That thought had already taken up residence in his brain like a pulsing neon sign. Ben would probably skin him alive if he found out he’d already rounded first base with the newest member of Ivy’s team. Was this smart? He couldn’t say for sure one way or the other. But the longer he stood there, staring at Mira’s lips, still plump and moist from his mouth, the more he knew he couldn’t walk away. She’d burrowed under his skin, all right. In a good way, this time. A couple of kisses hadn’t slaked his raging bonfire of desire. They’d stoked it. As long as she didn’t belt him in the head again, nothing would stop him from getting another taste.
“We work next to each other,” he corrected. “The customers will have free rein to shop in both of our stores. But what if we don’t?”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’ll keep it all business when we’re at our stores. That door will stay shut, and you and I won’t walk through it. No fraternizing. No singing along to the other person’s radio. Definitely no flirting.”
That made a saucy smile brighten her eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Sam agreed, but he knew his plan had merit. Both their businesses were too important to risk on one kiss. “Anticipation heightens the payoff. No one has to know. We’ll try one date. Wednesday night. If it doesn’t go well, no harm, no foul.”
“And if it goes well? It’ll be like the Great Wall of China between Lyons Bakery and A Fine Romance?”
His version ran more along the lines of a picket fence made of dominoes. So he could knock it down with one sharp poke. “Something like that. What do you say?”
“Don’t rush me. In fact, in the spirit of exchanging basic first-date information, here’s the first thing you should know about me. I’m very methodical. I like to weigh the pros and cons.”
Sam dug another napkin out of his pocket. “Do you want to make a list?”
“The fact that you offered gets you a check in the pro column.”
“What if I sweeten the pot?” He bridged the distance between them in two long strides, and captured her mouth once more. Hard and fast, he laid claim to it, making sure she could feel how much he wanted her to say yes.
Panting, she broke away. “The funny thing about bribery? It’s got a bad rap, but it works. I’ll go out with you, Sam.”
“You won’t regret it.”
“Make sure I don’t.”
That sassiness, dialed back from the sharp-as-glass version she first used on him, made him want to smile and smother her with more kisses. She wasn’t the only one who made lists. And first thing on his would be to wash his lucky shirt.
Chapter Five
Mira pushed open the back door with her butt and dragged the giant box of cut-down boxes into the alley behind the store. It was her third trip of the day. Unpacking inventory was the fun part. Dealing with the shipping boxes, packing peanuts, miles of plastic wrap, bubble wrap and bags that swathed seemingly every item she unwrapped was a tedious workout. She’d need to take a long shower before her date with Sam tonight. And not just to get clean. Mira loved the ritual of getting ready for a date.
Using the good shower gel the same flowery scent as the expensive lotion from Provence (only pulled out on special occasions). Flinging twenty different outfits on the bed until settling on one that made her feel delightfully feminine. Dawdling over hair and makeup while wondering if she’d get a kiss at the front door. Or would he make her wait all night?
This was pointless. She’d spent more of the afternoon daydreaming about the dreamy boy next door than actually working. And there was a strong possibility she’d gotten a crick in her neck from glancing over at the closed connecting door every five minutes. Wondering what Sam was doing on the other side of it. Wondering if his rock-hard forearms covered in dark hair sparkled with a dusting of sugar. Or if his hips swiveled to the radio’s beat. Mira bet he swiveled his hips really well. Yikes. Mira popped her eyelids open, appalled they’d drifted shut mid-reverie, while gripping a box of trash, of all things. Might as well stop kidding herself and call it a day.
“Need some help, lady?” A tall, rail-thin teenager jittered a few steps toward her. He was part of a group clustered by the Dumpster, all shoving cookies in their mouths. Had they scavenged the bakery’s discarded cookies from the Dumpster? She’d seen them a few other days, hanging out back here, always with cheeks full of cookies. Baggy jeans so low they seemed to mock gravity, oversized jackets, hoodies and Cubs caps made up a sort of uniform.
