She stepped back out of sight and wiped her suddenly wet eyes on the sleeve of her jacket.
“It’s got a bunch of stuff in it I can’t remember,” the boy admitted, looking toward her in the shadows apologetically.
“Looks good, kid,” Max said and Cameron’s chest puffed up. “Looks real good.”
Cameron set down the carrot-ginger soup. “Enjoy,” he said with an awkward little bow and came to stand at her side.
“We’ll be back with the dinner entrées,” she said and left the table of men as they began to eat.
“Oh dear God,” Patrick sighed. “That’s good.”
“So’s this,” Max said. “Hey, get your fork away, I’m not done.”
“You’ve done a great job, Alice,” Gabe’s voice floated through the dark room to wind around her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She slung her arm around Cameron’s shoulder. “Great job,” she whispered near his ear and quickly, briefly, his arm came across her waist in a sudden tight squeeze and then vanished.
Pride, relief, excitement, all combined in her, lifted her off her feet with a sensation that was unfamiliar.
I’m happy, she realized. For the first time in five years, I’m happy.
“Why’d you leave her?” Max asked, using his finger to wipe up the last of the sour cherry sauce that had covered the duck.
Gabe pushed away from the table, too full to even answer.
“Yeah?” Patrick asked. “A woman who cooks like that and is—”
“Shut up,” Gabe finally managed to say, though his command lacked enough heat to actually get them to stop talking.
Every single dish had been perfect. Max even ate the vegetarian pasta. Gabe needed to go back into the kitchen and tell Alice how good it had all been, but he didn’t. He would, he told himself. In a minute. At the moment he needed to just sit here and marvel at the total fruition of all their plans.
Tonight it was as if they’d never split up. As if they’d gone seamlessly from that bedroom on Pape, sketching out their plans for this place to this moment, with the solid walls around them and the delicious food still perfuming the air.
Right now, with the sound of Alice’s laughter creeping under the kitchen door, it was as if the bad stuff had never happened.
And that was dangerous.
“Alice was the right woman for the job,” Max said. “It sure would be nice to get a little appreciation for having come up with that.”
“Thank you,” Patrick said and swung his eyes over to Gabe. “And you two seem to be behaving yourselves.”
“We haven’t killed each other, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good food and no bodies.” Max stretched out his legs. “That’s win-win.”
His father’s eyes didn’t leave Gabe’s face and he could practically read his thoughts. It would be better if they were fighting, and his father knew it. Gabe felt the pull of what had been good about them. He wanted to go into that kitchen and wrap his arms around her, kiss her just below the ear in that place that she loved, the way he once would have.
“I’m okay, Dad,” he said. “It’s all okay.”
Patrick watched him a few minutes longer as if knowing he wasn’t telling the whole truth before finally standing to gather the plates as he went.
“I’m going to go help them do the dishes.”
“Yeah.” Max stood, too. “I better get Cameron home since he missed the bus to help out.”
“He’s a good kid,” Patrick said as they walked away from the island of light.
Gabe stared at the ceiling and wondered why, with everything going so well, so according to plan, he felt as though the ground beneath his feet was quicksand and he was in terrible danger of losing his balance.
It was the scheduled late-afternoon Monday conference call and Alice’s note-book was filled with the Crimpsons’ wedding demands, which she’d tried to organize into lists and pages according to days. But as the call progressed and the demands kept coming, her attempts to organize it had fallen apart. Now she simply doodled pictures of a giant lizard wearing a veil, eating a woman. Chuckling, she sketched a little chef hat on the woman and showed it to Gabe, who laughed silently.
“We’re sending you the boat we want filled with sushi,” Gloria Crimpson, mother of Bridezilla screamed, clearly not understanding the basic function of speakerphones.
Alice stopped doodling.
“Boat?” She mouthed to Gabe in the silence of the office. “Did she say boat?”
“What kind of boat are we talking about?” Gabe asked, reading Alice’s fears.
“It’s a small rowboat.”
