Smitten (17 page)

“I’m back!” she called to her mom, and her dad startled in his chair.

“I heard you the first time,” he grunted.

“I was talking to Mom.”

“Oh, hi, honey!” Mom came from the kitchen and wiped her hand on her apron, her other hand operating her crutch.

“Mom, sit down! Didn’t the physical therapist tell you not to overdo it?”

“Nonsense. How did it go? Did Devlin give you the money for the spa? What did he think of Smitten? Did he like the place you picked out? How long will you have to wait to get started?”

“There was a complication or two.” Julia helped her mother to the sofa. “Please sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

“Oh? Complications?” Her mom sat gingerly. Julia raised her mother’s leg onto the sofa and fluffed the pillows.

“Well, one complication, really. Zak Grant.”

“Oh, Zak. How is he? It’s been so long since we’ve seen him, hasn’t it, Hal? He never comes around since Greg deployed, and we miss him terribly. Did you tell him we missed him, Julia?”

“I didn’t really get the opportunity.”

“Did you know he sent me roses in the hospital? Such a thoughtful young man, and he should know Greg doesn’t need to be here for him to come to dinner. He always loved my cooking.”

Her dad groaned. “He probably thought how ridiculous the idea of a spa was in a man’s town and told your boss that, right? You should know, I agree with Zak. The last thing this town needs is another girly shop. There’s enough ways to spend our money as it is.”

“It’s not only a man’s town, Dad. The mill is closed.

Remember? Tourism, the ski lodge, and the lake are our future now. A romantic destination spot,” she said for the eight hundredth time or so.

“Future,” her father spat. “I worked in that mill for forty years—you don’t have to tell me about the future. We built this town! Men built this town!”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Why can’t you just get married like the rest of the girls in your class?”

“Not all the girls are married. None of my friends are married.”

“True. All the ones you hang out with are spinsters. That should tell you something about how you pick your friends.”

“So you were saying,” Mom interrupted to spare them both. “You saw Zak? Is he still so handsome? I thought for certain that pretty Hastings girl would snatch him up.” Mom looked at her father. “I suppose that makes Zak a spinster too.”

“Heh-heh,” Dad said. “The Hastings girl probably got tired of waiting. Why would Zak want to marry? He lives the perfect life, knows how to cook for himself—”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t know how to clean.” Julia rolled her eyes. “Another benefit of women in your life, Dad.”

“He could ask any girl to come over and clean for him, I’ll bet.”

“Dad, do you have to be such a chauvinist?”

“What? If that pretty Hastings girl didn’t tempt him, who else is left?”

The pretty Hastings girl knew enough to get far away from Smitten. Julia turned back to her mother. “As I was saying, I ran into Zak because Devlin thought his grill might be a good spot for the spa.”

“The grill is a good spot for the grill!” Dad smacked the newspaper on top of his belly and sat up.

“Hmm. That chair does sit up. Anyway, I’m not sure what happened, but Zak and Devlin had words. Next thing I knew Devlin left for the airport in Zak’s pickup, and I was right where I started.”

“If that sissy boy left mad, it’s probably because Zak told him how things are here in Smitten. We don’t need no gussy-up place.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Dad.”

“Hal, what did you offer her the money for, if you’re going to talk to her like this?”

“Because I want her to get married and have a good life, but if she refuses, she’s my responsibility. I won’t have anyone saying I don’t take care of my family.”

“I can take care of myself, Dad. It isn’t 1850. I lived in Manhattan and supported myself. Surely I can find a way to do it here.”

“If you weren’t so independent, you’d be married by now.

Who do you think will marry you when you’re running your own business, making a mockery of the men in the town?”

“Well, Julia,” her mom interrupted again, “I don’t know what happened today, but I know Zak wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. He must have had his reasons for sending this man away.”

“The men of Smitten, Zak in particular, think there’s hope for that mill, Mom. We women are trying to do something different, and that doesn’t sit well with the guys, so they want to be certain they can shut down anything we run in the future. Who is he going to sell ribs to if we’re bringing in a higher class of clientele who prefer fresh-roasted espresso and brie-and-apple platters for appetizers?”

She neglected to tell her mother of the offer Zak had made concerning her spa. She knew it was a lie of omission, and guilt swelled in her heart.

Her father laughed. “The men who got talked into this cockamamie trip in the first place, that’s who. If they can’t say no to that, they’ll certainly put their foot down on sissy food and get themselves a steak at Zak’s.” Her father tugged at the lever on the side of his chair and fell into his familiar reclining position.

“Zak offered me half his restaurant for the spa, but with that he has the power to shut it down at any time.”

“Zak wouldn’t do that, Julia. Why are you so suspicious?

Why can’t you trust him?”

“I don’t know, Mom.”
Because he broke my heart. Because he never noticed that I’m a girl, and not just Greg’s helpless little sister
. She tapped her mom’s good leg. “Are you hungry yet? Should I start dinner?”

“Yes,” her father called across the room. “Mom’s hungry.”

Her mom smiled. “I’m getting around better. I baked a peach pie today, mostly while sitting at the kitchen table, but nonetheless we’ll eat dessert like kings tonight.”

“I’ll go start dinner.”

“Wear an apron,” her dad said. “What?” He looked at her mother. “It’s good practice for her.”

