Love Inspired June 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Patricia Johns

  Plugging the sink, she squirted dishwashing detergent into the basin and turned on the faucet.

  “Here. Let me do that.” He rose from the table. “MacKenzie family rules. You cook. I clean.”

  She moved aside to allow him access to the sink. “For dessert, I can use the rest of the crêpes to make a sweet treat.”

  His forearms sudsy, he shook his head. “Do you ever stay still for one moment?” He rinsed a plate. “You’re treat enough. But I’ll take a rain—”

  “Rain check.” Taking it from him, she dried the plate with a cloth. “The kitchen is my happy place.”

  “What drew you to cooking?”

  She opened the oak cabinet and stretching on her toes, she put away the plate. “After the chaos of my childhood, I found it orderly. Soothing. Comforting.”

  He handed her another plate to dry. He hoped one day she’d trust him enough to tell him of the time before Glorieta Ferguson came into her life.

  Kara swiped the lingering moisture from the rooster-red plate. “Recipes are instructions. And if you followed the directions—”

  “Voilà!” He smiled.

  She flicked her eyes at him. His heart skipped a beat. She absolutely could not know how cute she looked, or the effect she had on his equilibrium.

  “Voilà—everything turns out wonderful.” She put the plate on top of the other inside the cabinet. “I feel in control when I cook. And safe.”

  “It’s a shame life doesn’t come with instructions like a recipe,” he grunted.

  Her forehead puckered. Something she did when she was concentrating. He resisted the urge to smooth the line from her brow.

  “I think life is best lived when we give control over to God.” She bit her lip. “That’s probably the biggest thing Mama G taught me. God promises to make everything work out exactly as it should. When I trust Him, there’s no safer place to be.” She shook herself. “Sorry to get so...philosophical.”

  He grabbed her hand. “I want to know what you’re thinking and feeling. I’ve felt so distant from God.”

  “I think God is closer than you believe, Will.” She twined her fingers in his, suds and all. “I struggle, too. Especially lately.”

  “What’re you going to do about the boycott?”

  She let go of him. “I’ve been thinking about it. Nonstop. Except when I was thinking of you.” She gave him that look again.

  And he nearly dropped the glass. “Are you flirting with me, Chef Lockwood?”

  She smirked. “Possibly, Chief MacKenzie.”

  “I’ve thought about you, too.” He handed the glass into her custody. “So are you replacing the galette with the pie?”

  “Uh, no.” Her mouth downturned. “But I’ve decided to fight GeorgeAnne’s bad press about the Mason Jar with good press. And woo Truelove back to the café.”

  He leaned his elbows on the rim of the porcelain sink. “Kill ’em with kindness.”

  “I wish I could make things better for you and the TFD.”

  He glanced at the crêpe skillet, waiting to be washed. “You know, I might just have an idea of how you can do both. In a couple of weeks, the TFD will hold its annual pancake supper fund-raiser.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Pancake supper?”

  “The Truelove Firefighter Auxiliary sponsors the event on the first Saturday in April to raise money for the Firefighter Cancer Fund.” He straightened. “Like with Pops, cancer has become an occupational hazard for firefighters.”

  “One of my greatest desires was to become part of Truelove’s community.” She put away the glass. “I’d be happy to donate supplies and cook, too. Serve in any capacity you need me.”

  He shook his head. “The auxiliary organizes everything. They set up tables and chairs on the green. Buy supplies. Sell tickets. The crew cooks the pancakes. Everyone in Truelove comes out for it.” He rinsed off a bundle of silverware. “But what would you think of a Flapjack Flip-Off this year?”

  “A what?”

  “My guys cook the pancakes, but you and your crew make...” He brandished the skillet.

  “Crêpes aren’t flapjacks, Will. Nor pancakes, either.”

  He waved his hand, spattering a few drops of water on the countertop. “Sounds more alliterative, though.” He grinned, warming to his idea. “It’s all you can eat. Truelove citizens vote for their favorite—pancakes or crêpes. A cooking contest and a fund-raiser.”

  “But a competition?” She made a face. “I don’t know. I’d lose without a doubt.”

  He unplugged the sink. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Water gurgled out. “Wasn’t it you who told me the owner has confidence in her food?”

  “It would certainly allow the public to form their own opinions about my food and not be held hostage by GeorgeAnne’s apple pie bias.” She slumped. “On the other hand, if it goes badly, it could be the nail in the Mason Jar’s coffin.”

  “Not going to happen. I’ve eaten your crêpes.” He took both of her hands enfolded by the dish towel into his. “And trust me, darlin’, there’s no way you’ll lose.”

  He found his mouth very close to hers. If he moved his head... Did she want to kiss him as badly as he wanted to kiss her?

  She smelled amazing. Like vanilla. He leaned forward. Her lips parted. His heart stopped. Her lashes fluttered.

  But then...he pulled back. “Tomorrow night. My house. We can go over Flapjack Flip-Off details.”

  She slid her hands away from his, leaving him standing there holding the dishcloth. “Only if you let me cook.”

  “As if Maddox would have it any other way.” He took a deep breath. “I promise you won’t regret taking this chance.”

