by Lynne, Donya
“No, you don’t. You just think you do.” Rob’s earnest gaze scratched something deep inside Mark’s soul, awakening a niggle of discomfort.
He looked away and shuffled his feet against an icy patch of snow, letting silence consume the uneasiness for a long moment. “By the way. Congratulations.” He hesitantly met Rob’s eyes again. “Really, I’m happy for you. Honestly, I am.” He waved toward the gym. “I’m sorry I was such a douche in there.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Rob fist-bumped him, bro code for I forgive you.
“When are you going to pop the question?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
A tremor of pain throbbed inside Mark’s heart. For so long, he’d been the hopeless romantic. Big tough guy like him, and all he’d wanted was a wife to give flowers and a heart-shaped box of chocolates to on Valentine’s Day. To take dancing, kiss, and make love to on a bed covered in rose petals. That had been his dream for so long. He’d thought Carol would be the fulfillment of that dream, but then she’d destroyed everything. Now he wasn’t sure he would ever see his dream fulfilled.
“Be my best man,” Rob said.
Mark’s pulse kicked up a notch at the idea. “Rob—”
“I want you to be my best man, Mark. I know how you are with churches and weddings, but you’re my best friend. You have to stand up with me.”
Mark dropped his gaze to the snowy pavement.
“Please.” Rob’s voice implored him.
He knew he couldn’t bail on Rob. Doing so after being best friends for twenty years would be a betrayal.
“Okay.” Mark met Rob’s gaze. “I’ll do it. For you, I’ll do it.”
Rob was his brother from another mother. No way could he let Rob down and not be there for him on the most important day of his life. Hopefully, Rob’s big day would go better than his had seven years ago.
“How about a beer?” Rob said.
Mark nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that. I could use a beer right now.” Maybe the alcohol would dull the rampage of despair and frustration inside his head. At least for a little while.
Rob pushed away from the car and grabbed the handle of the driver’s side door. “What you could use is a shower. I think your sweat is freezing to your hair. Jeez, how long were you at it in there?”
“Over an hour.” More like ninety minutes.
Rob sighed. “Well, at least all this anger is getting you ripped.” He opened his car door.
Mark picked up his duffel. “Let me run by my place and get cleaned up. I’ll meet you in an hour?”
“I’ll see you then.”
Mark waved as Rob pulled out of the parking lot. Then he climbed behind the wheel of his BMW.
Before putting the car in gear, he grabbed his phone and pulled up Karma’s contact information. For about the hundredth time since returning to Chicago, Mark typed her a text message.
I miss you. Can’t stop thinking about you.
He stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the send button. One of these days, when enough time had passed, and when he no longer felt like his heart would self-destruct if she didn’t reply—or did reply and told him not to contact her again or that she had gotten married—he would actually grow the balls to send one of his texts.
But that day wasn’t today. As with all the other messages he had typed to her, he backspaced this one out, too. Then he leaned the back of his head on the headrest and stared up at ceiling.
God, what’s taking you so long? I need her. I need her now. Before I self-destruct.
Chapter 6
Valentine’s Day
Karma pulled open the door to Single Servings and stepped inside. At least a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward her. Last year at that Chicago benefit where she met Mark, all the attention had excited her. Now it just made her self-conscious.
Keeping her head down, she wandered toward the back corner of the room.
Why had she let Jan talk her into this?
“Have you ever heard of Single Servings?” Jan had said during their last session.
“No.”
“Well, it’s a cooking school catered toward single people. Singles meet up, cook, eat, have a good time. Sometimes they organize meet-ups at restaurants or do other activities. I have a couple of other clients who attend the Single Servings events and really enjoy them. Maybe you should give them a try now that you’re cooking again.”
Karma balked, holding up one hand, palm out. “I don’t think I’m ready for something like that.” Cooking in the privacy of her home was one thing, but teaming up with other singles in a meet-and-greet-let’s-hook-up kind of place was another.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jan said. “I think you should give it a try. It sounds like something you would really enjoy.” Jan crossed her legs. “You’ve been doing a lot of cooking since Christmas, and even if you don’t meet anyone, if nothing else, you’ll add a few more recipes to your pantry. It’s a win-win any way you look at it.”
Jan had clearly wanted her to get back into the dating public.
So, here she was, anti-mingling at her first Single Servings event. The front half of the space was set up like a restaurant, with small tables and booths. Most of the other guests congregated around the bar stretched along the opposite wall, but she and two other obviously timid types hovered alone in the shadows, sipping cocktails.
In the back, behind a low wall, a large kitchen area was set up with multiple stations. Apparently, that was where the cooking took place.
“Hi there.”
Karma turned and found a tall, not-quite-unfamiliar man standing next to her. She could swear she’d seen him before but couldn’t remember where.
“Hi.” She took an automatic half step back.
He smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Karma’s gaze met his chocolate brown eyes. “You do look familiar, but I can’t quite…” She squinted as if that would help.
“I met you last summer,” he said, still smiling. “At the bookstore.”
