Cooking Up Love Page 2

  “Sweetie, leave it to you to be prepared. I’ll make myself a copy too. Maybe this will make our boss respect us more, knowing we keep redundant records of her schedule.”

  Jem laughed aloud, drawing amused eyes her direction again. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Resa agreed and then changed the subject. “Have you heard from Phil today?”

  “We’ve been playing tag the past two days. He has a late client meeting tonight. I’m sure he’ll call tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, right. I bet his client meeting involves cocktails and sweet young things,” Resa scoffed. “I can’t believe he excused himself from going to your aunt’s funeral by text. He could have at least had the decency to call you.”

  Jem tensed as her friend resurrected the old argument. Jem had resigned herself long ago to Resa’s dislike of Phil. His last-minute refusal to attend Caro’s funeral hadn’t won him any points. Her relationship with Phil was an ongoing source of disagreement with Resa.

  Sexy Contractor Man snagged a mug and helped himself to the freshly brewed coffee. He relaxed against the counter, speculatively appraising Jem over the brim of his cup, clearly listening in on her side of the conversation.

  Jem turned her back to him and lowered her voice. “Not fair, Resa, and truthfully, your timing sucks. Phil’s working hard to get in your good graces.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “Building his reputation requires long hours and hard work. If I can deal with it, why can’t you?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Listen, I gotta go. Can I catch up with you later tonight?”

  “I have a date. With the ballet dancer. I’ll fill you in on the details tomorrow. Thanks again for the help.”

  Jem disconnected the call and dropped the phone in her purse, glancing across the counter to Mr. Gorgeous. “Hi. You were at the funeral this morning. Near the back.”

  “Yes, I was there, with the rest of my family. Grant whisked you away before we got a chance to speak at the cemetery. I’m truly sorry for your loss. I’ll miss Caroline.”

  “Thank you. I can’t believe she is gone.” Sadness squeezed her throat and she blinked to clear her watery vision. She walked over to take the hand Sexy Contractor Man extended toward her. “I’m Jemima George.”

  “Jack Kerrigan.” His sexy baritone voice breezed up her spine and her breath stuttered as his warm hand wrapped around hers.

  Oh, no. She was in trouble. Standing this close to him, he even smelled like a hot guy, fresh, outdoorsy, a hint of distinctive male. He had great hands. Narrow wrists, long, elegant fingers, calloused enough, making her imagine how they’d rasp as they trailed along her flesh. She had always been a sucker for a long-fingered man. Unfortunate thoughts of Phil’s small, soft hands made her feel disloyal.

  Time to put the brakes on those ideas. His gaze roved over her body, not hiding the fact that he was checking her out. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she mentally shook her head to clear the fireworks going off in her imagination when she caught sight of deep dimples bracketing either side of his full, smiling lips and even white teeth. Oh good Lord, why’d he have to have dimples?

  When his gaze made the journey back to hers, she looked pointedly at her hand, still clasped in his. His look was almost apologetic as he released his grip.

  “So, uh, Grant mentioned some changes you and Caro had discussed recently,” Jem ventured, on a fishing expedition to find out how far they’d gone in the plans. “She was nearing retirement, so I’m a bit surprised she was considering it.”

  “The renovation started more as just idle talk over coffee than actual plans. You know how proud she was of this place. It was her life, and she wanted it to be the best it could be.”

  She folded her arms across her middle and turned a critical eye to the dining area. “There’s no denying it could use updating. Honestly though, I don’t want to waste your time. I’m probably just going to put it on the market. I don’t have time to run a café from the City.”

  “Caroline loved this old place. I have to think she’d be unhappy with your decision. She believed leaving it to you was the best way to keep it going.”

  Who was this guy? And why had her aunt discussed her plans with him? “What difference does it make who owns it?”

  “The Kerrigans had been friends with Caro for years. My brothers and I worked for her in the summer, cooking, waiting tables, running errands…whatever needed to be done. Look past the peeling paint, the battered furniture and scruffy floors. You’ll see why she considered this place her home. The building dates back to when they built them to last against the biggest blows Mother Nature could throw at them.” He led her to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the shop. “Why wouldn’t you want to move here? Just look at this town. It’s been here for hundreds of years. There’s history in every brick.”

