July 18. Rachel is leaving this house. If she leaves now, she will never make the same mistakes I did.
Alex jerked his gaze up in time to see Rachel wiping her eyes. “It took a long time for me to get up the courage to write my own, but seeing that I was doing what my mom wanted for me kept me going through a lot of hard years. I was determined to make it on my own, determined to be independent enough that I never found myself trapped like she did. I got the reading lists for NYU freshmen and read along. I bought used culinary texts from CIA graduates. It wasn’t until I got the opportunity here in Denver that I realized I actually had a lot to be grateful for.”
“After the Harlem Ladies’ Bible Study?” he guessed.
She smiled. “Exactly.”
He skimmed the entries that began on the next page in Rachel’s now-familiar handwriting. They weren’t all ebullient messages of thankfulness—he could clearly see times when she struggled to find anything to be grateful for, even as recently as last month. And then he got to the final entry, which nearly made his heart stop.
Alex.
He stared at his name for a long moment, the word taking his breath like a full-body slam. Before he could think of what to say, she yanked the book from his hand and snapped it shut.
“You wanted to know about me. There it is.”
“Rachel—”
“Kind of sad, actually. My life is about food and whatever I can think to write about in this book.”
“Rachel, stop.” He captured her hand beneath his on the table. “Thank you for showing this to me. And telling me about everything.”
She stood and retrieved the coffee press from the kitchen, refilled their mugs with what was left. “You’re welcome. It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry if I made you think it was this huge revelation.”
“It’s a big deal to you or you wouldn’t keep it secret. I know that isn’t easy for you.”
She shrugged and tried to move away, but he caught her by the waist and turned her so they were face-to-face. “I need to tell you something.”
“Nothing good ever begins with that statement.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you can be a pessimist?”
“Not a pessimist. A realist.”
“Okay, then let’s get real.” He waited until she met his eyes. “I would never ask you to give up your dreams for me.”
“Alex—”
“I’m not kidding. Your stepfather felt threatened by your mother’s independence and manipulated and isolated her until she could only depend on him. That’s not a marriage. That’s abuse.” He smiled wryly. “Trust me. I’m a psychologist. I know these things.”
She stopped trying to pull away from him. A smile formed on her lips.
“I love your independence and your toughness. I love the fact that you throw yourself into your endeavors like they’re life or death. I even kind of enjoy your bossiness. But, Rachel, believe me when I say you are all of those things even if you never step foot in a kitchen again. You may be a wonderful, talented chef, but it’s not all you are.” He took her face in his hands. “You are not the sum of your accomplishments or your failures. You have absolutely nothing to prove—not to me, not to your critics, and certainly not to your stepfather. If God had wanted you to be anything other than who and what you are, He would have made you that way.”
She stared up at him for several moments. “For the record, I think you would have made a really good psychologist.”
“I wasn’t trying to get into your head, Rachel. I only—”
She stretched up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, stilling the rest of his words and his breath. “You don’t need to explain. I trust you.”
A proposal would have been less surprising than those words. He pulled her close and kissed her again, determined that he would live up to her faith in him, no matter what.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RACHEL SLEPT IN far later than she intended on Saturday morning. Apparently, last night had been more emotionally taxing than she’d thought. She hadn’t intended to spill her whole history to Alex, but now that she had, she felt lighter, relieved of a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying. They’d sat up late in her living room, talking and kissing until her sense of responsibility got the better of her. It would be a big day. The biggest of her career, even. She needed to be well-rested.
Fortunately, her diligence during the week meant she had only the usual prep work, the rest of her supplies and dry goods having been packed in milk crates. She finished in plenty of time to shower and put on makeup before dressing in a conservative button-down and slacks. Only when she picked up her cell phone to leave did she see the three missed text messages.
Morning, beautiful. You ready? Today’s the day.
Getting ready? Let me know if I can help.
Okay, you’re cruel. I am so making you pay when I see you.
Rachel laughed at the last one, warmed by his concern and his thoughtfulness . . . and looking forward to seeing what form his payback would take.
She texted Alex when she arrived in the parking lot for his building, and barely a minute passed before she saw a familiar figure stride out the lobby doors toward her car. He must have been waiting for her text. She suppressed a smile and leaned against the bumper of her SUV as he approached.
“Hey there,” she called as soon as he was within earshot.
He smiled at her, but instead of replying, he took her into his arms and kissed her. Thoroughly. Rachel let herself get swept away for a moment before she pulled back and braced her hands against his chest. “That was some greeting. Or was that my punishment?”
“Neither. Can’t a guy miss his girlfriend?”
A smile spread across her face. “Is that what I am?”
“I hope so.” He leaned down to steal another kiss. “But if not, better tell me now so I can change my Facebook status from ‘in a relationship’ to ‘it’s complicated.’”
“It’s always complicated. But no need to get crazy and give all your rabid female fans false hope. I’m not intending on letting you get away that easily.”
