“Max, we have nothing in common. I need to find someone who believes as I do.”
“Are you back to that church thing?” He’d laughed as he said it, showing how unimportant her belief was to him. He was ruggedly handsome and, at six feet three inches, towered over her, almost taking her breath away. “Why does that have to get in the way? It sure doesn’t need to.”
“I’m not going through it again, Max. Please don’t come around anymore.”
“And I’m not giving up, not by a long shot.” He stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll be back.” He left, banging the door hard.
“But you’re over him,” Jan argued. “You said so yourself just last week.”
“I am, and yet I’m not.” She’d paused over the box she was packing.
“It’s dumb and crazy! Taking off when you have this fantastic business going.”
“Which you’ll keep going just fine.” Cynthia had glanced up, pressing a kink out of the lower part of her back. “Where’s your confidence, girl?”
Jan taped the top of the box closed. “I just want you around, that’s all.”
“I’ll probably be back. Give me a year to do something else, somewhere else, and you’ll find me here on your doorstep.”
Jan impulsively hugged her. “Oh, I hope so.”
Cynthia had stored her bed and other items she wanted to keep, packing her clothes and her favorite recipe collection. If the job didn’t pan out for the bed-and-breakfast in Astoria, she would just find something else. She’d circled an ad about a full-time position in a cooking school in Portland, and there’d even been one for an online cooking instructor. Not that she’d ever consider doing anything online. Did people get paid for online classes? She knew she could work anywhere. It was just that the job in Astoria sounded so great.
Cynthia recalled the ad: “Victorian House. View of Columbia River. Elegant. Full house expected through fall.”
It was August now, and she was prepared to be busy for four months, maybe longer, as some might want to get away for the holiday season. She loved decorating for Christmas.
Cynthia stared at her finger where a beautiful two-carat solitaire had been. Her heart should be healing, still….One didn’t get over a relationship overnight. If she knew all that, why did it continue to hurt? Cynthia thought of a quote she’d read in the newspaper. A person wrote to an advice columnist, asking: “Why does love hurt so bad when it’s gone?”
“It doesn’t,” was the answer. “It only hurts when it’s still there.” Cynthia guessed it was still there.
The taxi wove in and out of traffic. Cynthia’s thoughts came back to the present. She glanced at her watch. She had twenty minutes, but the way the driver was going, they’d be there in time, though perhaps not in one piece.
“We’ll soon cross the Broadway Bridge. Be there in five minutes, miss.”
Cynthia stared at the skyscrapers looming ahead on the horizon. Portland’s skyline was impressive, definitely larger than Martinez, the small, east-bay town where she had lived most of her life. On her own since her mother died six years ago, she still missed Mom more than she’d ever thought possible. Memories of Mom’s gentleness, her guidance, and the fact that she was home with her Lord were the only things bringing peace to Cynthia now.
She glanced out over a river as the steel grating on the bridge jiggled the taxi and tickled the soles of her feet. The driver turned and stopped at a traffic light at the end of the bridge.
“That’s the Willamette River. You pronounce it Wa-lamm-et, not Will-a-met.”
“Oh, I know that,” Cynthia said with a chuckle. “I’m from California, after all.”
He looked at the slip of paper and double-parked in front of an immense building with interesting cornices and huge pillars.
THE GARFIELD, a sign said. OFFICE SPACE, STUDIO APARTMENTS, and LOFTS FOR LEASE.
“This is it?”
He nodded. “That’s the address you gave me.”
This time Cynthia let him assist her with the large suitcase, then wondered what to do with a suitcase and the carry-on when she went in for the interview. She should have thought of that before now.
Cynthia gave the driver a good tip and headed up the steps, pulling her bags behind her. Surely there’d be a place to leave her things. A corner of the waiting room, perhaps.
She dug in her purse for the name and phone number. Gabe Taylor. Cynthia hoped there would be a register inside. She pushed the door open and struggled with her luggage. A man hurried past, then returned to hold the door open.
“Coming to stay, I see,” he said with a jovial look.
“Actually, I’m looking for Gabe Taylor’s office. Would you happen to know where it is?”
“Sure. It’s the third floor up, office to the left; far end.”
Cynthia got into the elevator after a woman came out, wondering if the tall beauty might have applied for the position as manager of the bed-and-breakfast.
The woman smiled, one of those half smiles people do when they catch you looking at them, then hurried by.
Cynthia found the name she was looking for etched in silver on the door and turned the knob.
She had hoped the receptionist would show her a place to stash her luggage, but there was no waiting room. As the door came open, she almost fell into the room as the suitcase slipped from her grip. A young man at a desk with his feet propped on top nearly fell over backward in his surprise.
“Hey! Don’t you knock before entering a room?”
Her face felt hot. “I…that is, I assumed there was a waiting room and a…” She blushed even more. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re here about the position?”
“If you mean the manager of the bed-and-breakfast, yes.”
“Have a seat.”
His eyes were a deep brown, and she felt herself becoming lost in his steady gaze.
Glancing at her luggage, a slight smile turned up at the corners of his mouth. “Planning on staying awhile I see. You must be Cynthia Lyons.”
