Текст книги "The Coincidence of Coconut Cake"
Автор книги: Amy E. Reichert
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
• CHAPTER ELEVEN •
Al fidgeted, trying to shift the pen in his back pocket. It poked at him in an unseemly manner, a little like his conscience. He didn’t know Lou well, at least not well enough to share his secret, but he still felt guilty hiding anything from her. Oh, there—that felt better.
Al and Lou shared a table at The Good Land, a restaurant located in Walker’s Point, not far from the lakefront. The restaurant exceeded all his expectations. The service staff attended to their needs without intruding, the wine list would impress the pickiest oenophile, and the menu explored the very best of Wisconsin cuisine in small-batch cheeses, local vegetables, and handmade sausages.
Rather than mask any flaws, the dining room lighting enhanced the beautiful woodwork, muted natural colors, and crisp white linens. Local artists had painted landscapes of Milwaukee that hung on the walls, providing a pictorial history of the area’s development, which a note on the menu explained. Inexplicably, he saw stills from the movie Wayne’s World decorating the restroom. It must be a private joke with the owner.
Lou looked beautiful in her brightly colored dress, kind of an orangey-pink—John would know the color. Her hair draped past her shoulders, dancing against her bare skin each time she moved. His imagination kept distracting him from their conversation, picturing his lips in place of her tresses. It was a short path from shoulders to neck to lips.
“You okay? You’re kind of wiggly,” Lou said.
“Just settling in. I think we’ll be here a while.” Al tried not to choke out the words.
“I hope so. I’ve been dying to eat here.”
While the waiter filled her wineglass, Lou said, “Could you tell Chef Tom I’d like a grilled cheese without cheese?”
The waiter’s baffled expression matched Al’s.
“Trust me. Just tell him. Feel free to mention how crazy I seem.”
“Okay,” the waiter said, and rushed toward the kitchen doors, eager to see Chef’s reaction.
“What are you doing?” Al looked around to see whether anyone had overheard her request.
“I went to school with Chef Tom ages ago. We worked together before moving on to grown-up jobs. At one restaurant, I washed dishes and he worked the line, and a customer actually ordered that. Grilled cheese with no cheese! It’s been a joke ever since.”
“Lou!” A booming voice rang over the dining room’s quiet bustle. A man roughly the size of a Packers lineman rushed like a freight train across the restaurant with arms wide. Lou hopped out of her chair into those arms.
“How ya doing, kid? I never thought I’d see you here. I didn’t think Devlin would allow it.” He looked around, searching for the odious man, perhaps to toss him out. Al approved.
“Devlin and I broke up a while ago. I’m here with my good friend Al.” Lou gestured toward Al, who felt a little uncomfortable under the large man’s firm gaze. Lou sat back down.
“At least he has good taste in restaurants. But what took you so long? It’s been months.”
“Work’s been a little time consuming. I’m sure you understand.”
“I heard. You’ll be fine. You always are. Let me know if I can help.” Chef Tom squeezed her elbow reassuringly.
“Thanks, Tom.”
“So, what did you order? Not that it matters, ’cause I’m making you something special.”
“We’re still trying to decide. You don’t make it easy.”
Tom laughed loud enough that the customers who weren’t already staring now turned to look.
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll send out the perfect meal with the best the kitchen has today. No plain old meal for you. I’ll even make it myself.”
“Don’t do that. That’s not why we came here.”
“Bullshit. What’s the point of knowing the chef if you don’t let him show off for you?”
“Don’t overdo it, then.”
“Me? Overdo? Of course not.” Chef Tom gave a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous and returned to his kitchen.
“I like him,” was all Al said, nodding his head toward the swinging kitchen door.
• • • • •
“Bloody hell, I can’t remember when I’ve eaten that much food.” Al wiggled, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his waistband. “Chef Tom has a gift. The way he took simple ingredients like cheddar and mushrooms and made them exciting. Or turning the duck egg and whitefish into a familiar and comforting dish. Thank God we’re walking to Summerfest. Even the wine paired brilliantly. I didn’t know Milwaukee had restaurants like that.”
Al patted his back pocket, checking on his notes. Writing on his leg in the loo had been trickier than expected, and his notes resembled a toddler’s scribbles. He kept thinking of details he didn’t want to forget. The Good Land ranked as one of the best restaurants he’d ever dined at. Anywhere. His palate still reeled from the decadent braised venison.
