With any luck, Mitchell had been impressed despite the change of plans and would be willing to invest in her. She’d miss the supper club, though, and cooking here in Alex’s place. Somehow it seemed far longer than a month, far more than just two events, probably because of the significance it had taken on in her life. It had been a reason to keep moving forward. And it had been a reason to see Alex. Soon, his obligation, if he’d ever truly had one, would be over.
She packed her things and put Alex’s key in her pocket. Everything was sparkling and pristine again, the borrowed pans scrubbed out and piled on the counter to be returned to Mrs. Tajikian. She waited on one of the counter stools until Dina and Alex came back, their arms laden with dishes and wet linens.
“I should get going now. I know you guys have to be on the road early.”
“You don’t have to leave,” Alex said.
Rachel shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m beat. We’ll see each other when you get back.”
“Let me carry your things down for you, then.” Alex took the nearly empty cooler and one of the crates and opened the door for her. They rode down the elevator in silence, neither of them sure what small talk was appropriate in this situation. He had to be feeling the uncertainty in their relationship as much as she was. He had called her his girlfriend, but what had they really done that didn’t relate to the supper club? Without it, did they have anything in common?
In the wet parking lot, Alex helped load her things and then pulled her close, his warmth seeping through the cold damp of the night.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get back. We can do dinner or a movie or something.”
“I’d like that. Thank you for all of this, Alex. Whether Mitchell wants to invest or not, I think it was something I needed.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed her softly, without a hint of desperation. Without a hint of good-bye.
Yet something about it made her heart ache, plied her with an urgency she didn’t understand. She squeezed him tight and kissed him one more time. “Safe travels, Alex. I love you.”
Before he could respond, she got in her car and drove away.
* * *
Alex stood in the parking lot long after Rachel’s taillights disappeared, stunned by her words. Only when the soft patter of rain once more turned to bigger drops did he rouse himself enough to walk back to his building’s lobby.
She loved him.
True, he’d said something to that effect earlier, but it had simply slipped out. When she’d pretended not to hear it, he figured he’d pass it off as a casual statement until the time was right.
There was nothing casual in the way Rachel had said it. There was nothing casual about the way he felt about her. And if only she’d stayed around long enough for his brain to process the words, he might have been able to express those feelings.
Dina took one look at him when he walked back into his condo and said, “Oh no. What did you do?”
“What? I just walked through the door.”
She studied him closely, hands on her hips. “You’ve got this guilty, worried look. You didn’t do something stupid like break up with Rachel, did you?”
“No. I didn’t. Why would I?”
“What gives, then?” Dina plopped herself on one of the counter stools and folded her hands in her lap, waiting.
“I’m not going to talk to you about my relationship with Rachel.”
“So it does have to do with Rachel. Wait. She’s not mad that you’re going back to LA with me, is she?”
“Not at all. She understands this is a big deal to you.” He put an arm around Dina’s shoulder. “You don’t actually think I’d make you do this alone, do you?”
Dina shrugged off his arm. “Nice try, Alex. You’re not going to get me off topic.”
Alex sighed. Might as well tell her, because she’d never let up until he did. “She said she loves me.”
“And you said . . .”
“I didn’t say anything. I was still trying to get my mouth to catch up with my brain when she drove away.”
Dina smacked him on the back of the head. “Idiot. Call her and tell her you love her, right now. Unless you don’t love her, in which case I’m going to call you a liar because it’s so obvious you’re crazy about her.”
“That’s not something you say over the phone, Dina.”
“Then drive to her house and sweep her off her feet with your declaration of undying love. Just be back here by the time we have to leave in the morning.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“Whatever.” Dina rolled her eyes and hopped off the stool. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Alex watched her go, as puzzled by his sister as he’d ever been. He no longer understood a thing about her. Or maybe he never had. They hadn’t been raised together in the usual sense, and when he had seen her, she was too busy being what their parents expected of her. Maybe he didn’t truly know her because she didn’t truly know herself.
He saw that same tendency in Rachel.
Except Rachel had let her guard down with him. She’d even unpacked her past, knowing that he’d read between the lines, understand how everything that had gone before had shaped her. With all her paranoia over being analyzed, she had decided to trust him.
She loved him.
As much as he wanted to linger over that thought, he’d been somewhat derelict in his work this week, so he sat down at his desk and booted up his laptop. No sooner did he put his fingers to the keyboard than his cell phone rang. He snatched it up, hoping it was Rachel, but it was an unfamiliar local number on the screen.
“I’m so sorry to bother you on a Saturday night,” the female voice rushed out when he answered.
“Who is this?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s Beatrice Donlin. At Altitude magazine?”
He blinked. Altitude was a local publication that focused on the healthy Denver lifestyle—alternative health, fitness, and work-life balance. Bea had been one of the first editors to give him regular work when he dove into his writing career, partly because of his friendship with Bryan, who had been featured on the cover a few months earlier.
But why was she calling him tonight?
“It’s okay. What can I do for you, Bea?”
