Girl of Mine (5 page)

“I spent a year studying abroad in France. It’s hard to find foie gras prepared correctly. My compliments to the chef.”

“Thanks so much,” she said again. “It’s a bit of an acquired taste for many Americans.” Foie gras was made from the liver of a goose or duck. Controversy surrounded it as the geese or ducks are force fed in order to fatten them up to achieve the rich taste in the liver. Jill had prepared it as a terrine for this evening’s service, atop brioche, topping it all off with a sauternes geleé
,
which was in essence a champagne jello. The three flavors combined to create a fascinating culinary experience.

“I try my hand at French cuisine here and there. I’m making a few appetizers for a get-together at my house tomorrow evening. Maybe you’d like to join us, Jillian?”

Jill assumed he wasn’t asking her out since he had a date at his side. Still, this man was a stranger to her and she hesitated, taken off guard at the sudden invite.

“Please, I’d love to pick your brain. It’s rare to meet someone who really knows what they’re doing when it comes to French cooking.”

A polite decline sat on the tip of her tongue and he seemed to sense it.

“Here’s my address.” Troy handed her a card. “Just stop by. You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to. Bring a friend if it makes you feel more comfortable. We’re pretty casual. It’s just a backyard thing.” He waved his hand, indicating
no big deal
.

His date smiled at her, obviously not threatened. “Hey, I’m Joni. The food has been
to die for
this evening and I feel as though I’m going to pop. Guess I’ll die happy, huh? Come on by tomorrow night. Troy’s a great cook and you won’t leave hungry. I guarantee it. I’ll be there too,” she added.

Jill took a liking to Joni at once and thought, why not?

When she looked at the address the next day and saw it was in the middle-class-ritzy part of town, curiosity got the best of her. It was an obsession of hers to look inside fancy homes. She felt drawn to open houses like a moth is drawn to flame. She absolutely could not pass them by without stopping to take a look inside. Besides, being twenty-three and single meant she sometimes had to be creative when meeting men. But she wasn’t naïve either and knew it would be foolish to go alone. So she called her best friend, Lacy, who readily agreed to tag along.

As it turned out, the party was on the up and up—simply a casual get-together amongst friends in Troy’s backyard. She immediately felt comfortable and didn’t feel the need to worry about nefarious motives. The sprawling house appeared quite elegant if curb appeal was anything to go by, and she longed to explore it. How long would it be proper to wait before she asked to use the restroom so she could sneak a peek inside?

There were about fifty or so people in attendance, all around her age. Some hung out around the fire pit making s’mores, talking and laughing. Some played badminton, some splashed around the pool, and some meandered the expertly manicured flower garden. Music played over the outdoor speaker system and a few couples danced whenever the mood took them. The atmosphere felt informal and relaxed, the August evening warm and inviting.

“Jillian, I’m so glad you came,” Troy said when he saw her arrive. Troy was dressed just as he had been last night, only he’d changed from a black suit to a gray suit. He wore slacks with a matching blazer, and a vest over a dress shirt. No tie. The dress shirt was left unbuttoned at the neck, his only attempt at appearing casual. A gray silk scarf hung about his shoulders. Yesterday the scarf had been burgundy. In the backyard setting, he seemed overly dressed.

“Please, call me Jill.” To her surprise, Troy walked with a cane due to a severe limp. He’d been sitting when she’d met him at the restaurant last night and had no idea he was the slightest bit handicapped. He didn’t let it slow him down though and it was easy to forget he was impaired in any way.

A colorful spread of food graced the table. Troy proudly insisted she try his “French appetizers.” Jill hid a giggle as she tried a prosciutto wrapped melon ball. Next, she nibbled on a slice of goats’ milk cheese sprinkled with herbs and lemon zest. Her favorite was an artfully sliced avocado delicately seasoned with olive oil, parsley, cilantro, and pepper, which Troy called
avocado carpaccio
. They were all tasty appetizers, but hardly qualified as “French cooking.”

If he served french fries or french toast, she was leaving and never looking back.

She’d keep that joke to herself. It was bad on many levels. Still, Jill clamped her lips shut in order to keep herself from laughing at her own stupid joke.

