by Cindy Kirk
“Two months before I met you, I paid off the last of my student loans. I gave my notice at L’Espalier the next day.” She didn’t even try to fight the pride that welled up inside her. Paying off those loans had been a huge accomplishment.
“I’m impressed.” The admiration in his eyes made her squirm.
“I didn’t tell you to toot my own horn. I just wanted to say that I believe you’re right. Once you take that position with O’Shea Sports, the practice of medicine may indeed be relegated to your past.” The thought of anyone having to give up their passion saddened her, but when that person was Andrew... She gazed into the fire. “It was difficult to give up creating my own cakes. Still, I knew within two years I’d be back doing it again. If I’d had to give it up entirely... I don’t know what would have happened to me, to the essence of me.”
Andrew spoke slowly and deliberately. “I don’t believe I ever realized before now just how much your creative design meant to you. I know I didn’t give it the consideration it deserved when we talked about how melding our lives together would look.”
Sylvie couldn’t dispute what he said. But neither would she let him take all the blame. “Growing up as I did, I got used to people telling me what to do. I wanted to make you happy. I thought by going along with whatever you wanted, I would be content. I don’t think that would have been the case. I’ve come to believe that to make someone else happy, you have to be comfortable in your own skin.”
“You seem content in your own skin now.”
“I am,” she agreed, “and so are you. For now.”
He gave her a curious look.
“You’re happy now, but once you take that COO position, you won’t be. You’re a doctor, Andrew. Healing people is what you were put on this earth to do.”
He downed the rest of his wine and surged to his feet. “It’s been a long day. You and I have to be up and rolling out of here in less than six hours.”
Which meant, she decided, that the conversation had come to an end. Sylvie took the hand he offered and rose to her feet.
Even after she stood, her hand remained clasped in his.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said, then lowered his lips to hers.
The kiss might have been short and sweet, but it sent a pleasurable tingle all the way to the tips of her toes.
“Good night, Sylvie.”
“Good night,” she called out, but he didn’t turn as he strode from the room.
The urge to follow him into his bedroom was nearly overwhelming. Sylvie moved to the window on the far side of the room and pressed her forehead against the cold glass.
Something was happening between them. She only wished she knew what in the heck to do about it.
* * *
Andrew wanted to help Sylvie work her station at the Taste of the Tetons, but long before he’d arrived in Jackson Hole, she’d enlisted several of her friends to assist with the event that ran from 11:00 until 4:00 p.m. They’d helped her carry in her goodies, which included cupcakes that looked as if the Wicked Witch was buried in the frosting to ones that resembled beautiful flowers. There were bouquets of “cake pops,” and for the more traditionally minded, there were tiny desserts that looked so much like flowers he couldn’t tell them from the real thing.
Though it appeared he wasn’t needed, Andrew was reluctant to leave. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”
He saw Josie glance curiously in his direction before she returned her attention to arranging the Wicked Witches on a cupcake tower made to resemble a winding yellow brick road.
“Thanks for the offer.” Sylvie looked up and smiled. With a true artist’s eye, she’d interspersed the lavender and white hydrangea cupcakes on an elegant tower where real flowers and greenery were strategically interspersed. “But we’ve got this under control.”
On the other side of her, Poppy kept moving one of several elegant “cake pop bouquets” around, looking for the perfect spot on the linen-clad table.
Of all the items on display, however, Andrew’s favorite was the couture cupcake stand of the upper body of a mannequin in a sleeveless black dress, surrounded by mini cups filled with cake pieces and chocolate mousse.
The display, including the clothesline across the front of the booth, with tiny clothespins holding her brightly colored handmade business cards, drew Andrew’s eye. He plucked a card off the line and dropped it into his pocket.
“I’ll be back at four to help clean up.”
Sylvie looked up and smiled. “That’d be great. Have a good afternoon.”
Seeing no choice, Andrew walked away. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t capable of amusing himself. But amusing himself wasn’t the issue. He wanted to share this day with Sylvie, wanted to stroll down the aisles and consider the food options. But he reminded himself she had work to do. He respected that fact...and her talent.
Because he knew if he stayed in the Taste of the Tetons tent, he’d have eventually wound his way back to Sylvie’s booth, he stepped out and over to one holding the Wine Tasting and Silent Auction.
He was sampling a particularly fine Syrah when he was punched in the shoulder. “Hey, Boston, what’s that you’re drinkin’?”
Andrew recognized Keenan’s voice even before he turned. Even though the day was in the midsixties, the man looked ready for a lumberjack festival in a flannel shirt, jeans and boots.
“Syrah.” Andrew lifted his glass holding a red so dark you couldn’t even see through it.
Keenan lifted the glass from his hand and took a swig. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Tastes like smoked meat. I like it.”
With that pronouncement, he downed the rest of the contents and then handed Andrew the empty glass.
“It’s particularly good for you because it has a high level of tannins.” Andrew set the glass down on a nearby tray. “Lots of health-benefiting antioxidants.”
