by Jan Moran
She returned to the kitchen and sipped her coffee, trying not to think about business. With a pang of disappointment, she remembered the call from Lance, but she’d forgotten to return his call. Perhaps it’s just as well, she thought, running her hand over her forehead. As a chef, he probably spent as many hours at work as she did. How could that ever work?
Footsteps clattered through the house. Verena looked up to see Anika sweeping into the room.
“Hey Ver, what do you think?” With her slim, lanky pre-adolescent figure, Anika paused to pose like a fashion model. She wore a leopard print swing coat with a bright coral lining.
“Love it. Looks like you’ve been shopping with Mia,” Verena said, giving her little sister a hug. She adored her sisters and their youthful spirit. When did I lose that? she wondered briefly, but she knew the precise date. The twins had been too young to feel the full force of their parent’s deaths at the time, though they still suffered from the void left in their lives. “Getting ready for the trip?”
“Bella and I are trying on the outfits Mia ordered for us.” At the mention of Bella’s name, the other girl bounced into the kitchen, her silky blond hair swirling around her shoulders. She wore a similar jacket in zebra print with a brilliant turquoise lining.
“I’m so excited! Can you believe we’re going to Paris? And Switzerland!”
A smile tugged at Verena’s lips. Bella had such enthusiasm. She always seemed to speak in exclamation points. Anika was the calmer one of the two, the practical foil to Bella’s exuberant nature.
Anika leaned against the counter next to Verena. “Hmm, smells good, can I try your coffee?”
“I don’t know, can you?” Verena nudged her sister. “Use may I for permission. And yes, you may.”
Anika lifted the cup to her lips with a prim gesture, sipping carefully. At twelve—nearly thirteen, Verena realized—she had a slender, athletic build like Bella, but she handled herself with more maturity. She tried to look sophisticated as she drank, but she crinkled her nose. “It’s bitter.”
“That’s because I don’t use sugar, only cream.”
“Mia said we’re going to visit cafés in Paris, so Anika wants to drink coffee,” Bella said, dancing around the kitchen. “I think it’s yucky.”
Mia walked into the kitchen. Her soft blond hair was brushed back from her face, and a sheer rose tint colored her lips. She wore an elegant, floral-embroidered, pink satin robe and gold-toned, kitten-heeled slippers.
Even in the morning, Verena thought, Mia looks stylish.
“Did I hear my name?” Mia asked.
“Good morning,” Verena said, kissing her on each cheek. “Did you sleep well?”
“Excellent, yes,” she replied, laughing at the twins. “I need plenty of rest if I’m going to keep up with these two in Europe.”
Verena turned to Anika and Bella. “Girls, would you like to go biking this morning? Beautiful day for it.”
“Mia is helping us organize our traveling wardrobe today,” Anika said.
Mia put an arm around each girl and hugged them close to her. “I told them I’d make alterations to their clothes today. They can help me thread the tiny eyes on the needles and show me how much they remember about sewing.”
Bella resumed her dance while Anika pursed her lips and made a little moue with her mouth. “Oh, Mia, no one our age sews anymore. It’s so old-fashioned.”
Mia huffed. “No, it isn’t. All the fashion designers know how to sew. You’re the exception because you’re exceptional young ladies,” Mia added, winking at Verena. “You go on, Verena dear, enjoy your ride this morning. We’ll be fine today.”
“Thanks,” Verena said, squeezing her hand in appreciation. “I’ll pick up groceries for dinner from the market.”
Verena gave them each kisses on the cheek before she left. The three sisters were close because of the grief they’d worked through. Given Mia’s medical issues, Verena was half-sister, half-mother to them. Only Verena could keep up with the energetic duo on a daily basis. She hoped their trip to Europe wouldn’t be too much for Mia’s precarious health, but her grandmother was determined.
Verena went outside to load her bike onto the bike rack on the back of her car. With a clear blue sky overhead, she was soon on her way to Marina del Rey.