Karma’s mouth fell open. Flirt Quest. Oh God, this was the man she’d unknowingly flashed her Blow Him book at. After making a complete fool out of herself, he had hunted her down and asked her to dinner. Or was it coffee? She couldn’t remember. But she did remember him giving her his card.
“Brad, right?”
His face lit up. “Yes. And you’re…wait…don’t tell me.” His eyes narrowed for a couple of seconds before he said, “Karla?”
“Close. Karma.”
“Ah. One letter off. Damn.” He snapped his fingers.
His gaze danced over her face, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything.
“Is this your first time at Single Servings?” he said.
“Yes.” She glanced down into her cocktail glass. How awkward that she actually knew someone there.
“So, I guess you’re not still sort of involved with someone?”
It took her a second to understand what he meant, and then she remembered that was what she’d told him when he asked her out for coffee or dinner or whatever. That she was sort of involved with someone else. Mark. She and Mark had made an agreement that while they were together, neither would get involved with anyone else. That’s why she hadn’t taken Brad up on his dinner offer. Well, that and her gut had told her Brad really wasn’t her type.
But here they were, meeting again. What were the odds? Maybe it was a sign.
“No, I’m not sort of involved with someone anymore.” Saying the words sent an echo of pain through her chest, and a lump briefly formed in her throat before she washed it down with a sip of her drink.
His grin grew bigger, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Well, lucky me then.”
He was an attractive man with thick, black hair seasoned with a touch of grey and kind, brown eyes that appeared a little wary, as if they’d seen their share of heartache. His forehead was lined with shallow creases, but in an outdoorsy, weathered kind of w
ay. How old was Brad? He looked older than Mark. Brad had to be at least thirty-six, if not older. That was quite an age difference between them. Maybe that was why her gut had shied away from him last summer.
“Yes, lucky you,” she said, lifting her drink.
Brad glanced toward the kitchen. “So, do you know how this works?”
“How what works?”
“Single Servings?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Just that cooking’s involved. Why? Do you?”
“I’ve been coming to these things for a while, so yes, you could probably call me an expert.”
“How long is a while?”
“About six months.” He sipped from what looked like a glass of scotch. Mark had been drinking scotch the night she met him. Brad’s choice of drink felt like a sign, too.
The slender, blond hostess chose that moment to step into the center of the room and tap a spoon on her glass. “Excuse me, everyone.” She brushed her hair off her shoulder and waited until the guests quieted. “My name’s Natalie.” Her gaze swept the room. “I see a lot of familiar faces this evening, as well as quite a few new ones.” Her bleached smile was so white it looked fake. “For those new to Single Servings, welcome.” She briefly raised her glass then proceeded to go around the room for introductions.
Karma felt her face heat when it was her turn to speak. “My name’s Karma Mason.”
“And what brings you to us, Karma?” Natalie said.
She nibbled her bottom lip and glanced toward the floor. “Um, well…” She didn’t think explaining that her therapist had suggested she come would make a good impression. “I’m single and like to cook, so I thought this would be a good way to meet new people.”
That was evasive enough.
“You came to the right place,” Natalie said.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Brad watching her.
The last two guests introduced themselves, then Natalie explained how things worked. There were eight stations in the kitchen, plus one for the instructor. The sixteen guests—eight women and eight men—were to pair up with a member of the opposite sex and take a station.
Brad turned to her. “Would you like to be my partner?”
He was the obvious choice. At least she knew Brad. Well, sort of. Could she really count a ten-minute encounter at the bookstore, where she had royally embarrassed herself by revealing her stack of sex books, as knowing him? Still, they had talked, and he seemed genuinely nice. And he was more attractive than she remembered. Kind of sexy in his maroon sweater and charcoal grey slacks.
“Okay, sure.” She followed him into the kitchen where they claimed a station with the number three painted on the wall over the stove. A bevy of dessert ingredients lay neatly on the island facing toward the front of the room.
“Everyone, put on your aprons.” Natalie stepped behind the teaching station then tied her apron around her waist.
Karma did the same, casting Brad a sideways glance. He had a nice profile. He caught her eye and smiled. She quickly looked away.
“In honor of Valentine’s Day,” Natalie said, “we’re going to make decadent chocolate truffles.” She emphasized each word. “In front of you, you have the recipe and all the ingredients you’ll need.”
Karma picked up the six-by-nine card and followed along as Natalie relayed the ingredients and instructions. Then Natalie demonstrated the first few steps before turning everyone loose.
Brad poured cream into a saucepan and set it on the stove while Karma unwrapped the chocolate.
“So, have you read any good books lately?” Brad asked.
“No.” Karma snapped the bar of chocolate in half and set the pieces on their wood cutting board. “I’ve been kind of busy.”
Busy mourning the loss of the greatest man ever to happen to me.
Brad picked up one of the two chef’s knives and helped her chop the chocolate. His forearm brushed hers. “Me, too. My office picked up a new project and things have been a little crazy. Lot of long days”
“You’re an engineer, right?” Karma remembered that from the business card he’d given her.