“Don’t listen to him, Julia. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

The roar of an old muffler stopped her mom’s words midstream. Mom hobbled to the front window and pushed the floral curtain aside.

“Mom, you’re supposed to stay off that foot.”

“It’s Zak,” she said as she replaced the curtain. “Speak of the devil. Oh my, he’s still a sight. I’ll never understand why you never looked after him, Julia.”

“Indeed,” Julia said. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” She started for the door.

“You stay here and apologize, young lady. If he offered you part of his building, he obviously deserves a thank-you.

He still drives that old orange pickup? I suppose it suits him.”

“I wonder what Devlin thought of that jalopy.”

“Any man who can’t appreciate a classic pickup ain’t worth his weight in salt,” Dad said.

“Julia, don’t be rude now,” Mom said. “I’m sure he’s here to see you. He hasn’t been to visit your father and me since you and Greg left. Be polite and invite him to stay for pie. I’m sure he doesn’t get much of that now that the grill is closed for the season. He’d probably appreciate a home-cooked meal.

What were you planning for tonight?”

“It’s not closed for the season, Mom. It’s closed, period.

Roasted chicken, and I’m sure he has a date or somewhere to be.”

“Pshaw!” Her mother opened the door and her arms, and

Zak caught her unsteady stance. “Zak Grant, how dare you wait so long to come by and see us? You’d think we live in Russia the way you disappeared.”

Zak helped her mother to the sofa and saw her safely to a seated position.

“Don’t hurt the boy,” Dad said. He thrust himself forward out of the chair and slapped Zak hard on the back a few times. “Good to see you, kid.”

“You too, Mr. Bourne. Mrs. Bourne, you’re as beautiful as ever and light as a feather. I’ll never understand how you do it, cooking as well as you do. You and Julia look more like sisters than mother and daughter.”

Julia rolled her eyes. Zak held out his arms. “Don’t I get a hug, Julia?”

She crossed her arms and plopped onto the couch beside her mother. “What did you say to Devlin when I was in the coffee shop and you were on the sidewalk?”

“Julia, don’t be rude,” her mother said.

“I said nothing he didn’t already know for himself.”

“Julia wanted to know if you could stay for pie,” Mom interjected. “I made one this afternoon.”

Zak grinned. “You’re in luck, Julia. I can stay for pie.”

“Here.” Her mother removed her apron from her seated position and handed it to Julia. “You don’t want to get that pretty dress dirty.”

Julia rose and grasped the proffered apron. “Let’s go.

This is the closest to Betty Crocker you’ll get me, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Oh, I will,” Zak said.

As he followed her through the swinging kitchen door, she added, “I’m making a roasted chicken too, but you’ll be gone before it’s ready.”

Zak sat down at the small maple table under the rustic copper lantern. Like most kitchens in old homes, the space was confined and claustrophobic, stuffed full of oversize appliances that early settlers never could have imagined in a house at the time.

“The kitchen looks nicer than I remember. Did your mother redo something in here? It seems bigger.”

“I took all her cookie jars down. The original subway tile shows now. It’s gorgeous, don’t you think?”

“There’s more light too. Is that a new window?”

“No, it’s the original,” she said. “I took down Mom’s curtains and made that window treatment. It allows more light inside.”

“Careful, Julia. You’re sounding remarkably Martha Stewart. I might want you to bake me something yourself.”

Julia pursed her lips.

Zak leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. “Would you like me to tie that apron for you? You know how I love a woman in an apron.”

Her stubborn glare returned. “I’ve got it, thank you.”

“The kitchen looks great. Imagine what you could do with my place and your spa. You just have that way of finding the beauty in things.”

“It’s just a woman’s touch. Something you’re not familiar with down at the grill.” Julia pulled a plate down from the knotty-pine cabinets and set it on the peach tile countertop.

Her gaze seemed wary, mistrusting. “Why would you want a spa in your restaurant?”

“You’ve been in New York too long; you’ve become suspicious in nature. I told you, I’m remodeling, and I don’t need all the space. It may as well be a spa. No doubt it will be something frilly, with all you girls have in mind.”

She opened the drawer and pulled out a fork, pointing the utensil toward him menacingly as she spoke. “I always felt stir-crazy in this kitchen, but I never understood why until I grew older. Things should match. My mother’s purple floral plates, the red-lined curtains with the peach tile . . . How did she miss it?”

He shook his head. “I never noticed it, but I do notice the improvements.”

Her eyes lingered on him in a way he felt to his toes. For a moment she softened, and he remembered how she used to look up to him like he was royalty. Until he’d grown too big for his britches in high school and treated her like a serf in the high school caste system.

“I used to wonder how my mom could spend every waking moment in this mismatched kitchen without ending up in the loony bin. It drove me insane to be in here. Now I see she just loved what she loved and she didn’t care if any of it matched. It’s funny how two people can be from the same blood and so very different.”

“Can you bake a pie like that?” Zak asked, staring at the freshly baked crust before him.

“No, I can’t bake a pie like this, now that you mention it.

Does that disappoint you?” Julia cinched the apron around her waist. “Not for a lack of my mother’s efforts, mind you. I just never took to baking. I can mix up a facial concoction to perfection just by reading a client’s skin type, but baking is such an exacting art form. Mom says I’m too sloppy to bake the love in that’s needed.”