Smitten
Page 12
“Not all the girls are married. None of my friends are married.”
“True. All the ones you hang out with are spinsters. That should tell you something about how you pick your friends.”
“So you were saying,” Mom interrupted to spare them both. “You saw Zak? Is he still so handsome? I thought for certain that pretty Hastings girl would snatch him up.” Mom looked at her father. “I suppose that makes Zak a spinster too.”
“Heh-heh,” Dad said. “The Hastings girl probably got tired of waiting. Why would Zak want to marry? He lives the perfect life, knows how to cook for himself—”
“Well, he certainly doesn’t know how to clean.” Julia rolled her eyes. “Another benefit of women in your life, Dad.”
“He could ask any girl to come over and clean for him, I’ll bet.”
“Dad, do you have to be such a chauvinist?”
“What? If that pretty Hastings girl didn’t tempt him, who else is left?”
The pretty Hastings girl knew enough to get far away from Smitten. Julia turned back to her mother. “As I was saying, I ran into Zak because Devlin thought his grill might be a good spot for the spa.”
“The grill is a good spot for the grill!” Dad smacked the newspaper on top of his belly and sat up.
“Hmm. That chair does sit up. Anyway, I’m not sure what happened, but Zak and Devlin had words. Next thing I knew Devlin left for the airport in Zak’s pickup, and I was right where I started.”
“If that sissy boy left mad, it’s probably because Zak told him how things are here in Smitten. We don’t need no gussy-up place.”
“Thanks for the encouragement, Dad.”
“Hal, what did you offer her the money for, if you’re going to talk to her like this?”
“Because I want her to get married and have a good life, but if she refuses, she’s my responsibility. I won’t have anyone saying I don’t take care of my family.”
“I can take care of myself, Dad. It isn’t 1850. I lived in Manhattan and supported myself. Surely I can find a way to do it here.”
“If you weren’t so independent, you’d be married by now.
Who do you think will marry you when you’re running your own business, making a mockery of the men in the town?”
“Well, Julia,” her mom interrupted again, “I don’t know what happened today, but I know Zak wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. He must have had his reasons for sending this man away.”
“The men of Smitten, Zak in particular, think there’s hope for that mill, Mom. We women are trying to do something different, and that doesn’t sit well with the guys, so they want to be certain they can shut down anything we run in the future. Who is he going to sell ribs to if we’re bringing in a higher class of clientele who prefer fresh-roasted espresso and brie-and-apple platters for appetizers?”
She neglected to tell her mother of the offer Zak had made concerning her spa. She knew it was a lie of omission, and guilt swelled in her heart.
Her father laughed. “The men who got talked into this cockamamie trip in the first place, that’s who. If they can’t say no to that, they’ll certainly put their foot down on sissy food and get themselves a steak at Zak’s.” Her father tugged at the lever on the side of his chair and fell into his familiar reclining position.
“Zak offered me half his restaurant for the spa, but with that he has the power to shut it down at any time.”
“Zak wouldn’t do that, Julia. Why are you so suspicious?
Why can’t you trust him?”
“I don’t know, Mom.” Because he broke my heart. Because he never noticed that I’m a girl, and not just Greg’s helpless little sister. She tapped her mom’s good leg. “Are you hungry yet? Should I start dinner?”
“Yes,” her father called across the room. “Mom’s hungry.”
Her mom smiled. “I’m getting around better. I baked a peach pie today, mostly while sitting at the kitchen table, but nonetheless we’ll eat dessert like kings tonight.”
“I’ll go start dinner.”
“Wear an apron,” her dad said. “What?” He looked at her mother. “It’s good practice for her.”
“Don’t listen to him, Julia. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
The roar of an old muffler stopped her mom’s words midstream. Mom hobbled to the front window and pushed the floral curtain aside.
“Mom, you’re supposed to stay off that foot.”
“It’s Zak,” she said as she replaced the curtain. “Speak of the devil. Oh my, he’s still a sight. I’ll never understand why you never looked after him, Julia.”
“Indeed,” Julia said. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” She started for the door.
“You stay here and apologize, young lady. If he offered you part of his building, he obviously deserves a thank-you.
He still drives that old orange pickup? I suppose it suits him.”
“I wonder what Devlin thought of that jalopy.”
“Any man who can’t appreciate a classic pickup ain’t worth his weight in salt,” Dad said.
“Julia, don’t be rude now,” Mom said. “I’m sure he’s here to see you. He hasn’t been to visit your father and me since you and Greg left. Be polite and invite him to stay for pie. I’m sure he doesn’t get much of that now that the grill is closed for the season. He’d probably appreciate a home-cooked meal.
What were you planning for tonight?”
“It’s not closed for the season, Mom. It’s closed, period.
Roasted chicken, and I’m sure he has a date or somewhere to be.”
“Pshaw!” Her mother opened the door and her arms, and
Zak caught her unsteady stance. “Zak Grant, how dare you wait so long to come by and see us? You’d think we live in Russia the way you disappeared.”
Zak helped her mother to the sofa and saw her safely to a seated position.
