Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1) (18 page)

As his senior bowling date.

Just before we got to the edge of the gym, something happened to make my smile falter for the first time all night. Mae, the woman Posey and I had met my first afternoon in town, was in the very last row with her husband. Of course we had to stop and chat, just like we had done with everyone. It was when we were walking away that she said it. “I’m so happy to see you’ve decided to stick around, Iris.” She beamed, patting my shoulder. “Your grandmother is so pleased.”

Stick around. Is that what I was doing? Is that what I was going to do? A trickle of worry trailed through my chest. I hadn’t thought about Chicago in a long time. Sure, I had made a conscious decision to stay and help until the restaurant opened. But what about after that? I was going to be heading back at some point. I stole a glance at David’s profile. If Mae’s words had affected him, he wasn’t showing it. Was I making things more complicated by going out with David? After all, if I was going to leave soon…

Don’t think about that yet
, I ordered myself.
It’s one date. You don’t have to decide the rest of your life.

But as I followed him through the doors out of the gym, I couldn’t help but remember the look on his face when I had left last time. Was I about to do the exact same thing to him?

“Okay,” he said, his voice as light and unconcerned as it had been five minutes ago. He turned on a light, illuminating an industrial-sized kitchen. “You ready to earn your dinner?” he said as he slipped on a white chef’s coat.

“What is this?” I asked, trying to banish the intruding thought of his angry, sad face all those years ago so I could concentrate on this David, the one grinning at me across a stainless-steel counter.

“We’re making them dinner.”

“Who?”

He laughed. “The seniors. Who’d you think?”

“We’re making them dinner? All of them?”

“Well, technically, I already made it. We’re just heating things up. Come on. Grab an apron.”

David pulled several foil-wrapped pans from one of the huge fridges before he realized that I was standing still, gaping at him. “What? This food won’t prepare itself, you know. Grab the salad stuff.”

I gave myself a little shake and headed over to the fridge. So far, nothing we had done that night was anything like I had expected when he told me he would plan our date. I peered into the fridge, expecting to see a bag or two of iceberg lettuce, and instead, found a plastic bin labeled “salads.” I carried it over to the counter and looked inside, surprised by the quality of produce. I wasn’t sure this was the norm for mass-produced meals at senior centers.

“There are bowls over here,” he gestured at a cabinet with his foot, his hands busy stirring two huge vats that had been waiting on the stove. “Everything needs to be washed. And cut.”

“You know, David,” I told him, “if you’re not careful, a girl might get spoiled.”

His chuckle was gratifying as I got to work washing the veggies. After a few minutes, any complaints I might have had about the outing were muted. From my vantage point at the counter, I could watch as David worked. And I was quickly coming to find out that there was nothing sexier than David Jenkins in a kitchen. He stirred and he chopped and he mixed, all with a look of great concentration on his face. And every once in a while, he would grab a spoon and scoop up a taste of whatever he was working on. I’d had a similar reaction to him working in the kitchen back at Rose’s, but that was before I knew what the adult version of those lips, currently wrapped around a spoonful of dressing, felt like against my own.

“How’s the salad coming?” he asked.

“Almost finished.” By rights, I should have finished a long time ago, but it was hard to concentrate on what I was doing with him hustling around in his chef’s coat like that. I was feeling a little breathless, to be honest.

“Want help?” His eyes met mine, and I got the feeling that he knew exactly why I was lagging behind.

“Sure.”

Instead of coming to stand next to me at the counter, he slipped behind me, his arms coming around my sides as he reached for the knife, entrapping me in a little cage between the warmth of his solid chest and the cool metal of the table. “Let me show you how I chop an apple,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear. I didn’t bother to suppress a shudder of lust, and I could practically feel him smiling against my neck. “Knife skills are very important to a chef. We have to be good with our hands.” Those hands worked nimbly on the fruits and veggies still on my tray, slicing and dicing into precise shapes. I had an excellent view of his forearms as he worked, his muscles and tendons moving and straining under that perfect, tanned skin.

In an effort to keep from leaning forward and kissing those forearms, which was tempting but probably inappropriate, I cleared my throat. “You do this often?”

“Hmm?” he murmured, the breathy rumble of sound sending goosebumps down my arms.

“Cook for old people, I mean.”

“Every week.”

“You come to bowling every week?”