  “I won’t, because only with great risk—” rising on the toes of her ballet-type flats, she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek “—comes great reward.” Coming down on her heels, she smiled at him.

  And he resolved to do whatever he must to make this work for her.

  If he gazed long enough in the liquid blue pools of her eyes, he believed he might drown. But for once, he didn’t care.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Friday proved an abysmally slow day for the café.

  Kara had never been good with too much time on her hands. Thankfully as a distraction, AnnaBeth showed up for lunch. And with the sparse crowd, Kara had time to join her.

  Giving her the grand tour, she took AnnaBeth through to the kitchen into the heart of the operation.

  “We prep and plate over here.” She pointed. “And place the orders at the cut-out window behind the counter for pickup into the dining room.”

  She swung open the heavy, insulated door of the walk-in freezer. Both women shivered at the blast of refrigerated air.

  A pair of suspended air conditioners lowered the ceiling about two feet. Bulky steel shelving with boxed cases of inventory took up most of the freezer space and left only a few feet of standing room between the shelves.

  She and AnnaBeth ended up eating in her tiny office, which consisted of a chair, a chair for guests and a desk overflowing with paperwork.

  Kara showed AnnaBeth the cooking journals on the shelf behind her desk. Over the years she’d recorded every recipe she ever tried. Some were disasters. Others were triumphs.

  But she also jotted down her thoughts over each ingredient. Every step in the process. Her ideas and tweaks.

  The journals represented her culinary journey thus far. An irreplaceable map of where she’d been and how far she’d come.

  AnnaBeth shared her struggles with self-worth. And the wisdom she’d learned about her identity in Christ. Kara could hardly believe how much the glamorous fashionista had doubted herself.

  She told AnnaBeth about her lifelong dream of one day visiting Paris. And since the style blogger was interested in interior design, Kara found the courage to take
another album off the shelf, containing paint swatches and photos of her ideas for transforming the Mason Jar into an authentic Paris bistro.

  “I only had enough money to give the Mason Jar a face-lift, not a complete overhaul. But one day...”

  AnnaBeth’s eyes gleamed. “I love imagining the possibilities of one day.”

  “I didn’t want to ruffle community feathers in Truelove so I saved most of my changes for the menu.” Kara grimaced. “And we see how well that’s going.”

  AnnaBeth looked at the time on her cell. “This has been so fun, but I promised to tutor a child at Hunter’s school this afternoon.” She rose.

  Kara came around her desk. “Let’s do this again.”

  “Soon.” AnnaBeth settled her purse strap on her shoulder. “I’ve been brainstorming ways to increase the café’s revenue and raise your profile. But I’m not sure you’ll be interested.”

  Kara threw open her hands. “Are you kidding me? I’m game for anything if it will pay the bills.”

  “What would you think about being a weekly guest video blogger?” AnnaBeth panned the air with her hands. “Classy But Easy French Cooking tutorials.”

  Kara’s mouth dropped. “Me? On video?”

  AnnaBeth’s blog had a national following.

  “You’d be a natural.” She smiled. “It could drive a lot of tourist traffic off the Blue Ridge Parkway to your restaurant, too. Maybe even attract people from as far away as Asheville, Charlotte or Winston-Salem. A win for you, and a win for Truelove.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  AnnaBeth squeezed her arm. “Say yes. You won’t have to do this alone. I promise to help.”

  Kara took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Yes.” She shook her head, amazed. “And thanks.”

  On the threshold, AnnaBeth did an elegant turn on her heels. “What else are friends for? I’m just so sorry Miss GeorgeAnne’s antics have tarnished your view of our little mountain town. It’s the most wonderful place in the world.” She winked. “Where true love awaits.”

  Kara crossed her arms. “I’m going to plead the fifth on that one.”

  “Don’t be too sure, my friend. I was running away from love, too.” An amused smile crossed AnnaBeth’s striking features. “Right up until I ran into a certain cowboy in Truelove. And it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice how you light up when a particular fire chief comes into the café.”

  Kara blushed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “As obvious as when Will MacKenzie looks back at you.”

  Kara sucked in a breath. “He looks at me?”

  She laughed. “No doubt about it.” With a flutter of her fingers, AnnaBeth departed.

  About six that evening Kara pulled into Will’s driveway.

  Pops had insisted on going to the market for the items on tonight’s menu. Will’s dad dropped them off to her at the Jar. Then declared he was joining Tom and Wilda Arledge for dinner at their farmhouse. Kara also had it on good authority that Glorieta would be accompanying them.

  For a moment she remained in the car, studying the MacKenzie house. She had a thing about houses. The two-story brick house with the Dutch gambrel roof looked like a real home.

  It was where Will had grown up. Vacant for a few years when his parents temporarily relocated to be closer to him and Maddox in Charlotte.

  But after the death of his mother, Will had taken the TFD fire chief position and returned. Grabbing her canvas shopping totes, she got out of the car. Her heart melted when she saw Maddox on the other side of the storm door. Waiting for her. And behind him, Will.

  Her heart did a staccato step. What would it be like to call this house her home? What would it be like to come home after a long day at the café to a family? Her family.

  The fire chief threw open the door, and Maddox flung his arms around her.

