Lakeside Romance (4 page)

Sarah lathered her hands and rinsed. “It's a minor cut. I'll wrap a paper towel around it.”

“You're working with food. It needs to be clean and covered.” Alec folded a paper towel and pressed it against the cut. “Hold this to get the bleeding stopped. I'll be right back.”

He strode down the hall to the master bathroom. Rummaging through the medicine cabinet for the box of bandages, he kicked himself for letting his mind wander. He should've known better than to get distracted. If he lost focus, then someone got hurt.

He pulled out the last two and tossed the empty box in the trash. Leaving the bathroom, he turned off the light. As he passed his dresser, Christy smiled at him from her crystal frame.

His breath caught in his chest, and he nearly dropped to his knees. The Band-Aids fluttered from his fingers. He reached down and picked them up, then braced himself against the doorway. Sarah's humming drifted down the hall.

Why had he invited her into his kitchen?

His lonely, vacant life of going through the motions without Christy wore on him, but he'd had his chance at love once. He couldn't risk his heart a second time. The pain of losing her had gutted him. And he couldn't go through that again. He needed to keep his distance from Sarah.

Chapter Four

K
eep it simple, Sarah.

How many times had Alec repeated that phrase over the past week?

Simple. Right.

She glanced at the clock hanging over the sink. Where was he anyway? He promised to be here an hour ago. She'd tried to stall as long as she could, but the teens were getting antsy.

The group of twenty teenagers, aged thirteen to eighteen, were assembled in the Shelby Lake community center kitchen and were currently swatting each other with dish towels and singing into spatulas as if they were auditioning for
The Voice
. Daniel Obenhaus and his brother, Toby, stood off to the side, talking to each other while taking in the ruckus created by everyone else.

Sarah pulled in a deep breath and raised her hands in the air. “Hey, everyone, let's settle down and get back to work. Now it's time to practice some of what we learned this morning.”

Once she had all eyes watching her, she shot another glance at the clock, murmured a silent prayer and pulled cartons of eggs out of the industrial-sized side-by-side refrigerator. She set them in the middle of the long worktable in the middle of the room, opened a carton and reached for an egg. “This morning we talked about the importance of good nutrition. Eggs are cheap, and they offer protein and nutrients. I'm going to demonstrate how to crack one.” She hit it gently on the edge of the bowl and pried the shell apart. The whites and yolks slid into the stainless-steel bowl without taking even a sliver of shell with it. She smiled and resisted breaking out into a happy dance. At home, she'd even attempted cracking them with one hand the way Alec did and managed not to create too much of a mess.

Scanning the group surrounding three sides of the table, she picked up the whisk, and then she beat the yolk into the white. “This is called beating the egg. We're adding air into our egg mixture while getting it as smooth as possible. You can use a whisk like I am, or a fork...either one works.”

Fifteen-year-old Amber Jennings, whose dad worked at the Shelby Lake Police Department with Sarah's brother, Caleb, tossed her blond braid over her shoulder and raised her hand. “Miss Sarah, my mom just like cracks the eggs into the skillet and scrambles them with a spatula. Why do we need to like mess around with bowls and whisks and stuff? Makes more dishes to wash.”

“Amber, your mom's way is totally fine. And I hear you about having extra dishes to wash. But beating isn't just for eggs. As we progress throughout the summer, we'll create other dishes that use this technique, so if you learn how to do it in the beginning, then we can continue to build upon those skills to make more challenging dishes.” Or at least that's what Alec said when he'd reviewed the lessons with her. Hopefully her words carried more confidence than she felt.

“The only time anything gets beaten in my house is when my old man goes on a bender.” Brushing his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, seventeen-year-old Garrett laughed and elbowed the kid next to him. “Know what I'm saying?”

Despite the kid's teasing tone, truth sliced through his words. In her career of working with youth, Sarah had seen too many bruises that came with ready excuses. She'd have to keep a watchful eye on this group. These kids weren't young men and women she'd been associating with on a regular basis through the church's youth ministry. Most of them didn't attend church. But she hoped to forge those lasting relationships by the end of the summer and draw them into her youth group.

Having worked with youth in community outreach programs in her former church, Sarah had approached Pastor Nate and Melissa with her idea after Christmas—instead of inviting kids and hoping they would come to church and get involved in the youth program, she suggested the church go to them and offer life skills they could take back to their families. Melissa jumped at the idea immediately. They'd spent months securing grants, preparing the curriculum, rounding up volunteers and spreading the word.

