Britta looked down, feeling her own cheeks heat with remembrance of all that had passed between her and her sister-in-law. Britta was a different person now. She hoped Stacy could see that by the way Britta hadn’t shied away from her native tongue. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Milo. He raised his eyebrows, as everyone waited in the stillness between question and impending answer. Britta smiled and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
Stacy stepped forward and hugged Britta. “Thank you. I’ve missed you.”
Britta hugged Stacy and they were both joined by Lila, who giggled and put her arms around them. Britta felt the warmth in her heart expanding and filling all the places of offense she’d nurtured for too long. With Milo by her side, she didn’t have to be afraid of who she was anymore. She felt a new courage to embrace her heritage, her language, the very core of who she was. It was like savoring the first few pages of a new release by her favorite author.
Milo reached out and took Britta’s hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make a quick stop at my house. I have a little surprise I’ve wanted to give to Britta, but she’s been so busy with the Harvest Hurrah that I haven’t had a chance.”
“Come at four o’clock and we’ll have everything ready for you,” Ritter replied.
“We’ll be there,” Britta said.
When they arrived at Milo’s home, he took her hand again and led her inside his cozy living room scattered with pages of music. “Have a seat.” He indicated the love seat near the piano. Milo rubbed his hands together and sat on the piano bench, turning to look at her with a bit of apprehension.
“I’ve been hoping for a chance to hear you play,” Britta said, noticing his nervousness and wanting him to feel at ease.
Milo nodded. “I wrote this song for you.” He turned and placed his fingers on the keys. The music began, and Britta’s heart pounded with appreciation as his fingers danced along the keys.
His right hand cascaded up the keyboard on high ethereal notes, and his left hand fell on each accompanying chord with perfection. Britta felt the room fill with his music— her music. Her eyes filled with tears at all that Milo was sharing with her. He was gifted. She knew immediately that his talent was more than just playing the piano. He seemed to coax the melody from the keys, his arms moving up and down slightly as the music permeated her soul. It was as if Milo was giving a part of himself to her through the music. Britta opened her heart and accepted his offering.
When he finished playing, Britta leaned forward. “Milo, that was incredible. The way you play— I never knew how talented you were.”
Milo smiled and tilted his head. “So you liked it?”
Britta stood as he rose from the piano bench. She stepped forward and put her arms around his neck. “I loved it.”
Milo embraced her. “Ich liebe dich.”
Ingredients:
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup (1/4-inch) diced onion
1/4 cup (1/4-inch) diced celery
1/4 cup (1/4-inch) diced carrot
1 1/2 tsp. cinnamon
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
About 4 cups chicken stock or broth
1 1/2 cups Roasted Winter Squash recipe
1/2 cup half-and-half (optional)
Directions:
Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat until hot. Add the onion, celery, carrot, and cinnamon and sauté until soft but not brown, about 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil. Simmer for several minutes. Stir in the squash until smooth; then simmer gently to let the flavors meld, about 10 minutes.
Puree the soup in a blender until smooth. (The soup can be made ahead to this point, cooled, covered, and refrigerated for several days or frozen for about 1 month. It will thicken as it cools and may need thinning with stock or water when reheating.)
Return the soup to the pan and reheat gently. Add the half-and-half, if using. Adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper. Keep warm until service.
* Once you add the half-and-half, don't boil, as it breaks down the consistency.
Roasted Winter Squash:
About 3 pounds squash (preferably 1 large squash); can use Sweet Meat, Butternut, Banana squash
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh sage leaves
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup dark unsulfured molasses
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Peel the squash with a vegetable peeler. Halve lengthwise, discard the seeds, then cut into 1-inch dice. Place in a large bowl and season with salt and pepper.
Heat the butter in a medium skillet over medium-high heat. When the butter ceases to foam and has turned a light brown, pull the pan off the heat and immediately add the sage, sugar, vinegar (stand back so as not to get splattered), and molasses. Mix well and let simmer over medium-low heat for 1 to 2 minutes to meld the flavors.
