A November Bride (4 page)

And one trustworthy friend was worth more than becoming one of Erik’s too-many-to-count girlfriends. Oh, she could probably count them if she tried. Name them all too. And it didn’t bother her that her name wasn’t on the list.

Not at all.

S
he’d expected to find the Hartnetts’ kitchen empty. Solitude was part of her usual routine that began at nine o’clock sharp and included donning a freshly laundered chef’s coat and savoring one cup of black coffee with one spoonful of sugar and a swirl of milk that she preheated in the microwave.

But today, the last Monday of September, her routine stalled before it even started. Why was Mrs. Hartnett sitting in the breakfast nook, the morning’s newspaper spread out in front of her, a glass of orange juice in her hand?

“Mrs. Hartnett?”

Had she misread the calendar? Was today a holiday?

“Good morning, Sadie. Didn’t mean to surprise you. I’m going in late because I wanted to talk with you.”

Sadie swallowed back the sour taste that rose in her throat. Had she made a mistake with the previous week’s meals?

“
Everything’s fine
. The kids loved what you made last week.
They even requested the Parmesan chicken again soon.” Mrs. Hartnett folded the newspaper. “Pour yourself some coffee and come sit down. I won’t keep you too long. I know you have a schedule.”

Seated across from Mrs. Hartnett, Sadie set her mug of coffee—black for the moment—in front of her, positioning her hands beneath the table, clenching and unclenching them. Older than her by ten years or more, Mrs. Hartnett wore her hair in a sophisticated page-boy cut that she’d let go gray. The muted silver color set off her blue eyes in a striking manner.

“So, would you like to talk about meals? Suggest something?”

“I’d like to talk about your job.” She held up her hand, a smile stretched across her coral-colored lips. “Don’t worry. I’m not firing you. Remember, I said nothing is wrong. But I am getting promoted, which involves a transfer to Oregon. And I’d like to know if you’d go with us—as our family’s private chef.”

Sadie choked on her first sip of coffee, and not because of the unsweetened bitterness. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

“I know it would be a huge change, asking you to move. But you do such a wonderful job cooking for our family. And I’ll be working longer hours, at least at first. Ron will be telecommuting, as well as traveling back here each month. We don’t want him worrying about meals.”

“Where in Oregon?” She had to ask something, just to have time to unravel her thoughts.
Move? Cook for one family?

“Portland.”

“When do you leave?”

“I’m expected there after the first of the year.”

“That soon?”

“They’d like to have me sooner, but I told them I didn’t want to disrupt the children’s school and holidays.”

Sadie risked taking another small sip of her coffee. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll consider it.” Mrs. Hartnett slid a brown folder across the table. “Here’s some information about Portland. And Ron did some research about salaries for private chefs, as well as cost of living.”

“Okay.”

“We could do this one of two ways: look for a house with a separate living space for you or you could find your own apartment. And of course, we would pay for your moving expenses. We’re ready to negotiate a good salary. Why don’t we plan on talking in a week or ten days?” She waited for Sadie to nod. “Oh, and I forgot to mention that I have a good friend in Portland who is connected with a cooking school there. She’s interested in talking with you about possible teaching opportunities.”

Sadie nodded again, uncertain what to say.

Mrs. Hartnett rose to her feet. “Now, it’s time for me to get to work. They’re announcing my promotion today and I don’t want to miss the champagne toast.”

Only after her employer left did Sadie remember she was still wearing her coat. She hung it in the foyer closet and slipped into her chef’s jacket. Then she went to the bathroom, switching on the light, checking her makeup and hair while she washed her hands. Mrs. Hartnett’s maid had switched out the pine-scented hand soap for something
scented with lemon. Sadie’s so-carefully lined eyes stared back at her.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t know what you should do.”

This is what Phillip had in mind when he called to see if I wanted to hang out?

Erik adjusted his pace to match his best friend’s, which was slowed down by a stroller the size of a mini-Mack truck and the multicolor, flowered diaper bag slung on his shoulder. If he’d known they’d be babysitting, he would have stayed at home, walked on his tread-desk, and brainstormed ideas for the race account.

“You sure you don’t want to push?” Phillip angled the stroller toward Erik as they walked through the neighborhood, slowing his steps even further, as if expecting him to switch places.

“No, thanks. You’re the dad. You steer that thing.”

Phillip didn’t even bother holding back his laughter. “There’s a baby in here, buddy—not a bomb.”

“I’d rather handle a load of dynamite.” Erik shoved his hands in the pockets of his Windbreaker, ducking under a tree branch covered in brilliant yellow leaves. “You push and talk. I’ll walk and talk.”