Warning bells rang in her head. She didn’t have a good read on Chicago’s vibe yet, but good kids didn’t hang out in alleys. Were they a gang? Their eyes were hard. Too hard, too knowledgeable for kids that age. They carried themselves with real swagger, not the puffed-up pretense of innocent youth. To her mind, they were far too loud and animated. Maybe because she’d spent the last few months at camp surrounded by just girls? Or because they were strung out on drugs? Oddly territorial, she didn’t like them gorging on Sam’s cookies, even if he had thrown them out.
“I’m fine, thanks.” The circle of boys laughed, elbowing each other. Mira didn’t know what set them off, but she didn’t want to stick around and find out. She’d finish with the trash later. Hurrying inside, she quickly locked the door behind her. It looked like a nice enough neighborhood, and she didn’t have any solid proof the boys were up to no good. But as a single woman alone, Mira didn’t want to take any chances. Getting the security system online zoomed from number fourteen on her to-do list straight to the top.
A loud knock at the front of the store whipped her head around, and her heart leapt into her throat. Was she really going to have to use the crystal vase again to defend herself? Mira inserted sign up for self-defense class somewhere into the middle of her to-do list. The vase wasn’t a practical long-term solution, although it was still her best option. On the other hand, would a burglar be so polite as to knock? Mira crept down the hall. From the counter she palmed her cell phone, and hit the speed dial for the police. Her thumb hovered over the send button. Better to be paranoid and prepared than caught off guard.
On the other side of the glass door stood a middle-aged woman clutching a picnic basket. No-nonsense short gray hair—the real kind, not fashionably streaked—contrasted with the high-end St. John knit suit. And a fabulous pair of Prada platform pumps. Mira may have walked away from her parents’ money, but the love of shoes her mother had instilled wasn’t so easy to dismiss. She still eagerly eyeballed the new collections at the start of each season. And her mom loved her enough to throw at least a few pairs of Louboutins into the birthday box that arrived every year, in lieu of her parents actually showing up and spending time with her.
Nerves a little less jangly, Mira put down her phone and eased open the door a crack. “I’m sorry, but we don’t open for a few more weeks. If you’d like to leave me your email address, I’ll be sure to send you information about the grand opening.”
“Goodness, I know you aren’t open yet. That’s why I’m here. I’d like to apply for a job.”
“Really? The sales clerk position?”
“Nope. I’m a cook.” She pointed to her basket. “If you’d indulge me for a few minutes, I brought a resume, of sorts.” When Mira hesitated, the woman put down the basket and rummaged in her purse. “I almost forgot. If there’s one thing my husband’s hammered home to me about the business world, it’s that connections are everything. I don’t mind shamelessly using mine to open the door. After that, I’m confident my food will speak for itself.” She handed Mira a glossy program.
“What’s this?”
“My letter of introduction. Not as professional as I’d like, but it’s remarkably hard to find stationery in the middle of a gala.”
Mira unfolded the program. The splashy purple-and-white cover indicated it was from last night’s Minds Matter gala to benefit Northweste
rn Hospital’s Brain Tumor Institute. Scribbled in the margin was a single sentence: Give her a try! It was signed by Samantha Rhodes, Ivy’s mother. Which made it practically a royal edict. Samantha was a force of nature, not to mention a big mover and shaker in Chicago’s elite social circles. The mystery woman was right. Dropping that name was all it took for Mira to swing open the door and usher her inside.
“Well, if you cook half as well as you network, you’ll be a shoo-in for the job.” There. With a touch of humor, she’d established the blatant name-dropping was acknowledged, but not enough to hand her the job on a silver platter. “I’m Mira Parrish. Welcome to what will soon be A Fine Romance.”
“Helen Warrington.” After setting the basket on the floor, she shook Mira’s hand. “And all I want is a fair shot.” They both sat on the stools by the front counter. Helen crossed her legs and beamed a warm smile.
Mira glanced at her watch, trying to figure out how much behind this would set her pre-date routine. “I’m afraid this will be a brief interview. I need to head out shortly.”
