As they passed Children’s Hospital, a car merged in front of them, American Cancer Society bumper stickers across its fender.
What was with all the charity advertising? Some philanthropist come to town? He’d been one of those once— “So, Jolie, do you have any idea where my happily-ever-after comes in, since you’re apparently able to see the good side to everything?”
“Well, actually, yes, I do.”
He did a double take. He probably should have expected that answer from Little Miss Sunshine, but honestly, she was surprising him at every turn.
“Your happily-ever-after is one day at a time. Seeing the people who care for you. Your brother, for instance. He wouldn’t worry himself about your business and welfare if he didn’t.”
Todd snorted and almost missed the turn-off. “Don’t forget the six-figure paycheck.”
“Really?” she squeaked. “Now I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have pegged you for being so negative. Or so cynical.” She shook her head. “You think your brother’s only helping you out for the money?”
She was right. Mike wasn’t like that. And Todd knew it.
He gauged the merging traffic before joining it. “No, you’re right. Mike’s a great guy. He jumped right in when I was... floundering, I guess, and has kept the company rolling. I owe him a lot.”
He owed him more than a lot. Hell, he didn’t know if he would’ve hung around taking the abuse, the constant barrage of “leave me alones” Mike had had to deal with.
But Mike had taken it all and more. Those first few days…
There’d been no hesitation on his brother’s part. He’d quit his job to take on the task of overseeing Best Enterprises, the company Todd had built with Trista’s encouragement. The company that kept his pictures in the public eye and his bank account full. The company that had proved Trista’s faith in him.
And what was he doing about it now? Griping. Being annoyed that it even existed. Wanting it gone.
What did that say about his value of Trista’s memory?
Todd reached over and squeezed Jolie’s hand. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
He didn’t think her eyes could get any wider. Even more so than when she’d gotten an eyeful of something she never should have had to deal with this morning. He really did owe her this dinner and a nice time. Enough with the angst.
“Put a person’s life in perspective with a few simple words.”
She straightened her back. “Okay, number one—simple? I’ll have you know I’ve read and read, and studied, took classes to get my vocabulary out of simple.”
He bit back the smile. Such indignation. “And number two?”
She crossed her arms. “Number two is none of your business.”
And now he really wanted that answer. He cocked an eyebrow and the corresponding corner of his mouth at her, letting a little of his smile through. “Please? With whipped cream on top?”
Her exuberance returned in her smile. What was it she’d said earlier? He got her? Yes, he sure did.
“Okay,” she said after the laughter receded. “Number two is just a sunny outlook on life, because it’s true, you know. People do have choices. You’ve got a choice each morning to get out of bed on the right side or the wrong side. I mean, yeah, life’s hard. Different people have different definitions of hard, but it’s all in your perspective.
“Take me, for example. I could have let the system turn me into another welfare mom at age sixteen like a dozen girls I know, but I chose to get out of it. I wanted more for myself. So I struggled and stayed clean, and got myself into a decent school and learned a trade. I had the perfect excuse to be mad at the world, but I got mad at my circumstances instead and changed them.”
“And here you are.”
He was wrong. Her eyes could get wider.
“Ye…yes. Here I am.”
***
Jonathan sat back in the threadbare BarcaLounger. Had Jolie really said all of that? To Todd?
Jonathan tapped the corner of his mouth. My, my. Big strides for her.
He couldn’t help smiling.
Oh, yes, this was going to work out. He just knew it.
***
Jolie clamped her mouth shut. Had she just said what she thought she had? Had she just laid her entire life on the table for him? What was she thinking? She’d never told anyone that stuff. It made her feel a little weird, kinda open and vulnerable. Naked.
And they were back to that.
“So, Jolie Gardener,” Todd said after a few minutes of much-needed silence.
Much needed for her so she could recover from that unplanned therapy session. Not that she needed therapy; she was just fine. Really. Talking about it without breaking down was a positive. Proved she was beyond it all.
She smoothed her dress over her lap and checked her earrings. Proving it to herself just like Todd was with his determination to have dinner at The Midnight Maiden. See? They had something in common.
“Yes, Todd Best?” There. Pleasant, solid, no shakiness in her voice. She was fine.
“What does a personal chef do with herself when she’s not cooking meals?”
“Plan them?”
He laughed. Good.
“You are really good for me.” He squeezed her hand again as he slowed down on the exit ramp of the closest thing to a highway this little burg had to offer. “I’m glad you took this job.”
She let the words wash over her as Todd zipped into the parking lot by The Midnight Maiden. Other than for her meals, she hadn’t received many compliments in her twenty-eight years.
The boat bobbed on the tiny river waves, the ropes creaking against their moorings, a line of white Christmas lights blinking from the upper deck. Yes, she was glad she’d taken this job as well. For a whole host of reasons.
They found an empty parking spot near the gangplank and Todd held out his hand as he, once again, opened the car door for her. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” She slid off the seat and something plopped on the pavement just as her feet did.
“Your book.” Todd bent to retrieve it. “Here, you better not lose this. How else will you find out if The Dashing Rogue lives happily-ever-after?”
