by Zoe York
“Come for a visit.” David’s voice was louder in her ear now that she was out of the bar. Louder, and more persuasive. Ugh.
She pressed her eyes shut and bit her lips to keep from howling in outrage. I just finished telling you I work six nights a week, jackass. “That’s not easy to do right now. You are always welcome to make the drive up here.”
“Fine. If you’re going to be difficult, I’ll be the one to do the travel.”
“I don’t want this to be confrontational,” she said with a sigh. “Why don’t you email me? It’s easier to work things out in writing.”
“I wanted—” There was a murmur in the background, a woman’s voice, then silence. Ah. Of course this sudden need to have contact with Emily wasn’t driven by David himself, even if he was the one parroting the words right now. “She’s my daughter, Tasha.”
“Yep. Fully aware of that fact. Are you being prompted by someone to make this call? Does whoever that girl is know that ten o’clock is far too late to call a three-year-old?”
“Nobody prompted me to make this call.”
“Sure thing, Romeo.” Oh, damn it, now she was on a roll. Hang up the phone, Natasha. Too late. “Look, I don’t mind talking productively about co-parenting, but it would be better if we document everything in writing. Also, you can’t interrupt my work shifts like this. So I’m going to hang up and email you my understanding of this phone call, okay? And you can tell your friend there that you did your best and now she can blow you with the full confidence that you aren’t actually a deadbeat dad.”
As soon as she angrily ended the call, she regretted losing her temper.
Mostly.
Like, she seventy-percent regretted it, and thirty-percent was giving herself a high-five.
She fired off a quick text. Sorry. (Really). Email might be best for this, but I will always do my best to accommodate your relationship with our daughter.
God, being the bigger person was a challenge.
She scrolled through the photos on her phone and picked a recent picture of their no-longer-a-baby baby and sent that, too. He may be a jackass, but he was the jackass who’d given her the most beautiful child in the world. She’d find a way to be civil to him, and hope for even more.
“Sorry,” she muttered as she took her spot behind the bar.
Malcolm poured her a shot of tequila. “I’ve never known you to be a drama queen, Natasha. Everything okay?”
Well, at least she’d done a good job of rehabilitating her reputation. She tossed back the shot and winced. “Yep.”
“You want to talk?”
“Nope.” She grinned. “Thanks.”
“Good. Get back to work.”
For a few years, Matt had lived in Lion’s Head mainly so he could walk to The Green Hedgehog, the best pub anywhere on the peninsula. Then he’d moved back to Pine Harbour, which didn’t have a bar, good or otherwise, and now he had to be more responsible about his nights out.
Or find a bed to sleep in, although that hadn’t happened since he’d moved.
The pub was crawling with tourists tonight. At the pool table next to theirs was a group of women up on the peninsula for a bachelorette weekend. In between friendly trash-talking, Tom had found out the women were staying at a cottage just outside town.
Matt knew how to play this game. Easy smiles, enough questions to find out which of them were single, and which of those were looking for a good time.
He was Mr. Good Time.
“Your turn,” Tom said, snapping his fingers in front of Matt’s face.
“Yeah.” He shook his head and refocused on the table. Fucker hadn’t left him with any clear shot, but there was a combo that he might be able to make from the far side, closest to the bachelorette party. He prowled that way, flashing a grin at the two women closest to him. “You ladies don’t mind if I use this side of the table to kick Tom’s ass, do you?”
“If you win, maybe I should play you next,” one of them said, flipping her hair.
Bingo. Wide open invitation to get to know her better.
“Sounds good,” he heard himself say, but it didn’t. He squeezed his cue. “Winner of this game definitely gets to play you next. Deal?”
Even before he took the shot, he knew he’d flub it. Let Tom have the chance to brush hips with this woman.
“Damn,” he said as the cue ball glanced off Tom’s ball. “Bad luck.”
From beside him, the flirty woman didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe I’ll have to play with your friend, then.”
“I guess so.” He straightened up and winked, unable to help himself from still stealing a little of her attention. “My loss, for sure.”
“The game could still turn.” She gave him a sweet smile that went all the way to her eyes, but he felt nothing.
“We’ll have to wait and see what Tom—”
The crack of the cue ball against the ball right beside Matt’s hand broke their conversation up. They turned in time to watch that ball sink into the pocket, and the cue ball bounce back across the table to nudge in the one Matt had scratched on.
And that was the game.
Matt laughed. “Bested by the best.” He handed the woman his cue. “Good luck.”
She spun on her heel and gave Tom the full force of her sweet smile. His buddy gave him a curious look, and Matt just shrugged. Not tonight, man.
As they racked up the balls, he took a seat at one of the tall bar tables along the side of the room and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He tapped on Natasha’s contact information, but he didn’t know what to say to her. She’d made her concerns known.
He needed an excuse to talk to her again.
No, not an excuse. Fuck, he couldn’t think of her like that, as a conquest or a game. He needed to be sure…
And that was the problem.
He wasn’t sure of anything.
