“Can tomorrow be my turn to be sick?” Harley said. Sue patted his back.
“I can make you some soup if that will make you feel better,” Sue said. Harley smiled a sloppy grin.
“I think I’ll be going before it gets awkward here, too,” Lou said. She picked up the crate and headed to Al’s.
When Al opened his apartment door, Lou’s first impulse was to take a step back. He did not look good. Sweat dripped from his face as he clutched a tattered blanket around his sloped shoulders, looking as if he could crumple into a ball at any moment.
“Oh my God. You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Lou said. He had sounded awful on the phone, but she wasn’t expecting the sweaty, pathetic figure who opened the door. How could he be pale and flushed at the same time? All business, she walked past him into the kitchen to set the overflowing crate down. She came back out and placed a gentle hand on Al’s sweaty forehead. Her lips pursed and she looked him sternly in the eye. “Get back to bed. You shouldn’t be out.”
“But—”
“Go. I’ll bring up some soup.” She pointed toward the stairs and waved her hand, indicating he’d been dismissed.
Lou walked back into the kitchen. She stopped in the middle to assess the facilities. Clean, nice copper, quite a lot of cookbooks—always a good sign. She saw the electric kettle and teapot. She filled the kettle and plugged it in. While waiting for the water to reach near boiling, she unloaded the crate and rummaged around the kitchen for supplies with the efficiency and comfort level of someone used to a well-stocked kitchen. By the time steam began leaking out, Lou had put the shepherd’s pie in the oven to stay warm and filled a tray with food to bring upstairs. Once she poured the hot water over the waiting tea leaves, she climbed upstairs to her waiting patient.
As she crested the top step, Lou looked at Al propped up in the center of his comfy-looking bed. His bed stand held a pile of scrunched tissues and a scattering of Walgreens cold medicines. Poking out from his closet was an open suitcase overflowing with rumpled clothes. She’d help him get that in order.
Lou set the tray across his lap and settled on the edge of his bed. He coughed a few times—it looked as if it hurt.
Al sat up a little and said, “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Of course I didn’t, but what’s the point of sleeping with a chef if you don’t get some of the perks?”
Al winced a little.
“You okay? What is it? Are you achy?”
Al shrugged.
“Can I get you some medicine?”
“I took some right before you came.” His voice sounded a little scratchy. Lou touched his forehead, and Al closed his eyes as if enjoying the sensation.
“It must be starting to work. You feel cooler.”
Lou brushed her fingers down Al’s temple and cupped the side of his cheek. His blue eyes seemed to plead with hers, begging for an answer to a question he didn’t ask.
“Eat. You’ll feel better,” Lou said.
Al looked down at the laden tray and cleared his throat.
“This looks amazing. Is that clotted cream? And marmalade?” He picked up a scone gently, then cupped it between both hands. He looked up at Lou, eyes wide.
“It’s still warm.” He split it open, spread a generous amount of jam over one half, and topped it with a glob of cream.
• • • • •
Al chewed slowly, retreating to his childhood. If he closed his eyes, he could smell his grandma’s house. On Sundays after church, his family would visit and have tea and scones fresh from the oven. After, he and Ian would chase her chickens and play jousting where their parents couldn’t see.
“These are amazing. Did you make them?”
“Harley made the scones and jam, and a loaf of soda bread downstairs. Sue made the clotted cream and helped with the soup and shepherd’s pie.”
“There’s shepherd’s pie? Where?” Al scanned the tray as if it were hiding between the tea and soup.
Lou chuckled. “It’s staying warm in the oven. If you’re still hungry after this, I’ll go get you a plate.”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“Everyone deserves a little pampering when they’re sick. I’m sure you’d do the same.”
“Of course. I’d bring you mountains of cheese and frozen custard and coffee with too much cream and sugar.”
“And stacks of eighties teen movies?”
“The very best ones.”
“See? You’d spoil me, too.” Lou ran a hand through his hair. Al leaned into her gentle touch. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll take the tray away.” Lou retreated back into the kitchen.
