It seemed to take forever before he spoke again. “It’s not a huge party, granted. And I’m sure you could cater it.”
But.
The word hung in the air between them. But.
She closed her eyes. "I understand, Michael."
Michelle suddenly gasped and Penny turned to see her scowling.
Michelle mouthed, "Michael McGuinn?"
Penny nodded, drew a breath as she said to him, “Forget I said anything.” Inside, disappointment sat like solid lead around her heart.
This hurt.
Of all the people to think she wasn’t capable, it was Michael. Her brother, she could understand. Greg had never considered her anything but his little sister so she’d have expected him to wave a suggestion like this away.
But Michael?
Maybe this is what you need to put an end to those feelings. He’s telling it straight, and you’re a big girl now, and maybe you need to start acting like one and get over it.
He said, “Pen, I just never think of you as a professional-” He stopped right there.
“I get it, Michael,” she said.
“I didn’t mean it like that. And I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologise. You’re just saying it like it is. That you never think of me as more than someone who toasts sandwiches and slices up carrot cake, right?”
He didn’t say anything, and the truth speared her.
So that really was what he thought of her. All the years she’d known him–ten, fifteen years?–and that was how he viewed her.
Michelle came over, concern on her face, and Pen managed a smile and hoped it translated into her voice.
“I’ll give the caterers some thought and call you back. I know of a few I can recommend. I’ll get some numbers for you.” Not that she could blame him if that was what he thought. She wasn’t a trained chef. She just knew how to make a decent cappuccino and had loved baking for so long she couldn’t even remember the first time she’d baked a cake or a batch of cookies. She had never held a job as a pastry chef or worked in a restaurant. Her recipes were gleaned from trial and error, not from something picked up in a patisserie.
He said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You haven’t upset me.” Her stomach had wound hideously tight with frustration. “Look, I’m in the middle of something right now, so I better-”
“You are such a bad liar. I’m coming over.”
She froze. “No. You don’t need to do that. Besides I'm cleaning.”
"What's cleaning got to do with it?”
I look disgusting.
He said, “It’ll give you time to think about what we want for the menu. Sophisticated but not off the charts crazy. Forty people.”
“But you just said-”
The line went dead.
“I DO NOT know what you think you’re playing at,” Michelle accused from outside the bathroom, “but from where I stand, this is dangerous. Really dangerous.”
Penny spat out toothpaste and rinsed. She called out, “I didn’t ask him to come over. I tried to stop him. He thinks he’s offended me.”
“He did offend you. I saw and heard it all. Well, not his side of the conversation, obviously, but enough to know that man is a jerk and why you were even pleasant on the phone to him is completely and utterly beyond me. You need your head examined.”
Penny brushed her hair and let it fall out around her shoulders and down her back. Whatever the reason for him coming over, Michelle was wrong. It wasn’t dangerous, not in the way she was implying; that he had inadvertently broken her heart. That was why Michelle despised Michael, even though he’d never realized how Pen had felt about him back then and, she hoped, never would.
She’d thought about it all night, and had woken to tell herself that of course she didn’t have those feelings for him anymore.
It was just some bizarre emotional reflex and the shock of seeing him had brought the past slamming right back at her. But it was only the past, it wasn’t the now. It was as if there’d been some bizarre cosmic mix up that had thrust her back in time. She still felt something for him. Of course she did. But that didn’t mean she still had ‘those’ feelings for him - not like she’d had before.
She adjusted her glasses. She was an adult now.
She double checked her reflection. She was a mature adult.
“Seems like you’re doing a lot of work on yourself considering he’s the one barging in here.” Michelle followed Pen out of the bathroom. “And a point of interest, by the way. I haven’t seen you move that fast to the bathroom since that dodgy chicken curry I made.”
Penny went down the stairs with Michelle still hot on her heels. She checked her wristwatch, then went over to the table where she’d set out her notes, and the ideas she’d hastily put together. He’d be here soon. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, and she breathed in deep.
Michelle made her way to the couch, sat down, and with a ramrod-straight back said, “That man has the potential to break your heart and he won’t even know it. I have to remind myself that you are a grown woman and that all I can do is be here for you when it falls apart.”
“You are so dramatic.”
Michelle examined her fingernails. “Someone has to be. And I’m good at it. I was there for Daisy. And let’s not forget-”
Pen flicked through her notes. “Forget what?”
“Your plan. Your business plan.”
Penny frowned. “What has my business plan got to do with Michael coming over to apologise for being such a jerk?”
“If he finds out, he’ll talk you out of it.”
Pen opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again.
Michelle was right. Greg would definitely have talked her out of it, and she suspected Michael would, too. All under the excuse of looking out for her.
She said instead, “The rate I’m going, I’ll never get there anyway.” It made her chest ache just saying that, but it was the truth.
Five months ago she had found the perfect place, but then her father had taken her mum away, and the plan had gone on the back burner. That perfect place now sold wool and knitting needles, and nothing had come up since that she could afford, even including the money Greg had left for her.