Troy had also made individual cheese soufflés in bite size ramekins. It was a valiant effort. They had collapsed in the middle, but were quite flavorsome. They spent over an hour deep in conversation over the whys and wherefores of French cooking. Troy appeared seriously interested and Jill quickly realized he hadn’t invited her just to try and pick up on her. Whether she should feel flattered or disappointed by this realization, she couldn’t decide.

Troy had thick black hair and eyes so dark brown they were almost black. He had long eyelashes that would make most women jealous—and were completely wasted on a man. Jill enjoyed his company, finding him to be soft-spoken and ultra polite.

When the conversation lulled, they watched the other guests in a companionable silence. Occasionally he referenced his injury—or birth defect, she wasn’t sure which—in a slightly feel-sorry-for-me way.

“Ah, badminton. Would be nice. Not for me, I’m afraid,” he said once as he longingly watched a few of the others play. His date from last night, Joni, was one of the players.

Jill didn’t comment.

A little later he said, “Sadly, no dancing for me tonight. Or ever.” One hand waved in the direction of his legs as if he needed to point out where his injury/defect was located.

It made Jill somewhat uncomfortable and she wasn’t sure how to respond. It seemed as if he wanted to speak of his injury/defect, so she finally asked the begged question, hoping she didn’t offend him by misreading the situation. In all honesty, if he hadn’t purposely brought his handicap to her attention, she would’ve forgotten all about it. It didn’t define him or distract from his personality. He did that all on his own.

“What happened to your legs?”

“Chainsaw accident.” He didn’t elaborate, other than to say, “My dad and I built the tree house at the back of the yard.”

The “tree house” reminded Jill of something you would see at Disneyland and hardly resembled a simple childhood retreat. Standing at four-stories high, the roofless creation wrapped around the largest tree in their backyard like several multi-layered decks. Thick ropes and netting, adorned with strings of globe lights, made up the railing. Stair steps took you on and upward to each new deck. Jill had been chomping at the bit to explore the amazing structure, but desperately tried to rein in her childlike exuberance. Several guests wandered up and down the Swiss Family Robinson-esque edifice.

“Wow. Lucky you. Any child would love to have that in their backyard.” Then, remembering he’d been hurt during its creation added, “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

“Eh. No big deal,” he shrugged.

But it was a big deal. A huge one. Jill felt confused by his vibes. One minute he called attention to his injury, the next he acted as though he didn’t want to talk about it. For some reason, Jill had the distinct feeling he enjoyed sympathy. Maybe even basked in it.

A little later in the evening a police officer entered the backyard, his flashlight blinding them.

“Hey, I’m gonna have to ask you to keep it down out here. The neighbors are complaining,” he yelled.

The group whooped and hollered their greetings, “Luke! ‘Bout time you made it! Come sit down, buddy!”

It took Jill a minute to realize Luke was another guest and they were not in trouble with the law for disturbing the peace.

“Glad to see the party’s still goin’. Let me go change and I’ll be right back,” Luke told them.

“Luke
is
the neighbor next door,” Troy told her. “He likes to show off his uniform.”

What an odd thing to say. Did she detect a note of jealousy in Troy’s words?

“He’s in the Army Reserves too. It’s even worse when he’s wearing his Army uniform.” Troy rolled his eyes as if he was trying to be funny, but his words came off as churlish.

Hmmmmm
.
 
.
 
.
a policeman and a military man.
Jill felt suitably impressed.

Troy went on. “His parents practically
gave
him the house when they retired, the bum. I still live here with my mom. Since my dad died, she doesn’t like to be alone. Luke and I grew up together. We’ve lived next door to each other all of our lives. I’ve known Luke since I was . . . oh . . . well, since we were babies really. We’ve been friends as far back as I can remember. If I have a party, he just assumes he’s invited.”

From that, Jill immediately deduced that Luke lived off his parents (which didn’t make sense since he obviously worked for a living), Troy was a saint for taking care of his mother, and Troy didn’t really want Luke at his party. At least, that seemed to be what Troy was implying. Not in so many words, but the implication was there, loud and clear. Unspoken words sometimes spoke much louder than the uttered.

