Chapter Five
There are things a girl hopes to hear in her lifetime, and a marriage proposal definitely tops that list. A proposal offered as a business deal, probably thrown out in desperation to stop my meltdown and pending dehydration, however, was not what most women have in mind.
“Don’t, Nick,” I said, hiccupping through my sobs, trying to make it stop. “Don’t play with that. Don’t make fun.”
“I’m not,” he said, still facing forward, Ralph’s face in his hands as if it were all addressed to him. “I’m dead serious.”
I waited for more and it didn’t come. Um, I needed more explanation than that.
Wiping at my face in vain, I leaned against the post and looked down at possibly the hottest man I’d ever met. Sitting on my porch in a black-on-black suit, asking me to marry him by proxy of Ralph.
“Why?”
Finally, he let go of the dog’s large head and stood, turning to face me as though it was with his last dying breath.
“You need this house,” he said, his words slow and precise. His dark eyes didn’t blink, didn’t look away uncomfortably, didn’t falter. “You may or may not need the money, I don’t know. I don’t see you getting all emotional about that, but you’re hugging the house, so I’m guessing the money’s not an important factor.”
“I didn’t even know about that money.”
“Which brings it to me,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. “I need a job.”
“Are you saying—”
“I’m saying I just got in a car with a stranger for five hundred dollars,” he said. “That’s how far I’ve fallen. Three months of my life—what would that be worth?”
My tongue felt as swollen and stuck as my eyelids.
That sentence, along with the glazed over look his eyes got and the hard set of his jaw, was possibly the saddest thing I’d ever witnessed. To be followed closely by the strong possibility of my saying yes.
The image of him staring at his daughter’s photo in the car, and the haunted expression on his face floated across my waterlogged brain.
“This is for your daughter, isn’t it?” I asked.
No blinks again. No twitches or tells.
Of course it was. He was too proud to have done any of this otherwise. I could tell that in the first ten minutes I’d known him. This man that I couldn’t do any of this without.
I sighed, feeling everything sag as I expelled that breath. I was exhausted.
“Yes or no?” he asked.
I averted my eyes to a broken piece of step.
Is this what you really want for me, Aunt Ruby? A fake marriage?
“So what happens at the end of three months?” I asked, keeping my gaze down.
There was a pause that made me look back up. A look of defeat in his face that I knew had to mirror my own. He’d been married and it failed. He was volunteering to do that again on purpose.
“We make it look good for three months, get what we need, have a big public fight, and file for divorce.”
“You make it all sound like a piece of cake,” I said.
“It won’t be,” he said. “But we can manage. Can you, with your job?”
Oh shit, my job. I hadn’t even thought about that again since I blustered about it in Carmen’s office. I could take all my vacation and sick time, and then—then what? Quit? Who does that? “I—I’ll figure something out.”
He tilted his head. “So is that a yes?”
“How much money are you asking for?” I asked.
He looked away, an uncomfortable something passing over his expression. “You tell me what you’re offering.”
I put a hand over my forehead, which was suddenly boiling hot. “This is crazy,” I whispered. Eight hundred thousand dollars. That was crazier. Where did she get that kind of money? More importantly, what was I going to do with it? And where would I be without Nick? Back to my last hundred bucks. “Two hundred thousand?”
He blinked hard and stared harder.
“Two hundred thousand?”
I stepped back. “That’s what—sixty—almost seventy grand a month, Nick,” I said. “What job is paying better than that?”
“No!” he said, holding his hands up. “I’m not—I’m saying that’s too much. That’s—I can’t take that.”
I blew out a breath. “I don’t care about the money,” I said, wiping my face for the fiftieth time. “If you’re giving up three months of your time for this, you deserve it a hell of a lot more than the Clarks. Hell, you’ve already given Aunt Ruby more of your time than any of them ever did. So take a quarter of it.”
He nodded slowly, seeming to process every word. “So it’s a yes?”
“My singular goal in life at this moment is to make sure they don’t get a penny or a splinter of this house,” I said.
One eyebrow raised. “Which would equal—”
My heart squeezed. “Let’s do it.”
Nick took a deep breath and so did I. We looked at each other like cross-country runners probably do, anticipating a journey from hell.
He held out a hand and I shook it. Like I’d just purchased a car.
Or a husband.