She straightened her notes. And that was assuming she could use the money, considering Greg had specified it was to go as a deposit on an apartment for her own security.
He had little faith in her, and Michael, it appeared, was the same.
Pen poured herself a glass of water and drank half of it. Even if the right place did come up now, she couldn’t leave her father in the lurch, not while her mother was still working through her grief. So she would sell those cyclamens and toast those paninis and not push Dave Portman into a decision any sooner than he needed, even though her dream was shifting so far out of the picture, it was barely a crumb of a thing.
The doorbell sounded.
Michelle, not moving a muscle, murmured, “You going to get that?”
Penny smoothed her hands down her jeans. “Isn’t there some place else you’d rather be?”
“Nope.” Michelle settled back on to the couch, picked up a magazine from the overflowing pile on the coffee table and began flicking through it.
Pen went out to the hallway, and pulled open the door.
Michael stood there, one hand tucked into the pocket of faded blue jeans, the other holding a bunch of keys.
It was a familiar pose. Hanging around while he waited for Greg, stepping in to the kitchen to see what Pen was baking, leaning over to swipe his finger into cookie dough.
“I’m glad to see there isn’t a gun pointed my way,” he commented as he stepped inside.
“Lucky for you, I locked it up. Come on through.”
In the living room, Michael’s gaze settled warily on Michelle.
Pen said hastily, “You know, you didn’t have to come over. It feels like such an imposition.”
“Yes, I did have to come
over, and to apologise to you in person for being such a jerk.”
He nodded cautiously at Michelle. “Good to see you again, Michelle.”
Michelle graced him with a taut smile. “It’s been a while. Michael.”
“Yes, it has been. You’re looking well.”
Michelle stiffened “As are you.”
Pen steered him over to the dining table. This politeness was giving her the creeps. “Come and sit down. Make yourself at home.”
He pulled out a chair, relaxed on to the seat, glanced around. For a moment, he went still as he looked at the furniture, the photographs on the bureau, everything that must have been so familiar.
“When was the last time you were here?” Pen asked softly.
His gaze settled on a photo on the wall. Greg’s graduation with Pen and their parents.
“It was maybe a month after Greg died,” he said slowly. “I came around to see your mum and dad, to see how they were doing.” He looked away from the photo. “But they weren’t doing great. They weren’t doing great at all.”
He took a breath. “Okay, Penny. Show me what you’ve got.”
Michelle was looking strangely at Michael, and Pen cleared the lump in her throat.
“I thought we’d go with a Mediterranean theme.” She pushed the menu over to him. “Tray served finger food. Bruschetta, Souvlakia which are mini lamb kebabs.”
He nodded as he read the menu. “Sounds good.”
“Mini lamb pies and mini vegetarian moussakas served in their own dishes with little forks. They’re so cute.”
He nodded. “I like that idea.”
“And for a sweet, we’d offer two choices. One lemon and fruity, the other chocolatey. We’ll add cherries and strawberries to get in to Christmas mode. And if it’s not overkill, there are amazing artisanal cheeses at the French market that would suit this down to the ground.” She pressed her hands together. “What do you think?”
He looked up at her. “I like it. It’s substantial and sophisticated, yet simple. I’ll run it by Carl tomorrow.”
Relieved, she closed the folder. ”I’ll work on a proposal, and include alternative menus when I’ve had more time to work on it. I’ll need to know what equipment is at your place.” She reached for her notes. “If Carl agrees, we can arrange a date and I can bring samples over to your office.”
Not for the first time, she hoped, really hoped, he wasn’t just humouring her with this. “I’ll work out an estimate,” she said quickly.
For a second, doubt flashed across his eyes, and for that moment, she felt that doubt hit her deep. This wasn’t her parents’ wedding anniversary. This was high powered stuff and Michael ran in a different circle now.
“I can do this,” she told him, convincing herself as much as him.
There was a flash across his eyes again, and he didn’t quite meet her gaze. Maybe he was humouring her.
He said, “I know you can, Pen. Email me through the quotes and I’ll talk to Carl.”
“That would be great. Can I get you a cup of coffee while you’re here?” She was dying for one.
He glanced over to where Michelle was giving them her full attention. She probably hadn’t turned a page once.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He stood up, gave a short stretch to his body and his t-shirt lifted. Not an ounce of fat.
“I need to head in to the office.” He gave Michelle a short wave, she managed a narrow smile, and as they walked outside to his car, Pen said, “Do you think Carl will agree?”
Michael rubbed his chin. “I don’t know the answer to that. But I’ll give it all I’ve got to convince him. You’ve convinced me.” He faced her. “Anyhow. The decision has been made. You’ve got the job.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “It doesn’t sound very democratic.”
“We take turns at democracy. It’s very democratic. You’ll need waiting staff?”
She mentally rubbed her hands together. “Brett and Meghan from the café are always after extra money so we can use them. They’re terrific workers. I’ll check with them.”
