by Shirley Jump
Jenna took the leftover toast and began storing it in plastic wrap. She thought of the Stockton she used to know, a boy who had been too concentrated on having fun to ever do anything practical or serious, or sacrificial. And here he was, clearly a regular behind the buffet line, and also a generous donor of food. Food that came from a restaurant he had opened up in this town, yet one more way he’d set down roots and also boosted the local economy. Stockton had changed, she realized, in more ways than one. “Why are you here?”
“Because it makes me feel good. I’m sure it would be easier to let the leftover food go to waste, but this is rewarding. I found something here,” he said, pausing as he loaded the empty chafing dish into the sink, “something that I hadn’t realized I’d been looking for until I came across it.”
Yes, Stockton had changed—become calmer, more centered. A man who knew what he wanted, and even more, had it.
She envied that peace. For as long as she could remember, she had felt a constant churning in her gut. She’d called it need for a change of her life, and for a while there in New York, the churning had been quieted by success. But then over the past few months, heck, maybe Aunt Mabel was right and it had been more than a year, the churning had returned, becoming a full-blown whirlpool threatening to take her down into its vortex.
And so she had begun to screw up. At first, she had attributed it to her business growing too fast, being too busy to mind the details, but was there more to her actions, as her aunt had said? Was it some subconscious fight to find what Stockton clearly had?
“What did you find here?” she asked Stockton. Maybe if she knew, she’d understand better and be able to find the same.
He thought a moment. Beside them, soap bubbles popped and disappeared in the hot dishwater. The bustle of the kitchen cleanup continued, and out at the dining tables, the low, happy hum of conversation rolled. “That when we help other people, it reminds us of the goodness in others, and in ourselves. And reminds us that there is good everywhere, including this town.”
Jenna’s gaze took in the people in the room, their faces content, filled by more than just a meal. “You’re right,” she said softly. “I guess I got too wrapped up in the bad to focus on the good. It was easier, I guess, that way.”
Stockton stopped cleaning for a moment, and met her gaze. “I think people do that a lot. About more than just what’s happening behind closed doors—about themselves and who they really are.”
Jenna loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and thought about Stockton’s words. She’d come here with him this morning, sure she’d prove him wrong. Sure she’d find one more argument in the case against Riverbend. Instead, she’d been reminded that this town did, as Stockton said, have another side. One that helped without judging, without asking anything in return. A side that had helped first her family, and later her, when she’d needed it.
She’d returned to Riverbend, so sure this town could never grow on her again. Confident that Stockton Grisham hadn’t changed at all. After today, she could no longer deny the truth—
She’d been wrong. There was only one person she didn’t really know anymore.
Herself.
CHAPTER TEN
“DON’T TELL ME THAT’S what you’re wearing tonight.”
Jenna turned, the simple black dress she’d been considering pressed to her chest. “I might. If I even go.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Jenna. You have to go out, it’s a tradition. And you have to look sexy. That’s a rule.” Livia grinned. Her plane had arrived that afternoon, and in the few hours since, Jenna had caught her friend and former employee up on all the party plans. Not so much on the personal events. Jenna’s mind was still processing how Stockton had surprised her in the past few days.
Livia entered the room and took a seat on the quilted comforter. “Aren’t you supposed to go? I mean, you planned this party.”
“I’m sure Stockton will have it all under control.” Jenna draped the black sheath dress over the chair beside the vanity she’d sat at for so many years, it seemed like it was part of her. The scarred white furniture had been one of the first things Aunt Mabel bought her when they moved to the house in the city, and the first time Jenna had ever owned a matched bedroom set. Even though she’d long ago outgrown the scalloped edged pieces with their painted on pink flowers, she loved every bit of it, from the twin bed to the long, low dresser.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you should go, if only to have an excuse to wear a great dress.” Livia picked up a second dress lying on the bed. The red jersey fabric hugged Jenna’s curves, while the low V-neck offered a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath. When Jenna had packed it, she’d been sure it was a waste of valuable suitcase space, but now she wondered if maybe Livia had a point.
How would Stockton react if she walked into the room, wearing this dress? Would he smile and take her in his arms? Or would he be so wrapped up in his party that he barely even noticed her presence?
She glanced at her luggage. In a few days, she’d be packing and heading back to New York. And Stockton would once again be a piece of her past. He had changed in many ways, but not in the ways that were most fundamental to a relationship. He’d danced around them being together again, but hadn’t done anything more than that. Just like in years past, Stockton had one foot toward the door even as he said he wanted to stay.
She sighed. “I have so much to do for Eunice’s birthday party that I don’t really have time to go out tonight. I already made sure the restaurant was all set up for the party tonight. I don’t have to be there to host it.” She rehung the dress in the closet, then reached for her robe.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” Livia said, retrieving the red dress and pressing it into Jenna’s hands. “A time for new beginnings.” She closed Jenna’s hands over the plastic hanger. “And if anyone needs a new beginning, it’s you.”
“I don’t—”
“You do. You’ve been in this rut for too long, Jenna. Get out tonight, have some fun. And maybe you’ll find what it is you’ve been searching for.”
