All Grown Up

by Janice Maynard

  “Mom,” he said, grimacing inwardly and fiercely regretting that he had ever given her a key. “What are you doing here?” He loved her dearly, but after he’d hit his mid-thirties, she’d been at DEFCON 1 in her campaign to marry him off. Her pop-in visits, often with some co-conspirator in tow, were usually poorly disguised matchmaking attempts.

  Charlaine Ely smiled broadly, clad in a stylish winter suit that belied her age. “Can’t a momma visit her baby? Come in the kitchen and see Daphne. You’re gonna love what she’s fixin’ for us.”

  * * *

  Annalise had broken her New Year’s Eve resolution so many times and in so many ways, she probably should have her mouth washed out with soap. Cooking was damned hard. The FCC needed to take a bunch of those Cooking Channel chefs to court for false advertising.

  At long last, her creation was finished. She stared at the cake on her trashed kitchen counter with misgivings. Although it was supposed to be round and two-layered, it had ended up more of a free-form shape with a distinct dip in the middle. Disguising it the best she could with icing, she finally gave up and decided it was the thought that counted. The cake was resting on a cardboard circle she’d bought when she got the groceries. Hell, she didn’t even own any Tupperware. She’d had to buy a knockoff.

  Getting the cake into the carrier was a bit like forcing a beloved pet into a cage for a trip to the vet. The cake didn’t want to go. In the end, she had to use her bare hands, which unfortunately meant ripping off part of the icing in the process, and thus having to make another half batch to cover up her boo-boos.

  She decided to clean up the kitchen when she got back. Nobody was going to be around to see the disaster anyway. Her outfit was ruined, so she dashed into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of designer jeans and a winter-white cashmere turtleneck. One dash of eyeliner, a fillip of mascara and a swish of lip gloss, and she was ready. High-maintenance indeed.

  The trip to Sam’s condo was less than ten miles, but the drive felt like it took an eternity. She hadn’t exactly worked out what she was going to say when she saw him. She was hoping that her peace offering and perhaps some quick and kinky sex might ease the way.

  Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she idled at a red light, her thighs quivered and her breasts grew heavy and tight as she contemplated his welcome. Please, God, don’t let him be mad.

  He was well within his rights to be furious. The last time they’d been together, he’d asked her to ask him to stay. But instead of meeting his overture halfway, she had practically shoved him out the door in a futile effort to prove to herself that she didn’t need Sam.

  What an idiot she was.

  Thank God she had come to her senses. But what if it was too late? The prospect of seeing condemnation in his eyes—disgust, even—shriveled her soul. Sam’s opinion mattered to her. It always had. Which was why she was prepared to grovel today if necessary. She had a big speech to make and she wanted desperately for it to go well. Maybe Sam would be in a forgiving mood.

  Ruefully, she realized that the last time she had been this nervous was the evening she propositioned Sam when she was twenty-one. That day had ended in disaster. Though her stomach clenched and twisted, she refused to dwell on the negative. Sam cared about her. And this time, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he wanted her sexually.

  Relationships were founded on far less all the time. But she had really screwed up with Sam.

  Was he going to believe the truth? That she had changed her entire world view on the basis of one magical weekend? That she was willing to consider the possibility of a grown-up relationship…of children?

  She found a parking spot on the street, got out on shaky legs and locked the car with a flip of the button on the door. Unfortunately, her keys were on the seat beside the cake box.

  Damn, damn, damn…

  She would not cry. Tears were girly and weak and unworthy of her new resolve. Thankfully, she had her cell phone in her hand. She called her automobile club service, and because she was downtown, the helpful service tech was at her side in fifteen minutes.

  Annalise shifted restlessly from foot to foot as he slid a device down inside the glass, popped the lock and opened her door. “Thank you,” she said fervently. She handed him a fifty-dollar tip. “Take your wife out to dinner on me.”

  With the man’s excited thanks still ringing in her ears, she sprinted for the building and boarded the elevator. She’d been in Sam’s condo once before…at a fund-raising reception for the Alzheimer’s Foundation. But on that evening, she and Sam had never even exchanged words, even though she’d been aware of him all night.