  “I could say the same about New York City.”

  As they stood in the window, the sun peeked out from behind low clouds and streamed into the shop, washing warmth over both of them. Red tones glinted in his dark brown hair. The halo effect fascinated her. Standing this close, she could inhale the hot-guy scent, feel the warmth off his body. The intoxicating blend of sage and wind rushed to her head like a full-bodied cabernet.

  She started to step closer, but stopped herself and instead, tuned into the features he pointed out that had made the location of the shop work well for many years. “We’re at the southern end of Granite Pointe. Most of the café’s customers are locals stopping on their way to work in the tourist section on Front Street. It borders the harbor, so Caroline got travelers occasionally. Shop merchants often recommended Caro’s Taste to tourists looking for an authentic New England experience. Even though she was only open for breakfast, there was always a pot of coffee on.”

  “I remember.” Warm memories of the summers she’d worked for her aunt surfaced, slicing through the chill she’d had since leaving the cemetery. “She’d pour a to-go cup for lost tourists and direct them to the harbor. Many of those people came back the next morning for breakfast.”

  A grin still on her lips, she faced him. His eyes turned a shade of pale blue in the gleam of the sun. He was a poster child for the phrase Black Irish. Luxurious, dark brown hair stubbornly fell forward over his brow. Stubble on his chin and a powerful build added nearly irresistible character and substance. No doubt about it—everything about him was appealing.

  Taking a step backward, she stifled her attraction to him. She pulled a picture of Phil up in her mind. Phil, the man she loved and hoped would propose when she returned to New York. Yeah, that guy. Picturing his face hadn’t been this difficult earlier today.

  “Well, Mr. Kerrigan, um, Jack, what kind of changes did you and Caro discuss?”

  He nodded toward the messenger bag he’d dropped on the floor when he came in. “I have some sketches if you’d like to go through them.” He walked away from her and the sunlight to pull the papers out of the bag.

  She joined him as he laid the drawings out on the table, then shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the back of a chair. She studied each one as she went through the stack. His suggestions maximized space in the narrow shop, improving traffic flow and ambiance.

  “These are good,” she said, flipping to the next one. “I like the way you reverse the cash wrap to make the flow cleaner. Smaller counters along the back of the shop are a great solution, given the limited space.” She traced a line with her fingertip. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “These are excellent plans. As much as Caro loved this place, I’m surprised she didn’t move forward with them. What happened?”

  A frown creased Jack’s forehead. “She seemed excited about making changes. Said she had extra money and wanted to start fixing the place up. A month ago, I brought by estimates for new equipment she wanted for the kitchen. She wasn’t feeling great, so we let it go, thinking she’d perk up. She…I d
on’t know…just sort of lost interest.” He shifted his weight, resting a hand on his hip. “About a week later, she got sick. It was like a bad flu she couldn’t shake. She was tired and listless most days and flat on her back nauseated others. It got so she didn’t have the energy to open the shop in the mornings. I can’t remember ever seeing someone go down so fast.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “I asked Grant about her death, but he never answered my questions. Caro was always health conscious and meticulous about taking care of herself.”

  Jack thought for a second, then shoved a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t like anyone else around came down with similar symptoms. My mom brought soups and custards, but Caroline didn’t seem to have any appetite. Once she started feeling poorly, she shelved her plans for the remodel.”

  His statement reinforced the shock and sadness surrounding her heart. “Too bad. I bet she would have loved the result. Your suggestions add a lot to the place. What did you plan for the kitchen?”

  “Let me show you,” Jack said, pointing toward the back of the space as he pulled another stack of drawings from his bag.

