Aimee (A Time for Love Book 3) (13 page)

“Maybe you can, but you don’t have to. Not alone, anyway. We’re not taking over, just helping,” Tish promised. “We want to help you figure out the best way to make both the date and the job hunt successful. Besides, Lucas wants you and Frank to end up together. He says he needs a friend here.”

“You guys are so great. I’m so lucky to have you,” Aimee said, swallowing tears. The support of her friends made her feel less like hiding out in her apartment or running back home to her mother.

“We’re lucky to have each other. Dana would help too, if she were here.”

“Where is she now?” Charlene asked.

“In France. She and Benjy have turned their honeymoon into a world tour of Hilbrand’s locations. She sent me a pic from Nice.” Tish tapped buttons on her phone and showed them a photo of Dana and Benjamin in front of an elegant Hilbrand’s sign. The couple was smiling, and Dana had evidently captured the image with her phone.

“Lucky girl,” Charlene said.

“Lucky guy,” Tish returned, and they all agreed.

“You’re next,” Charlene reminded her.

“If I can ever pull together this wedding.” Tish turned to Aimee. “I have an event I have to run tomorrow night, so Charlene’s coming over to help you start your job search. Then I’ll be over Wednesday night to help you plan your date.”

“Thanks,” Aimee repeated.

The conversation turned to other topics, and they continued chatting until Charlene glanced at her watch and stood up. “Sorry to break this up, but I have a load of case notes I need to review tonight.”

“And I need to call Lucas.” Tish hugged Aimee. “It’ll all work out. You’ll see,” she promised, and Aimee nodded.

But when she returned to her silent, empty apartment, she wasn’t so sure.

The dining staff worked in silence the next day. The workers who hadn’t attended Mr. McKuen’s impromptu meeting learned of the staffing cuts from their fellow employees, and even Leigh, typically very talkative, went about her duties without comment. Aimee worked the breakfast shift, and as she was preparing to leave, Mr. McKuen called her aside.

“Here’s the official notification,” he told her as he handed her a white envelope. “One of the HR reps will meet with everyone later this week.” He paused. “Aimee, you’ve been an excellent worker. I’ll be happy to provide you with a reference.”

“Thank you.”

Aimee waited until she was sitting in her car before she opened the envelope. She knew what it would say, but seeing it laid out in print somehow seemed much more final, particularly the ominous words “termination date.” Two weeks wasn’t much time, and her stomach clenched with anxiety as she drove home. She did her laundry and then decided to cook for Charlene. If her friend was coming over to help her, the least she deserved was a home-cooked meal.

She made a vegetable soup with freshly baked flat bread and sliced fruit for dessert, much healthier than the comfort food she would otherwise have chosen. Charlene sniffed appreciatively when she entered the apartment.

“Something smells delicious, but you didn’t have to cook for me.”

“It’s the least I can do. It’s soup, so we can eat any time.”

“Why not now, before we get started?”

Aimee had hoped she’d say that. The women sat at the table in Aimee’s combination living and dining room, and Charlene sighed as she tasted a spoonful of soup.

“Mmm, tastes as good as it smells. I’ve eaten at the hospital cafeteria before, and I know this isn’t one of their soup recipes!”

“No, it’s mine,” Aimee said.

“Hmm.”

Charlene didn’t say anything else, just finished her bowl of soup. After their fruit, she helped Aimee with the dishes, and they returned to the living room for a strategy session. Charlene opened the briefcase she’d brought with her and pulled out a legal pad and pen. She appeared so professional, so confident in her abilities and achievements, that Aimee was suddenly embarrassed to discuss the sad state of her own career.

“What do you like about your current job?” Charlene began.

“I like to cook, so I enjoy working with food. Sometimes I get to plan out the menus. And I like knowing that people feel better after they’ve eaten my food.”

Charlene made a note. “What do you dislike?”

“The menu’s limited. The budget’s always tight. I can’t try new recipes. The job’s just not very exciting. And the pay is abysmal.”

Charlene continued the interrogation, asking about her education, cooking experience, and preferences. When she’d covered several pages with notes, she looked up at Aimee. “One more question, but it’s an important one: what type of job do you want?”

Aimee thought for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to open my own business, something to do with food, but in this economic climate, it’s very risky. If I got married and my husband had a good job, maybe I could risk it.”