“I knew you liked food, but I didn’t realize you were so into it.”
“My mum’s culinary knowledge began and ended with the side of a box, so I appreciate good food after a childhood of deprivation.” The half-truth didn’t lie easy on his tongue. Al had acquired the cooking duties as soon as he could see the countertop, much to his father’s delight. As Al experienced more cuisines with his friends’ families, his cooking repertoire expanded. But he couldn’t and wouldn’t get into his past with Lou—not tonight. With so many little omissions building up, it was no wonder a new one could slide out so easily.
“Ha! My family was the opposite. My grandma could teach Chef Tom a thing or two about cooking.” Lou adjusted her bag so it crossed her body. “I’ll have to make you dinner sometime.”
“I would love that.” Al hoped she could hear the truth in those words, at least.
• • • • •
Lou looked around as they walked. She hadn’t been in this part of town recently. Several warehouses lined the streets, mingling with bars and boutiques. Over the past decade, Walker’s Point and the Third Ward, south of downtown, had evolved as hot spots in the city. Trendy shops, packed bars, bustling restaurants, and pricey riverfront condos brought new life to one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city. Intermingled with the new and updated stood older buildings, still serving the city’s industrial backbone.
A soft breeze ruffled Lou’s coral summer dress, and her purse’s long strap crossed her upper body—ideal for walking. Stars surely sparkled beyond the orange night glow the city emitted—Lou just couldn’t see them. The moon still hid beyond the horizon but should rise before midnight. The air lacked summer’s usual humidity and promised perfection for the rest of the evening. Being used to the heat in the kitchen, she enjoyed feeling the air whisper over her skin, caressing the goose pimples already there. She didn’t want to think about the real reason her skin reacted to every waft of air in the small distance between her and Al. The space between them seemed ten degrees warmer than the air.
This was their fourth outing. If they were dating, she’d be planning to ask him back to her apartment. But they weren’t, Lou reminded herself, and she wouldn’t. She frowned, acknowledged the disappointment, and added it to the other disappointments of the past few months.
Lou peered at Al as they walked past Alterra, a local coffee roaster. She closed her eyes to inhale the rich smell of coffee—a nice break from the usual city smells of exhaust, asphalt, and occasional waft of garbage. Devlin had called earlier today, this time at the restaurant. She let voice mail answer it, but her heart still wrenched when she listened to his message.
“Elizabeth, you’ve made your point. I’ll make amends. Now call me so I can help.”
Lou had reached for the phone, tempted to let Devlin clean up the mess of her failing business. It would be easy for him to pay vendors, fire employees, and get out of contracts. She could move in with him tomorrow; he’d asked her a million times. It would be so easy to fill the role he had created for her, to sell her dreams for their safe, comfortable routine. Wasn’t that what she’d been doing before she found him with Megan? But then she imagined bumping into Al, his expression when he saw her with Devlin. Lou shuddered. He would know she had taken the easy route—and so would she.
“Are you cold?” Al asked, breaking into her thoughts.
They hadn’t said much during the last few blocks. Al turned his head to Lou, waiting for her response.
“A little.” Lou gave a small smile and put her sweater on. As she stepped off the curb to cross the street, a small car screeched around the corner. Al grabbed her right wrist and hauled her back toward him, using his right arm to wrap around her back and hold her steady against his chest. The car zoomed away, missing them by a wide margin. Lou found Al staring into her face with wide, fiery blue eyes. His hand pressed against her lower back, holding her firmly against him, all of him. His other hand still grasped her wrist. Lou’s left hand landed on his chest, spread against the cool cotton of his shirt. She still had yet to breathe after the surprise of finding herself so close to him. Both froze, no breath between them, only the heat where their bodies touched.
She could feel the pulse on her wrist where Al began circling his thumb. Lou’s fingers pressed into his shirt, not pushing him away, but trying to grab on to him. Their eyes still locked, he pulled her even closer.
“Get a room!” shouted a voice from a passing car.
Al and Lou stepped apart and took long breaths.
“So sorry. I thought that car was much closer.” Al looked at the traffic as it passed. Lou straightened her purse so the bag hung against her front hip.
“No need to apologize. Feel free to save my life anytime. I like to encourage that type of behavior in my friends.”
Al’s eyes crinkled and he laughed, the tension gone. Lou sent a silent thank-you to the heckler. A moment longer and Lou’s resolve to keep their relationship out of the bedroom would have fallen into the nearest hotel room.