Was that why she had returned to Riverbend? She’d been searching for something, something to fill that yawning hole in her life?
Jenna took the dress and turned toward the mirror, holding the crimson dress to her chest. She flipped her black hair over her shoulders, giving her a preview of how she’d look. “And what do I do when I find it?”
Livia smiled, and pressed her cheek to Jenna’s. “Grab it with both hands. And never let go.”
A local oldies band was setting up on the temporary stage erected by the bar. In the center of Rustica hung a glittery strobe light on a retractable chain, waiting to be lowered at midnight. Streamers shouting “Happy New Year!” and “Happy Anniversary, Rustica!” hung from one end of the restaurant to the other, while hundreds of silver and white helium balloons bobbed along the ceiling. The decorations were classy and echoed the festive, hopeful mood Stockton had wanted for this combination anniversary/New Year’s Eve party.
It was exactly what he’d envisioned. He should have been thrilled. Instead, a nagging sense that he was missing something hung heavy on his spirits.
A buffet of dinner selections had been set up along one wall, an appetizer station along the other, and in the center of Rustica—a massive cake baked by Samantha and offering congratulations on a first year’s success. All the staff had arrived for the evening—some grumbling about working New Year’s Eve, but most happy to be there to celebrate the momentous occasion. Everything was perfect—and hopefully would be well enjoyed by the hundreds of people who had RSVP’d to the party invitation.
Jenna had outdone herself. She’d created a fun environment, but not one that overshadowed the restaurant itself. He knew when he put the party in her hands that everything would be taken care of, and in a way that defied his expectations—not to mention anything he could have put together. The only thing he had to worry about was the food, and even that had
Jenna’s thoughtful touch. He glanced at the hand-lettered signs posted along the buffet line: AULD LANG SYNE MINESTRONE; CELEBRATION CONCHIGLIEI; NEW BEGINNINGS ANTIPASTO.
It was clever, without being cutesy. He’d been right to trust her with the party, to simply hand over the reins and let her do her job.
Stockton straightened his tie. Damned thing felt like it was going to strangle him. No wonder he never wore the stupid things. He was far more comfortable in the white cotton chef’s shirt, or a simple T-shirt and jeans, and being behind the stove instead of on display. But tonight he was spending his time in the front of the house, greeting his guests and thanking each of them for the business. Without these customers, he wouldn’t be where he was today—standing in the center of his own restaurant, enjoying the success he had always dreamed of having.
He thought of his father, and wondered if there would ever come a day when Hank Grisham would sample his son’s success. Stockton had called Hank the day he opened Rustica, and a couple of times since, and although his father had congratulated him, he’d held firm to the belief that no one could make a successful restaurant in the town Hank had seen as a little pocket of hell.
Stockton glanced around the room again and wondered if perhaps it was more that his father didn’t want to admit that his son had done what he himself had never been able to do. Before Stockton was born, Hank had toyed with the idea of a restaurant in Riverbend, even went to work at one in a nearby town to learn the business from the inside out. But when that restaurant failed, Hank had given up on small towns, and pretty much given up on his marriage, and headed out on a cross-country, then cross-world journey with his knife and apron.
Stockton knew he should be enjoying his success, celebrating a great year in business. But the emptiness that had plagued him in recent weeks returned with a roar. He told himself it was merely the inevitable letdown that came with reaching a milestone.
Yeah, right.
Nine o’clock arrived. Stockton opened the restaurant’s doors, cued the band and started the party. For the next two and a half hours, he was able to forget the emptiness, and concentrate on his customers. Still, his concentration was a fragile thread, and after the twelfth time he glanced toward the door, he knew why.
Jenna.
She hadn’t come to the party. Why?
A little before midnight, the front door opened, and Stockton’s heart leapt, then dropped again when he realized it was only Betsy and Earl stopping by. “The place looks great,” Earl said. “Where’s the food?”
Stockton laughed, and gestured toward the buffet tables. “Already have a plate with your name on it over there, Earl.”
Earl grinned and rubbed his belly. “Glad to hear that, Stockton. Your cooking is the best—” he glanced at Betsy who shot him a warning glare “—the best, second to Betsy’s, of course.”
Betsy gave him a tender pat on the shoulder, then turned back to Stockton. “You’ve done a good job,” she said. “I think these decorations are wonderful.”
“It wasn’t me. This was all Jenna’s doing.”
Betsy glanced around the room again, reassessing the décor. “Well. She did a mighty fine job. Let’s hope she’ll do just as good a one with my sister’s party.”
“She will. You can count on her.” Though as he said the words, and watched Betsy and Earl cross to the buffet, he found himself glancing at the door again.
He was about to turn away when he saw a familiar pair of green eyes framed by soft ebony curls behind the glass. Jenna.
She entered the restaurant, at first not seeing him, but rather looking past him as her gaze scanned the crowd. Another woman stood beside her, a tall blonde in a blue dress. Her friend Livia, Stockton guessed, the one arriving today. Livia whispered something to Jenna, then headed down the stairs and over to the bar. Stockton waited, and watched, as Jenna’s gaze swept around, then came back to center.