  She followed him through the swinging door at the far end of the counter. The space was filled with griddles, fryers, grills, ovens, a stovetop and a large farm sink. Sturdy butcher-block counters, laid out neatly in front of the cooking area, looked neglected. The light coating of dust over most of the equipment and floor hit her like a forlorn ache. Faint footprints in the dust led from the rear door and the narrow, confined space that served as the pantry. The stockroom door was open and cooking supplies lined the shelves. She could serve breakfast tomorrow morning if she was inclined to turn the Closed sign around and invite people in.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. Despite the beauty of Jack’s plans, she wouldn’t stay in town to run this business.

  Turning her attention back to Jack, she caught the tail end of his comments about the electrical system. Darn, she should have been listening. Did he just utter the words complete overhaul? That sounded expensive.

  “The electrical panel is in the pantry. Come on, I’ll show you what I mean,” he said, leading the way to the small room.

  Steps dragging, she neared the narrow closet. Entering the pantry to grab ingredients had been a hated chore during the summers she’d worked for Aunt Caro. She despised small, confined spaces and the pantry topped the list of places to avoid. Still, it would only be a second. It shouldn’t take long to get a general idea of Jack’s recommendations. Especially since she wouldn’t be taking any of them.

  Taking a reluctant breath, she followed his broad back into the closet. Unease slithered down her spine like an artic ice floe as he swung the door partially closed to reveal a steel-gray panel mounted on the wall behind it.

  A cold sweat broke out on her brow. Even thinking about Jack’s sexy factor didn’t help. In fact, the space felt narrower because of the presence of the very large man next to her. Her lifelong struggle with claustrophobia bared its claws and sunk them deep in her stomach.

  “See how the conduit runs up the wall and over to the other side?”

  She forced herself to tear her gaze from the door that led to freedom, and followed the path of Jack’s finger as he pointed out the metal snake sprouting out of the electrical box. Twisting to follow the line overhead, she bumped the door, nudging it with her hip.

  The door slid shut with an ominous click.

  Chapter 2

  “Our best option would be to move the panel to the exterior wall instead of leaving it here. Unfortunately, that adds—”

  “Oops, didn’t mean for that to happen.” Jem’s laugh sounded nervous as she reached for the handle and gave it a good tug. “Hey,” she exclaimed, interrupting him as he continued his guided tour of the electrical system. “I think we might be locked in. The knob won’t turn. Can you try?”

  The confining shelf-lined space forced close contact as he traded places with her, the citrus and sunshine of her perfume invading his senses. She bumped against his chest when she turned away from the door, making room for him to squeeze past. He reveled in the small intimacy of physical contact between their two bodies, but apparently, she found it intolerable. Holy Jesus, she was panting like she’d just run wind sprints. And her color was a shade of pale that didn’t occur in nature. Oh, crap, we have a problem. Jem shifted backward quickly, bumping into a wooden shelf, her breath racing in and out sharply.

  “Huh,” he said, trying his luck. “You’re right. It’s locked. I told Caroline to reverse the handle after the last time she got stuck in here.”

  “This has happened before?” Jem rolled her head side to side, a tense, agitated motion.

  He smiled, going for reassuring, but judging how far up to her ears her shoulders rose, his effort fell short. “Caroline locked herself in at least every other month. A customer would hear her banging and open the door. They’d have a good laugh and there’d be coffee on the house for her rescuer. Caro never seemed to mind too much, though. Said it was the only time she ever felt right about taking a break.”

  Jem wiped her hands down the sides of her dress. “Can you open it, please. Quickly?”

  “Maybe, if I can put enough pressure against it…” He knelt in front of the door to inspect the lock, then grunted as he shifted his weight away, pulling backward. “Nope, that’s not going to work. The door’s as solid as the rest of the building. We’ll just have to wait.”

  Rising, he eyed her, intrigued by the stark contrast of pale skin and lushly pink, movie-star-quality lips. He’d love to sample just how kissable her mouth was. Classic cheekbones and delicate, arching brows framed expressive brown eyes. If eyes were windows to the soul, hers reflected dismay at the moment.

