On Lavender Lane (22 page)

“Along with the fact it’s the most logical place to add on to the original house, that was also my thought.”

“But how are you going to heat the new section with that breezeway? Isn’t that a long way to push air?”

“You’re right. The main house’s heating system isn’t capable of pushing hot air through the fifty feet of breezeway into the new addition, so my plan was to install a stand-alone gas heater and hot water system. We’ll also insulate the walls and ceiling to keep the warm air from escaping through the high ceiling.”

“It seems you’ve thought of everything.”

“It’s just a start,” he warned. “Since it’s new construction instead of a remodel, I’ll want to run it by one of the architect’s in Dad’s firm.”

“What’s that going to cost?” Maddy asked.

She’d changed from the naive young girl he’d fallen in love with. He supposed it wasn’t a surprise that she’d grown much more skeptical. “Nothing.”

“Why would he do that?”

Yep. Definitely skeptical.

“Number one, he was close friends with Dad.” He ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “Two, his wife’s a huge fan of your shows. And three, he happens to be my godfather. I was even ring bearer at his wedding.”

Sofia beamed at that idea. “And I’ll bet you were just darling.”

“I’ve no idea. I just vaguely remember being irked because when we went to the tux store, I didn’t get to wear a bear costume.”

“A bear costume?” Maddy asked. Then he watched as understanding dawned. “You thought you were going to be a ring
bear
?”

“Hey,” he said a little defensively, “I was five years old.”

“Makes sense to me.” Her smile, the first full one he’d seen, lit up her face. “Okay, as much as I hate to admit it, that really is cute. I’d also pay to see you in a bear suit.…You said his wife’s a fan?”

“Apparently, their TiVo is loaded up with your shows. Which she refuses to erase.”

“I’m flattered. Do you think she’d like an autographed cookbook?”

“I know she’d love one. As for the design, since I want to give him some ideas to run with, we should probably get a head start,” he suggested.

“As if you haven’t already,” she said beneath her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

“I was referring to layouts for your kitchen, the dining room, and such,” he said mildly. “Where you want the appliances, the storage, your students’ mise en place, that sort of thing.”

“How do you know about mise en place?”

“I told you: I’ve been getting up to speed on restaurant design. It’s French. Meaning ‘to put in place.’ ”

“That’s it. But it’s more than having a physical place for ingredients and prep; it’s also a state of mind. In order to work in a professional kitchen, you have to be able to multitask while you weigh and assign each task its proper value and priority. Along with always anticipating and preparing for every possible situation.”

“Sounds a lot like being a Navy SEAL,” he said.

When she angled her head, a slice of sun streaming through the window lit on her hair, bringing out reddish highlights. When he imagined those wild curls draped over his chest, then lower, his mouth went as dry as sawdust.

“I suppose it does,” she decided. He could tell she was surprised by the idea that they’d have anything but a rocky romantic history and shared chemistry in common.

25

One of the things Madeline had once loved about Lucas was the way they could talk about everything and anything. At first, when she was thirteen, somehow understanding that her grandmother had suffered her own horrible loss—that of a daughter—she’d tried not to dump too much of her own hurt and sorrow on the older woman.

But Lucas, who’d not only lost a sister to leukemia but also his mother to divorce, had understood what she’d been going through, and had spent many hours with her, walking on the beach, sitting on the rocks, letting her spill out her pain and her anger at the unfairness of it all.

“Life isn’t always fair,” she remembered him telling her. At fifteen to her thirteen, he’d seemed so much wiser. More experienced. “If it was, Elvis would still be alive and all those impersonators would be dead.”

She remembered it being the first time she’d laughed since being told about that plane going down.

He’d been a friend before he’d become a lover. Perhaps, she thought now, they might find their way back there again.

“Although I’m not an architect like my dad, I did build my share of Lincoln Log and LEGO buildings,” he said now. “And I’ve read a lot about architecture, because while I might not have wanted it for my own life, there’s nothing like being part of a building coming to life. And while I was
reading about the culinary business, I realized it has a lot in common with building.”

“How?”

“Both cooking and building came into being to fulfill necessary human needs.”

