Recipe for Romance (8 page)

She forced back the aching sensation in her chest. Did he have any idea how much he’d let her down? Did he even care?

From the looks of it, he didn’t.

Without a word, Scott stepped closer and Emily felt her body warm on reflex. The musk of his aftershave caused her thoughts to revert to something primal and instinctive, stirring a part of her than had been dormant for too long. She shifted her eyes to her left, and dropped an arm as Scott reached up to take a measurement. He was absorbed in the task, his brow furrowing in concentration as he studied the small numbers. Emily dared to regard him a little more closely, noticing the fine lines around his deep set eyes, the way his strong, chiseled jaw was laced with the faintest bit of stubble, the way his biceps flexed as he pulled the measuring tape taut.

She pulled her gaze away. She was only indulging in a fantasy by standing here, only wishing for things that could never be. Somehow she had thought when she was nearing thirty she would be more reasonable when it came to matters of the heart, that she would know how to reserve her feelings for a man who could return them, not run from them.

Leave it to Scott Collins to have her feeling like a teenager all over again.

“I’ll get out of your way and let you work,” she said, unfolding herself from his proximity.

She barely made it to the kitchen island when she heard his husky voice behind her. “Wait.”

Her pulse lurched as she turned to face him. Was he going to explain? Finish the conversation they had started last night?

He stood where she had left him, arms at his sides, staring at her with an intensity that closed the gap between their bodies. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked with his. Did he regret the way things had left off last night? Or was he going to tell her he never loved her at all—that he was wrong to have ever let her believe otherwise? She didn’t think she could bear it—in fact, she knew she couldn’t—and suddenly she felt choked for air, dizzy with anticipation. She wanted to run out into the storefront, escape the magnificence of his raw, masculine energy and his heated gaze. She wanted to get on with life. Forget him. The way she should have forgotten him a long, long time ago.

“Mind passing me the flathead?”

Her eyes widened. After a pause, she clarified through a choked breath, “The flathead?”

His mouth twitched into a smirk. “The screwdriver.”

Oh. So he just needed her help. She bit back a twinge of disappointment and the weight of it rested firmly in her gut. After a pause, she studied the contents of the toolbox impassively, aware of his watchful gaze as she searched for the specific tool. Finally, she plucked it from the box and handed it to him. “Here you go,” she said in what she hoped was a breezy tone. The heat of the kitchen was beginning to feel stifling, and the penetrating gaze of Scott’s misty blue eyes left her rattled and confused.

“This isn’t the flathead,” he said, flashing a set of straight, even teeth.

Her stomach tightened. “Oh.” She paused and studied it in his hands. “It’s not?”

“Nope.” He strode by her and plunked it back in the box, swiftly retrieving another red-handled tool. “See the flat edge to the tip?” he asked, running his finger over the metal. “That’s how it earned its name.”

“Oh,” Emily managed weakly. She shifted the weight on her feet, eager to get away from him, from those hooded blue eyes with their bright green flecks around the center. From the way they gleamed at her with a certain level of mischief that could only be born from intimacy.

Scott tipped his head toward the cabinet. “Do you have a few minutes to give me a hand?”

Emily glanced desperately through the kitchen doorway and into the empty bakery. There was no excuse she could give. “Sure,” she said on a heavy sigh.

Scott pulled a chair over to the counter and stepped up, and Emily bit down on her lower lip as she gazed up at his form, mentally chastising herself for the ridiculous notions that began to spring to mind, unfiltered in their unabashed desire. She raked her eyes up the length of his legs, nearly groaning as she absorbed the curve of his hard thighs. She looked sharply away. She really needed to get out more. Or stop watching those damn soap operas!

Clenching her teeth, she handed him the screwdriver and watched him set the hinge. Something in his competent attitude elicited a swell of attraction deep within her, and she imagined what it must feel like to have a man in the home—a strong, capable, take-charge man. A man who could fix what was broken, and set things right. She was being silly and naive, she supposed, idealizing the missing piece in her life.

Her dad had died when she was only eight, but she still had the dollhouse he made for her for that last birthday he was with them, and she often admired the handiwork—the pride he took in the task. After he died, her mother had never remarried or even dated. She didn’t have time, Emily reflected, thinking back on the two jobs her mother maintained to pay the bills. It was a fearful time, Emily recalled, and although her mother hid her grief and money concerns as best she could, Emily was old enough to be aware of their situation, and perceptive enough to know that she was helpless to make it much better.