“You want a rowboat filled with sushi?” Alice asked, just to clarify.
“Won’t that be fantastic?” Savanah Crimpson said. “I mean, since we decided on a nautical theme…”
Alice threw her notebook in the air and sat back in her chair. “When?” she mouthed to Gabe. “When did we decide on a nautical theme?”
Gabe put his finger to his smiling lips and she wanted to kill three people—the Fish-Stick Queen, the progeny and her ex-husband who seemed to be delighting in this.
“We look forward to getting the rowboat. We need to know the final numbers so we can figure out just how much sushi we’re going to need.”
The numbers. The all-important numbers. A muscle twitched below Gabe’s eye and Alice felt her own stress level start screaming for the roof. If the numbers were huge, the small hold they had on things would be blown and they’d need many more staff and tighter deadlines on food and—
“We’ve cut our guest list,” Savanah said, an unheard-before iron edge to her voice.
“Sweetheart,” Gloria wheedled. “We’re still discussing this.”
“No, Mom, we aren’t.” Gabe’s eyebrows lifted and Alice crossed her fingers that perhaps the previously spineless bride had managed to remember she walked upright. “Our numbers are ninety-five.”
Gabe’s arms shot up in the air and Alice flopped back in her chair, a weary rag doll of relief. Ninety-five they could do. Easily.
The tension on the other end of the line was crushing and Alice was grateful when Gabe went to work with his charm.
“Savanah, we will put together a beautiful event for you and your guests. Ninety-five people will allow it to be personal and elegant and filled with your personality.”
Alice choked on a laugh since the Fish-Stick Princess didn’t seem to have a personality and Gabe shot her a control-yourself look.
“Now, when you say nautical theme, are you referring to food and decor?” he asked.
“Well,” Savanah said, “since you said there were environmental laws against the pink swans…”
“Nice one,” she mouthed to Gabe and he nodded.
“I think yes, maybe some anchors and—”
Alice shuddered.
“Savanah, my partner and I will put together a list of decoration options and a menu with your nautical theme and I will e-mail it to you by the end of the day.”
“Tomorrow,” Alice piped in, and Gabe scowled.
She shrugged, there was only so much she could do as a one-woman wedding planner.
“Wonderful,” Savanah said.
“Gabe,” Gloria added, “if the numbers change again, are we—”
“Your numbers have to be final by the end of day tomorrow,” Alice chimed in. “I’m ordering food on Wednesday.”
Gabe winced and she guessed she hadn’t handled that as well as he would have.
“If we had more time,” Alice said, “perhaps—”
Gabe slid a thumb across his throat, telling her to stop.
“Well, there isn’t more time,” Gloria said, her voice frigid. “My daughter—”
“The time frame is perfect. Trust me,” Gabe said, leaning over the phone and pushing Alice out of the way. “We will put together a beautiful event.”
A beautiful, small, quick event. Alice wondered if the Fish-Stick Princess was k
nocked up.
“We’ll be coming in a week early,” Gloria said. “With guests arriving two days before the wedding.”
“We already have been getting reservations,” Gabe said. “As I said when you contacted me, Gloria, there is no need to worry. You just need to check your e-mail and show up.”
Everyone hung up and Alice and Gabe sat in the quiet of his office, staring at the phone.
“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” she asked.
“Six months. She was going to elope, but her mom talked her into a quickie wedding.”
“Can’t have a Fish-Stick Bastard?”
Gabe laughed then fell silent. She could guess what was going through his mind—the same things that were going through hers.
“Anchors?” she asked, incredulous.
“What else says nautical?”
“We could trap some seagulls and have them crap all over—”
“Funny,” he said, sitting back. “But not helpful.”
She picked up her pencil and tapped it against the notebook.
“We could dress the waiters as pirates,” she said, enjoying the look on Gabe’s face. “Dunk tank?” She asked.
“Clearly, there is something about the Crimpson women that makes you a bit giddy,” he said. “Other than flooding the place, or hanging anchors from the ceiling, what can we do?”