A dark, anxious thought clawed at the back of his mind, and he shook it away.
He needed a reason to see Natasha. A real one, within the parameters of the fact they couldn’t date.
He couldn’t pursue her.
Maybe there was a way he could make a case to her that they could be friends. Deep down inside, he knew it was all he was really capable of anyway. All he could offer and all she’d be willing to accept.
So what if he found her mouth captivating? He knew all about boundaries and could respect the hell out of them.
As a friend.
Who maybe wanted to learn more about cooking.
He did have a genuine interest in it. Nothing wrong with a man developing a new skill set.
He was on night shifts for Saturday and Sunday, then he had a day off before shifting to days. He tapped into his calendar to double check.
Yeah, Monday was wide open.
Now he just needed to figure out where the next cooking class was. He did a Google search for the conference centre in Port Elgin and clicked on the phone number.
“Hi, I have a weird question I hope you can help me with,” he said to the clerk who answered the call. “There’s a poster on your community bulletin board that I’d like some information from…”
Chapter Seven
It took Natasha ages to wind down that night, and in the end, she only tossed and turned for a few hours before it was time to get up.
Meredith gave her a worried look as they waited for the coffee maker to finish brewing. “You were up late last night.”
“David called.” She told her sister about the woman in the background.
“Are you jealous?”
“What?” Natasha made a face. “No. Whoever she is, she’s welcome to his mess. Maybe she’ll straighten him out, which would be good for Emily. Just…I don’t know what it means.”
Meredith sighed. “Sorry.”
“There’s something about this whole situation that is freaking me out. He’s so consistently been a non-factor in our lives, and now…this is different. I don’t like it, but I shouldn’t have los
t my temper.”
“I don’t know, I think he got exactly what he deserved from the sounds of it.” Meredith grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. Extra big ones, because it was that kind of a Saturday. “Listen, there’s something else I need to talk to you about, but I don’t want to stress you out.”
That didn’t sound good. Natasha took a deep breath. “Too late. Shoot.”
“Dan’s had an interview for a new position. He was headhunted, actually, last month, and we didn’t think anything would come of it, but now they want to bring him in to meet some people.” Meredith’s face tightened up. “The job sounds amazing. But it’s in Ottawa.”
All the way across the province. Her heart plummeted. “Oh.”
“He may not be offered the job.”
But Meredith wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t a possibility. “That sounds exciting,” Tasha said, which was the truth. “So, they’re flying him there for an interview?”
“Yeah.” But her sister still didn’t look thrilled, and Natasha hated that any worry about her might be clouding a very good thing for their family.
“Oh, honey.” She moved over and wrapped her arms around Meredith. “It’s okay.”
“It may turn out to be nothing…”
The unspoken but was crystal clear. “Are you interested in moving? For you?”
Her sister squirmed, looking guilty. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “I’d like to live in a bigger city. It would be a big adjustment for the kids, of course. We’re still talking it over.”
“They’re both outgoing kids, they’d probably take to new schools no problem.”
Mer lifted one shoulder. “More variety, too,” she said quietly. “There are some advantages to living in a city.”
She grabbed Mer’s hands. “Then I hope it’s perfect for him, and you guys, and I don’t want you to worry about me. Deal?”
“Deal.” Her sister gave a sheepish look. “Is it terrible that I really want to be within driving distance of a Starbucks?”
She shook her head. “Nope.” It wasn’t for her, but she got it. She’d had that once. It had come with a painful side-effect of not being enough to hold all of David’s attention, but it had been fun while it lasted. “Okay, while we still live on the same side of the province, what should we do with the kids today?”
The weekend sped by, working at night and cramming as much sister fun as possible into the days. By the time Monday rolled around, Natasha found herself needing the normalcy of seeing her sister and brother-in-law off to work, then walking the kids to school, and finally—blissfully—having alone time with Emily.
They cleaned up the kitchen, then talked about the cooking class that afternoon. “This one will be mostly talking, baby. So you’ll want to bring a book and some crayons, okay?”
“No pink icing?”
“None.”
“Boo.”
“I feel your pain, kiddo.”
“Will Matt be there?”
Ah, crap. Kids never forget anything. “He doesn’t live near here. Remember? Last week was his only time coming to the lessons.”
“Boo.”
Despite her best efforts to forget him, Natasha had to admit she felt Emily’s pain on that point, too.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“You like cooking.” Emily said it like the statement it was, not a question. The wisdom of a three-year-old.
“I do.”
“Okay.”
Natasha smiled to herself. If only everything could be as simple as that. You want to have an inn. I do. Okay.
You want to go back in time and never sleep with men who didn’t value you enough. I do. Okay.
But life wasn’t that easy; wishes and wants didn’t just come true. She had to live with her past decisions, which was okay—they’d made her smarter, wiser, sharper.
“Mommy?”
She jerked her attention back to her gorgeous daughter. “Yes, baby?”
This game could go on forever. Emily never tired of getting her attention. Her eyes sparkled. “I love you.”
