When I Fall in Love

by Susan May Warren

  Oh. Raina closed the box, put it back into the insulated cover, and locked her car.

  “What, you think a bear might steal your satellite radio?” Casper asked as she got on the back of his motorcycle.

  “Maybe,” she said. She slid her hand through the strap of the pizza carrier.

  “Mmm-hmm.” He turned on the seat, plunked a helmet on her head. “Hold on now. There’s a bar behind the seat, or you can wrap your arm around my waist.”

  Right. She’d fallen for that once before. She reached behind her as he took off.

  Not the wild, romantic ride from last Sunday night. This ride was quiet and slow, the road soupy. When the bike jerked, sliding a little in the mud, she yelped and let go of the bar. Without thinking, she wrapped her arm around Casper’s waist.

  He too had an athlete’s build, a flat stomach, shoulders that evidenced hard work. She gave herself permission to hang on as he drove them farther into the tangle of north shore woods, finally cutting onto a driveway. The gravel drive wove back through the trees to a modern-day log cabin. Cozy and looking freshly built, it sat on the edge of a small cliff, and she guessed the other side overlooked Lake Superior.

  A wide porch led to the front door, a wooden bear near the entry with the word Welcome! carved into its belly.

  She spied another mud-splattered car in the drive, along with a truck parked inside the open garage.

  Casper parked the bike, held the pizza as she slid off, then handed it to her and climbed off.

  “Thanks,” she said as he unbuckled the helmet.

  He set it on the seat and took the pizza back from her. Then, strangely, he smiled. “Trust me.”

  Huh?

  She followed him up the stairs, and he opened the door without knocking. “Pizza man!”

  Raina peeked out from behind him, saw a couple guys lounging on high-top counter chairs, a pretty, petite brunette on another. Beyond them, two picture windows opened to an expansive view of the lake.

  “Hi,” Raina said.

  “And you found the pizza girl, too?” one of the guys said as Casper parked the pizza on the counter. Oh, wait until they saw the cheese.

  Casper had opened a drawer, pulled out a knife. He eased the pizza from the carrier and brought it to the counter. She grimaced at the crushed top, but Casper turned his back to them as he opened it, and she took it as her cue to distract. “Yeah, uh, my car slid into the mud back there, and Casper rescued me.”

  “He rescued you,” one of the men said. He had dark-blond hair, deep-blue eyes, and wore jeans with an Evergreen Resort sweatshirt. “I’m Jensen Atwood. Are you new in town?”

  “Raina. And, yeah.” He looked so familiar; she tried to place him. “My aunt Liza lives here, though—”

  “Liza Beaumont is your aunt?” This from the other man—bronze hair, hazel eyes, wearing a black T-shirt with a pair of dark jeans, and from his belt hung a deputy badge.

  “This is Kyle Hueston, local law,” Jensen said. “He’s married to Emma, but she’s not here right now. She’ll be back in a bit.”

  “And I’m Claire—Jensen’s wife,” said the brunette, sliding off the stool. She too looked familiar. “I’ll bet Stuart is getting worried about you. Maybe we should call him.”

  “You know Stuart?”

  Claire picked up the phone. “I used to work at Pierre’s. Stuart’s like a dad to me. I was the one who talked him into delivery service.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “I blamed Grace.”

  “You should.” She laughed, and finally Raina placed them. Darek’s best man, Jensen, and Ivy’s friend Claire.

  Her mistakes surrounded her on all sides.

  She toed off her shoes, left them by Casper’s at the entrance, then padded across the wood floor to the double windows to stare out at the view.

  “Dinner is served,” Casper said. “Raina, you want some?”

  She turned and found Casper smiling at her, nothing of mockery in his expression. She glanced at the pizza. Not a perfect cheese recovery, but he’d managed to cover the slices sufficiently.

  He handed her a plate and winked.

  “No, I shouldn’t—”

  “Yeah, you should.” Claire had hung up. “Stuart said to take the rest of the night off. And he asked if you needed help getting out. I told him we could handle it.”

  They could?

