Too Hot to Touch

by Louisa Edwards

  Clearing his throat, Gus blinked a few times and said, “So. What did you find at Essex Street?”

  Max launched into a comprehensive list of the specialty products they’d investigated the day before, from Jules’s plums to Winslow’s house-cured charcuterie. Danny detailed the chocolate offerings for them, making Max’s mouth water.

  “I think what we need is a theme to build the meal around,” Max said, watching his father carefully. “Something loose enough to allow each of us to play to our strengths and cook the dish we want … but structured enough to be sure the meal makes sense from course to course.”

  “That could work,” Gus said, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. “The standard five courses are soup, fish, meat, salad, dessert.”

  This was exactly the sort of thing he and his father had been unable to agree on, all those years ago before Max left home. Gus loved the old-fashioned stuff, the classics—and in his younger days, Max had found all of it unbearably dull and boring. But now, he thought he could come up with a way to blend their two styles.

  “Exactly,” he said. “I was thinking we’d keep the classic course structure, with the whole meal as a salute to New York City, the world’s greatest melting pot of different cuisines and styles.”

  Max held his breath, watching for Gus’s reaction. He couldn’t even look at Danny, knew if he did, he’d crack.

  They could both see the decision play out on Gus’s weary face. He frowned, at the idea of mixing cuisines and trying new techniques, Max was sure. But then the lined brow smoothed, and a smile started at the corners of Gus’s mouth. “You know,” he said. “I think I like that. And I bet the judges will, too—it’s the perfect answer to the challenge about being local! Okay, Danny, get the others on the horn and start gathering their ideas. You’ll have to make the run to Essex Street to buy your ingredients in the next few hours, so you have the afternoon to prep.”

  “You got it.” Clapping his brother on the shoulder, Danny picked up the room phone and started dialing out.

  “He can take care of mobilizing the troops and coordinating the shopping,” Gus told Max. “Or actually, he’ll call Beck, and Beck will do it. In the meantime, I’ve got another job for you. An essential mission, of critical importance.”

  Max clenched his hands into fists, then forced each finger to release its tension. He hated to do this, but … “Dad, I’m sorry. I’m about to prove everything you ever thought about how unreliable and irresponsible I am, but I can’t do anything more with the competition until I know Jules is okay. I have to find her, Dad.”

  His gut roiled with tension—he felt like he’d just gotten a second chance to start working on a better relationship with his father and here he was, already fucking it up.

  Max darted a nervous look at the heart rate monitor. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was enrage Gus enough to set off another heart attack.

  Except Gus wasn’t going red with rage; in fact, he was rolling his eyes and smiling. “You shouldn’t interrupt your elders,” he said. “It’s rude. Also, you miss important stuff, like the fact that what I was going to say was, your mission, and you better choose to accept it, is to find Jules and bring her back. Nothing matters as much as that, not the competition, or the restaurant, or anything.”

  Max’s lips stretched in a smile so wide, his cheeks actually hurt. “I accept the mission,” he said gravely. “And I think I know where to start looking.”

  Gus’s smile faded to an expression more open and serious than Max could remember ever seeing on his father’s mercurial face.

  “Don’t let us down, son.”

  As Max jogged down the steps outside the hospital, he realized that for once, the knowledge that someone was counting on him didn’t feel like a dog collar choked tight around his neck. Instead, he felt as light and full of energy as if he’d spent the last two hours in an extended massage and meditation session.

  It’s a whole new world, he thought as he hailed a cab and gave the driver the address he’d gotten from Danny.

  The feeling of euphoria lasted until the taxi pulled up in front of a smart midtown high-rise apartment building, shiny with glass and chrome.

  Despite his confidence in front of his father, Max wasn’t at all sure he was on the right track with this idea. After all, from everything Jules had told him about her childhood—admittedly, not much—her mother hadn’t exactly come off as the safe shelter type. Then again, maybe Jules had been upset enough to go looking for any port in a storm.