He chuckled softly. “I don’t usually bowl. I just thought you’d think it was funny. But yes, I cook for the center every week. I like it. Gives me a chance to keep my skills up a little, you know. I try to prepare things a little more complex than the sandwiches at the café.”

“I think you miss being a chef even more than you want to admit.”

His lips trailed against the skin of my neck, and I swear my heart stopped. “Maybe you’re right. That’s probably why I took that job at Rose’s.”

“What?” I turned in his arms so I could face him. “You did?”

He looked pretty pleased with himself. “Edward and Zane officially offered it, and I took it.” His eyes darkened slightly. “I figured it was time to stop hiding from something I loved so much, you know.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. His eyes were so intent on mine, his face so close. And still I could feel his arms, those strong arms that were driving me to distraction, wrapped around me.

“Here,” he practically whispered, bringing one of his hands up to my lips. It took me a second to realize that he was holding something against my mouth. I opened it without thinking. If David wanted to feed me from his very hands, there was no way I was saying no. It was one of the apples, tart and sweet and cut paper-thin. “Don’t tell your grandmother, but I had those shipped in.”

I swallowed, trying to think of something halfway intelligent to say. Something that didn’t involve the words
kiss
and
me
and
now
. “Do you even grow apples on this island?”

His eyes were on my lips. “A few. But they aren’t in season for a few more months yet.”

“Oh.” My voice was barely a whisper. I could feel the heat from his body, so close to mine, and I couldn’t seem to stop staring at the place on his neck where the crisp white linen of his chef’s coat met his slightly stubbled skin. I had absolutely no idea what we were even talking about anymore. “That’s nice.”

“Let’s go,” he said, eyes still on my lips, and an explosion of joy seemed to erupt in my chest. He wanted to get out of here as badly as I did. But then he swallowed heavily, taking a step back. “We need to get this food out.”

“Oh… Right.” Funny, the food was the last thing on my mind. I tamped down a shot of disappointment so I could help him finish up, wondering if maybe I had imagined the fire in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as affected by the moment as I thought.

But as we pulled out plates and flatware to set up the buffet, he kept brushing past me, touching me in some small, barely noticeable way. His fingers on mine as he reached for a serving spoon. Bumping my hip with his as he reached for a bowl. And no matter where I went in that kitchen, I felt his eyes on me, following me.

By the time we were finished, I was ready to jump him right there, five feet away from the seniors bowling in the gym.

“Everything look good?” he asked, surveying the counter. I looked down at the food as if for the first time. I’d been so caught up in the building tension between us that I’d barely paid attention to what he’d actually cooked. Some kind of spinach-filled phyllo dough pastries were arranged on a platter next to prosciutto-wrapped asparagus skewers. The salad was tossed in a large silver bowl, filled with apples and walnuts and some kind of balsamic vinegar dressing. In the center of the counter were two pots of white chicken chili that smelled good enough to make my mouth water.

“What, no dessert?” I asked sarcastically. The feast he’d put together was totally restaurant-worthy, far beyond what you’d expect for the Friday night social gathering at the senior center. He grinned at me, pulling a piece of tin foil from a platter of cookies.

“They’re not warm, but they should be okay.”

“Are those cherry fudge?”

“Rose’s recipe,” he confirmed.

I inched my fingers toward the tray. “Those are my favorites.”

“I know. That’s why I made them.”

I looked up at him, searching his face. “Are we eating here?”

Apparently, the disappointment in my voice was evident. David grinned. “Not a chance. I have extras of everything back at my place.” His eyes darkened. “If you don’t mind eating there, that is. We could go to a restaurant.”

“And miss out on all of this?” I gestured at the food, but I think he knew I was referring to a whole lot more than that. A growing noise near the doors distracted me from the way his eyes kept dipping to my lips. “I think the dinner guests are coming in.”

David’s eyes widened a little. “Do you mind leaving without saying goodbye to your grandparents?”

“Why? Worried the little old ladies will fuss over you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m actually just impatient to get you out of this building so I can kiss you senseless.”

Well, then.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the back door. “Hurry!” he half-shouted in mock panic. “The little old ladies are coming!”

I was giggling as we ran out into the cool night air. At least I was until he pushed me up against the concrete wall of the building and proceeded to keep his promise, kissing me until all sense left my head—and air left my lungs.

“Thank God,” he whispered against my mouth when we finally came up for air. “You were killing me in there.”

“I was killing you? You’re the one who was being all sexy, Mr. Chef.”

He grinned. “You think I’m sexy when I’m cooking?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know you are.”

