by Anthology
Beth unceremoniously dipped her finger in the custard and brought it to her mouth. “It’s good and it’s your recipe. Sam assured me he followed the directions to the letter.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes. “I’m not trying to be a bitch, I think I recognize my own stuff. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s definitely richer, the spices more intense. It’s friggin’ fantastic. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him.”
Beth snatched the spoon from Ivy’s fingers. “Are we still talking about the dessert, or is the ghost of boyfriends’ past haunting you again?”
Glaring, Ivy stole the spoon back and scooping up a large spoonful, stuck it in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to answer.
“I thought so.” Beth smirked. “Well, if you want my opinion, the difference in flavors was caused by something simple like the manufacturer changing the recipe for the mint tea, or the cream coming from another dairy, not some sinister plan Sam concocted to show you up.”
“Chef Ivy,” the producer said, coming into the kitchen. “We’re done. I wanted to say thank you for everything. Although my critic is being his usual closed mouth self, I assure you he enjoyed the food. I’ve never seen him polish off a dessert before. Whatever you are doing, keep it up. And please consider asking Sam to volunteer to do the segment with you. It will go a long way to benefit your charity.”
Ivy inwardly flinched at the compliment. Yet another unintended slap. “I will.”
The moment the woman left, Ivy excused herself to her office. She shut the door and stared at her reflection in the blank computer screen. Sam wasn’t Kevin; he had no ulterior motives, no hidden agenda for being with her. Beth must be right about the dessert. There were many hidden factors that could influence the flavors. Despite the knowledge, it still stung her pride that her perfect boyfriend surpassed her best efforts without even trying. And then there was the offer from the Cooking Network—another thing not his fault—but she still blamed him for the deception. How pathetic was she?
Swatting at a pesky fly, Ivy glared at Sam’s back. Hiking had sounded like such a great idea when he’d proposed it. In the earlier chill, she’d been glad the weather was nice. Now the sun beat down on her neck, leaving her hair a damp mess. She stumbled on a rock, twisting her ankle. Taking a tentative step, she was relieved to feel no pain, but a pebble had managed to work its way into her shoe.
“Sam,” she called out before sitting on a large boulder.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
“I have a rock in my shoe.” She removed her sneaker and sock to reveal the blister on her heel.
“Maybe we should rest for a while,” Sam said, opening the backpack and retrieving the first aid kit. As he worked, she eyed him with exasperated envy. Despite the heat, he was so conditioned he hardly broke a sweat, and even after two hours of continual exercise, he exuded raw energy.
Accepting the Band-Aid he offered, she ripped the package open. “I’m fine. How much time until we reach the top?”
“About another ten minutes. There’s a small lake deep enough to swim in. I hope you’re up for some skinny dipping.”
“You do realize it’ll be freezing, and although we haven’t seen anyone so far, there’s bound to be people around.”
“Undoubtedly. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a watch out while you swim.” He tipped his sunglasses and winked. “Naked.”
“I’ll let you go first, stud.” Slipping on her shoe, she was about to tie the lace when he grabbed the hem of his white t-shirt and pulled it over his head. Giving her a cocky grin, he placed his hands on his hips and her insides melted. Her hungry gaze scanned his broad shoulders, drinking in the muscles of his wide chest, tapering to cut abs where faded khaki shorts sat low on his hips. Damn, he was beautiful.
“We can stay here. There’s a patch of grass over by the trees,” Sam suggested with a flirtatious smile. Unfortunately, she caught her reflection in his sunglasses. While his cheeks were touched with color, enhancing his good looks, she looked like an Umpa Lumpa. Desire dissipated in the space of a heartbeat.
Standing, she hurriedly turned her back to avoid his questioning gaze. “We’re too close to the top to stop now.”
“Let’s head out then,” he said, squeezing her butt before he took off up the trail, a bounce in his step.
