by Mona Shroff
Sometimes first love is better the second time around
Maya Rao has made her own dreams come true: she’s the owner of a bustling café and bakery in New York and the mother of a beautiful teenage daughter, Samantha. But when Samantha lands in legal trouble over a misdemeanor she didn’t commit, Maya is desperate. Desperate enough to call Samantha’s dad, Sam Hutcherson, whom Maya left abruptly many years ago, and who is now a successful lawyer. The problem? Sam doesn’t know he has a daughter.
Sam has put Maya firmly in his past, despite how shattered he was when she broke his heart. So he’s both dumbfounded and furious to find Maya outside his office asking for his help—with a picture of a girl who looks just like him. But as Sam reconnects with Maya, those old sparks begin to fly. Can he even picture a future with the woman who wrecked his past?
MONA SHROFF
Then, Now, Always
To Anjali
Always believe in love.
It’ll make your dreams come true
as mine did with you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Epilogue
Recipes
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
MAYA
New York, 2012
IF SAM WERE HERE, Maya wouldn’t have to go to this meeting alone. She jogged the last few blocks in a lame attempt to be less late for her meeting with the vice principal of her daughter’s high school. The woman had called this morning and scheduled an emergency conference, with no regard for how long it really took to get from Queens to Manhattan.
Maya barely even registered her thoughts about Sam as she drew in cool air and finally approached the school. Thoughts of Sam were like the flour and eggs in a cake: always there, but not what she concentrated on.
Besides, the fact that Sam wasn’t there was her own doing.
The school was set back from the street, and usually, Maya would take a few minutes to admire the beauty of the architecture in old New York City, but on this day, the pit in her stomach made her blind to her surroundings. She ran up steep steps that led to a sidewalk before she approached the covered doorway. She wiped sweat from her upper lip, grateful for the crisp fall chill while she waited to be buzzed in. She tried not to glance at her watch, but failed. She should have been in the meeting ten minutes ago.
Her heels clanked on the tile and echoed in the high ceilings as she took the longest strides her legs would allow. Large, tall windows let in the sun. The dark wood of the doorframes gleamed from recent polish, and the absence of graffiti gave the impression of a Fifth Avenue office building rather than a high school.
She approached Mrs. Pappenberger’s office and found a school security officer at the door. Panic made her jog the last few steps. The vice principal’s secretary was leading a woman and young blonde girl holding an ice pack to her lip into the outer office where her daughter, Samantha, waited. Maya recognized the blonde as Brittany Stevenson and suppressed a groan.
Beside Brittany, an immaculately dressed woman in a black pencil skirt, cream silk blouse and coordinating black blazer teetered on four-inch stilettos. Maya pulled her coat tighter, grateful she had removed her Sweet Nothings apron before leaving her coffee shop-slash-bakery. Her daughter was also standing, arms fiercely folded across her body, dark curls tamed into the ponytail Maya had seen her in this morning. Despite the angry glances she was throwing at the mother-daughter pair, Samantha’s face was pale, making her dark brown eyes look almost black. The woman glared at Samantha as she delicately adjusted the ice pack on her daughter’s lip. Both girls wore the standard school uniform, but while Samantha’s skirt was decidedly knee level, Brittany’s skirt definitely challenged the school dress code.
Maya’s heart sank as she analyzed the scene. “Samantha.” It was a strong effort, keeping her voice neutral. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, Ms. Rao,” the woman said, turning ice-cold eyes on Maya. “Your hoodlum daughter took a swing at my poor Brittany.” She had a slight accent that Maya couldn’t quite place, and she pouted full red lips against camel-colored skin. “It’s not enough that she throws outrageous accusations at her—now she has to physically assault her!” She actually ran her hand along her daughter’s blond tresses as if petting a dog. It was all Maya could do to not roll her eyes.
“Listen, Mrs. Stevenson,” Maya fired back. “My daughter is not a hoodlum.” She took a step closer to Mrs. Stevenson, and, through a tight smile, continued, “If Samantha took a swing at Brittany, you may want to investigate Brittany’s behavior.”
Mrs. Stevenson raised her chin. “How dare you suggest that someone of my daughter’s stature would stoop to anything unsavory?”
Maya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Didn’t that shop owner press shoplifting charges against your daughter?”
“Only because your daughter somehow convinced him of her own innocence. So my daughter was left taking the blame.”
“Because Samantha apologized and worked after school for two weeks to pay off what she took.”
Mrs. Stevenson arched an eyebrow. “As if a Stevenson would work in a shop.”
“Just tell your daughter to lay off mine.”
“Maybe,” she said, shaping those bright red lips into a sneer, “if your daughter had a strong male influence, she could be kept in line. I honestly don’t understand how people with your...”