Somewhere between anxiety and guilt, Al fell in love. Lou had descended into his false den of airborne disease to coddle him back to health with a basket filled in heaven. It wasn’t just her spoiling him. With her business struggling, she couldn’t afford to get sick, yet here she was tidying his home and starting his laundry.
He could hear her emptying the dishwasher. This had to stop. He moved the tray so he could roll out of bed, picked it up, and carried it downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, Lou was no longer emptying the dishwasher. She stared at the wall next to the entrance, just a few feet from where he stood. Briefly worrying she’d had a seizure of some sort, he recalled what hung on the wall and blushed.
Lou noticed Al’s pinkening. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but this may be the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” Al took his place next to her so he could admire the collection with her. Now that at least one secret was out, he wanted to share the moment.
“It started out as a random impulse buy at the museum, and now it’s a nice bit of our history. These are all the best times I’ve had in Milwaukee. They’ve all been with you.”
She turned to him, eyes shinier than usual, then leaned in to softly kiss his lips. Her lips were warm and dry.
“I’m sick.” Al tried to sound like he meant it.
“I don’t care.” Lou took a step closer to wrap her arms around his neck. Al responded immediately and eagerly, pulling her so tight that her breath whooshed out.
“You’re sick. You shouldn’t be tiring yourself,” Lou mumbled between kisses.
“If this is what sick feels like, I don’t ever want to feel better.” Al lifted her, wrapping her strong legs around his waist, and carried her upstairs.
• • • • •
“I think we’ve discovered a miracle cure,” Al whispered.
Al and Lou were buried deep beneath his soft, cozy covers, savoring the lazy freedom of afternoon sex. They lay on their sides, he behind her, arms wrapped around her rib cage.
“Perfect timing. I need a new career.”
“Mmmm, I don’t think so. I’m not sharing.” Al nuzzled her neck, trailing kisses from her shoulder to her ear, then back down. Lou giggled. She could feel it releasing all the tension, the uncertainty. The afternoon sun filtered through the tinted glass; a warm breeze whispered from somewhere.
“Bit selfish, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. But you are my miracle.”
Lou bathed in the compliment. Maybe it was all just teasing, but his words warmed her more than a thousand extravagant gifts.
“Hey, what’s with all the cookbooks? I didn’t know you were so into cooking.” Al twitched a little. Had she pried too much? Lou rolled over to look Al in the eyes, laying one leg over his waist and resting her hands on his chest, running her fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean to be nosy—I thought it might be fun to cook dinner together sometime.”
Al’s normally cool eyes heated and his voice choked a little when he said, “Sure.”
“You feeling okay?”
Al nudged her with his hips. Lou’s eyes widened and she leaned her head back to laugh. Al took the opportunity to trail hot kisses down her throat.
“I think I’m starting to feel ill again.”
Lou pulled his chin
back up to her mouth in response. Right now, she couldn’t be happier that her restaurant was failing.
• CHAPTER NINETEEN •
Al checked his watch, grabbed a cup of tea to go, and walked out the door. He stepped onto Water Street, where the sky was a pristine blue. A crisp fall breeze ruffled his hair while the sun warmed his face and birds chirped. Snow White had never experienced a day as spectacular as this. He half expected pigeons to swoop down and airlift him to work. Except for that ominous black cloud of guilt spreading on the horizon.
He loved Lou. He loved her warm brown eyes, her freckled nose, her quick smile. He loved her gentle, slightly callused and scarred hands, the hands of an artist. Every aspect of his life had improved since meeting Lou, yet he couldn’t enjoy any of it.
His hands shook at the thought of her discovering his secret identity, spilling hot tea onto his wrist, an inadequate penance. His insides clenched with guilt over the pain he had caused her and the additional pain he would cause her if she ever learned the truth. Without a solution, that cloud threatened everything Lou had helped him discover. He couldn’t be the cause of more heartache in her life. He needed to stop that cloud from taking over her life, too.
