by Traci Hall
They’d stood awkwardly after she’d said yes, she sliding her eyes away first. What was he thinking? She couldn’t tell, but she imagined there was some regret hidden behind his neutral expression. Bella rescued the moment by bringing a surprisingly calm Nashville to show her dad.
“Look, Daddy. One eye! But she can still see with the other one.”
“Amazing.” Franco pushed away from the counter and said, “We should probably get going if we’re making dinner. You’re helping, yes, Bella?”
“Yeah!” She released the cat, who shook herself and stuck her tail straight in the air, stalking beneath the relative safety of the table to hide.
“Seven thirty, is that too late?” he asked. His voice was calm. Cool. No big deal.
“Perfect.” It would give her time to find a damn dress. This was Martin’s fault for putting the idea of being a woman in her head. But this was not a date. This was a set up from his daughter, who sweetly thought of Sarah as a friend.
“We didn’t see the bunny! Do you still have the bunny?”
“We do.” Sarah stuck her hands in her pockets and looked at Franco. “The animals are housed back here. It won’t take long. We’ve got kittens, an iguana, three dogs and a rabbit.”
“You’ve rescued them all?” Franco’s enigmatic expression might have been mocking her, it was hard to tell. She tended to wear her beliefs on her shirtsleeve, which could come off as obnoxious, according to her ex.
“Yes.” She smiled, proud of her job whether or not he understood her calling. “Follow me.”
She led the way through the offices to the warehouse. Air conditioned, with high-set windows that allowed plenty of light, Sarah had separated the space with screens, fencing off areas so that the dogs had room to run. The iguana had his own heater in a corner, with a big branch she and Martin had fixed to the wall. She’d also brought in a lot of indoor plants, just to give the place an outdoor feel.
“This is very nice,” Franco said, turning around to take it all in.
The sincere compliment made her nervous. “Thanks.”
“Why is that section unused?” He pointed to the far rear corner.
“The roof is solid but it needs to be brought up to code. A freak windstorm brought a tree through. Right before I bought it, actually.” She’d gotten a discount on the building, but with the caveat she get the roof fixed within six months. She’d already asked for one extension, and she was told that there would be no more. “I love our community here, but the roofs are all supposed to match. My patched corner is, according to the town manager, an eyesore.”
Franco chuckled. “I didn’t notice.”
Bella raced around the area, her dark curls flying behind her like a cape. “She’s really great,” Sarah said.
Franco, his eyes on his daughter as she greeted the three mutts, agreed. “I am a very fortunate man.”
Not a very egomaniac thing to say—or was it? “Listen, I don’t have to come to dinner…”
“You’ve already agreed, Sarah. It would disappoint Bella if you changed your mind. You said yourself you don’t take the time out for many proper meals. As a thank you for what you did for Paisley, I want to cook for you. Really.” He took her hand and squeezed, making her palm itch.
“Okay.” She slipped her hand free and clasped both of them behind her back. A thank you. That was nice. Not a date.
“Bella, it is time to go. Oh, no.” Franco turned toward her, his brows drawn. “Did she give you the cookies we made?”
Sarah shook her head. “No.”
“Bella!”
At his call, she came running, still grinning as if she was in Disneyland instead of a warehouse full of misfits. “Daddy?”
“Where are the cookies, honey?”
Her expression fell and she put her hand to her pocket. She pulled out a sandwich baggie, crushed, with a bow tied around the top. “Oops.” Tears threatened.
Sarah reached for the plastic bag. “Not a big deal! How about we get a do-over? I try my recipe again, using honey for sweetener, and I’ll bring them to your house. Hopefully you haven’t eaten all of the cookies already?”
Bella shook her head, looking from Sarah to her father. “We didn’t, did we?”
“There are some in the container. What a good idea.” He smiled at Sarah, his demeanor changing from uptight to genuine. For the first time, Sarah was the recipient of Franco’s charm and her body trembled at the onslaught. “A do-over.” He winked, the action inviting her into a conspiracy. “For all of us.”