To him.
A smile broke across her face as bright and sweet as spring sunshine. He felt something stir deep inside his gut, and wondered what it would take to keep that smile permanently on her face. Wondered what it would be like to see that smile every single day.
The year was starting anew. Maybe they could, too.
“Hi,” she said, the word soft and quiet amid the noise of the full restaurant.
“Hi.” Stockton took two steps forward. For some reason, he felt nervous and awkward, like he was a teenager again. “Let me, uh, take your coat.”
She grinned. “You’re not in the kitchen tonight?”
“Nope. Tonight I’m part of the…entertainment.” He chuckled. “Though some people might ask for their money back after they spend enough time with a chef who would rather be in the kitchen than playing the small-talk game.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“I have to thank you,” Stockton said. “The restaurant looks incredible. When I walked in here today, I hardly recognized the place.”
A flush filled her cheeks. “I should be thanking you. It’s not often that I have a client just hand over the keys and say he trusts me.”
“I do trust you, Jenna.”
She shook her head, as if trying to head off words she didn’t want to hear. “I’m glad you’re pleased with the results. Anyway, I just came by to check on things and make sure it all went off without a hitch.” She started to button her coat again, but Stockton put a hand on hers.
“Stay. Enjoy the fruits of your labor. Have some pasta and sauce. I think that might be a bit more appetizing than your aunt’s black-eyed peas and lentils.”
Jenna laughed. “How’d you know she’s got those ready?”
“I know your aunt Mabel, and if there’s one person who’s got superstition down to an art form, it’s her.”
“When I left, she had a broom beside the back door. Said she was going to stay up until midnight, then sweep all the bad luck out the door. And she’s also one of the reasons I’m wearing red.” She let her hand fall away, and the coat fell open, revealing a red dress that hugged her curves. An incredible, stop-his-heart-for-a-second dress. Holy cow.
“You look great in that color,” Stockton said. Under-statement, he realized. She looked amazing.
“Thanks. Though I’ll have you know, Aunt Mabel’s superstitions extend beyond dresses and into underwear.” Jenna leaned forward and her voice dropped to a whisper. “She wouldn’t let me leave the house unless I was wearing all red.”
A surge ran through him, and his mind pictured what surprises might be beneath the red dress. Holy cow times ten. For a second, he imagine himself unzipping the dress, watching it fall to the floor, revealing the scraps of red beneath. “You’re wearing red underwear, too?”
The flush returned to her cheeks. “I can’t believe I told you that. I just…well…”
“We used to tell each other everything,” he finished for her. Then he quirked a grin at her. “Hey, anytime you want to tell me about what’s under your dress, I’m all ears.”
Jenna swatted him, and in that moment, Stockton could believe they were back to how they used to be, years ago. He wanted to hold on to this moment, bottle it, and bring it out after Jenna had left.
“Your aunt’s led a pretty charmed life,” Stockton said. “Maybe there’s something to all that superstition stuff.”
“Maybe.” Her gaze connected with his. “And…maybe I can stay for a little while.”
“That’d be nice,” he said softly.
She slipped off her coat. Stockton’s gaze drifted down her lithe frame, over the V-necked red dress, past her trim waist, lingering on her bare legs, enhanced by strappy red heels. Desire surged in his veins, pounded in his head, compounded every time he looked at her lips and thought about what she’d feel like in his arms again.
Damn. This was dangerous.
He should turn around, go back to the party and stop letting himself get wrapped up with this woman. Instead, he took her winter jacket, handed it to the coat-room attendant, then put
out his hand. “Do you want to dance?”
She hesitated, and for a second he thought she’d say no, but then the smile curved across her face again, and she nodded. “Though I warn you, I’m no Ginger Rogers.”
He chuckled. “That’s okay. My dancing skills are pretty much limited to slow dances. Anything else, and I look like a chicken flopping on the floor.”
“I remember. You were my prom date.”
He groaned. “I still can’t believe you let me wear that light blue tux.”
“It wasn’t so bad, Stockton.” A soft smile filled her face, and again he got the feeling that if they could somehow hold on to this moment, everything would be okay between them.
“Do we dare a repeat?” he asked.
“Yes. We do.” Her hand slipped into his as they threaded their way through the crowd and onto the small dance floor set up to the right of the bar. As they reached the parquet, the band segued from the fast pop song they’d been playing to a slow country ballad. “Did you plan that?” Jenna asked.
“I wish I was that clever, but no, I didn’t.” He put out his arm, and she stepped into the space, then he took her opposite hand, and they began to step to the side, their bodies not quite touching, but close, very, very close. “Do you remember our first dance?”
She nodded. “Eighth grade. We were all pimples and gangly bodies, and for half the dance all the boys hugged the walls—”
“Too nervous to talk to the girls.” He shook his head at the memory. “I sat beside you for seven years in school, and talked to you every day, but you add in some music and dimmed lights, and I was as nervous as an actor before the curtain rises.”