* * *
Ralph was deposited in Aunt Ruby’s backyard, with mumbled promises that he wasn’t being punished. He sprawled out under a shade tree like Xanadu had arrived, so I figured my job was done. I looked around the sprawling living room with different eyes. Eyes that had been a visitor to my childhood home for many years, and hadn’t thought about living here again, ever. Ever. The dusty books and shelves of odd knickknacks and random quirky things, like a basket of tiny clocks and a model of a pirate ship, crammed the shelves. A large handmade doily covered a side table, where a colorful mosaic lamp watched over a bowl of mismatched keys. A grandfather clock ticked ominously behind me. It was all familiar in that way that home is, when you see the items like stage props that are always there, but never actually see them. They were background noise. To Aunt Ruby, they were life. And that’s what was missing. Her life. Her energy. Her buzz and the sounds of her moving around and the aromas of candles or homemade soaps or baking. There were no baked apple smells simmering in the air. Aunt Ruby always made baked apples and cinnamon when she was in a happy, carefree mood, or when it was time to celebrate something. My chest pricked with that sharp little pain of realizing I’d probably never smell that again. I could make them in my sleep, but it wasn’t the same.
There were vague words about hunger and food, and explaining why there were fifteen cans of corn in the pantry and nothing else (one—no one lives there, and two—I’m the only one who visited. And I love corn), but it all kind of blended together in one swirly blur that ended with us sitting on stools at the lunch bar of the Blue Banana Grille.
You’d think two recently engaged people who just met at lunchtime—in another diner—would have a few things to talk about. A few things to learn about each other. Birthdays, favorite food, middle names.
Instead, after being accosted out on the sidewalk by honey pushers handing out samples, we were staring at blue laminated menus like normal people. As if any of this came close.
“So, why are they out there doing that?” Nick asked.
“The honey wars are coming up,” I said. “It’s part of the Honey Festival,” I continued after his questioning look. “All the local honey farmers and amateur wannabes compete for the best honey. And spend weeks pimping it out. If you tell them theirs is the best yet, you’ll get seconds.”
He nodded. “Good to know. So, what’s good here?” he asked.
I gave him a sideways glance, and did a double-take as I caught the stares of at least half a dozen other women in the diner. Not on me. On GQ over here. Not that I blamed them. He was delicious in that suit, like he’d worn them all his life. No one would ever suspect that he’d just been flipping burgers that morning.
“I have no idea,” I said, peering back at my own menu. “It’s been years since I ate here. Well, except for the pie.”
“The pie?”
“And the honey,” I said, pointing to a pyramid stack of jarred raw honey with the familiar local sticker sporting the Anderson Apiary logo and the scripted Made by Local Bees in Charmed, Texas. “Best honey in the world.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said.
“I used to come pick up a couple slices of pie for Aunt Ruby and me when I’d visit,” I said. “After she lost her sight and couldn’t bake anymore. It was the next best thing to perfect, and it’s pretty out of this world.”
“What kind?”
“All of them,” said. “I do remember their chicken fried steak being amazing years ago too.”
Nick slid me a look. “Chicken fried steak?”
“Yeah.” I raised an eyebrow at the pause. “Why?”
“Do you know what cheap-ass cut of meat is used for that?”
“No, and I don’t care.”
“It’s nasty,” he said. “There’s a reason it’s beat to death and slathered in batter and fried.”
I blinked and studied him. “Do you hear yourself sounding like a total food snob, Armani?”
There was a flash of fire in his eyes as he looked away, back at his menu.
“It’s not Armani. It’s the only nice thing I have left.”
Hmm. There was a story there. No rush, though. Evidently I had three months to learn it.
“And I’m not a food snob,” he continued. “I worked in a greasy spoon just like this.”
“Then don’t ruin chicken fried steak for me.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
He cut a look my way. “Do you always have to get in the last word?”
“Frequently.”
“Lanie Barrett,” said a familiar voice as a petite brunette with impossibly dark eyes appeared from a hall behind the bar. She and Nick could have been siblings with those eyes. “Good lord, I don’t remember the last time I saw you at my counter.”
I was acutely aware of the state of my face, even though I’d done repair in the car, and of Nick listening. And of how many lies I’d told in the past year, spread so thin I couldn’t remember to whom. That was easy when you were alone and could spin in any direction. A little weirder with a witness.
“Hey, Allie.”
“Sorry to hear about your aunt,” she said, grabbing a paper towel to wipe up some coffee.
