A Recipe for Romance

by Lara Van Hulzen

  Noelle looked him up and down. Oh yes, it was all good.

  “Get in here.” She motioned for him to come in since he still stood on the doorstep, arms open so she could read his apron.

  As she closed the door behind him, he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too.”

  Her eyes agreed with her statement as she looked up at him, but he could sense she still didn’t know how to feel about what was happening between them. He hoped their time together learning about pies would be the open door he was looking for to find out. After New York, he’d decided he wanted to pursue something with Noelle, but he didn’t know if she felt the same.

  “Come on in. I’ve got everything ready in the kitchen.” She motioned toward the small room to the right of the entry then went ahead as he followed. “Remember, pies aren’t my strong suit, but I’ll do my best,” she said over her shoulder.

  Wes eyed the living room and hallway that led to three doors, most likely their bedrooms and a bathroom, before stepping into the kitchen area with her. Maybe a grand gesture such as New York was a bit much for their first date. Although, Noelle had yet to act as if his wealth bothered her, or that her tiny apartment did either.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure. That would be great.”

  “I know this is nothing compared to what you’re used to, but the kitchen in the diner won’t have the space your family’s kitchen does so it’s good practice. I think it’s easier to work in a smaller space, myself. Everything within reach and all that, but that’s just me.”

  In jeans and a long sweater, she looked comfortable. Her feet were encased in blue socks with white snowflakes. Scenes of her wrapped in his arms by a fire on a snowy night filled his head again. Similar scenes had been doing that more and more the past few days.

  She smiled as she handed him a steaming mug. “Do you want to sit and go over the recipe? We haven’t had much time this round to talk. This week sort of got away from us.”

  “Is that bad?” Yeah. He’d admit it. He was fishing for positive feedback from her about their trip.

  “Not at all. Have a seat.”

  Two chairs sat on either side of a little table. She pointed for him to take one while she occupied the other.

  “Would you like to take off your apron? I would imagine it’s not that comfortable while sitting.”

  Wes looked down. He’d forgotten he had the damn thing on. Huh. Maybe he’d gotten used to wearing one. That thought sent a chill through him. Doing this Bake-Off thing for his dad was turning out to be better than he imagined, but he didn’t see himself in the kitchen a ton anytime soon. “I’m good. It’s not that bad.”

  Her laughter floated through the kitchen like a melody. “I don’t believe you, but okay. And thank you again. The trip to New York was amazing.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Their eyes met and based on the heat rising in her cheeks she was thinking of the same thing he was.

  “I’m not sorry I kissed you,” he admitted.

  “I hope not.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Would it be bad of me to admit that I was hoping it might happen again?”

  “No. I’m afraid I’d have to admit the same thing.”

  “Interesting.” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. The temperature in the room rose by at least ten degrees and it had nothing to do with the hot coffee he was drinking.

  “Maybe we ought to learn how to make a pie first.”

  Not the exact timing he had in mind, but he could be a patient man when the situation called for it. He nodded. “I’m ready. Teach me pies.”

  Noelle proceeded to show him the recipe, reading through the ingredients and then the instructions. It didn’t look too tough. The Caramel Banana Cream Pie she’d chosen looked as if it was more mixing and layering than anything else. However, Wes paid close attention. After seeing the guy at the last Bake-Off burn his cookies, he didn’t want that kind of embarrassment. The whole thing was giving him nightmares already.

  They moved from her kitchen table over to the counter and began. He liked the rhythm they settled into. She’d guide him but he was the one doing all the steps, not her.

  “You’re a good teacher.” He was cutting bananas into slices to place over the graham cracker crust they’d made.

  “Thanks. And you’re a good student. I can’t believe you never learned how to cook or bake though. Your mom never taught you, or Glenna, even how to boil pasta?”

  Her teasing flowed through their conversation like it belonged, and Wes waited for the knot to form in his stomach at the subject of his mother, but it never came.

  “My mom passed away a few years ago.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

  “She died of cancer. She loved it here in Marietta so she spent the last few years of her life here.”

  “And that’s why your dad wants to stay.”

  Funny how fast Noelle picked up on that, whereas Wes had to have Mike make it clear to him.

  “Yes. After she died he made Montana home.”

  She showed him how to combine the caramels and heavy cream in a small saucepan over medium heat. As he stirred, she continued their conversation where they’d left off, the whole scene flowing like a dance between them. “But you don’t want to make Montana home?”

  Whether she intended the question to be loaded or not, he wasn’t sure. But it was a fair one to ask.

  She stood beside him at the stove. With a small spoon, she scooped up some caramel and tasted it. Her “hmmmm” sent heat through him from head to toe. Her eyes met his, the answer to her question still not voiced. A small blob of caramel sat on her bottom lip. Before his brain could catch up with what his body was doing, he leaned down and kissed it from her lips. The only sound in the room was soft music playing, a man singing about how he could die a happy man with his woman beside him. Boy, wasn’t that the truth?

