Cooking Up Love

by Gemma Brocato

  Panic clouded her vision and she wished her words back in her mouth. God, what was she doing? Was she really pushing away this wonderful, charming and sinfully gorgeous man? Shivers raced through her at the knowledge that she might be more damaged than she thought.

  Her regret about her feelings had to be obvious, but she prayed the resolve she felt was as unmistakable. Phil’s infidelity and harsh words had shaken her normal self-confidence. She hadn’t lied when she told Jack she didn’t trust herself.

  She dragged her eyes away from his and whispered, “You should be grateful. Hell, you should be running out the door, thanking the gods you escaped involvement with someone as messed up as me. I’m not going to change my mind. Please make this easy on both of us, Jack. Walk away.”

  His challenging look told her he thought she was wrong; his grip on the kitchen chair in front of him turned his knuckles white. Looking across the barrier of the table, determination clearly readable in the set of his lips and tension in his shoulders, Jem knew she hadn’t convinced him.

  He glanced away and rolled his shoulders. “Everyone has issues to deal with, Jem. I’ve found it’s easier if you share with someone, and deal with them together. As far as Phil’s ridiculous judgment that you’re too tall and built like a boy, the man’s a douchebag. I say we fit. You fit perfectly in my arms. I’ve never been attracted to any boy the way I’m attracted to you.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, that didn’t come out quite the way I meant it. I can be whatever you need me to be: contractor, friend…lover, I hope. When you get to know me better, you’ll know how patient, how determined I can be.” He closed his toolbox and pulled on his jacket as he spoke. “For now, I’ll settle for business associate, and hopefully, friend. I don’t know you, but I like you. And this might be an understatement, but I’m attracted to you. More than attracted.” He glanced over his shoulder at her a last time as he walked through the kitchen door. “And this, between us, this attraction…this heat? It’s a long way from over.”

  * * * *

  Before he left, Jack helped her haul her boxes and suitcases up the stairs to the apartment. A long travel day and her conversation with Jack had left her feeling out of sorts, and she jumped in the shower, standing under the spray in the steamy bathroom for a long time. Even though it was early evening, she opted to pull on pajamas once she dried off. She wanted to be comfortable as she unpacked boxes and settled into her new home.

  Calling Resa to let her know she’d made it safely, she’d described her conversation with Jack. Her friend’s response was predictable. Resa yelled that now was not the time to push handsome men away. Didn’t she know rebound sex could be better than make-up sex? Resa gave her permission to indulge her inner freak and get it on with Sexy Contractor Guy. Jem hung up in a much better frame of mind. Resa could always make her laugh. And think.

  She switched on the light in the kitchen and opened a can of soup. Leaning against the counter sipping a glass of water as the soup heated, she spied the brown envelope she’d tossed on the table earlier. She set the glass aside and ripped it open as she sat down. A single key dropped in her hand. No letter, no cryptic note to decipher. No explanation.

  “Wait a minute. There was a letter from Caro.” She remembered shoving it, unread, into her laptop bag in the city. She jumped out of her chair and hurried down the hall to the living room to retrieve it.

  Returning to the kitchen, she adjusted the stove to simmer and dropped into a chair at the table, staring at the familiar handwriting. Caro used to send her silly cards all the time. Mostly, they were just-because cards. Caro had never needed a reason to reach out to people she loved. Jem often wished she possessed the same trait. Flipping the envelope over, she slid her thumb under the sealed flap and eased it open. She pulled out a single sheet of paper and started reading.

  Darling Jem,

  I’m writing this just minutes after the doctor pronounced my death sentence. I’ve come down with an illness that has stumped the medical minds of Granite Pointe and Boston. Whatever it is, the doctor told me I can measure my time in days and hours—not months or years. He’s advised me to get my affairs in order. You know I’m an optimist, so hearing him say there is no cure—no hope—was hard to accept. It was almost as difficult as making the decision to ask the doctor to keep this secret with me. I didn’t want you worried or sad. I’d like to think that keeping this secret won’t make you unhappy, because I’d rather you celebrate the full life I’ve had. But I know you too well.

