Read Recipe for Romance Online
Authors: Olivia Miles
“Forget it,” she said again, this time through a sigh of disgust that punched him straight in the gut. “Actions speak louder than words. You didn’t even say goodbye, Scott.” Her voice croaked and she looked away, blinking quickly.
He could still remember the way she looked, the last night they were together. It was one of those hot, sticky days in August. The kind of days that never seemed to end, and he never wanted them to—not when he was with Emily. They’d spent the day wandering through town, resting in the cool shade of the trees in the park, taking heat in each other’s embrace and not even caring, so eager were they for the other’s touch. Her long brown hair was damp at the forehead, pulled up in a ponytail, and he remembered the way he traced his fingers down the length of her neck, how her cheeks flushed from more than just the summer sun. He’d spent many days like this with her, but for some reason, on that day, he’d lingered at the edge of her porch, watching as she smiled to him from the top of the stairs, waiting until she was safely inside, and even then, wishing he could still cling to the sight of her for just a few more moments.
He’d clung to the image for years. The perky ponytail, the bright pink cheeks that made her gray eyes shine, and most of all, that smile. It was the smile of innocence, the smile of a girl who loved him completely, who trusted in him to never let her down. And he never wanted to.
“It was too hard to say goodbye,” he said gruffly.
“Too
hard?
” Emily’s eyes were steely and sharp, darkening to midnight as they locked his. “What was hard, Scott, was waking up one morning and discovering you were gone. And then waking up every morning after that wondering if it might be the day I heard from you again. And then realizing every night that I probably never would. That was hard.”
Scott held her steady gaze, wanting more than anything to close the distance between their bodies, between the twelve years of disappointment he had caused her and the years of pain he had brought into her life. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss the frown off her sweet mouth, to feel the curve of her waist under his hands, to make up for every tear he had ever caused her to shed.
He nodded, edging toward the door. She was right. Actions did speak louder than words. The way she saw it, he had led her on, made promises he had never intended to keep, and then never spoken to her again. She had no idea how far beyond that betrayal his actions had extended.
“Just tell me this much,” she said. “Do you ever wonder how things might have been? If you’d stayed in town?”
He looked her square in the eye, grateful for a chance to be brutally honest. “Every day,” he replied. Every damn day.
She nodded, but said nothing more.
“Have a good night, Emily,” he said with a nod, his tone more clipped than he had intended. It was the only way to keep the conversation from continuing down a path that would only lead to more heartache. He needed to let her go. For the night. Maybe for good.
“See you.”
See you.
See you, she had called that evening, throwing him a casual smile, holding up a slender hand in a careless wave before turning her back and disappearing into the shadows of that old, run-down farmhouse she lived in with her mother and sister. Those were the last words she had ever said to him. If he’d known it then, he would have pressed for more, for an “I love you,” a last kiss—something. But somehow, somewhere deep in his mind, in a nugget of hope that had no right to fight for life, he always found optimism in those two simple words:
See you.
It wasn’t a goodbye. It wasn’t the end. It was the promise of another encounter and perhaps, he’d sometimes dare to imagine, another chance.
He watched her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the gentle flare of her hips, the way her long chestnut hair brushed against her shoulders. He hesitated, going so far as to even open his mouth—
Just tell her, tell her it was an accident, tell her how you feel!—
before he pulled his eyes from her for the night, knowing the image of her would stay with him until morning.
Her father was gone; her life had taken a new path in his absence. Nothing he could say to her now could make up for that. Nothing at all.
* * *
Emily was sitting on the couch reading a well-thumbed paperback, when her sister came out of her room. From her vantage point in the living room, she could see Julia’s wide-eyed sweep of the small apartment. She tucked her head around the door frame and whispered, “Is he gone?”
Emily bit back a sigh. As if she didn’t know. “You shouldn’t have invited him inside,” she scolded.
Julia’s eyes flung open. “Are you kidding me? I told you, the two of you have unfinished business to address.” She flopped onto a chair and tucked her feet under her, settling in for a long chat. “So tell me, what did he have to say for himself?”
Julia was watching her expectantly and Emily reluctantly dog-eared the page in her novel and set it in her lap. “Nothing. He said he had to go home.”
Julia pinched her lips. “Figures.”
“You didn’t exactly help matters, Julia.”
“Me?” Julia frowned. “You might be two years older than me, but I am still your sister. You’re all I’ve got. So if I want to say something to Scott, I will.”
Emily closed her eyes, even though a part of her was touched by Julia’s loyalty. It was a trait in her sister she had always admired—the ability to speak her mind and stand by her opinions, regardless of the consequence. Growing up, Emily had been the responsible one. The one who put dinner on the table when their mother worked late; the one who made sure Julia completed her homework each night. Julia was the tough one, though. The one who fought for what she believed in, who didn’t take life passively. And Emily...well, Emily supposed she was always just grateful when something eventually worked out.
