by Brandy Bruce
“Do you ever feel like you’ve been going through the motions for so long that you don’t know what’s real anymore?”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Their cousin Angelina poked her head in the office. “Leo, did you want to see me?”
“I did, but it has to wait, Angie. Talk to me after your shift.”
“Got it. See you later, Isa.” The door closed and Leo looked back at her.
“Have you seen Dad today?” he asked.
Isabella nodded. “Of course. I stopped by right before I came here.”
Leo didn’t say anything, but she knew what he was thinking. That her lack of faith had to do with their father’s debilitating illness.
“You don’t have to go over there every day, Isa. They have a trained nurse.”
“I’m a trained nurse.”
“I know you are,” Leo said. “And you’re an amazing nurse. But I think going over to Mom and Dad’s so much is starting to drain you.”
“I want to go. If something happens, it’s important to me to be there for him.”
“I can understand that because I feel the same way. But you need to have time for a life, too.”
“Hello? Did you hear me tell you I went on a date this morning?”
Leo smiled at her propensity to be sassy.
“I’m tired, I guess,” Isabella admitted. “I’m feeling a little burned out at the hospital. And yes, going to Mom and Dad’s every day wears me out. And even though I want to find someone, I’m really sick of dating. Remember that last guy I dated? The teacher who had a checklist for his future wife that he brought with him to our dinner date? And how awkward it was when he realized I only met two of his checkpoints?”
Leo laughed but started coughing when Isabella gave him the look.
“Right. I remember that. Very unfortunate.”
“I’m twenty-seven years old and I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted longer than six months. They just never work out. I get restless or the guy gets restless, or there’s not enough chemistry or…I don’t know. And I’m just tired of looking. You know, putting myself out there in the dating pool. Risking my heart. I’m not into it anymore.”
“You’re going to find someone, Isa. It’ll happen. You want to stop looking? Go ahead and stop. Hand it over to God and wait and see what happens. But the restlessness in you—I think it’s more than just being single.”
Isabella stood up and began to pace—nervous habit. When she realized she was doing it, she sat back down and hugged her arms around herself. “I’ve been going to the same church for what feels like forever. Well, I used to be going to the same church. I’m not going to pretend I’ve been there in months. I just feel like nothing changes for me. I’m always talking to the same people. I’ve been working as a nurse for years, doing the same job every day. I’m tired of my apartment. I’m tired of watching my dad’s health deteriorate and not being able to do anything about it. I’m tired of everything.”
Leo rubbed his chin. “So you need a change.”
“Yes, Einstein. Any suggestions?”
“Vacation?”
“I’m not comfortable leaving Dad right now. You know he’s getting worse.”
“I have an opening for a hostess position.”
“Leo, don’t even go there.”
“I was just offering! I’m trying to help. Maybe you should give this firefighter guy a chance. Go out with him. But let me meet him so I can intimidate him.”
“He goes into burning buildings for a living. Sorry, bro. I don’t think you’ll scare him.”
“Just think about it.”
Isabella sighed. “Okay. My life could use some spicing up.”
Leo reached over and touched her hand. “Give God a chance, too, Isa.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “You know I’m a believer, Leo.”
“I know you are. But I also know you’re not feeling it right now.”
“Sometimes I wish God would just do something drastic in my life so that I would know it was really Him. So that I would feel like He’s really and truly involved. Like He cares.”
“I used to feel that way, too,” Leo said. Isabella looked at him, surprised by his admission.
“What happened?”
“When I started looking for Him, I could see His involvement in every way—drastic or not. He’s there, Isa.”
* * *
For the next week and a half, Ethan thought and prayed over the idea of buying the café. He just wasn’t sure what to do. He’d chatted online with Isa every few nights but hadn’t felt able to broach the subject with her. He kept thinking of her tone and body language when she’d talked to him about her family’s restaurant endeavors. He also hadn’t had any luck securing another date with her, which troubled him.
It was time to make something happen. He decided to spend some time in the kitchen. Cooking and baking—his ideas of therapy. The kitchen in his studio apartment was small but functional, and Ethan had supplied it with excellent cooking equipment.
It had been months since his last cooking class at The Seasoned Chef. At the time, a guest instructor from France had surprised the class by teaching them to make an assortment of pastries. Ethan had liked pain au chocolat, chocolate-stuffed croissants, best. They were a perfect breakfast pastry in Ethan’s opinion.
He wondered whether Isabella liked chocolate for breakfast.
The question begged to be answered. Ethan rolled up his sleeves, deciding to dive into the laborious task of making a pastry that would impress Isabella Romano.
He checked his pantry to make sure he had the ingredients for croissants and then got to work mixing flour, sugar, yeast and salt. He poured milk into his stand mixer and added the flour combination, creating a large ball of dough. He ate leftover pizza and watched two movies while waiting for the dough to suitably chill. Folding the dough and making sure it was adequately buttered was time-
consuming. About halfway through the ordeal, Ethan had to stop to take his pain medication. He glanced at the clock above his stove, shocked that half the night had passed as he worked. But he didn’t mind. The feeling of rolling dough and the sight of scattered ingredients filling his kitchen counters energized him.
