by Liz Isaacson
Char came closer, probably interested in the beef Kurt unwrapped and dropped in the pan with the onions. He seasoned everything one step at a time, just the way his momma had taught him.
With the chili set and beans boiling, Kurt turned his attention to making cornbread. He talked to Char like she could respond, telling her stories about the dogs on the ranch and how their lives were leagues different than hers.
“Kind of like me and May,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t even worthy enough to stand in her kitchen, let alone cook in it. If she were here, he’d be really self-conscious. As it was, searching through her drawers for mixer attachments and rubber spatulas brought a certain level of frustration. Cooking in someone else’s kitchen was always hard.
“Better than outside,” he said. “Now that’s hard.” He pointed the rubber spatula at Char. “And we’ll have to do it for the Spring Jubilee. We probably should practice. Do you think your mom has any portable burners or anything?”
Char didn’t answer, and Kurt whipped up the cornbread and slid it into the top oven. He wasn’t sure what the difference between the two ovens was, so he said a little prayer that he’d chosen correctly. To back up God, he set a timer on his phone that was only half the normal cooking time and moved onto the cake recipe.
In the two weeks since he’d come into the restaurant to help May dip strawberries, her father’s voice saying I thought you didn’t like cowboys had faded to a whisper. In Kurt’s quietest moments he could still hear them, but he’d worked hard to push them away.
May sure acted like she liked him. Her face lit up when she saw him, and she kissed him with wild abandon, and more often than not, she initiated their conversations. She wouldn’t do that if she wasn’t interested.
And because he was forty-six and not sixteen, he was determined not to make an issue out of her self-proclaimed cowboy dislike.
He couldn’t change who he was. He wouldn’t. He’d done that before, and it had taken far too long to find his way back. Far too long, way too much time lost, and opportunities he wished he’d taken now gone.
With the cake batter ready to go in the oven and the cornbread not quite done, Kurt texted May. Which of these ovens do I use?
If she had a spare moment, maybe she’d text him back.
The top oven is a convection oven, she wrote back. Not great for cakes or breads. Good for roasting and making pastries.
Kurt spun back to the oven—the top oven—where he’d put his bread. His phone chimed again. Needs a lower temperature and reduces the cooking time by about twenty-five percent.
He didn’t need a fancy convection oven ruining his cornbread. He turned it off and twisted the knob on the lower oven, wishing he’d texted earlier. It wasn’t good for cake batter to sit once the wet ingredients were mixed with the dry leavening powders. But he couldn’t do anything about it now.
Thankfully, her high-end oven heated to the right temperature in only a couple of minutes and he put both the cake and his partially cooked cornbread in it. They could share the space for now, and while his grandmother had taught him not to open the oven while a cake baked, he’d do it anyway. To him, the cornbread was almost as important as dessert.
With everything boiling, bubbling, and baking, Kurt left the kitchen in favor of the backyard. May lived a few minutes outside of town, on a lonely stretch of highway that few people traveled. Her closest neighbor was a quarter of a mile away, and she’d framed in her yard with cypress trees, pecan trees, and sycamores. The lawn looked like emeralds, even in February, and he wondered when she had time to work on it.
“She doesn’t,” he said, sitting on the top step that led to the yard from the deck. Her little dog joined him, leaning her body into his. He chuckled and stroked her curly fur. “She has a gardener, doesn’t she? Probably a maid too.”
Char looked at him with big, round eyes, and she climbed onto his lap. “Oh, so we’re friends now, is that it?”
She heaved out a big sigh, and Kurt chuckled, taking comfort from the tiny dog the way he did Patches.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmured to Char. “I miss her too.” They sat outside until Kurt’s phone started screaming at him to check on the cornbread. He set little Char down carefully and she hopped down the steps to the lawn, where she started sniffing around.
He left her outside while he went to check on his culinary masterpieces. With the oven open for less than five seconds, he retrieved the cornbread and set it on the counter. It didn’t look quite right, but the knife he put in the center came out clean. He stared down at it, trying to figure out what was different.
“It didn’t brown.” He turned back to the offending ovens, not really sure what one did that the other didn’t. It didn’t matter. The bread was done. He checked the beans and the chili, and everything was humming along nicely.
He started on the cherries for the cake, his hands moving methodically as he chopped, drenched the fruit in cherry liqueur, and made a sugar syrup for the cakes. They came out and he turned them onto a cooling rack. The roses he’d ordered from the flower shop arrived, and he admired the huge bouquet on May’s table.
Her house was warm, protected from the winter wind, and it smelled like his grandmother’s house on a perfect fall day.
“Everything is set.” He glanced around. Once the cakes cooled, he’d slice those, get the cherries and cream inside, and get it assembled. But until then, maybe he could take a nap…. A luxury he never got out on the ranch, a Valentine’s Day nap on his girlfriend’s couch sounded like a little slice of heaven.
He’d just laid down on her couch when a nagging thought entered his mind. Where’s Char?
He bolted upright, his heart pounding. He’d left the poodle outside. After dashing over to the door, he burst onto the back deck and called, “Charlie! Come on, girl!”