“I’ve got an emergency. We go to print on Monday and I had to pull my feature article from the wellness section. A fact-checker noticed it had been partially lifted from the author’s previous work for Men’s Health.”
Alex winced. Everything got passed through plagiarism software before being manually fact-checked, but some authors were better than others at beating the automated system. “And you need a replacement?”
“You know I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice. You’re the only writer I know who can turn it on at such short notice. Unless of course we’re small potatoes to you now—”
“Relax, Bea, you don’t have to lay it on that thick. I can write something. What topic and how long?”
“Fifteen hundred to two thousand. And write anything you want, as long as it has to do with holistic wellness.”
“Gotcha. I’ll have it to you tomorrow.”
Relief poured through his phone’s speaker. “I owe you big time.”
An idea pinged in the corner of his imagination. “How big?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I have a chef friend with image problems and a new endeavor that could use some positive press.”
“Ah, Rachel Bishop. I saw your Instagram. Are you two . . . ?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Consider it done. Get me something I can use by tomorrow and I’ll feature her in the local life section anytime after the August issue.”
“Deal. Watch your e-mail.” Alex hung up the phone, satisfied with the trade. Quickly, he jotted a note on the legal pad beside him so he’d remember to follow up well before their press deadline. Of course, this all hinged on Rachel’s agreement and his abili
ty to turn out this article on time. Bea thought she was doing him a favor by giving him free rein, but on such a short deadline, a specific topic would have been much more useful.
Brainstorm time. He scrawled a few ideas for topics that could fit into the section’s “balanced life” feel. No surprise that once again Rachel’s influence crept from his subconscious.
Dina poked her head into his bedroom. “I’m going to bed now. Are you working?”
“Last-minute assignment. I’m bailing out a friend. You’re probably going to have to take the first shift driving tomorrow so I can sleep. This is going to take me all night.”
“You know, you don’t have to come. I can probably fit most of my stuff in my car, and what I can’t, I’ll leave behind.” Her tone was tough, but he detected a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.
“No, I want to go. I haven’t seen you much lately. A road trip will be fun.”
She smiled. “Okay, then. Good night.”
Alex stared at the door long after Dina left. This would be good. Necessary. As much as he hated to leave Rachel, he was as responsible for Dina’s situation as his parents because he hadn’t stopped to ask her what she wanted to do. At least now he could begin to make it up to her.
But first, the magazine piece. One of the topics stood out more than the others, so he began his outline in a new document on his laptop. By the time he’d converted the bullet points to coherent paragraphs and done a quick editing pass, it was almost four o’clock. Blearily, he opened an e-mail to Bea, attached the article with his bio and head shot, and clicked Send.
He was about to shut down his computer when he noticed an e-mail that had come in while he was working. It was from his agent, subject line: Re: Proposal.
Alex,
Love this. It’s not what I expected from you, but it’s compelling and well-written. I want to make sure your editor has a solid feel for the book, so can you expand the sample chapters a little more?
The stuff with the chef is GOLD!
Christine
Alex rubbed his eyes wearily. He could easily add a few thousand words to his proposal when he got back. He added a reminder to the bottom of his legal pad and tossed the pen onto the table before stumbling to his bed. He barely managed to strip off his clothes before he climbed beneath the covers and fell asleep with the light on.
Chapter Thirty-One
MELODY HAD BEEN CALLED in to work for a big catering job and Ana was out of town on business until tomorrow, so Rachel didn’t even have the benefit of a breakfast download the next morning with her best friends to sort through her impulsive actions.
Had she actually told Alex she loved him . . . and then fled before he could respond?
Yes, she had. But she didn’t regret it. She hadn’t said it to elicit a reaction or gauge his feelings or force an intimacy that wasn’t there. They weren’t children anymore, obsessing over who said what first. She loved him. She could no longer deny that, not to herself and not to him. She’d already told him more difficult truths than her feelings for him.
Without anything in particular to do or anyone to do it with, she turned to her default: cooking. Melody might be the baker, but Rachel could turn out a respectable artisan-style boule when she put her mind to it. While her dough rose, she began simmering a stock from the leftover trout scraps. They might still be suffering through the hottest part of the summer, but a chowder was exactly the sort of comfort she needed right now.
And yet when she sat down at the table, alone with an absolutely delicious bowl of soup and a hunk of crusty bread, she could only think about how much she missed Alex, how much better this would taste if he were sitting across from her.
She caved. She took out her phone and texted him. How’s the drive? Where are you?
She tried not to stare at the phone beside her bowl, hoping for an immediate reply, but she still jumped a foot off her chair when it rang. She snatched it up. “Hi.”
“Hey, you. We just checked into a motel in Moab, Utah. We got kind of a late start so we didn’t make it as far as we’d hoped. We’re going to try to drive straight through tomorrow.”
“I’m jealous. I’ve always loved road trips. And all that greasy food from roadside diners.”
“I think you’re the type to plan your entire route around where to eat. Am I right?”
Rachel laughed, unexpectedly flushed by the warmth in his teasing words. “You’re right. I am. Which is why I am such a fun person to road-trip with.”