“With my what?” Maya spoke slowly through gritted teeth and took a step into the other woman’s personal space. “Brown skin?”
Mrs. Stevenson’s mouth gaped open, her eyes wide in horror. “I was going to say ‘lack of stature’ are allowed admission to an institution such as this.”
* * *
MAYA SMIRKED AND took a step back. “Well, you’re here, so clearly, they’ll let anybody in.” It shouldn’t feel good to watch this woman squirm, but it totally did, and Maya didn’t even try to hide her sa
tisfaction.
“You’ll certainly be hearing from our lawyer.” Mrs. Stevenson turned on her heel and stalked away. “Come, Brittany.” Brittany glared at Samantha and Maya before she stomped off behind her mother like a duckling.
Samantha’s brown eyes were filled with anger, her nostrils flared with the effort of trying not to cry. Maya sighed and pulled her daughter in for a hug.
Samantha succumbed to her mother’s embrace, much as she had when she was a little girl. “Mom!” Her voice cracked as the tears were set free.
“Seriously, sweetheart?” Maya hugged her tight, keeping her voice low. “Did you have to hit her?”
Samantha pulled back and wiped her eyes even as she set her jaw. “Mom, she deserved it! She—”
“Ms. Rao. You’re late.” The voice was familiar, as was the slow and mocking tone. Maya turned to face the vice principal.
“Mrs. Pappenberger.” Maya forced her mouth into an overly polite smile and bit back a retort about the flying broom that Mrs. Stevenson must have used to make it on time. “So sorry.”
The vice principal’s precisely colored lips formed a thin pink line, and she raised one eyebrow. “Yes, well. We do have a problem, don’t we?” She tossed a cool glance at Samantha as she opened the door to her office. A tilt of her head and a glance down her nose the only indication that they should follow.
Mother and daughter were greeted by the warm scent of cherrywood and leather, although the warmth extended only as far as that scent, despite the two large windows behind Mrs. Pappenberger’s desk that let in the autumn sun. To Maya’s left was a wall lined with plaques, all bearing the vice principal’s name. The opposite wall was lined with bookshelves holding old yearbooks and what appeared to be classic literature. Surely the bookbindings were a facade, filling the shelf space with impressive covers but blank pages.
They sat down in the two leather-bound chairs facing Mrs. Pappenberger’s desk and waited, grim with expectation. Samantha positioned herself poker straight on her chair, while Mrs. Pappenberger took a seat on her side of the desk and got right to it. “It seems we have once again found controlled substances in young Ms. Rao’s possession.”
Maya whipped her head to Samantha. “What?”
“It’s not mine.” Samantha’s voice was surprisingly firm considering the amount of trouble she was facing.
Mrs. Pappenberger pursed her lips, her voice matter-of-fact. “So you say. However, the fact is that it was found in your locker.”
“But I didn’t put it there.”
“Then how, Ms. Rao, did it get there?”
“The same as last time—Brittany, or one of her gang—put it there.” Samantha moved closer to the desk, to the very edge of the chair, almost as if she were afraid of what would happen if she got too comfortable. “I was minding my own business. Brittany and her gang were giving me sh—bugging me—while I opened my locker.” She clenched her fists. “They do it all the time.” There was blood on her knuckles.
“So, you open your locker and they just happen to be there and out pops this bag of marijuana? And so you decided to punch Ms. Stevenson?”
Samantha maintained eye contact. “Well, it’s not the first time she did this—she’s been trying to get me expelled ever since...ever since...last time.” Her eyes flicked to Maya, then back to the vice principal.
“Could you please tell me what’s going on here?” Enough with the twenty questions. Maya didn’t care if she appeared unfriendly as she turned to the vice principal, she’d had enough of her daughter being harassed. “Why is there a security officer here?”
“Standard school procedure when there’s a fight.” Mrs. Pappenberger gave Maya a tight smile, then addressed Samantha. “You understand who you are accusing?”
“What difference does that make?” Maya leaned forward in her chair. “If Brittany planted it in—”
“Ms. Rao.” Mrs. Pappenberger leaned in toward Maya, her perfectly manicured hands folded in front of her, and spoke to her as if she were one of her students. “That girl is Byron Stevenson’s daughter. As in the Parker-Stevenson Library.”
Maya felt the blood drain from her face. That library used to be called the Parker Library. She wiped cold sweat from her upper lip with clammy hands. Byron Stevenson was a Columbia Law School grad who had made his fortune by marrying into one of the wealthier families in the city. If Maya weren’t so panicked, she’d take a moment to relish how it must grate on Mrs. Stevenson that they had to share the library name with Parker.