The backyard sat empty. The big trees swayed and rustled in the wind. The little dog was nowhere to be seen or heard.
A moan started low in Kurt’s stomach and tore through his throat. “No,” he said. “No, no, no.” He couldn’t lose May’s treasured pup. His boots clattered on the wood as he hurried down the steps and onto the patio. “Char!” he tried again.
The wind whipped up, shaking the leaves into an angry hiss, the only answer.
Chapter Eleven
May found Beth sitting in the corner booth that belonged to the Sotheby family. She slid onto the upholstered bench across from her sister and sighed. “Wow, I’m exhausted already.”
“We haven’t even opened yet.” Though Beth didn’t work at the restaurant, and hadn’t since her last summer after college, she obviously still felt a connection to the high-end establishment. May’s parents had always involved all the girls in the restaurant decisions, from what curtains to buy to how much to charge for filet mignon.
May looked at the decorative wood blinds that had been selected, topped by a valance made with beautiful navy fabric. It complemented the light wood tables and the dark brown leather on the chairs and booths.
The carpet could probably be replaced—or at least cleaned. The deep blue color was accentuated with flowing flowers in white and gray that spread like wild bluebonnets across the floor.
“Juan Carlos just fired your roast chicken,” May said, smiling at her sister. “How are Jorge and Luisa? Is Betty with them?”
Beth sipped her peach lemonade and nodded, her dark curls bobbing with the motion. “The kids are great. They love spending time with JC’s mother.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“As long as she’s not trying to tell me how to parent my own kids, I think it’s great.” She pushed her glass further from her. “Try this. It’s too sour.”
May reached for the lemonade as Beth said, “Besides, it allows me to be here for a very romantic Valentine’s Day lunch.” She glanced over her shoulder. “With hardly anyone else.”
“We’re not open yet,” May reminded her before sucking in a big mouthful of lemonade.
Her sour sensors recoiled, and she made a face. “You’re right. There’s something wrong with this. I’ll tell Ally. She’ll know what to do.”
“But the lunch crowd won’t be huge,” she said.
“No, but our first reservations start at four-thirty.”
Beth’s eyes sparkled as if she’d put white Christmas lights behind them. “And what about your own romantic tryst later tonight?”
May choked, and not only from the leftover sourness still coating her throat. “It’s not a tryst.”
Beth giggled. “You like this guy a lot.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So maybe he’s the one.” Beth glanced into the restaurant as May signaled Ally to come over.
“This lemonade is super sour,” May said, ignoring Beth’s comment about Kurt being “the one.” May didn’t want to put labels on him, get her hopes up, and then get her heart broken again. He seemed okay with her long hours—for now. “Taste it.”
Because Ally was the best waitress in the world, she picked up the glass and said, “I’ll get you another one,” without tasting it. “Roast chicken will be up in five.”
“Which means we open in five.” May sighed. “You’ll have Juan Carlos back by three-thirty, right?”
“As promised.” Beth looked at her phone as the screen brightened. “So, tell me about Kurt. I’ve heard hardly anything.”
“Nothing to tell,” May said. Besides, she’d told Beth plenty. Almost everything, in fact. Nothing about his first wife or why they’d divorced. Nothing about her deepening desire for the cowboy she thought she’d never like.
“May.”
“What?”
“Have you told him about inheriting the restaurant and everything that comes with it?”
May’s mouth puckered like she’d tasted another shot of that too-sour lemonade. “No.”
“May,” Beth said reprovingly. “Why not?”
“It’s…serious. We’re not talking serious things right now.”
“You talk every day,” Beth said. “Right?”
“Yeah, but non-serious stuff about cattle and horses, stories about Char and the remodel I want to do on my fireplace.” Kurt had seemed especially interested in that, and he and May had talked at length about what kind of stone she’d like and why she didn’t appreciate the fireplace the way it already was.
She still remembered the way he’d chuckled when she’d told him that she simply needed a mantle above the fireplace so she had somewhere to hang stockings. Then they’d started talking about family Christmas traditions. Their conversations had always been easy. Easy to leave if she got busy or their time was up. Easy to come back to as if they’d never stopped talking.
But she hadn’t found a way to tell him that she was the sole heiress to this multi-million-dollar restaurant.
“He should know,” she said. “Because once you take over, you’ll be married to this place.”
May’s annoyance with her sister spiked, and thankfully the scent of roasted chicken, sweet potato and corn hash, and mashed potatoes preceded Juan Carlos.
May escaped from the booth and the conversation with a stern look from Beth and a smile from Juan Carlos. “Three-thirty,” she told him, and he saluted her. She walked away from her sister and her husband, pausing only when she reached the kitchen entrance to look back.
Beth was so happy with Juan Carlos. They didn’t have secrets between them. And May would tell Kurt about taking over everything Sotheby—as soon as the time was right.
By the time May pulled into her garage, she was ten minutes late. She hustled into the house, wishing she didn’t smell so much like a restaurant kitchen, and found Kurt standing near the dining room table. At least a dozen candles had been lit, and they surrounded the largest vase of red roses May had ever seen.
Her heart skipped once, twice, and then lodged in her throat. She hadn’t made it past the first date for a while, but as she stood there trying to remember how to breathe, she felt sure she was free-falling toward love. Toward being in love with Kurt.