Ivy absently rubbed the amulet around her neck. As she admired his backside, she pondered at what point in her life she would stop allowing her stupid insecurities to dictate her actions. Sam was the man she had been searching for, but it was hard to appreciate his self-assurance when she questioned her own. “I really like you, but sometimes I wish you weren’t so damn perfect.”
Sam turned to wait for her approach. He shifted the pack, his weight dislodging a rock near the edge of the path. It went tumbling down the hillside, taking him with it.
Ivy stared, horrified, as he rolled several feet into a thicket of underbrush, a small tree breaking his fall. “Sam,” she cried, making her way down the grassy embankment. “Are you hurt?”
He stood and wiped debris off his butt while straightening his crooked sunglasses. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Several scratches crisscrossed his arms. None appeared deep. It wasn’t until she glanced down at his torso that she winced. “I don’t suppose you happen to have any Calamine lotion in the first aid kit.”
Sam raised his hand to scratch his shoulder. “I’m not sure, why?”
“Stop, don’t scratch. You fell on a stinging nettle plant. It’ll itch like crazy, but it’s harmless.”
“At least it wasn’t poison oak,” he said.
She dug out the first aid kit, relieved to see a packet of antihistamine and Tylenol. Giving him the medication with a bottle of water, she handed over his discarded shirt. “Regardless, you still can’t scratch or you’ll risk an infection.”
“Damn, now we really need to skinny dip,” he said, grabbing up the pack. “At least the cold water will numb the itch.”
It was late afternoon by the time they made it back to the parking area. They spent several hours at the lake swimming, and once his rash had calmed down, making out until some other hikers ruined the fun.
Sam placed the backpack in the trunk of the BMW and retrieved another Benadryl before taking a water from the cooler.
Ivy had fallen instantly in love with the fully loaded sports car and was itching to drive it. She leaned against the black frame, watching Sam. “When I grow up, I’m going to get me one of these fancy automobiles,” she said in her best hillbilly voice.
Sam shut the trunk. “Do you want to drive?”
“Do I ever,” she said, skipping around the car. She stopped long enough to kiss him and was moving away when he pressed the cold drink to the back of her neck. She stopped in her tracks, gasping as she spun around. “You brat,” she said, snatching it from his hand. Wrenching the spout open, she squirted him. “I think someone needs a cold shower.”
Laughing, he dodged the stream as she danced away. “Or a good—” He lunged at her but halted in mid step. “Oh shit!”
“A good shit?” she giggled. “Sorry, not something I want to talk about.”
He shook his head, his smile replaced with bewilderment as he rubbed his knee. “I think I pulled a muscle.”
Squatting in front of him, she gave him an encouraging smile. “Try putting pressure on it. See if you can walk.”
He straightened and after a few tentative steps, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s fine. Must have been a muscle cramp.”
She released the pent-up breath she held and went to the driver side. “In the future, I’d suggest you stop chasing innocent women. The last thing I need is the fans of Seattle blaming me for breaking their favorite toy.”
He climbed into the passenger side and twisting in his seat, rested his hand on her upper thigh. “I don’t plan on chasing any woman but you. I’ll be your toy anytime you want to play.”
“I will definitely take you up on that offer.” She leaned in
for a kiss. “Now let me start this puppy up. Mama needs to get her speed on.”
“Just don’t let mama get her speeding ticket on.”
She pressed her thumb to the ignition, and the car purred to life. She waited until he buckled his seat belt before she carefully backed the car out of the space.
Ivy sped down I-5 toward Seattle, humming to the radio. The song ended and the traffic reporter announced the inevitable traffic jam as the road ahead became a sea of red taillights. She sighed, slowing the car. It was the one thing she hated about Seattle, the traffic. She glanced over at Sam, but he had passed out from the antihistamine soon after reaching Marysville.
He lay slouched in his seat, right leg straight, left bent to balance his weight. He had nice legs, long with rock hard thighs, and she recalled the way they flexed when she—The car’s sensor moved the break petal, startling her. She slammed on the brakes, glad the car was paying attention to the traffic.
