Happiness radiated out of her every pore, making Ruthie the quintessential bride. Terror would ooze from Sophie’s every pore if she were the bride-to-be.
Brad leaned toward Ella. “Who do you pick in the wedding day cake battle, Ella?”
“You’d pick Matt because he’s bigger and a boy.” Ella pushed her glasses up. “But I’m going with Ruthie because girls are faster and a lot smarter.”
“You might be right.” Brad rubbed his hands together. “When does this sampling begin?”
Sophie warned Brad, “We’re trying the pink champagne first.”
“But I used to make s’mores with my dad when my brother and I were kids.” Brad ran a hand along his jaw as if replaying a favorite memory. “I’m sure Matt shared the same fun times with his dad.”
Sophie narrowed her gaze at his earnest tone. Distrust shifted through her when Brad slung his arm around Matt’s shoulders like Matt was his wingman and they were headed out for a good time.
Brad held Sophie’s stare, then finally shrugged. “Fine. I made s’mores once with Evie in her fire pit in her backyard.”
Sophie quirked one eyebrow. “And?”
“And I was in college, not grade school. Still, the s’mores were some of the best things I’ve ever tasted.” Brad fist-bumped Matt and smiled at Sophie. “You should ask Evie about that night.”
Sophie shook her head. “Pink champagne first.”
“Then the s’mores.” The hope in his tone made him sound like one of Ella’s contemporaries.
“There’s nothing traditional about a s’mores wedding cake.” Sophie put her arm around Ruthie’s shoulder in support.
“Do you want a traditional wedding?” Brad asked Sophie. Surprise filtered through his voice and pulled his eyebrows down together.
“It isn’t my wedding day,” Sophie countered. Thankfully. Ruthie had been the one envisioning her wedding day steeped in tradition and history ever since they’d been in high school. Sophie hadn’t envisioned extending a relationship beyond the first date. And her wedding: she’d never envisioned that. Not when she was a kid and not even as an adult. She’d only ever pictured herself as a bridesmaid—a spectator, never a bride.
“But if it was?” Brad persisted. He tipped his head and studied her.
Sophie wondered if he was trying to picture her as a bride. Then she wondered how he would picture her like that. But she never wanted to be a bride, did she? Surely she would’ve thought about her wedding day before now. Before this moment, with Brad watching her as if she were a suspected runaway bride.
Ella leaned forward—obviously she didn’t want to miss Sophie’s response. Ruthie’s gaze ping-ponged between Brad and Sophie, a look of speculation blooming across her face.
Sophie blamed Ruthie. Her best friend wanted everyone around her to fall in love because she was deliriously in love. But Sophie would need to trust love in order to give her heart to someone. And she’d learned years ago the danger and pain that came with matters of the heart. No, love was a mistake she’d never make.
“It’s Ruthie’s wedding, not mine.” Sophie took another cake sample bag from Matt. “What I might want or not want doesn’t really matter.”
Brad watched her, opened his mouth perhaps to disagree, but quit before anything more than air escaped.
Ruthie linked her arm with Sophie’s. “I thought we’d sample more cake after we all had dinner at Rustic Bistro.”
The way Ruthie stressed the word we set Sophie on edge. Rustic Bistro wasn’t the restaurant they’d agreed on that morning when she’d dropped off Ella at Ruthie’s. Now Ella smiled and nodded. Her niece loved the bistro’s soft candlelight and fireplace; they reminded her of a castle. Ruthie hadn’t known Brad would be here, though her best friend’s matchmaking attempts were anything but subtle.
Sophie couldn’t spend an evening crammed into a booth, sitting thigh to thigh with Brad, discussing wedding plans. She might forget that she could never fall in love. Never lose her heart. She might start picturing her own wedding day. Panic swirled like a funnel cloud, preparing to touch down, forcing Sophie to blurt out, “We already have plans. Brad is teaching me how to use the security system tonight.”