• • • • •
“Lou got lucky last night,” Sue’s voice said in a singsong tone.
Lou propped the back restaurant door open to let in the refreshing fall breeze. After months of sweltering kitchens, the chilly air lifted her spirits. Or maybe it was waking up in Al’s arms; he really did seem miraculously recovered. She pulled on her chef’s jacket and joined Sue at the prep station.
“How could you possibly know that? I just got here.”
“You look like a white shirt under a black light—all glowy. Couldn’t wait to rub it in my face, could you?”
“I can’t help that you and Harley haven’t figured it out. Do you need a diagram? I can draw one up for you.”
“Bite me.”
Both women started laughing. It felt good after so many months of stress and uncertainty. Sue elbowed Lou and said, “Seriously, all good?”
Lou’s face softened, then softened some more, followed by a dreamy sigh. She looked at Sue. “Real good.”
“Barf . . . if you got any sappier it’d smell like a Pine-Sol commercial in here.” Harley’s voice broke Lou’s dreamy mood.
“Oh, Harley, let her enjoy the honeymoon phase. It’s not often Lou has a lucky night.”
Cough. “Morning.” Cough. Lou batted her eyes at Sue.
“You wench.” Sue hugged her tight. “I’m so happy for you.”
Lou gave Sue a scrunched-nose smile. “How’s prep coming?”
Sue’s face fell like a soufflé taken out of the oven too soon. Harley emerged from his corner to stand beside her.
“Okay, now I’m concerned. What happened?”
“Two bussers called to quit today, Alison gave her two-week notice, and only the Meyers have reservations.”
“Well, it’s only a Wednesday. It’s never a busy night. I’ll help bus tables if needed. Who’s scheduled to wait?”
“Billy. He’s the only waiter left.”
“So it’s just us now.”
Lou sighed, not because employees had quit, but because she knew they had to. Business just wasn’t there at Luella’s anymore. The restaurant industry ran on tips—preferably cash, thank you very much. No customers, no tips, no employees.
“That’s right. Sam quit last week—he got a job at the new steak house. He should make some good money there. What about you two? Where have you applied?” Lou asked.
Harley looked down to study the floor mats, but Sue looked directly into Lou’s eyes.
“You know damn well we aren’t looking. We’re here till you close the doors. Harley volunteered to wait tables if needed.”
Harley’s head snapped up. “I did not.”
Lou smiled at Sue’s ribbing. She always knew where to poke him. “The horror. I don’t think we’ve come to that yet. But can you imagine a customer’s face with Harley thundering up to them?”
“I don’t thunder.”
“Of course not. You’re a vision of grace and delicacy in an ink-stained wrapper,” said Sue.
Harley studied his tattoos. “I like my ink.”
Sue gave him a soft smile and slipped her hand into his. “So do I.”
Lou had never seen any form of affection between the two before. It was about time! It felt right that they would make a connection. Big, burly Harley with the heart of an angel, soul of a teddy bear, and Sue with her backbone of titanium, spiked with rusty nails, ready to take on any threat to those close to her.
She needed them to find work soon. She couldn’t afford to pay them much longer, never mind paying herself. She’d lost ten pounds because she only ate one meal a day and walked everywhere to avoid spending money on gas. At least she had it to lose.
“Seriously, you two, you need to find jobs. Soon.”
“Are you firing us?” Sue asked.
“I don’t want it to come to that. Just start looking, please.”
• • • • •
“I can’t do it, mate. I love her,” Al said to John in a hushed voice so their coworkers couldn’t hear.
“Whoa.” John put his hands out to stop Al’s insane ramblings. “Six months ago you couldn’t wait to get out of town. The women were ugly, the men stupid, and don’t get me started on what you said about the food. Now you’re in love and want to live here forever?”
“Right, right. I was a douche canoe, as you so eloquently said once. I know better now.” Al picked up his pen and started shaking it, creating the illusion of a rubber pen.
