Cooking Up Love

by Gemma Brocato

  Pippa smiled engagingly. “And I can’t wait to sample your cooking. I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay in Granite Pointe and run Taste. My kids were happy to hear it, too. According them, the scrambled egg sandwiches there are ‘way better than the ones at the drive-through.’ That’s high praise from a pair of five-year-olds.”

  Jem’s mouth popped open in surprise. “Wow! Twins. I bet they keep you busy. Are they in school yet?”

  “No, I decided to wait until the next year. They’re ready, but I’m not. I want to squeeze in as much time with them as possible before I have to become a responsible parent.” Pippa laughed.

  Pippa hadn’t said anything about a husband helping with that decision, and although Jem was curious, she refrained from asking.

  “Jack said you’re a music therapist,” she remarked instead, smiling at Jack’s pretty sister. “That’s an interesting career choice.”

  “I’ve loved music since I was a kid and my mom would sing Moon River in the kitchen as she worked. The song from Breakfast at Tiffany’s? She never got the words right, but it didn’t stop her from singing.” Pip and Sam both smiled at the shared memory of their childhood. “When I walked through the door after a bad day at school and heard her singing, my ugly mood disappeared. I told my band teacher about it and he couldn’t resist turning it into a teaching moment. Clinical studies have proven the effective use of music in treating patients with brain injury and age related ailments like dementia. Oh, God, I’ve turned this into a lecture.” Pippa shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly before continuing. “I graduated from the MT program at Berklee College in Boston. Since the kids were born, I’ve worked freelance in the field. But I like singing for an audience too, which is why I always jump at the chance to sit in when the band needs me.” Pippa gestured toward to trio setting up at the front of the bar.

  When they saw her looking their direction, they waved her over.

  “I’m on in five minutes. Sound-check time. I’ll be back between sets to get better acquainted.” She stood up, playfully punched Sam on the shoulder and walked toward the stage. She exchanged a quick word with Jack as she passed him, and they both looked over at Jem. Jack’s warm grin was palpable across the room, causing Jem to blush. Fanning the sudden heat in her cheeks, she turned her attention back to the menu the waitress placed on the table.

  Jack joined them at the table, setting two full shot glasses and a bowl of cut limes in front of Jem and Resa with a grin. Slipping his hand through Jem’s curly hair, he eased her head back for an unexpected kiss. Holy cow! It was just a quick brush of his mouth against hers, but electricity sparked from her lips to stomach. He grinned and began pouring glasses of beer out of the pitcher that had been delivered to the table.

  “Red promises me this is the best tequila he has in the pub,” he said. “Since Resa said tequila is tequila, I hope it will be okay.”

  Resa smiled, grabbed the shot in front of her and tossed it back. “Yep, it’ll do,” she said, turning the glass upside down on the table and reaching for a lime wedge.

  Jack edged his chair closer to hers. “I’m in the middle of a fierce game of darts, but I’ll be back shortly. Why don’t you order us some dinner?”

  “What do you want?” she rasped, still breathless from his rousing kiss.

  “Sugar, I’m not choosy…about my food. My woman, I’m a little fussier about,” he said, running his hand over her jeans-clad knee. “You look great, by the way.”

  “Um…thanks,” she replied, thrown by his “my woman” comment. She gazed at his face as his eyes roved over her body, clearly approving of what he saw.

  “And like clockwork, there it is again. You can’t resist checking me out, can you?” she challenged him, struggling to control the curve of her lips upward.

  “Oh, no, sugar, I’m not checking you out. I’m appreciating. No man could resist. Not when the picture is so damned pretty.”

  Jack’s gaze moved sensually, and oh so slowly over her face and body again. The look in his eyes made Jem wish his hands were doing the roaming. She lowered her eyes to his smile, which she’d describe as sultry on a female. On Jack, it was powerful enough to make her breath hitch in her chest. She lost herself in the moment, everything else fading from consciousness.

  Until she heard his name shouted across the room, from near the pool tables. Jack cleared his throat, breaking the spell between them.

  “BC! Come on, man. You’re up,” Jack’s partner bellowed.

