Bad Taste in Men (Clover Park, Book 3) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series) (7 page)

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Shane said. “Saturday night, then.”

She couldn’t be alone in Shane’s apartment. He’d probably cook dinner for her, and it would be all intimate with more of that weird, crackling tension between them. Things were much more serious now that they had a business to launch. It simply wasn’t a smart decision. Not until he was safely coupled up with someone else. All of their meetings from here on out would be in public places.

“How about we meet at my shop after closing?” Rachel asked.

Her shop had huge windows overlooking Main Street. Definitely not private.

He stared at her. “What’s wrong with my place?”

“Nothing. I’m just more comfortable at the shop.”

“All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll bring pizza.”

She beamed. “Sounds like a plan.”

He stared at the ground and blew out a breath. “See ya.”

He sounded deflated. Definitely not how she wanted to begin their business partnership.

“Smile, Shane. With your good food and my retail skill, we’ll turn a profit within a few months.” She attempted a British accent, a nod to their favorite comedies. “This will be a smashing success!”

He merely raised a hand in acknowledgment and headed downstairs. She felt a little bad for pawning him off on Janelle, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought they’d make a nice couple. She’d planned on bringing her friend to the barbecue as a buffer, but having her as Shane’s date was even better. She was doing them both a favor, in fact. They were both nice, good-looking, single adults. They should be thanking her. Maybe they’d name their firstborn after the woman who made it all happen.

On that note, she called Janelle. “Shane wants to go out with you. Please go, just for one date. I told him you’d love to.”

To Rachel’s surprise, Janelle was delighted. “Ooh, first a family barbecue, then a date. I’d love to go out with him. I’ve been drooling over his new sleek, muscular bod. Like a panther, mrow! Thanks, Rach, for making it happen. I never wanted to say anything because I thought maybe you had a thing for him, but this is
perfect
! I’ll get him to break out of that shy routine with my patented Janelle seduction spell.”

Rachel suddenly felt uneasy. “Seduction spell?”

“Top secret, honey. I’ll call him right now. Thanks so much!”

“Wait! You have his number?”

“Sure. I’ve seen it on the shop’s caller ID enough times. Bye!”

“Oh. Bye.” Rachel hung up and poured herself a tall glass of chardonnay. “I’m such a good friend,” she muttered.

Chapter Six

Shane woke before dawn, unable to sleep without thoughts of Rachel and his spectacular, dumbass blunder running through his head. He’d never understand women. So much for sweeping Rachel off her feet with his white-knight routine, dashing in to save her business. Instead of falling into his arms, she’d set him up with another woman. He still didn’t know how that had happened so fast.

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen in his shop. Sam wasn’t even here yet to start the ice-cream base. He felt like baking. He’d take some of those fresh blueberries and make muffins. He already knew he wanted muffins for the café’s menu. He could change the mix-in with the season—cherry, lemon, cranberry, pumpkin spice, cinnamon. But first blueberry because it was blueberry season.

He turned on a speaker dock he kept in the kitchen and pulled up his favorite playlist. Beyonce’s “Drunk in Love” was up first. Like it or not, he could relate. He sang along as he gathered the ingredients. He washed the blueberries and tasted one. The berry burst in his mouth, tart and sweet. Perfect. Nothing like fresh-picked local blueberries.

He gathered the dry ingredients, then pulled out the butter, eggs, and milk. He eyed the basket he kept with lemons and limes and decided to grate some lemon zest in along with the juice to enhance the flavor of the blueberry. He got in the zone, working from memory the right proportions of flour, sugar, and baking powder. He prepared a teaspoon of fresh ground cinnamon, taking a moment to breathe deep and savor its aroma. Whisking the dry ingredients together, his mind flashed to working in the kitchen with Gran when he’d first come to Clover Park.

He’d been shell-shocked over the collapse of his family and the loss of his mother. He went mute at his new school, unable to handle jumping into the deep end as a seventh grader with the boys who were way into sports and the girls who asked him strange questions (Do you like four-leaf clovers? How tall are you? Do you have a girlfriend?) and then giggled at his answers (Yes, five foot ten, no), even though nothing was funny. Gran’s kitchen was a cheerful oasis. She played top 40 music every night as she cooked delicious dinners, so unlike the food he’d grown up on—burnt fish sticks, hot dogs, and pizza. Suddenly there was lasagna, spicy stir-fry, and roast chicken. And the vegetables, always fresh, like roasted peppers, tangy Swiss chard, and perfectly steamed broccoli.