  Deputy Kyle nudged a stool from the counter.

  Okay. Raina slid onto the stool, accepted the pizza.

  Casper set a glass of soda in front of her. Then he lifted his own. “Welcome to the first meeting of the Evergreen dragon boat team.”

  The what? But even as Casper looked at her, an eyebrow raised, a grin on his face she might call teasing, she found herself reaching for her glass. Lifting it. Tapping it to Claire’s, Jensen’s, Kyle’s, and Casper’s.

  “To teamwork and the championship,” Casper exclaimed. “Huzzah!”

  “Huzzah!” she echoed as one with her new compatriots.

  CLEARLY HER TREK OUT TO SEA had scared Max more than he wanted to admit. Aloud, at least, because Grace wouldn’t soon forget the panic in his eyes or the way he crushed her to himself when they’d returned to shore.

  His heart nearly pounded through his rib cage, right into her ear. Right into her heart.

  But then he’d released her from his embrace, and for a long while there, the big chill had settled between them. As if . . . as if . . .

  As if all her neediness had disgusted him.

  See, she knew it would only be a matter of time. The chivalry would wear off and in its wake would be a sort of sad shake of his head and a disentanglement from the girl who took too much effort.

  A part of her wanted to offer to return the swim buddy pass. In fact, in a way, she felt sorry for him. Saddled with Owen’s sister. She could admit that might have added to his sudden cold front. And maybe he’d saved her from the awkward moment when he realized she wanted more.

  Or that she had wanted more. Sort of. Maybe entertained the idea.

  What was a gal supposed to do when a muscled, tall, and devastatingly handsome hockey player pulled her into his arms?

  She liked him. Way, way too much because she’d obviously read into things. Into his attention, his laughter. Read into the twinkle in his eyes.

  So she’d taken a step back, reined in that messy neediness, and remembered her boundaries. They would be swim buddies. Culinary vacation teammates.

  Max, it seemed, got the message. Somehow, she’d brought him back, and although flirty Max was gone, chivalrous Max managed to hang on. He hadn’t quite kept his promise about surfing, but he’d taken her for a drive into the mountains in the center of the island, and yesterday he’d wandered Honolulu with her and helped her purchase a Hawaiian dress.

  Today, however, rain pinged on the roof of the kitchen, and she guessed she might have to pick up a book from the resort bookstore. She swallowed down the taste of disappointment. Really, the poor man should have one day away from her.

  Because he seemed almost miserable.

  Worse, he’d turned into a bit of a wreck in the kitchen. Yesterday, while she diligently massaged her ahi tuna, he’d nearly cut his finger off.

  And today . . . “Argh, I have lumps!” he said as if he had just missed a goal.

  Grace glanced over from where she was making haupia, a sort of coconut pudding, on the stove. From outside, the cool breezes of the rain tempered the steam of the kitchen. Still, she longed for her swimsuit instead of her chef’s armor.

  Even Max appeared hot, sweat beading across his hairline.

  “Did you pour in your arrowroot too fast?”

  “I don’t know—ah!” He took his pudding off the heat, turned away from it.

  The look on his face said that he hovered on the verge of walking out of the kitchen, never to return.

  “Max, calm down,” Grace said. “Listen, it’s just like your mother’s banana pudding. You have to keep whisking it like this.” She
put his pan back on the heat, turned it way down to a simmer, and began to whisk it against the side of the pan.

  “I’ve made haupia before,” he growled. “I’m just off my game.”

  “Then get back in the game. C’mon, you try it.” She’d already worked out a couple lumps and now took his hand, guided it with hers.

  He took the whisk, blew out a breath.

  “See, it’s evening out.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “It’s just pudding, Max.”

  She got pinched, tight lips in answer.

  “No time for mistakes. Right.” She glanced at Keoni, who was headed their way. “I don’t suppose there is some cinnamon contraband in the back . . .”

  “Grace.”

  She smiled.

  Keoni walked by, glanced at her haupia. Nodded. Kept walking.

  “I got a nod. A nod!”

  Max’s mouth lifted up on one side. “Calm down, Chef Christiansen.”

