Maybe he was getting back at her. Although that didn’t seem like him.
Yeah, but just how well did she know the man?
Frankie picked up a sack of potatoes and muscled it over to the walk-in. Cracking the handle and propping the heavy door open with her hip, she tugged the weight inside and looked up. Her breath left in a rush.
The walk-in was spotless. And empty as the day it’d been installed.
She looked over her shoulder. There was a bucket of suds and some rags on the floor behind the island. The milk crates that held the lettuce and the broccoli as well as the six- and eight-quart stainless steel drop-ins that corralled the tomatoes, mushrooms and celery were almost dry next to the dishwasher.
“Oh…hell.” She put her hand on her forehead.
Twenty minutes later she had all the vegetables back in the cold and a pretty good idea of what she was going to say to him.
She headed for the barn and wasn’t surprised she’d guessed right. Nate’s lower body was sticking out from underneath the Saab, and given the urgent clanking noises, it sounded like he was being rough with his hands. No doubt he wished the car was in working order so he could put it to good use.
“Nate?”
The banging stopped. When he didn’t say anything, she hitched up her pants and put down her pride.
“I’m sorry.”
The noises started up again, softer now.
“Nate, I totally jumped to the wrong conclusion. I should have known you wouldn’t do something so irresponsible.” She waited for a response. When none came, she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know how badly I feel.”
Man, she was getting damn handy with the apologies. Two in less than twenty-four hours. The only problem was, they didn’t seem to work.
She turned away.
“You know what pisses me off the most?” he said.
Frankie wheeled around as he wriggled his body out and sat up, dangling his hands on his knees. His fingers were black with grime, and when he scratched his forehead, he left a smudge over his eyebrow.
“You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”
She closed her eyes. “I know. I was wrong. I overslept, came downstairs and saw all that food and…I totally panicked. I’ve been running this place on a shoestring for so long. I figured you’d forgotten you weren’t down in the city.”
“Trust me. I know where I am.” And the tone of his voice suggested he’d rather be in New York.
She didn’t blame him. God, he must miss the excitement, the pace. He’d been here…more than two weeks, she thought. And even though she’d promised him he wouldn’t have much to do, he’d been busy in the kitchen as well as working on the house.
“Why don’t you take Tuesday night off?” she suggested. “I can even loan you my car if you want to go into town.”
“You trying to make it up to me?”
“I am.” She offered him a small smile. “And I want you to know that I really do appreciate the work you’ve done. That walk-in is positively sparkling and your cooking is wonderful. You’ve done so much.”
He got to his feet and stared down at her. Didn’t seem to be too open to anything she was saying.
“I—ah, I hope that you don’t leave.”
“Because business is up, right?”
She nodded and thought he looked annoyed.
“Tell you what.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll take the night off if you do, too. We’ll go into town together.”
He shot her a sardonic smile as she started backpedaling. “Oh, I don’t—”
“Think about it in terms of business.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“Six weeks is a hell of a long time. You and I need to figure out how to work together or one of us isn’t going to be standing at the end of the summer.”
“Why don’t we just talk about it now?”
“Because I’m still pissed at you.” She hesitated and he picked up an Allen wrench. “You can take my offer or not. But if you don’t, I’m not going to be here tomorrow morning.”
“That’s one hell of an ultimatum.”
“And I don’t play games. So what’s it going to be?”
Frankie looked deeply into his eyes. “Is seven good for you?”
“Perfect,” he muttered as he got down on the floor and inched back under the car.
On Tuesday night, Nate got out of the shower and toweled off, thinking that he’d never before had to coerce a woman into having dinner with him. Threatening to quit a job was a new addition to his dating repertoire and he couldn’t say he was happy with the fresh approach.Damn that woman. She’d pushed him away, refused his friendship and then insulted him. Not once, but twice. And he still wanted her. What the hell was it going to take to turn him off? Having her knock him upside the head with a two-by-four? He was a man who thrived on challenges, but this was ridiculous.
And no matter how many times he reminded himself that they weren’t going on a date, he supposed on some deep level he was hoping she’d be dazzled by him and come around. But no doubt that wouldn’t happen unless something hit her on the head.
So this was desperation. God, what a drag.
Nate left his room wearing clean everything. Socks and boxers were just out of the wash. Khakis and the faded polo shirt were fresh from the duffel. He looked as presentable as he ever got.
He tried to remember the last time he’d been in a suit. Years, probably. Ties irritated the hell out of him and the only jackets he could stand were the top half of chef’s whites. And the GQ rebellion stuff wasn’t a new trend. He and his mother had always fought over his wardrobe and she’d given up only when he’d moved away from home and she didn’t see him anymore.
So it felt a little odd for him to be wondering what Frankie would think if he were a sharp dresser.
