Her hand hit the doorknob. The door creaked as she opened it, but not loudly enough to hide the sound of her coming tears.
“A chance...” he protested.
She wouldn’t cry. She worked in a man’s business and there was no room for tears. “That’s what today was. And you have your sister to comfort.”
“Who’ll comfort you?”
“I don’t need comforting in my decision.” She pulled the door open, firm in her resolve.
“I’m going to keep coming by Babka.”
“I won’t bar you.” He reached out for her again, but she sidestepped the risk of his touch and pulled the door wide open. She didn’t look at him. “But I think you need to leave now.”
The last thing she saw before she shut the door was Dan standing on the building’s stairs, his bright blue eyes wet with tears. She closed the door before she could change her mind.
* * *
DAN’S CURSING AND the heavy thump of his footsteps reverberated around his mind as he went quickly down the flights of stairs to the street. He’d been so certain he was right about sticking to his opinion, but something in his feelings for Tilly had changed when she’d talked about the insurance money and living her dreams. He’d stopped thinking about a relationship with Tilly as a “what-if” and started thinking about her has a “had-to-be.” It wasn’t fair. Just as he was ready to beg her to let him make it up to her, in bed, on the blog, shouting from the Willis Tower, if that’s what it took, she decided he wasn’t worth it.
I’ll always wonder. Did you fix the review because you wanted to or because you wanted me?
He stopped, his hand on the inside door of the apartment foyer. He could turn around. She still wanted him. The thin cotton of her dress hadn’t been enough to hide her hard nipples, even as she was holding the door open and telling him to leave. He could push his case, touch her, force her body to overcome the objections of her mind. Manipulation was in his blood. He was his father’s son.
But despite what Mike insinuated, he wasn’t that much of a scumbag. He was close, but close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades. Fortunately for him, this was neither.
He wasn’t looking for a night of sex. One night was no good, unless she kept wanting to have sex with him, again and again. Forever. With food involved. Long walks on the beach. Sunset drives, walks on the beach and every other sappy relationship thing he could think of.
Showing up at her door empty-handed would win him a short-term goal, but she would wake up the next morning and question his motivations. He needed to convince her mind, body and soul that he understood her hurt and accepted responsibility.
He depressed the door handle and exited the apartment building. The outside door slammed with a bang.
Dan grimaced as he closed his car door. He needed to figure out how to keep Tilly talking to him. She wouldn’t have sex with him if she wasn’t talking to him. And, if he had to choose, he’d rather the talking than the sex. He wanted both, but he’d put himself in a position where he might not get either.
Meiers don’t make mistakes. Meiers make cheese. Mike’s mocking voice bounced around the inside of the car, giving him a headache. He’d scoffed at the comment but it was true. Dan Sr. was unforgiving of mistakes, no matter how small. A single dropped ice cream cone made a five-year-old a klutz, and Dan Sr. had punished his son by not attending a year’s worth of wrestling matches after one serious goof when Dan was twelve.
Daniel Jacob Meier Sr. was an ass of historical proportions. Dan’s car started in agreement before he sped down the side streets back to his house. His parents’ relationship had been daily proof of what a relationship based on judgmental comments and emotional manipulation looked like. He’d told himself repeatedly that he wasn’t like his father and, when the chips were all out on the table, he wasn’t. It hadn’t been luck that Dan Sr. had married a woman with money; he’d seduced and impregnated her as an investment opportunity, not a moral in sight. If his wife and family had suffered from it, well, Dan Sr. didn’t consider anything he did to be a mistake. Dan Jr. at least knew when he’d messed up, even if he was late to the parade.
And what he’d done to Tilly was the single biggest mistake of his life.
With Beth’s phone call that afternoon, Dan had been able to put two and two together and realize why he had been so hard on Babka. At Babka, his dinner with his mom ruined, he’d seen red. But he hadn’t been angry at Babka, he’d been angry at what his mother had been telling him. Beth had offered to get married and start having kids. Surely she’d have a boy sometime and Dan Sr. could pass the company on to his grandson. Dan Sr. had said he’d think about it. While his mother had been telling him all of this, his father had sent him a text message offering him the company again.
His old man couldn’t be thinking too hard about Beth’s offer if he’d texted his son a job offer. While his mom complained about her ruined dress and the fight between her daughter and husband, Dan had heard his father’s voice booming in his head. The part of Dan that was just like his father, the part he tried to pretend didn’t exist, had taken over and written a nasty review. Even without the family problems, his first dinner at Babka would’ve been horrible, but he would’ve gone back at least twice before writing the review.
After the one night, he should’ve written about how Tilly and her staff had handled a ridiculous situation quickly and efficiently. A cat had gotten in her restaurant. Unusual, but not unheard of. Cats were sneaky creatures with amazing abilities to worm themselves in where they weren’t welcome.
A customer had brought a dog in. Bad form on the part of the customer, but the dog had been tiny and Tilly was in the kitchen. It would have been impossible for Tilly to know about the dog and hard for her staff to notice. And when disaster struck, Tilly had handled the restaurant, her customers and her staff like a pro. Even the salty food was understandable, if Dan was right about someone purposely wrecking Tilly’s plumbing. If she had a saboteur and he had been recognized... He didn’t even have to be recognized as The Eater for a saboteur to oversalt his food. That person only had to recognize him as Dan Meier, food writer.
