by Amy Vastine
“I’m turning over a new leaf,” she said with a shrug, then laughed. “Actually, I just arrived, I totally would have told them about what happened at the clinic…”
“Told us what?” Leigh asked, growing impatient.
Kayla sighed. “Apparently, Aiden has feelings for me.” She thought it best to keep the proposal part to herself.
“And?” Victoria said.
Everyone seemed to share her sister-in-law’s reaction. Not a surprised expression among them. “And nothing. Except that he’s never told me and today he decides to just kiss me.”
“It’s about time,” Leigh said.
“What?”
They all seriously had no issue with this?
Lindsay shook her head. “You honestly didn’t know he has been in love with you forever?”
“Hey, give her a break. Ethan didn’t know I was in love with him for so long, either,” Bailey said, coming to her defence.
“Thanks, Bailey.” She sipped her wine. It helped to calm her nerves.
“Sure. I mean, some people are just clueless until it hits them between the eyes,” Bailey continued.
She sighed. “How was I supposed to know?”
“The fact that he rarely dates any of the women falling at his perfect feet would be one clue,” Victoria said.
“Yeah, one of those feet isn’t as perfect anymore. He needed three stitches,” Lindsay told her.
Kayla buried her face in her hands. “Oh no!”
Victoria looked back and forth between them. “What happened?”
“When he tried to kiss her, she stabbed him,” Lindsay said.
“Not quite how it happened,” she said, taking her wine and standing. She’d get no answers from the blissfully wedded club. They liked drama and chaos and unlikely happily ever afters while they themselves were walking examples of the fairy tale romance. She needed peace and quiet. Let her own thoughts torment her. “Thanks, ladies. But I think I’ll call it a night.”
“If you need us, we’ll be right here,” Leigh called after her.
“And remember, it’s not real love unless it’s left you confused…” Victoria said.
“Tearful…” Leigh chimed in.
“Or broken-hearted…” Bailey added.
Fantastic.
CHAPTER 5
As if preparing a four-course Thanksgiving meal for three hundred people wasn’t challenge enough, he had to do it with a busted foot.
At least the busy day ahead would help keep his mind off Kayla and the fact that in a few hours the woman he was in love with would be preparing a Thanksgiving dinner he’d taught her to cook for another man. Without family of his own, holidays had never been easy, but at least he’d had Kayla.
The timer beeped.
Grabbing a set of oven mitts, he opened the oven doors and pulled out the four large pans of pumpkin seeds, setting them on the cooling racks.
He should never have said anything about his feelings for her. And he definitely shouldn’t have proposed or given in to the urge to kiss her. Nothing would be the same between them now.
Then again, he wasn’t sure what was worse: not having her in his life or being best friends with a woman he couldn’t have the way he wanted.
Maybe it was time to move on.
* * *
Why was the smoke detector going off this time?
Kayla placed the tray of overcooked—okay burned—pears and pumpkin pieces on the counter and scanned the kitchen for what was burning. The pot of broth on the stove was boiling over onto the burner.
Rushing over to it, she removed the pot and cleaned up the mess, fanning the smoke detector with a dishtowel. “Just something on the burner,” she called, her desperation rising as the noise subsided. In the dining room, there was a crazy, loud, more than a little overwhelming Italian family waiting for a delicious meal…and each one of them had offered to help when she’d excused herself to go “check” on dinner. She didn’t hide frantic well and she suspected they knew she was in way over her head. But keeping everyone out of the kitchen was probably for the best, seeing as how it appeared a bomb had exploded in here.
The swinging kitchen door opened and rushing to it, she forced a smile as she blocked Elizabeth Marcus’s access. “All under control.”
“Smoke detector must be very sensitive.” Jeremy’s grandmother tried to lean around her to peer into the kitchen, but luckily, she blocked most of the view. She shrugged. “Guess it would have to be seeing as how this is a B & B.”
Right. Exactly. “I’m sure it won’t go off much more…” Here’s hoping. “Please, go relax. Enjoy the break from cooking.” She pushed her farther out of the kitchen.
“Okay…if you need help…”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to find you if I do.”
She sighed as the door swung shut. Not even the family matriarch could save this disastrous meal.
Having gotten zero sleep the night before, as she’d tossed and turned thinking about Aiden and feeling guilty for doing so, she’d slept through her alarm. The turkey had gone into the oven two hours late. She’d cranked the temperature a hundred degrees higher, hoping that would compensate, but when she glanced through the oven doors, she saw that the skin looked really dark…
Why had she thought that after one quick lesson from Aiden, she’d be able to do this? One dish at a time, sure. But coordinating prep and cooking time for a million dishes whose recipes kept getting mixed in her mind: impossible.
How did Aiden do this so easily?
The doorbell rang and her nerves switched into high gear. More freaking guests? Oh, this wasn’t good at all, she thought scanning the mess of the kitchen. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the reflective oven door, she realized, the state of the kitchen was the least of her worries.
The buzzer rang again and running a hand through her hair she headed for the door. This wasn’t the way Thanksgiving was supposed to be. And it certainly wasn’t how meeting a man’s family for the first time should feel.