Pour the vinegar mixture over the squash and toss well, then transfer to a heavy rimmed baking sheet or baking dish large enough to hold the squash in a single layer. Place in the oven and roast, tossing at least once, until very tender and caramelized, about 45 minutes to 1 hour. Set aside until cool enough to handle but still warm, so the liquids are runny.
Working in batches, if necessary, transfer the warm squash and all the cooking liquids to a food processor and process until smooth. Use immediately, refrigerate for up to 5 days, or freeze for up to 2 months.
Serving suggestions: Serve the puree on its own as a side dish for roast chicken, turkey, or pork; stir into polenta just before the end of cooking; use as a stuffing for ravioli; make into a soup; or use to flavor pasta. Or omit the sage, season with ground cinnamon and freshly grated nutmeg to taste, and use as a substitute for canned pumpkin in your favorite pumpkin pie recipe.
Place on a baking sheet, cut sides up, and roast at 400 degrees F until tender. Scoop out and puree.
Yield: about 2 cups puree
* Remember: you can substitute most orange, fleshy squash for this recipe. Just use whatever you have on hand.
Enjoy!
Recipe courtesy of http://www.mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com/2012/10/sweet-meat-squash.html
The Soldier’s Bride
Hawaiian Masquerade
Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things (Wedding Planner
Mysteries #1)
Veils and Vengeance (#2)
Proposals and Poison (#3)
Wrong Number
Caller ID
Novellas:
Silver Cascade Secrets
Hope for Christmas: An Echo Ridge Romance
Double Take
Nonfiction:
What Every 6th Grader Needs to Know: 10
Secrets to Connect Moms & Daughters
Lost Children: Coping with Miscarriage
RACHELLE J. CHRISTENSEN is a mother of five who writes mystery/suspense, nonfiction, and women’s fiction. She solves the case of the missing shoe on a daily basis. She enjoys raising chickens and laughing with her husband. She graduated cum laude from Utah State University with a degree in psychology and a minor in music.
Rachelle is the award-winning author of ten books, including The Soldier’s Bride (a Kindle Scout Selection), Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things, Hawaiian Masquerade, What Every 6th Grader Needs to Know, and Christmas Kisses: An Echo Ridge Anthology. Her novella, “Silver Cascade Secrets,” was included in the Rone Award–winning Timeless Romance Anthology, Fall Collection.
Join Rachelle’s VIP mailing list to learn more about upcoming books & get your free book at www.rachellechristensen.com
JENNIFER ROSE SOLOMON UNTIED her green Just a Dollar apron and folded it into her black-and-white chevron purse. Her dress-up purse. The one she reserved for church, funerals, and Kirke.
Ahem— not
Kirke, just Kirke.
Her friend.
Her friend with the dark hair and scruffy jaw. Her friend who inspired twinges of attraction she so desperately wanted to ignore.
Ignore Kirke? Not likely. Was it possible to ignore a Rhett Butler, a Mr. Darcy, or an Edmond Dante? Never! The classic romantic heroes had always called to her. Like sirens perched on the library shelves, their broad shoulders, devil-may-care boldness, flirtatious turns of phrase, and ability to sweep the heroine into their arms left her breathless with wanting.
And yet, they were men made of words. What was a woman to do when Kirke Staples walked off the pages of a Brontë novel and presented himself in Echo Ridge?
A woman should sashay her way into an introduction. Perhaps offer her hand for a token kiss. Bat her full lashes his way and procure the object of her desire, all the while purring like a kitten.
That’s what a woman should do.
What did Jennifer do? She’d chicken-aimed for friendship. Unfortunately for her, her aim was as accurate as Emma, Jane, and even Juliet’s.