By the time the kitchen smelled of a blend of chocolate and warm, fresh croissant bread, Ethan sat at the kitchen table exhausted. He downed an energy drink, trying to stay awake, and then tasted the result of his efforts.
Ethan bit into the warm, flaky bread and was instantly lost in buttery layers, that is, until he stumbled upon the burst of deep melted chocolate.
It was better than he’d expected. He packaged several and left for the hospital, determined to make it there before Isabella’s shift ended.
* * *
Isabella checked the clock again. Five forty-eight Thursday morning. She yawned. The E.R. had been slower than usual. Slow nights were the hardest. She didn’t feel so tired when working amid the rush of a busy emergency room. Maggie had the night off, which made for an even quieter night for Isabella. She sifted through the paperwork in front of her.
I’m exhausted. I don’t want to be here right now.
She resisted the urge to glance back up at the clock.
“Isabella, you have a guest.” Isabella jerked her head up at Dr. Nichol’s statement. He winked at her. “The break room is free, if you want to offer him some coffee.” Isabella leaned to the side to see who was standing a few paces behind the doctor.
Someone with the makings of a firefighter.
She bit back her smile. Dr. Nichols walked away and Isabella sat back in her chair.
“Up a little early, aren’t you?” she asked.
He walked up to the desk and held out a paper bag. “Breakfast.”
Isabella acce
pted the bag and peered inside, inhaling the aroma of warm bread and chocolate.
“Where did you stop?”
“This is from the kitchen of Ethan Carter.”
Isabella looked up with delight. “Well, then. I can offer you some not-that-great coffee, if you’re interested.”
“If it’s coffee with you, Isabella, I’m interested.”
Isabella stared at him for a moment, enjoying the quickening of her heart rate at Ethan’s words. She liked his self-confidence.
He’s good.
“Come on, tough guy,” she said, motioning for him to follow her down the hallway. They entered the staff break room and Ethan sat down at the table while Isabella filled two foam cups with lukewarm coffee. She sat next to him and he pointed to the bag of pastry.
“Eat,” he insisted. She chuckled and pulled out the still-warm croissant.
“I should warn you, I’ll be completely honest with my assessment.”
Ethan nodded. “I’d expect nothing less from an expert like you.”
Isabella bit into the croissant and paused, appreciating the light, flaky texture and rich, buttery taste. The chocolate was obviously high quality, rich and delicious.
“Mmm.” The response was unplanned but completely accurate. Ethan’s smile reached his eyes.
“I assume that means you approve?”
Isabella took another bite before answering.
“So…why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you lead a secret double life as a pastry chef?”
Ethan laughed. “Don’t tell the guys at the fire station, okay?”
Isabella watched him, wishing for a moment that she didn’t always feel the need to hesitate. But experience had taught her that throwing caution to the wind rarely turned out well for her.
Still, he’d brought her chocolate for breakfast. Under different circumstances, that would have deserved a kiss.
“Isabella?” Ethan said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She lowered her gaze, hoping a blush didn’t creep up her cheeks.
“I’m thinking you’re better in the kitchen than I realized, Ethan. This kind of pastry isn’t easy to make. Who taught you?”
He sighed as though caught. “All right. I’ve taken a few courses at The Seasoned Chef.”
Isabella nodded slowly. “Impressive. But please don’t tell me you’re interested in owning your own restaurant someday.”
Ethan shrugged. “I’m a firefighter, Isa. If it weren’t for this injury, I’d be suiting up for work every night, just like you.”
Isabella finished the pastry. “Well, firefighter or not, you’ve got talent in the kitchen.” She could tell that the praise wasn’t lost on him. And that he enjoyed cooking and baking more than he let on. For some reason, the thought bothered her.
“Does chocolate for breakfast warrant something in return?” Ethan asked cautiously.
Isa tensed. “Like what?”
“Three questions answered.”
Isa smiled, the tension easing. She liked the fact that he kept surprising her.
“Ask away.”
Ethan scooted his chair closer to her and leaned in.
“Do you like me, Isabella Romano?”
Her heart seemed to skip a beat and the intensity in his blue eyes made her want to capture the moment and freeze it. He wouldn’t look away. And she was captivated by his straightforwardness.
“Yes,” she whispered. He leaned back with a satisfied smile and Isa knew he’d received the answer he’d wanted. She cleared her throat.
“Question number two,” she prompted.
“Are you happy?” The serious look in Ethan’s eyes didn’t waver. Isabella couldn’t breathe. She felt as if he were trying to see into her soul, as if he was searching for something.
And what kind of question was that, anyway?
“Why would you ask me that?” she kept her tone restrained, her eyes downward.
“Because I want to know you.”
She looked back up at him, unable to resist. “That’s a heavy question, Ethan. It’s not something I can answer over mediocre coffee in the staff room. But I promise you that I will answer it. When I’m ready.”