He was teasing and she was enjoying.
And, yes, she did want to believe that, somehow, the dashing rogue would have his happily-ever-after.
Chapter Eight
Hurricane glass sconces lined the cherry-paneled walls of the interior dining room of The Midnight Maiden, the bulbs flickering like flames as the maitre d’ led them through a maze of little cherry wood tables on mauve carpeting, over to the stairs. Todd flourished his hand for her to precede him, so up she went, the wind kicking up as she exited the stairwell.
Purple and orange rays of the waning sun bounced off skyscrapers onto the glittering water like a laser light show. A prop plane skimmed the riverbank, large yellow banner proclaiming the name of the sightseeing company that had recently started air tours of the city.
“Wow. The view is gorgeous.” She tried to keep her hair from blowing around, but gave up when a handful ended up clipping her in the eye. “I’ve never been on a boat before. I like this gentle rocking. Is it always like this? I guess I can see how this upsets some people’s tummies. But not mine.” At least not tonight. Please.
Not that she was nervous or anything.
“Uh hmmm,” said the Man of Suddenly Few Words behind her.
What happened to Mr. Chatty from the car?
The maitre d’ unhooked a velvet rope at the bow of the boat and ushered them to the lone table there. Todd’s celebrity status came in handy.
Or maybe he just paid a lot for the privacy.
Guilt slithered down her spine, but she squashed it. No one would ever know he was the basis for her romance hero. No one. Why should they?
The d’ held out her chair—darn. With Todd doing all the door holding, she’d kind of hoped he would’ve done it here, too. But beggars c
ouldn’t be choosers—not that she was a beggar. Nor would she be. In no aspect of her life, job, housing, affection… nothing.
Bringing home (again) the fact that Todd was a respected guest, a couple of elegant menus appeared as if by magic in front of them as the d’ himself started rattling off the spécialités. But Jolie wasn’t in any frame of mind to memorize stuff. The wind was ruffling Todd’s hair and the sun reflected off the water into those incredible eyes of his, highlighting the laugh lines at the corners.
Why were they called laugh lines on guys and crow’s feet on women? Talk about inequality of the sexes.
“Jolie?”
Could she—just once—stay on topic with the man around? “Yes?”
“Would you like an appetizer?”
Oh. Food. She should be all over that, but found herself thinking about sparkling green eyes instead. Husky laughs and inside jokes. Broad shoulders and nicely-shaped pecs straining against cotton...
And the inside of her mouth getting as dry as that cotton. And incapable of speech, too. Oh, for Pete’s sake!
Luckily, there was a goblet of water on the table and she took a quick swallow, stopping just before a gulp. That would so not be attractive. ’Course she had to make a quick grab for the napkin to blot the corner of her mouth where the water wanted to make a reappearance. Honest to God, where was her composure?
Finding it somewhere down near her knees, she pulled herself together and gave Todd a dazzling smile. At least, she hoped it was dazzling and not desperate. Or ditzy.
“You know, Todd, food’s my livelihood, so I’d rather not have to think about it. Why don’t you go ahead and choose for us.”
Off went Mr. Maitre d’ with their drink orders and appetizer selections, whatever they were, and she was left with a gorgeous man and a glorious sun just as it hit the water line.
“Is it going to hiss, do you think?” Todd asked.
The scent of him registered before she realized he’d scooted his chair closer. Grey Flannel, her favorite cologne. It was subtle, not all cowboy boots and chaps.
There was an image.
What was the question again? Hiss? Right. “I used to think the sun drowned each night when I was a kid,” she answered. “Although that could have something to do with Mr. Gaston falling off the top of the dam where he’d been fishing and never making it out of the river.”
Now why had she dredged that awful memory up? Seriously, she needed to focus on the conversation.
“You saw someone drown?” Todd touched the back of her hand. “How old were you?”
There was a lot to commend this touchy-feely business. Amazing how much heat there was in fingertips. “I was six and he always used to tell us these incredible stories, how big his catches were and how many he could reel in in his younger days. I know now that they were all fish tales and might’ve had something to do with re-living his glory days, not to mention the fifth of whiskey he carted around like a newborn, but he could tell a good story.” And was in some way responsible for her own story-telling dreams, but she didn’t want to clue Todd in on that.
“So, what happened?” He hadn’t pulled his hand back.
“Apparently he finally caught something and wasn’t prepared. It yanked him over the side and that was the last we ever saw.” She shrugged because she should be over a six-year-old’s terror. “We don’t know if it was a fish or an old log or a piece of furniture, but I like to think that Mr. Gaston went down with the biggest fish of his life.”
“Is that your happily-ever-after for Mr. Gaston?”
He remembered. She couldn’t help smiling. “Yes. That’s Mr. Gaston’s.”
Todd tapped her hand one last time, then reached for his water and took a sip. He dipped the goblet toward the horizon. “Ssh. Listen. I think it’s hissing.”
“Do you do this a lot? Sit and listen to the sun?”