Which was the reason she was using her rearview mirror to apply a fresh coat of barely-there lipstick. If she timed it right, she could be sitting in a chair, casually reading a book, and looking smart and sexy when the library board meeting ended and Kirke came down the grand staircase. On this hapless fall day, which happened to be her birthday, Jennifer Rose Solomon was going to become a heroine.
If birthday candles had any magic in them, which she highly suspected they did, then wishing for something more than friendship with Kirke was crazy scary because it would change simply everything about her existence.
Therefore, she’d planned this moment down to the last detail.
In her fantasy— er, idea … no, grand scheme … aha! Plot— Kirke would catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye as he made his way down the Titanic-ish, curving staircase, her long honey-colored hair draping over her thin shoulders and her lashes lowered as she read a Brontë or Dickens novel. He’d be so struck by her beauty that he’d just stare as a desire to be near her built within his impressive chest. Finally, when the distance was too much for him, their magnetic attraction would pull him across the room to gently touch her elbow. Bringing her gaze up to his brooding brown eyes would reveal the astonishment and joy of new love the heartbeat before he lowered his lips to brush against hers in a petal-soft caress.
Jennifer sighed to herself. Ah, Kirke.
Her phone beeped a reminder, and she jolted from her daydream— er, strategy meeting. She should already be in her seat if she had any hope of bringing her imaginings to fruition. Dropping her lipstick into her purse, she scrubbed her moist palms down the front of her black skinny jeans. She flipped her head over and shook out her hair, giving it bounce and volume that women in shampoo commercials would envy. Slamming her car door, she was ready to step across the proverbial threshold and into a year full of adventures and quite possibly romance. Her knees trembled with a mixture of anticipation and fear.
“You can do this,” she affirmed under her breath. “Take a chance.”
The Echo Ridge Library hadn’t always been full of books, computers, and an assistant librarian with a stern countenance. The first families to settle the town had, brick by red brick, constructed a place of worship. Not the types to do a job halfway, they insisted the building have cathedral ceilings, with thick supportive beams made from walnut and stained-glass windows adorning the walls. When the building was converted to a library thanks to a huge donation from the Vannakin family, whose portrait hung behind the checkout desk, the hardwood floor was covered with sage green industrial carpet, and oak shelves replaced the worn pews.
Marian, the assistant librarian, dropped her chin in hello. Her thick glasses slipped to the end of her nose as she tapped a stack of papers once to line them up and then attached them to a clipboard.
“Hello,” Jennifer whispered. She picked up a copy of The Screwtape Letters and headed to the stuffed chair in the corner near the computers.
“How come she’s so nice to you?” hissed Susan as she wrestled her three-year-old into a stroller. Once in, he grunted and strained against the lap belt while Susan massaged her neck muscles. “I can’t come in here without a lecture on keeping Peter’s hands off the stacks.”
Jennifer chuckled. “Marian really loves these books. She picked most of them out herself.” She leaned closer. “And, I’ve never had a late fee.”
The frown lines disappeared, replaced by wide eyes and a petite sniff. “Never?”
“Never,” avowed Jennifer.
“No wonder she loves you— you always were the teacher’s pet.”
The barb should have stung like the wrong end of an angry hornet; however, Jennifer had long since come to an understanding with life in a small town where reputations were handed out on the playground. To the grand populace of Echo Ridge, she was once— and would always be— the poor little girl in ill-fitting clothes who preferred to have her nose in a book.
Just like they’d always think Marian was overbearing and critical, even though she’d often allowed a younger Jennifer to work alongside her. It wasn’t much, but Marian’s quiet approval helped Jennifer feel needed during a time when she thought no one would ever need her.
Feeling bad for joking about the assistant librarian, she said, “It doesn’t take a pet to see the work she does. I mean, this place is always ready for patrons.” She ran her finger over the windowsill. “Never a speck of dust. She thinks of the library as a heritage for future generations and wants it to last long enough for Peter’s grandchildren to enjoy it.”
