Chapter 1 #2
Jake glanced over at me like he was waiting to be properly introduced, but Dad dragged him into the living room where I heard my grandmother gasp in delight. “Is that little Jake Vos? My goodness, how handsome you are! What a wonderful surprise!”
I lingered behind, trying to slow my racing pulse by fixing myself up in the hallway mirror.
I pulled my hair down and brushed furiously at my stupid bangs.
But what was the point? It’s not like I was going to seduce my dad’s childhood friend at the dinner table while my grandmother watched. I wasn’t Brooke, after all.
Nor was I the only one drawn to Jake’s magnetic presence.
By the time I wandered back into the living room, the entire family had gathered around him.
Kirsten was staring up at him with wide eyes, my uncle Ted was puffing out his chest and slapping him on the back, and Brooke was practically hanging off his arm.
Even Tim and Noah had put their phones down.
“Liv, get over here.” Dad waved at me. I was still standing in the doorway like an awkward butler watching the scene unfold. Jake turned those intense eyes on me again and my entire body went molten. “You’ve already met my daughter, Liv?”
Jake blanched. “Daughter? No, come on, Ben, you’re not old enough to have a grown daughter.”
“Oh, but he is,” Gran said. “Got himself in big trouble right after high school.”
“I guess we did lose touch after you moved out of the old house,” Jake said, studying me as if I were some kind of exotic animal. Or an alien.
Then shaking his head slightly, he smiled down at Gran who barely reached his shoulder. “I’ve got something for you, Janet.”
He held out the manila envelope he’d been carrying and slid it into Gran’s hand. After adjusting the red frames of her glasses, she opened the envelope and pulled out an old photograph, curled up around the edges.
“My goodness.” Her voice cracked as she pressed the photo to her heart.
“What is it, Janet?” asked Kirsten. Gran held out the photograph—a beautiful black and white portrait of my grandparents in front of their old house by the lake.
My grandfather stood behind my grandmother with his arms wrapped around her, his chin on her head, and their dog Penny at their feet.
They were both laughing; even the dog’s tongue was lolling out the side of her mouth like she was in on the joke.
I never knew my grandfather. I was eight months old and living with my mom in Reno when he died of a heart attack. But, according to my dad, even after two decades of marriage and three children, my grandparents had acted like a couple of newlyweds until the very end.
“I was so young! No gray hair yet,” Gran said wistfully.
“When was this?” I asked.
“My sophomore year of high school, I think. You’d already left for Notre Dame, Ben,” said Jake, his warm breath tickling the back of my neck as he peered over me at the picture. My entire body broke out in goose bumps. “My camera was permanently attached to me back then.”
“Yeah, you were a damn nuisance with that thing. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d skipped two grades and was younger and scrawnier than everyone else in his class, he was always popping up when you wanted a little privacy and immortalizing the moment for the yearbook.
” Dad laughed. “Man, I’m surprised you didn’t get your ass kicked more back then. ”
“Benjamin, language!” Gran admonished. “Well, I for one am delighted that he took this one. Wherever did you find it?”
“Cleaning out my parents’ place. We finally sold it.” Jake slid his hands in his pocket.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Gran said. “When was the funeral?”
“There wasn’t one. Just a small memorial.”
Gran patted him on the arm. “Well, I’m glad you could be with us tonight. Now, come sit over here and tell me more about yourself. Is there a Mrs. Vos yet?”
“No. I travel too much.” My ears pricked up, and I strained to hear the rest of their conversation as I headed back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the side dishes I’d prepared.
Even as I tried to concentrate on the food, though, I couldn’t help glancing out into the living room every now and then.
Jake sat on the couch next to the chimney, a whiskey and soda in one elegant hand, the other arm propped casually against on the back of the sofa.
Brooke was chewing his ear off. God, she was such an incorrigible flirt.
I must have been staring because suddenly his eyes met mine and I couldn’t look away. The blood rushed to my feet as I broke my gaze from his.
Okay, focus. Food first, ogling sexy older man later.