“I didn’t realize we’d be babysitting.” Phillip stopped the stroller long enough to stow the diaper bag underneath and then eased it off the sidewalk into the street. “That’s better. I hate dodging mailboxes and trash cans. And I apologize. Ashley mentioned her hair appointment after I’d called you.”

“No problem.” Erik rounded a parked SUV and came alongside Phillip. “I read somewhere that walking is considered a form of exercise too.”

“I could try a jog.”

“Isn’t the goal to keep Annalisa asleep?”

“You’ll enjoy our time together more if she does.”

“Keep walking.”

This was one of the last days of Indian summer. Soon cool weather would lay claim to the days. Silence fell between them. That was one of the things Erik appreciated about Phillip. He was a pastor, comfortable in a church pulpit, but didn’t feel the need to talk all the time—about God or anything else.

Even so, Phillip spoke first. “So, how are you doing being self-employed? Feeling settled?”

Erik stared ahead at the gradual incline of the neighborhood street. “You ask me that every time we get together. It’s only been eight months. Can’t you wait until I hit my first anniversary?”

“Is it going as well as you hoped?”

“That wasn’t even eight
seconds
.” Erik scratched his beard. “I enjoy being my own boss. I’m paying the bills—no need to wait tables or be a telemarketer. And I just got hired by the Raging Inferno Race Company—the one that does those insane obstacle races. Javelin throws. Mud crawls. Rope climbs. It’s my best gig yet.”

“Congratulations. So, no regrets, then?”

“No regrets—yet. I don’t miss my old job. And I have time to work on my Great American Novel—although it’s more like the world’s worst first draft.”

“Anytime you want me to read it . . .”

“I know, I know. You’re game. I’ll remember.”

Erik’s phone played the first notes of “It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me,” and he pulled it from his pocket. “One sec. Let me just make certain this isn’t a work call.” He scanned the text. Pocketed his phone again. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“That was Sadie.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. She usually doesn’t text during a workday. But she said she didn’t want to wait to tell me some news—and we’d talk later.”

Phillip stopped. “What’s the news—don’t keep me waiting.”

“Her employer got a promotion—and is moving to Oregon. They want Sadie to move with them as their private chef.”

“Wow, that’s an amazing opportunity.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

“Anything else?”

“She’s thinking about it.” The phrase had looked wrong on Erik’s cell, now it sounded wrong. Why was Sadie even thinking about the job offer?

Sadie had lived in Colorado all her life. She’d bought her first house two years ago and fixed it up room by room. Her friends were here.

“Erik?”

He was rubbing his hand across his jaw when Phillip’s voice pulled him back to the moment. “What?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t think Sadie will take that job.”

“You don’t think she’ll take that job—or you don’t
want
her to take that job?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer the question. Do you want Sadie to take the job?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Erik shrugged. “I don’t tell her what to do. Sadie and I are just friends.”

“So you’ve said ever since I’ve known you. But let me ask you this. Are you being honest with yourself?” Phillip’s voice remained level, but it felt as if his words carried the weight of a lawyer cross-examining a witness. “I’ve watched you date other women. You like them for a couple of months, and then you’re done. The only woman you’ve ever been loyal to is Sadie.”

“Excuse me?”

“Could it be that you’re in love with her?”

“You’re a pastor, Phillip, not a relationship guru.”

“I do couples counseling, you know.”

“Sadie and I are not a couple.” Erik kicked a rock so that it skittered across the street. “The one time I ever tried to change our relationship to something romantic, she backed away so fast I was left holding thin air.”

“Oh-ho! And when was this?”

“Go ahead, laugh. It doesn’t matter anyway—it happened so long ago she doesn’t even remember that I kissed her.”

“But you do?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Erik.” Phillip settled one hand on Erik’s shoulder. “We aren’t in high school anymore. And I’m asking you a question, man to man. Are you in love with Sadie?”

“I never thought she’d move away. I never thought I wouldn’t see her every week. Sadie’s my best friend.”

“The more important question, my friend? Is that all you want her to be?”

E
rik pressed the Stop button on the treadmill’s control panel, his steps slowing. He’d spent several hours working on the race project, as well as a few other deadlines. Then he’d set aside his laptop and worked up a decent sweat while he ran, praying the entire time. The last ten minutes, his intercessions fell into a rhythm matching the pounding of his feet on the treadmill.

Help me do this, God.

I want to do this.

I can do this. I can be the kind of man Sadie deserves.

He grabbed the bottle of water from his dresser and gulped down half of it. And now he was going to do it. But first he’d shower and pray a little more.