Allie Greene was one of the few people I actually believed that from. She was always down to earth and sincere. A no-nonsense single mom since she was seventeen, growing up in the same trailer park Carmen did and running her dad’s diner her whole life, she didn’t have time for petty rumors or gossip. Even though she probably heard her share.
“I didn’t know her well,” Allie continued in her soft husky voice, a nostalgic smile on her face as she twisted her dark hair up into a clip she had on her jeans. “But she was always so sweet when she’d come in back in the day.” Her smile broadened. “I remember she’d always slip me a quarter when I was out there bussing tables. Tell me to go buy a Coke.”
I chuckled. “She still thought a quarter would get her a Coke up until last year.”
She smiled. “This your husband?”
Here we go.
Nick looked at me, a touch of humor in his expression. Well?
God help me.
“Yes, this is Nick,” I said. “Nick, this is Allie Greene, an old high school friend.”
Which was stretching it slightly, and the small twitch in her cheek told me she recognized that. We were school friends in that way that the passing of years creates. When the fact that you traveled twelve years in the same building makes you comrades. In reality, we were aware of each other through Carmen, and through classes, but probably didn’t have a real conversation till I started coming into the Blue Banana for pie.
“Nick McKane,” he said, shaking her hand.
“McKane?” she asked, tilting her head. “I thought it was McKnight.” She laughed. “Mc-something, I guess. I’m probably remembering the obituary wrong.”
I didn’t look at Nick or acknowledge the fact that I’d carried my lie into the newspaper obituary. Damn it, why did I ever give him a name? Thank God it was at least close.
“Y’all are dressed up today,” she said, thankfully moving on.
“Had some will stuff to take care of,” I said, setting my menu down. “Speaking of which, you know of anyone hiring?”
Allie’s eyebrows raised a notch. “For what?”
“Anything,” I said. “We just found out we have to live here in the house for three months in order to inherit it.”
She pulled a face. “What the hell?”
“That was my reaction too,” I said. “Plus a few stronger ones.”
“What about your jobs? Your lives?”
I had no idea how I was going to pull off a three-month leave at work, get my rent-house sublet so I didn’t lose it, and get everything I needed/wanted for three months packed up and to Texas, so we could start this debacle. Not to mention, I should probably call Carmen and see if she knew a judge that would do this quietly and quickly.
“Apparently, my sweet old Aunt Ruby had a wicked streak,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my tone. “So if you hear of anything?”
“Well, nothing on your level, but off the bat I can say I heard that the bank is looking for tellers. I don’t know how much they pay,” she added. “Bash is always needing help with the hives—oh, and Dixon Lee said something about being shorthanded at the hardware store.”
“Hives?” Nick asked.
“The honeybee hives,” she said. “Bash—Sebastian Anderson—runs the largest of the Charmed apiaries.”
“So that sign coming into town wasn’t just being warm and fuzzy,” Nick said.
“Nooooo,” I said. “Charmed takes their honey seriously. Bash, even more so.”
“Yes, he does,” she said, a small smile on her face. “You haven’t been here before?” Allie asked him.
Crap.
“Just once,” he lied smoothly, chuckling with that knock-em-on-their-ass smile. “But it was a quick trip and I didn’t pay attention.”
He was good.
Allie nodded. “Well, like I said, there’s not going to be anything here on the level that you’re probably used to.”
Just shoot me.
I smiled. “Can’t afford to be picky.”
She laughed. “If I thought that were really true, I’d hire you as a waitress or a fry cook. I’m down both. My head chef retires in a couple of weeks and Dave the fry cook is desperately trying to learn everything.” She leaned over. “I wouldn’t recommend anything too complicated right now,” she whispered. “I’m about to go help him out.”
“Sold,” Nick said.
She blinked in surprise. “What?”
“Hire me,” he said without hesitation. “But for the chef job, not the fry cook.”
“You—you cook?” I watched Allie’s eyes slide over his GQ appearance.
“I do,” he said. “Very well.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “I can go make you something right now.”
She chuckled. “You know, there’s being able to cook, and there’s cooking on a line. In a diner kitchen.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said, a smile pulling at his mouth.
“And Chef would never let a patron in his kitchen,” she added.
Nick laughed. “I understand that. So I guess you’ll have to take me at my word.”
Her lips curled up at the corners. “I don’t have to do anything,” she said. “I’m not the one who needs a job.”