Al took Lou’s arm and set it on his.
“Since you are clearly not capable of safely crossing the street, I’d best keep a hand on you.” Lou chuckled and they walked the last few blocks to Summerfest arm in arm.
• • • • •
Once they were through the gates of Summerfest, the crowds tried to sweep them away. Keeping their arms looped together, Lou navigated the torrent of revelers, guiding them toward the lake, crossing perpendicular to the flow of traffic. Al turned his head in every direction, trying to take it all in. At first glance, one main thoroughfare went parallel to the lake through the center of the grounds. He could hear country music from his left, rock to his right. Was that Meat Loaf?
In front of them, a play fountain materialized between the bodies. Attendees of all ages stood barefoot in the splash zone, cooling their feet after walking the festival in the hot summer sun all day. It was about nine o’clock, the sun long gone behind the nearby overpass, leaving the warmth rising from the blacktop as the only reminder of its earlier blazing. People poured in, ready for a warm night of music and beer at the world’s largest music festival. Families, who spent the day when it was less crowded, wandered toward exits, strollers and exhausted children in hand.
Lou pulled Al free of the masses and onto a grassy area beyond the splash fountain. People dotted the grass, resting, snacking, and a few even sleeping.
“Whew. That crowd always makes me question why I come to Summerfest. Thankfully, there are roads less traveled.” She led him toward the lake.
They stopped to enjoy the view of the lake; the mishmash of music combined to make a hum in the background. Attendees blanketed the breakwater rocks, resting and absorbing the serenity. Despite the crowd, it was peaceful. Al took a deep breath. He smelled the slight fish odor common on Lake Michigan’s shore, hot grease, and the ever-present vanilla scent of Lou. The breeze fluttered Lou’s unbound hair. That combined with the summer dress made her look soft and vulnerable. Her eyes closed and she breathed deeply; Al couldn’t look away.
“Mmmm. And this is summer in Milwaukee. Crowded, loud, sometimes a little stinky, and more fun than you can possibly imagine.”
“Is that the tagline from the tourism board?”
“Perhaps that’s a new career path for me.”
“Absolutely—tourists will come in droves.”
“It’s a gift; I know what the people want.” Lou opened her eyes and caught him staring at her.
He snapped his gaze back toward the lake and cleared his throat. “So, where is this band we’re seeing?”
“It’s on the south end. We’ll grab a beer at one of the stands. Usually one of the local breweries sets up down there.”
“Who are we seeing again?”
“West of East. They have a folk, country, singer/songwriter vibe. I went to high school with both of them. I like to go to shows when I can, which means not as often as I want.”
“Are they good?”
“For shame, Al. Have I ever led you wrong? Not to mention, they wouldn’t be performing at Summerfest if they weren’t wonderful.”
“I think I heard Meat Loaf on the way in. Care to change your opinion?”
“It’s a music festival. They need to cover all types of music—even the kinds you don’t like. I imagine he’s sold more records than you have.”
“Everyone has sold more albums than I have.”
“Then zip it and enjoy the music.”
Al and Lou purchased beers and entered the stage area. Bleachers formed a U shape around several rows of benches, all facing the small stage. The area sat about two hundred people, and almost all the spots were taken. Al took Lou’s free hand and led her toward the top row. Two spots appeared between the seated attendees, but not side by side.
“You can sit there, and I’ll sit behind you,” Al said, pointing to the lower bench.
“Works for me.”
Lou settled herself into the spot, then scooted forward to avoid bumping his knees.
Al leaned over. “Feel free to lean back; I promise I won’t spill beer on your lovely frock.”
“No worries if you do. I make it a point to own all beer-proof clothing.”
Lou pulled her hair out of the way so it wouldn’t get stuck and gently settled her shoulder blades against Al’s knees.
Al leaned over to get closer, a smile flirting on his lips. “We’ve explored art, beer, custard, baseball, and music. But I’m still not sure I’m convinced Milwaukee is as brilliant as you claimed.”
Lou turned. “Really? I think you just like excuses to hang out with delightful little me.”
She smiled and set one arm on Al’s knees. Al tensed as her hand settled gently on the crisp khaki he always wore. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing a stretch of smooth skin. Al wanted to trace a line from her earlobe to her shoulder with his lips, maybe find the source of her alluring scent, but instead took a deep breath to focus on her words.