“You should have come. I’m already spending all my time thinking of you.”
A smile crept onto her face. “I miss you too. Come back soon.”
“As soon as I can.”
Rachel hung up, enveloped in a glow of happiness. She was done for, no doubt about it. The mere sound of his voice filled her with longing. Who would have ever thought the man she’d pegged as her worst enemy and the architect of her career destruction would become such a central part of her life? She’d like to pretend she wouldn’t be counting the days until he returned, but that would be a lie.
For once, she didn’t have any plans. If Mitchell Shaw didn’t bite, they would hold more supper clubs, but she wouldn’t plan a menu until she knew for sure. In fact, she might simply combine the best of the two previous events. Instead, she stayed up late watching Netflix shows she’d added to her list. She slept hard and soundly, waking to midmorning light in her bedroom. If she planned it right, she could quickly feed Sunshine and then grab an early lunch at one of her favorite haunts on the way home.
An hour later, she rode the elevator up to Alex’s fifteenth-floor apartment, the action simultaneously nerve-racking and oddly natural. The nerves took over when she let herself in with the spare key.
His place was as pristine as always, except for the bag of dry cat food on the counter next to several tins of pâté and a watering can. Of course Alex had thought of everything. Rachel wandered into the living room and rattled the cat’s ceramic dish in its holder. “Sunshine! Here kitty! I’m going to feed you now.”
Nothing. Not a jingle of a collar or a meow to be heard. Rachel realized why when she saw the snap-off collar dangling from a branch of the rubber tree by the windows. What in the world? She’d never even seen the cat break into a run, let alone do anything to indicate he was capable of climbing four feet into the air and hanging from the branch of a houseplant.
Rachel stood there for a long moment, unsure what to do. The collars were meant to prevent strangling, but what if Sunshine was hurt? It wasn’t like she was snooping if she was looking for the cat, right? What if she left and there really was something wrong? Dina would be devastated, and Rachel would never forgive herself.
She peered under the sofas, but there was barely enough space for the fat tabby to fit, so she wasn’t surprised to find the spaces devoid of anything but a handful of dust bunnies. The windowsill, the back of the entertainment cabinet, and the bathroom likewise bore no sign of the cat.
She hovered outside the half-closed door to Alex’s bedroom, uncertain. Entering felt like a violation of his private space, especially when she’d never been invited in. But there simply wasn’t any other place for the cat to hide.
Rachel pushed the door open gingerly. “Sunshine? You in here, kitty?” She jingled the collar and heard a rustle from somewhere in the room.
Her eyes swept over the space. King-size bed with a contemporary headboard, the mattress draped in simple, minimalist linens. A wall of mirrored tile. Heavy wool curtains drawn back to showcase the stunning view. It managed to be sophisticated and sexy without seeming like it was trying too hard. Exactly like its occupant.
She inhaled deeply, momentarily distracted by Alex’s familiar scent, a faint mixture of cologne and soap and cotton. Another rustle drew her attention to the desk, where Alex’s laptop sat, a spinning cube on his screen saver bouncing around the edges like a ball in a pinball machine. Beneath the table, wedged between the wall and the leg amid a tangle of cords, was
a big ball of orange-striped fur.
Lazy gold eyes followed her movements as she bent down beside the desk. “Are you hungry?”
“Mrow.” The cat blinked. She could have sworn he would have shrugged were he capable of the movement.
“I’ve never heard of a cat who wasn’t hungry, especially one as fat as you. Besides, we need to get your collar back on. If you got out without it, I’d be in big trouble.” Sunshine looked unlikely to make a run for it, but still. When jingling the collar and coaxing him out with a mouse toy on a string didn’t even earn the twitch of a muscle, she decided she had no choice but to go in after him.
“Come on, kitty. Make this easy for both of us.” She got down on her knees and crawled beneath the desk. The minute she got one hand under the cat’s rib cage, he dug his claws into the rug, sticking himself to the floor like industrial-strength Velcro. “Okay, fine. If you don’t want to come out, just stay put.”
She managed to somehow wiggle her hands into the space behind the table leg and get the collar back on, already regretting the whole fiasco. This cat wasn’t going anywhere while she was here. Definitely not a flight risk.
Slowly, she scooted backward from beneath the desk and straightened—only to whack her head on the table’s edge.
“Ow.” She probed the back of her skull for the knot that was no doubt forming and unfolded herself to a kneeling position.
And found herself staring directly at Alex’s computer screen, an e-mail open on the desktop. Rachel turned away, not wanting to snoop in his private matters, but the word chef caught her eye. What was this?
Despite her better inclinations, she read the e-mail once, then again. The return address was from a literary agency.
Was this about the book he’d been writing? Was she the chef?
A sick feeling crawled into her middle and took up residence there, growing heavier with each heartbeat. Surely he wouldn’t do that to her. He knew how she felt about the negative publicity she’d already received. That’s why she was in this mess in the first place.
The Saturday Night Supper Club Page 28