“I still can’t believe you slammed that pie in his face,” Julia said. “It’s a start, at least.”
Emily glanced toward the front door, thinking of Scott alone in that small room, and her heartstrings began to pull. She banished the thought, thinking instead of the man high-fiving Jack and Cole at the bakery, the man who was celebrated just for strutting back into town. The man who didn’t have to take responsibility for the pain he left in his wake.
A giggle began to erupt in her as she replayed the memory of the afternoon. The astonishment in his eyes when she actually hit her target with that pie.
“What’s so funny?” Julia asked, but a smile was already playing at her lips.
They laughed together, reliving the hilarious memory. Oh, the look on his face! She didn’t know what had come over her to do such a thing, but oh, it had been worth it. Really, truly worth it.
“You’re going to be laughing about this for a while,” Julia said, shaking her head with a mischievous smile. She picked up her knitting needles and resumed where she had left off earlier. “Well, half the town will be talking about it by noon tomorrow.”
“Julia...”
Julia flashed her a glance, her expression the picture of mock innocence. “What?”
Emily dipped her chin. “Don’t go spreading gossip.”
“Me? I’m insulted you would even suggest such a thing. I mean, I can’t exactly help it if I have a knitting circle tomorrow morning, or if the expected topic of conversation will be the return of Scott Collins...”
Emily picked up her book and stood, stretching until her back arched. With a tired sigh, she regarded her sister and shook her head. “You missed your calling, my dear. You should have taken to the stage. You’re all about drama. Especially when it’s not your own.”
She walked over to her sister, planted a kiss on her the top of her auburn hair and then padded off down the hall to her bedroom, unable to stop thinking of the fact that Scott Collins—the one man other than her father she had loved with all her heart her entire life—was somewhere on this floor, only a matter of twenty feet away from where she now sat, on the edge of her bed, staring out the window onto the quiet streets of Maple Woods.
She wondered if he was awake, or if the strange events of the night had exhausted him. She wondered if he was still thinking of her, of their conversation. She wondered if in the past twelve years he had been gone, he had ever really thought of her at all. Or if that was just another one of his lies.
Chapter Four
I
t had rained overnight, a soft and pleasant tapping of drops against the windows accompanied by random bursts of lightning that lit the dark sky. The spring storm started at about midnight and went on until just past three, and Scott knew this because he was awake the entire time. Thinking about Emily.
He couldn’t resist the relief he felt to know that Mrs. Porter had moved out of town, and that he wouldn’t have to face her, too. She’d always been a kind woman, pleasant despite her circumstances, with a dullness in her soft gray eyes—the light having been replaced by sadness. For all the time that he and Emily had dated, her mother had always been off at one odd job or another, coming home harried and tired, but always with a smile on her face at the sight of her daughters. Mrs. Porter had always been kind to him, even as a child. He remembered the time when he was riding his bike down Willow Road and hit a rock, she had run outside to help him, inviting him to come sit on her front porch while she cleaned and bandaged his scraped knees, offering him a glass of cool, sweet lemonade with a reassuring smile. “I don’t have any sons,” he remembered her saying with a wistful grin, “but I imagine you get into your share of trouble around here.”
More trouble than she knew.
The memory of that hot summer afternoon made him feel queasy and restless, and he fitfully tossed and turned as the small room above the diner—just a mere twenty feet from Emily and Julia’s apartment—illuminated with lightning, until the storm passed over and he finally fell into a disoriented sleep filled with nightmares, waking drenched in sweat only a few hours later.
The morning glow filtering through his window came as a welcome relief and by seven he was dressed and eager to escape the confines of his small room. He drove past the job site, surveying the damage to the historic town library. It was an accident, he knew: a stupid, careless incident that had resulted in serious structural damage of an entire wing of the building. He didn’t blame Bobby. He hadn’t done it on purpose. But could the same be said for Emily? Would she blame him?
Scott narrowed his eyes as he inspected the wreckage. Some accidents were pardonable. Others were permanent. They could never be put right.
He picked up a chunk of cement and tossed it back to the ground with a sigh. The crew couldn’t start until they had plans in place, and with his father’s condition Scott knew it was up to him to lead the project or find a suitable replacement. He should go into the office and get started on this immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.
He shuddered when he thought back on those summers of his youth spent tagging along as his dad went about his work. He supposed it was ironic that he still pursued a career in the construction business, but maybe starting his own Pacific Northwest-based company was his way of taking back control of the events that had gone so awry in his past. Or maybe there were just some things in life you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried. The day Emily’s father died was a fog—a disjointed stream of memories. But the one thing he could never forget were the shouts. The panicked, horrifying shouts. He’d just had no idea at the time that he was the one who had set it all into motion.