At first, he’d just sat at the kitchen table and watched, used to sorta fading into the background. A week passed like that until Gran suddenly turned to him.

“Boy, you’ve blended into the wallpaper long enough. Now I need you to be my sous chef.”

“Me?” he asked, his voice cracking in excitement. No one had ever
needed
him for anything before. And what the heck was a sue chef?

“You see anyone else hanging around here?”

Ryan was always at some sports practice or game and usually got home late. Trav was out doing who-knew-what, getting into trouble. It was just him. He stood and crossed to her just as she slid open a drawer and pulled out a blue and white striped apron. She put it on him.

“Fits perfectly,” Gran said. “Turn around.”

He turned, and she tied it in back. “Used to be your grandpa’s. I don’t know if you remember, but he was a whiz at the barbecue.”

“Cool.” His grandpa had died when he was ten, and Shane had only ever eaten hamburgers when he’d visited, but he believed her. “What’s a sue chef? Is that a girl thing?”

“It’s a French term. Sous like s-o-u-s. It’s the assistant chef. You’ll do all the washing and chopping while I do the cooking. When I think you’re ready, I’ll let you do the whole shebang. First things first, every chef washes their hands before preparing food.”

He headed for the sink and scrubbed up.

“You’ll start with washing these carrots and potatoes; then I’ll show you how to peel and chop for the roast chicken I’m making.”

He’d quickly moved up to full chef. His hands were strong and sure from working with tools for years. Once Gran showed him the right technique, he peeled and chopped efficiently. He loved handling the fresh herbs and vegetables, many he picked that same day from her garden. The fresh scents and flavors were an awakening from what felt like a black-and-white existence into a full-color life.

Gran let him make whatever he wanted after school all by himself, reserving the dinner hour for the two of them to work together. He dove in with appetizers and desserts, saving entrées for them to work on together. Leaving the daily grind of school, where he felt like the odd man out, to the absolute freedom of total control in the kitchen had been nothing short of amazing. His family loved his cooking, and he knew he’d found his purpose in life.

Now he wiped the flour off his hands on the blue and white striped apron he kept for sentimental reasons. He’d had new aprons made just like it with Shane’s Scoops embroidered on the front for his staff, but this one was special, the original, the one that had started it all. He smiled at the memory and whisked the wet and dry ingredients together. He had just enough time to bake the batch before Ry came calling for their morning run.

He got back to work, at peace once again, just him and the dish he’d soon share with his family. That was almost as good as the cooking, the sharing. It was why he opened his own shop, to connect with everyone in town. It kept him from feeling alone like his mother had always said she felt. He knew he took after her—sensitive and introverted—it was why he was careful never to be alone for too long.

Food was life and connection. It was everything.

~ ~ ~

Shane had just taken a bite of muffin, the lemon zest worked perfectly with the blueberry, when he heard someone leaning on his doorbell upstairs. He went out the back door to tell his brother to knock it off.

“Oh, you’re up.” Ry rubbed his hands together and smiled. “Come on. Let’s get some endorphins going.”

Shane muttered some choice obscenities about morning people. Ever since Ry had gotten on a regular schedule with his job as a cop, he’d become unbearably cheerful in the morning. He liked it better when his brother slept until noon in his old job as a private investigator and never checked up on him until the afternoon.

They set off at a jog. The town was quiet except for the occasional delivery truck passing through. Mostly it was just the birds and the crazy joggers.

Ry picked up the pace, and Shane kept up. Five days of running and he got nothing but tired and sweaty from it. After what felt like twenty miles, but was probably only two, Shane stopped. “When do I get that runner’s high?”

“Just keep going, bud, you’ll get there,” Ry said, jogging in place. “You have to build up some endurance first.”

They kept going.

Shane finally broke the silence. “Rachel and I are business partners.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Doing what?”

“We’re opening a café next to Book It. I do the food and coffee; she runs the shop.”