“I like that.” He winked at her and let her go. “What am I carrying?”
She led him to the back of her car and pulled out a plastic milk crate filled with food in foil and plastic containers. “Grab the other crate and the ice chest if you can.” She balanced her load while she grabbed her knife bag and then nudged the SUV’s back door shut with her hip. They crossed the lot under the awkward loads, Rachel casting doubtful looks at the sky until they made it to the lobby. “Rain in the forecast?”
“Supposed to blow through in time to hail on the Eastern Plains,” Alex said. “I checked the weather a couple of hours ago.”
“Good.” Part of the meal was the ambience, and she wanted everything to be perfect. “How’s the deck looking?”
“Tropical. Dina and I went out and took advantage of the end-of-summer sales at the nursery and bought some of the last flowering plants they had. She insisted we needed color. She’s been arranging and rearranging all afternoon.”
“How’s she doing?” Rachel balanced the crate on her knee and punched the floor number. The elevator doors slid silently shut, encasing them in quiet.
“Good. I think a weight’s been lifted now that she confessed.”
“I still feel bad about how I acted with her last night. Has she made a decision about what to do?”
“I’m not sure she knows. So far she’s made decisions based on what she doesn’t want to do and how to best annoy our parents. Sometimes I think she has it harder because she has more options than the average person.”
“It’s definitely easier when you only have one talent. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be back in plenty of time for the next supper club. I can send out invitations while I’m gone.”
“I’m not worried. I don’t feel like you’re bailing on me. Besides, after I impress your investor friend tonight, I exp
ect to be very busy writing up a business plan.”
Alex grinned. “That’s why I love you. That confidence.”
Rachel stared at him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t realize what he’d said. The doors slid open and they stepped off the elevator, the moment evaporating.
Had he really said he loved her? And what had he meant by it?
She couldn’t think about that now. Her career hinged on this single night, and she couldn’t let anything—not even what Alex may or may not feel for her—distract her from that.
As soon as they stepped through the door, Dina was in high gear. She snapped to attention when she saw Rachel. “Before you get started, come up and take a look at the deck, let me know if you want anything changed.”
Rachel put down her things, shot a glance over her shoulder at Alex, and followed Dina up the spiral staircase to the roof deck. The sun would usually be glaring down on them on a late July afternoon, but the mounded storm clouds overhead provided a respite from the week’s heat wave. There was a coolness to the breeze that ruffled their hair and sent the tablecloths rippling like the surface of the ocean.
“What do you think?” Dina asked, a tinge of nervousness in her voice.
“I think . . .” Rachel turned in a slow circle. “I think it’s beautiful.”
The long patio dining table had been covered with white linen, contrasting napkins tied with twine, and overflowing pots of live flowers alternating with candles in pebble-filled hurricane lanterns. The plates and the tableware would be set out later, of course—anything left outside in Colorado instantly accumulated a fine layer of dust—but already she could see that Dina had an eye for design.
“There are a couple of conversation areas over here.” Dina led her to the alcoves created with Alex’s existing potted plants and furniture, also to be lit by more hurricane lamps.
“This is incredible. Are you sure your brother doesn’t want to give up his place so we can use it as a restaurant?”
“I think he’d probably do anything you asked,” Dina said with a grin.
Don’t think about that. Focus on tonight. Then worry about what that means for your future with Alex.
“Let’s quickly go over the tasting menu,” Rachel said. “We’re going to put out fresh bread and start with salmon crudo, which should already be on the table when they sit down. Then I’ll have you bring out the roasted kale salad, followed by the carpaccio, the trout, and the burrata. We’ll want to pace these carefully, because my quail’s going to need time in the oven. We’ll finish with dessert and coffee, and then I’ll come up to the deck to mingle over cocktails.”
“Perfect.” Dina had pulled out a notepad and scrawled down each course as Rachel spoke. “Do you want to give me some more details so I can introduce the dishes?”
“I think the menus should do that. They’re downstairs. Arrange them however looks best once the guests arrive.”
“Gotcha. Alex has the wine, but he said he was doing the pairings again.”
“Yes. You should check with him on the glasses for each course.” Rachel stopped suddenly. “Wait. All the tableware and linens are new. Where did this all come from?”
Dina shifted her gaze.
“Dina . . .”
“We might have gone to more than the nursery this morning. Alex insisted.”
“Of course he did.” Rachel didn’t know what to think about that. It was enough that he was hosting, inviting his contacts, and now paying for the wine and decor. She’d have to pay him back later. Maybe it had been okay for him to take on the responsibility when she felt like he owed her something, but their relationship had changed. She didn’t want to be on anything but equal footing.
“I know you have to get to work,” Dina said. “I can take care of the rest up here.”
Rachel stopped Dina with a hand on her arm before she could move. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I put a lot of pressure on you when that was the last thing you needed.”