She parked and unloaded, hopped onto the bike, and then steered it onto the path that ran along the ocean’s edge toward Redondo Beach. The sun beamed onto her shoulders, and she breathed in the fresh marine scents of sea and kelp. A light breeze wafted through her hair, carrying with it the aroma of coconut-scented suntan lotion from sunbathers on the beach. Skaters, bicyclists, and walkers shared the path. An occasional greeting punctuated her solitude.
This is exactly what I needed.
She filled her lungs with salt-tinged sea air, feeling oxygen fill her body with energy.
An hour later she wheeled into Redondo Beach. As she was disembarking, she heard someone call her name. I know that voice.
She whirled around. Squinting against the sun, she caught her breath. A half-clothed man swung from his bike. Her heart quickened. What a gorgeous specimen of a man.
“I was hoping you’d call,” Lance said, grinning. “But this is even better.”
8
VERENA LIFTED HER sunglasses, shocked by the sight of Lance. He wore faded shorts and his shirt was thrown over the handle bars. With brilliant eyes, muscular arms, and a well-defined chest, he looked more like a bronzed Hollywood star than a working chef. She caught herself relishing the sight of him. “What are you doing here in Redondo Beach?”
“I should ask you that question,” Lance said. “I live here.”
“Oh, well, I rode down from the marina.” Flustered, she swatted damp tendrils of hair from her hot face.
“I must have been just behind you. That’s too bad.” He knelt to tie a shoe lace. “How about some breakfast? I’m cooking.”
“Well, I… I guess so.” He was inviting her to his place. Verena hardly knew him. But she’d built up an appetite on the bike. “Where do you live?”
He gestured to a tall, narrow building a short distance away. “I have a condo in that building. There’s my balcony.”
Before she could resist, she found herself falling in step with him as they walked their bikes beside them.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“Three years,” he said. “I bought my place right after I returned from Zurich.”
As he swerved his bike past a rock, his arm brushed against hers, sending a surprising tingle through her. Recovering, she said, “My family is from Switzerland. You lived there?”
A grin creased his face. “For six months. I worked for an international hotel chain, and they moved me around quite a bit. I’ve also worked in England, South Korea, France, and New York. I was scheduled for Sydney when the Beverly Hills Hotel called me. I wanted to settle down and get a dog.” They reached his building and he stopped, staring at her.
“And did you?” she asked.
“Did I what?”
“Settle down and get a dog, silly.”
He laughed. “I bought my condo, but the dog, no, not yet. I work long hours.”
“I understand. I do, too,” she said.
He cocked his head. “Are your eyes really that blue?”
“Why, of course.” She blinked. She was often asked that question.
“I thought you might be wearing contact lenses. Your eyes are such a deep shade of sapphire.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “That was my dad’s nickname for me—Sapphire, for my eyes.”
His eyes roamed across her face, and he frowned. “And that bruise on your cheek?”
“Stupid bike accident,” she mumbled. Feeling self-conscious, she put her sunglasses back on. The sun was so bright, it illuminated everything.
He stared at her for a long moment. “Mind if I ask if you and Derrick are still seeing each other?”
“Not anymore
, but we’re still friends. He gives me business advice.”
“Was it serious?”
“We were engaged, but I broke it off.”
After a long moment, Lance nodded and seemed relieved. “Selfishly, I’m really glad to hear that.”
A shadow crossed his face, and Verena sensed there was something else he wanted to say, but before she could ask him, he started up a path alongside the building. Verena walked behind him. She couldn’t help but admire the firm muscles in his legs.
“Come on in,” he said, taking long strides.
“Do you ride often?” she asked.
“I like to ride early in the morning before work. It improves my focus, and since I like to taste everything in the kitchen, cycling keeps me in shape. Occupational hazard, that.” Glancing at Verena, he added, “We can leave the bikes in the garage.”
She followed him into the elevator and upstairs, where he opened the door.
The view caught Verena by surprise. The condo was a wall of glass on the ocean side, opening onto a wide balcony that overlooked the waves. He slid open the glass doors and stepped out. His skin was tanned to a dark golden shade, and his back glistened in the sunlight.