“Then let’s go back to my place, and I’ll cook whatever you want.”

I grabbed the soft material of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. “We’ve done that already.”

God, his eyes were so dark as he looked down at me. The heat of that gaze sent chills rushing down my spine. There was a promise there—a message that assured me I hadn’t imagined the sparks I’d felt earlier in the kitchen.

“Then let’s try something we’ve never done before.”

“Something we’ve never done?”

He leaned his forehead against mine. “If I’m remembering my history correctly, we’ve actually made out quite a bit.”

I had a sudden memory of us fumbling around in the back of his dad’s boat as teenagers, and let out a snort of laughter. “Indeed. You were rather good at it, too.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“So it sounds like we’re well practiced with the making out with each other thing.”

“We should try something new for us.”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling shy. “Like what?”

He leaned in even closer so that his lips were right up against my ear. “I’ve never taken you to bed.”

My knees went to jelly, and I clutched his forearms, hard, to keep myself upright. Had I thought sultry-cooking-in-the-kitchen David was insanely hot? He had nothing on dirty-whispers-in-the-ear David.

“Iris?”

I looked up into his eyes, still dark, still intense. But he was smiling. For a brief moment, he looked the way he had that day in the water, waiting for me to jump in and join him. A calm filled my chest, banishing any doubt or fear I might have felt, and I grinned. “Well, I think we should rectify that immediately.” Then I pressed my lips to his, pulling him closer, holding him as tightly as I knew how.

We did go back to his place, eventually. But it was a long time before we ate dinner.

I
t was
a week before Posey cornered me at the restaurant. I had just gotten off the phone with
OnTime
, one of the biggest lifestyle magazines in Michigan, and gotten a provisional yes to my invitation for Rose’s opening night. So I was riding pretty high at the moment. In other words, my guard was down.

“There you are!” she cried triumphantly, entering the little office off the kitchen and shutting the door behind her.

“I’ve been at the restaurant all morning,” I pointed out.

“Yes, and you’ve been surrounded by other people. By our boy cousins, more importantly. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Iris. Well, the game ends here. I want details, and I want them now.”

“You’re as bad as the Libbies.” I closed my appointment book and tried to ignore the outraged grunt from my cousin.

“I am a founding member of the Libbies,” she said. “Who do you think they learned their tenacity from?”

I laughed. “The behavior of that group makes a lot more sense to me now.”

“Iris!” she cried, collapsing in a chair across from me. “You have been avoiding being alone with me all week. Ever since your date. It’s not fair. You’re in the hottest relationship this island has seen in years, and you’re not sharing the details with me!”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?”

“Hey.” She pointed a baby-blue polished fingernail in my face. “This is a small town. We take our entertainment where we can get it.” Then she did the thing guaranteed to make me cave. She pouted. “Besides, I’m your cousin. Your best friend. I thought we shared everything.”

“Fine.” I threw up my hands, laughing. “What do you want to know?”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “Is it true you’ve been knocking boots all week?”

“Posey!”

“What? Mimi said you’ve only slept in your bed twice since your date last Friday.”

I buried my face in my hands. “My own grandmother is spying on me now?”

“Spill, Iris.”

I lifted my head from my hands so I could look at her. The fascination with my relationship might be annoying, but that didn’t mean I wanted to miss her reaction. “Fine. I’ve been sleeping over at his place.”

She didn’t disappoint in the reaction department, letting out a little whoop of excitement while punching the air. “I knew it! I knew there was still a spark between you two. So tell me! How is he?”

“You are amazingly crude for a elementary school teacher.” She merely rolled her eyes and made herself comfortable in her chair.

“David is… well, he’s perfect. I mean, that probably isn’t much of a surprise, right? He’s gorgeous and nice and actually really funny when he isn’t being grumpy.”

“And the sex?”

I grinned. “Even more perfect than his looks.”

She laughed. “We should have opened a bottle of wine for this discussion.” She looked over her shoulder at the closed door. “Actually, I think an order came in this morning. Think Eddie would notice if I grabbed a bottle?”

“I think Zane would.”

She visibly shuddered a little. “He can be pretty scary when it comes to his dining room.”

“Here.” I pushed a half-empty can across the desk toward her. “You can have a sip of my Diet Coke to cool yourself down.”

“I’ll pass. So. What does this mean?”

“What?”

“You and David! What does it mean?”