Scott straightened his back and marched to the car. His father had no problems covering up the truth, denying it. Well, not him. So many times over the years Scott had thought of picking up the phone and telling Emily the truth, but then he wondered if he would only hurt her more by setting himself free.
Scott drove into town and killed the engine at a spot in front of the diner. He needed a clear head before heading over to the office, and a Reuben sandwich with hot coffee would do just the trick.
“Scott!” The sound of his sister’s voice across the room as he walked through the door pulled him out of his dark mood and Scott grinned back at her, moving eagerly through the crowded tables to grab the last stool at the counter. It seemed the room went quiet as he wove his path, but he refused to give in to it.
“What can I get for you?” Lucy asked with a smile. There was something in the crinkle of her eyes, an apology perhaps, an understanding. He closed his eyes briefly, showing his gratitude.
“A Reuben with extra fries,” he said with a grin.
Lucy scribbled out a ticket and clipped it in line with the others. “Scott, this is Holly Tate. She runs The White Barn Inn down at the edge of town. Holly, this is the kid brother I’ve told you so much about.”
“So you’re the one who stuck a snake under Lucy’s pillow?” Holly’s lips curled into a sly grin, and Scott chuckled.
“The one and only.” He extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Holly. I hope you won’t judge me too harshly based on my mischievous past. I was only four when I captured that snake out at Willow Pond.”
“Are you kidding? I love that story.” Holly’s laughter was soft and pleasant, and the warmth in her eyes helped his shoulders to relax. “I’m an only child myself. I would have killed for an annoying little brother.”
“Hey, I’m the only one who’s allowed to call my brother annoying,” Lucy protested. She slid him a knowing glance as she filled his mug with coffee from a glass pot. “You were pretty annoying, but you turned out just fine.”
Scott set his jaw and forced his attention back to Holly. “I don’t think I remember you growing up in Maple Woods.”
Holly shook her head. “I only spent the summers here so you might not have seen me. My grandmother lived here in the old white house I turned into the inn—”
“I know the one.” Scott smiled at a fond memory of the stately old mansion and the kind woman who lived there. Studying Holly more closely, he had a vague recollection of a cute little granddaughter a couple years younger than himself.
Holly paused, her gaze becoming wistful. “I always loved Maple Woods. Once I inherited the house and moved back, I knew could never leave it.”
Scott gave a noncommittal grunt. “It is a charming town,” he managed. From the corner of his eye he could see Lucy watching him carefully. He fought to ignore her.
“My fiancé mentioned you were here to oversee the rebuilding of the library,” Holly continued.
Scott nodded. The anonymous donor. According to Lucy, Max Hamilton had come into town with the intention to buy out the parcel of land housing the inn and turn it into a shopping mall. George’s family owned the land, but had been leasing it to Holly’s family for years. The opportunity to sell would allow them to pay to have the library rebuilt, but when Max fell in love with Holly and decided to stay in town and keep the inn running, Lucy was spared having to make the difficult decision of taking her friend’s home out from under her in order to right her son’s wrongs.
Scott swiveled in his seat to reach for his coffee, allowing the heat to coat his throat before he answered. “With our father unwell, Lucy asked me to take over the reins for a bit. I’m just in town to make sure all the projects on the books continue to run smoothly until a replacement can be found.”
“I heard about your father,” Holly said softly, darting her gaze to Lucy. “I’m sorry.”
Scott shrugged but his stomach tightened. “Ah, well...” He lowered his eyes to his mug to avoid looking in Lucy’s direction.
“So you’re not going to oversee the library project, then?” Holly pressed. Her brow knit together. “I thought Max said you were.”
Scott cursed to himself for being so careless with his words. He sensed her concern and he understood it—her fiancé was financing the project in exchange for George’s land; they wanted to make sure the project would be built to their satisfaction. He knew he should just tell her the truth—that he would find a replacement, a project manager for the job, and that it wouldn’t be him overseeing a minute of that project or any project having to do with his father’s company—but for some reason, he couldn’t. Not in front of Lucy. He couldn’t let her down just yet. “I still have to get over to the office and sort through some things. We want to make sure the most qualified person oversees that job.”
He scrolled through some work emails on his phone while Lucy began chatting with Holly about her various guests at the inn, and when his food arrived, he was grateful to have something positive to focus on. Within a few minutes, Holly left and Scott felt the heat of Lucy’s gaze on him. There was a change in her expression, one he was familiar with; she had something on her mind. He took another bite of his sandwich, trying to avoid her stare.
Please don’t talk about Dad. Not now.