“It tastes like smoked meat.”
Andrew grinned. “That, too.”
“Mitzi is working the clinic today,” Keenan told him before he had a chance to ask.
“Sylvie’s got a booth in the other tent.”
Keenan’s gaze sharpened. “You two seem to be seeing a lot of each other.”
Realizing that when he left, Sylvie would be left to deal with the speculation and questions, Andrew kept his reply simple. “We were friends back in Boston.”
“If I had to speculate, I’d say you were more than friends.” Keenan paused to order a bottle of the Syrah before turning back. “But I don’t speculate.”
Andrew found himself liking Keenan McGregor. Somehow, without a word being said, he and Keenan explored the tent together.
Once they’d tasted their share of wine, they wandered over to where local artists had set up. The sign indicated this was the 17th Annual Takin’ It to the Streets Art Fair.
Keenan gestured to a picture of a large elk with piercing dark eyes. “That one reminds me of Mitzi when she’s pissed at me.”
Andrew chuckled. Sylvie had chosen wisely when she picked Jackson Hole. The community had so much to offer. No doubt she’d eventually find someone special and settle down. It was apparent she was happy here in a way she’d never been happy back in Boston, in a way that she’d never been happy with him.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He’d tried to make her happy, had wanted to make her happy, but in the end they’d failed each other. As he and Keenan moved down the sidewalk filled with artists, Andrew realized that was the bitterest pill of all to swallow.
* * *
The Taste of the Tetons experience left Sylvie both exhausted and exhilarated. She’d made a lot of new connections and had given out a ton of business cards.
Because she’d been watching,
she’d noticed how the eyes of potential clients lit up when she mentioned she’d recently worked with Kathy Randall on a Sweet Adelines event.
“I’m beginning to think Kathy was right,” Sylvie said to Andrew that evening while she whipped together a grilled chicken and wheat-berry salad for dinner.
After indulging in too many sweets, they’d both been ready for something healthy.
“What was she right about?” he asked, putting napkins and silverware on the table, while the bottle of Grüner Veltliner he’d picked up at the wine auction breathed on the counter.
“She told me that the best way to get referrals is to become involved in the community.” Sylvie shifted her attention to him while she tossed the salad. “I may have to join Sweet Adelines after all.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“I’ve never been much of a joiner.”
“It sounds like growing up you were never in any place long enough to join different clubs and activities.”
“That’s true,” she concurred. “And most of that kind of stuff cost money I didn’t have.”
“Not to mention once you got out of culinary school, you were too busy working to make a living and pay off your loans to do anything extra.” Andrew added ice and water to some square glass tumblers.
Sylvie thought about what he’d said, then nodded. “You’re right. Just because I’ve never joined groups in the past doesn’t mean I can’t join now.”
“And just because something didn’t work in the past doesn’t mean it won’t work now.” Like us, he thought, then shoved the notion aside. “Do you like to sing?”
She considered. “I enjoyed it the other night.”
“You should give it a try.”
“I think I will.”
“Good.”
They exchanged a smile as Andrew turned to pour the wine.
* * *
Andrew had no idea what to expect at the Tuesday night book-club meeting held at Cole and Meg’s mountain home. Neither he nor Sylvie had been told what book would be discussed. He only knew the dress was casual, which seemed to be how most events were in Jackson Hole, and that they needed to bring only themselves.
“I feel naked,” Sylvie whispered to him as they stepped into the great room filled with both adults and children.
“Really?” Andrew grinned. “Did you decide to go commando?”
Puzzlement blanketed her face, and then she rolled her eyes. “I am so used to bringing something. But Meg insisted everything was covered.”
“That doesn’t tell me if you’re wearing underwear.”
Her answer was an elbow jab to his side.
He grinned. Over the past few days, things between them had settled into a comfortable routine. Despite the fact that they hadn’t slept together since he first arrived, Andrew felt closer to her than he had when they were sleeping together every night in Boston.
“Glad you could make it.” Cole clapped a hand on his back and smiled at Sylvie.
“Thanks for inviting us.” Sylvie glanced around, her eyes wide. “This must be one big book club.”
Meg slipped through the crowd to give Sylvie a hug. “Actually, the book-club discussion is held in the kitchen after we eat. Females only. No males allowed.”
“Thank God.” Cole pretended to wipe sweat from his brow.
“There are a lot of men here,” Sylvie observed. “What do they do?”
It was the question on the tip of Andrew’s tongue. If Sylvie hadn’t asked it, he would have. He also wondered about all the children in the room.
“After we eat, the men are relegated to the great room to do, well, whatever they want to do. The children go downstairs. Whoever hosts is responsible for hiring the babysitters.” Meg’s gaze shifted from Andrew to Sylvie. “Keep that in mind when it’s your turn to host.”
Andrew saw Sylvie open her mouth, obviously to inform their host and hostess that he wouldn’t be around that long and she certainly didn’t have the space. But he spoke first. “Good to know.”