Luke returned about fifteen minutes later, dressed in black jeans and a black Henley.
The man in black.
Yes, she noticed his clothing. And she noticed his light brown hair, combed back on his head. And she noticed his olive complexion, his easy smile and friendly demeanor. And the fact that everyone seemed happy to see him.

Except Troy.

When Luke approached, his eyes zeroed in on her—and there they stayed. He strode casually, his hands in his pockets. Where Troy was slight of frame and beautifully handsome, Luke was muscles and sinew, ruggedly attractive, masculinity at its finest.

“Hey Troy, how’s it goin’, buddy?” he said as he patted Troy on the back in a show of friendly affection.

His eyes never left hers.

“As well as can be expected,” Troy said sourly as he glanced down at his legs.

Then Troy introduced her to Lucas Graham.

And the ground dropped from beneath her. The earth swayed and tilted. She’d swear by it.

“Luke, this is Jillian Barrett. She’s a chef at
Chateau
.” Then in an undertone, Troy said, “Luke wouldn’t know it, Jill.”

With Luke’s eyes on her, Jill felt like she was being looked at, as if she could physically feel his gaze. She almost took a step backwards, just to escape the intensity. Even in the dim patio light of dusk she could see how blue his eyes were, how piercing his stare was. They didn’t seem to belong on a real person’s face, they jumped out at her and made her stare and she forgot she was looking into someone’s eyes, someone’s personal space.

“Hi Jillian. Nice to meet you. I know
Chateau
. It’s downtown, right?”

He held out his hand and they shook, then he held her hand in both of his and didn’t let go. She didn’t object. As a matter of fact, she wanted her hand to stay right there in his grasp for the rest of her life. “Yes. Downtown.”

His eyes felt glued to hers and the moment should have been awkward. But it wasn’t.

He smiled. She smiled.

His smile took over and transformed his features. He didn’t smile with just his mouth, he smiled with his face. Jill felt immediately drawn to him, as if he had a secret and she wanted to be in on it. It was one of those moments you remember all your life, one of those moments that become a defining memory in your life, and you know it even as it happens. Like the first day of school when you climb into the school bus and know your life just changed forever. Or when you hear a song for the first time, a song that speaks to your soul, and you remember where you were when you first heard it. Or the moment you see something in nature that takes your breath away and you recognize you’ve just witnessed something miraculous. Jill had felt that way when she’d visited the Monarch Butterflies in Monterey, California. Wooden planked walkways meandered through the huge trees housing the Monarchs. Visitors were asked to speak in whispers so as not to disturb the butterflies. In spite of the crowds, the atmosphere had felt ethereal, as if time had been momentarily suspended just so humans could catch a glimpse of nature at its finest. One of the Monarchs had alighted on her shoulder, gracing her with its majestic presence for just a tiny incredible moment.

This felt like one of those moments.

Her senses were suddenly on overload as the mundane became out-of-the-ordinary. Splashing water and loud laughter echoed from the vicinity of the pool, Creed sang about one last breath over the airwaves, the smell of campfire and roasted marshmallows met her nostrils, and the feel of Luke’s supple yet roughened skin tickled her nerve endings. The sights, the sounds, the smells all imbued themselves into her psyche. All of these things would be forever associated with meeting Lucas Graham for the first time. A perfect summer evening, happiness and light. A warmth she’d never known engulfed her.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Luke said, finding his voice.

“I’m glad too. I almost didn’t.”

“I would’ve been disappointed.”

“You wouldn’t have known.”

“Oh . . . I would’ve known,” he said enigmatically.

Jill let that thought linger in her subconscious. The feeling of leaving an event and feeling letdown gripped her gut. Perhaps missed opportunity was felt and absorbed more often than we realize.

“Am I under arrest?” Jill asked, then chastised herself for making a bad joke.
What a cliché thing to say to a cop. He’s probably heard that one a million times. Great first impression.
Still, it was better than, “Come to the dark side.” He’s probably heard that one more times than he cares to admit.

As if only just realizing he still held her hand tightly within both of his, Luke let go. “No, sorry.”