Emily handed Scott the level he asked for and smiled sadly. If her dad were still alive, he would have probably built this whole kitchen himself. But then, if her dad were still alive a lot of things would have been different.

* * *

Scott opened and closed the cabinet door and smiled proudly at Emily, who stood below and granted him a small applause. “How about that?” he bantered, unable to resist flashing a grin at the beautiful woman whose company he just couldn’t seem to get enough of, even if he was desperate to avoid her.

“Perfect,” she said, sliding the chair back into place after he stepped down. “Lucy will be pleased. I know she’s really glad you’re back in town.”

Scott loaded up the toolbox and closed it tight. Turning to face her, his eyes locked with hers and a shadow fell over her soft gray irises.
Just tell her. Tell her now. It’s just you and her. Get it over with.
He cleared his throat. “Emily, I wanted to say—”

“If it’s about last night, Scott, please...let’s forget it.” A flush had crept up her cheeks and she traced a path on the tile floor with the toe of her shoe.

“But that’s just the thing, Emily. I can’t forget it.”
Any of it.
“Did you mean it when you said you moved on after I left?”

She looked up at him. “Would it matter if I had?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I suppose it wouldn’t. If it made you happy.”

Emily snorted. “Since when do you care if I’m happy, Scott?”

“Since always,” he said firmly, searching her face. “You know how much I cared about you.”

She held his stare, her lips growing thin. “No, I don’t know that. I thought you did once, but then—”

“I’m sorry the way things ended between us, Emily. Please believe me when I say it because it’s the truth.”

“That’s not exactly the way I remember things, Scott. The way I remember it, nothing ever ended with us, you just disappeared.”

His jaw flinched. “I had my reasons,” he said.

“Enlighten me.” She tipped her head, locking her gaze on him.

He inhaled deeply, holding her stare, willing himself to let it out, to spill the truth. The horrible, awful truth. The minute hand ticked its way around the clock behind her. With a sigh of defeat he broke her gaze and shook his head. “Does it matter why? Can’t it be enough that I’m sorry?”

She sighed, her eyes silently roaming his face. “You’re really sorry? You really mean that?”

“More than you know,” he insisted.

Emily paused with a hand on the counter. Finally she softly said, “You could have contacted me at some point. You could have told me what went wrong, why you left.”

“It had nothing to do with you, Emily,” he lied. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. It was the last thing he wanted. He rubbed his forehead, his mind whirling with memories of that awful night when his parents told him the role he had played in her father’s death so many years earlier, the night he realized that his entire life up until that point was an illusion, that he wasn’t the person this town thought he was, that he could never be the man they wanted him to be. “It was this town, my parents. These...expectations!”

“I never expected anything from you, Scott,” she said, searching his eyes. “All I ever expected from you was what you promised me.”

He grimaced at her words. “I wanted to fulfill those promises, Emily. I just...” He shook his head. “I was too young to know how to handle it.”

The expression in her eyes went flat. “It wasn’t the time for us, I guess.”

“I guess not,” he managed.

Silence fell over the kitchen. In the distance, he could hear the old church bell toll the hour. He remembered how much Emily loved that sound. She used to tell him it gave her a feeling of hope, a feeling of anticipation that something wonderful was happening. He’d told her she was being romantic, caught up in fantasies about wedding days and white dresses, but inwardly he was charmed by the simple pleasures she found in life.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked now.

“Do you remember the time you told your mother we were going to be studying all day in the library for a big test and we drove to New York instead? Made it less than two hours, too.”

“You always drove too fast.” Emily laughed. “That was the worst lie I ever told and I still feel bad about it.”

Scott felt his gut stir. Determined to cling to something good, he pressed, “I remember you came with me to the top of the Empire State Building, even though you were always afraid of heights.”

“I still am.” Emily’s lips twisted into a smile. “I knew how much you wanted to go up, though. And I didn’t want to miss a moment of the day with you.”

“After that, you insisted I keep your feet on the ground.” He grinned as the details of that day came clearer. He hadn’t thought of it in a long time. “I took you to Central Park.”

“You set up that picnic for us, even though it was freezing outside. My hands were shaking so hard, I spilled my coffee all over the blanket.” She smiled.

“Hey, I thought I was being romantic!” he said, but he was laughing now, too. He would do it all differently if he took Emily back to the city again. He’d do a lot of things differently.

She tipped her head. “You were romantic,” she said lightly, but a shadow crossed over her face. “You were...very sweet.”

His chest tightened. “We had a lot of good times together, Em.”

