by Tessa Gray
“Just dinner.”
He strode back to his table, feeling Rachel’s eyes on him.
Although it seemed he’d done a fairly convincing job reassuring her that the two were no longer a couple, he realized that not having her around left a void. One he doubted anyone else could fill.
~ ~ ~
The next morning, Rachel navigated her way about the aisles of Porter’s Grocery and studied the selection of poultry. She poured over the choices of chicken, trying to decide if she should cook her meema’s Chicken & Dumplings recipe with chicken breasts or a whole fryer. She smiled, aware she was agonizing over something Jake probably wouldn’t even care about.
It had been months since she’d spoken with her grandmother, so she decided to give her a call.
The phone only rang twice before Meema picked up.
“Hello?”
“Meema, it’s Rachel.”
“My stars, child, I know who it is. I have your picture on my phone.”
She gulped back a laugh. That was the thing she loved most about Meema: her distain for people treating her like an eighty-five-year-old. Which, she was.
“I guess you do at that. I called to ask about your chicken and dumplings recipe.”
“Land sakes, child. I sent you the recipe years ago.”
“I know, but I’m cooking it for Jake and I got to wondering whether or not I should use chicken breasts or a whole fryer.”
“Well now, that all depends . . .”
She waited for her meema to continue, but she already had a vision of her grandmother, excited at the prospect of Rachel relying on her expertise. It wasn’t often an old person had the opportunity to keep young family members on their toes, hanging on their words as they shared their expertise about cooking.
She suddenly missed her meema very much.
“C’mon, Meems, don’t keep me guessing like this.”
“Well now, if Jake’s not all that picky, I’d go with the whole fryer. If he likes dark meat and isn’t one of these sissy types who only eats white meat, cook a whole chicken. That way you can boil the carcass, dump in some herbs and make a tasty broth and make chicken noodle soup. Heck, you can throw in a bunch of leftover vegetables if you like.” Meema paused for a few seconds. “If I were there, I’d cook it for him myself.”
She heard the longing in her grandmother’s voice and realized Meema missed cooking for people. The assisted living center she lived in was state of the art, but there was nothing like cooking a homemade meal for someone in your own kitchen. Rachel stopped pushing the grocery cart and stared out the window.
“I wish you lived closer, Meems. If you did, I’d come get you and have you cook for Jake.”
Her grandmother chuckled and quickly set her straight. “The last thing you two young people need is an old lady clucking about. I’d just get in the way.”
“You’re never in the way.” She thought of all the conversations she’d shared with her grandmother and decided to share her plans. “I don’t know if Mama and Daddy told you this, but I’m thinking of starting my own business and buying a café of some type. If this cooking thing of mine pans out and I can make a living at it, I’m going to get a place of my own and you can move in with me.”
“Move in with you? That’s crazy talk, child! How are you ever going to land a man if you have an old lady living with you. I’d just be underfoot.”
“I doubt I’ll marry again, Meema, so having you with me would never pose a problem.”
“Darlin,’ I’m happy as a clam at the retirement home. Your mom and dad are around, and they make sure I’m looked after. The best thing you can do is to find yourself a husband.”
Rachel laughed aloud and shot right back. “I could say the same for you, Meema.”
“When you’re my age, honey, you’re too old to break a new one in.” They both laughed at her comment, but then her grandmother grew quiet.
“Is something wrong, Meema? You’re awfully quiet.”
“Honey, before we hang up, I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I knew about you wanting to start your own business. This isn’t exactly new to me. Your parents stopped by to see me a few days ago. Your mother told me that they’re not all that thrilled at your decision to stay in Alpine. And she’s even more upset that you won’t be teaching anymore.”
“I know that . . .”
“Your mother seems to think you were born to teach, and she isn’t very supportive about your decision to switch careers.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Just so you know, I think your idea to start your own business is a smart one. I love that you’re plucky enough to change careers and take a chance like this. You don’t ordinarily go out on a limb like this, Rachel. It’s very unlike you, but the truth is, I couldn’t be prouder.”
She smiled at her grandmother’s admission, breathing a huge sigh of relief. At least one person supported her.
They talked for several more minutes, and by the time Rachel hung up, she felt as though a burden had been lifted. It was unfortunate that she was someone who so desperately needed approval from her family, but the fact was, she did. And having Meema in her court brightened her day considerably.
Things seemed to be turning around now. Remaining in Alpine had been the right decision. Had she gone back home to Dallas, she’d be spending all her time worrying about Jake. Thank God he was starting to get his life back together.
His admission that he’d known all along who had made that phone call—the one that had contributed to his accident had stunned her. In his own way, as tumultuous as he own life had been, he’d protected her from the truth for months-keeping it all to himself.
What kind of man did something like that? A part of her wanted to believe that he still cared about her. But, by all accounts, that wasn’t the case.