She held out her hand. “And you’re Gabe Taylor.”
He nodded. “I’ll just take your résumé and get back to you tomorrow.”
“I can wait,” Cynthia said. She wanted to add that she had nowhere to go, but thought better of it.
He sat, looked at the folder, then back at her, then at her résumé again, as if he didn’t know what to do.
“I need to know today, if possible. It will determine whether I rent a car and start out, or stay in Portland to begin looking elsewhere.”
“I see.” He leaned back and seemed to study her more closely. “Do you usually call the shots when you go on an interview?”
Cynthia felt the color rise in her cheeks again. “No. This is an exception, as I think I’m perfect for the job and can’t wait to get started. I’m sure there’s lots to do.”
Gabe couldn’t believe he was even considering hiring this woman. She had a lot of nerve, coming in here and exerting her way like that. She stood no bigger than a minute and, diminutive as she was, he sensed she was strong and determined—good qualities when running a business. And he needed someone like that, especially since he planned on leaving for New York soon—permanently.
He started reading again, fingering his chin as he read. “You had your own catering business?”
“Yes. Cynthia’s Catering has been quite successful. My specialty is a variety of desserts. I make the most fancy cupcakes you ever saw—decorating the tops with special designs, all edible, of course. A friend is running the business in my absence. I also have letters from satisfied customers, should you care to see them.”
He waved his hand. “No, that won’t be necessary. What concerns me, however, is that you’re not looking for a long-term job.” He looked up, meeting her gaze again.
“Oh, no,” Cynthia said. “I want it to be permanent. I just meant my business is in good hands.”
“You had orders from some big names in the Bay
Area?”
“Yes. Like I said, there are letters—”
“No, I don’t want to see any letters.” Gabe looked at her thoughtfully. “What I need to know is what you might have on the menu for a typical Sunday brunch.”
Cynthia leaned back. “Probably my Egg Blossoms with Hollandaise, or French Toast Soufflé. Either one gets rave reviews and is absolutely delicious.”
Gabe arched an eyebrow. “And is this going to cost me an arm and a leg?”
Cynthia straightened her shoulders. “Surely you want something to bring people back! I assure you I use only the best ingredients. Butter, cream, the finest of sugar—”
“I’m sure you’re right—I mean about bringing them back. And word of mouth works wonders in this business.”
He tapped the form with a pencil, then finally pushed his chair back. “Okay. You’re hired. Strictly on a trial basis, you understand.”
“Of course.”
“And I expect a full report each and every Monday morning.”
She raised her chin, almost in defiance. “No problem there. I keep close and accurate records.”
“So, if you’re ready, and I assume you are, we’ll take off and head to Astoria.”
“We?”
“As a financial advisor, I’m my own boss, and I made no appointments until later this afternoon.”
“I see.”
Cynthia couldn’t help wondering if he had other job applicants to interview, but decided not to ask.
“I suppose you’re wondering about other interviewees?”
She glanced away. “The thought did cross my mind.”
“The ad you saw was the second one I ran. On a whim I put it in the San Francisco Chronicle. Seems nobody wants to take on a B and B this time of year. It’s the end of the season. The rainy season is ahead. Now come spring, customers will be banging the door down.”
“I like the rain,” Cynthia said. “It’s soothing.”
“Then you should love Astoria.” He paused at the door. “Why would you leave California this time of year, anyway?”
The knot grew in Cynthia’s throat. It was her business, and she didn’t think she needed to explain anything to him. He needed someone to operate his B and B, and that was all that mattered.
She looked up. “It’s a personal matter, but it won’t interfere with my work. Not in the least.”
“Very well, then. I ask for two-weeks’ notice. I have someone who ran the B and B for the past few weekends, but she does it only as a favor.”
A favor? Cynthia wondered about that. She guessed there was more to this than he was willing to discuss. Not that she cared. She wasn’t here to fill anyone’s shoes. It was simply a job.
“Let me get my coat, and we’ll be off.”
Cynthia closed her eyes for a brief moment, thanking God for getting her here safely, for helping her land the job, and also for this man who was getting to her more than she wanted him to. There was something about his face, the thick thatch of hair that appealed to her, but she didn’t like the thoughts going through her head. She was definitely not ready for romance.
Chapter 2
T he parking lot was two blocks from Gabe’s office, and as Cynthia struggled to keep up, Gabe forged ahead, pulling her larger suitcase behind him.
“You’ll like the bed-and-breakfast,” Gabe said, once they were inside his Mercury and heading west.
“How long have you owned the B and B?”
He grinned. “Forever. I grew up in it.”
“Oh.” She glanced at his profile and suddenly saw not a bigwig financial advisor, but a man who still had the small town in him though he tried to appear otherwise.
“I was raised in a little town, too,” Cynthia said.
He gave her a quick glance, his eyebrow raised. “I didn’t think there was such a thing in California.”
“Very funny. Actually, Martinez is a wonderful place, and I wouldn’t trade the memories of Mom and me walking to the park on Saturdays, listening to concerts every summer, and visiting the farmers’ market Thursday afternoons.”