She smiled sadly. “We did.”

Scott took a step back. He didn’t trust himself around her. Her full, pink lips were slightly parted, and an irrational and all-consuming urge to step forward and claim her mouth with his erupted in him. But as always, his desire for her was drowned with guilt.

In a perfect world he and Emily might have had something, but he had learned a long time ago that the world was cruel and she of all people probably shared the thought.

“Emily—” he started, and then stopped. Without thinking, without processing his actions, he had reached over and placed his hand on hers, as naturally as he had a thousand times before. She stiffened under his touch, her gaze widening as she glanced down to his hand, and he knew he should release it. He should let her go the way he intended to all those years ago. But he couldn’t, damn it. He couldn’t.

He wrapped his fingers around hers, watching the soft rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lashes fluttered. Her hand felt small in his, exactly as it always had, and he realized in that moment that no matter what had changed, some things still hadn’t. She was still the girl he’d always loved.

“I should probably get going,” he said, releasing her and backing away. He smiled as she lifted her gaze to his. “It’s been nice talking to you, though, Emily. Really nice.”

There was a lingering sadness in her eyes. “You too, Scott.”

He hesitated, wishing he could reach out and take her hand again, pull her close and kiss her lips and feel her body close to his.

He turned on his heel, inhaling sharply. No good would come of that. No good at all. He had caused Emily enough grief to last a lifetime; he didn’t need to think about breaking her heart again while he was at it.

Chapter Five

E
mily heard the tread of Scott’s footsteps on the stairs at about half past six. She’d been waiting for his arrival with bated breath since her shift ended at four, and now she tilted her head and strained her ear as she mentally followed his path. His stride remained even as he approached her door and passed it.

She checked her watch. It was Wednesday, which meant Julia would be indisposed at the yarn shop with the weekly open project knitting group. Emily usually looked forward to Wednesday nights—it was a chance to see her friends Holly Tate and Abby Webster from The White Barn Inn, as well as a few of the other women from town—but tonight she had more important things on her mind than finishing the merino wool cowl she wouldn’t wear until October or catching up on the latest gossip in town or over at Holly’s inn.

She popped into the bathroom and regarded herself in the mirror. Carefully, she applied an extra touch of blush to her cheeks and took a brush to her long, thick hair. Better. She inhaled deeply, checked her reflection from a few more angles, flicked off the light as she tiptoed into the kitchen, and then stopped. Why was she was sneaking around her own apartment like a cat burglar?

She shook her head at her folly. The truth was that since learning Scott was staying only one door down the hall, her heart had been permanently filled with anticipation. For what, she chastised herself, the odd chance he came knocking at three in the morning to profess his undying love?

Life just didn’t work that way. Much as she wished it did.

Still, she wasn’t ready to give up on him just yet. She knew he had been as surprised as she was when he’d taken her hand today. She’d seen that glimmer of shock—and heat—pass through his eyes. But he hadn’t snatched his hand back, hadn’t made up an excuse at all. Instead, he’d let it stay there, the weight of it on hers reminding her of the closeness they had once shared, making her long for him in places deep inside herself, places she had forgotten even existed.

She shivered now, recalling his touch. No, she couldn’t give up just yet. Something about the softness in his voice when he apologized gave her reason to hesitate. He’d sounded so sincere. Maybe there was more reason to his departure than he’d let on. If so, she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Emily picked up the fresh cherry pie that was cooling on the counter and bent down to inhale its sweet aroma. Perfect. Listening for any further sounds of life in the building, Emily carefully unlatched the door and padded quietly down to the end of the hall. Her knuckles felt tentative against the smooth grain of Scott’s door, and she chewed her lip, wondering if she should try again—more assertively this time—when the door swung open and Scott’s inquisitive gaze met her eyes.

Well, you’ve done it now, Em. Keep going, girl. You can’t exactly turn and run...

She tipped her head and curved her lips into a smile, willing her voice not to quiver. “Thought I’d thank you for helping with the cabinet today,” she said, extending hands that were holding the pie swaddled in a crisp cotton tea cloth. It had seemed like such a good idea two hours ago, and now watching Scott’s sea-blue gaze roam from her face to the oozing pie in her hands, she began to waver. “It’s cherry,” she added, even though that much was glaringly oblivious.

Scott’s lips twitched into a grin. “Should I grab a towel? Start running the shower?”

She laughed—louder than she had planned as the nerves found release. “Don’t worry. I think my pie tossing days are behind me.”