Despite all his pain—the aftermath of dealing with a horrific accident—he was moving forward with his life. Without her. As empty as she felt, his recovery on his own terms was truly something to admire. During their time together, she’d always considered Jake to be the one who needed her, the one who relied on her for everything.
As much as she hated to admit it, her feelings for him were beginning to change.
But she’d need to tread lightly, to keep a safe distance between them. It was pointless to stir things up. He’d already been through enough.
Chapter 11
Rachel finished setting the table at Jake’s house and smiled, pleased to be cooking for him. He’d texted her that he was on his way home.
Slipping her neck through the opening in the apron Meema had given her, she smoothed out several wrinkles and tied the sash.
It was fun cooking like this, having no time constraints. That wouldn’t always be the case. If she ended up getting her wish—owning a small café in town—she’d probably be working around the clock. Still, it would be a dream come true to get paid for doing something she loved.
She washed her hands and began cutting up the chicken into small pieces. As she rolled them in flour, she checked the frying pan to make sure the oil was heating. Plopping the chicken pieces into the hot oil, she moved them about, making sure they cooked evenly, and then added water to the mix that would eventually become a gravy sauce—provided she measured the flour correctly.
She wondered what Jake would think of the recipe. Funny that in all the time she’d known him, cooking Meema’s Chicken & Dumplings had never crossed her mind.
Scooping up the chicken pieces with a large spoon, she placed them in a bowl, spread aluminum foil across the top, and slid them into the oven to keep them warm.
And then she began the most challenging part. Making the dumplings. Mixing up the concoction, she scooped t
easpoons of the doughy mixture into the leftover water in the frying pan. When she’d made about ten of them, she put the lid on the frying pan and checked her watch. Fifteen minutes was exactly how long they needed to cook. This was the part that was precise, and she’d need to give cooking her full attention now. She’d prepared the succotash ahead of time—intent on avoiding any distractions. The back door opened, and she looked up.
Jake smiled at her and his boots clomped loudly as he sauntered into the kitchen. He still used crutches to walk, even though he’d kept up with the physical therapy. She hoped that wouldn’t always be the case.
“Hey, Jake. Thanks for leaving the key under the mat.”
“You’re most welcome.”
She walked over to where he stood and hugged him. But he broke away from her and began mulling about the kitchen.
“It smells good in here. Whatcha got going?”
As Jake strode toward the stove, Rachel studied the huge grin on his face, a clear indicator he’d had another good day. Seeing him in an upbeat mood lifted her spirits.
He walked past her and pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. Grabbing a cork screw, he opened the bottle and retrieved a glass from the cupboard. “Can I pour you some?”
“Sure.”
She watched him fill her glass and suspected she’d be drinking alone.
“Aren’t you having any?”
“Naw. I’m working the evening shift at the bar.” He raked a hand through his hair and continued watching her, the golden flecks in his eyes lighting up. He looked relaxed and totally at ease. She wouldn’t ruin the mood and ask about how the business was going. Word around town was that he’d severely cut back his hours of operation.
“The dumplings have about ten minutes to go and then we should be ready to eat.”
He wandered over to the stove and reached for the lid. “It smells fantastic.”
As he reached for the lid, she bolted toward him, pushing his hand away.
“Don’t remove the lid, Jake. It’ll ruin everything.”
Shrugging, he dug his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Trust me on this. I know what I’m doing. You have to keep the dumplings covered for exactly fifteen minutes.”
He shook his head and walked over to the fridge. After he’d pulled out a can of soda, he popped the lid and took several swigs. “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard with this?”
His indifference stung, but she bit her tongue, determined not to get sucked into an argument.
She finished preparing the meal and began gathering the food to carry to the table. Jake helped her, but the two of them didn’t speak.
Frustrated by how quiet he’d become, she felt the need to defend herself for making such a big deal about cooking the dumplings. “The thing about the recipe, well, if you take the lid off, the steam escapes and the dumplings end up dry. That’s what Meema always told me. Sometimes when you cook, you need to just trust the process. It might not make sense to you at the time, but you follow the recipe to the letter anyway. It boils down to trust—trusting the recipe—trusting the process. Even though it sounds kind of crazy.”
Working the muscles of his jaw, he frowned. “This isn’t really about the dumplings, is it?”
She shrugged and continued eating, marveling at his uncanny ability to figure people out. Her, in particular.
~ ~ ~
Jake watched Rachel pick at her food, astonished she wasn’t scarfing it down. The recipe had lived up to its reputation. The dumplings were moist and tender—just as she’d said they would be. The succotash she’d prepared reminded him of the time he’d spent at the Wainwrights. To this day, it remained his favorite vegetable.
“These are definitely the best dumplings I’ve ever had, Rachel. I’m serious.” He dug his fork into the meal, wishing she’d eat faster so he didn’t feel like such a hog.