  “I guess it’s my turn,” he said. He pulled his hand off Jem’s knee, scooted his chair back, stood up and walked away without a backward glance.

  Jem watched his retreating back as bar noise intruded again. She turned to face Resa.

  “Millie wants to know what are you ordering.” Resa gestured toward the hovering waitress.

  Jem rapidly glanced over the menu. “I’ll have the salmon kabobs with a salad, and how about a medium-well cheeseburger and waffle fries for Jack.”

  She reached for the beer glass and took a long drink. The band started playing before she could say anything and she and Resa turned in their seats to watch Pippa perform. Her clear, fluid alto voice floated over the ambient noise of the pub with grace and strength. Most conversation had stopped, and all eyes were riveted on the band. Pippa sat on a three-legged stool, lightly tapping out the beat on her thigh as she let the music move through her and out over her audience.

  Jem’s head dipped in time with the music as she looked toward the dart players. Every other eye in the place might be directed toward the stage, but Jack boldly looked at her. The heat and promise of his gaze brushed her sensuously from across the room, banishing the stab of uncertainty she’d experienced when he walked away so quickly. She couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. Jack’s heated look was so sexy, Jem was certain she would remember it until the day she died.

  It was Jack’s turn to throw, so he faced the dartboard, concentrating on the target. Jem watched him release the dart—appreciating the way his shirt stretched across his back as his arm flew forward. As he talked with his teammate, Jem glanced around the rest of the bar, checking it out.

  The pub was typical, with neon beer signs, two green pool tables and of course, the darts area. Railings framed the game area and customers relaxed against the polished wood, watching the players and sipping drinks. Jem loved to people watch, and had never found a better place to do it than a bar. She scanned the patrons and was pleasantly surprised when she recognized a familiar face. Grant stood alone in the sea of bar patrons. She raised her hand in greeting, but froze when he scowled at her. Jem shivered a bit in the coldness of Grant’s stare. Then she blinked and the scowl disappeared from the man’s face. He nodded stiffly at her, drained his beer, and walked toward the exit.

  What the heck was that about?

  The waitress distracted Jem from the attorney’s odd behavior by delivering their meals. The band moved on to another song, and Jack smiled warmly at her before throwing another dart. A loud cheer erupted from the spectators as his dart hit the green space surrounding the bull’s-eye. He looked at Jem and she easily read his lips as he mouthed, “You’re my good luck charm.”

  Jem laughed aloud at his cockeyed grin, while he accepted the thumps of congratulations and high fives on his score. As much as she would prefer to get up and go stand near Jack, she knew he’d be back over shortly, so she turned her attention back to Sam and Resa.

  She caught the thread of the conversation easily. Resa had asked about Pippa, and Sam was sharing his sister’s backstory.

  “Pippa met Mark Sanders in high school and they were joined at the hip ever since. They got married right after college graduation, before Mark reported for active duty with the Army. Pippa stayed here in Granite Pointe, instead of moving on base.”

  “Geez,” Resa said. “That must have been tough on them.”

  “They made it work. Mark would come home on leave as often as he could, and when he was gone, Pippa wo
rked extra hours at her job and gave piano lessons to earn money for plane tickets to wherever he was.

  “About six years ago, he deployed to Afghanistan for the second time. The overseas assignments were the hardest on Pip. She kept up a brave, army-wife front in public. But she worried every second he was gone. He couldn’t have been in Afghanistan more than eight weeks on his second rotation when Pippa emailed him an ultrasound picture of the babies she was carrying. They were both over the moon in spite of how geographically far apart they were.”

  “This doesn’t have a happy ending, does it?” Jem pushed her plate away, suddenly not very hungry.

  Sam shook his head sadly as Jack sat down, reaching for his own beer.

  Jack answered as his sister sang a popular, sweet love song. “Mark was in a convoy moving medical supplies from their base to a refugee camp. The lead truck ran over an IED—an improvised explosive device—killing everyone in it. Mark’s Humvee, right behind the lead truck, was disabled by the blast. They evacuated and took cover behind some rocks. Mark was struck by enemy gunfire before reinforcements could arrive, killing him instantly.”