When I looked back up, he’d disappeared, and I took the opportunity to slip my phone out of my back pocket and open the chat I’d set up with my best friend Callie, who was currently living my dream going to culinary school in Paris.
I’m in big trouble , I typed. I was sure it would be too late for her to message me back, but my phone buzzed almost immediately.
Callie: Did you burn the Gooduckant?
I wrote back quickly: Worse—my dad invited the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen to Christmas dinner. Like scorching hot!
Callie: Ooh . . . way to go, Daddy. Don’t burn yourself!
I responded: Yeah, right. Oh damn, he’s coming over .
I slid my phone into my pocket and pretended not to notice that Jake was headed my way carrying an enormous cardboard box.
I continued dressing my salmon gravlax with thin slices of red onion and fried capers as he set the box on the counter by the sink.
“Ben said I should check with the chef. I’m assuming that’s you,” he explained as my eyes darted from the box to meet his gaze. On closer inspection, his eyes weren’t dark, but rather a deep hazel green with flecks of amber.
“Oh?” My pleasure at hearing my dad calling me the chef , only slightly mitigating the guilt I felt at having been almost caught sending objectifying texts about Jake to a friend. “What can I help you with?”
“Pairing the wine to the meal.” He gestured to the box. “I stopped at the only open wine store in town. The selection was surprisingly good.”
“Oh, I don’t know anything about wine.” I bit my lip in embarrassment, his eyes traveled to my mouth, lingered there in a way that made my insides quiver.
“That’s all right. I do. Tell me what you’re serving.”
“Well, for starters I have date and asiago gougères, gravlax, and roasted shrimp with lemon aioli.” As I rambled off my menu, his eyes ran over the platters of food on the kitchen counter.
“Then I have two salads—roasted apple and fennel with hazelnuts, and orange, parsley, and walnut. Then for the main course brown butter stuffing and roast parsnips to go with the . . . um . . . fowl. Oh, and a mushroom Wellington with port wine reduction for the vegetarians.”
“You made all this?”
“Yeah, food is kind of my thing.” My blood heated under his intense scrutiny. It suddenly felt very warm in here and I longed to take off my sweater. “I can’t take credit for the roast though. That was all Dad.”
“Did he shoot it himself?” The corner of his mouth turned up.
“Mostly. He decided to try something different this year.” He must have heard the doubt in my voice because he raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s a Gooduckant.”
“A what?”
“Like a Turducken but with goose and pheasant.” His bewildered expression told me he hadn’t been around for the Turducken craze when everyone was deep frying them in barrels in their backyards. “How can I explain it? You’ve heard of a riddle wrapped in mystery inside an enigma?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Well, this is a pheasant wrapped in a duck inside a goose.”
“Huh.” He drew his hand over his scruff. “Can I see it?”
I opened the cooling oven and we both bent down to peek at it, my head bumping against his as he took in the roasted goose carcass crisscrossed by surgical string—with two additional sets of legs sticking out from the middle—and whistled. “That’s a lot of bird.”
I giggled and fell off balance, catching myself on his thigh. His very firm thigh.
Mesmerized by the sight of my hand on it, I squeezed.
With a startled gasp, I jumped up. “Sorry.”
Jake cleared his throat, politely ignoring the fact that I’d just fondled his leg, and turned back to his wine bottles, lining them up neatly on the counter.
There was something about the way he handled them with such deftness and delicacy that had my skin humming, wondering what those large hands would feel like around my hips or nudging open my thighs.
I was staring again, and when he caught me at it, my ears burned.
“Hmm, I’m not sure what would go best with the . . .” He searched for the word.
“Frankenfowl?” I suggested, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. The dimple was visible under his scruff again, and I wondered how many times I could make it appear tonight.
“Okay, this should do it.” He shuffled the bottles around like a Vegas croupier and set some aside in the fridge. “Can I help you with anything?”