“Kurt,” she breathed, putting her purse on her spotless counter island and inching closer to him. “This is beautiful.”
“Everything’s just warming up,” he said, receiving her into his arms. She laid her cheek against his chest, right over his pulse and just listened to the comforting thump of his heart. “Tired?”
Considering she’d gone into the restaurant sixteen hours ago, all she could do was nod.
“Too tired to eat?”
She shook her head but didn’t let go of Kurt’s waist. She didn’t want to exist without his arms around her, anchoring her, keeping her whole and warm. The strength of her feelings surprised her, but at the same time, they felt really natural.
“So I have a confession,” he whispered, his hands tightening along her lower back.
May groaned. “Tonight?”
He chuckled and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s a good story.”
He certainly loved telling a good yarn. “Go on, then.”
“So I lost Char.”
May bolted out of his arms, panic pounding through her. She glanced around for the apricot poodle.
“I found her,” Kurt said quickly. “I found her, May. She’s sleepin’ on your bed.”
May’s adrenaline faded, leaving her more tired than before. “Maybe you should’ve led with that.” She swatted at him, and he drew his arm across his body protectively. “I should’ve told you not to let her out. She likes to wander.”
“Well, we sat for a spell on the back deck, and did you know she loves to sit in your lap?”
“She sat in your lap?”
“Like she owned me.” Kurt laughed, the sound wonderful as it rattled around May’s vaulted ceilings. He stepped over to the stovetop and stirred the chili. “This is ready.”
“Finish telling me about Char.”
He started dishing chili and beans and cornbread, working while he talked. “And I had to come check on the cornbread, and she ran down to the yard like she needed to use the bathroom. So I let her. Patches just roams the ranch, right? So I didn’t even think about her again for a while.”
“How long?”
Kurt glanced her way, a guilt-ridden look on his face. “A couple of hours, at least. I’m sorry, May. Honest.”
She waved for him to continue, and he said, “When I realized she was gone, I sort of freaked out. She wasn’t in the yard. I called and called and she wouldn’t come. So I hurried down to the Wicker’s, and they had her.”
“She likes to eat their cat food.”
“That’s what they said.” Kurt put the food on the table, one place setting for her and one for him, only a foot away. “Anyway, they said they knew you’d come looking for her eventually, and they didn’t mind keeping her for a while.” He came closer. “I’m real sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know.”
“She got home safe.” May gazed up into his dazzling blue eyes, thinking she could stay in this moment forever and be blissfully happy. “That’s all that matters.”
“No, what matters is that you eat some of this chili and cornbread. I’ve been starin’ at it for hours, trying to get myself to wait for you.”
“Sorry I was late,” she murmured, her attention on his lips now.
“Ten minutes is nothing.”
She wasn’t sure how she’d found this handsome man with the kind soul. Wasn’t sure how another bachelorette in Grape Seed Falls hadn’t snatched him up the moment he’d come to town.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered before stretching up on her toes and kissing him with as much love and emotion as she could pour into such a simple gesture.
He didn’t let her kiss him as long as she wanted to. “Our food’s gettin’ cold,” he said, a definitely gruff edge in his words. “And it’s gettin’ late.” He pulled May’s chair out for her and waited until she sat before he took his seat on the end of the table.
May liked the intimate nature
of her table, which had always seemed so huge. But with him on the end and her just around the corner, she felt close to him in more ways than one. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the chili, suddenly ravenous. The bright heat popped in her mouth, and she moaned. “Kurt, this is fantastic.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a warm smile and continued eating. May enjoyed his company in the silence, so glad she wasn’t alone for the fifth Valentine’s Day in a row. The last romantic meal she’d shared on this day had been with Luke, and he’d broken up with her before the Spring Jubilee. She hoped she wasn’t about to repeat that disaster.
“My grandmother taught me how to make chili,” he said. “A lot of things, actually. That black forest cake sitting in the fridge is also her recipe.”
May dipped her cornbread in the delicious chili. “I can’t wait to try it.”
“I miss her,” He said. Nothing more. But May heard the vulnerability in his voice, saw the emotions on his face and suddenly realized something. “You’re not wearing your cowboy hat.”
“You’re just now noticing?” The teasing twinkle in his eyes sent a bolt of heat through her.
“I suppose I was preoccupied with finally seeing you.”
“It’s been a while,” he admitted, watching her now that he’d finished his chili.
May felt words surge within her. She wanted him to know about her inheritance, but she didn’t want to ruin this absolutely perfect evening. He’d leave in only a couple of hours, and she’d be alone again.
It can wait, she told herself.
“You’re thinkin’ hard about something,” he said. “What is it?”
“Oh, just the last time I ate a meal like this with a man.”
“Okay, wow.” Kurt leaned away from his bowl of pinto beans and crossed his arms. The distance between them felt cavernous now.
“He was my last serious boyfriend,” May rushed to add. “His name was Luke, and he broke up with me a couple of months after Valentine’s Day.”
Kurt watched her with kind eyes. Guarded, sure. She’d just said she was thinking about another man, after all.
