A November Bride (11 page)

Why not say yes? Embrace a new dream for her life?

But what about her life here? What was happening between her and Erik?

Could it become something real? Permanent?

And how was she supposed to know?

Pray.

Wait.

It was November and the Hartnetts needed an answer—soon. Because if she wasn’t going to move with them, then they needed time to find another private chef. Someone else . . . preparing meals for Jilly and Carter. The thought refused to settle. She’d been cooking for the family for three years. She knew their likes. Their dislikes. That Jilly liked chocolate cake with chocolate icing for her birthday. That Carter liked baked macaroni and cheese, heavy on the cheese. That Mr. Hartnett preferred lamb and Mrs. Hartnett loved fresh salmon. She’d invested not just time and culinary expertise into the family, she’d invested her heart.

Yes, she and Erik were best friends exploring a romance . . . but she’d never seen Erik commit to a woman. Never in the seventeen years she’d known him. And even if she cut him slack for high school—because, really, what guy knows what he wants in high school?—that still meant he’d never committed to anyone in thirteen years.

Why would Sadie be any different?

So, Erik, is this relationship going anywhere, um, permanent?

No. Absolutely not.
She’d already proposed to him once. And his answer to her silly proposal made it clear he wasn’t looking for “’Til death do us part.”

Did Sadie even realize how many times he had to stop himself from saying, “I love you”?

Was she ready to take their relationship past the point of no return? They’d always been “just friends,” but he wasn’t content living on that side of loving Sadie any longer. He wanted the
all
of loving her.

He knew her better than anyone, but now, as they walked through her neighborhood after he’d surprised her by showing up with hot chocolate from the coffee shop two blocks from her house, he couldn’t figure out what she was thinking, much less how she felt about him.

“You okay?”

“Me? Sure. I’m fine.” Sadie’s gaze stayed focused on the horizon. “I’ve just got some things on my mind.”

He let his heart lead his actions, put his arm around her waist, and pulled her close. This is what he wanted. Sadie by his side. Sadie in his life. Always.

Her shoulders shifted against him as she sighed. “Remember I told you the Hartnetts are moving to Oregon—and that they want me to move with them as their personal chef?”

“I remember.”

“I need to give them an answer this week.”

“And?” Erik stared straight ahead, the sidewalk stretching out in front of them, covered with fallen leaves.

“And . . . I need to give them an answer.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“I love the Hartnetts.”

She loved the Hartnetts. What did she feel for him? Where did he stand compared to a family of four that she cooked for once a week?

“I’ve invested three years of my life in that family. I know
them—their likes, their dislikes. I hate the thought of them leaving.”

And what about leaving me, Sadie?
Erik gritted his teeth, holding back the question.

“I mean, I’ve lived in Colorado all my life . . . and I love it here . . . but Oregon sounds beautiful too. It sounds like fun to move . . . to experience something new.”

Erik shifted, putting a bit of distance between them.

“And I’d be closer to my parents. They’re excited about that possibility. So . . . there are reasons to stay and reasons to go.” Halting beneath a leafless tree, she looked up at him. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He
knew
Sadie—had known her since she was thirteen. Watched her pursue with passion her dream of cooking . . . paying her way when her parents said no, insisting she needed to go to college, not settle for cooking school. He was crazy in love with her—his best friend. But they were best friends first. And best friends did not stand in the way of each other’s dreams.

What if he asked her to stay . . . and she resented him? And then left a few months later anyway? He knew exactly how that felt—watching someone you love leave you, no matter how many times you asked them to stay.

And what could he offer her, really, besides the promising beginnings of his decision to be his own boss? He’d done his life solo for so many years. He had no experience with how relationships—family—worked. What if he told her that he loved her—and then failed her?

The word “Stay” stalled in his throat, stuck behind, “I love you.”

“I think . . . I think you should go, if that’s what you want to do. You’d do a great job. And when the head of the culinary school meets you face-to-face, she’ll realize what an asset you’ll be and try and steal you away from the Hartnetts.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. You’re going places, Sadie J.”

“Yeah. I guess I am.” She moved away from him, her steps foreshadowing the future. “I guess I am.”

“What do you mean Erik told you to leave?”

“Oh, Mel.” Sadie sat at her friend’s dining room table, staring down a bowlful of her signature minestrone soup. “I asked him what he thought I should do about the Hartnetts’ job offer—and he said I should go.”

“That’s it?” Mel held a grater in one hand and a block of Parmesan cheese in the other.

“Yes.”

“He thought you should go—and nothing else?”

“Yes. He thought I should go . . . if that’s what I wanted to do.” Sadie stared at the steam rising off the bowl of soup. “Or something like that.”

“Aha!” Mel began grating cheese with a frenzy.