“Do you have a hot date lined up?”
The professional side of Mira was prepared to shake off the question, but surprisingly, a different answer popped out when she opened her mouth. “As a matter of fact, I do.” It must be because they’d agreed to keep it under wraps. Letting the whole gang know just cranked up the expectation level. After one real date, she and Sam would be able to ascertain if this thing was just a crazed spurt of lust-on-the-lake, or something worth pursuing. Then they could share the news. But it had been driving her crazy not to be able to gush to Ivy or Daphne. Part of the fun of anticipation was anticipating with others. So out of the blue, she’d blurted it out to a total stranger.
“Good for you. You’re young and pretty. You should be out breaking hearts left and right.” Helen leaned forward, one elbow on the counter. “Is he a thoroughly gorgeous specimen?”
Mira choked on a laugh. “Why yes, he is. But...it’s complicated.”
“Take it from me, dear. The best ones always are.”
Helen’s congenial openness was very appealing. She’d made a strong always-important first impression. Mira liked her right off the bat. However, she still presented a mystery. The upper-crust clothes didn’t mesh with a burning desire for a job slaving away over a hot stove. Resisting the urge to gush about Sam, Mira grabbed her pad to take notes. “Do you have experience?”
“Yes.” Helen settled her hands in her lap. “I worked in my family’s restaurant down in Champaign growing up. My grandmother switched out my pacifier for a wooden spoon before I was even on solid foods. I loved it. Loved it so much I refused to go away to college, even after I won a scholarship. But then, one fateful day, Dan Warrington walked in the door.”
“Was he gorgeous and complicated?” Mira teased.
“Right on both counts. Pretty soon I had to choose between my love of cooking and my love for Dan. They ran neck and neck for a while, but once he sweetened the deal with burn-up-the-sheets sex, the decision was easy.”
Okay, she didn’t just like this woman. Mira had a full-blown girl crush on Helen. It took a certain fearlessness and self-assurance to mention premarital sex in a job interview. She took a pointed glance at Helen’s left hand, weighted down with what had to be a four-carat diamond. “Let me guess. You lived happily ever after?
With a fond smile, Helen too looked down at her ring. “So far, anyway. I married him, moved to Chicago and had two beautiful babies. And before you ask why I’m boring you with my life story, my point is that I never stopped cooking.”
Although Mira liked her, and the early restaurant experience was a plus, it sounded like she’d taken about a twenty-year break from creating enough food to satisfy throngs of customers. It would require all her delicacy to politely turn down this delightful woman. “While I don’t discount the enormous amount of work it takes to keep a family fed, it is different from the sort of cooking we’ll require here.”
Helen shook her head and held up one hand, palm up, to stop Mira. “Don’t I know it! There’s more to my tale, I promise.”
It would be important to report back to Ivy, and subsequently her mother, that she’d given Helen every opportunity. Mira nodded. “Go on.”
“At first, my addiction to cooking drove all my friends nuts. Dan moves in a very socially aware group, shall we say.”
Oh yes, Mira knew exactly the type. She’d grown up surrounded by people like that. People to whom status was practically a religion. For a while, as a teenager, it had been easy to get sucked into games of social excess. Easy to stop talking to a girl when she wore the wrong brand of shoe to school. Or shun a boy who couldn’t afford tickets to the hottest rock concert of the year. But in college, surrounded by people of so many different social strata, Mira came to her senses. She learned to judge people on who they were, not what they were worth. And most of all, she’d learned that distancing herself from her parents’ wealth made her a better person.
With the demeanor of a stern teacher, Helen brandished her index finger. “Don’t get me wrong—I’ve made some great friends amidst Chicago’s elite. But people who are thoughtful and tell a wicked joke and helped nurse my daughter through chicken pox are often the same people who like to brag about how much they spent on the caterer, and who look down their noses at a batch of homemade cookies.” A smug smirk tightened her lips. “Or at least, they did until they tasted my cookies.”