No, the glaring mistake in this entire episode was that Dan Meier, part of the no-mistake Meier family, had made a mistake. He could continue to insist that dining was an experience and that the bad time he’d had at Babka meant Tilly deserved the bad review, but his reasoning was worth a pound of manure to a city boy. Not once since that fateful night had he seen anything about Babka to give him doubts about the restaurant and Tilly’s capability. And worse, he’d probably have seen his mistake earlier, if he hadn’t had a conversation with Dan Sr. about a reporter retracting a story. Either he or Beth completely escaping his father was a fantasy.
Even if he removed his desire for Tilly from the equation, had he returned to Babka at least twice more before writing the review—the way he should have—and been served the kind of food he’d been eating for lunch and the kind of service he had seen provided, he would have written a glowing review. He might have mentioned the cat incident in his review, but mostly to laugh the scene off as an amusing story highlighting what a professional Tila Milek was.
Dan parked his car behind his sister’s impractical MINI.
Inside, every light in his townhome was on and the TV was blaring a Brewers/Cubs game, but Beth was sound asleep on the couch. Whatever fight Beth had had with their father had to have been terrible.
But family problems weren’t what occupied his mind. Instead of thinking about Beth and his father, Dan was hoping to God Tilly would forgive him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TILLY’S BUTT HAD just hit the seat of an armchair and she had set her tea on an end table next to a box of tissues when the buzzer to her apartment rang. She looked hard at the intercom, wondering who it was and if she should answer it. She should sleep. Or work. Or something other than sit on a chair with a cup of tea and cry.
But nothing else was going to happen. She was too keye
d up with emotion to sleep and too exhausted to work. The worst of both worlds. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Dan’s presence interfering with her concentration at work anymore.
The buzzer rang again and Imbir stuck his head out of the bathroom, where he liked to sleep in the sink, to see what noise was disturbing his beauty rest. After her cat gave both her and the buzzer a dirty look, Tilly struggled out of her chair and depressed the call button.
With her luck stuck on bad, Tilly wasn’t certain what to expect. It would be fitting if the person ringing the bell was a burglar making sure no one was home before they tore apart her apartment looking for jewelry she didn’t have. A robbery would certainly give her something other than Dan to think about. Or maybe her luck was changing and it was Publishers Clearing House with her millions. An oversize check would also give her something other than Dan to think about.
Who was she kidding? Today wasn’t going to end her nonstop thoughts about Dan; it was only going to make them sadder.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. I saw your light was on.” Renia’s voice crackled through the intercom. “I’ve had a rotten day, let me up.”
Tilly pushed the door buzzer to let Renia through. How rotten could her day have been? Her business was successful and she hadn’t just dumped the only man she’d ever really been interested in. Or had to worry about a saboteur, if Tilly’s theories about the ongoing problems at Babka were right.
Cracking the door open for her sister, Tilly went back into her kitchen to pour another cup of tea. She was adding sugar and milk when Renia walked in, looking as fresh and snug as a well-made bed in her pearl-gray pantsuit with her hair up in a tight bun, not a wisp in sight. Tilly sighed. After a long day outside, her hair was stringy and matted and she had a spot of red Romesco sauce on her yellow dress she hadn’t noticed until after Dan left. It probably matched her bloodshot eyes and she could pretend she was color coordinated.
Renia walked into her single room and they sank in unison into Tilly’s armchairs.
“So, why was your day so bad?” Maybe it would make her feel better to know her perfect sister had problems, too.
She let her mind kick her brain for even thinking such a thing. She didn’t want her sister to have a bad day, but she’d had so many recently it was hard to remember other people had them, too.
“No wedding.” Renia put her cup on the end table to rub the bridge of her nose.
“What do you mean no wedding? If there wasn’t a wedding, why are you still in your work clothes?”
Renia sank back into the cushions, her words buried in the hands over her face. “Well, first the groom showed up drunk. Not hungover—drunk. Pissed. Pickled. Wasted. If I could think of more terms I would. He was as drunk as a skunk.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
An eye peered out at her from Renia’s manicured hand, a perfectly done French manicure without a chip in sight. How does she do it?
“I mean it doesn’t sound great, but it could be worse.” Tilly tried to sound helpful.
“I’m not done.” Renia dragged her hands over her face, stretching her skin down the otherwise perfect facade. “The best man was too drunk to hold him up. Then the bride was late walking down the aisle. I would love to say she looked like a dream, but she was more of a nightmare. Her eyes were puffy and red, her hair had fallen out of its updo and she had hot-pink lipstick stains on her dress.”
“How’d the lipstick get on her dress?” The rest of it was mostly understandable given a drunk groom, but the dress?
“Ah, yes.” Renia squeezed the bridge of her nose again. “Well, the groom had taken her dress to his bachelor party and the lipstick stains were from the call girl his best man paid for. Later I heard something from her maid of honor about the bride wanting the groom to face his crime.”
