Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) (22 page)

There went that smile again, melting her composure like candle wax that had had a flame on it for too long. She was even more of a sucker for
thank you
.

“
And the kids thank you,” he said.

She shook her head. “No way. You don’t get to bring the kids into this. I’d finish the cookies and do your picnic even without the begging.”

“
I know you would. And that’s why I like you so much, Jolie Gardener.” Then he gave her a little arm rub, à la “Way to go, Sport.”

That’d be her, Good Sport Jolie.

***

“
So,” Todd said when they were once more dropping cookie dough dollops onto trays, “how’d you learn to cook if you moved around a lot?”

Now there was a nice way of putting it.
Moved around a lot
. Made her sound like an Army brat instead of a homeless one.

“
I lived with the Carlesons for an entire school year and Mrs. Carleson was a stay-at-home mom.” Jolie pulled up another baking sheet. “I think she just really liked trying to make things nice for those of us who didn’t have such a great lot in life. There were three of us staying with them in addition to her four kids. Her husband traveled on business a lot. I think he was some big-wig in a computer company. Anyway, she’d always have freshly-baked cookies or brownies for us when we got home from school.”

Todd started on his second tray. “That must have been nice. I loved when my mom made brownies.”

Okay, she’d add brownies to her list of To-Dos.

“
It was.” She opened the top oven for her two trays then the bottom one for Todd’s. “One rainy weekend, her husband was away, her kids were off on some church outing, and the three of us were there with her. One of the kids asked if she could teach her to bake and we all jumped on the bandwagon.”

Actually, the “her” had been her. So desperate for something—
anything
—normal in her life. Toll House cookies had fit the bill.

“
She sounds like a nice woman.” Todd handed her the second tray and she set the oven timer.

“
She was. Still is, I guess.”

“
So what happened? Why couldn’t you stay there longer?”

The very same question she’d asked herself all those years ago. “Her husband got transferred so we did, too.” She shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal, but yeah, it’d been a big deal. Big. Huge. She’d cried herself into dehydration the day she’d found out.

“
Do you ever keep in touch with the people you met?”

“
No.” She brushed some cookie dough crumbs from the edge of the counter into her palm. “What’s the point? We never knew how long we had at a house, how long we wanted to stay or were wanted to stay, so what was the point of getting attached?”

“
Well, Mrs. Carleson sure knew how to make a great cookie.”

“
Yeah, she did. And it actually helped me because if I could convince my other foster moms to buy the ingredients, I’d make cookies for the family. Once that happened, I was usually a big hit.”

Todd stopped dolloping and pointed his scoop at her. “Is that why you became a chef?”

“
No. I became a chef because I have a knack for it. Because it’s a job and it pays decently and—”

...

Oh crud. Was he— Could he be onto something?

…

Oh man. She’d picked her career to make people like her.

Obviously
that was why she baked for her foster families. If she could make the world’s best cookies, they’d want her to stay.

And now her adult life was mimicking her childhood, going from house to house, cooking for people and staying with them until their lives changed, while hers just kept repeating itself.

She never saw this?

Apparently not and now she felt like she’d just been clobbered by the tallest redwood tree in the Pacific Northwest.

And if a giant redwood tree hypothetically fell on you and you didn’t see it coming, could you still make a sound?

Again, apparently not, because there was nothing—not even air—able to get past the lump in her throat.

Todd dropped his cookie scoop and rushed around the island, taking her by the shoulders. “Jolie? Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

She nodded, though words were beyond her.

He backed her up to a chair and guided her into it.

She knew what was going on, but for some reason it didn’t feel like it was happening to her. It was as if she were watching herself over her own shoulder, detached from her very own sucker-punch of realization.

Todd thrust a glass of water into her hands. She knew she was supposed to do something with it, but for the life of her, she didn’t have a clue.

He guided the glass and her hands to her mouth. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

If he said so.

The cool water passed her lips and suddenly she was back in her body and she gasped at the sharp stab in her stomach that she recognized immediately.

Pure, unadulterated pain.

But gasping in a mouthful of water had the immediate effect of dousing the pain in hacking coughs. Todd smacked her on the back and even though it wasn’t the touch she’d like from him, his body contacting with hers was enough to stem the pain and focus her on the here and now.

Here and now
.
Not
done and gone
. Get over it and yourself, Jols. Move on.

Right. That was all in her past and if she chose a career because of her needs as a child then it was up to her to make certain she became a success at it.

Jolie waved him away and stopped coughing. Her throat was a little raw from the water going down the wrong pipe, but she was okay. Back in control. Knowing where she was going, and what she was doing in her life.

She was.

Really.

“
Thanks.” She took another sip of water to ease the soreness in her throat.

Todd’s eyes scanned her face. “Jolie—”

She shook her head and did the “talk to the hand” thing.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Thank goodness the man could take a hint.

The timer chose that moment to ding and it was a good choice.

“
We better get back to our schedule,” Todd said.

Honestly, she could kiss the man for the normalcy.

Among other reasons.

***

From the shadows of his patio, the night sounds whispering around the soft ripples of the pond fountain, Todd watched through the kitchen window as Jolie puttered around his kitchen once the baking was completed. She hadn’t wanted his help for the cleanup and, while he felt like a heel for leaving her the mess, he also understood her need for space.