  Wes pulled back, appreciating the plumpness of her lips from having been thoroughly kissed, the sugary texture of caramel still on his tongue. “I didn’t want to be in Montana a few weeks ago, but I’m beginning to change my mind.”

  She blinked, her mind catching up with the fact that he’d answered her question.

  “You would really make Montana home?”

  Not ready to make any solid commitments, but falling harder and harder by the second for Noelle, Wes turned his attention back to stirring the caramel mixture on the stove. “It’s an option.”

  They continued with the recipe, the moment fading after Noelle realized the caramel was done and ready to pour over the bananas. Distracted by their task, they fell into a rhythm again of reading instructions and adding ingredients. As much as he’d like to kiss Noelle all night long, Wes was grateful for the time to get his head back on straight. Caught up in the moment of her asking about Marietta, not to mention the caramel on her lip that was begging to be licked off, he’d kissed her again and still had no clue what she wanted from a relationship, if she even wanted one at all.

  “...Franchesca thinks it will all be fine, but I’m not so sure.”

  Lost in thought, he’d missed the first part of what Noelle had said.

  “I’m sorry. I missed that. She thinks what will be fine?” He finished washing his hands and drying them on his apron. Noelle was putting the pie in the fridge to cool. She said it had to “set,” whatever that meant.

  “Franchesca found out who’s buying our building. She’s actually kind of excited about it. I guess it’s some fancy Hollywood director. He’s even coming to town this weekend. Wants to look at the property.”

  Wes prided himself on being able to mask his emotions, but hearing that Spellman was coming to Marietta threw him off. He’d seen the man not even thirty-six hours ago and he hadn’t said a word.

  Noelle closed the refrigerator and looked at him. He’d planned on talking to Noelle about the d
eal while they made pie. It was time. With all the information he needed, he saw the deal as good for all involved. However, this wasn’t the segue he’d had in mind.

  “His name is Ronald Spellman.”

  “What?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

  Wes put his hands in his pockets, the apron still tied over his neck and around his waist. “His name is Ronald Spellman. He’s someone my dad knows.”

  “You knew about this?” The way her voice rose caused the good feeling he’d had not long ago kissing caramel off her lips to fade into the background.

  “I did. But most of it not until recently.”

  She sat down in the kitchen chair again, the look on her face as if he’d slapped her.

  “Noelle. What is it?”

  “If you have to ask, then you’re not the man I thought you were.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Noelle sat at her kitchen table, staring at Wes. The apron he wore looked even sillier with his hands tucked into his pants pockets. Moments before she’d been lost in the pure heaven that was his lips on hers, the mixture of caramel and Wes a flavor she’d not soon forget. But now her mind reeled with what he’d just told her.

  How could he have known about the deal all along and not said anything? She had been blabbing to him each time they baked together, and even when he’d brought her dinner at the studio. He’d had ample time to enlighten her on details, but instead he let her worry and jabber on like a fool.

  The chair across from her scraped on the linoleum as he pulled it back to sit down.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, Noelle. But I wanted to have more details before I did. Adding to any rumors you had heard wouldn’t help things.”

  He had a point. But it was a flimsy one.

  “After I got here, my dad asked me to look at Spellman’s plans. They work in the same industry.”

  “You’ve known since you got here?” Her voice rose again, all grace she was ready to give him from his previous point now on its way out the window.

  “Not exactly. No.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table. Noelle could see how, even in an apron that said, “Real Men Bake Cookies,” the man could command a room. Everything in her wanted to be mad at him, and she was mad, but his countenance said that he was in complete control of the conversation.

  “I initially came to Marietta to visit my family. My dad asked me my opinion on the situation. He’s worked in broadcasting and television his whole life. He has some real estate, yes, but it’s not his strongest suit and he’s willing to admit that. He wanted my advice and I was more than willing to give it to him.”

  His eyes never left hers as he spoke. “When I first arrived, I had little time to look into anything because he volunteered me for this Bake-Off.” He motioned to her kitchen with one hand. He may have even rolled his eyes, but she couldn’t be sure, the movement was so brief. “By the time I was able to actually read through any documents, we’d spent time together and by then...” His hands were locked together in front of him on the table. He looked at them, his demeanor softening a bit. “By then, I felt it best to wait and not say anything to you until I had more information.”

  “And you think this is a good thing? This deal?”

  “I met with Ronald in New York. I’m not a fan of the guy, but after speaking with him, I think it could be good for Marietta.”

  Noelle’s eyes narrowed as her heart sped up in her chest. “You met with him while we were in New York?”

  Wes leaned back in his chair, the air of controlling the situation back in the lift of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. He was in full business mode. No emotion. No softness in his eyes. The blue was cold. Solid. The complete opposite of the deep color they’d been right before he’d kissed caramel off her lips. “I did.”

  She fought back the urge to cry. Not only had he made a fool of her by never admitting anything when they’d talked before, but the trip to New York wasn’t about her at all, or any feelings he might have for her. It was about business.

  “I see.”