Susan brushed her hand over Peter’s floppy hair. “I’m sure, deep, deep down, she’s sweet.” She moved to take the stroller’s handles. “We’re off. Dinner won’t cook itself.”
Peter waved and yelled, “Bye! Bye!” The sound echoed off the ceilings. Susan ducked her head and rushed for the exit in a mad attempt to avoid Marian’s curmudgeonliness.
Jennifer took up her spot with all the confidence of a queen taking her throne, and not a moment too soon. She had just draped her hair appealingly over her left shoulder when she heard the door to the conference room open and the deep timbre of Kirke’s voice as he bid farewell to the other board members.
Forcing her eyes to remain on the page, Jennifer concentrated. Not on reading, but on counting Kirke’s steps as his worn Doc Martins brushed the carpet, so she’d know the exact moment he spotted her. Each swoosh whispered possibilities that had her heart thrumming.
Swoosh. Swoosh. Pause.
He’s here! Her fingers gripped the book. The longer he stood motionless, the warmer her face grew, so certain was she that the insane attraction she’d hidden from him had been made bare in her blatant efforts to garner his attention with hair serum and her favorite sweater. She held her breath, willing her cheeks to return to their normal color; her heart pounded with the force of a hundred Oktoberfest dancers and drowned out the sound of his approach.
Standing directly in front of her, Kirke cleared his throat to get her attention.
Not exactly the light touch to the elbow with violins in the background, but she could work it into her daydream. Jennifer allowed her gaze to travel lazily, as if she were ripping herself from the pages of her novel. They moved from the artfully frayed hem of his jeans up to the worn patches on his knees and on to the navy blue sweater that covered his just-right waist and molded chest, and finally to his trimmed beard and those expressive, deep brown eyes.
Le sigh.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, as if she didn’t practically live at the library. There was a couch at the top of the stairs that had a permanent imprint the size of her behind.
Suddenly feeling like a half-wit in a tight sweater, she wished she’d played it more casual and just called to see if he wanted to go to lunch after his meeting. They were friends. Good enough friends that such a request would seem normal. As much as she liked mountain biking, hiking, skii
ng, and running errands with Kirke, she’d recently decided— like, “five hours and one birthday wish” recent— that she’d much rather date him. Dates, as in boy asks girl, girl puts on mascara, boy opens doors for girl, etc. etc. He filled a spot in her life— nay, in her heart— that had been hollow and empty. Kirke respected her, and while that might not seem romantic to some, it was like ambrosia to Jennifer’s soul.
“Reading.” She held up the book so he could see the cover. Glancing down, she was transported to her own version of Dante’s Inferno as humiliation reached its slimy little fingers up her neck. The book was upside down! She’d been staring at an upside-down book for the last ten minutes. Panicked, she dropped the volume as if the devil himself were about to crawl out of the spine. The resounding thud earned her a stern look from Marian.
Kirke transferred the posters he carried to his left hand and bent to retrieve the book, his eyes never leaving her face. She glanced to the side. If he’d noticed her mistake, he didn’t comment, gentleman that he was. Let him believe it was the stimulating reading material of C.S. Lewis that brought her to the library and not the way his sweater pulled over his broad shoulders or that his nearness made her stomach flutter all of a sudden. “What are you doing here?” she asked, as if she didn’t know. Wasn’t that what being coy was all about? Had she learned nothing from her studies?
“Library board meeting.” He showed her the posters advertising the annual fundraiser and handed over the book.
She flipped through the pages, like she had every intention of staying right there in that chair for the rest of the afternoon and did her best to look distracted. “Is that today?”
He wiped his thumb down his jaw like he did when he wasn’t sure. Was it obvious she was flirting? Did he think she was playing a game? Not that she would play games, but with all the feelings swirling around inside like fall leaves in a wind tunnel, the rules had changed.
“Do you want to go to Fay’s Cafe?” Kirke asked.
Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2) Page 12