“And your mother? Where is she now?”
Cynthia felt her insides tighten. Would she ever get over the loss of her mother? “Mom died the year I started my catering business. I wish she knew how successful I am at a job I love.”
“And just maybe she does.” He smiled again and she felt a jolt. Gabe must be a Christian, or he wouldn’t have made that comment.
Cynthia smiled. “I like to think so. What about your parents?”
“Both gone. I don’t remember my father at all. He died when I was five, then Mom a few years ago, and just last year Grams died. She was a strong, determined person, as you might have guessed.”
“Yes. And so it was handed down to you.”
“Yeah, that’s my life story in a nutshell.”
They drove silently while a gospel CD played from the car stereo. Her life had changed so much. After losing her mother, she’d dropped out of college and started cooking for one of the restaurants in her neighborhood. She’d met Max, who pushed her into the catering business. “Anyone who cooks with flair, as you do, should cook for a living.” Max found her clients, all businesspeople, but Cynthia preferred cooking what she liked, not what they ordered. Still Max prodded her. Then she found herself pulling away, wanting a different lifestyle than he did. It all seems so long ago now.
Gabe hummed one of the tunes while Cynthia watched the countryside fly past. Gabe looked in her direction a few times, and she felt good as she hummed along.
“I see you like the CD.”
“I enjoy music. Always have.”
Gabe put on the blinker and pulled up in front of a small restaurant nestled in a wooded setting. “This is my favorite eating place, speaking of small towns. It’s by far one of the best between Portland and Astoria.”
The café was located beside a small stream. The sound of the brook soothed Cynthia, and she felt the tension leave her body. There was something so relaxing about the water.
The waitress came, and they ordered coffee and large bowls of clam chowder.
The coffee was hot, the chowder seasoned and full of clams. Cynthia decided it was similar to her recipe. She’d have to commend the chef.
As if reading her thoughts, Gabe asked, “How does this match up to what you make?”
“Excellent,” Cynthia said, setting down her soup spoon. “I’m glad we stopped.”
Gabe leaned forward. “You have an interesting manner,” he said, catching Cynthia off guard with his sudden statement.
“Oh, and why is that?”
“You seem to be easily pleased.”
“And most of your friends aren’t?” she had to ask. Was he alluding to previous girlfriends? Cynthia wanted to know, though it was none of her business. She found herself more than casually interested in this person sitting next to her. He was nothing like Max. His earlier haughty, all-business mood had given way to a captivating manner, and she discovered she wanted to know him better. That would be impossible since he lived in Portland. Their business transactions would probably be via the phone or computer.
“I’ll pay for my meal,” Cynthia offered, but Gabe waved her off.
“This was my idea, and I’ll handle it, including the tip.”
Nearly an hour later, they pulled into Astoria, and Cynthia gasped when she saw the immense Columbia River. Earlier she’d caught glimpses of it as they drove along the highway, but now the river beckoned with its vast miles and miles of blueness. Hills resembling green velvet on the Washington side of the river appeared to touch the sky overhead. Cynthia took a deep breath. “It’s beautiful.”
Gabe grinned. “If you like this, wait until you see the view from Taylor’s Bed and Breakfast.”
Gabe turned and drove straight up a hill. Astoria reminded her of San Francisco. Contrary to popular belief, people living in the Bay Area did not go into San Francisco often unless they worked there. With her business, s
he’d hired a driver part-time to deliver her meals.
“So, what do you think? I know our hills don’t compare to San Francisco’s, but we like them.”
“Oh, I love the hills. It’s a gorgeous spot, and I can see it’s the perfect vacation place for travelers.”
“Except when there is snow or ice. That holds us captive, but it happens rarely, so don’t worry about it.”
Gabe hopped out and took a deep breath. “I tend to forget how clean the air is here. I love this town.”
Then why did you leave? Cynthia wanted to ask.
Cynthia stared at the huge house that seemed to tower over her. The dead-end street turned into a hill of green brush. The B and B, a turn-of-the-century Victorian, was painted a deep scarlet. The bay windows were outlined in navy blue, while a sky blue shade accented the gingerbread. A turret on the north side added to the charm. A small yard drew shade from a huge maple that dominated an overgrown flower garden. Already Cynthia’s mind whirled with ideas for improving the yard.
“What do you think?” Gabe was at her side, his gaze meeting hers, waiting for an answer.
“It’s perfect!”
“Wait until you see the inside.”
Steps led up to the wraparound porch, and Gabe produced a set of keys; then they were inside.
Cynthia loved older homes. She marveled at the winding stairway, the highly polished wood, a carved banister, and the rose wallpaper leading up to the next floor. The foyer was perfect with a window bench and a rack for wraps and umbrellas. The area rug was starting to fray, but that was a minor problem.
“Do you want the grand tour now or to just discover it on your own?”
“Now, please.”
They climbed the stairs to the second floor, which had four bedrooms. Two were spacious with their own private baths, while the other two rooms shared a bath. Old-fashioned light fixtures gave the appearance of gaslights from long ago.
Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection Page 8