“Well, since you claim you aren’t convinced—we’re entering the peak of festival season. For the rest of the summer, there will be a different ethnic fest here each weekend. I have to work, but you should come with someone. This fest, Summerfest, is all about music, whereas the ethnic fests each celebrate a different culture. They’re tons of fun, a lot less crowded, and each has its own spin on food and music. You’ll probably enjoy Irish Fest—it covers all of the UK—and there’s Festa Italiana, Mexican Fiesta, and German Fest. There’s usually a tent where you can learn the history of that culture in Milwaukee. It’s a great crash course in Milwaukee’s past.”
“Are you giving me homework?”
“Something like that. You shouldn’t miss them because I’m busy. But if you keep getting lippy, I might make you write an essay for me. Perhaps something on the role of multiple ethnic cuisines in Milwaukee’s evolving food culture?” Lou said with a smile, but Al liked it.
“That’s actually a great idea.” Al paused, already mentally plotting out the article.
“Are you going to write it?” Lou asked, her eyes widening.
Al’s pulse quickened as an alarm bell clanged in his head.
“What happened to no work talk?” Al took a few slow, even breaths to appear calm. Lou looked even more surprised, then nodded her head.
“You’re right—you probably shouldn’t discuss your weekend safecracking work for the local criminal masterminds. This is about getting you to love Milwaukee.”
Al smiled as the alarm in his head slowed, then stopped. Everything returned to normal; crisis averted. He didn’t notice that Lou had started talking again.
“. . . State Fair rocks. Great people watching, farm animals, root beer milk, and never-ending deep-fried food on a stick. And you can’t forget about the cream puffs. That’s our thing.”
“When’s State Fair?”
“Not until the end of the month.”
“So, no plans until then?” Al’s brows scrunched a little, struggling with what that meant.
“I hadn’t really thought much about what’s next. I kind of thought you’d be sick of me by now.”
“Never! As you say, I’m just looking for excuses to hang out with little old you.” Al could feel his face flush at the truth in his comment. This was getting complicated. His attraction was growing and he loved spending time with Lou, but his plans to leave Milwaukee at the earliest opportunity hadn’t changed. The more he wanted to act on his feelings, the more he knew he shouldn’t. It would only hurt them both when he left.
“I suppose we could check out the Harley Museum. I’d offer to take you for a ride, but I don’t go near them. Though if you really want to try it, I know someone who could take you out. I understand it’s different from any other motorcycle.”
“That works. You’re on such a roll; you don’t want to lose momentum.”
“We can’t let that happen.” Lou smiled and winked, then turned to the stage as the first smooth notes of music floated into the evening sky. Lou leaned back against Al’s legs before he could straighten up. Her hair spilled over his hands, cool and silky. Hoping she wouldn’t notice, he leaned in and sniffed. Vanilla. And not some diluted note buried among other laboratory-born scents, but real vanilla bean. Then Al leaned back, too, and closed his eyes, savoring the sweet smell of Lou, the feel of her hair over his hands, her weight against his legs, and the strumming guitar paired with a soulful voice. Milwaukee summer was more fun than he’d imagined.
• CHAPTER TWELVE •
Sweet silence. Lou heard her footsteps echo on the asbestos-tiled staircase. She unlocked the front door to her apartment and hung the keys on the hook next to the door. A hallway led down the center of her apartment with doorways opening to each room. To the left were her bedroom, bathroom, and living room. The other side housed her kitchen and dining room, linked by an arched opening. Except for the bathroom, all the floors were worn oak, common in older Milwaukee buildings. At the end of the hallway stood a door leading to a private balcony, her favorite apartment feature. More of a rooftop terrace, the balcony had a patio table and chairs, a grill, and a few pots for fresh herbs and veggies. These tended to die since she never watered them, but every summer she tried.
Aside from the stove light in the kitchen, humming and sending a faint glow into the hallway, the apartment’s silent darkness soothed her ears after the loud music at Summerfest. She could still feel the bass pumping in her chest but lacked a distraction to occupy her mind. Lou took a deep breath, smelling the lemon air freshener in the hall outlet. She closed the door and let her aloneness wash over her. Lou hadn’t spent much time at home in years. If she wasn’t at Luella’s, then she’d spent her time at Devlin’s. She didn’t like the echoes of her empty apartment. It emphasized everyone missing from her life. The silence no longer soothed.
