Secret Ingredient: Love (14 page)

He’d never had her in the first place, but his heart ached as if she was lost to him forever.

Chapter Twelve

“I ’m a blockhead?”

Angry, Alex stared at his mother across the linen-covered, flower-and-candle-bedecked table in the very expensive restaurant he’d taken her to. He had hoped she could lift his spirits. Instead of a mother lion defending her cub, she’d thrown him to the wolves.

“It hurts me to say it more than it hurts you to hear it,” she said sympathetically.

Alex doubted that very much. He had explained to Flo what had happened with his favorite little frozen food chef to make him late for dinner. And she’d responded by calling him names.

“Okay. What have I done that justifies you calling me a blockhead?”

“It’s what you didn’t do,” she began, in that patient, patronizing tone. “You should have pleaded with her to stay instead of agreeing so quickly to give in to her request for a letter of recommendation.”

“I told her I wanted to renegotiate, but she turned me down flat.”

“Did she give you any explanation?”

“She said she wasn’t going to change for any man.”

His mother’s gaze skittered away for a moment. “Uh-oh.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” His stomach clenched. Two wordlets, one syllable each that sent dread coursing through him. What the hell did “uh-oh” mean? It was the first inkling he’d had that he’d confided in his mother hoping she would reassure him that Fran hadn’t meant what she’d said and it would all blow over.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

His mother frowned, then took a sip of her white wine. “It would appear that the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. And any tendency you have toward being a blockhead was inherited from me.”

“You want to explain that?” he asked, frowning in bewilderment.

“I’m afraid it’s my fault that Fran wants to leave.”

He really didn’t like hearing “Fran” and “leave” in the same sentence. “How’s that?” he asked in as calm a tone as he could manage.

“She’s in love with you,” Flo said simply.

Fran was in love with him? Miss “Love, marriage, and servitude go hand in hand”? The idea made his heart pound in a dance of joy and exultation. But he couldn’t quite believe it. Or maybe he didn’t want to? If he did, he would have to admit what he felt for her.

“Ma, start at the beginning. You lost me back at the part where you knocked your own gene pool.”

Flo took a piece of dark bread from the cloth-covered basket on the table and set it on her plate. As
she looked at him, she started pulling off little pieces. “I made it a point to talk to Fran at the wedding. To thank her for doing such a wonderful job with the food,” she added.

“And?” he prodded. She was the mother of all matchmakers and must have had another motive besides that.

“I could see that there was something going on between the two of you.”

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“She asked me what Beth was like.”

Alex remembered her asking him, too. At the cabin. “What did you tell her?”

“The truth. That Beth catered to you shamelessly and was just a little too selfless.”

“What does that mean, Ma?”

“Come on, Alex. Now you’re being worse than a blockhead. And dense doesn’t become you. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Beth practically cut your meat for you. She was a sweet girl, and what happened was tragic. I’d give almost anything to have prevented what happened to her—and to you. But we all felt like pond scum around her.”

“Pond scum?” he asked, but somehow he knew what she was going to say.

“Yes. The whole family. She made us all feel inadequate. There was just something about her we felt was wrong for you.”

“Why didn’t anyone mention this to me?” He knew what his mother meant. He’d felt it himself, but had chosen to ignore the doubts. He remembered trying to give to Beth and always feeling as if it wasn’t enough.

Flo sighed. “You would have become defensive. Your father and I talked about it endlessly and were
just grateful that you had the good sense to put off marriage. I have something to ask you and I don’t mean for you to give me an answer. But really think about it.”

“What, Ma?”

“Would Beth really have made you happy?” She held up her hand. “Don’t say anything.”

He nodded. “But I think I know what you’re getting at.”

He did. It was suddenly crystal clear.

“There’s more,” his mother said. “About Fran, I mean.”

If she kept this up, he would be in so deep, he could never dig his way out. “Let me have it.”

“I told Fran she was very different from Beth. But I meant it in a good way.” His mother’s attractive face filled with regret and concern. “I didn’t get an opportunity to add that the differences were refreshing and wonderful. That I hadn’t seen you look so happy and so…alive for a very long time.”

Bingo. That was why she’d taken to scraping and bowing in the middle of the reception. And it explained the cream and sugar in his coffee, the offer to fetch his cake and drop off his dry cleaning. She was trying to be selfless and giving. She was trying to be like Beth. And then he really got it.

It was the differences that made him love Fran exactly the way she was. It was her unique spirit that made her so special and dear. Did she love him, too?

Was that why she’d looked so devastated when he’d said he’d never asked her to change? Because she’d wanted to hear that she was already okay?

“You’re right, Ma. I am a blockhead. I just hope it’s not too late to fix it.”

With a breaking heart, Fran walked down the corridor to her apartment after a long day of not seeing Alex at work. In one hand, she clutched the long loaf of French bread she had bought at the market. She wasn’t sure what she’d fix for dinner to go along with it. Maybe nothing. Carbs were the feel-good food.

And she desperately wanted to feel good, or at least better. Because in her other hand she held the letter of recommendation Alex’s secretary had given her. Fran had realized in that moment how much she’d hoped that Alex would tell her he loved her and that he couldn’t let her go.

“You’re the world’s biggest fool, Frannie Carlino,” she said to herself.