  The elevator clanged to a stop. Annalise stepped out into a hallway carpeted in pewter and burgundy color blocks. Clutching the cake carrier and her purse like a lifeline, she rang the doorbell.

  When Sam opened the door, she gaped. Never had she seen him like this…wild-eyed, harried, suspiciously unsurprised. She frowned. “May I come in?” She didn’t mention the offering and he didn’t seem to notice that she carried an odd accessory.

  He kept the door closed except for a barely polite twelve inches. “I saw you park on the street,” he said. “Now’s not really a good time. I’ve got—”

  A woman appeared at his shoulder, peering into the hall. “Who is it, Sammy? Dinner’s almost ready.”

  Sammy? Dear God. Surely Sam hadn’t taken to dating cougars.

  He closed his eyes momentarily, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Annalise, this is my mother, Charlaine Ely. Mom, Annalise Wolff.”

  “Wolff? Oh, my goodness, come in. I’ve heard about your family for years, but you know that since my husband and I divorced when Sammy was little, I’ve rarely been in Charlottesville. It’s a pleasure to meet you. One of Sam’s old high school friends is here. She’s opening a new restaurant soon back in Alabama, and I thought it would be fun to try the menu out on Sam. We’re having a casual bite to eat. You’re welcome to join us.”

  With Sam and Annalise acting like cardboard cutouts, the talkative Charlaine ushered them into the kitchen. It was then that Annalise’s heart stopped. Because there, standing in front of the stove, and wearing an apron, no less, was Sam’s perfect woman.

  She was shorter than Annalise, and curvier. Her smile was open and generous, and she seemed right at home in Sam’s ultramodern, state-of-the-art kitchen.

  After a flurry of introductions, all orchestrated by Sam’s mother, Daphne spoke up. “The rolls will be ready in five minutes. I hope everyone is hungry.”

  “Rolls?” The question came from deep inside Annalise’s nauseated tummy.

  Daphne beamed. “Yeast rolls. My grandma’s recipe.”

  “Oh, goody.” Annalise felt her temper rise. Sam had barely left her bed, and already this cross between Martha Stewart and Angelina Jolie was ensconced in his condo. Jerk.

  Charlaine noticed the cake box. “Oh, lovely. Did you bring dessert? I bought some ice cream, but it will keep. Let me put it on a plate.”

  Annalise gripped the carrier with all her might. “Um, no. This is for my grandmother. I didn’t mean to bring it in.”

  Sam frowned. “All your grandparents are dead.”

  “Sam!” Charlaine was shocked. “That was rude.” She patted Annalise on the shoulder. “Now don’t be intimidated by Daphne. She’s a professional, so we can’t hope to compete with that. But I’m sure your cake is lovely.”

  While Annalise watched, mute with mortification, the insistent Charlaine loosened Annalise’s fingers one by one and took possession of the cake box. When she set it on the counter and removed the lid, you could have heard a pin drop in the room.

  The smell of warm yeast permeated the air, and Annalise wanted to die. All eyes were locked on the chocolate-covered blob. She bit her lip. “Sam mentioned how he always loved white cake with chocolate icing,” she mumbled. “When he was growing up. I wanted to thank him for putting me in touch with his grandmother and helping me get the new job.”


  Daphne leaned over, a lingering horrified fascination in her eyes as she assessed Annalise’s very first effort at baking. “I’m sure it tastes good,” she said, her cheery voice consoling.

  It was the last straw. “I have to go,” Annalise croaked. “Sorry to miss dinner.” She made a dash for the door, blinking back stupid feminine tears. Her hand was on the knob when Sam stopped her by the sheer expedient of putting his body between her and the exit.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said urgently. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

  She searched his face, trying to read the truth, summoning her courage and refusing to remember the last time she had poured out her heart to this man. “I really need to talk to you,” she said. “Tonight.”

  Sam hesitated. And in that split second, her heart shriveled. Her soul turned to ice.