Drawn to him, Verena followed.
“You should see the sunsets,” he said.
“I’d love to.” She blinked. Why did I say that?
Lance grinned at her again. “I don’t have much food in the kitchen because I usually eat at work. How do you feel about French toast?”
“After a ride like that, sure. Besides, I still have to ride back to Marina del Rey.”
“Then you need good food for fuel.” Returning to the kitchen, he pulled on his t-shirt. He washed his hands, put a white apron over his neck, and then began to pull ingredients from the cupboard and the refrigerator. “The bread’s turned green, but I have croissants. You’ll eat strawberries and macadamia nuts?”
“Sounds delicious.”
He pulled a knife from a wooden block of professional stainless knives. The ebony-stained handles were curved to fit the hand and the blades glinted in the sunlight. Handling the knife with familiarity, he began slicing the croissants with practiced precision.
“You have incredible knives here, too,” she said.
“I like to use the right tools.” He looked pleased that she’d noticed. “Each one is handcrafted in Japan in the tradition of samurai sword makers.”
As he worked, Verena perched on a stool and gazed around. The kitchen was open to the living and dining areas. His furniture was simple but fine. A white canvas couch rested between two polished tree trunks that served as end tables. On one sat a colorful Tiffany-style lamp. On the other, a brilliant, azure blue glass wave caught the sunlight. An antique surfboard stood in one corner, and next to it, a large oil painting of the ocean hung on the wall. She was looking at it when he said, “Like it?”
“I do.” She squinted at the signature. Lance Martel. “You painted this?”
“Guilty as charged.” One corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. “When I first moved here, I didn’t have any furniture in this room, so I set up an easel and let the paint fly.”
She looked at him thoughtfully, appreciating his skills. “You’re awfully creative. You paint, you cook.”
“I like to work with my hands. Here, take a look at this.”
When Verena saw his creation, her mouth watered. He had piped creamy strawberry filling into the croissants, dipped them into a light batter, and rolled them in finely chopped macadamia nuts. A copper skillet sizzled on the stove.
A few minutes later, they sat on the balcony, enjoying his version of French toast, along with tall glasses of blended passion fruit and pineapple juices. They chatted easily, and Verena marveled at how quickly he had produced such a delicious dish.
“It all starts with the best ingredients,” he said. “The best butter, salt, berries—everything. And as fresh as possible.”
“Sounds like my formulas for skincare. In fact, my grandmother still whips up masks and scrubs in the kitchen from simple ingredients.” She took another bite, thinking about the similarities in what they did. “What are you growing in the planter?”
“That’s my herb garden. I have basil, thyme, chives, cilantro, oregano, and rosemary. Only the freshest herbs will do.”
Verena could feel his eyes on her as they ate. Without meaning to, she thought of Derrick and the differences between the two men. Lance was so easy going. He seemed to have a perpetual grin on his face, whereas Derrick had always been in a hurry, often interrupting her to take, or make, a phone call. Derrick’s job was important, but so was Lance’s, and yet, the two men couldn’t have been more dissimilar in their temperament.
She shifted in her chair, uncomfortably aware of her attraction to Lance. Having breakfast with a man in his home wasn’t something she’d had much experience with.
As they ate, Lance asked more about her business and she found that she enjoyed sharing her ideas with him.
“You said Derrick is helping you with the business,” Lance said. “Do you feel like you can trust him?”
“He’s brilliant in business.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Where is this going? “He’s always looked out for me, and for the company. Why do you ask?”
Lance shifted in his chair. “Sometimes I overhear conversations in the dining room. Derrick and Thomas Roper were in the other day. I heard them talking about your company.”
Verena waved her hand. She didn’t want to talk about Derrick any more. “I know all about that.”
His eyes widened. “You do?”
“Of course. We’re discussing a deal.” She paused, smiling. “I hope you’re not the jealous type.”