That’d been a tough revelation for her. He hadn’t realized at the time what he was saying, what effect it would have on her, that her career choice might be a subconscious fulfillment of a basic principal of life, until he’d seen that look on her face.

He couldn’t imagine what her childhood had been like for her. Years of her life. Formative years.

He rubbed the side of his jaw, catching remnants of cookie dough in the stubble there. Brown sugar, cinnamon, apples… The little comforts of home. Things he’d always had growing up and had missed since Trista’s death.

But Jolie, she’d been through it her entire life. He’d had a great childhood, a wonderful marriage and, though he missed Trista like hell, he’d never doubted she’d loved him.

He’d also never anticipated that their happiness would suddenly be torn away.

Unlike Jolie, he hadn’t expected the worst. Maybe that was why it had hit so hard and blindsided him.

But look at her. Dancing again to some song he couldn’t hear—albeit less exuberantly than the Shania he’d encountered earlier—her lips mouthing the words, expressions flitting across her face, she was back to her normal self.

But where did that “normal self” hold the pain so no one could see? And how had she, as a child, found the wherewithal to construct such walls? How had she maintained the will to live, to go on, with no one? To make something of herself and fulfill her dreams?

He didn’t have no one. He had Mike and Barbara. The people he employed. Friends who still called even after two years of silence from him.

Who did she have?

She snuck a cookie off the cooling rack, her shoulders hunched as if waiting to be condemned for that action. The fact that she felt she had to sneak it broke his heart. What was it like to not feel comfortable helping yourself to a cookie? One she’d slaved over for two days?

Hers was a strength he’d never seen before. Piercing eyes, a determined set to her mouth, a sharp jaw that rounded in softness when she smiled, Jolie was a hell of a lot stronger than she gave herself credit for.

And that strength inspired him.

She
inspired him.

***

Whoever said introspection was good for the soul never had a past they wanted to run away from.

And, apparently, she wasn’t the only one. Todd had made darned sure to stay in that west wing until way past a reasonable dinnertime. Which made the roast chicken go cold, so Jolie chopped it up, tossed it with some honey-mustard-flavored mayo, red grapes, and almonds, put it on a bed of endive on a
batard
, added a tomato rose and parsley garnish to the side, and left him a note on the counter. Past nine o’clock, she called it a night and headed up to bed, Mr. Griff’s book in hand.

Witnessing Miss Rebecca Featherington’s parasol dilemma (her parasol, his body part, their collision) was much more appealing than delving into the dark closets of her own mind.

Just as she was about to turn off the light, Todd ascended the staircase. And sure enough, her nerves got all jumpy and she barely moved in her bed so she could listen.

Why? God only knew. Maybe Miss Rebecca Featherington’s Victorian ideals had rubbed off on her. Maybe she should be clutching her very lacy, very starched white nightrail to her neck so the wicked lord wouldn’t take advantage of her innocence.

And maybe she should abandon Miss Rebecca Featherington and her parasol to over-acting purgatory.

When Todd’s footsteps reached the top of the stairs, a quandary struck. Should she call out “goodnight”? Go to her door to say it? Ignore him and pretend she was asleep? With the light on? Uh oh. What if he came in to turn it off?

Yeah, right. He probably wanted to avoid her as much as she wanted to—

“
Jolie? Are you awake?” he asked outside her door.

“
Um, yes?”

The doorknob clicked but didn’t open.

“
Thanks. For the sandwich.”

“
You’re welcome.”

“
It was good.”

“
Um… okay?”

With a heavy breath, a little
plunk
thudded on the other side of the door like his head was resting there. “About this afternoon… ”

Oh, God. She couldn’t re-do this. She simply couldn’t.

His knuckles rapped the door. He, apparently, could. “Do we have to talk through this?”

That low, husky question was not good for her equilibrium. “I’m… um… not really dressed.” She couldn’t stifle the groan once the words were out. Good Lord. She
used
to be able to think straight. Used to be able keep her wits about her, but that capability had flown the coop ever since she set eyes on one unbelievably sexy naked man in his kitchen.

Who now stood outside her bedroom door chuckling at her supposed state of undress. “Well, I guess turnabout is fair play. I just wanted to say thanks for staying.”

“
You’re welcome.”
He
was thanking
her
?

Todd cleared his throat and the doorknob clicked again, but still didn’t open. “Well, goodnight.”

“
Goodnight.”

She flipped off the light, scrunched down beneath the eight-bazillion count sheets, and smiled herself into Slumber Land.

So this was what it was like to feel wanted.

Chapter Eighteen

Picnic day arrived after a pretty decent, non-emotion-laden second baking day full of snappy tunes, good vibes, and totally surface-level conversation. Todd still did his disappearing act up to the west wing in the evening, but that was okay. All the cookies had been baked, the mess cleaned up, and her gut hadn’t taken any more rapier jabs. Things were looking up.

“
You ready?” Todd was looking rather sporty in his navy shorts and red-with-a-gray stripe rugby. White running shoes and sharp sunglasses completed the ensemble.

Jolie elected to go with a yellow sundress (darn, no matching kicky flats), tan sandals, and her own sun-reflective gear. “I’m ready and so is breakfast.”

“
Thanks. Mike will be here any minute to help with the cookies.”

They threw back banana chocolate chip pancakes—he did say anything to do with chocolate chips was fine with him—rinsed the dishes and loaded the cookies.