She stopped in front of her apartment and juggled to free a hand so that she could get her keys out and unlock her door. When she went to insert it, the door inched open. Fear knotted her stomach. Was someone in there?

She jammed her letter in her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then wielded the loaf of crusty bread like a baseball bat as she slowly and quietly stepped inside. Listening intently, she heard what sounded like a muffled curse coming from her kitchen. A male voice. And she sniffed when a delicious smell drifted to her.

After peeking around the corner, she moved forward cautiously. When she made it to the doorway between the two rooms, she instantly recognized the man standing there.

“Alex!”

He turned around and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He put his hands up. “You should put that down before someone gets hurt.”

She wanted to brain him with the bread. He’d hurt her with something far more deadly than that. Words—or lack of them. Almost in a daze, she lowered her arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I need—”

“How did you get in?”

“The building manager—”

“What have you done to my kitchen?”

She looked at the mess he’d made. Several empty pasta boxes sat on top of the overflowing trash container, along with cellophane bags and plastic cartons. If she wasn’t mistaken, the discards had held the ingredients of her original recipe. And again if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d made it more than once.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” she snapped.

“If you’ll stop interrupting me, I’ll answer all of your questions.”

She set the French bread beside her purse on the counter. “Okay. First things first—what are you doing here?”

“I’m your boss. I came to make you an appreciation dinner.”

The word boss punctured the bubble of hope that had inflated inside her. “Why?”

“By definition, a gesture of appreciation denotes respect and admiration. I respect and admire you.”

“If you wanted me to leave before my contract with the company is up, all you had to do was ask. I got the letter of recommendation. That sent a message loud and clear.”

“I dictated that yesterday, right after you asked for it. My secretary transcribed it this morning, before I had a chance to delete it.” He put down the wooden
spoon he’d been holding and walked the few steps over to her. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“How did you get into my apartment?” she asked. Hadn’t he already said? She couldn’t remember. She was losing her mind along with her heart, and desperately trying to prevent that tiny little bubble of hope from inflating again.

“I charmed your manager.”

“I’m going to have to have a chat with Elena.” If her building manager had been a guy, Alex wouldn’t have gotten his big toe inside her place. And what was the other thing she’d asked? Oh, yes. “What have you done to my kitchen? It looks as if you’ve made the same dish twice.” She looked closer at the trash. “Nope. Three times. What gives?”

“It has to be perfect. For you.”

Why? she wanted to shout. She wasn’t perfect. She would never be like the woman he’d loved and lost. Why did he have to rub her nose in it?

She was so confused. “Is this about talking me into staying with the company? Or—”

“Both,” he answered, a look in his eyes that turned her insides the same consistency as the angel hair pasta he’d overcooked in her six quart Dutch oven.

She didn’t want to discuss the “or.” That would hurt too much. So she went straight to business. “I can’t stay with the company.”

“Why not?”

Because it would break my heart to see you every day, to be this in love with you for the rest of my life, and know that you’ll never be able to love me back.

“I just can’t,” she answered helplessly.

He walked over to her purse and grabbed the letter that was sticking out. “Marchetti’s letterhead,” he
said, glancing at it. Then he met her gaze with an intensity that took her breath away. “To whom it may concern, Miss Francesca Carlino is the most gifted chef I’ve ever worked with. She is beautiful—”

“That’s not in the letter,” she protested breathlessly.

“—spirited, maddening, loving, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t hire her so she would continue to work for me.”

“Alex, I can’t—”

He ripped the letter in half, then in half again.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, astonished.

“Because I won’t let you go.”

“I’m the wrong woman. No matter how hard I try, I will never be the right one. You said so yourself. You didn’t ask me to change.”

“Why would I do that when you’re already the perfect woman? ‘Don’t change a hair for me, not if you care for me.”’ He took her face in his hands and whispered, “‘My funny valentine.”’

Then he lowered his mouth to hers. She rested her palms on his chest and gave herself up to the magic of his kiss. In spite of her self-warnings, hope blossomed inside her. He nibbled at her lips, softly, sweetly, until she grew hot all over.

She pulled back, and said breathlessly, “I care for you. But I couldn’t change even if I wanted to. My mother made me see that. And also that doing for the ones we love is a privilege, not a punishment.” She met his gaze. “I had a talk with my folks. Daddy says it’s a guy thing. He wants me settled—to a man who will love me like he does my mother. And someone I love like she does him,” she added.

“Do you love me?” Alex asked.

She saw anticipation in his eyes, the hope that she
would say yes. Whether or not he returned her feelings, she had to be honest with him.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded slightly as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Your fetching and carrying act showed me something, too.”

“What?”

“It’s about Beth,” he stated. “I loved her and it hurt a lot when I lost her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But she wasn’t the right woman to make me happy,” he explained. “She was too perfect. At first I was in awe of that and flattered. I tried to meet her halfway. But with her there was no halfway. When someone gives everything and then some, it’s overwhelming. And…”

“There’s more?” Fran asked.

He nodded. “I realized that I didn’t put off the wedding because of my career. I did it because I had serious doubts. Maybe subconsciously, but they were there, preventing me from taking the next step. If she hadn’t died, we would have played our relationship out. I would have realized it was wrong.”

“And saved so much guilt and pain,” Fran murmured, her heart breaking for him.

He shook his head. “It’s over now. Thanks to you.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with me. You said from the beginning that Marchettis only get one chance at love.”