by Olivia Miles
Grace came into the room and helped herself to a mug. “Did we decide what we’re having for dessert?”
Anna hesitated. While it was customary to have a full meal on the nights they all gathered together in their childhood home, tonight she was forced to break routine, and worse—explain why. “I have to cut out a bit early tonight, I’m afraid. Too much work to be done.”
Grace took the seat next to Jane. “For Fireside or the Annex?”
Anna stirred honey into her tea slowly, waiting for it to melt from her spoon. “Both, you could say. I…” Oh, here it went. She braced herself. “I decided to enter that Sugar Maple Culinary Competition.”
“That’s fabulous!” Grace cried. Her face suddenly fell with realization. “Wait—are you entering with Mark?”
“Kara’s picking up some baking skills, but she’s not a professional chef. So yes, Mark. I don’t see any other option,” Anna was sure to add, even if only to remind herself. She’d mailed another loan payment that day, and watched her bank account dwindle to an alarmingly low number.
“Well, that’s great, sweetie.” Kathleen smiled. “I know you and Mark have never been the best of friends, but it’s just a cooking contest. It’s not like you have to marry the guy.”
Anna hid behind a sip of her tea, her pulse finally steadying when Jane added, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay for dessert either.”
“Another hot date?” Grace wiggled her eyebrows.
“No.” Jane’s face flushed a deep pink. “And I’ll have you know I don’t appreciate you using that term around Sophie. Last night I heard her getting her dolls ready for their hot date. They were going to Piccolino’s!”
Anna snorted and joined Grace’s laughter, but Jane’s eyes flashed. “It was just so humiliating. She apparently brought it up when she was with Adam. I can only imagine what he thinks.”
“I hope he’s jealous,” Grace blurted. Catching Jane’s lack of amusement, she cried, “Oh, come on now, Jane. It’s good that you’re putting yourself out there again; it’s a lot easier to just close yourself off.”
Anna backed away from the island. This entire conversation was hitting a nerve.
Jane sighed audibly. “I saw them the other night. Adam and Kristy. They were at the restaurant while I was waiting for my date.”
Grace glanced at Anna. “Did they see you?”
“Oh, they saw me all right. They saw me get stood up. All dressed up for nothing. I’ve never felt so out of place.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Anna extended her arm around her sister’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.
“Adam doesn’t deserve you.”
Jane lowered her eyes. “I know.”
“Do you want him back?” Grace hedged.
“No, I don’t. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Of course you don’t,” Grace said, and Anna nodded her agreement, hating the part of herself that for years had silently wished Mark would have a change of heart.
She looked into Jane’s soft hazel eyes, frowning at the hurt she saw pass through them. “Why would you want to be with someone who doesn’t deserve you?”
Why, Anna? Why?
Jane shook her head, a small smile parting her lips. “You’re right! You’re right.”
Of course she was right. And she’d be best to heed her own advice, wouldn’t she? Anna tossed her spoon in the sink, but her pulse skittered when she caught the time on the clock above the oven. It was almost time to meet him.
“Are you going to let Rosemary match you up again?” Grace wrapped her fingers around her steaming mug.
“Maybe I’ll let her give Anna a try instead.” Jane grinned.
“What? No!” Anna’s face heated. “No way, Jane. I told you and Rosemary straight up that I was only going along with this so she would set you up. If you’re backing out now, so am I.”
Jane shook her head. “I’m not giving up. I want to move on. Today at the studio Rosemary mentioned another guy she had in mind for me. I think I’ll give it one more try.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re off the hook yet though, Anna,” their mother cut in. “I’ve known Rosemary Hastings most of my life. When she sets her mind to something, she doesn’t back down, and it seems to me that she intends to find you a match.”
Anna tossed her arms up and let them fall back at her sides. “Why me? Why not Jane? Why not one of her one daughters?”
Kathleen stopped folding napkins. “Maybe it’s because she already has someone in mind for you,” she said, giving a conspiratorial wink.
Dread knotted Anna’s stomach. That was exactly what she was afraid of.
They’d agreed to meet at Mark’s house. His kitchen was bigger, and it made sense, but secretly Anna was relieved not to have him in her home. If he came over, it would never be the same. Each room would carry the stain of his memory, bear the weight of his absence.
His grin was broad and genuine when he met her at the door, Scout standing happily at his side, tail wagging, eager to jump up and lick her face in greeting. Mark grabbed a tennis ball and chucked it across the living room, and Anna laughed as Scout ran for it.
“The fence hasn’t been repaired yet,” Mark explained. He tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Ready to start?”
As ready as she’d ever be. Anna managed a tight nod and followed him through the hallway, permitting only the briefest indulgence when she caught a trace of his familiar scent.
Inside, the kitchen had been scrubbed and polished, and a stack of cutting boards had been set on the big center island. Mark handed her an apron and tied one around his waist, accentuating his broad torso and the taut muscles under his sage green T-shirt.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, and Anna felt her cheeks flame at the memory of the night before. The mussels had been delicious—the white wine broth had been perfectly flavored with garlic and shallots and a hint of tarragon. She vaguely remembered seeing scallops, set on a bed of baby vegetables, but the meal had gone cold by the time they’d called a truce, and by then, her appetite, for food at least, had dissipated.