Shifting in the seat, Sam stretched his left leg. Ivy sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his right knee, swollen to the size of a grapefruit. Turning on the signal, she quickly pulled over and put the car in park. He opened his eyes, frowning. “What’s up?”
“Look at your knee. I didn’t see it because your other leg was blocking it.” Popping the trunk, she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the car. She sprinted to the trunk and retrieved the ice pack before scrambling back into the driver’s seat. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really.” He laid the ice pack on his knee while she buckled herself in.
“You must’ve had this happen a lot,” she said, easing into traffic. “You’ve been playing sports for a long time. Doesn’t the quarterback get sacked a lot? I thought I read somewhere that concussions were an occupational hazard.”
“They are, but I’ve been lucky. I’ve merely had minor injuries.”
Of course you have. It was her perfect boyfriend they were talking about. She felt instantly guilty for the bitchy thought. “Can you have the GPS find the nearest hospital?”
Sam worked his magic and the GPS instructed them to get off at the next exit. Ivy looked at him, expecting to see some sign of upset, but he simply withdrew his phone and flipped through the contacts.
“It’s okay if you’re worried. I know I would be. While not to the same extent, I depend on my legs for my living.”
“I’m not worried,” he said, flashing an encouraging smile. “It’s simply a little swelling.”
She glanced at him, curious. “But what if it’s more?”
“Then I’ll deal with it,” he shrugged, typing out a text.
The GPS told her to turn. “How? By ignoring it?” she asked, determined to pull some kind of reaction from him other than complacency. “This is your career we’re talking about.”
“Yes, it is, and as quarterback people depend on me to keep a cool head in the midst of chaos. The moment the ball is snapped, I can’t let the threat of the opposing team wanting to pound me into the ground distract me. When I’m running down field with a three-hundred pound linebacker breathing down my neck, I have to believe I’ll make it safely to the end zone. To think otherwise is asking for defeat. Chances are there’s nothing wrong with my leg, but if there is, then we’ll pull through it together.”
Chapter 6
Ivy moved to the prep sink and pulled the roll of hamburger from beneath the steady stream of cold water. Lifting the thawed roll, she caught the distinctive odor of rotting meat. She sighed. It wasn’t the first time she had issues with this particular butcher. She considered throwing the meat away, but the company rep was due to deliver in the afternoon and she wanted to exchange the old product for fresh. Intending to put it in the meat case, she grabbed her Sharpie, and started writing “do not use” on the covering when a loud crash came from the bus station. She dropped the five-pound roll back into the sink, and rushing across the kitchen, pushed open the double doors. The daytime dishwasher was standing over a pile of broken salad plates.
Beth entered from the restaurant side. “Are you okay?”
“I slipped, sorry. I’ll clean it up.” The dishwasher skirted Ivy and disappeared into the kitchen.
“I need to talk to you,” Beth said.
Ivy followed her into the dining room, crossing her arms as she leaned against the bar.
“Well,” Beth asked, pouring herself a coke. “Is it true? Is his knee busted?”
Ivy sighed. “I don’t have an answer for you. I can tell you we spent hours at the hospital last night with the best sports doctors in the country. His knee is swollen but until the swelling goes down, they won’t know the extent of his injury. Right now, he’s passed out at my house on pain meds.”
“The sport stations are already predicting he’s out for the season. With an injury and no contract, he’s pretty much screwed. Man, he must be devastated.”
Ivy recalled the conversation they had shared the day before, and his adamant insistence that things would play out fine. “Actually, he’s not. I think he’s in denial; he thinks I’m overreacting.”
“The whole city is freaking out and he’s not?” Beth asked, disbelieving. “I mean it’s on all the news stations, both local and national. There are actually camera crews sitting outside his house. You’re lucky they aren’t aware he’s staying at your place.”