The ringing of a bell had them turning their heads.
“Time to eat.” Meg slipped her arm through Sylvie’s and led her toward the buffet tables.
“She needs this,” Andrew murmured, almost to himself. “This connection. It matters.”
“That’s the great thing about Jackson Hole,” Cole said. “It doesn’t take long before you’re considered family.”
A family was something Sylvie had never experienced. If she’d stayed in Boston, he doubted she’d have found it there. His sister would have made her welcome, but Corinne didn’t even live in the same country. His parents, while good people, weren’t the warm and fuzzy kind.
He thought of the argument he’d had with his father the night before Sylvie left. The old man had practically threatened to disown him if he married Sylvie. Though he knew his father wouldn’t have gone to that extreme, Andrew had felt the need to make it clear his loyalties lay with Sylvie.
It was too bad Sylvie hadn’t felt that same loyalty to him...
But the anger that had always surged whenever he thought of her leaving didn’t come. Instead he was seized with a renewed determination to figure out just what had led her to leave him that particular night.
“I know you’ve been living in your friend’s place in Spring Gulch,” Cole said as they stood back and let the others swarm the food.
“It’s a nice enough place.”
“Are you thinking that’s the area where you’d like to build?” Cole rocked back on his heels. “Or are you looking at the mountains?”
Andrew hesitated. While he’d made no secret of the fact that he liked Jackson Hole, he wondered where Cole could have gotten the idea he was considering moving here. Not only moving here, but building a home.
Even as he pondered the thought, his gaze settled on Sylvie. He smiled when he saw her laughing with Poppy Campbell and Meg.
He pulled his gaze back to Cole, who was sipping a Dos Equis straight from the bottle. “My home is in Boston.”
“I grew up here,” Cole said. “I got out as soon as I could and never planned to come back.”
“Why did you?”
A shadow crossed Cole’s face. “A couple that I was very close to were killed in a car accident. Meg and I, we weren’t together at the time, were given joint custody of their son, Charlie. His parents specified he be raised here.”
“Couldn’t you have gotten around that stipulation?”
“Probably. But in the end that stipulation ended up being the best thing for Meg, for me and for Charlie.” Cole took a long pull. “I’ve learned those crazy things often end up being unexpected blessings.”
Andrew’s thoughts went immediately to Sylvie. The way she’d left. The way he’d followed her here. The closeness that had developed between them.
Unexpected blessing?
Time, he decided, would tell that story.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time Sylvie and Andrew got home, it was nearly ten. Neither of them was ready for bed. Instead of having more wine, Sylvie decided to make some tea.
Andrew followed her into the kitchen, then leaned his back against the countertop and watched her. “Seriously? You didn’t even discuss a book?”
“That’s right.” Though he remained fully dressed, Sylvie stood in bare feet while she brewed chamomile tea. Her lips curved up. “Mary Karen Fisher started talking about going skinny-dipping. Then everyone else started telling tales. Moby Dick was forgotten.”
“Moby Dick?” He straightened. “That’s the book you discussed?”
“That was the book we were supposed to discuss. I don’t think we could have had a good discussion, because it didn’t appear anyone in attendance had read it.” Sylvie lifted the two mugs an
d carried them to the small dinette table.
Andrew pulled out her chair, then took a seat opposite her. “You had fun.”
“I did.” She took a sip of tea. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
The men had watched a replay of that week’s Monday night football game. Cole had made sure to introduce him to Joel Dennes and Gabe Davis, who spoke with him about available lots in Jackson Hole.
Andrew still wondered why he hadn’t just simply said he wasn’t interested. Instead he’d told them that while he wasn’t interested in a mountain lot because of the distance into Jackson, he’d be willing to consider something in Spring Gulch.
The crazy thing was, he hadn’t been thinking of himself when he made that decision. He’d been thinking of Sylvie. The last thing he’d want was for her to be driving down those steep mountain roads at 3:00 a.m.
He pulled his eyebrows together. What had he been thinking? Even if he wanted to stay, he couldn’t. He owed it to his family, to Tommy’s memory, to take this position at O’Shea Sports.
The thought made him irritable.
“Something on your mind?” Her soft voice broke through his thoughts.
He jerked his head up. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
She smiled slightly. “I didn’t ask if something is wrong. I asked if something was on your mind.”
Her eyes were watchful as they studied him over the top of her mug.
“What made you leave?” The question burst from his lips with none of the finesse he’d envisioned.
“I told you—”
“I know what you said,” he interrupted, not giving her a chance to continue. “But why that particular night? Why not before the party? Or several days later?”
“I—” She turned toward the window. “Look, it’s starting to rain.”
Andrew glanced at the window, noticing for the first time the water on the glass, hearing the sound on the roof. It distracted him, but for only a second.
“Why, Sylvie?” His voice was soft and low now, the same tone he often used to soothe frightened patients. “Was it something I said? Or did?”