He chuckled and set the goblet down, wiping his tanned hands on the beige linen napkin. “No. But I really did try when I was a kid. My grandparents lived on Cape Cod and I’d spend a couple weeks during the summer with them. Every evening, my grandfather and I would set the crab traps and watch the sunset. I think it was that, more than anything, that started my painting.”
Well. He mentioned painting. Hmmm. She had to handle this delicately, not scare him off. Kind of like feeding a wild animal. Or one of those rats with wings. Put her hand out gently, slowly. Offering, as it were. “How did the sunset do that?”
He drummed his fingers against the cream tablecloth, a light thum-thum.
“I kept studying the sun, watching it, listening to hear that hiss, night after night. I remember how beautiful the sky looked just before it hit the water, all the colors, and the water sparkling as if it were lit from beneath. It mesmerized me.”
His laugh was self-conscious and she smiled again. Putting out another figurative hand.
“I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was my calling, my talent rising to the surface. By the end of that summer, I found myself grabbing crayons and colored pencils, anything to capture what I was seeing.”
“And did you?”
He looked back at the sunset. She looked at him, holding her breath. Would he share it with her? Talk about it? When was the last time he’d spoken about it?
“Eventually I did. It took a while, some experimenting with different media until I was satisfied I could do justice to God’s creation.”
Don’t make a big deal out of his revelation. She swallowed, trying to keep the grin off her face. “You’ve certainly done that. I’ve seen your work and it is truly amazing. I feel like the scene is right outside an invisible window I’m looking through. As if I could reach out and touch whatever is in your painting.”
“My wife used to say the same thing.”
And there went the mood.
But she refused to let that happen. She didn’t let “quit” into her life and she wasn’t going to allow it into his. Not on her watch. “The critics do, too. They love your work.”
“Loved. Past tense.”
“No. Still. They love your work, Todd. Your paintings sell every day and the demand hasn’t abated. Just because you’re taking a hiatus doesn’t mean people are going to stop wanting your work.”
He snatched his hands off the table and shoved them beneath it. “Jolie, I’m not on hiatus. I’m finished. Done. No more artwork.”
Right. She’d just watched the guy light up talking about the sunset, for Pete’s sake. He had no idea who he was dealing with. He’d let her in a little and she’d gotten hold. Tenaciousness had seen her through some lean times. This was no different.
“Well,” she said with a just-enough-under-exaggerated sigh, “that’s a shame. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like that.”
“Leave my wife out of this.”
“Sorry.” Not really. It needed to be said. How she knew that, she had no idea. Maybe it had to do with not liking bad karma. “It just seems a shame to let go of her memory like that.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The last thing I’ll do is let go of her memory.”
Those green eyes, they were a-blazin’.
Well, some emotion was better than none.
“But, Todd, if you stop painting, something your wife admired about you, cared about, inspired in you, you are, in essence, putting her memory away. In a box, locked up tight with a key, never to be seen or felt or experienced or shared again. How do you think she’d feel about that?”
He turned his head, gracing her with the view of his sharp jaw line, the muscles bunching along it. She hoped he wouldn’t crack a tooth, but he needed that food for thought. Because she, as an aspiring writer, someone creative and with—she hoped—talent, she understood how the urge to create overtook everything so that it had to emerge or it’d mess with sleep patterns, consume thoughts, and take over a life. Creative expression needed an outlet. If it were bottled up inside, at some point it’d explode. Or die. And that would be
such a tragedy for him.
There was another minute—or five—of silence, then he sighed and brought his hands back to the table, reaching for his glass of water again. He didn’t take a drink, just kind of swirled the liquid around in the glass.
“I never thought about it like that.” His voice was low.
Oh, thank God the words “you’re fired” didn’t come spewing forth. She’d particularly hate a Donald Trump moment right then. Not that there was ever a good time for a DT moment, but now would have been especially awkward.
Luckily, the maitre d’ picked that moment to show up with their appetizers and drinks, and Todd did the wine twirling/sipping thing. She was not a sommelier, nor would she ever aspire to that particular function. She’d done heavy book research about wines for her career instead of actual sampling, due to an instinctual aversion to the stuff. Actually, she wasn’t big on any form of alcohol unless it was cooked into a dish. Saw too much of the not-so-pretty side effects of a drinking binge—this morning included.
Though some parts of this morning hadn’t been so bad.
Mr. Maitre d’ placed the broiled scallops in front of them. Jolie didn’t think she’d ever seen a scallop quite that size, about as big as a four-year-old’s fist. She spun the plate around to study all sides then took a bite. It was like eating a slice of heaven, the texture of flan, with a dark, almost chocolate, roux with a hint of burgundy—au jus for scallops. “I have to get this recipe.”
Todd added a few “uh hmmms,” but the silence wasn’t strained. Always a good thing.
Amid the soft lap-lap of the waves, the little chink of utensils against china, she took another bite and it was all she could do not to moan. The scallops were to die for.
Or it could be because the last ray of sun hit Todd’s profile at just the right angle.
The man was truly beautiful and all five of her senses knew it. Not to mention the seven layers of skin she possessed.
She needed to focus on the food.
“So, where did you get the idea to go to culinary school?” Apparently Todd was on the same wavelength.
Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) Page 7