“I have to admit you have a better arm than I remembered.” He flashed a megawatt smile and pulled the door wide. “Want to come in?”

Emily feigned hesitation and then said with a forced shrug, “Um...sure. Why not?”

She stepped over the threshold and swept her eyes over the room, from the perfectly made bed to the small kitchenette to the en suite bathroom to the open suitcase, still packed and ready. He certainly hadn’t made himself at home, she observed.

Her heart sank. He really wasn’t planning on sticking around for long.

“I had been thinking of stopping by your place later, actually,” he said, watching her carefully, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Oh?”

He cast her a crooked grin. The sudden boyish quality to his expression took her back twelve years, to the time and place when he’d captured her heart. She could still feel the lurch of her pulse when he took her in his arms... If she closed her eyes she could still smell the damp heat of his skin, the musk of his hair. The way his soft lips had—

“I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, though,” he continued. A shadow crept over his rugged features.

“Couldn’t bear to face the wrath of Julia?” Emily lifted a brow as she met his gaze and they both slipped into easier smiles. “She was a little hard on you last night,” she admitted.

Scott shrugged. “She had her reasons.” His jaw set. “I had it coming anyway.”

He caught her eye and her breath hitched. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to remember the way they had left things this afternoon, the memories they shared and treasured. “Some things are best forgotten,” she said lightly, wondering if she was convincing him of this any better than herself.

She stared at the still-packed suitcase, open on the top of the dresser. Memories or no memories, she and Scott weren’t meant to be. Not then. Not now. Not ever. Why couldn’t she just accept it once and for all?

“First love isn’t easily forgotten,” Scott replied, his voice so low she barely heard him. She glanced up to him, noticing the way he stared pensively out the window. He turned to her suddenly, his smile sad, his eyes still distant and focused on something beyond this room. “I know I never forgot you, Emily.”

* * *

Scott led Emily to the drop-leaf table near the window, sliding over two chairs, then handed her a plate. It was either that or the bed, and something told him that inviting Emily to sit there was more than his self-control could handle right now. As it was, he barely trusted himself to be alone in this small room with her at all. There was too much bubbling below the surface, screaming for release. He was torn between blurting out the dark, hidden secrets or reaching across the table and pulling her into his arms. He wanted to taste her lips, explore her mouth and feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and trace the length of her neck with his kisses until she shivered under his touch.

He gritted his teeth. Obviously, none of those were options at the moment.

“You’re very talented, you know,” he said as he sank his fork into the pie. “Have you ever thought about pursuing your culinary skills?”

Emily’s brow seemed to furrow slightly at the question, but she recovered quickly. “Well, I work at Sweetie Pie,” she pointed out.

Scott nodded. “True. I guess I just meant something of your own. With your talent...well, there must be something you could do with it.”

As he met her bewildered expression, his heart tensed with regret. Damn, he couldn’t do anything right with Emily!

“Well, I didn’t have the means to go to college, and my mother needed my help here,” Emily said, and Scott felt the evidence of his shame heat his neck. “But then, you knew that.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he protested, his eyes searching the small oak table for retribution. “I honestly meant it as a compliment.”

Emily offered him a slow grin. Scott shifted uncomfortably on the stiff wooden chair to ward off his growing attraction.

“Don’t worry,” she said easily. She lifted her chin and chewed thoughtfully. “If I didn’t know better, I might think I make you nervous.”

A scoff released from his lips, but he didn’t bother to deny it. He’d done enough lying for one lifetime. “Would that be so hard to believe?”

“As a matter of fact, it would.”

“Well, you do make me a little nervous,” he admitted with a wink.

Emily guffawed, but her eyes shone with interest. “Since when?”

Scott shrugged. “Since always. You were...special.” He held her eyes from the hood of his brow. “I guess that’s why you meant so much to me.”

Her mouth thinned. “Not enough,” she said matter-of-factly, glancing down at her plate.

It was the moment he had waited for, alone with her, calm, simple. He wanted to tell her the truth and shield her from it all at once. “I know you still don’t believe me,” he said, swallowing hard. “I did love you, Emily.”

Her brow furrowed. “You sure had a weird way of showing it,” she said, but he could hear the pain scratch through her voice. He could take the confusion away in one simple sentence. Give her the reason she craved for why he’d left so suddenly. But doing so...

He couldn’t do it. He’d lost her once. If she knew, she’d be gone forever. He didn’t think he could face that. Not yet.

