Cooking
Up Love
Chapter
1
What
a dump.
Jemima
George added an exclamation point and hit Send on her smartphone. A sigh surged
up from her toes as she glanced around at the café she’d just inherited.
Walking through the door of Caro’s Taste was like stepping into a time machine
with a direct route to late nineteen eighty.
Grant
Dubois, her aunt’s lawyer, augmented the sensation. He could have been a cover
model on a senior citizen’s romance novel. His shoulder length salt-and-pepper
hair flowed around his face as if stirred by a slight breeze, even though they
were inside with the door firmly shut. He appeared fit, but his broad chest had
begun the inevitable shift toward a softening waistline. The retro style,
antiquated Windbreaker and shiny shirt, unbuttoned to midway down his chest,
made his overall image the tiniest bit seedy. And he’d worn that getup to the
funeral. The only things missing were gold chains and a pinkie ring.
“I’ve
invited a local contractor to join us,” Grant said. “I thought you’d appreciate
a cost estimate to update the space. It’s been a while, as I’m sure you can
tell.”
“I
don’t know about renovations. I’ll probably list it for sale. I need to get
back to New York.” She scanned her vibrating phone and read Resa’s reply to her
text.
The
café or the town?
Jem
keyed in the café and pressed send before returning her attention to the
lawyer, surprised by the undisguised animosity on his face.
Jem
blinked and the look was gone, replaced by a bland facade. An arc of guilt for
being caught texting while he was talking forced heat into her cheeks. “Sorry.
What were you saying?” She set the phone on a nearby table and shook her head
to clear the odd sensation Grant’s shifting expressions had created.
“I
urge you not to be hasty. Caroline’s income didn’t allow her to entertain
thoughts of buying a Caribbean island for retirement, but she was comfortable.
She left you quite a nice inheritance, between savings and insurance.” He waved
his hands vaguely around the tiny shop, his quicksilver expression at odds with
his words. “However, I’d completely understand if you wish to wash your hands
of it. I’d be delighted to handle the details of liquidating for you.”
“I
just can’t pick up and move to Granite Pointe. I have a job I really like.” Jem
did a slow turn, surveying the room. “Even if I found someone I trusted, it
doesn’t make sense to run it long distance.”
“Really
liking your job isn’t the same as loving it.” Grant’s eyes twinkled as he
widened his hands in a question. “Are you passionate about your work?”
Passion,
huh? Jeez, he knew how to milk his resemblance to a cover model. His words were
earnest, but his body language implied he’d like her on the next bus out of
town.
“Besides,”
Grant continued, “the café is only open mornings. Still plenty of free time to
carry on Caroline’s work with our local environmental group. Her loss will hit
them hardest.”
Jem
cocked her head to the side, feeling like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.
The sour look on Grant’s face and the insincerity of his tone told her what he
really thought of the idea of her staying, in spite of his encouraging words.
What was his deal? “What happened? When I saw her in New York two months ago,
her health was excellent. Do you know—”
Grant
held up one finger and pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket, frowning
at the display.
“Sorry,
I have to take this. Excuse me.” He turned away to answer the call.
Jem
looked around the café she now owned. She’d been a frequent visitor as a child,
and memories of the smells and sounds of the busy restaurant echoed through her
mind. As a teen, she’d worked here each summer. If serving coffee and pastries
to the locals could be called work.
Granite
Pointe was pretty as a picture as she gazed through oversized front windows.
She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it on the counter next to her purse and
cell phone. The heavy black wool had been welcome as the wind blew through the
cemetery.
Trailing
her hand along the butcher-block counter, she wandered toward the kitchen door.
Walking along the display cases occupying one wall of the narrow space, she
briefly considered the possibility of owning and operating the little shop.
Her
lips quirked into a slight smile and she shook her head, rejecting the thought.
Her life was in New York, as assistant and chef to Margo Tremont, reality
television’s latest darling in the chronicles of the rich, fabulous and
ridiculous.
It
was where she lived and played with her hopefully soon-to-be fiancé, Phil
Centers. They’d been a couple for two years, and Jem was as positive he’d
propose soon as she was eager to become his wife. They were perfect for each
other. Both of them were going places and he’d make the journey together fun.
No,
Granite Pointe, Massachusetts would remain a great place to visit, but it
wouldn’t do as a residence or place of business.
“I’m
sorry. It was extremely rude of me to interrupt our conversation.” Grant
strolled back toward her. Well, she’d been put in her place. “Unfortunately, I
have a small problem at the office. Jack Kerrigan, the contractor I mentioned
earlier, should be here soon. Do you mind waiting alone?”
“Sure,
no worries. As I said earlier, I’d rather see a realtor than a builder. I’m
just not in a spot to consider moving here.”
“Please
don’t rush into this decision. If you do decide to sell, some basic remodeling
might appeal to potential buyers. You’re bound to get your investment back
through an increased sale price.”
“Some
updates might be necessary, even if it’s just a fresh coat of paint and
refinishing the floors.” She critically eyed the rough pine plank flooring. “However,
I’m sure I won’t change my mind.”
