by Dara Girard
“I said red.”
“I know, that’s why I’m going with blue. I don’t want to come on too strong.”
“I don’t think you can, although you have changed a lot lately. It’s nice to see you taking a risk like this. First you pitch to Brett Lattimore, manage to hook him and now you’re going out with him.”
“You make me sound devious.”
“Might make it awkward to get more business from him if things don’t work out.”
Corinne made a face. “Now you’re beginning to sound like Bonnie.”
Vivian shivered and slapped her mouth. “Forget I said anything.”
“I know things could get complicated. I know that if this dinner goes south I could lose potential leads or referrals.”
Vivian grinned. “But you don’t care?”
Corinne smiled back. “Not one bit.”
“You like him that much?
“Yes.” She even knew the third pair of stockings she would wear.
Vivian shook her head amazed. “You certainly have changed.”
“I know and it feels good.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brett chopped, he sautéed, he baked, he set the table and he waited.
And waited.
He waited until two o’clock and then checked his phone for any missed messages. Nothing. He waited another half hour and another. Not believing what was truly happening. Not to him. She hadn’t done this to him, had she?
He looked at his cell phone. Perhaps something had happened? He started to call Corinne then stopped. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to sound pathetic. What if she’d changed her mind and was too afraid to tell him? What if she’d forgotten? Somehow knowing that was infinitely worse, it meant she cared so little for him that her offhanded “yes” had been meant to just get him off her back.
He set his phone down on the counter. If she wanted to forget it, he would to. He’d pretend it never happened. He’d never written the note; he’d never stuck it on the back of her hand. He’d never told his father he’d taken a risk. He’d never spent the last week preparing for this day.
He put the dishes away, more carefully than usual to get over the urge to throw them on the ground and shatter every plate and drinking glass. He could afford to replace them. But no, he wouldn’t let her upset him and cost him more than she already had. It wasn’t the food. He’d give it away. No, it was his time, it was the hope she’d offered him. He’d never forgive her for taking that away.
He dropped the food off at his parents’ house, not giving them a chance to ask any questions. He didn’t care if they ate it, threw it or gave it away. He returned home and completed some dynamic stretching routines to limber up his body, but he still felt tense so he went for a run. He came back, showered and sat on the couch and read over a report.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He hurt. He hurt so bad. He’d almost let her in. He’d almost let her get close and she’d…
He heard a soft cry and looked down at Alvin and Martha. It hurt too much to bend down and stroke them.
The pain burned. He wished he hadn’t listened to his father. It all should have ended that day. The workshop had been a success. He should have trusted his instincts.
He grabbed a jump rope and did some more exercises then showered again until his skin felt like rubber. Now he could focus. He’d helped people. His employees seemed happy. He’d think of a similar event for next year.
Work was something that kept his mind occupied. He could find problems to solve. The business needed him; its survival depended on him. He needed to feel needed. Otherwise there was nothing else to keep him together, to keep him facing each new day.
When the doorbell rang at seven o’clock he paused. He wasn’t expecting anyone.
He looked through the peephole. His heart constricted. It couldn’t be.
No. No. It couldn’t be! Brett turned from the door, leaning his back against it as the bell rang again. She had the nerve to show up six hours late? Was she drunk?
He took a deep breath turned and gripped the handle.
He swung the door open and before he could speak Corinne flashed a wide smile and held out three large Asian pears.
“I heard they were your favorite,” she said.
They were. She’d even gotten the brand right. And she looked beautiful in a blue dress and wearing animal print stockings.
What was going on? He gripped the door handle, not trusting himself to speak. Anger and relief warred within him. And it angered him even more how relieved he felt that she’d come at all. Was this some sort of test? That’s what his ex Delaney always did with him. Loving her was exhausting. She always found ways that he had to prove his interest in her. She’d arrive late for dates and kiss him and say, “If you loved me you’d understand”, or miss a meeting and say the same. He’d twisted himself into loops for her. But he wouldn’t do it now.
Never again. Ever. He hadn’t thought Corinne would be like that. He thought she was more honest. If he let her walk through the door would that be a triumph for her, to show she could control him? That she had him wrapped around her finger? He should close the door in her face. Why wasn’t he? Why had he weakened at the sight of that smile?
She frowned. “What’s wrong?” She looked down at his jeans and shirt. “Did I come on the wrong day?”
Brett bit his lip and shook his head before he motioned her inside.
She tentatively entered, sending him a wary look. “Am I overdressed? I know we’re not going out but I thought…?”
He took a deep breath and slowly closed the door. “You look nice.” It was all he could manage without revealing how he really felt. He was still angry and needed to gain control. She could never know how much she affected him. At least the place gave no sign to all the effort he’d gone through—the dining table lay bare, not a single item in the kitchen was out of place.