“Aha
what
?”

“He doesn’t want you to go. I knew it.”

“Mel, he never said he didn’t want me to go. And we are not discussing this anymore.” Sadie stirred the mixture of pasta, vegetables, and broth with her spoon. “I’m getting a headache.”

Mel settled into the seat across from her. “You’re going to listen to me, headache or no headache.”

“Lower your voice. And the last time I listened to you, I agreed to go out with my best friend—and I ended up freaking out on TV.”

“And that little fiasco is behind you. You survived, with a little emotional wear and tear, but dreams intact.” Mel watched her from across the table. “Sadie, do you love Erik?”

“I’m not answering that question—”

The slam of Mel’s spoon rattled the table. “Answer. The. Question.”

“Yes. Yes. I love Erik. I do. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to put my heart on the line and have him walk away from me in three or four months.”

“He’s stayed with you longer than any other woman.”

“As my friend, Mel.
F-r-i-e-n-d.
”

“That’s what you tell each other—but we all stopped believing you a long time ago.”

“What?”

“I’ve known you were in love with Erik for years. I thought you’d figure it out—not that I’d have to tell you over a bowl of soup and a loaf of homemade bread.”

“If he loves me, Mel, why is he telling me to leave?”

“Have you ever thought that he’s just as scared of falling in love as you are?”

“Erik?”

“Yes, Erik.” Mel threw her hands up in the air. “Women like to talk about how they’ve been hurt by guys. Guess what? Guys get hurt too—by their families. By women. Maybe Erik’s afraid you don’t want him. Asking him out to the
Sadie Hawkins Dance when you were thirteen doesn’t say you love him now, you know.”

“But what if—”

“What if you two end up madly in love with one another—and get married? Then I get to cater your wedding, got it?”

S
o how’s it going with Sadie?”

Erik ignored Phillip’s question. He could see the batting cages. Hear the metallic
tink
of bats colliding with the baseballs. The rattle of the chain-link fences when the balls collided with them.

Phillip raised his voice. “I asked you a question. You going to answer me?”

Erik faced Phillip, who stood in the middle of the parking lot. Were they really going to have this conversation here?

“Things aren’t going with Sadie.”

“Are you kidding me? After what I saw on Skype the other weekend? Did you all have a fight?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

“Sadie’s taking the job in Oregon.”

“What job?”

“One of the families she cooks for—they’re moving to
Oregon and they asked her to go with them—as their private chef.”

“And she picked them over you? I find that hard to believe.”

“There was no picking.”

“You asked her to stay, right? Told her that you love her?”

Erik turned around and started walking toward the batting cages again.

“You’re an idiot, Davis.”

Erik did an about-face. “Hey! Is that something a pastor should say?”

“I’m talking to you guy-to-guy. You love this woman—why are you letting her leave?”

“I don’t have any right to ask Sadie to stay here if she wants to go to Oregon.”

“Now you’re going all noble on me?” When Phillip settled onto one of the park benches, Erik followed, slumping against the back of the seat. “You’re dressing up fear in some sort of misguided attempt at being heroic.”

“What does that mean?”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing . . . that hasn’t already happened. My father abandoned the family when I was twelve years old. He’s wandered in and out whenever he felt like it. I remember begging him not to leave—but nothing I said made any difference. Sadie’s been my best friend. Do you know when we were in
high school that she used to make extra sandwiches, pretend she couldn’t eat all of them, and offer one to me? I knew what she was doing. She’d seen my pitiful lunches . . . but she wasn’t feeling sorry for me. She was being my friend. Soon she started adding cookies. And brownies. Even at fourteen that girl could love on you with food.”

“You guys loved each other all the way back then, huh?”

“We were
friends.
I know what it’s like to ask someone to stay—and then watch them leave. I’m not doing it again—not even for Sadie. If she wants to go, well, then she can go. I’m happy for her.”

“And how do you feel?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

“Just like you got over your dad leaving?”

“I’m fine.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

“Do you think that man’s ever asked for forgiveness?” Erik tried to swallow the bitter taste that seemed lodged in his throat. “As far as he’s concerned, he’s never done anything wrong. He didn’t want to be married anymore, so he left. If my mom wants to be there when he comes around, well, that’s her choice.”

“Can I share a different view of forgiveness?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Phillip was silent.

“Sure. Go ahead,” Erik said.

“I see forgiveness as both horizontal and vertical.” Phillip formed his hands so that they looked like a cross, one up and down, one side to side. “So you and your dad? That’s the
horizontal aspect of forgiveness. If you went to him and said, ‘Dad, I forgive you,’ he would look at you like you were crazy, right?”

“Yep. He’d probably say, ‘What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to hurt you. My choice was between me and your mother.’ ”