The
first real smile she’d seen from Grant creased wrinkles on his brow and around
his eyes as he zipped up his jacket. With a curt nod, he pulled on gloves and,
twisting the doorknob jerked the door open, hastily grabbing it as the wind
caught it. The small bell above the frame tinkled merrily. She grinned as he
quickstepped his way across the street, his long hair flowing out behind him.
Yes, ma’am, he could be the father of that famous model gracing the covers of
the naughty books Caroline had constantly read.
Jem
slipped behind the counter, heading to the coffee maker. Despite the warmth of
her gray sweater dress and black suede boots, she remained cold. A hot cup of
coffee would hit the spot.
She
pulled the supplies she needed from a box directly below the machine and rinsed
the pot in the nearby sink. The shop had closed when Aunt Caro got sick, so a
fine coating of dust had built up in the entire space. A melancholy ache
bloomed in the center of her chest. God, she couldn’t believe Caro was gone.
Shoot!
Grant hadn’t answered her question about what might have caused Caroline’s
death. So far, no one had answered the question. She’d have to remember to ask
him later. Swishing soapy water around the carafe, she rinsed it before
returning to the machine. She slipped a filter and ground coffee into the
basket and poured clean water in the reservoir. After she flipped the switch to
start the machine, she grabbed her cell phone and leaned against the counter to
wait for the coffee to brew.
She’d
missed three calls in a very short time. The first from Phil, the last two,
within seconds of each other, were from Resa, followed by an urgent text from
her with the code that meant there was an emergency with their boss. WTF!
Another 911.
With
Margo, emergencies were an everyday occurrence.
As
she scanned the messages, another came in from Phil.
Hey
Baby—hope all went well today. Crazy busy, no time to talk. Late client
meeting. Will call tomorrow.
Par
for the course with Phil. She sighed mentally. There was always a meeting or
crazy day lately. Although he was a junior partner in a prestigious law firm
today, he wouldn’t be for much longer. With her connections, more business had
flowed Phil’s way, impressing the senior partners. Increased billings equaled a
promotion.
Because
of his success, he took phone calls all hours of the day and night, and worked
nearly every weekend. They hadn’t been able to grab any real alone time for the
past four months. Her filming schedule with Margo didn’t help the situation.
She sighed, a deep, resigned exhale.
She
speed-dialed Resa, who answered so quickly she must have been waiting with her
phone in hand.
“Hi,
Sweetie.” Resa jumped right in. “How are you? Did everything go well this
morning? Was it awful? Is the café really a dump? How soon can you wrap things
up there and get back?”
Used
to Resa’s rapid-fire questions, Jem grinned. “Okay, yes, not as awful as it
could have been, dump might have been too strong and I don’t know.”
“What
do you mean, you don’t know?” Resa shrieked, zeroing in on the last answer. “I
thought you were going to leave it in the hands of the lawyer and get your
skinny ass back here.”
“The
building is solid, even kind of interesting, but the interior needs work. It’s
funny, I don’t remember the exposed brick.” She squinted her eyes at the walls
in question. “I haven’t even made it into the kitchen yet. I’m waiting for a
contractor to arrive. I won’t get a very good price if I put it on the market
as is. On the plus side, the neighborhood has potential. It’s in a great
location. Granite Pointe is a fun, historically significant place. Not
Manhattan, but it has its own brand of charm.”
“Ooh,
sounds like someone might be thinking about staying.”
“No!
No way. I belong in New York. But the lawyer said something about having
passion for what I do. Which made me think…could I be more passionate about
another career choice? The work I do is challenging some days, but do I
honestly love it?”
“As
if you would have passion for frying eggs and making muffins.” Resa laughed. “Although,
you do make the best I’ve ever eaten.”
“Well,
I can see the upside of a less Margo-like life. Speaking of which, what’s up
with her?”
“It’s
a few clowns short of a circus here today. Production asked to film Thursday
instead of Friday. Margo’s clueless about her calendar. The computer network is
down, thanks to the cable company, so we aren’t sure it will work. I know you
have her schedule memorized, so I made the executive decision to bother you
with the question. Even though I know Margo’s schedule is the last thing you
want to deal with now.” Resa lowered her voice and continued, “I mean, shit,
you’re on bereavement leave. I’m so sorry to bother you when you’re dealing
with so much else. Caro’s death was so sudden, I mean.”
“I’m
still struggling with that,” Jem admitted to her friend as the coffee finished
brewing. Tucking the phone under her chin, she grabbed a cup. “She was fine
when I saw her in January. Then, three weeks ago, she gets the flu. Now, she’s
gone. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I asked Grant, the lawyer, but he
avoided answering. He made some lame excuse about an office emergency and left
me here to meet the contractor—”
The
bell above the door tinkled again. Jem glanced over her shoulder at the man who
walked in. His back was to her as he pushed the door closed against the wind.
When he turned around, she froze.
The
next winner of the Sexiest Man Alive title stood in her café.