by JoAnn Ross
“Apparently not,” he said easily.
53
Too impatient to sit around and wait for Lucas to be able to start work on the restaurant, Madeline began juggling her time between working on the building plans with Lucas and volunteering at Haven House. It did not escape her attention that as unsatisfying as her own marriage had been, it could have turned out much, much worse.
She’d begun teaching the basics and found that more than one resident, but especially Phoebe, had a talent for cooking. She also discovered that another of the women, who couldn’t fry an egg, made the lightest, fluffiest doughnuts Madeline had ever tasted. Not only did she seriously consider offering her the job of pastry chef in the new restaurant, but she also began thinking that one of the cannery shops, when Lucas and McGrath got the building finished, could be a great outlet for baked goods.
Or perhaps they could even open up a food booth, serving simple, easy-to-eat items like she and Lucas had bought at the taqueria truck in Portland.
It was good to be excited again. And she had so much to be excited about. Her divorce papers had arrived. Although the Cooking Network hadn’t embraced her idea of filming the building of the cooking school, suggesting it was better suited for channels featuring construction, on the same day she officially became a free woman, Pepper had called to inform her that they’d totally embraced her idea of a show based on the classes in the cooking school. She also, surprisingly, supported Madeline giving up the ChefSteel endorsement.
To celebrate, Madeline paid a visit to Take the Cake, where she ran into Kara sitting at a table, eating a lemon coconut cupcake. A German chocolate cupcake sat on a plate in front of her.
“My excuse,” she said, when Madeline returned to join her with an island pineapple cupcake, “is that I’m eating for two these days.”
“So I heard. Congratulations!” Madeline took a bite of the cupcake, which reminded her of what Lucas had said about making love to her in Hawaii. She was still, admittedly, gun-shy when it came to marriage, but a vacation trip sounded like a fabulous idea. Maybe she’d suggest it to him tonight.
“I wanted to wait until I got through the first trimester to share the news,” Kara said. “But I know Sax is frustrated with me, so I understand him dumping on you and Lucas.”
“We’re friends.” Madeline licked a bit of frosting off her thumb and remembered, in vivid detail, the quickening in her body when Lucas had licked the salsa roja off her fingers. How was it, she asked herself, that everything reminded her of him?
Because, a little voice in her head answered, you’re in love with him.
Which she was. Truly. Madly. Deeply.
“And, having lost my mother young, I can totally understand that you want to share your wedding day with yours.”
“I know it sounds overly sentimental—”
“If you can’t be sentimental about a wedding, what can you be sentimental about?”
“True. But I’m a cop.”
“You’re a woman first,” Madeline said. “I used to define myself as a chef. That was all I wanted. Well, except for that summer here in Shelter Bay. When I wanted to be Lucas’ wife.”
“You were both young.”
“So were you when you married Jared.”
“Which led to some ups and downs we probably would’ve gone through even if he hadn’t been in the Marines. But that was then.” She took a sip of tea and grimaced. “I really miss coffee.”
“You’re not allowed to have any?” What Madeline knew about pregnancy could be written on the head of a pin and still leave room for a thousand dancing angels.
“Although there weren’t any coffee police when I was pregnant with Trey, Sax read that caffeine isn’t healthy for the baby, so he’s cut me back to a mug a day. The rest of the time I’m stuck with drinking this herbal stuff.”
Madeline had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Kara’s obvious frustration. “Let me ask Gram. She can probably mix up some blends you might enjoy.”
“One can only hope.” Kara sighed, put the cup down, and bit into the German chocolate cupcake.
“You know,” Madeline said carefully, “the farm’s garden looks gorgeous in early summer. And there’s that gazebo that would make a lovely wedding venue.”
“I thought you understood my problem.”
“I do. But I don’t think you’re giving your mom enough credit.”
“Mom put her entire life on hold for Dad and me. She left a practice she loved, a vibrant city she enjoyed, to settle down here in Shelter Bay because she and Dad believed it was a safe, nurturing place to raise a family. Which, I tend to agree with, and it’s why I’m here. But now it’s her turn. And I don’t want to mess that up. Every time I’ve come up with a date I think might work, some other great world event happens, so there you go.”
“That’s not fair,” Madeline said. “To you. Or Sax.” She reached for her coffee, then seeing Kara’s gaze move to it, changed her mind. “Or your mom. She missed your first marriage because you eloped. She missed Trey’s birth—”
“Which was solely her choice, because she didn’t approve of me getting pregnant while I was still in high school and running off to marry Jared.”
“We all make mistakes. Give her a chance to make up for hers. And to share this special time with you.”
Kara looked out at the harbor, where a bright red boat was chugging out to take tourists whale watching. Then back at Madeline. “I was class valedictorian.”
“I remember.”
“Though you were no slouch yourself when it came to grades. But when did you get so much smarter than me?”
Madeline laughed. “Blame it on your hormones and pregnancy brain fog.”
“Believe me, I intend to play that card every chance I get for the next eight months.” She downed the rest of the tea. “I guess I’d better go apologize to Sax.”