Sarah exchanged a quick look with Mindy, her volunteer for the week, and waited a moment until she captured Garrett's gaze. She smiled, but the firmness of her voice relayed the promise in her words. “Garrett, the only beatings happening here are the ones with the food.”

His eyes dropped to the toes of his beat-up purple Converse shoes, but then his head jerked up and a smile spread across his face. He shoved a hand in the pocket of his baggy shorts and waved at her with the other. “Aw, Miss Sarah, I was just messin' with you.”

She reached for another egg and rolled it in her hand. “How about you start messing with this egg and show me some of those smooth skills I know you've got?”

Garrett swaggered to the table, amid his friend's heckling and hooting, trying to act as if he was doing her a favor, but for a second, he looked at her with softened eyes as if to thank her for the reassurance of her words.

She gave him a barely discernible nod and handed him the egg, giving his fingers a slight squeeze in the exchange. She stepped back, giving him a little space, and watched as he broke the egg with one hand and then beat it smooth with practiced strokes.

“Great job, Garrett. This isn't your first time, is it?”

“Nah, my mom...she works in the kitchen at the Lakeside Lodge. I've been cooking since I was a little kid.”

“Great. You'll be a huge help this summer.” She pointed to the stacks of stainless-steel bowls and a basket of whisks. “Okay, friends, grab your bowls and whisks. Let's practice beating your eggs.”

The sounds of eggs being cracked against bowls and the scraping of whisks against stainless steel filled the oversize kitchen. Whites splashed across the table and a couple of yolks landed on the floor.

Sarah pressed her back against the counter and tried not to glance at the clock for the third time in ten minutes. Crossing her arms over her chest to tamp down the building frustration at Alec, she gave the teens space to do as directed. “Once your eggs are beaten, I'll show you how to scramble them.”

Some of the teens were siblings like Daniel and Toby, who lived with their grandma and attended her church. Others were only children. And some like Amber, who had working parents and younger brothers and sisters at home, could benefit from the skills being learned over the summer.

And while they were here, with her, they were safe. If they learned nothing else this summer, they'd know they were loved. And worthy. They mattered. That was one aspect of the program she guaranteed.

A throat clearing behind her caused her to jump. She turned to find Alec standing in the doorway, wearing a red polo shirt with
Seaver Realty
embroidered on it. With a tight smile on his face, he shoved his hands in his tan trouser pockets.

Instead of jumping down his throat at his lateness, she smiled and schooled her tone. “Hey, glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, sorry I'm late. Something came up at work.” His gaze darted around the room, his jaw clenching. “How's it going?”

She waved a hand over the crowd. “We haven't set off any smoke alarms.”

“Yet.” A slow smile spread across his face as he pointed to the square box above the door. “Good thing, too, because these smoke alarms are tied into the city fire department.”

“Good to know. Anyway, to answer your question—we're off to a good start.” With Mindy at the table lending the teens a hand, Sarah turned her back to them and lowered her voice. “Your suggestion about beginning with breakfast was a hit.”

“Told you it would be. Teach them the basics and build up from there. Eggs are one of the simplest things to cook...for most people.”

“Hey, I didn't burn that third batch.” She struggled not to stick out her tongue.

“You're right. Those had a slightly less charred taste.”

“One of these days I'm going to knock your socks off with my cooking, Mr. Seaver.”

“I may be on Medicare by the time that happens, Ms. Sullivan.” His teasing tone melted away some of her anxiety. She was so afraid he wasn't going to show, and then she'd have been left to her own devices. That was a disaster in the making.

“You scoff at my abilities now, but you'll see... I'm a fast learner.” He didn't need to know she'd been poring over cookbooks and watching cooking shows in her spare time. Or see the amount of burned food she'd thrown away, making her bank account cry. At least she hadn't set off any more smoke alarms this past week.

She slipped an apron off the hook by the door and tossed it to him. “Now that you're here, suit up. You can help us with the next step.”

He caught the apron with his left hand, but his mouth tightened and his nostrils flared. His eyes darted around the room. A ragged breath squeezed from his chest. Color drained from his face.

She cocked her head and frowned. “You okay?”