“Eating and shelter,” Sofia said.

“Exactly. Both involve a merging of science and art. Both, if they’re done right, depend more on taste than on any current fashion, and both serve patrons.”

“That’s very insightful.”

That line, more crease than dimple that Madeline had always loved, winked in his cheek when he smiled. “Thank you.”

“And carrying that analogy further,” she mused aloud, “construction involves building elements, which could be seen as ingredients, plus, as you pointed out on the placement of the new wing, there are dimensional rules for proportion and size—”

“Which would be your measurements,” he agreed. “And then once you have those, an architect or builder has to combine them in the most harmonious way.”

“Which would be the same as a recipe giving the best taste,” she said.

Another quick grin warmed his eyes. “Bingo. Give the lady a Kewpie doll.”

She wished he hadn’t put it that way. It reminded her of the time their last summer together when he’d taken her to the county fair, spent ten dollars winning her a stuffed dog at the shooting arcade, then kissed her dizzy on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

“I’m impressed,” she said. It was the truth. He’d really done his homework and gotten up to speed fast.

“Thanks. I try.”

“So, now that we seem to have a basic plan, why don’t you stay for dinner?” Sofia suggested. “Maddy dug some clams this morning.”

“He knows,” Madeline said. “We ran into each other on the beach.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Sofia smiled. “Well, she’s planning to make Kokkinisto, and I already have a marionberry pie, which I remember being your favorite.”

“With ice cream?”

“Vanilla bean,” she confirmed. “I made it myself. Afterward, you and Maddy can start discussing details.”

“I appreciate the invitation,” he said. Then turned toward Maddy. “And I’ve love a chance to taste those clams, since you’ve never cooked for me.”

Madeline folded her arms. “Which isn’t my fault,” she reminded him of that fateful night.

“Touché. But here’s the deal. I’ve already accepted an invitation from Charity to have dinner with her, her jarhead, and Sax and Kara.”

“By
jarhead
, you would be referring to a U.S. Marine.”

“That’s it. But, apparently, he calls me a frog boy, so I figure we’re square. She also said something about a cupcake baker.”

“From Take the Cake?”
Blonde, blue-eyed, and lean as a whip?

“That’s her. Which, thinking of it, maybe we can talk to her about financing.”

“What would a baker know about financing?”

“That’s the same thing I asked Sax when he told me she was responsible for him getting the money to fix up Bon Temps when the bank wouldn’t give him a loan. Apparently, she’s a former CPA who knows a lot of finance people.”

“Oh. That’s quite a career change.”

“Sedona’s smart as they come,” Sofia said. “And so nice. She actually grew up on a commune in Arizona.”

Where she undoubtedly picked up the concept of free love,
Madeline thought as something stirred. Something that felt too much like jealousy for comfort.

She realized that somehow Lucas had picked up on her train of thought when a too-sexy sparkle lit up his eyes. But, thankfully, he didn’t comment.

“Then I’ve got to run up to Portland tomorrow morning to handle some stuff left from Dad’s estate,” he said. “How about we meet here around three?”

“Fine.”

She shouldn’t be piqued that he’d turned down an invitation to dinner. After all, Sax was his closest friend and former teammate, and Charity, being his stepsister, was the only family he had left other than his mother, whom he didn’t appear to be all that close to. And no wonder, given the circumstances of her having left her husband and son to fend for themselves in such a sorrowful time.

Plus, despite his ridiculous earlier claim he was going to marry her, she’d already insisted their relationship was only business.

Which, suddenly, perhaps because of the sexy cupcake baker, he appeared willing to accept.

It was what she wanted. What she’d insisted on.

So why did she feel like a teenage girl stood up on prom night? For the head cheerleader?

She might not have a CPA. She might not look like a quintessential California girl with that smooth slide of blond hair and big Barbie blue eyes. But she was an intelligent woman. A talented, successful chef. A celebrity. Of sorts.

She could multitask with the best of them, was levelheaded, and, unlike so many in her profession, was not given to temper or wild swings of emotion.