  Tears ached behind her eyes and swallowing was difficult as Jack continued his story.

  “Her pregnancy and the health of the twins were the only things that kept Pippa sane through the next few months. When Mason and Mia were born, looking so damned much like Mark, I don’t think there was anyone in Granite Pointe who didn’t cry. A steady stream of visitors came to the hospital, offering babysitting, transportation, meals, hand-holding, whatever support Pippa and the kids needed.”

  Sam picked up the story. “I asked her once how she resisted the urge to give in, to curl up and completely detach? She said if Mark was strong enough to leave her when he preferred to stay home—to serve his country when they needed him, then she could be strong enough to raise their children to understand what his sacrifice meant. As hard as it was for her, her resolve was an amazing thing. And of course, we were here for her, any time she needed.”

  Jem looked toward Pippa with respect, meeting the singer’s eyes. Pippa had to know they were talking about her. Jem couldn’t help smiling at Jack’s very strong, very brave sister. Pippa’s answering smile bonded them in a way she had never experienced before.

  “I’m not sure my family would do the same for me,” Jem remarked, shaking her head as Jack offered her a fry. “We weren’t close before my brother died. After, it seemed like my mom crawled into the grave with him. I honestly can’t remember her ever being there for me the way this community circled their wagons around your sister. And, my big, strong dad, who knew the answers for everything, had tears in his eyes more often than not. Peter’s death was something he could never fix.”

  Resa reached for her hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. “Everyone deals with their tragedies differently. I’m just sorry your parents couldn’t be there for you.”

  “Do you suppose,” she mused, looking at Jack and Sam, “the Kerrigans could adopt me? I think I’d like to be part of this family.”

  Jack laughed. “I’m afraid at this point the only way in is marriage.”

  Jem went very still beside Jack as he casually dropped the comment about marriage. She could tell by the sudden expectancy she sensed in his posture, he knew the magnitude of his comment the minute he said it. They weren’t actually dating yet, so where could that possibly come from? And why did Jem’s heart leap at his meant-to-be-humorous comment? It might have been easier on both of them if he hadn’t dropped his large, warm hand on top of her thigh at the precise moment he said it. She must have misinterpreted his meaning. That was the problem with an environment like this. Too loud to hear well—too impersonal to explore casual statements.

  Jem risked a look around table, gauging everyone else’s reaction to what Jack had let slip. The silence at the table was deafening, but apparently only to her. Resa laughed at Sam as he saluted Jem with his beer. “Either marriage or indentured servitude. Or maybe the promise of an excellent breakfast treat each morning for Mom and Dad for the rest of their lives.”

  Good. That was good. Except, as she glanced sideways at Jack, the look on his face sucked the remaining air out of her lungs. Then he smiled, a slow, seductive suggestion on his lips that morphed into a grin at her gasp. His hand slid toward her knee and slipped to the inside of her leg, his touch delicate and electric at the same time as he deliberately squeezed and slipped his fingers toward the tender skin behind her knee.

  Thank the merciful God she was wearing jeans, instead of the skirt she’d considered wearing. If his hand had found bare skin, she’d be straddling his lap, inhaling him in a long, slow kiss, encouraging his hand higher on her thigh, until it hit the bull’s-eye.

  She moistened her lips and heat ignited in his eyes as he followed the path of her tongue. She had to stop thinking about his hands. Now. Her gaze traveled to his lips, then returned north and he blinked.

  Just like that, the moment was over. One second, the fire in his eyes scorched her, his hand branding her knee. Then, it was gone. His eyes were back to friendly and his hand fell away when she shifted in sudden confusion. But Jack had already turned his head at a shout from across the bar where the dartboard was available.

  “You want to play?” he asked. Oh yes! She’d love to play. Then he clarified. “Darts. You know how to play darts, don’t you?”

  Resa started to say something, but stopped short as Jem’s foot connected with her shin under the table.

  “No,” she admitted, making an immediate decision to tease Jack a bit over his skeptical look. “But I’d love for you to show me.”