  With all her might, she shoved him out of the way, ripped open the door and ran like hell.

  Thirteen

  Sam might have had worse days, but he couldn’t remember when. With his mother and her guest in his house and a very nice dinner that Daphne had labored over for several hours ready to serve, how could he run out and leave them?

  But dear God, Annalise had come to him…of her own free will. And she wanted to talk…tonight. That had to be good. Right? He would gobble down dinner and then go find her. A forty-five-minute delay to satisfy his social obligation was all that stood between him and holding the woman he loved in his arms again.

  By the time the dessert course rolled around, Sam knew he had screwed up big-time. All he could think about was the stricken look in Annalise’s eyes. It hit him with sick certainty that she must have seen his hesitation to drop everything and follow her as a second rejection.

  His mom brought a bowl of ice cream from the kitchen and set it in front of him.

  Sam glared at the offending dessert. “I want cake,” he said, the words blunt and to the point.

  Daphne leapt to her feet. “Of course,” she said brightly. “Let me cut you a piece.” She returned moments later, carrying a small china dish. “Here you go.”

  He took his fork, cut off a big bite and shoved it into his mouth. What happened next made his eyes water. The icing tasted like bitter mud, the cake itself was dry and gritty and he found a piece of eggshell that he was forced to spit into a napkin.

  The two women stared at him expectantly.

  Sam studied his dessert and sighed. He laid down his fork, and stood up. As an afterthought, he picked up his cup of coffee and took a long swig, trying to rinse the taste from his mouth.

  “I have to go,” he said firmly. “You both are welcome to stay until tomorrow. The guest rooms are ready. But I have other plans tonight. You’ll need to excuse me.”

  Daphne glared at Charlaine. “I told you this was a bad idea.” She smiled wryly at her reluctant host. “Sorry, Sam. Your mother can be very persuasive.” She walked around the table and kissed him on his cheek. “It was nice to see you. Good luck with your girl.”

  Charlaine pouted, but she, too, apologized. “Sometimes I get carried away. Please don’t tell your dad. Go find that nice Annalise and smooth things out.”

  Sam gave them a weary smile. “I’ll try. But if you don’t hear from me by noon tomorrow, you might want to start dragging the river.”

  The dark humor was a reflection of the knot in his gut. How in the hell had he managed to repeat the biggest mistake of his life? And with the same woman? The last time he had rejected an overture from Annalise Wolff, she hadn’t spoken to him for over half a decade. This debacle was infinitely worse. He’d made love to her, fought with her, left her unwillingly and now this. Annalise had come to him to “talk,” and he’d let her think that his mother and her guest were more important.

  He grabbed his keys and coat and ran downstairs to his car. Annalise could be anywhere, but she had been upset when she left his place, so he was guessing she headed home to hide out.

  The building Annalise lived in was high-end and very classy. The doorman and the concierge were both men in their sixties. Fortunately for Sam, he had gone to college with each of their sons. After an exchange of pleasantries, he laid his cards on the table.

  “Annalise and I have been seeing each other. We had a fight. I’m pretty sure she’s upstairs planning my demise. I would consider it a deep personal favor if you could give me the spare key.”

  The two older men exchanged glances. The concierge frowned. “I saw her go up. She looked like she’d been crying.”

  Sam felt about two inches tall. His heart contracted. “It’s a long story, but my mom meddled and made Annalise think I was interested in someone else.”

  The grizzled man muttered. “Mothers. They’re amazing, but damn, they can cramp a guy’s style. Sorry, Mr. Ely. I know you don’t mean any harm. But I could lose my job.”

  “At least call upstairs and tell her I’m here,” Sam urged.

  “Okay. I can do that.” He picked up the house phone and dialed two digits. His face was unreadable as he carried on a brief conversation.

  Still holding the phone in his hand, he looked at Sam. “She said to tell you she doesn’t care about her New Year’s resolution. You’re a lying, cheating, two-faced…”

  Sam held up a hand. “I get the picture. Can I talk to her?”

  The concierge handed over the phone.