As Natasha sank into the sweet, soft-armed hug, she reminded herself that it wasn’t just wisdom she’d gotten out of her past decisions. She’d also got this. Pure, unconditional love. She buried her face in Emily’s hair. “I love you, too.”
Which was an important thing to remember three hours later when she was willing herself to not grump at Emily for fidgeting at cooking class.
They were at the Chinese restaurant today. Mrs. Chan’s class was called Cook Dinner in Under an Hour! and promised prep tips and tricks from a chef. No pink icing, no cupcakes.
Her adorable three-year-old was grumpy and wanted everyone to know it. When Mrs. Cargill stopped by their table to say hello, Emily scowled before quietly whispering her response.
Mrs. Cargill just smiled. “Having a rough Monday, are we?”
Emily opened her colouring book and grabbed a crayon.
Natasha took a deep breath and nodded. “Little bit.”
The older woman sat in front of them, and the tables quickly filled up, but maybe everyone could sense Emily’s mood because nobody sat in the chair at the end of their table.
Mrs. Chan called the class to order promptly at the top of the hour, launching into an overview of the objectives. She was about to give her first tip when the door chimed, and everyone turned to see who the straggler was.
Not a regular, that was for sure. A big, broad body stood in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun. Someone who shouldn’t be here, because he didn’t live here, and last week was a one-off. Or something like that.
Natasha felt her eyes go wide and her mouth drop open as Matt Foster gave the room a sheepish wave. “Sorry I’m late. I’ll just, uh…” He pointed to the empty chair next to Emily, who was beaming at him, and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “Is that spot free?”
Emily gave him the world’s biggest grin and nodded her head.
She doesn’t know Matt is off-limits.
And neither did most of Natasha’s rioting body parts, either.
He gave them both a quick smile as he sat down. Once again they were sharing a table with Emily in between them. Again Natasha was doing her best to not look at him even though she was completely, utterly aware of every inch of his six-foot-plus deliciousness.
Most of all, she couldn’t stop seeing the hint of a blush along his cheekbones.
God damn it, if he was a little nervous, that would just melt her heart. She wasn’t prepared for heart-melting. She wasn’t prepared for any of this.
She’d told him it was complicated and pushed him away. Why had he come back?
From the counter, Mrs. Chan gave Matt a disapproving look before continuing with her tips on getting organized before you begin. “Really, the true secret to cooking dinner quickly is having a clean kitchen from the previous meal. If you have a wide open counter space with lots of room to do your prep, everything will go faster.”
That was true. Bailey’s had a small prep space, and it meant that Malcolm spent more time doing that work and cleaning up in between, rather than waiting for the dishwasher to come in.
In her fantasy future inn, she’d have a big farm kitchen with a giant work space in the middle. In reality, she’d probably be working as a bartender for the rest of her life and doodling kitchen drawings when she was fifty, an empty-nester who worried that her daughter was making a big mistake by not going to medical school. Or something. God, she didn’t want to fall into the same trap her parents had.
Whatever Emily wanted to do with her life would be just fine.
And Natasha’s Big Dream Plan was fun to think about.
Plus it was an excellent distraction from the Big Hot Hunk on the other end of her table—who was taking notes.
Notes.
He’d brought a notebook.
She gave up pretending that she wasn’t aware of him and turned her head, giving him a brow-pulled-together curious
look before shooting a glance at his notebook. Taking notes? she mouthed.
Very interesting, he silently responded. Then he grinned.
She turned her attention back to Mrs. Chan, who’d moved on to a comparison of cooking techniques. “Obviously, I am biased toward the stir-fry,” she said, leaving room after that for a round of weak laughter. “But anything with high heat and small pieces of meat is sure to cook quickly. Big pieces of meat and slow heat? Those are for Sundays. Or when you are retired, so for some of you, why are you here? Go home and make a roast.”
From the table in front of them, Mrs. Cargill muttered something about having better things to do with her time because she was old, not dead, and glanced meaningfully at Matt.
He grinned at her, too. Free and loose with those smiles, the Big Hot Hunk was.
Mrs. Chan sighed. “Moving on. When time is short, it’s smart to choose recipes that can be accomplished in much less time than you have. Whatever time it says on a recipe, double it. That’s how long it will take.”
The tips continued for the next ten minutes, all common sense but most not applicable for Natasha. She already knew how to cook for a family and in a hurry. She was here for the hands-on part of the class—a salad prep race.
The little things in life amused her. Racing senior citizens for the fastest vegetable chop in town would usually be the highlight of her social life for the week. Now Matt was at the end of the table, and she was very distracted by his mouth.
His smile, not his mouth, she tried to tell herself.
Definitely not the promise of a kiss she couldn’t have.
She wanted to ask him what he was doing here, except she knew the answer would almost certainly be dangerous.
Matt liked the way Natasha kept looking at him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, either.
She had a notebook in front of her, covered in neat writing, organized into stacks of words. Somehow she managed to sneak looks at him, give the presenter her full attention, and keep an eye on Emily, too.