“His agent wanted to place him in some fancy recovery clinic, but he insisted on staying with me. Which reminds me, I have a conference call with the Cooking Network. In case I’m not done, can you have a busser run over some lunch for him?”
Ivy was working on scheduling when the intercom on the office phone buzzed and Beth announced the meat supplier was there. Ivy ran down the stairs and went to the meat case to look for the ruined hamburger, but it wasn’t there. She motioned for Beth to come over. “There was some raunchy smelling hamburger I marked for return. Did you throw it away?”
“I haven’t thrown anything away. Hey,” she called to the prep cook. “Did you do anything with the hamburger in the meat case?”
“I didn’t see any hamburger in the meat case, only the roll in the sink that I used to make the minestrone for tomorrow’s lunch.”
“It was turning, couldn’t you smell it?” Beth accused, her face pale.
“I’m sorry, I can’t smell anything. Allergies,” he said, glancing worriedly from Ivy to Beth.
As he spoke, Ivy remembered she had never got the opportunity to mark the meat. She had run into the bus station and afterward, Beth had pulled her into the bar. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Did you serve any of it?” Ivy asked, her heart racing with panic as she rushed to the stove. Pulling off the pot, she lugged it to the dish pit. Great, all she needed was to give the population of Seattle food poisoning. The restaurant would be closed and her reputation ruined.
The prep cook shook his head.
Ivy experienced an instant relief until Beth spoke up. “I did. I sent a busser over to your house with lunch for Sam. We were running low on the soup du jour so I grabbed the minestrone. I… I’m so sorry.”
Ivy stroked Sam’s hair as he lay on the couch, his head in her lap. For the second time in two days, she had driven him to the hospital. After running tests for salmonella and other bacteria, the doctor had ordered an intravenous drip to keep him hydrated as well as anti-nausea medication. During the long hours of the night and into the morning, she had watched him with a heavy conscience while he agonized. Although he was still nauseated by early afternoon, the hospital had allowed him to check out.
Running her finger along the curve of his jaw, the words, in sickness and in health, rang in her ears. She had always thought the phrase romantic, and more than once pictured herself saying it to the perfect guy, but not after she had nearly killed him.
Sam ran his hand up her leg. “Your skin is so soft.”
Ivy flashed him an amused smile. “Do you really think you’re in any shape to be doing that right now?”
He nodded, flashing a s
pine-melting grin. “I’m feeling much better,” he said, starting to sit up. His face paled. Closing his eyes, he lay back down. “Okay, maybe not quite yet. Give me a few hours.”
“How about a few days?” she suggested, fighting the ever-present guilt. “You’ve been really sick. You need to take it easy.”
He clasped her hand, kissing it before placing it on his bare chest. It was a warm day and he was wearing nothing but a pair of ratty board shorts, his leg propped up on the arm of the couch with an ice pack on it. “Then I guess you’ll have to do all the work. It’s the least you can do since you tried to kill me. And here I thought you liked me.”
She pulled the hair on his chest for punishment. “It’s not funny. You could’ve died and it was my fault. It’s amazing you’re still talking to me.”
“Now who needs to take it easy?” he teased, clasping her hand and moving it down his stomach toward the waistband of his shorts. “Don’t you think you’re being too hard on yourself? It was an accident, a comedy of errors. In the end, everything played out fine, so jump off the blame train, and climb aboard the love boat.”
“Yeah, you say that now, but I want you to be honest. Weren’t you a tiny bit teed off about this? I mean, it’s because of my mistake you spent the night in the hospital,” she said, pulling her hand away as she watched his expression for a telling reaction.
He shrugged. “To be honest, I was too sick to care.”
“And now that you’re better, how do you feel?”
“I feel a lot of things toward you, but animosity isn’t one of them. I won’t lie. Hanging out in the hospital isn’t my favorite thing to do, but it’s unfair to blame you for what was clearly an accident.”
The alarm on her cell phone rang. “Time for your medication,” she said, sliding out from beneath his weight.