“Yes. And I’m the office director, too, which means I oversee all our projects.” He looked genuinely impressed…as if he figured she hadn’t given him a second thought after meeting him but was glad to hear she’d paid enough attention to remember what he did for a living. “What do you do?”
“I’m an executive assistant for a company that manufactures lawn care products and does landscape design.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It can be.” She scooped up shards of chocolate and dropped them in a glass mixing bowl. “My degree was in journalism, though. I’m hoping to move back into that someday.”
“Ah, a writer, huh?” Brad checked on the cream, making sure it wasn’t boiling.
She shrugged and chopped up the last of the chocolate. “Maybe someday.”
They worked in silence for a couple of minutes, and the sounds of the others talking and laughing filled the empty space.
“I think the cream’s ready,” Brad said, removing it from the heat.
He set it on the counter.
Karma checked the recipe. “We need to let it cool for about twenty seconds then pour it through the sieve into the chocolate.”
“So, you enjoy cooking?” Brad picked up the sieve and watched the clock.
“Yes. You?”
“Some.” He picked up the pan. “I’m usually so pressed for time, though, that I don’t cook as much as I should.”
Karma grabbed the whisk. “Pour it slowly,” she said as he began pouring the cream into the chocolate.
As he poured, she stirred.
“Do you have any kids?” Brad asked.
Kids? How old did he think she was? “No. You?”
“One. A daughter.”
That was a surprise, but then it really shouldn’t have been. Brad looked old enough to be divorced with a kid.
“How old is she?”
“Twelve going on twenty.”
Karma laughed at the tired, I’ve-already-had-enough-of-her-drama way he said it. “That bad, huh?”
He tossed the sieve aside and opened the bottle of Grand Marnier while she continued slowly stirring the hot cream into the chocolate. “Oh, it’s not that bad, but sometimes I can’t keep up with the mood changes. Everything’s a crisis or unbelievably ‘awesome.’ I’m praying for the end of puberty.”
Memories of Karma’s own childhood crept into her mind. Her life had been a wreck when she was twelve. If not for her dad’s steadying influence and encouragement, she might not have turned out as emotionally healthy as she had. And that was saying something, because she still carried a lot of baggage into her adult life from the bullying she’d endured. She could only imagine that life for a preteen girl these days was even harder.
“Give it time. I’m sure everything will work out. Just be there for her, and I’m sure she’ll grow up well adjusted.” She frowned at what looked like lumps in their cream and chocolate mixture.
“I hope so.” Brad poured a tablespoon of Grand Marnier. “You ready for this?”
Scowling at the lumpy consistency of the ganache, she nodded. “Sure.” Hopefully, the rest of the chocolate would melt by the time they scooped it into balls.
Brad added the liqueur, coffee, and vanilla then set aside the bowl. It had to sit at room temperature for an hour.
While they waited, they cleaned then wandered into the front of the room with a few others to grab hors d’oeuvres and chat. After making small talk about books and work, Brad told her he’d been married for eleven years but that they’d gotten divorced when his daughter, Jade, was nine.
“What happened?”
“We just grew apart.” He wiped his fingers on his small, square paper napkin. “I think we got married too young, before we knew what we wanted. As the years passed, we seemed to have less and less in common.” He shrugged. “After a while, a
ll we did was argue. It wasn’t a healthy environment for Jade.”
“Your ex-wife has custody?”
“Yes, but I see her on the weekends and get her for a month every summer and for a couple weeks during the holidays. She may be a diva in the making, but she’s my angel.”
Karma liked how he talked about his daughter. Brad sounded like a good father.
After an hour passed, they returned to the kitchen, scooped out balls of ganache, and refrigerated them for thirty minutes while prepping the garnishments for their truffles. Then they rolled their balls of ganache into perfect spheres and coated them with crushed almonds, powdered sugar, or chocolate sprinkles.
“Do we dare?” Brad said as he picked up a finished truffle and held it toward her.
“Why not?” She grabbed one covered in powdered sugar and held it out for him.
At the same time, they leaned in, took the truffles in their mouths, and watched each other eat.
The chocolate was still lumpy, so fail on the ganache, but the flavor was good.
“Well?” she said, covering her mouth with her hand.
He nodded and licked powdered sugar off his lips. “Not perfect, but not bad for a first attempt.”
Karma had been at Single Servings for over three hours. And she hadn’t died. Honestly, she’d had a good time. Maybe even a great one. She’d only thought about Mark a couple of times, but for the most part, she’d kept herself in the moment. And Brad was nice. She was glad she’d come and bumped into him.
As the evening wound down and everyone filtered out—some in pairs or groups, others alone—Brad helped her into her coat.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said.
“Me, too.” She started for the door, carrying her container of truffles.
“Do you think you’ll be back next week?” He followed her into the chilly night. The interest in his voice was unmistakable.
Was she ready to embark on another journey with a man other than Mark? If she did this, she would be taking her first step toward walking away from Mark for good…really saying good-bye this time. Not like before, when she’d said good-bye but hadn’t meant it.
She glanced at Brad, and he smiled hopefully.