Matt nodded his approval. Ruthie’s look turned even more speculative. Brad crossed his arms over his chest and glanced between Ruthie and Sophie as if more than content to let the women hash out his evening schedule.
“That means Brad will join us for Sunday-night surprise.” Ella raised her arms over her head in a cheer. “I have to call Charlotte so I can finish my project before we start dinner.”
Too late, Sophie realized her error. She’d be alone with Brad now. For Sunday-night surprise. Certainly their Sunday homemade dinner would not be a disaster again. Certainly with Ruthie gone, she’d pull her thoughts away from weddings and hearts and love. Certainly she could prepare a simple meal. Nothing complicated about it.
“Maybe you guys should catch a bite with us, then work on the system.” Matt jumped in, worry thick in his voice. “We could go to someplace more casual, like the diner on 8th.”
“We shouldn’t intrude, Matt.” Ruthie released Sophie’s arm and patted Matt’s cheek. “It’s clear they have their evening all organized.”
Brad scanned the adults, then finally leaned close to Ella. “What’s Sunday-night surprise and why does everyone look worried?”
Ella giggled. “It’s a surprise.”
Matt slapped Brad on the shoulder. “Text me later if you’re still hungry or need some antacids.”
“Stop scaring him, Matthew Wright.” Sophie pushed Matt away from Brad, wishing she could push away every thought about Brad, weddings and love. “Food poisoning isn’t on the menu.”
“There’s always a first time.” Matt laughed and dragged Sophie into a hug.
When Sophie didn’t return the embrace, Matt squeezed harder. She spoke into his shoulder. “You can’t insult me, then make it up with a hug.”
“I’m not letting go until you hug me back.” Matt tightened his hold.
“Take it back,” Sophie said.
Matt sighed. “Sophie wouldn’t intentionally poison anyone with her cooking, but things happen.”
Sophie shook her head and laughed, giving him a quick hug. “I’m not sure how my very sensible, completely sane best friend can love you.”
Matt gripped Sophie’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “If you figure it out, do me a favor and don’t tell her.”
“Only if you promise to stay for Sunday-night surprise.” Sophie raised her eyebrow and held his stare. Her challenge thrown.
“You have to check with the boss.” Matt lifted his hands in surrender and looked at Ruthie. “I’m not in charge of our social calendar.”
Ruthie hugged Sophie. “We’ll leave you three to hone your culinary skills. We’re scouting out wedding venues in Napa next week, so maybe we can schedule Sunday-night surprise some time after that.”
“Culinary skills take months, sometimes years to master, Ruthie.” Matt retreated several steps.
“You might want to leave.” Sophie shoved Matt in the chest, pushing him toward the door. “I’m getting ready to sharpen my knives. A chef needs sharp instruments and things to practice on.”
Matt laughed and ducked around Sophie to kiss Ella’s cheek. “You have my number.”
Ella nodded. “So does Brad.”
“Want to make a side bet over who calls me first—you or Brad?” Matt whispered.
Ella touched Brad’s arm, trailed her fingers along until she clasped his hand in hers. “We’re a team. We got this.”
Brad’s strong hand engulfed Ella’s as if he’d been holding the girl’s hand since she’d learned to walk. Simple, easy and natural like a father with a daughter. He never flinched. Never pulled away. Ju
st moved closer to Ella’s side. A band twisted around Sophie’s chest as if a professional linebacker had tackled her to the ground.
Brad grinned at Matt. “We’ll take care of each other.”
That band tensed again, as if she were at the bottom of a pile-on, flattening her lungs and stealing her breath. That squeeze might’ve been around her heart, but she vowed to ignore all things heart related. Still staring at their joined hands, Sophie speculated what it would be like to hold Brad’s hand and trust with every cell inside her body that he’d protect her. That she’d protect him. That they’d take care of each other forever and always.
But that was the problem. She could hold Brad’s hand, but she wasn’t built to trust. And, without trust, she’d always doubt. She’d leave the hand-holding to a couple like Ruthie and Matt. Sophie moved the cake samples off the laptop and lifted up the computer. At least now her hands weren’t so empty.