“Shane…”

He sucked in some air as they went up that damn hill to the high school again. “What?”

“Do you really think she’s going to go out with you if you go into business together?”

He pushed himself hard up that hill. He’d conquer it today. “No,” he wheezed.

Obviously not or he wouldn’t be meeting Janelle tonight for drinks at Garner’s. He still couldn’t believe Rachel had set him up with a friend. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Janelle’s feelings when she called last night and invited him, so he’d agreed to meet her. He’d never given Janelle a second glance at Book It, always being focused on Rachel, but she was cute. A little young, but not too young, he’d checked. She was twenty-four.

Ry beat him up the hill. Shane joined him and took a moment to catch his breath, enjoying the view in the early morning sunshine over Clover Park. The trees in their full greenery, the tall white steeple of the Methodist church, the shops downtown, houses nestled in a grid.

“It’s just business,” Shane said.

Ry fixed him with a pitying look.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything. Race ya.” And with that Ry took off downhill.

“You win!” Shane called and sat down to enjoy not running. He was happy to be starting a café. The idea invigorated him. He’d been wanting to try out some new recipes for scones and breads and danishes. A lot of stuff he hadn’t had time to work on with the ice-cream business booming. This would be good. Even without Rachel in his bed. He shifted uncomfortably remembering the night he had been in her bed. And that towel dropping.

He stood and raced downhill, trailing behind his brother.

Ry stopped and turned, jogging in place. “Winners never quit, bud. Good to see you remembered that.”

Shane didn’t have the breath to tell his big bro to shut it, so he merely nodded and ran, determined to catch up to Ry. He wouldn’t quit on Rachel. He couldn’t. He was in deep in too many ways.

~ ~ ~

Rachel closed Book It on Friday and headed downstairs to the back parking lot, where her sister was picking her up for the short drive to their parents’ house for their family Shabbat dinner. The ritual was the one time her family seemed in perfect harmony. She’d often wondered why. Maybe it was because her mom had converted to Judaism and made a big effort to make the night special and all that effort reminded her dad of his wife’s good intentions.

Maybe it was just the wine.

The beige minivan pulled up with its three rows of seating and multiple car seats. Sarah’s husband, Mark, drove. Rachel squeezed into the backseat between baby Jacob and three-year-old Olivia. Leah, age five, and David, age seven, were in the row behind them.

“Shabbat shalom, everybody,” Rachel said.

“Shabbat shalom,” they chorused back.

“How’s the ankle?” Mark asked.

“Doing okay,” Rachel said. “I do these exercises the doctor gave me every day, and the swelling is finally gone. Still need the Ace bandage and hiking boots, but I’m getting there.”

“Good.” Then Mark barked out suddenly, “I’m with my family. Make it quick.”

Sarah pointed to her ear, indicating he was on his Bluetooth headset.

“I do exercises every day too, Aunt Rachel,” David piped up. “Wanna see?”

“Not now, sweetie,” Sarah said. “Wait for grandma’s house.”

“I’m not happy with that,” Mark said. “Run the numbers again. Call me back when you’ve got something workable.”

“Daddy’s mad,” Leah said.

“It’s just work stuff,” Mark said. “Not you guys. You’re angels.”

“I’m the best angel,” Leah said.

“Me!” Olivia screamed.

“You’re both stupidheads,” David said. “The biggest is always the best. That’s me.”

A chorus of insults were hurled back and forth. Someone from the way back seat tossed a shoe, hitting the baby’s arm, who started to wail. Rachel cringed, caught in the middle of kiddie chaos.

“Everybody quiet!” Sarah hollered, sounding very much the general in charge of the unruly brigade. “I don’t want to hear a
peep
until we get to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”

The car went silent, even the baby seemed startled into silence.

“Bet you can’t wait to have some of your own, huh, Rach?” Mark asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, yeah,” Rachel said. “The more, the better.”

“It really is lovely to be a mom,” Sarah said. “We love you guys.”

The kids remained silent. Sarah turned around. “You can talk if you have loving things to say.”

Rachel glanced behind her. Leah shook her head and crossed her arms. Olivia copied her sister. Then somebody finally spoke.