“Don’t hurt the boy,” Dad said. He thrust himself forward out of the chair and slapped Zak hard on the back a few times. “Good to see you, kid.”
“You too, Mr. Bourne. Mrs. Bourne, you’re as beautiful as ever and light as a feather. I’ll never understand how you do it, cooking as well as you do. You and Julia look more like sisters than mother and daughter.”
Julia rolled her eyes. Zak held out his arms. “Don’t I get a hug, Julia?”
She crossed her arms and plopped onto the couch beside her mother. “What did you say to Devlin when I was in the coffee shop and you were on the sidewalk?”
“Julia, don’t be rude,” her mother said.
“I said nothing he didn’t already know for himself.”
“Julia wanted to know if you could stay for pie,” Mom interjected. “I made one this afternoon.”
Zak grinned. “You’re in luck, Julia. I can stay for pie.”
“Here.” Her mother removed her apron from her seated position and handed it to Julia. “You don’t want to get that pretty dress dirty.”
Julia rose and grasped the proffered apron. “Let’s go.
This is the closest to Betty Crocker you’ll get me, so enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Oh, I will,” Zak said.
As he followed her through the swinging kitchen door, she added, “I’m making a roasted chicken too, but you’ll be gone before it’s ready.”
Zak sat down at the small maple table under the rustic copper lantern. Like most kitchens in old homes, the space was confined and claustrophobic, stuffed full of oversize appliances that early settlers never could have imagined in a house at the time.
“The kitchen looks nicer than I remember. Did your mother redo something in here? It seems bigger.”
“I took all her cookie jars down. The original subway tile shows now. It’s gorgeous, don’t you think?”
“There’s more light too. Is that a new window?”
“No, it’s the original,” she said. “I took down Mom’s curtains and made that window treatment. It allows more light inside.”
Julia pursed her lips.
Zak leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. “Would you like me to tie that apron for you? You know how I love a woman in an apron.”
Her stubborn glare returned. “I’ve got it, thank you.”
“The kitchen looks great. Imagine what you could do with my place and your spa. You just have that way of finding the beauty in things.”
“It’s just a woman’s touch. Something you’re not familiar with down at the grill.” Julia pulled a plate down from the knotty-pine cabinets and set it on the peach tile countertop.
Her gaze seemed wary, mistrusting. “Why would you want a spa in your restaurant?”
“You’ve been in New York too long; you’ve become suspicious in nature. I told you, I’m remodeling, and I don’t need all the space. It may as well be a spa. No doubt it will be something frilly, with all you girls have in mind.”
She opened the drawer and pulled out a fork, pointing the utensil toward him menacingly as she spoke. “I always felt stir-crazy in this kitchen, but I never understood why until I grew older. Things should match. My mother’s purple floral plates, the red-lined curtains with the peach tile . . . How did she miss it?”
He shook his head. “I never noticed it, but I do notice the improvements.”
Her eyes lingered on him in a way he felt to his toes. For a moment she softened, and he remembered how she used to look up to him like he was royalty. Until he’d grown too big for his britches in high school and treated her like a serf in the high school caste system.
“I used to wonder how my mom could spend every waking moment in this mismatched kitchen without ending up in the loony bin. It drove me insane to be in here. Now I see she just loved what she loved and she didn’t care if any of it matched. It’s funny how two people can be from the same blood and so very different.”
“Can you bake a pie like that?” Zak asked, staring at the freshly baked crust before him.
“No, I can’t bake a pie like this, now that you mention it.
Does that disappoint you?” Julia cinched the apron around her waist. “Not for a lack of my mother’s efforts, mind you. I just never took to baking. I can mix up a facial concoction to perfection just by reading a client’s skin type, but baking is such an exacting art form. Mom says I’m too sloppy to bake the love in that’s needed.”
“Doesn’t bother me in the least. You look great cutting the pie in those heels. That’s enough for me. Any man, actually.”
She flicked a heel off and tossed it at his shin. Then she took off the other one and sliced the knife into the pie. Without washing her hands.
“That’s a state violation,” Zak said. “Not washing your hands. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? To see if I was paying attention.”
“Sue me.” She put the plate in front of him and sat down at the table. “Are you going to tell me what all that was about this morning? Why didn’t you trust Devlin? You didn’t, right? From the start, I could tell.”
“No ice cream? I like my pie à la mode.” He slid the plate toward her and smiled. “With coffee. Nothing like a little pie à la mode with coffee. Just the right amount of sweetness, tartness, tasty bitterness. It excites the senses, all the taste buds.”
“Except salt.” She held a saltshaker over his slice of pie.
He swept it from her hand and leaned in close to her beautiful complexion. She wasn’t taking any of his hints, so he’d have to be more straightforward. He needed her to understand that he’d changed; he wasn’t the kid who’d pulled her hair and treated her like a second-class citizen anymore. Though as he smelled the sweet sensation of her shampoo, he quickly remembered his promise to Greg and backed away.
“Why?” Her voice was no more than a whisper. She cleared her throat and said it again with force. “Why did you do that this morning?”
“I Googled your friend.”
“That’s a lie. You couldn’t have Googled him. The Internet was down. That’s why he stopped at Natalie’s place and I was able to catch him before he left town.”