Ruthie grabbed one of the bakery bags and reached for Matt. “I guess it’s just you and me, a bottle of wine, and another red-velvet sample.”
“Sounds like a perfect evening.” Matt held open the door for Ruthie and called out to them, “We left the other cake samples so you won’t starve later.”
Sophie pushed Matt outside with her hip, locked the door behind the happy couple, and turned to see Brad and Ella disappearing together into the back, the bakery bags in Brad’s firm grip and Ella reciting the day-end tasks: water in all kennels, preferred food choices for each foster and favorite toy. Ella’s voice lost some excitement when she reached number four on the list—litter boxes.
Sophie stopped in the doorway and watched the pair. Their heads touched as they both looked into Chester’s open kennel.
Ella stroked the orange cat’s large body and pointed out his damaged tail and clipped ear, explaining that Dr. Bradshaw wasn’t certain if the injuries had come from a car accident or animal attack. Brad reached inside and Chester stretched out beneath his touch.
Ella felt around the kennel, her hand sliding under the bed and returning with a stuffed mouse. “This is Chester’s favorite toy. He needs it in his bed so he can sleep good every night.”
Brad picked up the bag of cat treats Sophie had left on the table and added a large handful to Chester’s bowl.
Ella covered her mouth and giggled. “Auntie says Chester is on a diet and he can’t have more than one treat a day.”
Brad set his head against Ella’s. “I’m not telling her. Chester is eating the evidence. Are you going to tell her?”
Ella chewed on her bottom lip. “She might make us clean out the litter boxes if she finds out.”
Sophie crossed her arms over her chest and considered the pair. “I already cleaned the litter boxes.”
“That’s good news.” Ella remained where she was, never turning toward Sophie.
Brad dropped a few more treats into Chester’s bowl before sealing the bag and placing it back on the table. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and faced Sophie, all innocent and unapologetic.
Ella took her time closing the door on Chester’s kennel before twisting toward Sophie. Another picture of innocence, but there was a definite sparkle in her smile. “Then it’s time for Sunday-night surprise.”
With everything else locked up, Sophie put her keys in her pocket, considered the adorable pair and let them off the hook for the extra treats, even though Ella knew better. She tried to convince herself it was because she didn’t want to dim that sparkle in Ella’s smile. But she’d noticed a challenge in Brad’s gaze, as if he dared Sophie to ruin their fun. Well, she knew how to have fun, too. “You leading or am I?”
“It’s Sunday. No deliveries, so no new boxes to block my way.” Ella grinned. “I got this.”
Sophie, on the other hand, wasn’t sure she had this. She didn’t have time for fun. She didn’t have time to want to have fun. To think about fun, just like she didn’t have time to think about relationships and love and wedding days. Brad made her consider all that and more.
Sophie switched off the lights and caught the red dot up in the corner. Her new security camera, turned on, watching and filming. Recording her secrets, her failures and her problems.
How much had Brad seen? Would he ask questions? Would he want to help her? She didn’t want his help, did she?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BRAD STROLLED AROUND Sophie’s compact kitchen, studying her array of teapots. The realization that he still wanted to sit down for that tea and cake surprised him. The teapots charmed him. He favored the squat giraffe teapot with the neck for a handle, although he’d gotten a better look at the pumpkin teapot and now he had a competition going for his top pick.
Sophie darted back and forth, gathering cookbooks from various cabinets and shelves. He wasn’t sure she wanted him there, and yet she hadn’t rescinded her offer, either. She’d seemed more appalled at the idea of dinner at Rustic Bistro with Ruthie and Matt than dinner with Brad at her place. Her movements weren’t stiff from anger or hasty from irritation, but she’d developed some type of edge he couldn’t quite place since she’d walked up the back stairs.
He’d seen the softness in her gaze when she’d caught Ella and him giving the hefty orange cat too many treats. Here, she hugged the stack of cookbooks against her chest as if she were guarding against an attack.
He wouldn’t have left now for anything.