“Let me sleep on it,” she said, stretching.
“Ah, yes, the famous Alice ‘it came to me in a dream’ solution.” He wasn’t mocking her, his eyes were warm and his body relaxed. She realized that she hadn’t seen him this comfortable around her in years.
“Hey, it saved your ass a few times,” she said. “Remember that corporate—”
“Of course,” he groaned. “Of course. And if I remember correctly, I thanked you, quite handsomely, for that.”
As soon as he said it, Alice felt her face get hot, a flush built across her chest and up her face to her hairline. He’d surprised her with a trip to Mexico, an all-inclusive resort, and they’d lain on the beach and drunk fruity drinks and made love for a week straight.
It was the first time she’d gotten pregnant. The only time without the help of doctors. She’d miscarried at twenty weeks, just after their wedding.
“I’m starving,” Gabe said, standing so fast his chair spun out and hit the wall behind him. She looked up at him, watched the nervous energy radiate off him like radioactive rays. He remembered, too, and it made him uncomfortable.
His discomfort with their history used to make her angry. It made her want to fight and wound him for his coldness, for his uncaring heart. But with the years came a new understanding of the man.
He wasn’t cold. He was scared.
Not my problem, she thought, trying to control her wayward heart, which melted at this new understanding of her ex-husband. It’s not my job to fix this man anymore. I was never good at it anyway.
“Ham sandwich?” she asked, knowing his weaknesses.
“With white cheddar?”
“Like I’d put together a ham sandwich with anything else,” she scoffed, and led him from the office into her kitchen, where, as always, things were in balance.
She never let her kitchen get messed up with personal things. It was bad chi…or whatever.
Even the bad memory of Gabe trying to fire her almost two weeks ago had been replaced by the rolling out of the inn menu with Cameron’s enthusiastic help.
In her kitchen she and Gabe could discuss work, be friendly, laugh, even, as though the past were not between them. But nothing too personal, nothing too painful, nothing that would sully this beautiful room where she spent all her days—those topics were strictly off-limits.
He pulled up the stool where Cameron had been camped out for the past three days.
“So how are things working with the kid?” Gabe asked, leaning against the counter. “Max said you haven’t kicked him out of the kitchen yet.”
Alice pulled the ingredients for the ham sandwiches out of the fridge then slid open the big heavy drawer she was using as a breadbasket and grabbed the baguette Cameron had attempted to bake yesterday. Tasted fine. Looked terrible.
“Pretty well,” she said. “He’s very keen. He did a great job Friday night.”
“I couldn’t believe it when he came out those doors carrying plates with you. He didn’t even look like the same kid.”
“Well, pulling his hair back helped.”
“That’s great, Alice. I mean great that you found a little help—”
“I don’t know how much he’s helping,” she said, grinning at him over her shoulder. But the arrangement was good for both of them, her and Cameron. He filled the room with empty chatter that saved her from thinking too much, and he listened to her when she explained something, which made her feel as though she was contributing to something besides the destruction of her liver. He’d learned how to hold a knife confidently and how to check when duck was done or when carrot-ginger soup needed more salt.
She got to watch the pallid sullen look around his eyes vanish and his gray complexion turn pink.
Another patient healed by her kitchen.
“Well, it’s got to be a good thing for him,” Gabe said, plucking a slice of cheese from the stack she’d cut. “The kid doesn’t have any positive role models, that’s for sure.”
“What’s his story?” she asked, spreading maple mustard on the misshapen slices of bread. “He says his folks don’t care about him, but I can’t tell if that’s just him being a teenager or if it’s real.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s real. The mom’s gone, the dad drinks.” He shrugged. “They live way out in the country and if his dad is too drunk to get Cameron to school he misses school, which is what landed him in trouble. I don’t think he’s in danger of going to juvie. I think they want to remove him from his home.”
Her heart sank for Cameron. “The kid is bright, he should have a shot at school.”
“I know.”