“Hello,” she said in greeting when Alvin came to inspect. She opened her handbag, pulled out a pouch and shook it. “I brought you a treat too.” Brett’s heart shifted at the bright smile on her face as she tucked the pouch back in her handbag, but when Martha shyly brushed Corinne’s hand and she gently scratched the cat behind its ears, he felt his temper rise. How could she pretend to be so kind? He turned. If he shouted at her, she’d know how he felt. “Excuse me.”
“I surprised you, didn’t I?” she said, rising to her feet. “You’re used to women who are late. But I told you I’m always punctual.”
He spun around and glared at her. “Punctual? You call this punctual?”
“Yes,” Corinne said, the light in her eyes dimming. “Seven on the dot.”
“Seven?” His voice cracked; his heart started to race. “Seven?”
“Y-yes, that’s what you wrote.”
He ran a hand down his face and marched to the kitchen. “I don’t believe this.”
She set the pears on the kitchen table and began to search in her handbag.
He watched her. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for the note.”
“You kept it?”
“Of course I kept it.”
“I thought you’d read it and throw it away.”
“Why would I do that? But where...yes, here it is. My place. Seven o’clock,” she read.
Brett held out his hand. “Can I see that?”
“Sure.” She started to hand it to him then stopped. “Wait.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t send this to me, did you? Was this some mistake? A colossal joke? Did you mean to give me something else?” She looked down at the note. “It looks like your handwriting, but maybe someone copied it and—”
“I wrote it and gave it to you. It wasn’t a mistake,” he said impatient. He wiggled his fingers. “Let me see it.”
She handed the sticky note to him.
Brett looked at it then held it up for her to see. He pointed to the number. “This is a one!”
She frowned. “A one?”
He nodded.
“Not a seven?”
He shook his head.
She looked at him for a moment then a slow realization crossed her face before it was replaced by a look of horror. “Oh no. I was supposed to come for lunch not dinner?”
He nodded.
“I’m so sorry.” She snatched the note from him and frantically scanned it. “I was so certain it was a seven. I should have verified.”
“It’s my fault. I should have made it clear.” Vivian had warned him about his handwriting.
“Did you cook?”
Brett folded his arms and leaned against the counter. He bit his lip. He could lie. He could tell her that he’d changed his mind and planned to order in so it wasn’t a big deal. But right now he had to get away from her because he wasn’t angry anymore. He was relieved. So relieved that she hadn’t forgotten, that she hadn’t made him wait on purpose, that she had come. He had a wild urge to hug her. That wasn’t a good thing. Not yet.
He turned. “Let me change and we can go out somewhere.” He didn’t give her a chance to say anything before he left the kitchen.
He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, but didn’t get inside. Instead he paced his bedroom. He shouldn’t be this happy, but damn he was. He hadn’t made an idiot of himself. She was here and she looked wonderful. He could salvage this. The risk had been worth it.
He changed into a long sleeve green shirt and a pair of dark trousers and found her sitting at the kitchen table staring at the Asian pears with a sad expression. He didn’t want to see her sad.
He pulled out a chair and sat in front of her. “If you’re willing to wait, I can cook something.”
“I wish you had called me. Or sent a text.”
“Saying what?”
“I don’t know...telling me you were waiting.”
“I’m not your boss. Or a client.”
“But this was a date, right?”
He shrugged. “I was too proud.”
“What does pride have to do with anything?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
She groaned and hung her head. “What a kerfuffle.”
“What?”
She lifted her head. “Never mind.”
Brett stood. “Where do you want to go?”
Corinne shook her head. “No, I can wait for you to cook something. I was thinking about it all week.”
He bit his lip again, this time trying hard to stop a smile. He hated how pleased that made him feel. “Okay, but I have to get some items.”
“I can help.”
He grabbed a notepad and wrote some ingredients down. “You go here and pick up these items. I have another place I have to go. We’ll meet back at my place, okay?” He pulled out his wallet and handed her some money.
She waved it away. “I already cost you the first round, I can do this.”
Corinne swore as she walked to her car. The evening air was warm with the promise of a coming summer, but her skin burned as if she’d been thrown inside a volcano. How could she have gotten the time wrong? Six hours late! No wonder he’d looked furious. She was shocked he’d even let her inside. If it had been her, she would have shouted at him then shoved a pear in his mouth.
He’d thought she’d changed her mind? Without telling him? Who did he think she was?
She looked at the items on the list. The shop he’d recommended was expensive and her debit card would cry a bit, but it was worth it. The Quest workshop had been lucrative enough to carry her through a couple months. Plus, she knew she was lucky he was giving her a second chance in the first place. She didn’t want to blow it. A man like Brett wasn’t easy to win over and she planned to win him completely.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brett arrived back at the house before Corinne. He was putting a tomato on the cutting board when he realized he’d made a mistake. He always cooked before guests arrived; he’d learned that lesson after Delaney. He knew it was best that no one saw his methods so that they couldn’t criticize them. “You look so serious,” she liked to tease him. “Are you having any fun at all?”
