Chapter 2
JAKE
S ure. Why not?
The words had left my mouth before I could stop myself.
It was almost as if someone else had said them.
All I knew was that Ben wasn’t going to let up, and his daughter—Christ, how was that even possible?
—looked like she wanted to disappear under the table.
And so I’d caved just to make it all stop.
Even now, sitting on the icy lawn furniture in Ben’s backyard listening to him drone on about the Super Bowl, I was left contemplating how I’d agreed to something so preposterous that the entire table had stared at me in slack-jawed disbelief.
And more importantly, how the hell I was going to get myself out of it.
I blamed the food.
Since I’d come back to Grand Rapids to deal with my father’s funeral and the inheritance that I wanted nothing to do with, I’d been numb—like I was somehow separate from my body, watching myself go through the motions of packing up the house, signing papers, shipping dozens of boxes that I couldn’t be bothered to go through off to my place in France.
Then, weirdly, the numbness had traveled to my taste buds.
At first it felt like a thick layer of cotton covering my palate—annoying but not panic-inducing. When I couldn’t taste my coffee this morning, however, a surge of anxiety overwhelmed me. If this continued, I’d be in a shitload of trouble; I did after all make a living from my ability to taste.
I hadn’t eaten anything all day and was fully prepared to nod politely through tonight’s dinner, pretending to enjoy the food. But when I took my first bite of that gravlax and felt a tingling brightness on my tongue, the tension I’d been holding inside me slipped away.
With each course, more of my taste returned—enough for me to admire how each plate played off the last like instruments in a perfectly orchestrated symphony.
The depth of flavor of that Wellington—earthy, umami, with a firm, almost meaty texture from walnuts, wrapped in buttery pastry—knocked my fucking socks off; even thinking about it now made my mouth water.
Maybe I’d just been so grateful that I’d decided to rescue the person responsible for the return of my prodigal taste buds from absolute embarrassment. Like I was some goddamn knight in shining armor.
I wasn’t. Far from it. The idea was laughable.
Besides being damn inconvenient, hosting Olivia for the summer posed another very serious problem: I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her since she opened the front door. And the food had nothing to do with it.
“You gotta help me out with Olivia, man.” Ben’s comment shook me from my thoughts.
“Oh, yeah? In what way?” I coughed, took a swig of beer. If he only knew what I’d been imagining doing to his daughter in the kitchen, maybe he wouldn’t have been so eager to have me watch over her this summer.
“She’s going to law school next year—University of Chicago.
She convinced me to let her take this year off to work, which I wasn’t too pleased about.
She’s got this idea that she’d like to cook professionally.
” He shook his head and popped the cap off another beer.
“I mean, the kid’s brilliant. She shouldn’t be wasting herself slaving in a kitchen for no money. ”
“Food is hard work. But if someone has the passion for it, it’s tough to convince them otherwise. I don’t know how I can help.” I didn’t like where this conversation was heading.
“Just make sure she understands how hard it is.”
“Look, I’m not making any promises that I can convince her to abandon her interest in food. I don’t know why you would want her to.” I sat back and crossed my arms, annoyed that I was even having this conversation. “She’s talented.”
Talented and beautiful. Not only was she naturally alluring with her deep blue eyes and dark brown hair, but she also had a timeless quality about her.
Like some classic film star. Even in that ridiculous reindeer sweater that hugged her curves and revealed tantalizing glimpses of creamy soft skin, she had a subtle elegance and complexity that her cousin—who’d kept rubbing her foot on my leg all through dinner—lacked.
Even so, I didn’t go for girls her age. Not even when I was her age.
How old was she anyway? I was four years younger than Ben, so twenty-two or twenty-three at most. At thirty-seven, I wasn’t exactly middle-aged. But damn, now I not only felt like I’d aged twenty years, I also felt like a complete lecher.
Ben slapped me on the back again. And then, proving he had his head too far up his ass to see the problem with his daughter staying with a single man over the summer, said, “Thanks, man. I’ll sleep easier knowing someone’s looking out for Olivia.”
A shout came from inside the house and a flash of red hair caught Ben’s attention. “There they go again. You were right not to have kids, Jake. They’re a damn pain in the ass.”
He stalked back into the house as the sounds of bodies slamming against furniture traveled outside.
I wasn’t in any hurry to go back in, despite the cold. Taking another swig of beer, I stared at the trees behind the house.
It was strange being back in Grand Rapids.
I’d always felt out of place here. The only real attachment I had to my childhood home were to memories of Ben’s family next door.
I used to be so jealous of Ben and his brothers because they had parents who touched and teased each other, whose faces lit up when the other one entered the room.
My parents hardly acknowledged each other, and when they did, it was only to see who could hurl the ugliest insults. It was a miracle I even existed, though they both preferred to pretend I didn’t.
