“So, the girlfriend is a lie?”
He didn’t like how bad that sounded. “A white lie so no one’s feelings get hurt.”
“And you didn’t call Heidi?”
“I don’t even know who Heidi is.”
“Oh.”
“Are we good?”
There was another long pause, and he held his breath until she said, “Yes, we’re good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He pretty much bounced through the lunch rush next day, joking with patrons, flirting with women who were old enough to be his mother, and treating anyone in his general age range as though he were their brother. He left Melissa to do the final cleanup and close up so he was able to get away a little early. He bolted home, grabbed a long hot shower, shaved and put on clean clothes. He wasn’t a huge slob but he took a few minutes to make sure the clothes he’d worn were tidily stowed in the laundry hamper, and that he’d picked up any clutter. He did not need to check his kitchen, because he always kept his kitchen spotless and it was the most well-organized room in his house.
Even though this was a working gig, he put music on softly. Since they would be working through the evening, he set about preparing a big, beautiful salad which he would serve with a fresh loaf of crusty bread he had picked up on his way home.
Then, reminding himself that he invited her over for work and not play, he pulled up the sample menus on his computer and started making notes.
When his doorbell rang, right on the dot of five o’clock, he was more than ready.
He walked to the front door, opened it and she stood there, her long hair like shadows of midnight hanging over her shoulders, her blue eyes dark and full of mystery. When she saw him her lips parted slightly and he felt that she was remembering, as he was, the depth of their passion the last time they had seen each other.
He meant to say something casual like, “Come in.” The words stuck in his throat. She opened her mouth as though she were going to say something equally innocuous and nothing came from her mouth either. For a long moment they stood there, gazes glued to each other, and then he took a step forward, and she took a step forward, and without ever a word being spoken she threw herself into his arms at exactly the same moment he pulled her in. All he could think about was the press of her body against his, the feel of her mouth hungry, demanding, moving against his. He turned them and managed to kick the door shut behind them with his foot.
* * *
They fell into a routine,after that. She’d come over, they’d play with food, put a local twist on one of his signature recipes, and each time he slipped a morsel of food into her mouth, or she argued with him over the choice of wording, it was like foreplay. Their nights always ended in passion. He’d never enjoyed a woman, or a project, more. The cookbook provided the perfect excuse for them to see each other every day, but he knew that he’d have wanted to see her every day no matter what. He was falling for Marguerite Chance, and falling hard. He liked to think he saw his feelings reflected back at him, but he wasn’t certain enough to declare himself.
Not yet. Didn’t want to scare the woman away. So, he wooed her with food, and she wooed him, whether she knew she was doing it or not, with her easy smile, her passion, her commitment to her work, and the open, loving way she gave of herself at night.
He doubted anyone but his mother knew that he was a romantic at heart. But he was. And with his brother engaged to Marguerite’s sister, and another sister getting married in less than a week, he felt like love and marriage were all around him. He’d always been impatient, and never more so than now. He’d found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he felt a strong urge to shout his feelings to the world!
Or at least whisper them into Marguerite’s ear.
While he was passing a craftsman jewelry store, a silver ring caught his eye and made him think of the way her silver rings sparkled on Marguerite’s hands when she was gesturing, or when she ran them over his body. On impulse, he went in and bought the ring, thinking how pretty it would look on her hand. It wasn’t diamonds, not enough to scare her off, but he felt that giving a woman a ring was his way of saying he was serious.
He’d do it Thursday, he decided. Iris’s wedding was Saturday. Maybe he was crazy, but he wanted to tell Marguerite his feelings at least before Saturday.
On Thursday,he was in a great mood as he arrived at his food truck. Maybe because he was so focused on what he was going to say that night, he wasn’t paying much attention to what was under his nose. Melissa was already there, as he’d expected, everything was opened up and she was chopping onions. When he heard her sniffing, he assumed the onions were to blame.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she replied without turning.
They worked side-by-side mostly in silence, with the ease of people who had worked together for a long time. He noted that she didn’t have her earphones on today blasting out alternative music that only she could hear. When he finally caught a glimpse of Melissa’s face he realized it wasn’t onions making her sniff, but a full on cold. Her eyes were red and her face blotchy. He said, “Are you okay to work here today?”
She blinked then nodded and turned quickly away. They got busy and he didn’t have time to worry about sending her home. And then, as usually happened, there was a lull. He’d been doing everything mechanically today, from cooking to serving, even his joking with the customers was the kind of thing he could do with his brain already fast-forwarded to later. He was nervous. He was nervous about tonight, and what he was going to say to Marguerite and whether it was too soon to tell her he loved her, and what she might say back. Was the ring too much, too soon?
Melissa and he didn’t have a close, personal relationship, but they’d worked together for a couple of years now, and she was a woman. He turned to her, in the middle of wiping down the counter, and asked, wet rag in one hand, “Melissa, can I ask you something?”
She glanced up warily. “Sure.”
He said, “It’s kind of personal, but I need some advice.”
“Sure. But don’t expect an answer.”
That’s what he liked about Melissa. She always said exactly what she thought. Plus, she wasn’t remotely interested in him, which made her an easy working companion. “Okay.” He wiped down the counter a little more, to give him time. Finally, he said, “You know Marguerite?”
