mouth tightened as he drove past a towering billboard, and he scowled at Zach Charbonneau’s grinning, confident, arrogant face.
Asshole.
His little Zeldie deserved to be appreciated and treasured. This clown had broken her heart. Maybe chatting about old times over dinner tonight would cheer her up. In less than a week, he’d be returning to England, but he had a feeling she needed him, and it felt good to be needed.
After three rings, she opened the door and smiled shyly. The cheery greeting Dan had prepared died unsaid. This morning, she’d been recognizable as the girl he’d once known, the cute girl with messy raven curls and big brown eyes. Where the hell was that girl now? Her place had been taken by a distractingly curvaceous woman in a scarlet dress and strappy heels, errant curls scooped on top of her head, full lips glossy, wide eyes gazing at him inquiringly. His mouth went dry.
“Am I overdressed?”
“No,” he cleared his throat, trying to get hold of himself, determined not to gape at her cleavage. “No, you look very nice.” He remembered he was holding a bunch of flowers and thrust them at her.
“Oh, Dan, thank you! Roses are my favorite.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’ll just go put them in some water...”
She turned, and he almost groaned aloud at the sight of her sweetly rounded bottom, snugly encased by the scarlet dress. This wouldn’t do, he thought, annoyed. She was just a friend.
As he drove to the restaurant, Dan forced himself to think of Faith. Skinny and blue-eyed, constantly lamenting her lack of boobs, his tiny wife had been the physical opposite of Zelda. He knew if she could see him now, driving on a summer night with a beautiful, curvy black woman by his side, Faith would give him a warm smile and an enthusiastic thumbs up sign. She’d be happy for him. The trouble was, he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t ready to feel this kind of attraction to a woman, and certainly not toward this particular woman.
He parked, grateful Zelda was chatting away as they walked into the restaurant so he didn’t have to. A waitress showed them to a candlelit table. Zelda looked around and gave a small, blissful sigh before turning her smile on Dan.
“Life sure is funny. This morning I was feeling so depressed on my birthday, like all I had in the world to turn to for comfort was a tub of ice cream, and now here I am with you.”
“Yeah, life can be funny,” he agreed.
Her expression told him she might actually have some inkling of what a mess he was inside. Dan experienced a moment of blind panic, as if he was falling and all his carefully constructed armor was coming away chunk by chunk.
Zelda touched his hand. “Talk to me.”
A waiter arrived to take their orders, and it was like being handed a reprieve.
“I’d rather talk about you,” he said when the waiter left. “Are you looking for a new job?”
“As opposed to sitting around in my pajamas?”
“I think you can do better than working for this guy’s family anyhow.”
“Oh, you do, do you? Charbonneau’s has been listed as one of Denver’s top ten restaurants three years in a row.”
“Do you enjoy being a sous chef?”
“I’m excellent at my job.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Zelda grew quiet. “I was starting to lose my enthusiasm,” she admitted finally. “I was more interested in marrying Zach and starting a family than anything else.”
“But now that’s never going to happen.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious.”
Their food arrived and Zelda picked up her fork. “Let’s talk about something else. Tonight I want to forget I’m heading for thirty, jobless, and single.”
“So fill me in on what you’ve been doing in the last twelve years,” he said.
“Well, let’s see...” She popped a shrimp into her mouth. “When I was fifteen, I was voted Cuisine Channel’s Teen Chef of the Year.”
“I remember.” He grinned.
“Do you?”
“Yeah, you wrote me all about it. Greek chicken with herb sauce served over a bed of rice, accompanied with stuffed cabbage rolls. I was proud of you.” But, afraid she’d get the wrong idea, he hadn’t written to tell her so.
Zelda took a slow sip of wine, her expression suddenly serious, as if she could read his mind.
“Then what?’ he asked, because her letters started to dry up after the big award.
She shrugged. “Well, I guess the pressure of so much fame and attention got to me. I started running around with a bad crowd.”
Dan frowned.
“I lived in Virginia for a few months with my Grammy, and she straightened me out. I knew I had to get on with my life. And so I came home to Denver and graduated. I got my degree in culinary arts and started work.”
“Boyfriends?”
“Two serious relationships, both ended disastrously.” She rolled her eyes. “For some mysterious reason, men just seem completely immune to my charms.”
“Well, if they’re anything like that Zach character, you’re better off without them.”
“Tell me what you did after you left me broken hearted, “she smiled as if it was all forgotten.
“I worked for a construction company,” he said. “Now I design and fit new kitchens and bathrooms, remodel homes, that kind of thing.”
“Do you have your own company?’
He nodded.
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“It’s satisfying.” He shrugged. The simple truth was, he didn’t enjoy anything anymore. He breathed, ate, worked, and slept as the days passed one by one.
“Do you remember my mom?” he asked.
“Maggie.” Zelda nodded.
“She and her new husband just purchased an old cottage in England. I’m going to spend the next few months fixing it up for them.”
“That sounds like my idea of heaven.”
“It’ll keep me busy until the end of the year.”