And Corinne could be worse. She liked to watch him. He knew that. She had once said she liked the way he moved, but when he cooked he was different. He wasn’t elegant or smooth. Sometimes he dropped things, twice he’d cut his finger. His meals always came out well, but they took effort. He wasn’t ready for her to see that side yet.
Perhaps he should turn on the TV and let her get lost in a show to distract her. Yes, that would be best.
The doorbell rang and he let her in. He took the grocery bags from her and motioned to the living room TV but before he could say anything she said, “Let me go wash my hands then I can help you.”
“I don’t need help,” he said following her, wondering how he could stop her.
“I’m great with chopping.”
“But—”
“It will get things done faster, don’t you think? And I’m starving.”
“Then we could order in.”
“All right, okay, I won’t exaggerate. I’m just hungry,” she corrected. She went over to the sink and washed her hands.
He sighed and turned to the stove.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“Where’s your apron?”
He pointed to the pantry. She grabbed the apron then returned to him and said, “Bend down a little so that I can put this on you. I’d hate for you to get oil or food on your nice shirt.” She tied the back string. “Okay, you’re the chef now.”
“What about you? I don’t have another—”
“It’s okay. I’ll be careful.”
But Brett didn’t like the idea of her ruining her dress so he went to his bedroom and came back with a light red shirt she could wear to protect her dress. “It’s a little big,” he said, which was an understatement. When she put it on it swallowed her, the sleeves falling past her hands.
“It’s perfect.” She buttoned up the shirt and rolled up the sleeves. “What do you want me to do?”
He wasn’t quite sure. She’d helped him put on the apron as if she expected him to be messy and didn’t care. He felt his tension ease. There was no need to be on guard. She was easy to get along with, easy to work with. He should have known that from their professional relationship, but he still found this moment surprising. No criticisms, no impatience.
She was here in his kitchen, eager to help him, looking beautiful...
“Chef?”
It took him a moment to realize he was staring at her.
He motioned to the cutting board where he had added some carrots.
“I want slices, not too fat or thin.”
She gave him a mock salute. “I’m on it.” She lifted the knife. “I’m glad I came, even though I was late.”
“Just get chopping,” he said, which was the best way he could manage I’m glad you came too, without saying the words.
The almond vanilla tart was pure heaven on a plate. Corinne leaned back from the dining table and closed her eyes as she finished her last bite. “This was delicious.”
“Of course.”
She opened her eyes and licked her fork. “I thought you were making an empty boast.”
Brett tried not to follow the movement of her tongue, imagining its warm, pink tip licking him. “I never boast. But you can cook for me next time.”
She set the fork down and shook her head. “After this, anything would be a colossal failure in comparison.”
“I doubt that. You helped after all.”
“Cutting vegetables and stirring batter doesn't really count.”
He pushed the remainder of his tart across the table to her. “You met my specifications.”
She eagerly accepted it. “Meeting your specifications has become a challenge of mine, remember?” She lifted her fork and took another bite.
A faint smile touched his lips. “I do. You’re one
of the few who hasn’t run away.”
“I did the first time,” she said, reminding him of their first official meeting in the conference room.
“But you came back.”
She nodded. “That’s true.”
He rested his chin in his hand. “Why? You needed the money?”
“I’d never admit that to you.”
“I’m curious.”
She pointed down to the tart in front of her. “It will take a lot more than this to get me to make myself that transparent.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you like scaring people?”
He thought for a moment. “I don’t do it on purpose, but it’s been effective. People rarely waste my time. When they do, they never do so again.”
“Your time is that important?”
“I think any limited resource is.”
“A limited resource,” Corinne said with a laugh. “Only you could say something like that and sound sincere.”
He held her gaze and his voice deepened. “Because I am and being the smart woman you are I hope you understand even more.”
She set her fork down and blinked. “Even more?”
“How much this dinner really costs.”
She groaned. “Yes, I wasted six hours of your time.”
He bit his lip, leaned forward. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean...I’d like to spend more time with you.”
She knew how difficult it was for him to say those words and she didn't know how to respond. Saying “me too” seemed so simple and didn’t say what she truly felt. “I’m afraid I can’t—”
He leaned back in his chair. “I see.”
“Be completely free right now. I have a son.”
“I know that.”
“And he’s living with his father now and I hope...it’s complicated but he’s part of my life and I don’t want to continue this if that would be a problem for you.”
“I wouldn’t have asked you here if it would be.” Brett studied her for a moment before he said, “I was surprised you had a child though.”
“Why?”
“Because at the train station you were going to—”