  The words swam as Jem’s eyes filled with tears. She brushed at her cheeks to keep them from falling on the paper. It was just like Caro to keep her illness private. She never moaned or complained about how unfair life was. But she should have shared this burden.

  I take comfort in the fact that I’ve lived life better than most people I know. I have loved, and been loved. I’ve been happy more often than I’ve been sad. I’ve had my share of adventures—some good, others horrible. My deepest regret is Peter’s death. I won’t get into details, except to say it could have been prevented—I should have prevented it. I would have, but I was so in love at the time, I was blind to what happened around me. But Peter did die, and so did my love affair. And for a time, I felt as dead as ashes because of what happened.

  The day I answered the phone and it was you calling to discuss a class is the day I started to live again. It means so much to me to have you back in my life. If I had a daughter of my own, I would’ve liked her to be like you. I have always considered you the daughter of my heart.

  Before I die I have to tell you I’ve left documents about the part of my life that led to Peter’s death. That horrible, senseless accident haunts me even now. I won’t tell you where, because I know you’ll find them. These papers will shed new light on the “accident.” The documentation I collected was damning, and those involved have gotten aggressive and frightening in their attempts to retrieve to it from me. I trust you’ll do the right thing and gain justice for Peter.

  Please, Jem, don’t be sad for me. Don’t waste your time grieving. I’d hate that and you know it. Sweep your problems and troubles away, like you would a cobweb. Enjoy your life, celebrate it, and think of me fondly, darling girl, as I have always thought of you.

  The signature on the letter was a flourishing C, just as it had been on every one of her letters. When she’d finished reading it a second time, Jem dropped her head in her hands and cried quietly. For her aunt, for her brother and for herself. Caro had lived a good life, and Jem was grateful for the time she’d gotten to spend with the aunt she idolized. Her parents hadn’t spoken to Caro since her brother had been killed. When she’d called with the sad news of Caro’s demise, they’d refused to attend the funeral. She had been dead to them for too long. And to the end, Caro still tried to make amends.

  Once her grief subsided a bit, Jem straightened and reached for the key Jack had found taped to the back of the stove. Caro had known Jem would find it. Gazing at the key, she suddenly realized exactly what it would open. Her chair fell over when she surged out of it. Grabbing the letter, she raced toward her bedroom. The chest she’d found buried under the sink was in the closet where she’d left it. She sat down on the floor, inserted the key in the lock and twisted it.

  She felt like Pandora when she heard the distinctive snick of the lock yielding. Drawing a deep breath, her hand trembling, she lifted the lid, unveiling a packet of letters, tied with kitchen string. Thumbing through them, she saw Caro’s name on each envelope, but no return address or stamp. She put those aside to look through later, and reached back into the chest. This time she produced an accounting ledger. A brief glance told her it wasn’t for the café. She’d seen those books, and this journal was set up differently. There was also a book containing press clippings about the activities of an environmental group based in Granite Pointe, along with articles about Peter’s death, carefully pasted into place.

  The last thing in the box was a photo album. Turning the pa
ges, she saw the familiar, smiling faces of her brother and her aunt, standing next to a much younger and very serious Grant DuBois. They were at some sort of military-looking campsite.

  “Oh, look at you, Peter. You were so happy in this shot. Where were you? And what were you doing?” Jem rubbed her finger lightly over the images. “Are you together again in heaven? The Pollyanna part of me wants to believe you are.”

  There were others photos. Snapshots of Grant and Peter, mud smudged on grim faces, pictures of Grant looking very cozy with Caro. His hand rested on her butt in one shot and judging by the smile on her face, she didn’t care. “Holy cow! Caro and Grant were an item? I thought he was married.”

  In fact, she was certain Grant had been married the last time she’d visited. She’d seen him having meals in the café with an attractive woman. A memory tickled. “Although Caro usually disappeared into the kitchen whenever he brought the other woman by the café for a meal. I guess the affair was over and she was avoiding Grant.”