“That’s not a lie. I don’t lie.” He took her wrist, kicked out the chair with his foot, and told her to sit. “I didn’t say I Googled him today. Why are you so suspicious?” he asked again, but he knew what he’d done to make her suspicious. He felt red with shame for asking the question.
“Why would you search him at all? How does who I work for evoke one smidgen of concern on your part?”
“Because I promised your brother I’d look out for you while he was gone, and when you ran off to New York, how was I supposed to do that? Google was my only option.”
She winced. “I didn’t need anyone to keep an eye on me.
I needed an investor, and you sent Devlin and his money packing.”
“I offered you that. Devlin is not necessary.”
She exhaled loudly. “Who are you to tell me Devlin isn’t necessary? Why is everyone trying to tell me how to run my business? Maybe I want to do this alone. Did anyone think of that?”
“That’s not the way we do things in Smitten.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. I understand Greg asked you to look after me when he deployed, but I’m a grown woman. I don’t need looking after.”
“Everyone needs help once in a while. No one is an island.”
“Have you met my parents? Maybe I want to be an island.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here to take care of your mother. You wouldn’t be starting the spa to pull off your friends’ girly idea. You’re more of a team player than you care to admit. I’m only asking to be on your team.”
She laughed for a moment, but it wasn’t her springtime, happy laugh. New York had changed her in some ways. Her laugh employed a sarcastic bent.
“No offense, Zak, but commitment isn’t your best attribute. How long until you’d want your money and your building back? You flirt a good game, but I need something solid as the foundation for my spa. You can see that my parents don’t really have the money to lend me, even if they did offer. That money is for Greg when he gets home from serving our country.”
Her words stung. Mostly because there was truth in them.
“I deserved that, but I’ll be there. I promised Greg.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. My bed-wetting, nose-picking, turtle-stealing self will find a way to make it work.”
She charmed him. She always had, if he were honest. He pushed his plate closer toward her. “The pie’s getting cold. I like it when the ice cream melts over the top of it. Sweet and tangy, warm and cold. Like I said, a taste sensation.”
She narrowed her wide, childlike eyes. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”
“I think I want some ice cream on my pie and you’re not being a very good hostess. I might have to tell your mother.”
She pursed her lips together and walked to the freezer.
She yanked down on the handle and pulled out the frozen vanilla, covered with freezer snow. She banged it down on the counter. “Mmm. Ancient ice cream. Nothing like a little freezer burn to go on your fresh pie.”
“Looks like you have time to make the coffee.” He grinned, hoping for more time to convince her he meant what he’d offered.
Julia opened the yellow Tupperware canister and scooped coffee into the percolator. She measured water and set the pot onto the stove, and though she’d never admit it, she did it with the skill of a professional.
“I know Greg meant well, but I lived in New York City by myself. Surely you don’t think I need looking after in Smitten.”
She sat down again at the table and rubbed her feet. “Stilettos and Smitten do not mix.”
“You’re going to wash your hands this time, right?”
“You can’t tell me you care about sanitizing. I saw the grill today.”
“There’s a reason it l
ooks like that.”
“How did you come by Devlin’s name to Google him?”
Zak chuckled. “This is Smitten, Julia. Not New York. If I want to know anything about anyone, I need only to visit the coffee shop. Nat isn’t exactly shy with details.”
Natalie! She should have known. “Why don’t you visit the coffee shop now? I’ll pack your pie, and by the time you get there, the ice cream should have defrosted. You’ll bring my mother’s Tupperware back, won’t you? I’m afraid she’d never forgive you if you didn’t return her Tupperware. I don’t care how young you say she looks. Tupperware is sacred.”
He leaned back in his chair and took her foot into his lap.
Just the touch of her felt electric. He rubbed her arches, and she closed her eyes. He hoped there were more nights like this in their future. “You have to stop wearing those shoes. They can’t be good for your back on the brick sidewalks.”
“Julia!” Her mother entered the kitchen, and Julia pulled her foot to the floor. “Haven’t you gotten that boy a slice of pie yet? Honestly, if you were one of his waitresses, he would have fired you by now.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Bourne, I’d never have hired her.
She has a bit of an attitude, I’m noticing.” He winked, but Julia slapped his arm.
Julia padded to the counter in her bare feet and pouted.
“The vanilla is frozen solid. How old is it?”
“That’s why you wait to cut the pie. Put it in the microwave for thirty seconds. Go on.”
Julia did as she was told while Zak rested his chin on his fist. She set the microwave as her mother instructed, then pulled out the tub and plunked it in front of Zak’s pie. “Your ice cream, sir. No charge for the freezer burn.”
“Well, serve it to him properly. Honestly, Julia, you’d think you were raised in the barn. Zak likes a dollop of Cool Whip on his pie, don’t you, Zak?”
“I sure do, ma’am.”
“You sound like Gomer Pyle,” Julia told him. “Mom, how can you fall for this?”
“Well, go-ol-ly,” he answered.
“Have you heard from Greg lately?” Mrs. Bourne asked.
She stumbled about the small kitchen on her crutch.