Mouth dry, Sarah ushered them out the front door, her emotions on high-alert. She was going to see Franco, for dinner. As a thank you for her services. An olive branch, to put the past behind them. Where to get a dress that fit her budget without looking cheap?
She picked up the phone, combining a portion of wheat flour to the rye, honey, pumpkin and chicken stock as she waited for her mother to pick up the phone. At the last minute she added a dollop of molasses.
“Hello, Sarah,” her mom said. “Long time, no hear.”
“Not the time for a guilt trip, Mom. I need two favors. I have to borrow a dress for tonight—it needs to look classy, but simple. And I really could use your help for the Farmer’s Market on Sunday.”
“Sure, sure,” her mom readily agreed into the phone. “Why on earth do you need a dress? You haven’t worn one since graduation. But I’ve got a silk sleeveless tunic style that will really match your eyes.”
“You are a life-saver, Mom.” She scraped the side of the bowl with the spatula.
“So? What’s the occasion? Something for the shelter?”
“No.” Sarah said. “Well, sort of. Dinner with a client.”
Silence. “Who?”
“Franco de Silva. The puppy store owner.”
“But you closed them down!”
“The new puppy store owner. So far he’s been on top of things.”
“But you were certain he’d start right back up again, Sarah Murphy. You were in a bad mood for a month.”
Moms. “Well, he seems to be following the rules.”
“For now,” her loyal mother huffed. “Better keep an eye on him. Maybe not the silk dress. I’ve got something less showy...”
“Mom!”
“How old is he?”
“I don’t know. Thirty-five. Forty.” Gorgeous. “He’s got an adorable little girl. Bella.”
“You can’t date a man with kids.”
“It’s not a date!”
“Besides, you don’t like kids.”
“Says who?” Where did her mother get this stuff?
“You! No time, no desire. You swore on your thirtieth birthday that you didn’t have a biological clock.”
“I’m going to hang up now,” Sarah said, setting the very well-mixed bowl of ingredients down on the counter with a thump.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“Then loan me the dress. The green one. I’ll pick it up on my way home from work, okay?”
Sarah punched the thick dough into shape, then rolled it into a flat, quarter-inch thick sheet. She took her bone-shaped cookie cutter and tried again. These had to turn out right. She was out of dough, out of pumpkin and out of patience.
She set the timer and quickly fed and walked the animals so she could leave early for a shower. Sarah held her breath when the timer went off, her stomach a knotted mess. Success? Or another waste of money she could ill afford...
Pippa and Benny followed her around the kitchen, staying just out of tripping range.
Opening the oven door, she was greeted with a nice pumpkin pie smell. “So far, so good,” she said, setting the tray on the stove top.
“Golden brown, nothing burned.” Her heart raced with anticipation. “If they taste good, we might have a winner!” Benny danced for all he was worth and Pippa spun herself round in circles until her tongue hung out.
Carefully lifting one of the corner treats, she breathed a sigh as it came up without
crumbling. Solid, not too moist, but not like rock either. She broke off a corner and put it in her mouth. Franco had been right about the honey—it added just enough sweetness to get past the rye. Adding the flour gave it a nice texture. The tiny amount of molasses added a little spice.
“Ready guys?” Sarah turned to her taste-testers. “This is what you’ve been waiting for!” Benny gobbled his treat and raced around the table like a greyhound. Pippa swallowed, looking for more. Feeling very proud of herself, Sarah cleaned up the kitchen, got the dogs in the car, and went home to shower, a plastic container of treats for her mom’s dogs, for her puppies, and for Bella’s Paisley.
She was at her apartment in ten minutes, including her stop for Guinness. She’d decided to pick up the dress last so that she’d get less dog hair all over it.
Her mom, however, surprised her by dropping it off just as Sarah got out of the shower. Since she had a key, she’d let herself in and waited on the couch with Benny and Pippa.
“I’m here,” her mom called once the shower turned off.
Sarah shot a panicked glance at the clock. It was seven already and she still had wet hair.