So, she wondered as she stood at the kitchen window and watched him walk back to his truck, with all that she had going for her, how had she managed to make such a mess of her life?

26

“So,” Charity said as she handed Lucas an icy bottle of beer. “Kara tells me that you’re planning to stay in town a while.”

“Which she undoubtedly heard from Sax.”

She shrugged shoulders bared by a filmy top that reminded him of Monet’s water lilies. Lucas had been surprised when he’d returned home and seen the woman, who’d always worn jeans and T-shirts, dressing softer. Her style, if that’s what you could call it, had always been basic Gap, though she had told him about all those designer suits she’d worn during her engagement to a rich, weaselly lawyer.

That Chicago Junior League woman was now long gone. And although she still hadn’t embraced her fashionista mother’s style, she looked and dressed in a more feminine way. And seemed happier than he’d ever seen her.

Which, he had to figure, had a lot to do with the jarhead grilling thick, marbled rib-eye steaks and ears of corn. Not to mention the two former foster children—a little blond girl and freckled-face, red-haired teenage boy—they’d taken in and were planning to adopt. Being a nurturer at heart, Lucas knew she’d made a super mom.

“Sax is going to be Kara’s husband,” Charity said. “Which means they share stuff. So, is it true?”

“Yeah. I took another job along with the one Sofia offered.”

“So Sax said. The cannery sounds ambitious. And it’ll be great for the town. My receptionist’s an artist. I’m sure she’d love another outlet. Sax’s grandmother volunteers teaching some of the women at Haven House to knit. If they could sell some of the things they made, they’d earn much-needed income, as well. Have you come up with a plan for the restaurant yet?”

“I did some preliminary modeling sketches. But now it seems to have expanded into a cooking school.”

She laughed. “I learned while remodeling this place into a clinic that construction plans multiply like tribbles.”

The Victorian in question that served as both a clinic for her veterinary practice and living quarters had begun as a bordello for seamen who’d stopped in port, and later spent several incarnations as a B and B. In fact, Lucas and his father had stayed there for a few weeks while building the cottage.

“That tends to be true.” He glanced over at the Marine, who’d cut off a couple pieces of one of the steaks and tossed the first one to a little black dog who’d been sitting patiently waiting, and then another to Charity’s huge white Great Pyrenees, who snatched it out of the air and immediately gulped it down. Then one to Scout, who thumped her thick tail with canine happiness. Which wasn’t surprising, since rib eye was a helluva improvement over the MRE leftovers she’d grown used to eating. “I like your Marine.”

“Thanks.” Her face softened and her eyes warmed. “I like him, too.”

Which was more than obvious. Given that the two of them were as lovey-dovey as Kara and Sax, Lucas was wondering if the town had put something in the water.

“Thanks for not inviting the baker.”

“I still think you would’ve liked her. But Kara tells me
that Sax says you have other plans.” Her voice went up a little on the end, turning it into a question.

“Word gets around fast.”

“It’s a small town. And your friends care about you.”

“Well, since you brought it up, he’s right. I do.”

She eyed him over the salted rim of her margarita glass. “That was certainly quick.”

“Not so quick at all. I’d say it’s about ten years too late.”

“He also told me what happened.” She scooped some guacamole onto a chip. “Back then. And why.”

“Terrific.” He took a long pull on the bottle of beer and thought that a tequila shot might be more appropriate for this conversation. That’s what he got for spilling his guts that day on the mountain. Which was easier to do when you didn’t believe you were going to make it out alive. “Now it’s your turn to tell me I’m an idiot.”

“Well, that’s your word, but I’m not going to argue it. However, I have to qualify the description to admit that you are a sweet idiot. And well-meaning.”

“Try telling that to Maddy.”

“Have you told her yet? Your motive for letting her believe you were unfaithful to her that summer?”

“Yeah. Today.”

“And how did that go?”

He shrugged. Took another drink. “Let’s just say she didn’t give me the humanitarian of the year award.”

“It’s been a horribly rough week for her. She’s bound to have conflicting emotions.”

“Yeah. I may be an idiot, but even I could figure that out. Which is why maybe I ought not to have told her I intend to marry her.”