“We haven’t really… I mean, we’re just having fun, Posey.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hear that nonsense. You’re head over heels. You should see the look on your face when you talk about him. And…”—she pointed at me again—“you should see the way he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?” I asked immediately.

She laughed. “I mean, you have it so bad. Are you not seeing this?”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and picking up a pencil so I had something to occupy my hands. “I don’t know, Posey. I mean, he’s great. I haven’t felt like this about a guy since…”
since him
, I thought to myself. “Well, I don’t know when. He’s amazing. But… he lives here, you know?”

“You could live here,” she said. “Nothing to stop you.”

“I don’t have a job here.”

She waved her hands dismissively. “You could find something to do.”

“I don’t want to find any old thing to do, Pose. I was good at my job.” Until the end, at least. “I want to do something that makes me feel the same way, you know? Passionate. Accomplished.”

“And you have to be a real estate developer in Chicago in order to feel that way?”

I thought about that for a moment. Did I need to be a real estate developer in Chicago? Was it the specifics of the job that appealed to me? Or was it the way it made me feel? And could I find something else that made me feel the same way? Could I find it on this little island in the middle of nowhere?

A sudden shiver ran down my spine. Was I seriously looking for ways to move here?
Here
? I had hated this island my entire life. What was I doing?

Before I could express any of this to Posey, my phone rang. One look at the screen had me grinning like an idiot. David. “Remember what I said about your face?” I heard Posey ask, laughter in her voice, but I didn’t even care. I was already bringing the phone to my ear.

“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” I could hear the smile in his voice, the sound sending little shivers across my skin and completely obliterating the worry that had seemed so important only a few seconds before. “What are you doing?”

I glanced over at Posey who was making ridiculous kissing faces across the desk. “Trying to ignore my cousin,” I told him. “It’s not easy.”

He laughed, the sound a rumble against my ear. “Tell her I said hi.”

“David says hi,” I told her. “He also said to leave me alone so he could talk dirty to me.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “But it’s not a terrible suggestion.”

Posey was laughing as she stood. “Tell him I said hi, and I wouldn’t mind hearing some of that dirty talk myself some time.” She blew me a kiss and left the office.

“You know that’s going to get back to the Libbies in approximately three minutes, right?” he asked me.

“Like they needed any encouragement,” I replied. “They have my grandmother spying on me.”

He laughed again, and I couldn’t help smiling, even knowing that it rather proved Posey’s point about my sappy David expressions. “Well, if they’re all talking about us anyway, we might as well spend more time together,” he suggested. “Give them a little more to gossip about.”

“I could deal with that.”

“Excellent. Because I have plans for us this afternoon.”

“You do?” The grin slipped a little. “Wait. Is it Friday? Are you going to make me bowl with retirees again?”

“You loved senior bowling, admit it.”

“Well, it did turn out pretty good for me,” I pointed out in my sultriest voice. David made a growling noise on the other end of the phone and I laughed.

“Alas, no bowling tonight. I made them a bunch of pizzas and left instructions for your grandmother to put them in the oven in between games. I had something else in mind.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

“Ooh,” I murmured. “I was only joking about the dirty talking thing but if you insist…”

He chuckled. “I’ll pick you up in an hour?”

I looked around the office. I’d been neglecting my duties here. “Can we make it an hour and a half?”

“Sure. See you then.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone and looked around the room, feeling even better than I had after my call with
OnTime
. The voice in the back of my head was trying to remind me about Posey’s suggestion that I stay on the island, but I decided to ignore it. If David had something planned for us tonight, I was determined to enjoy it without worrying. Besides, there was still plenty of work to be done on the restaurant before the opening night next week.

I decided to head over and check the inventory that had started to come in over the last few days. David and I had sat down with Edward and Zane on Monday to work out vendors and finalize the menu. We were going to stick with limited offerings for the first few weeks, some of Pops’s most popular dishes to keep it simple while we got on our feet. I knew that David was already making notes for changes and additions. I smiled to myself as I slipped behind the bar. He was so excited about this opportunity. It was fun to watch the way his face lit up when—

My phone rang in my pocket and my smile grew. David. “Hey,” I said, answering without glancing at the screen. “Missed me already?”

“Iris?”

Shit.

“Dad. Hi! What are you—I mean, what’s up? How are you?” Shit,
shit
. I couldn’t believe that I was this stupid. I’d been going to great lengths to avoid this conversation over the last few weeks.