“We should probably make a plan that doesn’t include a husband, in the short term anyway,” Charlene said.

“But Frank and I…” Aimee trailed off, wishing she hadn’t spoken.

“You think you and Frank are getting serious?” Charlene raised an eyebrow. “Then maybe you need to discuss your next step with him.” She gathered her notes and stuffed them back in the briefcase. “I’ll do some research on the current job market. Do you have a copy of your résumé?”

“Somewhere. I can email it to you.”

After Charlene said good night, Aimee was left wondering why her friend had departed so abruptly. Had she said something wrong? Was it the mention of Frank? She’d ask Charlene the next time she saw her. In the meantime, she should dig out her old résumé and update it.

As she scanned through the files on her computer, she found old documents detailing the business plan for the catering service she and Tom had run. Not much help now. A collection of her own recipes she’d started, with the idea she might someday author a cookbook. Emails from Tom that she’d saved. She started to delete them and hesitated. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready yet. She would concentrate on the information she needed for Charlene and decide later if she was prepared to sweep the last remnants of Tom out of her life.

After she sent the résumé to Charlene, she grabbed a sheet of paper to jot down ideas for her date with Frank. What would be fun, allow them some time alone, and not cost too much, now that she would need to watch her finances even more closely? She couldn’t think of a single idea and finally shoved aside the paper in frustration. Fortunately, Tish had plenty of ideas when they met the next evening, and soon Aimee planned what she hoped would be the perfect date for the final step of Phase 2.

She’d called Edwina with the details of the date, and Frank had evidently gotten the message. He was waiting outside A Time for Love when she pulled into the parking lot after work Friday night. He was wearing jeans and a striped cotton shirt, and he carried a bag. As soon as he saw her, he grinned, and Aimee felt her own spirits lift.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen you!” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.”

She refused to answer any questions about where they were going and whisked Frank away. She followed the same route her mother had taken and soon parked outside the church. The building was dark except for security lights at the entrances. Aimee produced a key to a door that led directly into the basement.

“I pulled some strings and got us access,” Aimee said as they walked into the Fellowship Hall.

The room had one small table set for two. A ping pong table the youth group used was still set up near one wall, and a piano, which had been pushed to one side for the dessert competition, now stood in the center of the small stage opposite the kitchen. Rich aromas filled the space, and Aimee excused herself to check on the crockpot she’d left simmering.

“We’ll start with a game of ping pong, to work up an appetite,” she said.

Frank had clearly never played ping pong before, and Aimee won the first two matches easily. But he picked it up quickly, his natural athleticism a huge advantage. The third match was close, until he slammed a shot just inside the corner line for the game point.

“Two games to one. I win,” Aimee said. “It’s time to eat.”

“You’re just stopping because now you know I can beat you,” Frank accused.

Aimee didn’t bother to deny it. “Yep. Are you saying you don’t want to eat?”

“Not at all. Whatever you’re making smells delicious, as always.”

Aimee served the chili in two stoneware bowls and set crackers and cheese on the table. Frank ate enthusiastically and accepted another bowl when she offered. Then he helped her wash the dishes and tidy the kitchen.

“What now?” he asked after she’d spooned the remaining chili into a plastic container for later.

“Remember how you said you’d always wanted to learn to play the piano? I thought I’d give you a lesson.”

They sat together on the padded bench at the baby grand. Aimee set a sheaf of music on the stood and pointed to a key. “That’s middle C. Put your right thumb on it.”

She coached him through a series of notes until he picked out a slow version of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” They moved on to half a dozen other children’s tunes. Finally Frank lifted his hands and flexed his fingers.

“That’s enough for me. Why don’t you play something?”

“Me?”

Aimee hadn’t played in years. She thought for a moment before she launched into a Bach minuet. Frank applauded when she finished, and she stood up and bowed.

“It was my fifth grade recital piece,” she said. “I’m shocked that I still remember it.”

“Can you play anything else?”

She ran through her limited repertoire, and Frank clapped after each piece. She broke off after a few bars of a sonata she used to like. “That’s it. I can’t remember the rest of it. This concludes the musical portion of the evening.”

“Thanks for the lesson. With a few months’ practice I might be able to work my way up to an entire song.”