  A lackadaisical doorman, wearing a uniform about two sizes too big for his stooped, skinny frame, leaned on a podium inside the sliding glass doors. When Max said he was there to visit apartment nine “N” the doorman flipped a binder toward Max, pointed to an empty line and said, “Sign in here.”

  Great security, Max thought as he stepped around the slumped doorman and over to the bank of elevators. Wonder how much extra you pay to have that guy standing guard out front?

  Nerves skittered under his skin and tightened his throat as the elevator doors slid open at the ninth floor. He hoped his instincts about where Jules might be hiding were on the mark—but at the same time, if she was here? He wasn’t sure he liked what that said about her state of mind. It smacked of Jules punishing herself, and Max’s fists clenched at the idea that he’d driven her to this with his blame and accusations and anger.

  This was the woman who’d shaped Jules’s childhood, and her entire worldview—the woman who’d warped Jules’s heart with too many broken promises and shattered expectations.

  Anger simmered in Max’s belly, hotter and more painful than a hit of wasabi, and Max closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment before continuing down the hall to the door marked “9N” in ornate black numerals.

  Calm. I’m calm. I am a reed on the shore. I am a willow branch, bending in the wind.

  Lifting one loosely curled fist, Max rapped twice on the door. Not too hard—he didn’t want to pound. But the crack of his knock reverberated through his knuckles and echoed down the hall like a couple of gunshots.

  I am … seriously pissed off.

  It was easier to let go of his own petty hurt and frustrations, Max discovered, than the deep-seated, sympathetic anger he felt on Jules’s behalf. He heard movement in the apartment, and put on his most innocent, harmless, I-am-not-a-mass-murderer face, in case someone was peering at him through the peephole set into the door.

  A moment later, the door opened to reveal a tall, svelte woman who looked to be in her late fifties. She had blond hair, several bottle shades lighter than Jules’s, which made the contrast of her brown eyes even more striking.

  The smile she gave Max made him shift his weight from one foot to the other—there was quite a bit of Mrs. Robinson in that intent expression.

  “Well, hello there,” she purred. “And what can I do for you?”

  “Mrs. Cavanaugh?” he asked.

  A fleeting look of disgust swept across her attractive face, although the expression was hampered by the fact that the muscles in her forehead seemed to be frozen solid. But she shook her head in denial, trilling a little laugh. “Oh no,” she said. “Not for a long time. And I happen to be between husbands at the moment, so I’ve gone back to the trusty old maiden name. Victoria Clarke, at your service, handsome. But you can call me Tori.”

  Max wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Ah. Well, I’m actually looking for your daughter. Is Jules here?”

  He had the sense that if she could’ve raised her eyebrows at that, she would’ve. “Juliet? Really? Well. Isn’t that interesting.”

  His heartbeat sped up a bit. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

  Jules’s mother pushed the door open wider. “I suppose you’d better come in.”

  Chapter 25

  Entering the interior of the apartment was like stepping into a snow globe. Max blinked, then squinted. Everything was white, from the walls to the sleek, leather couches and the velvety-looking tracksuit Tori wore
. There was even a thick, white shag carpet to muffle their footsteps on the white marble floor.

  Late morning sunlight streamed in between the hanging blinds, glinting harshly off the glass coffee table and casting shadows like prison bars across the empty living room.

  Max tried to imagine growing up in this pristine showplace of a room, and failed. No doubt the furniture was all Italian and cost enough money to feed a village in India for a month, but it wasn’t exactly what Max thought of as “homey.” It certainly couldn’t have been more different from Max’s parents’ house.

  Or from Jules’s place, he realized, remembering her spare, sturdy décor. It had been minimal in a whole different way from her mother’s übermodern apartment—sort of Early American Broke-Ass Grad Student.