Nick paused a second, then nodded a concession. “True enough. But you do need a chef.”
It was like watching a ping pong match, wondering who was going to catch the ball and put the paddle down.
Allie knocked her knuckles on the counter. “I’ll be right back.
He winked at me as she disappeared.
“You still want a burger?”
God, was that today? It felt like a week ago.
“You heard her, he’ll never let you back there.”
“Yes or no?”
I hung my head. “That again.”
“Come on, Mrs. McKane, burger or plate dish?”
That popped my head up, meeting those mischievous eyes of his. The game. Mrs. McKane, indeed.
“Burger,” I said. “Well done.”
“Spicy, or no?” he asked.
“Spicy.”
He narrowed his eyes, a refreshed look about him, the challenge firing him up.
“Raw onions or grilled?”
“Neither.”
Allie came back, tying on an apron as she grabbed a water glass to fill.
“You have fifteen minutes to convince Benny,” she said.
“Benny decides?”
“In there, he does,” she said. “He’s been here my whole life, and runs a tight ship. Anyone replacing him, even short-term, needs to do the same.” She turned back as Nick stood. “And if you get this, the deal is you train a replacement in that same standard before you leave.”
“Deal.”
He was almost vibrating.
“All right,” she said, gesturing with a tilt of her head. “Get after it. But you—”
Nick was already sans jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
“Okay then,” she said, chuckling in my direction. “A real go-getter you have here.”
“Seems so,” I said under my breath.
* * *
I snuck behind the counter to watch through the serving window, and did a double-take on the three women who piled up behind me.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” I whispered, turning to look at them.
“Neither are you,” one of them said.
“It’s my husband,” I said.
How frighteningly bizarre and normal that felt, rolling off my tongue. Having been engaged for all of thirty minutes, evidently that made me a pro at this married business.
“That hot guy? That was Lanie Barrett’s husband,” I heard someone say from somewhere else in the lobby.
Amazing how everyone still knew who I was, and I’d been gone forever. That was why. When you stay in a small town, you fade. You blend. But it’s like there’s some secret plaque somewhere with the names of those who leave, with a spotlight shining on it. The daring and the brave, who have seen outside the dome. And come home with James Bond.
Nick was walking the station while old Benny hovered, looking very unhappy.
“Do you mind if I peek in the fridge? See my choices?” he asked.
“I thought you were making a burger,” the old man said, a frown creasing the skin over his nose. “How many choices you need?”
“I am,” Nick said, thumbing behind him. “For her. I’d like something too.” He turned to Allie. “Have you eaten?”
“Don’t get cocky, Nick,” I whispered to myself. Like I knew him well enough to say that.
She laughed. “You wanting to show off?”
“Not at all,” he said. “But I do want to show that I know how to manage my time.”
“Okay,” she said. “Make me a chopped spinach leaf salad with sautéed chicken.”
“That’s all?”
“Caramelized with honey glaze,” she added. “Cracked peppercorn dressing, crushed almonds, and shaved carrots.”
“We don’t have—” Benny began.
“Shhh,” Allie said.
“Damn, Allie,” I muttered. “Give him a chance.”
He didn’t look fazed, however, opening the big fridge door to scan over the contents whether Benny cared or not.
“When do I begin?”
“Knock yourself out,” Allie said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Nick pulled out fresh ground meat, eggs, butter, three different kinds of greens, and a bag of something. Deposited those on a counter and headed to the pantry as feet scuttled behind me. I turned to see Allie standing with hands on her hips as my little posse of onlookers disbanded.
“Why are you behind my counter?” she asked, although her eyes held a glimmer of amusement.
I pointed. “I can’t miss this,” I said. Play it, sister.
Allie rolled her eyes and moved to take a new order. The women started to round the counter again and she made a clicking noise with her tongue.
“Lanie, only.”
“Spousal privilege,” I threw over my shoulder.
“Don’t push it,” Allie said.
He was already chopping leafy greens and spinach like he had a bionic arm. My God, he was fast. I’d never understand how they did that. He sprinkled something and tossed it all. Cracked fresh peppercorns into a bowl with olive oil and something else. Stirred honey into another bowl and seasoned it. Slathered butter on thick-sliced nutty bread and seared it, setting that on a plate. He chopped up peppers and onions and tossed half in a skillet and the other half into the bowl of ground meat, and then proceeded to season and press out the most beautiful meat patty I’d ever seen.