I’d found that photo of Charlie and Janet this morning and remembered I’d kept it as proof that that kind of love really existed.
It seemed na?ve and childish to have believed that now.
Especially when a year after the photo had been taken, Charlie had died of a heart attack and Janet was devastated, and I’d realized there was also a risk in loving too well.
In the end, the only person you could really depend on was yourself.
Finding the photo made me wonder what had become of the Petersons.
My parents hadn’t kept in touch after Janet had sold the house and moved away.
I’d briefly considered trying to look them up this morning but had abandoned that idea.
I was in a shit mood. I had to get to the airport early tomorrow.
It wasn’t time for reunions. Then in some sort of weird cosmic coincidence I ran into Ben at the gas station.
And now, I was playing host to his daughter over the summer. I ran my fingers over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. What a fucking nightmare.
Behind me the screen door snapped shut and I turned around in my seat, my body tensing as I took in Olivia’s slim figure silhouetted by the porch light. She hesitated, then drew nearer, smiling nervously as she sat in the chair next to me.
“I liked the Gamay. It went well with the mushroom Wellington,” she said, her breath ghostly in the night air.
I nodded. “It’s one of my favorites. I work with a few winemakers in the region.” She was close enough now that I could smell her perfume, something floral, familiar. It made me want to bury my nose in her soft hair. “Linden blossom.”
“What?” She laughed and cocked her head at me.
“Your perfume.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s amazing. Is that a party trick?”
“I’ve been trying to place it all evening,” I admitted. Her scent had been driving me to distraction earlier in the kitchen. “I have two linden trees in my backyard in France and when they’re in bloom their fragrance envelopes the whole house.”
The scent always made me hopeful and nostalgic at the same time. Maybe because it was so ephemeral.
“Oh.” She bit her full bottom lip and stared down at her lap, her thick eyelashes throwing shadows over her flushed cheeks. The memory of her hand on my thigh made my fucking cock twitch. I shifted in my seat and finished my beer. “I noticed you didn’t touch the Gooduckant.”
“No. How was it?” She grimaced.
“A little dry. I preferred the Wellington. You’re an excellent cook.”
“Thanks,” she said, her gaze soft on mine. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
I shrugged and glanced away. “We weren’t that close.”
“Still, it can’t be easy to lose a parent.”
I made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl. I didn’t like talking about my parents or my childhood.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she said quickly.
“No, it’s okay.” An awkward silence followed, and I found myself admitting, “Actually, when I was younger I used to wish I was part of your family.”
“Really? Are you sure about that? If you were part of our family, you too would be forced to wear a silly Christmas sweater every year.” She laughed.
“Seems like a reasonable sacrifice to make to have grandparents like yours. Janet is one of the most generous people I know. And your grandfather, Charlie, was an amazing man.”
“I wish I’d known him.” There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. “You really made Gran’s day with that photo. It’s beautiful. You can almost hear their laughter.”
“They were beautiful. I’m glad I found it.”
The night went quiet again, but I felt warm despite the winter chill.
“Look, about this summer,” she said, rubbing her hands together and sliding them between her knees. “It’s a silly idea. Please just forget about it.”
She was giving me an out, but for some reason I didn’t want to take it. “You’re serious about food, right?”
“Yes, I love it. More than anything.”
The vulnerability in her voice stirred something in me, a need to protect that hopefulness inside her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt hopeful. But I did remember what it meant to have people encourage me on the path that I eventually ended up taking.
“Then it’ll be an opportunity to learn about wine,” I said. “I’ll be running around a lot, but I can introduce you to the right people.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Plus, that way you won’t have to worry about Ben calling you three times a day to check on you.”
She nodded and pulled her coat tighter around her. “He’s a little overprotective. It’s his way of making up for not being around for the first few years of my life.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. And though I was curious, I wasn’t going to pry. “He forgets that I’m an adult and have been living away from home for the past five years.”
She said it as if she were trying to convince me that she wasn’t a kid. I didn’t need much convincing, though, or at least my body didn’t. There was nothing childlike in the graceful curves of her body or the slight huskiness of her laugh.
“But are you sure? I don’t want to get in your way. It won’t be weird?” She cocked her head at me, her eyes never leaving mine. She had a quiet determination that impressed me.
“Why would it be weird?” I ignored the images now flooding my brain of what I had been thinking about doing to her earlier. “I probably won’t be around that much. You can use my place as a base if you want to travel more around the south of France.”
A large open smile spread across her face, the most genuine I’d seen in a long time. “Okay, then.”
I managed a small smile myself despite the alarm bells going off in my head.
It would be fine. Really.
After all, I was a grown man. In total control of my feelings.