  Jack stood up and pulled back her chair. As she stood, she sent a squelching look, followed by a mischievous grin at Resa, who bent over to rub her injured leg as Jem walked after Jack to the dart board.

  Jack pointed out a mark on the floor and explained. “Okay, you have to stand behind this line when you throw. I don’t know how basic I need to make this, so let me point out the target is that circle on the wall.”

  “Oh.” Jem breathed, struggling to keep the humor out of her voice over his marginally condescending attitude. She looked forward to showing him just how much she did know about darts. Eventually. After his lesson. “That round bull’s-eye thingy there, right? That’s what I aim for.”

  “Right. You get three darts to throw and scoring is based on where they land. After your turn, we add the score and then subtract it from the goal.”

  Jem kept the expression on her face sober and eager as Jack explained the scoring system. The game of oh please show me everything you know was highly entertaining. If for no other reason than because she knew she’d end up with his arms around her as he demonstrated the proper throwing form. And she meant to enjoy the lesson to the fullest.

  “Sounds easy enough. Can I try?” Jem held her hand out for the darts. After Jack dropped only one onto her palm, her eyebrows raised. “You said I get three.”

  “Let’s see how you do with this first one,” he said, as he put his hands on her shoulder and turned her toward the target. “We might need to work on your form. Keep your arm straight and throw from the elbow, not your wrist.”

  Sam and Resa walked up at this point to watch the lesson, setting a fresh pitcher of beer and glasses on the railing behind them. Jack moved over to stand next to the pair while Jem gazed at the target and shuffled around a bit, getting comfortable at the line on the floor. Throwing a smirk in Resa’s direction, she turned toward the target and let her dart fly. Jem held her breath until the dart hit home where she’d aimed, six inches below the bull’s-eye. Resa had just taken a sip of her beer and Jem smiled as her friend struggled to swallow it over her laughter. Jack and Sam exchanged a look and a sigh.

  “Well, that sucked, didn’t it?” Jem asked, a smile lurking on her lips.

  “BC, you’ve got your work cut out for you on this one. She don’t know darts.” Sam laughed.

  Jack walked toward her with a smile. “
Sugar, that was…sorry, it was just pathetic. The dart is supposed to hit the board. You’re bending your wrist at the last second. It isn’t racquetball. Let me show you.”

  Coming right up behind her, he settled his hands on her hips and pushed, squaring her up to the target, igniting a slow burn in her stomach. He moved closer, his chest leaning against her back, and inserted his leg between hers, moving her right foot to adjust her stance. The tangy, pleasant, hot-guy scent wafting over her shoulder made her dizzy. Leaving a hand lingering on her hip, he splayed his fingers over her tattoo, warmth seeping through the soft fabric of her clingy top. He moved his other hand to her elbow and nudged it upward until it was parallel to the floor. She licked suddenly dry lips when he stroked his fingertips across the tender flesh on the underside of her upper arm to perfect her alignment.

  “You have to look where you’re throwing. Looking at Resa won’t help you find the target.” He moved the hand from her hip to her chin and turned it so she looked directly at the dartboard. Taking a step closer to her, the entire miraculous, hard length of his body pressed against her back, sending shivers tingling up her spine. She turned her head a fraction of an inch, knowing if she twisted any more, her lips would be close enough to kiss his chin. He smiled into her eyes, then pushed her chin back toward the wall.

  “When you throw,” he murmured huskily, stirring her hair with his warm breath, “you use your elbow to direct the dart. It’s a smooth, stroking motion, like this.” He demonstrated, holding her arm by her wrist, his lean fingers wrapped around it to keep it from bending. The action of easing her arm forward and back caused his chest and hips to surge seductively against her. Her heart hiccupped in her throat each time he bumped against her backside. She had to wonder who was seducing whom at this point.

  “Ready to give it a go?” he asked, deliberately nudging her one last time, giving his question a very suggestive double meaning.

  Incapable of speech, Jem looked right into his heated blue eyes and nodded. He used his left hand to turn her chin toward the target once again, released her and stepped back.