A longing for her familiar tradition made her mood sink even lower. Even if dinner was a success (it wasn’t), even if she was eager to get to know Jeremy’s family (she wasn’t), this didn’t feel right. She should have insisted on his participating in their family’s dinner. It suddenly annoyed her that he hadn’t wanted to, yet he was bringing his own clan.
Why hadn’t she just been honest with him and said she didn’t cook? Soon enough, he’d know the truth when she served him charcoal on the outside, raw in the middle turkey and overcooked squash.
She couldn’t go through with this.
Especially when all she could think about was what would have happened if that knife hadn’t slipped out of her fingers the day before.
Reaching the front door without having to pass through the living room—thankfully—she forced another deep breath before opening it. “George, what are you doing here?” she asked, seeing the Riverside Gill’s assistant manager standing on the doorstep and not more members of the Italian family.
“Delivery for you,” he said, handing her an oversized takeout bag filled with plastic containers.
Her mouth gaped as she took it.
“There’s more. Should I bring it in?” he asked with a knowing smile as the smell of burned-everything-reached them even this distance from the kitchen.
She nodded. “Yes, please.” In a daze of Thanksgiving-miracle relief, she carried the food into the kitchen and thanked George when he set the large container with the turkey on the counter.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said with a wave.
Happy? Not entirely, but salvageable at least…thanks to Aiden. “Yeah, you too,” she managed to say before reaching for the note attached to the first bag.
Not that I don’t have confidence in you…
She sighed as she folded the note and tucked it in her pocket. Aiden had saved her dinner. Helped her save face with Jeremy’s family. The gesture was classic Aiden, just one of the many
things she loved…
She paused, realizing.
She loved him. Every little thing about him. All night she’d tossed and turned wondering if what she was feeling for her best friend was real or just a result of the stress she was under and their close, flirty proximity the day before in the kitchen…
But there was no denying it. She loved her best friend. Loved how he looked at her. Loved how he made her feel. Loved the comfortable yet electric connection they shared.
And he loved her, too.
She paced the kitchen, biting her bottom lip. What did she do now?
* * *
Three hundred guests finally served their main course, Aiden helped the kitchen crew put the finishing touches on the desserts for that evening: a pumpkin and pecan pie sampler with vanilla ice cream and hot caramel sauce and a chocolate zucchini cake with pecans clusters on top. He swirled the caramel into his signature A on the last plate and then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. Dinner was a success.
As was the one across town, he suspected. George had told him the food he’d sent Kayla appeared to have arrived just in time. She’d confirmed it by texting him a picture of the black, charred turkey with the caption Mmm-mm delicious.
Pulling it out of his pocket again, he looked at it for the millionth time.
They’d be all right. But only if he let go of the crazy idea of the two of them together and move on.
“Okay, let’s start bringing these out,” he said, tucking the phone away again and positioning the desserts onto the serving trays.
“You didn’t tell me I was supposed to get fancy with the caramel sauce.”
Kayla’s voice behind him made him stop. He turned around slowly. She stood in the kitchen, a shy, nervous smile on her pretty face.
“Well, it is all about the presentation,” he said, removing his gloves and tossing them into the garbage bin behind her. “Don’t you have guests you’re supposed to be feeding somewhere?”
“They are eating,” she said, taking a step toward him. “But I needed to see you.”
“Look, Kayla, I…”
“I love you,” she said, interrupting in the best possible way.
He smiled. “Say that again.”
“I love you,” she whispered, moving closer.
In one step, he gathered her into his arms. “Why the change of heart?” he asked, brushing the hair away from her flushed cheeks.
“No change, just finally realized.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in closer to him. “I’m sorry it took it me so long, but it’s your fault.”
At that moment he’d take the blame for anything…everything…as long as she stayed right here in his arms. “How’s that?”
“You were always too good a friend to risk telling me how you really felt. Sending that food tonight was the perfect example,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“The food was my way of reminding you that with me you’d never have to cook again,” he said. “Not exactly altruistic motivation behind that.” He pulled her closer.
She laughed. “Well, it worked.” She tugged on the front of his chef’s jacket to bring him even closer.
“Just something else to be thankful for,” he said, lowering his lips to hers. He stopped just a fraction of an inch away.
She frowned. “Why did you stop?”
“Just making sure you weren’t holding anything sharp,” he said before kissing his best friend, the way he’d waited far too long to do.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, be sure to check out the books in Jennifer Snow’s A BROOKHOLLOW STORY miniseries!
THE TROUBLE WITH MISTLETOE
WHAT A GIRL WANTS
FALLING FOR LEIGH
THE MISTLETOE MELODY
FIGHTING FOR KEEPS
LOVE, LIES & MISTLETOE
Available in paperback and digitally at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.
Pumpkin and Pear Soup by Jennifer Snow
Ingredients
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 ripe pears, cubed
4 pounds cooking pumpkin, peeled and cubed
1 yellow onion, chopped
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
5 cups of chicken broth
Croutons
Directions
1. Add olive oil to medium pot, heat, then add pear cubes, pumpkin cubes, onion, salt and pepper until vegetables are slightly tender—about 5 minutes.