Lou clicked the deadbolt and latched the chain. She kicked her shoes into the small pile near the door and began turning on all the lights, starting with the overhead light in the hall. As she walked the hall, dust bunnies raced behind her. She should probably do something about that—everyone knew dust bunnies multiplied faster than their real-life counterparts. She tossed her phone and keys on the kitchen counter, grabbed the Swiffer from the hall closet, and started collecting hair balls, moving into the dining room—she recalled seeing a dust elephant under the old pine table.
Lou groaned when she flicked on the light. What happened to the table? Covered in so many open cookbooks and rumpled notebooks, it looked like a decoupage project gone wrong. She needed to start cleaning up after herself. Time to act like a grown-up instead of chasing dreams like a child. She propped the Swiffer against the wall, setting it against the doorframe so it wouldn’t fall—which it did anyway. Twice. She could finish sweeping when she cleaned off the table.
Lou stacked cookbooks, sorting according to topic. She carried one stack into the living room to reshelve and returned for another armload. An old smiling face caught her attention as she walked toward the dining table. A dusty picture of her grandma looked over the room, along with several other family photos. She always liked the idea of working while they watched her. She never felt alone in here.
A favorite picture showed her parents standing in front of the old County Stadium wearing Brewers T-shirts and holding a tiny screaming baby. Her first Brewers game. It was one of the few pictures she had of all three of them. It wasn’t fair. Some people had enough family to start a small country and she had no one. No one to call on Mother’s Day, no one to suggest she keep her home cleaner, no one to tell her what to do. Looking at her parents’ smiling faces, the protective way they held her, she tried to hear their voices and what they would say. But Lou couldn’t hear them anymore. She couldn’t hear their voices, but her memory of that whole horrific day of the accident remained etched in detail. She could remember what she was wearing, the weather, the shush of sliding down the wall and curling into a ball, where she stayed until Sue had ushered her into bed.
Her mom and dad would have loved Luella’s, watching her come alive with fresh ingredients in one hand and a ten-inch chef’s knife in the other. Her whole life, they had encouraged her to try new experiences even if they ended in disaster, like when she had skateboarded for the first time and broken her wrist. They had applauded her efforts, asked her what she learned, and held her until she stopped crying. Her fingers brushed the glass over their arms in the photo, wishing they could hold her now. But she was on her own.
Lou looked down at her fingers. Well, she should at least dust. Halfway to the kitchen where she kept the dusting supplies, Lou stopped.
“I’ll do that later,” she said out loud.
Not looking at the pictures on the walls, she grabbed the last stack of books, feeling better now that she could see the scuffed wood of her table again, and carried them to the living room. She still needed to put away her notebooks and pens. How did so many accumulate?
In the small, cozy living room, she set the books on the floor next to the first stack. When she’d moved in four years ago, she had painted the walls a cheerful Caribbean blue to offset the white fireplace, mantel, and built-in bookcases. The fireplace worked, but she’d never used it. Instead it contained three dusty blue pillar candles on copper candlesticks. The bookshelves sagged with cookbooks ranging from relics recovered in her grandmother’s kitchen to every edition of Cook’s Illustrated, with a smattering of cookbooks by celebrity chefs, such as Barefoot Contessa and Bobby Flay.
Lou stared at the crammed shelves. She pulled all the books off and stacked them according to cuisine, sneezing twice from all the dust launched into the air. This time she made it to the kitchen to get the Pledge and dust rag she kept under the sink. When she bent down to open the doors, a whiff of spoiled milk from the dirty dishes hit her unsuspecting nose. She only had enough dishes to go a few days without cleaning them, but it had been a while since she ate at home—last week, if she remembered correctly. That milk was at least a week old. Nasty.
Lou turned the water to its hottest setting, which was way past the recommended 120 degrees. She’d convinced the super a few years ago to crank up her water heater because she liked to use really hot water on her dishes. They felt cleaner. When steam rose from the sink, she put on her purple rubber gloves and started rinsing the dishes as she neatly stacked them, emptying the sink so she could fill it with sudsy water.
As the sink filled, she stared out the window overlooking her patio. What should she do about Luella’s? She could contact the paper and demand a retraction, maybe bring in a meal to their offices to demonstrate their error. A. W. Wodyski would have to eat his words. That was a delightful thought. His line “When I found a seemingly properly cooked bite, the fish tasted of cindery hate and cheap wine” still stung.