He didn’t really feel like dessert, but they shared one anyhow, a pretty concoction of berries and meringue. Zelda closed her eyes as the sweetness melted on her tongue while he tried not to stare. The skin of her throat and arms was smooth and golden. Would she taste as delicious as she looked? Dan pushed the thought out of his head.
He didn’t want the evening to end. He hadn’t talked or laughed the way he had tonight in so long. For a short time, happiness had driven away grief. After such a long absence, they’d slipped back into the same easy camaraderie they’d always shared, as if they’d been parted for days rather than years. It was as if he’d known her forever. But as they drove back to her apartment, loneliness lapped at him once again, waiting like a hungry crocodile to swallow him up. A sudden vision of his future flashed before him—endless beers in front of the television, quiet rooms, and empty beds. They both fell silent.
He decided not to say anything about keeping in touch because he knew they wouldn’t. This visit to the States had been for the purpose of visiting the father he hadn’t seen in years, and it wasn’t something he’d be repeating. He’d just wanted to say hello to the Marshalls while he was here.
Parked outside her apartment building, Zelda gathered up her purse and jacket and turned to him.
“Thanks for a truly special evening,” she said, just the slightest quiver in her voice. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget this birthday.”
“Good.” He looked at her, wanting to remember every curl on her head and the exact shape of her full lips. “Goodbye, Zelda.”
He was unprepared for her hug but instinctively wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes. God, she felt so good, so soft. Her hair tickled the side of his face, and she smelled of peaches. He found himself wishing he never had to let go.
“I know you’ll have a good life,” she said. “I know everything will work out for you.”
All he could do was nod.
She released him. They stared at one another, their faces just an inch o
r two apart. And then she swiftly exited the car and hurried away, leaving Dan alone with just the hint of her perfume.
He sat for several moments before starting up the car. His mind had been numb for so long, but now it was suddenly in overdrive, filled with questions and thoughts of her. Would she find another job cooking in some fancy restaurant? Marry and have kids any time soon? Travel the world? They would live their lives separated by an entire continent. The years would gradually dim the memory of tonight until nothing was left of it.
His chest was suddenly tight. Not sure what he was doing or why, Dan abruptly turned the car around. He parked again outside the apartment complex and hurried to her door. He jabbed at the bell. Moments later, Zelda’s startled face appeared in front of him. Her mascara was smudged, and her eyes sparkled with what he suspected were tears.
“Dan,” she sniffed. “Did I leave something in your car?”
He stared at her. He didn’t do crazy, impulsive things. Anyone who knew Dan Walker could tell you that. Walk away, he thought, say nothing. But he remained rooted to the spot, gazing, as if mesmerized, into Zelda Marshall’s big brown eyes. With no idea what he was going to say, he opened his mouth. And when the words did emerge, he wasn’t sure who was more amazed, him or Zelda.
“Come away with me.”
Chapter Three
It was too late to change her mind now. Zelda grinned as she leaned back in the plane seat, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact she was on her way to England. And the last thing she wanted was to change her mind. She didn’t have a smidgen of doubt that flying halfway across the world with Dan Walker was absolutely the right thing to do at this point.
As he slept beside her, she enjoyed the luxury of staring unobserved. His eyelashes were long, black, and spiky, his cheekbones high and his lips so kissable she had to look away from them sometimes in case he guessed what she might be thinking. But she had every intention of keeping her attraction firmly under control. She had to. Dan was giving her this chance to gain a fresh perspective on her life, and she wasn’t going to embarrass either of them by reverting into an overwrought, love struck teen.
The pilot announced it was a cool and damp sixty-five degrees in London today and they would be arriving on time. Zelda redirected her gaze to the window and stared at the puffs of white cloud. She planned to spend her time in England wisely, helping Dan remodel his mother’s cottage and having a good think about her future. Men could take a back seat from now on. She was going to concentrate on herself.
Dan shifted in his seat and opened his eyes.
“We’re almost there,” Zelda told him. “They’re bringing out breakfast.”
“God, I hope it’s better than the last meal,” he grumbled. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”
“Nope, I’m too excited.” Grinning, she lowered her tray and accepted a plastic cup of juice and a croissant from the flight attendant. “Zach and I were in Paris, but that was just for a few days.”
Dan grunted.
“This is different. I’m getting the chance to actually live in a different country and experience the culture.”
She nibbled her croissant, happily realizing what had just happened. She’d mentioned Zach and she wasn’t crying, hadn’t suffered an emotional collapse, felt no urge at all to stuff her face with sweet and salty peanut chocolate banana ice cream. She was fine, and she was on her way to a whole new start.
Exhaustion finally hit after they landed. Standing in line at passport control, Zelda struggled to hold back her yawns, her body suddenly heavy with fatigue. And then she was stamped, set free and leaving the terminal, breathing in the fresh chilly air of an English morning.
Maggie had sent a friend to pick them up at Heathrow. Bill was an elderly man with not a lot to say, and Dan helped him stow their luggage in the trunk of his small car before joining him in the front of the vehicle. Zelda stretched out comfortably in the backseat and gazed from the window, full of hope and excitement. And then they were headed away from Heathrow—toward the country—toward, she hoped, some inspiration and fresh ideas to galvanize her future.