  Will raised his eyebrows. “Somebody’s glad to see you.”

  She cocked her hip. “Is he the only one?”

  “No.” Will looked at her. “He’s not.”

  Smiling to beat the band, she stepped inside.

  Will took the shopping bags out of her hands. “This way to the kitchen. Excuse the mess. Remember, this is the domain of bachelors.”

  It wasn’t a mess. She followed him toward the back. The house could benefit, however, from a woman’s touch.

  Maddox hopped up on a stool. Will unloaded the groceries. She preheated the oven.

  “What culinary delight are you making tonight?”

  She pulled out a shallow baking pan. “Salmon en papillote. And before you ask, that means salmon wrapped in parchment paper.”

  He grinned.

  “It will take about thirty minutes, but I made something else for sweetie pie I thought he would enjoy more. A ham and cheese croissant.”

  “Good call.” He lifted Maddox off the stool. “Let’s set the table for Kara, buddy.”

  She placed fresh asparagus and thin strips of carrot on the heart-shaped piece she’d cut from parchment paper. She topped the vegetables with the salmon filet.

  While crimping the parchment edges to facilitate steaming the salmon, she watched Will and Maddox through the doorway into the dining room. For a split second, she let herself dream that Will was her husband. That Maddox called her Mommy.

  That there was a small herb garden beyond the screened porch in the backyard. That this house was her home. This kitchen, hers to decorate in classic, French-inspired hues of buttery yellow, paprika red and country blue. A beautiful place of warmth, good food, love and laughter.

  In the dining room Maddox said something silly. Will picked him up, slung his giggling son over his shoulders and hauled him firefighter-style into the kitchen.

  Later, Maddox wanted Kara to read to him. Will insisted on cleaning the kitchen, although she protested.

  “MacKenzie rules. You cook. I clean.”

  “All right. If you insist.”

  Maddox had on his red-and-black fire truck pajamas. They cuddled together against the pillows on his bed. He’d chosen three books. One was about a talking yellow backhoe. The second involved blue trains. Will slipped into his son’s room as she picked up the last one.

  “One of my favorites,” she said, looking at the cover. “Blueberries for Sal.”

  Maddox snuggled under her arm. “I wuv bwoo-beweez, Miss Karwa.”

  She kissed the top of his head. “Me, too.” He smelled of baby shampoo and...a trace of his dad’s cologne. In other words, just right.

  The book was about the joy of an ordinary day. Every day she spent with Maddox and his father felt extraordinary and filled to the brim with joy. Perhaps this summer they could go berry picking on the mountain. Minus the bear.

  When she finished, Will asked her to stay to tuck in Maddox for the night. Tears sprang to her eyes as he helped Maddox say his prayers.

  Despite his own struggles, Will was trying to encourage his son’s faith. And it reinforced what she already knew about the fire chief. He was a good man. An incredible man. So worth knowing.

  Afterward, they said good-night to the yawning child. Will flipped the light switch, and they tiptoed out to the living room. “That meant the world to Maddox.”

  “You are a great dad.”

  He gave her a smile that lifted his entire face, laugh lines fanning out from his dark eyes. “Thank you, Kara. As a single parent, it’s so easy to focus on what I can’t give him, instead of all that I do.”

  Sitting down on the couch, she reached into her purse and got out her notebook. “We should talk about the Flip-Off.”

  He lowered himself at the other end of the sofa. It didn’t take long to hammer out the details. During which the distance between them on the couch mysteriously lessened. Not that she minded.

  She settled into the cushion. “What was it like growing up i
n Truelove?”

  “For an outdoorsy guy like me, it was fabulous.” He gestured. “The mountains. The river. But back then, I couldn’t wait to get away.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Kind of ironic when you consider I’d do anything now to never have to leave again.”

  “I’m praying you won’t have to.” She tilted her head. “You’ve mentioned Maddox’s health issues when he was born. Is he okay now?”

  “Right as rain.” Will smiled. “Thanks for asking. He had some developmental delays that required therapy for a time, but he’s completely caught up with his age group and doing great.”

  “He’s a sweetheart.”

  Will nudged her with his shoulder. “Takes after his dad.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He takes after his grandfather.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “I feel like you know everything about me.” Will sat back. “But I know very little about your life.”

  She looked away. “I told you about the time I came to Truelove as a child. About my dad. My mom. Culinary school.”

  “Glorieta came into your life after your mom died. That must have been so hard. To lose your mom and then to go live with a stranger.”

  Her eyes flitted to him. “Glorieta wasn’t a stranger.”

  “I see.”

  But she could tell from the question in his gaze that he really didn’t. Her heart stutter-stepped. Torn between full disclosure and self-protection. The retelling brought up painful memories.

  He’d shared so much of his difficulties with her. About his failed marriage. His son’s medical crisis. How could she not be as open as he’d been with her?

  She hugged the couch pillow to her chest. Creating space. But was that what she really wanted? Space between her and Will?

  Kara sighed. “After my father was killed in the construction accident, there was a problem with the insurance.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I want to tell you.” She swallowed. “It—it’s just hard. I’m afraid you’ll think less of me. See me differently.”