  “You just wish you could make haupia like the master.”

  “It’s my life goal.”

  The smile stayed as he poured his cream into a rectangular pan and brought hers with his to the refrigerator to chill.

  She was cleaning her work area when Keoni returned. “You’re doing well, Grace. I have to admit, for a mainlander, you can keep it cool under pressure.”

  She bit back a quip. Keoni scared her a little, with the seriousness in his dark eyes, the way his gaze seemed to study her.

  Max returned to the counter. “Chef?”

  “Max, I’d like you and Grace to consider entering this year’s Honolulu Chop. It’s a four-day competition for amateurs, in teams, and I think you two would do well. I’ve been watching your partner here, and Grace seems to know how to think on her feet. And you . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “You know Hawaiian food.”

  Grace glanced at Max, back at Keoni. “You’re not serious.”

  “Why not? You two are a good team.”

  A good team. She couldn’t read Max’s face. He wore almost a baffled expression.

  “I, uh—”

  “Max, we don’t have to do this. I know you’re just here on vacation.”

  “The prize is ten thousand dollars,” Keoni said.

  Oh.

  “Think about it,” Keoni said. “You can tell me Monday, when class resumes.” He strode off to inspect more haupia.

  Grace stood there, for the first time thankful for the rain that would keep her away from Max’s company for the rest of the day.

  Poor man didn’t know how to tell her no.

  Imagine, the Iron Chef meets . . . Well, she wasn’t quite Julia Child. Maybe more like the Galloping Gourmet. “Max, we’re not going to do this. We’re here to learn and have fun.”

  “Absolutely. Which is why it’s Pearl Harbor day,” Max said, shedding his apron and chef’s uniform.

  “What?” She followed him out of the kitchen, dropping her coat in a hamper and shucking off the chef’s pants as she went. Underneath, she wore shorts and a T-shirt. She followed him through the covered shelters that connected the kitchen to the rest of the resort.

  He was ten strides away from her.

  “Max!”

  He stopped next to a pond where water cascaded from the thatched roof of the walkway. Koi swam in the pond, and a white cockatoo clung to a piece of bamboo under the cover of a pair of tall palms. “What?”

  “You can stop babysitting me now. Really.” She caught up to him, fighting the urge to press her hand to his chest. He wore a black T-shirt, a pair of cargo shorts. “And that includes this competition. I know I’ve been a burden to you—you haven’t even gone surfing yet.”

  His mouth tightened, and he looked at her with such fierceness that she could almost see the battle waging inside.

  “Listen, I’m going back to my room. I’m going to read a book. I like books. I like to read. And I can do that alone. All weekend, if I have to.” She smiled at him. “The answer is no. No Pearl Harbor and no competition.”

  Then she walked past him, straight to the lobby, and got on the elevator.

  There. See? That was easy. Just . . . easy. She could let out her breath now.

  The doors were nearly closed when Max stuck his hand in and muscled his way onto the elevator.

  As the doors closed behind him, he stared at her, a muscle pulling in his jaw, his eyes almost on fire.

  She swallowed. “Two, please?”

  He didn’t move. Then, “Yes. The answer is yes.”

  Huh? “No, it’s not. The answer is no. No competition. And no more babysitting. I can take care of myself.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to.”

  He hadn’t moved, his brown eyes magnetic, still holding hers.

  She swallowed again, her throat tightening, a band around her chest. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

  His gaze roved to her mouth, then back to her eyes. He wore a terrible, almost-raw expression on his face. A tremble touched her, something deep she couldn’t place.

  Or didn’t want to.

  Abruptly, he blew out a breath and turned. Punched the button for the second floor. “I . . . I like spending time with you.”

  His words slid over her, through her. “I like spending time with you too.”

  His shoulders were rising and falling, and she watched them until they got to her floor. The doors opened.

  Max didn’t move.

  So Grace didn’t either.

  The doors closed again.

  “Why did you come to Hawaii?” he said quietly, the fierceness not quite vanished from his tone.