Sigh. But the damage was done. If she had a little more money, she could keep the restaurant open longer, but the four banks she’d contacted had turned down her loan requests. Well, not technically. She needed someone who could pay the loan if she couldn’t. She didn’t know anyone with extra money lying around. Except . . . Lou glanced at her phone and the text she had received earlier in the night.
Suds rose above the edge of the sink. Lou turned off the faucet and added dishes into the steamy basin. She stared out the window again but continued to wash, rubbing the cups and plates with a washcloth, then setting them on the other side for rinsing.
What about Devlin?
She yanked off a glove, flinging white bubbles into the air like snowflakes, and swiped to read the text.
Elizabeth. Once you close the restaurant, we should think about setting a date. Call me tomorrow.
Lou snorted. He had skipped over needing her forgiveness and now proceeded as if nothing had changed. Lou rolled her eyes. Ass.
Delete.
Her phone whistled with another text. This time, she turned it off. In the morning, she’d block all his numbers.
So the answer wasn’t Devlin. If she even asked, he’d use that as leverage. Devlin never gave away anything. He even sold his old suits on Craigslist rather than donate them to Goodwill. Only a miracle would save Luella’s, like an amazing review in Saveur or winning the lottery. But Lou didn’t believe in miracles. The restaurant would close. Accepting that filled her heart with lead.
Lou reached for more dishes but found them all clean. If only more chores got done that way. She rinsed the sudsy dishes and emptied the sink, hung up her gloves and dishcloth to dry, and tried to remember where she’d left off. Dusting—that’s right.
She grabbed the dusting supplies and returned to the living room. What a mess. Books covered every flat surface, gravity threatening to bring down some of the larger piles. This was absurd. In large swipes, she removed the worst of the dust, then put the books back on the shelf. She couldn’t fix everything in one night.
The lights flickered a little and Lou peered out the window to see lightning flash. She wrapped herself in a cozy robe from the bedroom and went out to the deck; it was the best place to watch a storm roll into the city. The pleasantly warm night stirred from the breeze ahead of the storm, puffing pockets of chilled air. Lou tugged her robe tighter and sat in one of her Adirondack chairs.
Without cleaning to distract her, the loneliness settled on her like dense fog, isolating her. Every sound seemed muffled and distant. Sigh. She had no fiancé to come home to and talk to about her day. Soon she’d have no job where she could share her thoughts, dreams, and jokes. What would she do for money? She’d never made much at Luella’s, but she had always been able to pay her bills. She could go back to working the line at someone else’s restaurant, but one job rarely covered living expenses, and she was getting too old for double shifts in the trenches.
Lou had really believed she could make her restaurant a success. Never mind the humiliation of failing; now she faced having to get a roommate or move to a cheaper apartment. She curled her legs into her chest and put her head on her knees. She needed to find a solution.
But not tonight. Tonight, she would wallow a little in her misery, letting disappointment fill the empty spaces left by her burst dreams and rocky future. She could blame her misfortune on Devlin for never supporting her business, or A. W. Wodyski for his scathing review. But that didn’t sit well with Lou. The fault was hers and hers alone. Taking responsibility gave her control. Taking responsibility gave her hope she would find happiness again.
Judging by the staggering gait of the few pedestrians on the sidewalks below, bar time had come and gone. The air whooshed by with the cool front moving in over the lake. A few more flickers of lightning flashed like a distant pinball machine. Clouds raced, lit by the city below. She crossed her legs and rubbed her sore feet. Working in restaurants, Lou knew constant foot pain, but walking in heels tortured her feet in an entirely different way. But they’d just looked too cute with her dress, and she wanted to look cute for Al.
Al . . . With her time opening up, she could see him more. But should she? She was still dealing with Devlin—granted, mainly by ignoring him, but he was still a presence. Luella’s demise and her uncertain financials made her vulnerable. But she was lonely, and a little rebound might be the pick-me-up she needed. They definitely had chemistry. She’d thought they were going to kiss when that car barely almost hit them. Lou touched her lips for a moment, then stuffed her hands in the robe’s pockets.
Her heart couldn’t take another loss right now. Best to keep it friendly and light, like a frothy meringue for dessert—enough sweet to end the meal on a happy note, without the substance to make you feel stuffed.
There, that was a productive session. She’d cut the restaurant loose, find a new job and maybe a roommate, and keep Al firmly in the friend column. So why didn’t she feel settled? Instead, she felt like her apartment—a little tidier on the surface, but still a mess underneath.