“The Stevensons will be pressing assault charges,” Mrs. Pappenberger continued. “There will be a possession charge, from the authorities. And we will be discussing the possibility of expulsion, per school regulations.” Maya could have sworn the woman was smirking.
A wave of nausea caused Maya to hesitate a moment before finally speaking. “What does that mean?” She jerked her head toward the officer in the outer office. “She’s not being arrested!” She squeezed her daughter’s arm, as if that were all it would take to protect her child.
Mrs. Pappenberger stared at Maya, her ice-blue eyes cool and impassive. “No,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “Not today. Today, you will take young Ms. Rao home, as she is suspended from school for five days per school policy in these cases. We will be in touch with you regarding the legalities.” She shuffled and stacked some papers to indicate that the meeting was over, releasing Maya and Samantha from the now-stifling air of the office.
Mother and daughter were in shocked silence as Samantha gathered her things from her locker. The tension in the air followed them outside, where even the bright sun seemed to mock them.
“Talk to me.” Maya was calm but firm. They should walk a bit before returning to the roastery. Her mother could handle things there for a while.
“Brittany put that pot in my locker, I know it!” Samantha’s brown eyes filled with fire, and instantly reminded Maya of Samantha’s father.
It wasn’t the first time Maya had seen Sam Hutcherson in her daughter. She ignored the hiccup in her heartbeat. Flour and eggs. She dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. Almost.
“I’m sure they have cameras that can show—”
“Mom!” Samantha screeched. “Didn’t you hear Mrs. P? Brittany is a Stevenson. The only reason she even got into trouble for shoplifting last time was because that shop owner had no idea who her mom was.” She wiped her eyes and softened. “It doesn’t matter what the cameras show.”
“So you hit her? What does that solve?”
“Nothing—I know! But she can’t keep getting away with that! Brittany has been trying to get me expelled since the whole shoplifting thing.” Samantha’s righteous fury petered out, and her voice became very small. “Why did I ever think I needed to be friends with her, anyway?”
Maya inhaled as deeply as she could, the crisp, cool air clearing her head. “Do you understand that her parents are going to press assault charges? And the school might expel you? These people have influence that I don’t.”
Fear filled Samantha’s eyes and shook her voice. “You’re not going to let them put me in jail, are you?”
“Oh, honey, of course not!” Maya stopped and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. “I believe you. And I’ll do whatever I have to.” Her heart fell even further into her belly as she realized exactly what she needed to do.
Maya was going to have to wake the past.
CHAPTER TWO
SAM
New York, 2012
SAM HUTCHERSON CLOSED the last document on his screen, pushed himself backward in his chair and stretched his long legs out on the desk before him. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. He had been in meetings, dealing with environmentalists and oil companies, all day. It was good work, but now he needed the gym. The familiar buzz of his cell phone zapped his moment of Zen. Paige.
�
��Hi, sweetheart. I was just thinking about you.” A yawn escaped him as he sat up and smiled into the phone.
Paige giggled at the other end. “Liar. You were thinking of a way to sneak out to the gym.”
Sam laughed. “Busted.”
“I have an appointment to look at linens for the tables. And I found an Indian chef who specializes in Indian fusion cuisine. I think your mom will love him.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you want to tag along?” Her smirk came through the phone.
“Not if I can help it. How about I take my beautiful fiancée to dinner instead, after I skip the linen thing?”
“You are going to show up at the wedding, aren’t you?” Paige teased.
“Two hundred forty more days. The only question is, how will I wait that long?” Sam smiled as he envisioned his fiancée twirling a well-worried segment of her red hair. “It’s just that you have such an eye for linens and dishes and flowers. It seems a shame to mar all that with my lawyerly opinion.”
“Spoken like a true man of the law. Speaking of which—” her tone became serious “—how about that info from the environmental group?”
Sam ran a hand through his hair, dark curls thoroughly dislodged, and sighed. “Compelling. Now we’ll have hard evidence against the gas company. They won’t be happy.” He tried to disguise his eagerness, but to no avail. He was pumped. “This could be the break I need, Paige. I’ll finally have a chance to do some good here at the firm.”
“Sam, I love that you’re trying to help people, but let’s not lose track of the big picture. Make sure you win. That’ll put you where you need to be.” She paused. “Ethan Felton sure as hell is going to try to beat you.”
The edge in her voice was usually paired with an eye roll. Probably better he couldn’t see it. “He can try. But he won’t win.” His sense of satisfaction from a job well-done today quickly faded. “Helping people, Paige, is a good thing. It can get you elected.”
“Yes, yes. Fine.” She sounded detached and seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. “I’ll take you up on that dinner, so go. Enjoy the gym.”