“I just came from my mother’s house. We try to have dinner together once a week.”
“That’s one thing we have in common besides food. We’re certainly loyal to our families. It’s probably why we both wanted to keep things to ourselves all those years ago. You don’t get much privacy around here.” He set his hands on his hips and looked at her. His eyes were dark and tense, but the faintest hint of a smile played at his lips. Butterflies chased through her stomach, and she set a hand there to steady herself.
They needed to get to work. Fast. The sooner she was busy and occupied, the easier it would be to focus on the task and not the painfully attractive man standing next to her who was dead set on bringing up the past every chance he had. Each glance she stole caused a tingle to rip down her spine, her heart to hammer, and her mind to spin. She wished he would stop looking at her like that. It was making her nervous.
She pulled an elastic band from her wrist and combed her hair from her face with her fingers before securing it tightly.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” His voice was low, instantly bringing her back to long, lazy nights in bed, his breath in her ear.
She snapped her gaze to him. “Why?” Mark had always liked her hair down. He’d comb his fingers through the tendrils, releasing the tangles.
His eyes were steady and dark and she willed him to look away, but he didn’t. She could feel her heart begin to pound, her chest rise and fall as she waited for him to respond.
Finally, he said, “It doesn’t matter.”
No, she told herself firmly, it certainly doesn’t.
“I guess we should brainstorm recipes first,” he said, clearing his throat. “Got any ideas?”
She forced her attention back to his question. She’d stayed up late last night flipping through her favorite cookbooks, even experimenting a little in her kitchen. There was no way she was going to
get any sleep with the memory of Mark’s face so close to hers swimming to the surface of her mind every time she closed her eyes. She’d only just found slumber when she was promptly awoken by the ringing of her alarm clock at two. She supposed she could have slept in for another couple of hours and gone into the diner, but despite their agreement, she couldn’t face him. Not yet.
“I was thinking we might use butternut squash. The color would really pop, and the maple syrup would bring out its sweetness.”
Mark mulled the idea. “I like that. What else?”
“Well.” She realized she was enjoying this. “Salmon might be nice for the main course.”
Her gaze subconsciously dropped to his chest, each muscle defined through the thin material of his shirt. She let her eyes roam lower, to the hands that had once touched every inch of her body. Oh, they were nice hands.
Get a grip, Anna.
“I also had an idea for salmon,” Mark said.
Anna realized she was still staring at his hands, and felt her cheeks flame as she looked up at him. Amusement danced in his eyes. “Should we try a few dishes and do a tasting?” she managed, patting her tight bun and then folding her arms across her chest.
“Might be a good way to narrow it down,” Mark agreed. Then, with a rueful grin, he added, “Shame you already ate.”
“Oh, well… I only like to take a bite of each dish during a tasting anyway.”
Mirth flickered in those chocolate brown eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
“What?” she cried, but she was grinning, too. “If you’re referring to Chef Luciano’s class, I’ll have you know I hadn’t eaten anything that day. I was practically ready to faint.”
“Sure,” Mark bantered, and Anna swatted him with a nearby towel. To both her surprise and horror, his grin widened and he snatched it from her hand before snapping it back at her rear.
To her utter disappointment in herself, she let out a squeal.
Her body went rigid as a hot flush spread over her face. She stared at the grooves in the cutting board, horrified. “I was famished that day. And I didn’t know better. It was my first week at school. There was an entire buffet of food; I thought it was for the taking.”
Mark chuckled as he gathered ingredients and began scooping seeds from a squash. “I just remember watching the vein in Chef Luciano’s neck pulse as you just filled up your plate and ate, none the wiser.”
“It was delicious!” she insisted, laughing at the memory. She hadn’t remembered Mark being there that day, but he must have been. It was one of her first classes and everything was a blur. They’d slipped into their friendship so easily, it was hard to pinpoint when it all began.
But it wasn’t difficult to know when it ended.
Anna tensed and reached for an onion. “Young and dumb.”
“Not dumb. Just young.” Their eyes locked. “God you were cute.” Mark’s voice was low, his grin suggestive, and the spark in his eyes downright lethal.
She sucked in a breath. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get a very good grade in that class. Now I understand why.” She turned back to the worktop. It really was time to get to work.
Deciding to start with a glaze for the salmon, she reached for the maple syrup at the exact moment Mark did; the surprise of the contact sent an electric shock up her arm. Mark paused, letting the contact linger, and for the briefest of seconds his finger skimmed her own before he pulled his hand away. “Go ahead,” he said gruffly.
“Thanks.”
After a beat, Mark asked, “Should we make a double portion, just in case you get any notions?”
“Ha.” Anna shook her head, but her smile fell when she noticed Mark’s serious expression. He was watching her, studying her, as if working up the courage to tell her something. Please, Mark, she silently pleaded. No talking about the past. That had been rule number one. But then, when did Mark ever follow the rules?