She liked that he didn’t push. His eyes were patient, interested but patient.
“Last question. Will you have dinner with me, Isa?”
Isabella felt her smile start way down inside her and work its way to her face.
“Not yet, Ethan Carter.”
His smile corresponded with her own, and Isabella realized that they were evenly matched. He liked the chase. And as much as she tried not to, Isabella liked it, too.
Chapter 4
Ten days had passed since Ethan brought Isabella breakfast. Ten days of chatting and flirting online and a few phone calls, but Isabella hadn’t yet relented on a dinner date. The truth was she hadn’t had time. Sunday afternoon she stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the situation at her parents’ home. She’d agreed to paint the living room for her mother. Her sister-in-law lowered herself to the sofa, her hand rubbing her swollen belly. Isa glanced over at her.
“Mandy?”
Mandy waved her off. “I’m fine. Tired. Uncomfortable. Enormous. But other than that, fine.”
Isa knew that at a week past her due date, Mandy wasn’t exaggerating. Uncomfortable was an understatement.
“I won’t be able to help you, Isa,” Mandy said apologetically.
“Don’t even worry about it. Just try to wait to have the baby until Leo’s back from the restaurant.”
“Unfortunately, I can probably accomplish that,” Mandy lamented. “Tell me about the firefighter.”
Isa shrugged. “He brought me chocolate pastries for breakfast last week. He calls me. We chat online a lot. I’m thinking about saying yes to a dinner date.”
“You know the fact that he’s brought you chocolate
pastry is a sign that he’s a keeper, right?”
Isa didn’t answer. She dipped a roller into the paint in front of her and started painting one of the walls in her parents’ living room. Her mother, the consummate decorator, would examine every inch of the wall, no doubt. It had taken time, but Isa had come to realize that her mother’s rather newfound need to redecorate parts of her home was in response to her inability to control any part of her husband’s health. And as someone who understood the frustration of being unable to control or help, Isa would paint the walls if her mother needed her to.
“You should go into the kitchen, Mandy. I don’t want the paint fumes to bother you.”
Mandy sighed and pushed herself up. “This little Romano had better make an appearance soon.”
“He’s an Italian. He’ll come when he’s ready,” Isa said, infusing her words with a flawless Italian accent and animated hand motions. Mandy laughed.
Isa painted until her arms ached and then went to check on her father. The Parkinson’s had so affected his body that he stayed mostly at home, venturing out only for doctors’ appointments. The medications that had helped restrain his symptoms for some time were starting to wane in their effectiveness. A visiting nurse came every few days to help and a live-in maid did most of the cooking and cleaning for her parents.
She tapped on the bedroom door before poking her head in. Her father reclined on the bed, watching television. His eyes brightened at the sight of Isabella. Isa smiled in response and entered the room.
“Hey, Dad.”
He jerked as he nodded at her. As usual, Isa stuffed the ache in her heart as far down as possible, plastering a smile on her face.
She walked to the windows on the far side of the room. The drapes were drawn back and in the distance, Isa could see the m
ountains. The room was both functional and completely beautiful. Soothing gray and muted yellow filled the space. A soft gray love seat sat tucked into a bay window. Windows, mirrors, vases filled with fresh flowers, a flat-screen television mounted on the wall—her mother had made sure that Gabriel Romano’s bedroom was more than comfortable. After enjoying the view, Isa moved to the bed, tucked a blanket over her father’s legs and kissed the top of his head.
“Tell me about you, Isa,” he said with effort.
“Gladly. It’s one of my favorite topics,” she said, kicking off her shoes and enjoying the smile that reached her father’s eyes. She hopped up on the bed and stole the remote, flipping through channels and talking about work, about Ethan and their breakfast date at the fire station, about everything, because she knew her dad just liked the sound of her voice. Eventually, she looked over and saw that he was asleep. Her throat was dry. She made her way to the kitchen, where her mother was inspecting groceries.
“Ana went shopping. She forgot zucchini.”
Isabella opened the refrigerator. “Mom, seriously, just call Leo and ask him to bring some over.”
Her mother shook her head. “Mandy left and Leo was meeting her at home. The baby will be here any minute. He needs to stay with her.”
Isabella poured a glass of lemonade. “How do you like the living room?”
Her mother washed a cluster of grapes before setting them in a bowl. “Beautiful. The color is perfect. I like the blue.” Her mother smiled at her. “Thank you, daughter.”
Isabella popped a grape in her mouth. “No problem.”
“Tell me about the firefighter,” her mother said with a knowing grin.
Isa rolled her eyes. “Who told you? Everyone keeps asking me about him! Why does everyone talk so much in this family?”
“You’re one to ask,” her mother countered with a chuckle. Isa couldn’t think of a comeback.
“Fine. He’s really good-looking. He’s tall. He likes me. He likes to cook.”
Her mother blinked in surprise. “He cooks?”
Isa nodded, taking a handful of grapes. “He used to cook for the firemen. And he bakes. He made me a chocolate croissant and it was fabulous.”