She was waiting for him in the kitchen and he clamped his mouth shut so he didn’t blurt out how good she looked. She was wearing a long, loose skirt and she’d left her hair down. Her blouse was just tight enough so that the curve of her br**sts showed.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded as she picked up her bag and her keys. “George? We’re going.”
The man came in from the pantry. “Where you guys headed?”
“Nowhere special and we’ll be home soon.”
Nate wanted to shake his head. Yup, this was a woman looking forward to being alone with him, all right. Man, she kept at it and his ego was going to be the size of a cherry tomato at the end of the summer.
“Joy’s going to heat up some dinner for you all,” she said to George.
“I can do that. She’s busy with Grand-Em.”
Frankie smiled at the man. “You’re thoughtful. We’ll see you later.”
“So where are we going?” Nate asked as they stepped out the back door and walked over to the Honda. The night was coming on and the temperature cooling.
“The Silver Dollar Diner. The only other choices are tourist joints that are more bar than restaurant. They’re noisy, full of college kids out for the summer. It would be hard to talk business in them.”
Nate smiled grimly as she opened her own door.
Right. Business. This was all about business.
He’d known carpenter ants who were less single-minded than she was.
In less than ten minutes, they were parked next to an old railroad dining car that had been put up on a foundation. Inside, there was a long, Formica counter with stools bolted to the floor and a soda fountain set up behind it. Red Naugahyde booths took up the other side of the car and stretched out into a back room that had been added on. The place had a well-used air and he had a feeling that the 1950s decor wasn’t cultivated, it was authentic. The thing had probably been at the side of the road since sock hops and ducktails were in.
People looked them over and waved at Frankie. She was careful to introduce him as her new chef to every single person they talked to, setting the boundaries like a brick layer. He wasn’t sure whether the message was for his benefit or the townspeople’s—probably both. When they finally sat down at a booth way in the rear of the addition, he wasn’t surprised when she put her back to the door.
Cherry tomato? His ego was going to fit on a pinhead with room to spare.
Before the waitress even filled their water glasses, Frankie said, “So. What do you think we should do?”
“Order dinner. Eat.” Go dancing, he thought, eyeing the way her collarbones looked framed by the wide neckline of her shirt.
This is not a date, he reminded himself.
Yeah, says who, his libido shot back.
Nate rubbed his eyes. Oh, goody. He could kiss mental health goodbye now, too.
Frankie accepted a laminated menu with a smile. “I mean about us working together.”
He flipped open his menu and was delighted to see pictures of the entrées. And the food was right out of the Saturday Evening Post. Meat loaf. Chicken potpie. Turkey blue plate special that came with mashed potatoes and wax beans. As if it could possibly have included anything else?
He felt her eyes on him and liked it, so he leisurely perused the selections.
“What are you going to have?” he asked.
“A nervous breakdown,” she muttered and opened her menu.
So we’ll tell the waitress to make that a double, he thought.
“I should never have agreed to this.” Her eyes were scanning up and down and he doubted she was seeing anything.
“Now why’s that?” he drawled. And when she was finished, he could share his own list of regrets. Starting with the fact that he was getting turned on just by watching her lovely fingers flip the menu pages over.
“This just feels all wrong. And so does being around you in the kitchen. I can’t decide whether you’re ignoring me because you’re busy or because you’re still mad. And I tell myself I shouldn’t care, but I do.” She pulled the shirt back so its neckline was higher. Pity. “And if you are angry, I don’t really blame you, but I can’t think of much more I can do in terms of apologizing.”
Unfortunately, he could think of quite a number of things. Most of which involved his mouth and unfettered access to her body.
Why don’t you lean forward and put your hand on her knee, his libido suggested. You could inch that skirt up until you—
Shut up. Damn, his sex drive—
“Excuse me?”
Nate realized he’d spoken aloud. God, he hoped like hell he’d stopped at the shut up part. “Nothing. I, ah—”
The waitress came back. Thank God.
“We’d like a bottle of wine,” he said. As well as a cold pack for his erection.
“White or red?” the woman asked, whipping out her pad.
“Frankie?”
“Red’s fine. No, white. Wait, red.” She put her hand on her forehead. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“We’ll take one of each.” He smiled at the waitress and ordered the meat loaf.
“That’s overkill,” Frankie said.
“Then pick one. And what would you like to eat?”
“I’ll have the meat loaf, too. So red would be fine.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door to the diner open and a tall man with two blond children come in. The three of them took seats at the counter. The youngest, a girl of about four, needed help from her father to get on the stool.
A sturdy shot of pain whipped through Nate’s chest and he had to take a quick drink of water.
As he looked away from the kids, he hoped the ache would fade quickly. God, that yearning, that regret, was it ever going to go stop? Every child he saw triggered the sting. Especially the little girls.
And children were everywhere. He couldn’t seem to get away from them, even at White Caps. Twice this week he’d had them invade his territory, coming into the kitchen looking for a snack or just out of curiosity.