Mark shifted to the stove, and she used the opportunity to steal a glimpse of his wide back, his broad shoulders pulling at the confines of his shirt. Abruptly, he turned to her, and she looked away quickly.
“Try this,” he said, cupping his palm under a wooden spoon.
Anna hesitated, and quietly opened her mouth. Mark slid the spoon to her lips, briefly meeting her eyes. Her stomach turned over as Mark lifted his hand to her cheek and brushed the pad of his thumb over it. A tingle ripped down her spine at his touch and from the way his eyes lazily shifted back to hers and stayed there, she knew he sensed it, too.
He brought the thumb to his lips, licking off a bit of sauce.
“That’s really good,” she said, pulling back.
“I feel like it’s still missing something…”
Mark was still standing next to her, his heat lingering too close for comfort. Her eyes never left her station. “What about a dash of mustard?”
“Good idea!” Mark finally moved away, and Anna let her shoulders relax. “We made a good team, didn’t we?” he asked a few seconds later, just when her pulse had finally steadied.
She didn’t breathe. Finally, she managed, “We did.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something and then stopped. Every nerve ending in her body was on edge, waiting to hear those unspoken words. Disappointment pulled at her—the deflation reminding her of all those days and nights she’d spent with him. Back then, he could do no wrong. She could spend hours listening to him laugh, watching him cook, eating his food, curling up into those thick, strong arms and setting her head against the warm plane of his chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath. She felt a physical ache every time he was out of her presence, a yearning for him, a need to have him close as often as possible.
For the next hour they worked together in silence, following the rules they had set in place that first day she’d come into the diner. Just because she was here, in his home, with soft music playing somewhere in the distance and the cozy presence of Scout on the floor at their feet, didn’t make this any different. This was professional, not personal. Mark seemed to grasp that.
It was about damn time that she did, too.
CHAPTER
14
Oh, what a difference a week made.
Jane casually unbuttoned her cardigan and turned to hang it on the back of her chair. Her date’s eyes dropped ever so slightly to the sheer material of the blouse she’d yet again borrowed from Grace, and she felt a heat flush her cheeks at the attention, however wanted.
She had to hand it to Rosemary. Jason Fitzpatrick was everything she’d built him up to be and more. He was an assistant district attorney in Burlington; he volunteered at an animal shelter and had two rescue dogs of his own, which he clearly doted on; he visited his mother in Massachusetts on the last Sunday of each month, always bringing her favorite flowers and a fresh dessert from a local bakery. He had no children, yet, but judging from his standing on the board at the children’s hospital, Jane decided this was a positive indication of his priorities and life goals. He was also divorced, though they’d chosen not to dwell on that subject.
The waitress appeared at their table and Jason placed the order in impeccable French. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty. I can never resist the opportunity to practice,” he said with a wink.
“I took French in high school.” Jane grinned apologetically. “I’m afraid I don’t remember very much of it.”
“I lived abroad for a few years before law school, working my way through France and Spain. I speak Spanish, too,” Jason added, fighting off a grin.
Jane’s pulse fluttered. Gorgeous, smart, and he spoke two Romance languages. Could he be more perfect?
The soft sounds of a piano began to trickle into the dining room and Jane glanced into the lounge area, where couples had gathered around a baby grand near the window. Feeling Jason’s eyes on her, she pulled her attention back, flustered at the intensity of his piercing blue gaze.
“Do you play?” he asked, gesturing to the piano.
; “I wish,” she said ruefully. “My mother was forever trying to get us to practice, but I was the youngest of three girls and I think she lost the battle by the time it came to me. I’d like my daughter to learn, though.”
His brow furrowed ever so slightly. “You have a daughter?”
“Sophie.” Jane beamed. “She’s four.”
“I knew about the divorce, but Rosemary never mentioned you had a child.” The line between his eyebrows deepened.
Jane felt her heart sink. Why would Rosemary not have mentioned her daughter? Taking a sip of her wine, she asked, “How do you know Rosemary again?”
“Her daughter Molly is in grad school with my younger sister.” He signaled to a passing waitress. “I’ll take another Scotch. Single malt.”
Jane eyed the crusty baguette in the middle of the table, feeling tense as the silence stretched. “Maybe I’ll just run to the powder room for a minute,” she said, already starting to stand.
She wove her way through the tables to the back of the restaurant and all but flung herself through the bathroom door. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t perfect, after all, but he was pretty damn close. He was trilingual. He volunteered. He was gorgeous. Really, she was just being overly critical. She was looking for problems where they didn’t exist—looking for a flaw, for a reason to end this and go home. And then what? Would she honestly feel better curled up in flannel pajamas in a big lonely bed?
Her lips pinched as she studied her reflection in the gilded mirror. It was the best she’d looked in a long time, with the exception of last Saturday—but that night she’d still been wearing her old lady cardigan, the one that made her look like she was joining a convent, Grace had said, not going out on a hot date.
Hot date. Yes, she was on a hot date, damn it, and she was going to enjoy herself.