2. Add broth and bring to a boil. Simmer until pear and pumpkin are even more tender—five more minutes.
3. Place everything into a blender and puree soup. Refrigerate overnight.
4. To serve, reheat on medium heat and add more salt and pepper. Add croutons on top.
Falling for the Cowboy
By Sophia Sasson
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Recipe: Bourbon Pecan Pie
CHAPTER ONE
They were staring at her like she was an alien walking off a spaceship. Elena swallowed, her throat dry. Dylan tightened his grip on her hand. The diner door slammed shut behind them, its bells jangling.
Elena smoothed her fabulous wool dress, the one she wore over her fabulous new boots. The woman at the store had assured her the outfit was the latest in country chic, but in this sea of jeans and plaid shirts, she looked like she had two heads. A familiar pressure squeezed her chest.
“I know she’s the most beautiful girl in the world, but c’mon now, folks.” Dylan’s strong, confident voice broke the silence.
It was like he’d pressed play on a paused movie. A murmur went through the crowd and the diner came alive. People sitting on bar stools turned back to the counter, utensils resumed clinking and clacking. Elena spotted the sign for the restroom in the back corner and began heading toward it. They had barely taken two steps when one of the people seated at a table slapped Dylan on the arm.
“M’boy, who is this exotic creature?”
Elena froze. Here we go. Her fingernails dug into Dylan’s hand.
“I’m Elena Striotikos, Dylan’s girlfriend.” She congratulated herself on managing the cool tone she used in corporate boardrooms. She regularly stared down powerful CEOs; she could handle the people of Bellhaven.
The man’s eyes widened. Dylan shifted on his feet. It would be much better if she could say she was Dylan’s fiancée, but he hadn’t proposed. Yet. They’d been dating for two years, but this was the first time she’d come to his home to meet his family. It wasn’t her first time in a small town, though. She prepared herself to go through the torture of explaining her background, of being the “exotic” one. Again.
“Mr. Leeland, Elena is from Greece, same continent as your Polish grandmother.”
Dylan put an arm around Elena and pulled her close. She let herself lean against him, let his warmth fortify her.
The man smiled sheepishly. “Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. She’s a mighty pretty lady.” He turned to Elena and smiled, showing off gleaming capped teeth. He held out his hand. “Dick Leeland. What’s a nice girl like you doing with this rascal?”
Elena forced herself to breathe and shook his hand. “I’ve been wondering the same thing, Mr. Leeland.”
His grin broadened and he slapped his thigh. “I like this one. You bringin’ her to the turkey hunt tomorrow?”
Did the man just say “turkey hunt?” They hadn’t talked much about this trip; Dylan had been extra busy at work, and she was so focused on getting a promotion that they’d hardly seen each other the past few weeks. All he’d said was that he wanted to talk to her about their future.
Dylan nodded. “See ya then. Gotta get home to Momma—w
e were just makin’ a pit stop.”
Now it was her turn to stare at him like he was from outer space. Since when did Dylan speak with a Southern accent?
They continued through the diner, but a grandmotherly woman with perfectly coiffed gray hair stopped them before they reached the restroom. “Oh now, this must be the young lady your Momma said you were bringing home.”
Elena pasted on her meet-and-greet smile, ruing the moment she’d asked to stop in to freshen up. She stuck out her hand but the woman swung an arm out and squeezed Elena in a hug. Is she going to pinch my cheeks next? “She’s prettier than the last one you brought home.”
What!
She looked at Dylan, who shook his head. “She’s kiddin’. She knows very well you’re the first girl I’ve brought home since I moved to Chicago. That’s what all this fuss is about.”
Hmmm.
“Well, his Momma tells me you’re Greek. We could use some culture around here. I just love that balaclava you guys make.”
“Baklava, Rose. It’s baklava, and—”
Elena stepped out of Rose’s embrace and put a hand on Dylan’s arm. He knew how sensitive she was about being labeled, but she didn’t need him defending her with every person they met. She knew how to do this; she’d spent her entire childhood answering questions like these. At least until she’d moved to cosmopolitan Chicago. She didn’t look different there. Her pitch black hair didn’t stand out; neither did her dark eyes or golden skin.
“You know, some of the big stores sell really good baklava these days.” Elena replied smoothly. Baklava wasn’t even fully Greek.
She was just a few steps from the bathroom, so she snuck down the hall just as another hand grabbed Dylan’s arm. Thankfully, it was a single room, so she locked the door and placed her hands on the sink, sucking in some deep breaths. She refreshed her lip gloss then stood back; she looked as put together as she could. She placed a hand on her stomach, wishing her nerves would calm down.
Until last week, she hadn’t been obsessing about when Dylan would propose. They had a happy life in Chicago. They lived across the hall from each other in the ultra-modern John Hancock building, and they were both busy climbing the career ladder and saving up to buy a penthouse condo. If her promotion came through, they’d be well on their way. There was no rush. The conversation with her mother two weeks ago had changed all that.