He beeped his car to unlock it and was about to open the door when he turned to her.
“You know, Pen.” There was regret in his eyes. “I should have been around here more, come to see you and your folks after Greg died. You were all family to me. I should have been there.”
She shook her head. “You had a life to live. And you were grieving.”
“True,” he admitted, “But I’d also made a promise to Greg and I never kept it.”
Pen frowned. She hadn’t heard of any promise. She said, “What promise was that?”
“That I’d look after you.”
She stared blankly at him. Confused for a moment.
Finally, she said, “You promised Greg you’d do what?”
“I promised him I’d look after you. That I’d keep an eye on you, make sure you were okay.”
“When did this happen?” Greg hadn’t mentioned anything to her. At all.
“It was a few months before – before he died. When he first began talking about not making it through. He asked me one day, asked me outright, if I’d keep an eye on you.”
“And what did you say?”
He shrugged. “I said what I thought. That he was crazy because of course he was going to beat the cancer. He was going to be around for a long time.”
He paused a long moment. “But there was this look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. And I realized…” His voice cracked a fraction. “It was then I realized he was starting to see what we were all trying so hard not to. That there was the chance he wasn’t going to make it at all. That it had got him.”
Pen felt that lump in her throat, that grief in her chest, come back so quickly, it took her by surprise. She willed the tears pricking her eyes to stay away.
Michael turned back to her. “So,” he said flatly, “I said what any friend would say. That of course I would keep an eye on you, that I’d look after you. He loved you, and every girl needs a brother and you were losing the best.”
She avoided his gaze as she felt those tears prick some more behind her eyes. “And I loved him to bits.” This was getting too intense, too sad, too much as if the past year of trying to get on with life hadn’t even happened.
“But,” she said, “there were times he wasn’t that great.”
Michael leant against his car. “Oh, yeah, I know. He was far from perfect. He had a short fuse, usually at the worst time, and he spent money like it was going out of fashion. And he was opinionated and he wasn’t reluctant to share those opinions. That was Greg.”
“And there were times he could be a real pain in the butt. He was always telling me to lose weight, join a gym, take up running, that kind of thing.”
A crease formed between Michael’s eyes. “He actually said those things to you?”
She glanced up at the sky, at the clouds drifting across, at the darker ones threatening to the east. “He was just telling it the way he saw it. He was like you, so into sport and fitness with all this energy to burn. And I was never a stick figure.”
Instantly, she wished she hadn’t said that, hadn’t shared it with Michael. That he hadn’t detected the hurt in her voice because she knew he had.
In a careful voice he said, “You know, I’m sure he never meant to hurt you.”
She examined her fingernails. “It didn’t hurt for long. Not really. It just annoyed me, especially when he was the first one to eat the cake or the cookies. Anyhow, you know what they say. Never trust a skinny cook. Greg couldn’t have it both ways, and you know us girls.” She managed a grin because suddenly, the conversation was serious, far too serious for her liking. “We girls are insecure about most things in our lives.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said. “And you know, I think Greg would just want us to get on with our lives and be happy doing whatever it is we want to do. To find what we’re looking for.”
“What are you looking for?�
� she said without thinking.
He met her gaze. “I think we’re all looking for the same things. Success. Friendship. Health.”
Love? He hadn’t mentioned love. The most unattainable to receive, yet too easy to feel.
She examined her fingernails again, this time with more intensity. “Everything’s running smoothly in your life then?”
“I can't complain.”
“No scurrilous break-ups? No girlfriends you’ve dumped?”
“You make me sound like a serial philanderer.”
She raised her arms as if to say, Duh. “You and Greg both. Multiple girlfriends just a text away. What was it my grandfather used to say? Sailors with a girl in every port or something like that?"
He seemed to consider the cliché. “Not so much recently. The business has taken priority.”
“What about Carl,” she said then. “Is he still with Anita?”
A smile crossed his face. “Oh, yeah. They’re engaged and planning the wedding. It’s a big affair. She’s already going nuts over the potential caterers not being up to scratch.” He thought of something. “Pull this Christmas thing off, Penny, and you never know. You might just get a big wedding out of it.”
THE SOUND of gently crashing crockery, the scent of red wine and garlic, and the background melody of a baby grand filled the restaurant.
Carl Spencer shook his head as he muttered, “What are you doing? Seriously. What are you doing?”
Michael swirled his wine. “Giving her a chance.”
Carl glanced sideways at him. “There’s more to it than that. She’s not experienced. A few family functions and making flat whites in a café isn’t the best recommendation for what we want, Michael.”
“Pen’s keen to do it and maybe it’s something she wants to do more of. Is it so bad I want to help her out when I’m in a position to do so?”
Carl skimmed the menu pages Pen had prepared. “I admit, there’s nothing wrong with this. It all looks good. Really good. But is she any good?”
Michael was still surprised at the menu. She’d amended it, improved it, and had emailed over a comprehensive plan. When had Pen gotten so sophisticated?
Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances Page 84