“Young and dumb.” He forced a casual tone, smiling tightly. He held her eyes with his, watching the light flicker through her wide black pupils. “Guess some things aren’t meant to be.”

“Guess not.”

Silence stretched in the room, and Scott forked off a piece of the crumbling crust. When he’d cleaned his plate, he cut another thick slice, noticing Emily’s watchful eye across the table. “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said with a grin.

She smiled. “Enjoy. The leftovers are yours. If there are any,” she added, and then started giggling into her napkin.

Scott chuckled and broke through the lattice crust with his fork. “I don’t know how you keep your figure working in that place,” he said, dragging his eyes over her slim shoulders and taught waist.

“If you’re trying to butter me up, you don’t have to go that far,” she said, but a flush had crept over her soft porcelain cheeks.

Scott leaned across the table. “It’s Julia I really need to worry about kissing up to now, isn’t it?”

Emily gave him a sly grin. “I think she’s had her say and now she’ll let it drop.”

Scott watched her, unconvinced. “I’m not so sure.” Emily’s sister had always been a spitfire, even when she was younger. He could still remember the time he’d had to bribe Julia to keep quiet with a bag of candy after she’d spotted him through parted curtains giving Emily a good-night kiss on the front porch. Looking back, he almost chuckled aloud. Emily’s mother wouldn’t have minded. It was his parents who had never supported the relationship.

Emily waved her hand through the air. “Oh, don’t worry about Julia. She might never admit it, but deep down I think she’s tickled pink you’re staying down the hall. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to her outside of
Passion’s Crest.
”

Scott sputtered and coughed into his hand.
“Passion’s Crest?”
he repeated.

A pink blush stained Emily’s cheeks. “It’s a soap opera. Julia’s, um, rather caught up with it.”

Scott’s lips twitched with amusement. “I see.”

“So, don’t let her scare you off,” she added hurriedly. “She can take a bit of drama.”

Scott considered the meaning behind her words. She didn’t want him to stay away, he realized. He sat back in his chair, watching her pick at the crumbs on her plate with the tip of her fork. “I’d really like to move forward, Emily,” he said. “I never felt right about the way things ended. I...I want to make things right for you while I’m here in town.” He forced a grin, wondering if his tone betrayed his inner concern. “Think you can forgive me?”

Emily’s eyes roamed his face quietly. “You seem to feel really guilty,” she pondered aloud.

“More than you know.” He swallowed the last of the pie, tasting nothing.

Interest flickered in her gaze. After a pause, she tipped her head and smiled pleasantly. “I can see that cherry pie is still your favorite,” she commented, motioning to his empty plate.

“And on that note, I think I’ll take seconds.” As he cut into the pie once more, he stopped himself, and slid her a glance. “I mean...thirds,” he said, grinning.

“Comfort food,” her voice came softly.

“When I was younger, my family and I always looked forward to a homemade pie. It seemed to always make things just a little brighter.”

His stomach burned and he attempted to numb the pain with a hearty bite. If he kept going like this, he’d lose the physique he’d achieved by spending an hour in the gym each morning. Right now, he honestly didn’t care.

“You remember how tight money was for my family after my father died.” She paused, and drew a deep breath. “My mom was working two or three jobs at times and couldn’t always make it home for dinner, but Sunday she was always at home, and we looked forward to that night all week, because that’s when she made pie.”

It was a sweet story, nearly pleasant enough to make him forget the horrible part he had played in her young life. It gave him some hope to learn that there were glimmers of happiness in her childhood after all. “She baked every Sunday?”

“Every Sunday.” She smiled at the memory. Catching his stare, she smiled and shrugged. “Guess I associate pies with a feeling of comfort and safety. Sounds silly, I know.”

Scott swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on the fullness of her mouth, the slender frame of her shoulders as she hunched over her plate. “I don’t think it’s silly at all.”

He cleared his throat. “My family could have learned a lot from yours. My dad was always at work and when we did eat together, there was no real laughter, no warmth.”

“Guess I should be happy you never brought me over for dinner, then,” Emily said, but through her smile Scott could sense the twinge of hurt and confusion.

He pressed his lips together, thinking of how cold his father had always been to Emily, how his mother would casually change the subject when Scott mentioned her. He’d asked to bring Emily to dinner once in the entire three years they dated, and his father had made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. At the time, he’d attributed it to snobbery on his parents’ part. Collins was a big name in town, an established name, and Emily was one of...
Those poor Porters.

“My family wasn’t like yours, Em. You know that. You all had something. Love, joy. You knew each other.”