“You’re glossing over the fundamental flaw in the plan, dude. You sunk her restaurant. I don’t care if you make Fabio look like a crude Neanderthal and she forgives more sins than the Pope, she ain’t forgiving you for this.”
Al sat back in his chair, defeated.
“You’re right. This will crush her. I can’t do it. John, I’m going to lose her.” Al looked at John, eyes begging him for rescue, a way to protect Lou’s heart from his thoughtless, arrogant words so many months ago.
“Well, maybe you can keep it from her, like a CIA job.”
“Be serious. I like my job; I’m proud of my writing. I need to share that with her.” He started tapping his pen on his forehead, as if hoping to dislodge a brilliant solution.
“Maybe you can get a job somewhere else as a food critic.”
“No. This is the job I want.” Al sat up. “Wait, maybe . . . you might have it. I need to talk to Hannah.” Al got up and rushed toward Hannah’s office.
John leaned back in his chair. “Happy to help.”
• • • • •
Al paused outside Hannah’s office to catch his breath and organize his idea. He looked in the door to see Hannah talking on her phone, feet up on the desk, and at least three pencils stuck in her bun. She held up a finger to let him know she saw him there and to wait.
He leaned his back against the doorframe, which provided support so he could channel his energy inward. He couldn’t stop tapping on his legs. The idea could work. Lou knew he wrote, knew he appreciated food. With a few strategic comments, an article or two, he wouldn’t have to live a lie anymore. Hannah hung up the phone and focused her attention on the twitchy man in her office.
“What can I do for you, Al?”
Al strode to stand directly in front of Hannah, set his hands on her desk, and leaned forward. He spoke precisely and clearly. He didn’t want any confusion.
“I want to kill A. W. Wodyski.”
Hannah blinked at him, but her features didn’t betray her disappointment.
“Is this your two weeks, then?”
“What? No. Why would you think that?”
“Now I’m confused. Why would you want to destroy your alias? You don’t have a column without him. A. W. Wodyski writes the food articles. You are A. W. Wodyski.”
&
nbsp; “Hear me out. If A. W. dies, then you need a new critic. Perhaps you hire a freelancer you’ve used a few times named Al Waters. He’s young, British, and has a unique take on Milwaukee’s restaurant scene. Having him on staff adds an international flair to the food section, and maybe the paper as a whole?”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed as if she could see him clearer through a more focused window. “Is this about that chef you like?”
“Is it a problem if it is?”
“You can’t review her. And you’ll lose your anonymity if you use your real name. The Internet makes it too easy for people to find pictures of you. So, are you doing it for her?”
Al’s gut response flew to his tongue. Of course he wanted to make these changes because of Lou, but it wasn’t just that. It was more than protecting her from the hurt of discovering he was A. W. He’d been living a lie since he arrived. He’d pretended to be a local, yet had loathed everything about Milwaukee. Now Al knew differently. He didn’t want to be anything else but himself: a cheese curd–loving, festival-going, Brew Crew fan who adored the most incredible chef in the city. He couldn’t really be himself if he hid behind a pseudonym.
“It’s quite a bit more than that. I don’t want to hide behind A. W. anymore.”
Hannah assessed his sincere eyes, his pleading posture. His heart stood bare to her in his face.
“I need to think about it. What you’re suggesting hasn’t been done here. There could be some serious repercussions if the truth surfaced. There’s more to your plan than A. W.’s existence.”
“I’ll take that for now.” Al turned to leave, then stopped. “Thank you, Hannah—for at least considering it.”
• CHAPTER TWENTY •
He’s here,” Lou said after peeking out the pickup window. “I’ll come back if we get any more customers.” Sue nodded and continued scrubbing the oven. During downtime, which they had a lot of, they worked to get the equipment shiny and bright for the inevitable auction. It was just a matter of time before the bank pulled the plug on her cash flow. She could only skip payments for so long. Lou pushed through the swinging doors and walked to greet Al in the quiet dining room.
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake Page 17