“Me? No, I just thought you should know, because it sounded—”
“And I do know. I assure you.”
“Well, okay then. Maybe it was just guy talk.”
“Thomas Roper isn’t the most cultured man around.” He’d always made her uncomfortable. She knew Derrick had to work hard to keep up with the billionaire. “I can only imagine. But thanks for telling me.”
“I’m relieved, I guess.”
Verena inclined her head in thought, but before she could say anything, Lance stood and reached for her plate.
“If you’re finished, I’ll take that,” he said, smiling at her again.
His hand brushed against hers as he collected the dish, and Verena felt something akin to a small jolt of electricity surge through her. What was that? She could fall too fast for Lance. Yet right now, he would only distract her from the work she needed to do.
When he returned from the kitchen, she said, “That was a wonderful treat, but I have to go.”
He looked crestfallen. “Are you sure? I’m going to the farmer’s market. I’d love for you to come with me.”
“I’m sure.” The faster I leave, the better, she thought, because her heart was racing ahead of her. Although she had promised Mia she’d go to the market for dinner.
“Then I’ll help you with your bike.”
As he wheeled her bike out of the garage for her, he said, “I called you at your office. Did you get my earlier message?”
“Yes, but it was a busy week. I have some pressing work issues.”
He stepped closer and swept a stray hair from her lashes. Bending toward her and pausing, he asked, “May I call you again?”
He was so close that all Verena needed to do was lift her lips to his. Tempted, she felt her face grow warm. “I’d like that.”
As she spoke, Lance’s eyes were on her mouth. “And you can stop by the hotel anytime for a bite. I can always make time to see you.”
“I’ll remember that,” Verena said, sliding her hand over his muscular forearm. Feeling the strength of his pulse, she sensed the power that surged beneath her touch.
Lance smoothed his hand over hers and lifted their clasped hands to his chest. “I’m glad we ran into each other today.”
As Lance drew her body to his, Verena leaned in until she could feel his warm breath on her lips. Her own breath quickened, and she ached to feel his mouth on hers. The feel of his arms around her was unlike any embrace she’d ever known. And yet... She closed her eyes and lifted her face to his, but at the last moment, she hesitated. Instead of touching his lips, she tilted her head and kissed his cheek.
His chest heaved and he tightened his embrace, burying his face in her hair. “Until the next time,” he murmured.
Feeling light-headed, Verena pulled away and got on her bike, cycling away before she had time to change her mind.
Lance stood and watched her until she disappeared into the crowd on the path. His body ached for her. She’d been so close, but he’d sensed her hesitation. He didn’t known why, but she was a woman worth waiting for. How could she have ever been engaged to a man like Derrick? At least she’d broken it off, but he’d feel better if she hadn’t remained friends with him.
He drew his brows together as he thought of the man. Judging from the conversation he’d overheard, Derrick was still interested in Verena, though not necessarily because he loved her. Lance wasn’t naive, he knew people married for all kinds of reasons, but Verena deserved more. Much more.
At least he was relieved to know that Verena was aware of Roper’s intentions about her company. As much as Lance disliked Derrick, maybe the guy was playing Roper on behalf of Verena.
Isn’t really any of my business, is it?
Still watching her in the distance, Lance was impressed with Verena’s earnestness and lack of guile, which was surprising in a city like L.A., where many women were open about exactly what they wanted, and it often involved someone else’s money. She struck him as someone who didn’t date much, but he couldn’t imagine why. Smart, charming, and stunning. What was wrong with the men in L.A.?
Then he remembered a comment about her twin sisters. He liked big noisy families, like the one he’d grown up in. He smiled to himself. There was more to Verena than he knew, and he sure wanted to find out.
But Derrick, really? As soon as he’d met him, Lance had suspected that something was amiss. Overhearing Derrick and Thomas Roper at lunch was still confounding, too. On one hand, Derrick seemed to be protecting her, but Lance still didn’t trust him, no matter what Verena said. He wondered how much Derrick had really told her about Roper’s intent.