Dina shifted uncomfortably. “It’s okay. I know you were trying to help.”
“I was, but I was wrong. You should do whatever it is that you want to do. Regardless of what I or your brother or your parents think. Don’t let fear keep you from taking chances.”
Dina’s expression relaxed into a smile, and she hugged Rachel. “That means a lot to me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s go see what your brother’s doing. I don’t trust him left to his own devices.”
Dina laughed and followed her toward the stairs. “You’re good for him, you know. He worked and worried too much before. He seems happy now.”
Rachel smiled, even though the words started a quiver in her middle. A good quiver. The kind that made her wonder if she hadn’t overthought his feelings for her after all, if maybe he loved her back. Loved her.
That was an odd thought.
When they came back down, Alex had a spray bottle of glass cleaner in hand and was wiping down the wall of windows.
Rachel whistled. “Right there is the sexiest thing a woman can see—a man cleaning.”
“Very funny.” He winked at her over his shoulder. “If I took off my shirt while cleaning, that would be the sexiest thing a woman could see.”
“At least you don’t let humility get in the way of your delusions.”
Dina looked between them with a grin. “I’m going to go back up and finish the arrangements on the roof, let you two sort this argument out.” She turned tail and pounded up the metal steps in a symphony of creaks and rattles.
Alex gave the window one last swipe, stood back to appreciate his work, then turned to Rachel. “What can I do?”
“Keep me company while I get started?” Rachel began to unpack the crates one by one, laying out all the product she’d need to make tonight’s dinner.
“What’s on the menu?”
Rachel pushed one of the printed sheets of cardstock to him. He scanned it quickly. “I’m hungry already. You can do all this in my kitchen?”
“It’s going to be tricky because three of the first five courses require the oven, and you only have two. But as long as we don’t rush the salad and the carpaccio, we’ll be fine.”
“I think Mitchell will be impressed,” Alex said. “Did I tell you he ate a few times at Paisley?”
Instantly, Rachel’s heart rate skyrocketed. “No. What did he say?”
“He enjoyed it. Seemed surprised to hear that you were no longer at the restaurant.”
Again, her fault. Had she done all the publicity that she’d been urged to do, raised her profile as a chef and not just promoted the menu and the restaurant, they wouldn’t have been able to push her out so easily.
Then again, she might not have met Alex. Strange how that seemed like the greater tragedy now, when she would have mocked herself for daring to think it a couple of months ago. How would things change when they no longer had the supper club as an excuse to see each other? Right now they spent a couple of evenings a week together, but that would change when she had a restaurant again and was consumed with making it a success. Would he be content to wait around for her? Would he go back to his own alleged workaholic ways?
“Where’d you go?”
Rachel realized she was staring into space. She laughed it off. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
She carefully rearranged her ingredients around the cutting board and opened her knife case, anxious for something to do other than look him in the eye. “Us, actually.”
“Oh yeah? I like the sound of that.”
She suppressed a smile. “What happens to us once I’m working again and we’re not doing the supper club anymore?”
Alex folded his hands on the countertop. “Depends on whether you’re letting me down easy.”
“What? No. That’s not what I meant at all.”
He shrugged. “I’m a writer. I can write in the evenings while you’re at the restaurant and spend mornings with
you before you go in to work. Or you can hire me as a server.”
Rachel laughed. “Be serious.”
“I am. About everything but the server part. I waited tables for about two weeks in college until I got fired. I’m terrible at it.” He caught her eye. “But you do what you have to when it’s someone you care about.”
Rachel exhaled. “You do.”
“Now get to it. We’ve got investors to impress.”
Rachel selected a knife, gave it a quick pass over a sharpening stone, and got to work. Alex kept up a light stream of conversation while she methodically prepped the final ingredients for each course, telling her about the projects he was currently working on and the climbs that Bryan had organized for them, including a trip to Yosemite later this year.
“I’ve never been to Yosemite,” she said.
“Then maybe you should come with us.”
“I know better than to interfere with a guys’ trip. Besides, by then I’ll definitely have a job.” For the first time the thought came with a sense of loss, which she immediately dismissed. Goals required sacrifice. She should know that better than anyone.
Rachel kept a close eye on the clock, began preheating the oven, and started to assemble the amuse-bouche and the first course. At exactly seven o’clock, the first knock came at the door.
Followed immediately by a deafening crash of thunder.
Chapter Thirty
DESPITE THE DRAMATIC WARNING, the rain seemed determined to hold off and the temperature remained warm, so they decided to risk the roof deck. Even with the cloudy skies, the view was too spectacular and Dina’s work too elegant to not take advantage.
The first to arrive were a couple of Alex’s university friends, Nadine and her husband, John, both of whom were professors at CU Denver. Nadine plopped herself down on a stool across from Rachel as soon as she walked in.
“That smells great,” Nadine said, leaning over the pan. “What all’s in there?”
The Saturday Night Supper Club Page 26