“What in the hell is going on, Iris?” he bellowed, loud enough to make me wince. “You haven’t touched base in weeks. You’re avoiding my calls. Your emails ignore all of my questions. Where are you?”

“I’m still on the island—”

“Why?” he cried. Damn it. He was angry. Really angry. I swallowed, a familiar swell of fear filling my chest. I had made it my mission in life to avoid the disappointment I now heard in his voice.

“Dad, things have been—”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“What? No, Dad, don’t be ridiculous.”

“There is obviously something going on with you, young lady.” For one blissful moment, I felt a rush of love for him. He cared about me. No matter how gruff he might be, there was clearly a deep well of paternal— “Since you can’t seem to get your own life under control,” he continued, bursting the bubble of happiness before it had a chance to expand, “I’m going to have to step in and get you back on track.”

“Dad, stop.” I ran my free hand through my hair, wondering what on earth I could possibly tell him to get him to back off.

“You stop, Iris. Stop whatever this is that has you avoiding your responsibilities.”

“I don’t have any responsibilities at the moment, Dad.” My voice was sharper than I intended.

“You have a responsibility to yourself,” he countered. “To your career. You need to get over this fear, or whatever it is, and come back to Chicago. Now.”

I don’t want to go back to Chicago
.

The thought came to me so quickly, so unexpectedly, that it took my breath away. Where did that come from? Of course I wanted to go back to Chicago. Just not… immediately.

“Dad, I’m fine, okay?” I told him, but my voice was shaking from the surprise of my Chicago revelation, and I knew he could hear it.

“Iris, I’m not going to let you do this to yourself,” he said, his voice slightly more gentle. “I’m not going to let you throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for to end up wasting time on that God forsaken rock. I couldn’t stop your mother from throwing her life away, but I sure as hell am not going to let you do it, too.”

“I’m not,” I cried, stung by his comparison to my mom. I wasn’t like her. Not at all. “Dad, I’m working, okay?”

“Doing what? Surely, your grandmother’s books weren’t so bad that you still need to—”

“Not on the books, Dad. I’m getting Rose’s reopened.”

That stopped his tirade. My dad had always respected, even liked my grandparents’ restaurant. It was one of the few things on the island he could stand. “Food good enough to compete in the real world,” he would say, and my grandparents would bristle at the compliment.

“Rose’s?”

I released a breath. Maybe this would get him off my back. “Yes, Dad. Rose’s. Edward and his boyfriend, Zane, want to get the place running again. So I’ve been helping with the renovation.”

“What’s your target market?” I could hear the change in his voice, the transition from Kenneth Holder the angry, disappointed father to Kenneth Holder the developer.

“There’s been a considerable amount of high-end development in the area.” I realized that my voice had taken on a similar tone, and I winced, not liking the sound of it for some reason. “You may have heard that Traverse City has a booming economy. The entire northwest shoreline is developing, in fact. The tourist dollars have great potential, along with an increase in niche upmarket industries such as wineries and cheese-making. Rose’s could be a draw for those tourists.”

It was all true. In fact, it was exactly the spiel I had put together for the business plan when Edward and Zane applied for their loan. But I hated the sound of the words coming out of my mouth right now. I wasn’t doing this for tourism dollars or to break into the upmarket travel market. I was doing this for my cousins. For Mimi and Pops. For David. And maybe for myself.

My dad fired off a few questions that I answered automatically. Profit margins and marketing budgets and all the things that made up the bulk of our conversations over the last few years. By the time we exhausted the subject, I think I actually convinced him that I was making a smart business move, staying here on the island.

“What I don’t understand,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “is why you aren’t trying to monetize this.”

“Monetize it?”

“For the family, of course,” he said quickly. “Though the deal could help with your employability prospects greatly.”

“There’s not going to be a deal, Dad,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “This is a business that Edward wants to—”

“You know you can’t let things like that blind you to the business reality, Iris,” he said. “You said it yourself, that restaurant is a fantastic opportunity. If tourism in that area is really booming the way you say it is, and if it’s skewing to an upmarket faction, this could mean a great deal of money for your grandparents.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m just saying to consider it. Your responsibly to your client is to present them with all the information so they can make the best financial choice.”

“It’s not a client, Dad, it’s my—”

But he wasn’t listening. “And think about how it will look on your résumé. Branching out into new geographical locations.” He was quiet for a brief moment. “How’s that hotel doing? The big one on the hill?”

“I don’t really—”