  Jem set the photo album aside and picked up the packet of letters. She slipped the top letter out of the binding, opened the unsealed flap and pulled out a piece of loose-leaf paper. Grant’s name crawled across the bottom of the page, spidery and scratchy. A scan of the date put the time six months before Peter died. Jem began reading the contents before realizing that Grant had written in extremely intimate details about his love for Caro. With a gasp, Jem quickly refolded the letter, and pushed it back in the envelope. She returned it to the stack, tossed the whole thing back in the chest and scrubbed her hand on her jeans.

  She rubbed her burning eyes and laughed. “Golly, Grant, you certainly live up to your image as a cover model for trashy romance books. Oh boy! Are these what you were looking for when you offered to help sort through Caro’s papers? Or was it the other stuff in here?”

  Picking up the ledger, she studied the information. Columns of debits and credits were listed in Caro’s distinctive handwriting, but none were attributed to a company or business. Judging from the other items she’d found with it, Jem concluded the ledger was an accounting for the activist operation Caro and Peter had belonged to. She recalled her brother saying the group seemed to have more money than most nonprofit organizations. Caro had worked as an accountant before purchasing the café, and the ledger indicated she had functioned as the group’s bookkeeper.

  “Well, I don’t understand what any of this means. Maybe Grant could help decipher some of it. Although, that might not be the best plan.” Jem laughed. She was developing a bad habit of talking to herself. “Caro must have kept this for a reason. Was Grant involved with Peter’s accident? I don’t seem to have any answers tonight. For anything.”

  She replaced the ledger in the box with the packet of Grant’s love letters, lowered the lid and relocked it. Picking up the two albums and Caro’s letter, her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the soup she’d left on simmering the stove. She dropped the books on the bedside table. She’d look over them again later, after she finally got her dinner. That, of course, made her think about Jack. If he were still here, she wouldn’t be talking to herself. She rolled her eyes. There was just no winning for her tonight.

  Chapter 9

  Jem’s days had settled into a pleasant routine. She spent each morning poring over recipe books, appliance catalogs and food and equipment suppliers’ websites. She also read as much as she could about Granite Pointe. The town had plenty of history and she wanted to be as informed as possible, in case any diners who happened into the café asked questions.

  She spent hours planning out potential menus, trying for the right mix for area residents and visiting tourists. She split her time between that and exploring historical sites in the area. Many of her customers would want to sample the hearty, satisfying fare New England was known for, so there would be plenty of it on offer. But her thought was to also provide a taste of home to visitors. One afternoon, she walked to the Chamber of Commerce to get statistics about where people traveled from to reach this corner of the world.

  Granite Pointe was one of America’s oldest, most storied and picturesque communities. Its main industries were tied to the ocean—fishing and sailing. Its harbor, ringed by rocky waters, offered protection and sanctuary to sailors. The midsummer Granite Pointe Race Week competition attracted people from around the world.

  Whenever she could, Jem walked around the town, and in the business district surrounding the café, introducing herself to her new neighbors. Most people she met offered condolences for Caro’s passing. They also encouraged her when they learned she would be testing a lunch menu. Several shop owners suggested types of fare they’d like to see included on the menu board.

  During the week or so before construction was to begin, Jack and Sam stopped by frequently, reviewing plans and schedules for the renovations. She’d fallen into a comfortable relationship with Sam, borne of their previous friendship. He always had a joke, usually at his expense, to bring a smile to her face and force laughter from her. His endearing charm and natural goofiness made him a good friend and great teacher. Often in the course of their frequent meetings, while they sat near the big picture window at the front of the café, teenagers would tap on the glass, lifting their hands in greeting with big smiles on their faces.

  As a grinning group of teens walked by this afternoon, Jem remarked on their passing. “Are you everybody’s favorite teacher at school? These kids wave and smile at you every day.”

  Sam, in the process of waving back at the kids, smiled. “I don’t know about favorite, but as one of the younger teachers on the faculty, I relate to the kids.”