The sun was rising, and Zelda caught glimpses of terraced homes and corner shops, factories and apartment blocks. Gradually the urban landscape gave way to fields dotted with sheep and ancient churches, bathed in the soft morning sunshine. Her eyes grew heavy, and she gave in to sleep.
When she woke, the car was making its way slowly down a village street lined with small stores. There was a post office, a place with a table outside laden with fruit and vegetables, a book shop, a large pond with ducks presided over by a gray stone statue of Queen Victoria. They turned up a narrow road between wide fields. Smiling, she straightened to peer from the car window. Anticipation and excitement darted through her veins. She felt as if she’d woken in some long-ago land, where there were no malls or high-rise buildings or superstores or highways, just little winding cobbled lanes and green fields that looked flung out to forever, crisscrossed with hedgerows where wild roses grew.
Dan glanced at her from the front passenger seat. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
“Where are we?”
“Welcome to Bagley.”
“It’s so beautiful.”
Bill maneuvered the car carefully into a lane of tiny, picturesque cottages that sat behind carefully tended gardens. At the end of the lane, they stopped, and she gazed out at a ramshackle cottage, its best days long gone, crouched behind what resembled a jungle. A twisted path led to a green front door, barely visible beyond the rampant growth.
“Here we are then.” Bill broke his long silence. “Need help getting inside, do you?”
“We can manage, thanks, Bill,” Dan said.
Zelda exited the car and breathed in the heady scent of roses and honeysuckle, speechless as Dan pulled their bags from the trunk of the car. She managed a distracted wave to Bill and then turned eagerly back to the cottage, filled with the oddest of feelings.
It was a bit like falling in love. She prickled all over as if she’d finally discovered her destiny.
“What a dump,” Dan muttered, dragging their luggage up the bumpy paving stones that led to the door. “What the hell was my mother thinking?”
“I think it’s enchanting.” Zelda brushed aside the weeds springing in front of her with every step.
“Enchanting, huh? Half the tiles are missing from the roof. At least.”
“Well, that’s an easy enough fix.”
“I wouldn’t call replacing a roof an easy fix.”
When they reached the door, Zelda saw something half buried in the overgrown grass sprouting beside the front step. She bent to pick up a piece of wood inscribed lovingly with the words “Rose Cottage.”
“Look.” She brushed away the dirt from the letters and showed it to Dan, smiling. “This place has a name.”
He produced a large black key from his pocket. The arched, green door opened with a creak of protest and a flutter of paint flakes. They stepped inside.
“Oh, my,” Zelda whispered.
They stood in a small front hall that opened directly onto a spacious, sunny living room with a brick fireplace and a low, beamed ceiling. Cream paint was slapped on uneven walls, and the furniture was sparse and shabby, yet there was something alive and welcoming about the room. Sunshine spilled through the window in fat rectangles of golden light that shimmered on the dirty carpet.
Zelda closed her eyes for a moment, letting the atmosphere envelop her. She could sense the past. It teased like something just beyond her grasp, and she could almost hear the laughter and voices of the people who’d once lived here, almost feel their grief and joy. There was no doubt about it. Rose Cottage was special.
“Isn’t it magical?” she whispered.
“That’s not the word that comes to my mind.” He strode into the kitchen and switched on a faucet.
There was a wheezing sound followed by a series of dull clunks before water gushed into the dirty stone sink. Dan closed his
eyes and shook his head.
Zelda began to poke around. The grimy window above the sink overlooked the jungle-like backyard, and there were no fitted cupboards at all, just a table, a wobbly dresser, and several shelves nailed to the walls. The ancient stove was coated with grease.
Usually, she fell hard and fast for streamlined kitchens with ultra-modern appliances and sleek, granite counters, and she had no idea why something about this outmoded little space tugged at her heartstrings. Perhaps it was because she could see herself in here, baking a pie as she sang along to the radio, opening the back door and letting in a kitty to warm itself by the fire before turning back to the stove to stir a pot of soup. Zelda almost laughed at herself. She was getting carried away, and she didn’t care.
Dan opened a small, battered wooden door in the living room to reveal a set of steep, crooked steps. They climbed the staircase together, a sense of wonder mounting in Zelda as if she was discovering a thrilling secret. There were two bedrooms, one quite large, both with sharply sloping ceilings, and a bathroom with a claw foot tub and a toilet that flushed by pulling a chain that hung from above. No shower.
“What bedroom do you want?” Dan asked.
“I don’t mind. The one looking out over the backyard?” The sunshine, filtered through the leaves of the stout oak tree just outside the window, filled the room with speckles of moving light that played across the narrow bed and dresser.
Dan descended the staircase and dragged their suitcases up, depositing Zelda’s outside her room.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to take a nap or whatever,” he said. “I’ll start work tomorrow. You could go and explore the village, or take the bus into Ipswich.”