Sophie dumped the dozen cookbooks onto the table beside the chair Ella sat in.
Ella swung her legs back and forth, the toes of her fuzzy boots scraping against the linoleum floor. She reached over and tugged on Sophie’s arm. “We have a boy here tonight. Boys don’t like vegetables.”
“Neither do nine-year-old girls.” Sophie stood beside the table. “Brad, do you eat vegetables?”
“Only when my mother makes me.” He leaned against the counter near the sink. Sophie never looked at him, but he saw the quick flash of her smile.
“I know that feeling.” Ella nudged the toe of her boot into the floor.
“It’s my choice.” Sophie sorted the cookbooks, placing them around the table. “You had last week. It isn’t my fault you chose chicken and Chinese.”
“I wanted chicken-fried rice.” Ella grimaced. “Not spicy Szechuan stir-fry.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Sophie said.
Ella gripped her stomach and rocked forward as if wounded, using the classic body language for gross known by every kid around the world.
“Okay, it was. It’ll be better tonight.” Sophie glanced over at Brad. “Sunday-night surprise works like this. The chooser picks a protein from the piglet teapot. Then a cuisine style from the cow teapot.” Sophie pulled a colored cardboard piece from each teapot. “We’ve got French cuisine and fish as our protein. We can work with this. Now comes the surprise part.” Sophie sorted through the cookbooks and picked up French Food Made Simple.
The daring taste buds of the pair interested and surprised Brad. He appreciated their culinary spirit and how organized and efficient Sunday-night surprise was. When he was a kid, he’d wanted only burgers and French fries. Matt and Ruthie’s worry seemed unnecessary and overblown. He asked, “You make any recipe from that cookbook?”
“Not exactly.” Ella leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. “We make the recipe on the page number Aunty picks.”
“What if we don’t like that recipe?” Brad asked.
“You have your cell phone in easy reach, right?” Ella asked.
“Yes,” Brad said.
Ella grinned against her fingers. “Perfect. You might want to put The Boot Pizza into your contact list.”
“We’ve only called them twice.” Sophie gripped the cookbook like she was a harassed librarian ready to swat rowdy children with it.
“Last week was close,” Ella said.
“We’ve called almost every time it’s been your turn, Auntie.”
“I haven’t had very good luck,” Sophie admitted.
Defeat eased into her tone and she looked like she wanted to smack her own forehead against the cookbook. Or cry. Brad wanted to bring back Sophie’s smile. Bring back Ella’s bright laughter. He should leave, but he wanted the experience he’d been promised: the surprise, the adventure and the food. Their execution needed a little refining, but he’d deal with that next Sunday. Not that there’d be a next anything. But there was tonight. Tonight, he’d stick to their plan.
“Maybe Brad should pick.” Ella straightened, hope lifting her shoulders. “He might have better luck.”
“I’m already intruding on your tradition,” Brad said, even though he wasn’t sorry to be there and planned to enjoy the rest of the evening with them.
“It’s hardly a tradition.” Sophie bent the soft cookbook cover, her thumb running over the pages. “We just started at the beginning of the new year.”
Ella giggled.
“And you’ve called The Boot Pizza how many times?” Brad asked.
Ella clutched her stomach and laughed harder.
Brad tried not to catch Ella’s contagious giggles and noticed Sophie struggled to contain her smile, too. Pleasure whipped through him.
Sophie’s laughter tinged her next words. “Well, we’re having fun spreading our culinary roots.”
“We just fly back to our Italian ones each Sunday,” Ella said.
“Understood.” Brad pulled out his cell and moved closer to Ella’s chair. “I’ll just add The Boot to my favorites now.”
“We could just order now,” Ella suggested.
“That’s being defeatist.” Sophie held out the cookbook and eyed it with a wariness that suggested every recipe was written in French and she’d skipped those classes in school. “We have to at least pick a recipe.”
“And then we call,” Ella said.
“Or we cook,” Brad offered.
The Charm Offensive Page 13