“Thanks, Mom.” She walked out of the bathroom, down the hall to her living room. Her apartment was tiny, but cozy, and she liked the things she’d collected. Sea glass, driftwood, netting. Antique ship parts, like a brass bell and a captain’s wheel, were part of her décor. She might work a lot, but the ocean was her home and spending time on the beach was her sanity.
“You smell nice,” her mother said, getting up to kiss Sarah’s cheek. “Sorry if I was too bossy, honey. I worry.”
“I know.” She looked her mom over. Blonde, curvy, cute in blue glasses and a cobalt dress. “You could have changed from work, Mom.”
“Pah. We have to stick together. You know, Sarah, if things are too tight that you can move back home with me. I won’t bother you, I swear.”
“Things are not too tight.” Her shoulders hitched. She wouldn’t survive moving home.
“You have a bag of carrots in your refrigerator.”
“Lazy shopping. Stop peeking!” Sarah looked around. “Where’s the dress? Oh! I made dog treats from scratch.”
“You made dog treats?”
“Yes,” she said. Why was everybody so surprised she could operate an oven? “It took a few tries, seven, actually, to get it right, but here.” Sarah handed over the plastic container she’d put together. “Taste.”
Her mom sucked her lips in as if tucking them away. “Me? Don’t you mean for Bert and Ernie?”
“Mostly, but I want you to try too. It won’t hurt you.”
As if it was on pain of death, her mother took a bite. Then smiled with pride. “Amazing! Sarah, these are great. The dogs will love them.” She put the treat back in the container and closed the lid. “I hung both dresses up in your room, so you could choose.”
“Thanks, Mom. If you don’t mind letting yourself out? I’m running late.”
“But!”
“No buts. If you stay, I’ll second guess everything, and I just want to be myself.”
Her mom scowled. “Fine. But you will look beautiful. How could you be anything else?”
*****
Franco looked at the clock. 7:35. Maybe Sarah had talked herself out of coming. She couldn’t miss the tension between them. What started out as anger had felt dangerously like something else. Desire. Part of him hoped she wouldn’t come.
He scowled out the dining room window overlooking the ocean. Various shades of blue, from aqua to turquoise, shifted with each wave. The Atlantic Ocean soothed his soul like none other, and he’d been all around the world. Nothing was as beautiful as the Gold Coast of South Florida. Maybe he could take Bella snorkeling this weekend?
Get his mind off of a certain blonde save-the-world type who seemed to be under his skin. Bella would be disappointed that Sarah was a no-show, so ice cream at Sloan’s might be in order.
“Sarah!” Bella squealed.
Sarah? How had she gotten up? Bob was supposed to buzz when they had company arrive. And while he’d been nursing his bruised ego, his daughter had probably sat on the intercom.
“Daddy, Sarah is here! She brought me a puppy!”
“What?” Not one of those mutts from her shelter? Not good.
“A stuffed animal,” Sarah said with an easy laugh. He sucked in a breath at the sight of her, breezing into the kitchen with Bella leading and Paisley at her heels. “You should have seen your face just now.”
Sarah Murphy was a knock out. At least, it seemed that way to his sucker-punched gut. Dressed in a silk sleeveless dress that teased her thighs, in a green that looked like sea glass, she shimmered with vibrancy. Her hair fell past her tanned shoulders in soft, loose waves that made her look like she’d just come from the beach.
“Do you surf?” he blurted.
“I try, but there’s not much around here.” She pointed out his window to the water below. “I snorkel, and dive. Paddle board. Do you like water sports?”
“Love them. Have you been kite boarding?”
“No, but it looks like so much fun, skimming the top of the ocean like you’re flying!” Sarah handed over a six pack of Guinness. “My friend at the pier goes out all the time.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Dark beer is my favorite.”
“I didn’t know what else to bring,” she confessed. She looked around the kitchen and dining room. “I mean, you have everything.”
Not everything, he thought, opening them each a beer. She was a ray of sunshine that he hadn’t realized he’d missed.