  “She’s asleep,” Tori said, crossing her arms over her ample, improbably perky chest. “Since about fifteen minutes after she got here last night. Barely said two words to me before she shut herself in the guest room and passed out on the bed.” Her mouth twisted in a way that suggested annoyance. “She didn’t even take off those mannish boots she insists on wearing. I’m going to have to get the duvet dry-cleaned now.”

  Max glanced down the hall in the direction Tori had indicated, wondering for a split second if he should go wake Jules up.

  Wait a minute. Of course he should wake her up! They had a competition to win. “It’s nine o’clock,” he said. “I can’t believe she hasn’t woken up on her own.”

  “I know! Twelve hours,” Tori said, looking surprised. Or maybe her eyebrows were just stuck that way. “But it’s been a while since she came by. I didn’t want to tick her off by shaking her out of bed. She can be so difficult, sometimes. I even missed my morning Pilates session waiting for her.”

  How selfless, Max thought, but he made sure to keep any sarcasm out of his voice when he said, “I’m sure you were glad to see her last night. Maybe she didn’t have a chance to tell you, but her boss—my dad? He had a heart attack yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible!” To her credit, Tori seemed genuinely upset by the news. She sank into one of the chairs that was made up of strips of white leather stretched across a chrome framework, and pulled the edges of her zippered sweatshirt tight around her torso. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “It was kind of a shock for all of us, but he’s doing much better. They say he’ll make a full recovery.” Surprise at her reaction had Max taking the chair across from her. He found himself wanting to know more about Victoria Cavanaugh. He’d been expecting someone very different in the role of Evil Mother Who Kicked Her Daughter Out. Certainly he hadn’t expected her to be so clearly undone by bad news about the man who’d taken her daughter in.

  She breathed an audible sigh. “That’s such a relief. Your father … I’m sure you already know this, but he’s a wonderful man. I’d hate to think of anything happening to him.”

  Max only hesitated for a brief moment of internal struggle before he said, “I’m sorry, this is sort of rude … but how do you know my father well enough to care about his health?”

  She stiffened, the leather straps of her chair squeaking in protest. “Gus Lunden has done a lot for us, giving Juliet that job and all. Of course I’m grateful.”

  Max nodded, never taking his eyes off her, and allowed a full minute of silence to tick past, loaded with expectation.

  She cracked. “Look, when Juliet … left and moved in with your parents, I tried to talk to her, to get her to come back home.”

  He must have made some involuntary movement or gesture, because she clenched her fists on the arms of her chair and her voice got loud and strident. Which was a particularly odd effect, since her facial expression barely changed.

  “I did! I called her, I went to see her—but she wouldn’t talk to me. I was beside myself. Of course. What mother wouldn’t be?”

  Max nodded, keeping a bland, interested look on his face. He hadn’t missed the fact that it was all about Tori. “That must have been awful for you.”

  Whoops. Let a little bit of an edge creep in, there.

  He winced inwardly, but luckily, Tori was oblivious to subtext. “It was. And your father understood that. He called me, when she first showed up and spent the night. And then, when she wouldn’t talk to me, he’d call every few weeks to let me know how she was doing. It was … it meant a lot.”

  Max shifted in his chair, making the leather creak. Tori shot him a look. “I had certain … issues going on in my life at the time that complicated everything, and you know, it was always just me and Juliet, really. Being a single mom … it was rough.” She sighed, the hard mounds of her chest straining the white tank top under her hoodie. Max worked hard not to let his eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

  Maybe I should pretend my forehead’s been Botoxed into submission.

  It was important not to slip up and say anything that would keep Tori from finishing this little narrative. Max’s heart rate sped, making him light-headed with the anticipation of finding out more about Juliet’s father … and the night she left home. A touch of subtle steering of the conversation might be in order.

  He leaned forward, balancing precariously in his stylish Italian death trap. “So why did Jules leave home? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Screw subtle. It was lost on Tori anyway.