In three different pans, I watched him fry two eggs sunny side up, my burger, and the chicken, while cutting up fresh strawberries.
The magic happened when all at once, three plates filled up on a platter. My burger, gorgeously sizzling on an open bun with slices of avocado gleaming on top. Sliced strawberries were arranged in a little mound next to it. Allie’s plate held her salad, all dressed in carrots and almonds and honey-glazed chicken that I could smell from the window. Two fried eggs on toast adorned another plate, next to a small pile of freshly shaved hash browns and strawberries.
“Allie, you want to see this,” I said.
She walked back into the kitchen just as he finished plating, and gazed at his creations.
“Holy shit,” she mumbled.
“Your salad, ma’am,” he said, handing it to her.
She glanced up at him as she grabbed a fork and speared a bite of chicken and spinach.
“Mmm,” she said, chewing slowly. “Damn.”
“We don’t have a cracked peppercorn dressing,” Bennie said, clearly needing to make that point.
“We do now,” she said, looking down at the other plates. “Okay, breakfast for you, nothing crazy there. Nice hash browns, though.”
She picked up my burger and handed it to me through the window.
“Cut that and see if it’s well done.”
I did. It was. It was possibly more perfect than the last one I’d seen him do.
“Spot on.”
But that wasn’t all. I bit back a smile when I saw the corn. He’d made me Maque Choux. Cajun corn with sweet peppers.
Allie looked back at Nick, who was already nearly done cleaning up after himself.
“Go eat your food while it’s hot,” she said. “Let me talk to Benny.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stopped to shake Benny’s hand, and I saw the old man’s expression change. “Thank you,” Nick said. “It was an honor.”
When he came out with his plate and sat by me with a heavy exhale, he met my eyes.
“Wow,” I said.
And that wasn’t just for the cooking show. It was a word that fell out of my mouth in response to all of it. The food, the confidence, and the very real roaring fire going on behind his eyes. If I were a betting person, I would have gambled on him having a hard-on from hell right then. He had loved every single second of that challenge, and it was so palpable I found myself holding my breath.
“Don’t wow me yet,” he said, nodding toward my plate. “Taste it first. Tell me what you think.”
I picked up one of the halves, and shoved as much as I could into my mouth. I was past worrying about impressing him or looking feminine. I was ravenous.
“Om dnrr Gmd,” I grunted around the heaven in my mouth. I closed my eyes and just savored every flavor.
“Good?”
“I’m in love,” I said with a sigh, then cutting a quick look his way. “With the burger.”
Nick grinned. “Of course.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Worth waiting all day for?”
“No.” He laughed out loud, and it made my skin tingle. “Seriously, I would have almost chewed on Ralph about now. But oh man, this is by far the best burger ever.”
He sat back with a satisfied smile and dug into his own food. Just as the kitchen door swung open.
“Job’s yours,” Allie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can you be back in two weeks? Benny said he’d even stay a day or two over to help you get your bearings.” She shook her head. “And Benny doesn’t help anybody.”
Nick looked at me, a question in his eyes. Two weeks. I had no idea. There was so much to do. Like get married. But there was something else in his eyes too. More than a need for a paycheck. A need for vindication. For appreciation. I remembered how they talked to him in that other diner. It would be different here; he would be in charge of the kitchen. And it glowed on him.
“If nothing else, you can come ahead of me,” I said. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you,” he mouthed.
There were goose bumps again, but I told myself it was the food.
Only the food.
I bought a jar of the honey just to be sure.
That night, after a rousing game of Scrabble (I won) because the cable was turned off, and after we took turns using two different showers because the plumbing didn’t allow for both at once, and after we spent an hour looking for shoes we’d just left in the foyer, we both passed out. Well, sort of. We retreated to separate rooms. I laid my head on Aunt Ruby’s pillow and listened to Nick talk to Ralph down the hall.
Could we pull this off? Could I? Could I marry a man I’d just met today in order to keep this house? Not to mention live with him for three months. What if he was a serial killer? What if he was a chronic farter? What if he liked mustard?
The bed rocked as Ralph jumped up.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said. His big head sagged onto my knee as he laid down, looking at me all sad. Poor guy. He didn’t know where he was or where his mom was. He was confused. I reached down and stroked an ear. “Me too, boy,” I said. “Me too. But if you pee on me again tonight, you’re riding as a hood ornament tomorrow.”