She smiled at him and shrugged. “I’m glad you like them.” Her eyes sparkled under the lights, and for a fleeting moment, he had the urge to touch her. The pale pink top brought out the slight blush on her cheeks. He’d remember this moment for a long time.
Back in the day, he’d have scooped her into his arms and kissed the hell out of her before they raced into his bedroom to ravage each other.
While he missed that part of his life, he felt grateful the two remained friends. And really, given the changes his body had undergone, he seriously wondered if he’d be any good in the bedroom. He’d always had enormous confidence in his ability to satisfy a woman, but after the shock his body had been through and the grueling hours of physical therapy, he wasn’t so sure.
“When we were talking earlier about the recipe your grandmother gave you, what did you mean about trust?”
She smoothed her hair and began fingering a napkin. “I-I was talking about not taking the lid off—”
“I get the feeling this runs deeper than cooking, Rachel. You’re upset about something. I can always tell because you twist your napkin or fidget.”
“Seriously, my problems pale in comparison to yours.”
Setting down his fork, he stared at her. “I’m dealing with the aftermath of a challenge, here. But it doesn’t mean all the focus needs to be on me. If there’s something bothering you, I want to know about it.”
“When we were together, I let some of the smallest things upset me. Looking back, I realize that you might have tuned me out because I was openly critical of you, Jake—far too critical.”
“I can’t argue with you on that, Rachel. The truth is, I never felt as though I could live up to your expectations.”
After he made the comment, she blushed. “I’m going to own that, because it’s true.”
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
She looked past him and stared outside. “My parents are upset with me for giving up my teaching job. They think opening my own café is a foolish pipe dream. It hurts not having them trust me—not believing in me—not having confidence that I can pull this off.”
The admission surprised him because the Donohue’s were generally supportive of their daughter.
“I’m very surprised to hear that.”
“I come from a long line of educators, and they’re disappointed that I’m giving up teaching.”
“They probably feel that way because you’re such an amazing teacher. Your reputation precedes you. But you’re the type who can do anything you set your mind to. Maybe you’ll end up being a first-rate pastry chef and write cookbooks.”
“Maybe I will at that.” Her tone was soft.
As he studied her flushed cheeks, Jake hoped he’d lifted her spirits.
“I wish everyone had faith in me like you do, Jake. I’ve never told anyone this, but the reason I went into teaching is because everyone pressured me into it. Michael encouraged me to finish my degree and get a teaching certificate so I could have the same schedules our daughters did. Looking back, I think my heart wasn’t in it one hundred percent, but I wanted to please everyone, so I did as they suggested.”
“Then you owe it to yourself to follow your heart, Rachel, and do what you truly want.”
Her eyes pooled, and he was at a loss at what to say.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
It took every ounce of self-control not to touch her.
Grabbing his plate, he headed into the kitchen. “I’ll help you clean up the dishes, and then I need to head over to work. Adam’s probably ready to bust out of there and go home to his family.”
“I’ll get these, Jake. You go ahead.”
Ignoring her, he walked to the kitchen and began rinsing off his plate. He heard her footsteps behind him and moved to t
he side as she slid her dishes alongside his.
Inhaling the scent of her perfume, he fought back a wave of emotions. He began drying the dishes, staring out the window as the sun lowered itself on the horizon.
“If you ever decide to let me cook for you again, I’m going to bake my meema’s apple pie. It’s delicious.”
He smiled, remembering how comfortable he used to feel around her. But now, of course, was different. Time to cut the evening short. “Thanks for the dinner, Rachel. It was delicious. But I doubt we’ll do this again. Adam’s cutting back on his hours working the bar. Between keeping up with classes and working, I’ll have my hands full. Like I told you before, it makes more sense for me to just grab a bite to eat at the diner.”
“I totally understand. I really enjoyed cooking for you, and if you change your mind, I’d be glad to do it again.”
The speech sounded rehearsed—one you’d give someone you felt obligated to. She was thanking him. But the thing was, she probably had no idea how much he liked having her around. He’d never tell her that, but he did.
~ ~ ~
At eleven o’clock the next morning, Rachel had just wrapped up the morning rush at Penny’s Diner when Meredith and Kelsey walked in.
She raced toward them, her arms extended. “What a surprise! It’s so good seeing you.” Grabbing some menus, she guided them to a table.
After she seated her friends, Meredith touched her hand and spoke. “Word gets around. I’m hearing you’re a top-notch waitress, but even if you aren’t, I’m giving you a good tip.”
“Aww . . . aren’t you sweet, Mere?”
Meredith grabbed the container holding the packets of sugar. “Here’s some advice for you. It’s the first thing I learned when I started working here a few years ago. Even though my days of waitressing are over, I remember the lesson well. Are you ready? Wait for it . . . wait for it. Here’s the tip: Be sure and keep the containers on the tables filled with sugar. And always—and I do mean always—make sure the cream containers for the coffee are in the fridge. Stephanie comes unglued if they’re sitting out on the table for very long.”