  Even the severe gray dress she wore turned him on. He could imagine being jealous of the fabric clinging in all the right places to her. He lost his momentary struggle to not check her out, letting his gaze roam from her head to her toes, lingering on interesting curves. She wrapped her arms around her middle and breathed in shallow gulps.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching the curly, honey-colored hair. Several long strands escaped a loose ponytail and curled around her lovely face. “Take a deep breath. It will be alright. The walls aren’t closing in. It’s just a pantry.”

  “Oh, God. We have to get out. I have to get out. I can’t be in here!”

  Panic rose sharply in her voice, and her lips were compressed into a grim line. Pale, sweating and breathing much too rapidly. Jack’s concern ratcheted up as he spied the pulse pounding vigorously at the base of her neck. He took two steps to close the gap between them and ran into the arm she’d extended. Her hand was ice cold when he pulled it to his chest, placing it over his heart, hoping the slow, steady pace of his own heartbeats would calm her.

  “Hey! Hey now. Are you okay, sugar?” he asked, holding her palm steady against his chest.

  She stared at the closed door, grimacing with an internal struggle he could only guess at. “I don’t like small spaces.”

  “Claustrophobic, huh?”

  “I can bear it for a few minutes if the door is closed but I can open it at will.” Her voice sounded breathless as she shifted from one leg to the other then back. “Knowing that door is locked is unbearable. It’s like there isn’t enough air to breathe. It’s crazy with a capital C. I know it’s crazy. I can see the vent right over the door. I know I won’t suffocate, but I can’t convince my inner psychosis.”

  “We can call someone.”

  “My cell is in my purse in the front of the shop. Can you call?” she asked, hope ringing in her tone.

  His hands went to the empty holster on his hip. “Damn! I left mine in my coat pocket.”

  Her breath sped up, keeping time with her visibly escalating panic. Jack angled his head to look at the time on the slim watch on her wrist.

  “School gets out at three and Sam will be here soon. It’s just fifteen minutes.” />
  Jem squatted and hugged her knees, tears shimmering as she lifted her face to his. “You don’t get it,” she rasped out. “What you call ‘soon’ is a lifetime to me. In two minutes, I’ll be nauseated.” Jem drew a deep, shuddering breath and pulled at the neckline of her dress. “Ten minutes from now, I’ll be a pile of goo, begging for someone to have pity and let me out. In fifteen minutes, I’ll withdraw and be completely unresponsive. Doctors call it catatonic. I call it a blessing…because at least my mind will have escaped.”

  As her words spewed out, her terror increasing by leaps and bounds, Jack finally understood the magnitude of the problem. He bent over, placing his hands on his knees, to look her in the eye. “Okay. Alright, what would you normally do to help yourself in this type of situation?”

  “I don’t get in situations like this,” she snapped as she shot to her feet, narrowly avoiding hitting him as she rose. “I avoid crowded spaces. I only take the elevator in buildings over ten stories. I leave the stall door open in public bathrooms or dressing rooms. I don’t take the subway. I’d rather suffer and die of a brain tumor than subject myself to an MRI and I never, ever drive through the Lincoln Tunnel.” She jabbed her finger into his shoulder and he grabbed her hand, rubbing it, he hoped, in a soothing manner.

  “Oh, and I forgot to mention the occasional uncomfortable intimate moments of my life. Suffice it to say I’m not typical in the bedroom.” Pink stained her cheeks the instant the last word slipped out and her expression morphed into one of intense embarrassment. “Sorry, I know I’ve crossed the horribly thin line of too much information. Once I hit the panic stage, normal filters quit working.”

  Jack continued massaging her hand, but didn’t attempt to close the distance between them, processing her words. Her chest heaved as she struggled to control her breathing. “Well, that’s quite a list of things to avoid. Except the last bit. I bet it sucks for you. There have to be ways around those issues, if you’re creative.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously at his remark and he shrugged his shoulders. “Humor me here. I’m trying to help. Let’s say you find yourself unexpectedly in one of these situations, like now. Do you have…I don’t know…coping behaviors or mechanisms you can pull out of your claustrophobia bag of tricks to help you?”