Grateful for his offer, I was about to respond when Dad came strolling in, beer in hand, and clasped Jake on the shoulder. “Come on, bud, leave the cooking to your hosts. I want to hear more about your Shanghai sweethearts.”
“I don’t mind helping,” Jake protested, but Dad was already leading him out.
He shot me an apologetic glance from the doorway, and it dawned on me: Holy shit, the Christmas Curveball was for me.
* * *
An hour later, we all sat around the table marveling at the carved Gooduckant. I hid my mouth behind my napkin, so no one would see me laughing, but I caught Jake’s eye when Dad asked if he’d like to carve it and added another dimple sighting to my tally of three.
Brooke, who was vegetarian, groaned dramatically and covered her eyes. “I’ll have more salad. Not too much though. It’ll be swimsuit season before we know it.”
I rolled my eyes. She’d planted herself right next to Jake and had been pestering him with questions all through dinner. As annoying as it was, I had at least learned that he was single, and that he had a very successful business importing French and Italian wines to China.
“So what’s it like living in France? Must be fabulous,” cooed Brooke, leaning closer to Jake.
He shrugged and sounded bored when he answered. “I only spend a couple months a year there. This summer will be the first time we’ve ever been there for an extended period.”
“We?” asked Brooke. God, could she be any more obvious?
“My colleague Jin is coming this summer. It’s just the two of us, and we’ve got some contract renewals coming up. Inventory. Not very interesting.”
My uncles, who were all attorneys like my dad, perked up at that and started grilling Jake about his business.
My mind wandered like it always did when talk turned to contracts and negotiations—more proof that I wasn’t cut out for a career in law—until Dad’s voice echoed in my head. “Isn’t that right, Livvy?”
“Um, sorry, what? I wasn’t listening.” Oh God, had I been staring at Jake this whole time?
“Typical,” Noah snickered.
“I said that you’re going to Europe this summer. All by yourself,” Dad repeated, and I cringed.
For him, I’d always be the helpless little girl who’d shown up on his doorstep over a decade ago.
Not a twenty-three-year-old adult who’d been living away from home for the past five years.
He wasn’t pleased about my plan to spend the summer traveling around Europe.
But I was using the money I’d saved over the past two years working as a legal research assistant at a law firm in Ann Arbor.
So there was nothing he could do about it.
“No way.” Brooke snorted. “You hate flying. You’re going to Europe?”
“Well, I think it’s a terrific plan.” Gran beamed at me. “Who knows what kind of adventures you’ll have?”
“What do you think, Jake?” Dad turned to Jake. “A bit risky for a girl on her own, right?”
“I’m not going on my own,” I reminded him. “I’ll be with Callie and Levi for the first three weeks.”
Dad had clearly wanted Jake to agree with him. Instead, Jake studied me with an intensity that sent a flood of heat straight to my core. “I don’t know. A summer abroad was just what I needed at her age and look where it took me.”
Dad slapped his hand against the table, smiling like he’d just made the discovery of the century.
“Wait a minute, that’s a brilliant idea!
If you’ll be in France this summer, Olivia could work for you for a few weeks.
Help you with your inventory and your contracts.
She was just saying that she wanted to learn more about wine. Weren’t you, Liv?”
I thought back to our conversation earlier and I wished I’d never said anything about the port. My mouth dropped open to protest, but no words came out.
“That way, Liv, you’ll get these food ideas out your system, and you’ll have more professional experience for your resume. International experience for those firms in DC.” Dad speared a piece of meat triumphantly.
“It’s a small operation and the work isn’t that exciting,” Jake hedged, his unease written all over his face, but my dad was relentless, and I wanted to crawl under the table in embarrassment.
“Even better! Hands-on experience.” To my utter humiliation, Dad kept pushing against each of Jake’s objections. Kirsten shot me a commiserating glance. “I’d prefer her to be somewhere safe instead of jumping from hostel to hostel. What do you say?”
“How embarrassing,” mumbled Brooke with an evil grin.
Jake’s eyes met mine again and then to my everlasting astonishment said, “Sure. Why not?”