  “I came because my . . . sister . . . bought me a ticket?”

  “Why?” He folded his arms over his chest.

  “So I could cater her wedding.”

  “Why?”

  She tasted the finest prick of irritation in her throat. “So I could . . . get noticed, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to start a catering company. I think.”

  “You think?”

  “What is this, a pep talk?”

  “I want you to care. I want you to see that you could do this. You could enter this contest and win.” He tapped his hand to his chest, then gestured to her. “We could enter this contest and win. And then you’d have ten grand to start that company with. Maybe even get a little recognition. Don’t you want that? To finally reach your dreams?”

  His eyes had reddened just a little, and she had the sense that he might be saying more with his challenge. Especially when he pinned her with a long look, something so unraveled, so desperate in it that it stripped words from her.

  His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You were the one who said you wanted more. What if this is it? What if it’s right here? Right now? Don’t you want to take it?”

  Yes. The word wanted to leak out of her. Yes, she wanted more.

  But it had nothing to do with cooking. So she nodded. Hoped her eyes, her face, hadn’t betrayed the truth.

  “Then I’m going to help you get it.” He punched one. “We’re working all weekend.”

  “No reading?”

  “Not unless it’s ingredients.”

  She wanted to smile, wanted to give in to the giddy rush of joy, but—“Max. Why are you doing this?”

  The floor pinged and the door opened, but she didn’t move. As Max started to step out, she grabbed his hand. He turned, frowned.

  Now he stood blocking the door, in case anyone dared enter. He met her eyes. “Because I come to Hawaii every year and hang out in the same class, and I’ve never met someone who wants to add cinnamon to haupia. That’s crazy, right? Crazy, and yet it sounds good.” He sort of smiled, shaking his head. “I almost want to be mad at you, but I can’t. How could I? So I’m going to help you. We’re going to win this thing, and you’re going to go home and start that company.” His voice softened. “Besides, I think everyone who gets to have dreams should reach for them. I want to help you rea
ch.”

  Oh. That was so much better than what she’d thought he was going to say. She’d thought he’d keep it simple, even light, nothing close to the heart—

  “Besides, I’m your swim buddy.”

  Yes. Yes, he was.

  Just like that, Max had fixed it. Figured out a way to spend time with Grace without having to justify his reasons. Without having to admit to himself that yes, he enjoyed spending time with her—more than he had a right to.

  In fact, he’d let that leak out and wanted to bang his head against the elevator when he heard the words emerge.

  But the rest—the rest was all truth. Or at least most of it—right up to the part where he said he thought they could win. But . . . maybe they could. He did want to help her reach for her dreams. Did want her to feel the win, to create something that might endure.

  In that way, maybe he, too, could own a small piece of a happy ending.

  “So what are we making today?” Grace asked. She’d become all ears, no improv yesterday, as suddenly she took her own future seriously.

  “Manapua. It’s a sort of pork dumpling. Bread filled with everything from sausage to carrots and mushrooms, even bean sprouts. You make the pastry; I’ll make the filling.”

  He handed her a recipe.

  “Not unlike donuts.”

  “Please don’t glaze these.”

  She waggled her eyebrows at him and went to the dry pantry to retrieve the ingredients while he gathered sausage, onions, carrots, shiitake mushrooms, soy sauce, sherry, oyster sauce, and garlic.

  He laid his ingredients on the chopping board and started peeling. The sun was already high—he’d slept in until seven this morning, at first opting out of a beach run for the luxury of lying in bed, opening his sliding door and listening to the waves.

  In the wan morning light, with the furnace outside tempering the chilled hotel room air, for the first time since he’d arrived in Hawaii, the darkness had found him, burrowed inside.

  Yes, he liked Grace way too much. So much that he found himself wishing for more. For a life beyond these three weeks. He’d like to look up in the stands and see her cheering as he stole the puck, made the score. Wanted to know she waited for him after a game, maybe with something homemade simmering on the stove.

  He could even imagine a little girl with Grace’s blonde hair, her pretty blue eyes . . . and that’s when he got out of bed and changed into his running shorts.