“Anybody can play, with enough practice. Maybe not like a professional, but enough to plunk out a few tunes. Here, have a seat.” She pointed back to the table. “I made dessert.”

She brought out a small tray of cheesecake brownies, and Frank chose the largest one.

“I have something to tell you,” she began. He stopped eating and waited. “I may be losing my job.” She explained the change in the hospital’s dining services. “I’ve applied for a job with the contractor that’s taking over, but so far I haven’t heard from them.”

He took her hand. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult for you.”

“It’s stressful,” she admitted. When he didn’t say anything, she forced herself to continue, “And I thought maybe we should talk about it, if we’re going to continue.”

“Continue what?”

“Keep going. To Phase 3.” Aimee looked down at their hands. She pulled hers away, and Frank resumed eating his brownie.

“Okay.”

Frank looked blank, so Aimee explained, “If I’m going to be making any major changes due to whatever job I get, it might impact—I didn’t know if you—I just thought we should talk about it,” she finished.

“You mean you might take a job elsewhere? That’s fine with me. I’m not tied to this area.”

“What’s your plan? You haven’t really told me. You were farming. What do you plan to do if you stay here?”

“For a job?” He shrugged. “I’ve thought about a few possibilities, and Edwin says she’ll help me. Really, I’m just waiting to see what works out. With the matches,” he added.

“You’re waiting to see if you find someone to marry before you look for a job? Isn’t that backwards?”

“Not really. There’s no point—I mean, I probably won’t stay here if I don’t make a match.”

“A match?
Any
match?”

Frank seemed to notice that Aimee was beginning to get agitated, and he reached for her hand again. She evaded him and instead took a brownie.

“No, of course not just any match,” Frank said. “Us. I’m hoping our relationship works out. In fact, I’m hoping we both plan to move on to Phase 3.”

“I have no idea what you’re planning, but I don’t see how we can start talking about marriage when you don’t have a job or apparently any intention of looking for one. What would we live on? Air?”

“Of course not.” He frowned. “I’ll find work. It’s my responsibility.”

“What kind of work?”

“Construction, maybe. Or landscaping. Or I could work in a factory if needed.”

“Have you applied to any of these jobs? Do you think they’d hire you?”

“Not yet. Edwina says—“ He stopped abruptly. “Is my lack of job a problem?”

“Of course it’s a problem! I’m losing my job, and I’m scared to death about finding another one. I’m not sure I want to plan a future with someone who places so little importance on his own career. Do you not even care what type of work you do?”

“I care, but I’m not picky. Any type of honest labor will do. Whatever I need to do to provide.”

“So you’re just going to walk into a business, apply for a job, and expect to get hired, just like that?” She snapped her fingers. “Have you ever even
had
a job before?”

“Other than working the farm? No. But I’ve done many different chores on the farm.”

“Milking cows and slopping hogs is not exactly a skillset in high demand around here.”

He sat up straighter in his chair. “What do you want me to say? If we move on to Phase 3, I’ll start looking for a job. Immediately. Is that what you want to hear?”

“And if we don’t move on to Phase 3, you’ll look for another match, maybe with someone who won’t mind supporting her new boyfriend?”

Aimee took a breath to calm herself, but it didn’t work. All her fear, all the resentment over the way her plans kept failing, churned inside her. “I want a plan. I don’t want to be the one who always has to be the grown up. I don’t want to start a business that fails because the other person doesn’t take it seriously, is too busy networking to do any actual cooking and leaves me with the dirty dishes while he cozies up with the valuable contacts he thinks he’s making!”

Her voice had risen, and she knew the words she was saying were really meant for Tom, not Frank, but she couldn’t seem to stop them.

“I don’t want to have to be the responsible one all the time, stuck in a job I don’t like, while my boyfriend is off pursuing whatever his latest venture is. I don’t want to be the only grownup in the relationship! What I want matters too!”

“Of course it does,” Frank said mildly after a moment of silence. “I hope I’ve never done anything to suggest otherwise. But you’re talking about your ex, aren’t you?”

Aimee lowered her voice. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“You still seem to have strong feelings about him.”

Yes, like the strong desire to punch him for ruining their catering business and leaving her in debt. To scream at him for all the times he’d let her down. To ask him how he could promise so much and leave so easily. But she felt even more strongly that she should never let herself be placed in that same position again, not by Frank or by anyone.