  Jack snorted. “Sam, you know you’re a favorite. You have more kids going out for track this spring. Before you took over as coach for the team, old man Haslet never recruited enough students to make a team. You considered tryouts before deciding everyone would make it,” Jack said, rolling up the plans they’d been going over.

  “The football coach wants his players training in the off-season, so he’s forcing them to run. I’m willing to work with Coach Dempsey on his goals for the kids. Believe me, they go out for track out of fear of Dempsey, not liking for me,” Sam protested.

  “If you had been my tenth grade track coach,” Jem said, trying to keep the grin off her face, “I’d have gone out for the team. And I hate to run. I bet all the girls have a crush on you.”

  Sam blushed and Jem and Jack both laughed as they pushed their chairs back from the table.

  Her relationship with Jack was another story altogether. Jem’s attraction to him was growing at an alarming rate. Every time they put their heads together over plans, every time she got near enough to inhale his distinctive scent, she felt the strong pull of sensual energy throughout her body. When she caught sight of his lean fingers tracing pencil marks on the plans, or pointing out something he’d changed since the last time they met, she found herself breathless, imagining how wonderful those fingers would feel trailing over her body.

  But then she’d hear Phil’s grating voice, chanting in her ear about how unappealing she was. That no one with any sense would be attracted to her. Each time, it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water down her spine. She struggled to hold herself aloof from Jack’s irresistible appeal. If she didn’t give in to her attraction to him, then she wouldn’t miss him as much when he was done with his work in the café.

  But Jack wasn’t above reminding her, with heated glances and accidental touches, that what they could have together could be amazing. He capitalized on every opportunity to brush against her or touch her arm or place his hand at the small of her back as they moved through the café, discussing the changes they would be making, the warmth of the gesture searing her with sensual heat.

  Wrapping up their meeting, Sam made another brotherly jab at Jack. “BC, this time make sure the electricity is off at the main before you take a screwdriver to the wires.”

  “You’ll never let that die, will you?” Jack gritted his t
eeth.

  “Sure I will. When the sound of you screaming like a girl fades from my memory.” Sam rummaged through his briefcase as he said to Jem, “Dad told BC to disconnect some wires in a vacuum he was repairing. BC did what Dad said, but didn’t pull the power cord from the wall. He stuck a tool in the motor and, swear to God, sparks flew out of his ears.”

  Jack swore softly at his brother. “Shut up, Sam. I was twelve at the time. Dad never said unplug the cord. You know he felt bad about my singed hair and fingers. Maybe Jem would like to hear about the time you went swimming in Jackson’s Creek. How many leeches did Mom remove from your…butt?”

  Jem shuddered at the gross thought. “No, Sam, I don’t want to hear your leech story. You can keep it to yourself, please.”

  Laughter warmed Jack’s eyes, but he kept his face stern, a mock scowl marring his brow. Jem laughed at his expression as she reached over to touch his shoulder, turning the humor she saw there to something hot and primal. One corner of his mouth quirked, making it clear Jack was losing the battle to stay detached and above the good-natured jabs his brother tossed toward him.

  Sam began organizing and stowing the plans and paperwork scattered on the table, fishing for the permits they’d need to post in the window. He turned his gaze up to Jem when she returned with the tape for the job.

  “Listen, Jem,” he said. “Tonight is the community fish fry at the local high school. My students are serving the meals and cleaning up as a way to get service hours and generate some money for their class trip to North Carolina. Why don’t you come by? It’s open to everyone. It will be a chance to introduce yourself to more of your neighbors. You know, get to know us better.”

  Jem hesitated a moment, looking from Sam to Jack, who was busy rolling the blueprints and storing them in a long, cylindrical tube. “I don’t know, Sam. I’m not much in the mood to go out. I thought maybe I’d stay in and catch a classic movie on television. Get to bed early. My friend Resa is coming tomorrow to help me pack up the kitchen and get it out of the way before you start construction. Besides, I’d feel odd walking in to a high school cafeteria by myself.”