“Okay. That’s bad.”
“Oh, I’m not done.” Renia collapsed against the back of the chair in an elegant sprawl. “The bride walked down the aisle with the lipstick all over her dress, the groom at the altar swaying to and fro, with the rabbi having to stabilize him every few swerves. It was completely ridiculous.”
“And everyone was going to go through with this?” What rabbi would let a couple get married when one of them was obviously drunk?
“I was wondering the same thing, trying to decide if I should take photos or not, when the bride got a whiff of her groom at the altar. She got so mad she tossed her bouquet at him and then ran back down the aisle.”
“I’m still wondering why you didn’t get off work until now. When did the wedding start?”
“Five. It was supposed to be a beautiful afternoon ceremony outside. The bride was about an hour late getting down the aisle before this mess broke loose. Not only did she run off but the best man took off after her calling, ‘I told you he would hurt you like this. I would never do this to you.’ I was stuck with the groom, who alternated between crying and trying to kiss me.” Renia leaned her head back against the chair and talked to the ceiling. “He smelled like Chanel No. 5.”
And she still looked perfect after her horrible night. Tilly couldn’t look perfect ten seconds after she dressed and put on her makeup. “Where was his family when he needed to be consoled?”
“They were yelling at the bride’s parents over who was going to pay for the fiasco. The bride’s parents said it was the groom’s fault since the groom slept with someone the night before and the groom’s parents said it was the bride’s fault since she ran off.”
“Why did you come over here, then? I would’ve gone straight to bed.”
“I knew you would make me feel better. You’d still be up, probably having a cup of tea, and you might even have news that would remind me my day could have been worse.”
Any other night Tilly could’ve shrugged off her sister’s comments, but tonight she just held back tears.
“Oh, Tills, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I meant, at least my career setbacks are private, not splashed all over the papers and posted on Twitter. I’m here—why don’t you tell me about your day?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Liar. You’re still mad about Renia’s comment.
“Then why are your eyes bloodshot?”
“I’ve decided work and romance don’t mix after all.”
Renia squeezed into the chair with Tilly and put an arm around her. “I think there’s something you’re not telling me, but I won’t push you. Why don’t we sit here and drink our tea. We can wallow in our own bad moods together.” Renia let her sister go and sat in her own chair.
They sat together, silent except for the slurps of tea before Tilly spoke up. “I had a date today.”
“What?” Renia’s full attention had turned now to Tilly. “With The Eater?” She looked intently at Tilly, shock mixed with curiosity on her face.
“You don’t have to look so surprised he would ask me out.”
“Oh, Tills, I’m not surprised a man wants to date you. I’m surprised you said yes. He was clearly interested in you at the demo. I watched him and he didn’t take his eyes off you, not once. Your food looked good, but I think he wanted you served up on a platter, not the pierogi. Is he going to write another, fairer review?”
“Even if he did, what would it matter?” The tears she had been saving to enjoy alone came through in a flood. “How would I know he was being truthful and not just writing it because he liked my underwear?”
“When did he see your underwear? No, never mind. Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out this time.”
Tilly began to talk because she needed to and because sisters were there to listen. At the end of her long story about men, cats, restaurant reviewers and toupees, Tilly held out her hand for her sister to take. Renia gave it a squeeze and didn’t let go.
“My life was fine until Imbir nearly ruined my restaurant. I know I’m often a klutz and I seem out of control, especially when compared to you, but I knew where I was at B
abka.” She sniffed and tried to get control of her voice. “My food was excellent. My staff, kitchen and front-of-house worked together like a team. We had regular customers. I was busy. Now I’m a bit lost at Babka. A restaurant fails when its chef begins to doubt. It’s like throwing chum in shark-infested waters. The food is still excellent and the staff are still working together, but the customers aren’t as regular. I’m still busy, but a lot of it is being busy with worry, and I wish Dan was a different person. No, I wish he was the same person—I just wish he hadn’t written a review I can’t get past.”
Renia’s thumb stroked the back of Tilly’s hand and she sighed with release. She needed to get all this emotion and pent-up anxiety out to someone who would listen and care.
“The worst part is that I worry I’m betraying Babunia when I wish Dan could be in my life. She was the only person who believed in my dream. What does it mean about my respect for her legacy if part of me wants to throw it all away for a man who might not believe in me?”
“Tills, Babunia wasn’t the only person who believed in you. Mom was, well, she had her own problems after Dad, Leon and Dziadunio died.” Neither of them mentioned the years after the accident that Renia had spent trying to be the wildest teenager in Chicago and her eventual exile to Cincinnati, though the thought of them weighed heavily on both their minds. Renia never allowed talk of her past mistakes. The moment of silence and Renia’s stopped hand on Tilly’s spoke for itself. “Maybe Dan can do something to show you that he’s for real. But if he can’t, you’ve given a relationship and a job a try together. Maybe it’ll work next time, with someone else.”
Tilly wanted it to be this time, with Dan, but she only said, “When did you get to be so smart?”
“I spent an afternoon fending off a drunk groom’s advances at the remains of his own wedding. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, lecture their sisters.”
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