Silence reigned and soon it became too heavy. Sunset was about a half hour away and the shadows were growing long in the kitchen. It was her favorite time of day, quiet and special.
And somehow, either by his quiet or the feel of his gaze on her back, she knew in her bones Gabe was remembering that and it created a hushed intimacy between them. Two weeks before, the truce wouldn’t have been there.
Her spacious healing kitchen was becoming smaller with every breath.
But there was nothing to stop the rush of good memories, the little sweet details they remembered about each other. Her favorite time of day. The way he liked his ham sandwiches. Five years ago she’d do this for him and place the sandwich in front of him with a kiss and he’d pat her bottom every time she was in reach and it would be a good thing. And right now, in her kitchen at her favorite time of day she missed that closeness with a physical pain.
And frankly it scared the bejesus out of her. She felt a little naked without her anger. Defenseless without her resentment.
“Lettuce?” she asked needlessly, as if she hadn’t made him a thousand ham sandwiches, but she needed to put the distance between them. Needed to pretend she didn’t remember him as well as she did, to pretend her life truly had gone on without him.
“God, no.” He pretended to shudder.
She slid the plate across the butcher’s block toward him and leaned against the counter with her own sandwich. “So,” she said, “the nautical food is easy. Lobster tail and filet?”
He shook his head, turning up his nose. “How many weddings have you been to with that on the menu?” he asked. “And frankly, my serving staff isn’t that plentiful, or well trained for table service.”
She nodded, he was right.
“How about stations?” he asked. “You know we have the sushi boat and perhaps some oysters and we could have another station with paella?”
“And a grill station with fish, and we’ve got to have a meat option.” She grabbed his wavelength. “We could d
o portobello mushrooms for the vegetarians.”
“Excellent. Some cheese and crudités—”
“And dessert,” she said, smiling. “Done and done.”
“You’re going to need some trained chefs to handle those stations,” he said. “And I don’t—”
“I’ll ask my folks.” Her father was trained, her mother was simply an excellent cook. They couldn’t ask for better. “They’ll think it’s a hoot.”
“A hoot?” Gabe swallowed audibly and she smiled at him.
“They’ve forgiven you for knocking up their only daughter.”
“You sure? Because those Christmases at their house were pretty chilly.”
“Right.” She laughed. “The way they showered you with gifts and that homemade eggnog only you loved? Yeah, they hated you.” After her folks had gotten over the initial whirlwind of her and Gabe meeting, falling in love, falling in bed, getting pregnant and getting married, they’d done their part and fallen for Gabe in a big way. The divorce had hit them pretty hard.
“They’d love to help you out,” she said. “And they’re cheap.”
“Perfect. How quick can you get me a budget?” he asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” He nodded at her, his smile electric, and she faced it head-on before it got too uncomfortable. She wished he were a stranger. But then they wouldn’t work together this well. Every situation had its own catch-22.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” she said, “I can’t guarantee I’ll answer it.”
“What happened with Zinnia?” He put down his sandwich and watched her.
She avoided his eyes. There was nothing wrong with talking about it, she tried to convince herself, but it still wasn’t easy to open her mouth and let the words come out. “Bad management on my part,” she said. “I’m a good chef but a lousy businesswoman.”
“Was it because of the drinking?” he asked.
She shook her head. She couldn’t even pretend to be angry for some reason. Her kitchen took all the heat out of her, plucked her righteous indignation away like a feather. “I wasn’t drinking that much then.” The words stuck in her throat like a fishbone. She hadn’t told anyone this, largely because no one really cared to ask. Restaurants failed all the time; no one except Gabe would understand that hers shouldn’t have. “I just trusted the wrong people. I was so used to working with you.” She smiled at him briefly, looking through her lashes at his solemn expression that he never realized was more attractive than all his grins. “I didn’t watch my manager closely enough, or my accountant, for that matter. We bled money, and by the time I realized it, my accountant was gone and my manager had gotten a new job and I was left with a lot of debt.”
Wedding At the Riverview Inn Page 10