“Hey, Miss Sarah, who's the dude? Your boyfriend?” Garrett winked and nudged his buddy.

“No, Garrett, he's my...friend who will be helping us with cooking this summer.” Sarah reached for Alec's arm and tried to pull him deeper into the kitchen, but he stood his ground. He stiffened and shook off her hand while taking a step back.

Was she jumping to conclusions with that last identifier?

She and Alec were friends, weren't they? Over the past week of cooking lessons, they'd developed a sort of rapport. His growling lessened in the kitchen, so that was good, right?

“Well, your friend's about to split.”

Sarah turned to find Alec stalking to the door. “Excuse me a minute, guys.” She left the kitchen and hurried after him. “Alec, wait up. Alec.”

Alec ignored her call, flung the door open and let it slam behind him without even turning around.

What in the world had gotten into him?

She couldn't exactly chase after him. She had a responsibility to the teens, especially with that same charred-egg smell she'd come to recognize filtering through the air. With a shrug and an eye roll, she sauntered into the kitchen as if she didn't care about Alec's actions. But her insides swirled like those beaten eggs. What had caused him to bolt? Was it something she'd said?

* * *

Alec pushed through the community center door and gulped large mouthfuls of air. He grasped the metal railing with a trembling hand and forced his shallow breathing to stabilize. A gust of wind pummeled his face, cooling the sweat on his brow and upper lip.

What was he doing? He must've been out of his mind to agree to help Sarah with this program. He couldn't work with kids. He should've just texted her and canceled for today, promising to make it up to her. But, no, Mr. Man-of-his-Word showed up and then hightailed it out of there faster than his sister being chased by a snake.

He was such an idiot.

What kind of guy let a group of teenagers get under his skin? They were a bunch of kids. Harmless, right? He'd thought the same thing about Justin, too.

But that didn't make it right to walk out on Sarah, especially since she's been putting in time every day since their agreement at his uncle's house, making a dent in the mess. She did have great organizational skills. And now he wasn't living up to his end of the bargain.

He sat on the steps and buried his face in his hands. This day couldn't end fast enough.

After the housing deal he'd been working on fell through and the irate owners and their screaming toddler caused him to show up late at the community center, he knew he wasn't in the right frame of mind to spend the next two hours in the kitchen.

Apparently Sarah had everything under control anyway. No smoke alarms had gone off, and the kitchen still appeared intact. She didn't need him. And he didn't need to spend the next hour calming down from the panic attack that threatened to squeeze the breath from his chest. Yet here he was.

Behind him, the community center door opened.

“Alec.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Sarah standing a few steps behind him, then dropped his gaze to focus on the intricate pattern stamped into the concrete steps.

He wasn't in the mood for a lecture, and he was sure she was ready to blast him about walking out on her.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He pushed out a ragged breath.

“Was it something I said? Or did?”

He hated the hesitancy in her voice...and knowing he was the cause of it.

“No, it's nothing you did. I just...” How could he explain himself to her when even he wasn't quite sure what had him running for the door? What else could he say? A bunch of teenagers turned him into a first-class wuss? Grown men shouldn't be having panic attacks.

Alec fixated on a daisy growing in the crack in the sidewalk. Despite the hard circumstances and daily foot traffic, the flower thrived in the sunshine. It reminded him of Sarah. She deserved some sort of explanation.

“Four years ago, I worked for the fire department. We volunteered in our off-hours as mentors to at-risk kids in the community.”

“That's a noble thing to do.”

“No more than what you're doing.” And he meant it. Anyone who could do her job deserved a prize.

“What happened?” She sat on the step next to him, close enough for him to smell her shampoo. The edge of her pink skirt brushed the tops of her knees.

“Shouldn't you be inside?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. Why had he begun this conversation?

“Mindy's in there. Plus, Pastor Nate walked over from the church and they're holding down the fort for a few minutes.”

Great. He hadn't seen the volunteers in the kitchen. Someone else to witness his freak-out.

“What happened with the program?” The soft, questioning tone of her voice frayed the already ragged edges of his nerves.

He shrugged. “Nothing. As far as I know, they're still doing it.”

“What changed, then?”

“A kid named Justin. His dad was an alcoholic—a mean drunk at that. Justin and I bonded over music, and I was teaching him how to play guitar. Things seemed to be going well until he came to me with a black eye. I had to report it.”