  “Hey, Princess. Please let me come upstairs.”

  It killed him that her voice was hoarse from crying. “No.”

  “I was going to call you this evening.”

  “Ha.”

  “But when I got home, my mom was there with Daphne. I had no idea they were coming, I swear.”

  “Did you eat her rolls?”

  The weird question took him off guard. “Yes.”

  “They were delicious, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And my cake?”

  An enormous crevasse opened up at his feet. His heart pounding, he wondered what he should say.

  The concierge grabbed the phone from his hand. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Ms. Annalise. I’m giving him the spare key. You two are on your own.”

  He hung up and rummaged under the desk for the correct fob. “Good luck, man.”

  Sam was pretty sure he should have made a plan before he confronted Annalise. Despite the fact that he was known for his diplomatic abilities, he’d sooner face a mountain lion than a pissed-off Wolff daughter.

  It would have been nice if her door had been unlocked…perhaps signaling a softening of her anger. But he had to use the key. Quietly, he stepped inside, laying his things on a table near the door. In front of him, the living room and kitchen opened into each other. The mess caused by the cake creation was painfully visible. He gulped and wiped the back of his hand across his damp forehead.

  “Where are you, Princess?”

  He jumped when she appeared at his elbow. “Where do you think I am? I live here.”

  She walked past him to the sofa and waved a hand at a nearby chair. “Since you so rudely burst into my home, you might as well say what you came to say. I don’t have all evening.”

  “I’m guessing you do.”

  She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  He shrugged. “You came over to my house with a peace offering. And you must have known I wouldn’t throw you out. Thus, you must not have plans.”

  Annalise was wearing an old pair of jeans and a UVA sweatshirt. He didn’t even know she owned such clothing. Her hair was hanging loose and wavy down her back, and her feet were tucked into thick woolen socks.

  She stared at him, eyes cool with disdain. “I dropped off a thank-you gift. Wasn’t planning to stay. No big deal.”

  He got to his feet and paced, unable to be still. “It is a big deal. A very big deal.” He waved a hand at the kitchen. “You cooked for me.”

  Color tinted her cheeks. Wariness veiled her true emotions. “An experiment, nothing more. A messy one, at that.”

  “
I did not reject you tonight,” he said firmly. “This is nothing like what happened seven years ago.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  He closed his eyes and counted to thirty. Ten was not nearly enough. “You took me by surprise. I had unexpected company. I handled it badly. Besides, you’re not exactly blameless in all this. You sent me away, Annalise. Rather coldly. So, I’m sorry about tonight, but I was angry and I didn’t expect to see you. Let’s call it even.”

  “Sure,” she said carelessly.

  Her easy dismissal was suspect, but he decided to take it at face value since he had a far more complex agenda to get to. “Why did you really come to see me?” he asked, wanting to take her in his arms, but not sure if she was ready to hear what he had to say.

  “It was an impulse. You know how I am. I can’t really remember.”

  He took a deep breath. “In that case, I’ll do the talking. Whether you believe it or not, I was coming to see you this evening.”

  Her total lack of expression indicated boredom or disinterest or maybe both. She was mute.

  “Don’t you want to know why?”

  “Will you leave if I say yes?”

  His temper snapped. “I wanted to tell you that I love you, damn it…and ask you to marry me.”

  He’d never imagined yelling those words at a woman in just that way, but his suave, debonair manners had deserted him. Clearly, he should have dressed up his declaration. He might as well have said the weather was nice for all the reaction he got from Annalise.

  “Well,” he growled between clenched teeth. “It’s customary for a woman to respond with something appropriate at this point.”

  She bent her head, her face obscured by a fall of hair. “Please don’t,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “It’s no use.”

  “You have to talk to me, Annalise. Or we’ll never find our way out of this mess.” He sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, her head buried on his shoulder. “I promised I would never hurt you again, and today I made you cry. You have no idea how wretched that makes me feel.”

  Her slender fingers played with one of his buttons. “I worked up my courage,” she said softly. “So I could tell you the truth. And then I saw Daphne.”