“It won’t be that hard, since you’ll be making him a very happy man.”
Kara’s wide smile lit up her eyes. Gone was the unhappy, pregnant cop. In her place was a woman bent on seduction. “The man has no idea how happy I’m about to make him.”
54
“Where are we going?” Madeline asked as Lucas drove away from the farm. Although she was spending most nights at the cottage, she still hadn’t felt ready to move in. Because living together was so close to getting married, she was afraid once she took that step, the next would lead to the altar.
What would be wrong with that? the argumentative voice inside her head that had been getting louder and louder asked.
I’m not ready.
So what are you waiting for?
The sad fact was that she couldn’t answer that question. Other than to fall back on the same old one: I need more time.
Don’t wait too long, the voice warned. Guys like him don’t stay available forever.
“I know!”
“You know?” He glanced over at her. “Damn. And here I thought I’d planned the perfect surprise.”
She was glad for the darkening twilight that kept him from seeing the color flood into her face. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking about you. I was arguing with myself.”
“Who won?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “What kind of surprise?”
Madeline had never enjoyed surprises. They often meant bad things. Like the teary-eyed nun calling her out of class to Mother Superior’s office, where she’d been informed that her parents’ plane had crashed. The phone call from Sofia telling that her grandfather had been diagnosed with cancer. Then that later one, letting her know he’d lost the battle. And, of course, the most recent: Maxime’s YouTube surprise.
He reached across the space between them and ran his hand down her jeans-clad thigh. He’d told her to dress casually, which suggested it had to do with the outdoors. Logically, she’d told herself, the beach. Maybe they were going to relive their younger days, build a fire, and roast s’mores. The idea of him licking melted chocolat
e off her fingers—and other parts of her body—caused her hormones to spike.
Sure enough, he pulled up in front of a picnic table she remembered Sax’s grandfather having built decades ago. When they’d been kids, they’d hung out here a lot.
“You bought dinner.”
“From the Crab Shack,” he agreed.
He and Charity’s jarhead had gotten far enough in their male bonding that Gabe had assured him that the Dungeness crabs roasted in the shell in butter were the ultimate in seduction dinners. Since he didn’t want to know any more about his sister’s love life, he hadn’t asked for details, but Lucas had always had a good imagination.
“I’ve been meaning to try his roasted crab,” she said. “Charity said it’s not to be believed.”
Two votes for the buttery crab. Lucas was on a roll.
He’d put the food in a cooler that had both hot and cold insulated sections. A bottle of champagne and two glasses were wrapped in a blanket in his pack. Along with a boom box.
“Are you sure I can’t carry anything?”
“I’m a SEAL,” he reminded her. “Besides, this is your night to celebrate.”
“It was amazing,” she said. “Having the divorce come through the same day the network called.”
“Maybe,” he suggested, as they strolled down the damp sand, side by side, while the tide went out and the moon rose and the lighthouse flashed its bright yellow beam, “we can make it a hat trick.”
“That’s from sports, right?” Except for soccer, which would have been impossible to ignore while living in Europe, Madeline didn’t know much about sports.
“Yeah. It’s when a player scores three times in a single game. Here we are.”
“Our cave,” she said as he stopped in an all-too-familiar place. “I walked past it one morning but couldn’t bear to go in.”
“I’ve felt the same way. Which is why I figured it’s time to make some new memories.”
He took out the blanket and laid it on the sand, along with candles in metal and glass hurricane containers. As soon as he lit them, the walls and ceiling of the cave lit up as if they were made of diamonds. Even knowing that the brilliant chips glittering from the walls were actually quartz, garnet, and fool’s gold didn’t make the effect any less special.
“It still takes my breath away,” she said.
“You take my breath away.” He stood up from the candle lighting and kissed her. A slow, sweet mingling of lips.
“I promised you dinner,” he said, as the kiss and their bodies heated up. “But first…”
He got out the boom box. Along with a green box that held a bottle of champagne beautifully embossed with white flowers, and a pair of long-stemmed flutes.
He poured the champagne, handed her a glass, and lifted his in a toast.
“To you. And your freedom.”
His smile warmed the cockles of Maddy’s heart. “To us.”
“Us,” he agreed. “Together.”
They’d no sooner drunk the toast than he hit a button on the CD player and Heath Ledger’s voice began singing. It was the song the actor had sung in 10 Things I Hate about You to apologize for breaking his girlfriend’s heart. The ultimate redemption song from her favorite movie back when she and Lucas were first dating.
“May I have this dance?”
Maddy floated into his arms.
“You’re too good to be true,” he sang along with the actor, continuing to sing as they swayed while the walls glittered and the sea sighed and a full white moon rose higher in a deep purple night sky.
“I love you, baby.” His voice was deep and husky as he echoed the lyrics about needing her to trust him, to warm the lonely nights, and to please stay.
By the time they got to the last Let me love you, baby, ending, there was no way on God’s green earth she was going to say anything but “Yes. Yes. And Yes!”
As good as they’d been together that first summer, as amazing as their lovemaking had been in Portland, this time was even better.