“The steaks are marinating,” he said. “Care for a seat?”
Bella climbed up to the barstool and pointed to the array of small dishes on the counter. “We made brie and crackers and some olives and everything that would prepare our pa…” She scrunched her nose. “Our palate, for our steak.”
Sarah laughed easily and joined Bella at the bar. Franco wished she’d stayed next to him. She smelled fresh and he noticed the back of her hair was slightly damp. “Do you like to cook, too, Bella?”
“Daddy’s teaching me. He used to cook for the girl with purple hair.”
Franco smiled.
“Who?” Sarah asked.
“She’s talking about Kelly Osbourne. Not a client, but I did cook for some famous people.”
“Noooo!” Sarah said, reaching into her purse for a plastic container. “No way are these going to be good enough, then. Dang it. I thought I had a shot at impressing you.”
Franco accepted the container. “Dog treats?”
“They’re good,” she said, popping an olive in her mouth.
He accepted her challenge, admiring her courage. Her sass. He took one and sniffed. Paisley waited patiently at his feet, while Bella clapped her hands. “I want to try!”
So Franco broke the treat into three parts, but he tasted it first. Pleasantly surprised. Then Bella, and finally Paisley.
“These are great, actually. Did you write down the amounts you used of everything so that you can recreate the recipe?”
Sarah’s eyes sparkled. “Hmm. Sort of. I’m no doctor, but I have the handwriting of one. We’ll see if I can decipher what I wrote tomorrow.”
Bella said, “These are yummy, yummy. We get to have the oatmeal cookies for dessert!”
Franco heated the grill as the two ladies sat at the bar. He never felt self-conscious when cooking, but tonight he was very aware of his audience. He tossed his head back, getting his hair from his eyes without touching it.
“Can I help?” Sarah asked.
He liked her, he decided, uncertain if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Nope. Bella and I made a salad, and rice with garlic and tomatoes. The meat is so tender it will only take ten minutes. I hope you brought your appetite.”
Glancing up as he tossed the first steak on the sizzling grill, he met her gaze, which was just as hot. Just as sizzling. This was not khakis Sarah.
T
his Sarah met him on an elemental level and threatened to set his well-structured world off balance.
“I sure did,” she said, lightly nibbling another olive without releasing him from her spell.
Chapter Seven
Franco looked sexier than any television kitchen chef as he turned the savory steaks. Dark, waving hair loose around his chiseled face, his brown eyes almost black in the kitchen shadows.
She’d felt his interest heighten as he carefully checked her out. Not to be rude, but just, well, looking. Sometimes out of the corner of his eye, sometimes straight-on, with a smile.
It was nice. Too long since the last time she’d even cared about being thought attractive. She might not wear dresses, but she lived in bikinis during her time off so she had well-earned color from years in the sunshine.
“Smells wonderful,” Sarah said. “The last time I had steak was on my birthday a few months ago. We went to Chatham House. I even ate lobster tail.”
“How old are you, Sarah?” Bella asked, scooting her stool closer to Sarah.
“It is not polite to ask a lady her age, princess,” Franco interjected.
“I’m thirty,” Sarah answered. “Maybe it’s okay if I ask how old you are?”
Bella nodded, her eyes serious. “Okay. I am seven. Daddy is thirty-eight.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry, Daddy! Is that a secret?”
Franco laughed. “No secrets here. Obviously we couldn’t keep one, anyway,” he said to Sarah. “Come on, ladies. The table is set, the salad ready. Sarah, would you mind bringing the rice from the oven?”
A man in the kitchen was sexy, plain and simple. But this was not a date; this was a meal as a thank you from a grieving man and his daughter. Sarah had no business checking out his ass as he put the steaks on each of their plates.
But it was worth the peek. Jeans were made for this man’s physique. Slim hips, lean waist, fitted t-shirt. She curled her fingers around the dish.
Setting the ceramic rice casserole on the trivet in the center of the table, she asked, “Here okay?”