He knew he should offer her comfort, lessen the burden of the pain for her, share in the fear, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He’d been doing his damned best not to think about his parents since last night. He’d gone there for Lucy but he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry for the things I said last night,” Lucy said.
Scott relaxed. “I know what you were trying to do. I’m just sorry you were disappointed with the outcome.”
Lucy nodded, her lips thin. It was clear she had a lot more to say on the matter, but was refraining. “I could use a favor from you, if you don’t mind picking up a hammer.”
Well, this was a pleasant surprise. “You name it!” Scott said, smiling.
“The last of the cabinet doors for Sweetie Pie just arrived this morning. George is too busy to get to it this week, so I hoped you might be up for the job.”
Scott stifled a frown. The prospect of yet another painful encounter with Emily didn’t appeal to him. “Today?” he asked, his tone conveying his sudden shift in enthusiasm.
Lucy shrugged. “Or tomorrow.” Her voice was pleasant and light but it was clear she wasn’t going to let it drop.
“Isn’t there someone else you could ask?” He asked before he could stop himself. Lucy’s face had already folded in confusion and before she could say anything he blurted, “Don’t worry. Of course I’ll do it. In fact, I’ll do it today, as soon as I’m done here.”
Lucy regarded him, unconvinced. “If you’re sure...”
Scott forced a grin. “You can always count on me, Lucy, and you know that. Now, where’s the toolbox?”
He tried to tell himself it was a simple favor, and the least he could do for her after his outburst last night. After all, she didn’t realize what she was asking of him. She didn’t know what had happened to make him leave town and stay away—why he and their parents had severed all communication when he left. She wouldn’t understand why Emily Porter was the last person in Maple Woods he had any desire to spend time with, much as he wished the circumstances were different.
* * *
Emily saw Scott coming across the street and felt the air lock in her chest. She quickly ran into the kitchen and fumbled in her handbag for a tube of lipstick, using the side of the toaster for a makeshift mirror. Frivolous nonsense! But she couldn’t help herself—the image of that sheepish grin and apologetic shadow in his deep blue eyes made her hands shake, and she hastily swiped at her mouth to repair the damage. If only he wasn’t so damn cute!
The chime of the bells above the door kick-started her pulse, despite her effort to remain calm. With one last deep breath, she squared her shoulders and sailed into the storefront before her nerves paralyzed her completely. If the way they’d left things last night was any indicator, today’s forecast had awkward written all over it.
Scott stood behind the glass display case, idly perusing the pies. Smiling for courage, Emily said with forced cheer, “Back for more already?”
Maybe he’s here to apologize,
she thought. To finish the conversation they’d started last night. Something told her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say to her, though, and if he was going to let her down gently for something that had happened half a lifetime ago, then she’d rather be spared the further humiliation.
“My mouth says yes, but my stomach says no.” He rubbed his rock-hard abdomen.
Even through his lightweight polo, Emily could make out the chiseled contours of his corded muscles. Heat pooled in her belly as she traced her eyes up the hard plane of his chest to the broad shoulders that filled his shirt, causing the material to go taut in all the right places.
“Actually, I’m at your service for once. Lucy asked me to install a couple of cabinet doors.”
Well, that was interesting. Emily studied him through narrowed eyes.
She glanced around the shop to make sure no one needed her attention, but it was nearing two o’clock and there wouldn’t be another surge of traffic until after dinner. “Sure, right this way.”
Scott crossed behind the counter and she led him into the kitchen, a blush heating her cheeks at the awareness of his eyes on her. Her stomach tightened as she worried she might have somehow gotten some flour on the seat of her skirt when she’d leaned on the counter earlier. An uncomfortable silence hung heavy in her footsteps and she racked her brain for something to say to lighten the mood, or at least an excuse to get him to walk in front of her.
Finally, they were in the kitchen and she heard him place a toolbox down on the marble-topped island with a heavy thud before she came to a halt. Without daring to look at him, she stopped where a large flat box was propped against the wall.
“It arrived this morning. Back order,” she explained, stealing a quick glance and then immediately looking away. She motioned to the empty space above the range. “Just up there, if you don’t mind.”
She caught another glimpse of his well-muscled form as he bent down to pop the box, her heart tightening with longing, recalling the way they used to be. The way he’d hold her hand when they walked home from school, the way he’d shout out to her when she sat in the stands, watching his football games, and the way she swelled with pride that he was hers and that he cared that she was there to cheer him on.
Yes, he’d
cared.
Once. She could still feel the sweetness of his first kiss that cool fall day of her freshman year—the gentle, almost hesitant way he had grazed her lips behind the old maple tree in the park next to their school. The way over time his body had become one with hers. She knew every contour, every slope—he was a constant in her life she had come to rely on, when she hadn’t dared to take anything as a given since her father died. And then...poof! Gone.