Mira crossed to the fridge and brought back two bottles of water. She liked where this story was headed. “Did you make them eat their words?”
“Ha! Good one.” Helen took a long sip. After she recapped the bottle, she continued to run her finger around the cap. “I’ll never forget the first Junior League committee meeting I hosted. I talk a good game, but my stomach had about a hundred flocks of butterflies. Even though I’d dithered over the menu for weeks, sent Dan to work laden with some of my test runs for his staff, it is a whole different proposition to serve a score of people rather than the four of us.”
“What did you make? When I think of a committee meeting, I envision pretzels, or maybe a plate of cookies.”
A deep belly laugh rolled out, with the strength of the wake behind an ocean liner. “Well, that’s why you’re not interviewing right now to be a cook! I served an authentic high tea, complete with five kinds of sandwiches, scones, pastries, you name it. The women couldn’t rave enough, and begged for the name of my caterer. When I told them I made everything, you could’ve heard a pin drop in that room. I honestly thought they were going to walk out in a huff, insulted to the quick I’d dared to serve them homemade food.”
“Did they?”
“Only one. Ruth Carlin. You know, to this day, she still demurs if I offer her anything. Just purses those thin lips of hers and insists she already ate. Which is weird, since that stick on stilettos looks like she hasn’t eaten in about two decades. I suppose I’d rather have her not eat my food than eat it and regift it to the toilet gods ten minutes later.”
Mira bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into unprofessional giggles. “Sounds like it’s her loss.”
Shrugging through another sip, Helen forged ahead. “The upshot was that I became known as the quirky one who always cooked. And oh boy, did I ever. Of course Noah and Lucy came first. I was a room mother, and a Girl Scout den leader. To my children’s great chagrin, I chaperoned every school event from field trips to dances, and I shouted myself hoarse at swim meets and lacrosse games. Those two are the sunshine in my day.”
Wow. Mira knew her parents loved her. Or at least, they loved the idea of a daughter, someone to carry on the family name. But never once had she seen her mother’s face light up like Helen’s at any of Mira’s accomplishments. The boarding schools they shuttled her between didn’t have room mothers. Her parents hadn’t come to watch any of her speech t
ournaments, or her misbegotten half year on the track team in junior high. They hadn’t even made it to her high school graduation. It conflicted with the Cannes Film Festival, which was a must-see-and-be-seen week of events. She’d hungered for the kind of love Helen described so effortlessly.
“It doesn’t sound like you had any spare time to cook.”
“Oh, I carved out precious moments here and there. As they got older, it grew easier. I was always in the kitchen, tinkering with recipes, putting my own spin on things or dreaming up new ones. Soon my friends not only accepted my odd habit, but they embraced it. I cooked for committee meetings, for birthday parties, first communions, bridal showers, you name it. I even helped out my nephew with an engagement picnic.”
Which reminded Mira about her fast-approaching date. She didn’t want to cut Helen short, but she didn’t want to deprive Sam of the full effects of a leisurely toilette. “What brings you here today?”
“As a proud mother, I’m tickled to report that Noah graduated from Stanford in May, and Lucy’s starting her sophomore year at Cornell. However, woman to woman? Last year was miserable. That empty-nest syndrome you hear about? It is real, and brutal.”
“I’m sorry. You must miss them terribly.” Mira knew it to be true, because she’d witnessed the almost daily calls from Ivy’s mom when they roomed together. Just because her parents lived the mantra out of sight, out of mind didn’t meant that other parents shared their viewpoint.
Helen slid off the stool and began to pace the across the width of the front room. Her footsteps clattered on the hardwood floors, the sound bouncing off the empty walls. “After a quarter of a century, I suddenly had no reason to get up in the morning. No driving force in my life at all. It was a hard adjustment.” She shook her head, hard and fast. “No, to be fair, I didn’t adjust at all. That’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t understand.” Mira slipped off her stool as well, wanting Helen to know they were on an even level. The older woman whirled around, hands at her sides, clenching and unclenching, as though trying to grasp something.
A Fine Romance Page 8