It was truly as if they’d been created for each other. They fit perfectly. And not just their bodies, but their minds and their hearts.
And when they lay together on the blanket, the candles casting warm light on his gorgeous male body, Maddy—because that’s who she’d blissfully become again, having thrown off the workaholic Madeline—thought, Score!
55
Maddy was still floating on air as she pulled up in front of Haven House the next morning. As much as she’d wanted to stay in bed with Lucas—they’d moved to his cottage when the night had grown too cool for even them to stay warm—a promise was a promise. And the women living at the shelter had been lied to enough times that she wasn’t about to let them down.
She’d brought along her own chef’s knives, which had belonged to her parents. Along with several of Sofia’s. It was going to be an easy, short lesson covering knife skills.
“Why do we need to know knife skills?” she asked the women who’d gathered in the kitchen.
“So we don’t cut off a finger?” one of her students suggested, earning a laugh from a few of the others.
Madeline had known instructors who would have assigned a student to stock duty for such “insubordination,” but she’d always thought people should enjoy cooking. And besides, hearing a formerly abused woman being able to make a joke showed what a difference Zelda and the house were making in their lives.
“Basically, it’s because we want uniform cooking time,” she said. “A large piece of carrot is going to take longer to cook than a smaller one. So if you’re sautéing different sizes, your smaller cuts might end up perfectly cooked, but your larger ones underdone. Or, if your larger ones are perfect, your smaller ones will be overcooked. Possibly even burned. Which we don’t want.
“And then there’s appearance. Unless you’re in culinary school, no one’s going to take out a ruler and measure your cuts. But uniform pieces just look better on the plate. And whether you’re talking about a Big Mac or poached salmon, people first eat with their eyes.
“And, finally, it’s about pride and respect. Skilled knife work shows that you take pride in your work. That you respect the food you’re preparing. And you respect the people you’re cooking for. Not taking shortcuts is telling them that they’re worth that extra trouble to get things right.”
She could tell from the exchanged glances and nods that pride and respect were important concepts to this group. And no wonder.
She took out some yellow onions she’d asked Ethan Concannon to deliver for her and began with the basic large dice, working her way through the medium, then finally the small. Their concentration was more intense than many of the students she’d worked with at the CIA.
Which had her worrying about why they were working so hard for perfection. It was as if they were seriously afraid of making a mistake.
“Remember,” she said casually as she pulled russet potatoes from another bin, “cooking’s supposed to be fun. While consistency of cuts is good, even more important is the joy you put into your food. Because, believe me, people can taste it.”
She’d felt them beginning to loosen up as they mastered the julienne and allumette, or matchstick cuts. “We’ll be having ourselves some French fries today,” she said as the potato slices piled up on the counter.
“Okay. Now this next one, chiffonade, is fun. It’ll give you really pretty fine strips.” She took out basil leaves Sofia had sent along, had them stack the green leaves, then roll each stack into a short bundle.
“The problem with a lot of leaves like mint and basil is they’ve got this fibrous center stem.” The concentration level was still high, but they’d begun to talk among themselves, and she could tell they were enjoying learning something new. Which, she hoped, would help build their self-confidence.
“Okay. Now, carefully cut across the end of the bundles. First on one side up to the stem. Then the other side.” She demonstrated, knife blade flashing in the sun streaming
through the kitchen window. “Move your blade backward as you cut, so you won’t bruise your leaves. Then, voilà.” She unrolled two perfectly cut ribbon strips.
She was just about to suggest they try it themselves when the door suddenly swung open.
And a man, holding an ashen-faced Zelda around the neck, pushed his way into the kitchen.
Eyes as cold as ice swept the room, landing on Phoebe, who went as pale as white rice and grabbed hold of the counter, as to keep herself from crumbling to the tile floor.
“Hello, Stephanie, darling,” he said in a pleasant voice that was a direct contrast to the murder in his eyes. “I’ve come to take you home.”
56
Amazingly, no one screamed. No one fainted. The kitchen, which only a moment ago had been filled with happy chatter, became as silent as a tomb. Apparently, he’d warned Zelda not to say anything, because although her eyes were as wide as the Spode saucers on the open shelf, she remained silent, as well.
“Excuse me, but I must ask you to leave,” Maddy said, using the I’m-the-boss-here tone she might with a careless saucier. “You’re interrupting the class.”
“I’ll leave,” he agreed. “With my wife.”
“I’m sorry.” Maddy’s fingers tightened around the handle of her knife. “But I’m not going to let you take her.”
“She’s my property. And I’m not leaving without her,” he said reasonably.
There was only one of him. And many of them. But the ugly gun he was holding in his free hand gave him the power in this situation.
“I’ll go,” Phoebe said, slowly untying the blue chef’s apron Maddy had bought all the women the first day of lessons. The color represented apprentices in French restaurants, but Thomas Keller had all his chefs wear them during prep work at his French Laundry in Napa Valley, to remind them all that every chef should always be learning.
“No.” Zelda found her voice. “You can’t put yourself back in that situation, dear.”