  * * *

  Waking up in her childhood bedroom always gave Jules vertigo. Not that it looked remotely the way it had when she was growing up; her mother had long since wallpapered over the pink and green Laura Ashley print, and exchanged the New Kids on the Block poster for a strangely monochromatic colorblock painting involving two squares and a diagonal line.

  Which was fine, really—the Laura Ashley and NKOTB décor hadn’t really suited Jules in the first place. This room had always been more a reflection of her mother’s wishes than her own.

  This was Juliet’s room.

  No, it was more the sense of having betrayed herself, somehow, that gave Jules the spins. Why was she back here again? Why did she keep doing this to herself? When would she ever learn?

  She blinked fully awake and stretched her arms and legs out to the corners of the bed.

  Wait. Why am I still dressed? And on top of the covers?

  Her body twinged and ached, as if she were coming to after a bar fight instead of a good night’s sleep.

  What the hell time was it? She craned her neck to get a look at the tiny gray clock on the nightstand, and nearly levitated off the bed in a panic as the previous day came rushing back.

  She stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hall, tensing as she registered the sound of two voices from the living room.

  I hope to God I’m not about to walk in on Mom canoodling with her latest boyfriend.

  Jules wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her mother in an apparently deep and intimate conversation with the man Jules, herself, had lately been canoodling with.

  Almost as big and unpleasant a shock was the subject matter of that conversation.

  “So why did Jules leave home? If you don’t mind me asking,” she heard, in Max’s deep, calm voice.

  “Hey,” Jules said, temper flushing hot up her neck and into her cheeks. “I mind you asking. Ever think of that?”

  Max gave a guilty start at her sharp tone. “Jules! I was worried about you.”

  “Morning, honey,” Mom said, with that trembly, uncertain smile she always wore around Jules, these days. “I let you sleep; you seemed so exhausted.”

  Forcing her tone smooth, Jules said, “Thanks. I wish I’d set an alarm for myself, though. I needed to get going this morning.” Trying not to notice the way her mother’s face fell, or her own pang of guilt, she turned to Max. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way over here.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t a problem. I mean, yeah, it freaked us out, not knowing where you were, but it was nice to get to meet your mom.”

  Jules fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself.
“Sorry,” she said again. Would it ever be possible to apologize enough? “I just needed some time. I didn’t mean to take quite this much time, though, so we’d better get going.”

  She couldn’t believe she’d come all the way over to her mother’s place specifically to give herself a breather from Max—and he’d found her, anyway. He seemed to be over the worst of yesterday’s anger, but Jules caught herself watching him warily from the corner of her eye.

  Being back in this apartment always reminded Jules how fast things could slip from okay to shitastic.

  Max struggled out of the hammock of white leather strips. “The guys are already at Essex Street—we need to call them with your shopping list. We’ve got a menu theme: I Love New York.”

  Goose bumps popped up along Jules’s arms and legs. “Oh, that is good,” she said, ignoring the slight catch at her heart that she hadn’t been around to help come up with it.

  There was no time to worry about that now, no time for regrets. As she headed for the door, tunneling her mind down to the ingredients she’d seen the day before, and what she might be able to do with them, all she could feel was relief.

  “Mom, thanks for letting me crash here,” she said, one hand on the sleek chrome doorknob.

  Something flickered in Tori’s eyes, almost too quick to catch, and her pink-lipsticked mouth stretched into that unconvincing smile again. “Sure, baby. You know you’re always welcome here.”

  Jules flinched. She couldn’t help it. But there was no time for that, either, and she’d heard it all before, anyway. She just couldn’t trust it.

  “I’ll call you,” she told her mother, then made her escape.

  Come on, come on, she mouthed as she jammed her finger on the elevator call button. Glancing back down the hall, she noticed that Max lingered at the doorway with her mother for a long moment before following Jules to her stance in front of the insanely slow elevator.

  Before she could ask what that was all about, he said, “Listen, I’m sorry about before. The things I said to you yesterday. I was surprised, and hurt, and I took it out on you.”