  “What is it you think you see, Noelle?” His rigidity was beginning to irritate.

  She sat taller in her chair. “New York was about work. It wasn’t about thanking me for anything. It wasn’t about us.” She stood and moved to the sink. The ceramic of her coffee mug clanked as she rinsed it out and set it down. Whether the trembling of her hands was from anger or frustration she wasn’t sure. Maybe both. “What am I saying? There is no ‘us.’ I’ve helped you survive a silly Bake-Off. Nothing more.”

  She looked out the kitchen window. Well, if one could call it that. It was more of a two foot by two foot square above the sink. But it allowed her to see the Marietta Elementary School campus. A beautiful property with big trees and lots of space for kids to run and play. Her kids—her students. The ones she’d come to know and love.

  “Noelle.” The deep timbre of his voice moved through her, trying to break through the hurt, but she wouldn’t let it.

  “It’s okay, Wes. Really.” She turned to him, crossing her arms in front of her as armor, leaning back against the counter away from him. “I get it. You’re a successful businessman. You didn’t get where you are by making bad decisions, or letting your emotions get in the way.”

  “Noelle.” He leaned forward in his chair.

  “We had a lovely time in New York. Truly. I’ll always be grateful. But that’s your life and your world. Where you belong. You shouldn’t concern yourself with what happens here.”

  “I have every reason to be concerned with what happens here, and who things happen to.” He stood and stepped toward her. When their eyes met, she battled to keep the tears away. They sat on the edge of her lashes, threatening to fall, but she swallowed them down, along with her pride.

  “I had to make sure I had all the information I wanted before...”

  “I get it, Wes. I do.” She raised her hand between them to cut off his attempt to take another step closer. “You wanted control of the situation, and you got it.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not controlling anything, Noelle. I’m not even a part of this deal.” He ran a hand through his hair, the other he tucked again into his pants pocket. “You told me about some rumor. I figured out it was connected to my dad. I wanted to be sure it wasn’t bad for you, and in my opinion, it’s not. I honestly have no idea why you’re so upset. I was trying to protect you.”

  “Making me feel like a fool doesn’t protect me from anything.”

  “I never thought you a fool. You only shared with me what little information you’d been given.”

  “On a subject you knew much more about but failed to share with me. Wes, if I lose my studio...” Her arms still folded in front of her, she turned her head. “This is my life. This is what I want.”

  “You aren’t going to lose your studio, Noelle. I promise.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.”

  She looked back at him. “How?”

  “I told you, Ronald and I spoke in New York. He wants to change the facade of the buildings while filming but that’s all.”

  He moved toward her, now close enough to hold her, but held back, his arms by his sides. “I would never let anyone hurt you, Noelle.”

  “Too late for that.” The words spilled out, having the result she intended.

  Wes stepped back, business demeanor back in full force. “I understand.”

  He didn’t. There was no possible way he could.

  “I’ll let myself out.” He turned and left, the click of the front door echoing through the apartment.

  Wes pushed the bar away from his chest, his grunting echoing through the large workout room. His father had installed a full gym for Wes and his brothers to use, complete with every weight system available, Olympic weight-lifting equipment, a full locker room, and sauna. Two treadmills, two rowers, and three d
ifferent types of exercise bikes lined one side, all facing floor to ceiling windows so one could look out at the glorious Montana landscape while working up a sweat in the comfort of the house.

  At one point, Wes had called it excessive, preferring a simple jog on his treadmill in his penthouse with a set of weights that helped keep him in shape without taking up too much space. However, at the moment, he was thankful for the room to himself, as well as weights to throw around and his choice of what machine to beat himself up with while blaring heavy metal music from the surround sound stereo system.

  After leaving Noelle’s apartment, he couldn’t get a grasp on what had happened, or how fast it had occurred. One minute they were kissing each other senseless and making a pie together, the next she was crying and mad at him, saying he’d hurt her and she wanted him to leave.

  He pumped the bar off his chest again and back down, the repetitive movement matching the steadiness of his thoughts. No matter how many times he went over it in his mind, he couldn’t see how he’d made a misstep. Sure, he’d admit that not saying he had any idea of the deal might come across as him keeping something from her, but he wasn’t. And yes, he’d admit he was a guy who kept things close to the vest, but he’d done so to protect her, make sure things were good before saying anything. If they weren’t, he could step in and help. Either way, he had her best interests at heart.

  “You’re gonna work yourself into a heart attack if you keep up that pace.”

  Mike’s head came into Wes’s line of vision as his brother stepped behind him and grabbed the weight bar. He placed it in the rack and stared down at Wes, his face upside down. “You’ve been in here for hours. What gives?”

  He sat up on the bench, his torso drenched in sweat, his T-shirt stripped a while ago and long gone. Even his sport shorts were soaked. He took the towel Mike handed him and wiped his face.

  “You wanna talk about it?” Mike sat down on the bench beside Wes’s and faced him.

  “What’s with you and all the touchy-feely stuff lately?”