Market Street (13 page)

“Where have you been?” Aidan asked before she could say hello. “I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

“I left my phone here. I was at Fenton’s.”

“You have a whole closet of clothes here,” Aidan said tightly.

“I’m going to help with the food emporium while I’m staying with Alexis,” Cassie replied awkwardly.

“So your mother can point out how terrible your husband is? You don’t have time for the emporium, Cassie. We talked about that.”

“I have time at the moment,” Cassie replied. “And I haven’t told my mother about the affair.”

“It wasn’t an affair. It was one mistake.” Aidan’s voice was low and firm. “I want you to come home. I can’t open a bottle of red wine because you’re not here to help me finish it.”

“I want to come home.” Cassie lay down on the bed. “Just not yet.”

“Why don’t I come into the city for dinner tomorrow night? We can try one of those restaurants your mother raves about. I’ll wear a suit.”

“I wouldn’t want to make you wear a suit.” Cassie laughed. “I’m not really up for eating out yet. Maybe next week.”

“Okay, next week.” Aidan paused. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Cassie hit
END
. She curled her body around the embroidered pillows. She just said no to a date with her husband, when there was nowhere else she’d rather be than in their bed, feeling the weight of his body against her.

9.

Alexis stood
at the dining-room window, peeking through the silk curtains. She balanced a porcelain coffee cup in one hand and Poodles in the other. She wore navy leggings, a knee-length sweater, and gray UGG slippers.

“You’re like an UGGs catalog. How many pairs do you own?” Cassie walked up behind her. She had spent a half hour in front of the mirror, dressing for the trip to Sonoma. She finally settled on a pair of pencil-thin black slacks, a yellow sweater, and a pair of Alexis’s black leather boots.

“One of Carter’s clients is an investor. I have more UGGs than an Australian cowboy.” Alexis put her coffee cup on the sideboard.

“I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed your leather boots. My mother only sent me Prada and Gucci. I don’t think that’ll work in Sonoma.”

“Today’s the big date.” Alexis turned around. “You look very stylish.”

“It’s not a date. And I’m dressing for the potential vendors we’ll be meeting.” Cassie scowled.

“Then you look businesslike and stylish.” Alexis grinned. “I’m proud of you. You’re going to make the emporium a fabulous success.”

“Mother wants the grand opening to be April thirtieth. She thinks everyone moves as fast as she does. What are you doing at the window?”

“Looking to see what kind of car James drives. You can tell a lot about a guy by his choice in automobile.” Alexis ducked behind the curtain. “Silver Audi, I approve. Doesn’t feel like he has to drive a BMW to be manly. Doesn’t think he has to buy Japanese to be intelligent.”

“You sound like you’re in high school.” Cassie shook her head.

“If my husband was home more I could think about other things: running up to Tahoe for a weekend’s skiing, sharing fondue at Fleur de Lis, making love in our own bed. I’m tired of Skype sex, it’s so one-sided.” Alexis walked to the foyer and stood at the front door. “Maybe I’ll e-mail Aidan and ask him to send over the recipes for his soups. I could hunker down with Pia and make soups all winter.”

“You’ve never mixed anything in your kitchen except coffee and cream.” Cassie giggled.

“Be good.” Alexis watched Cassie walk down the stone path. “I’ll wait up.”

*   *   *

James jumped
out of the car and opened Cassie’s door. He wore navy slacks and a white button-down shirt under a Shetland wool sweater. His hair was parted to the side and flopped over one eye.

“I brought a picnic.” James peered out the car window. The sky was dark and clouds hung low over the bay. “Soft cheese, fresh baguettes, and rice pudding. All foods that don’t require chewing.”

Cassie blushed. “I hope it doesn’t rain.” Suddenly she was embarrassed she’d told him about Aidan’s transgression.

James saw her cheeks redden and tried to change the subject. “Alexis has quite a house. Like an English manor in an Evelyn Waugh novel.”

“Alexis’s husband runs a hedge fund. He just broke the nine-figure barrier. He’s traveling in some European country that has the square footage of a postage stamp and half of California’s gross product. Alexis is pretty lonely.”

“Why doesn’t she get a job?” James maneuvered the car onto the Golden Gate Bridge.

Cassie looked back and saw the outline of San Francisco, the tops of buildings hidden by fog.

“Carter’s not too keen on the idea. I told Alexis she should join a charity, but she doesn’t want to be bossed around by a bunch of aging debutantes. She does a lot of yoga.”

“Emily loves to cook. She makes a lot of southern dishes: pan-fried chicken, corn bread, peach cobblers. Somehow she manages to stay rail thin; she inherited a fast metabolism,” James replied.

“My husband spends a lot of time in the kitchen. He makes the best soups,” Cassie said. Suddenly she didn’t want to talk. She watched the hills and redwood trees of Marin turn into the countryside of Sonoma.

“I’m sorry,” James said when the silence stretched on. “I didn’t mean to talk about your husband.”

“It’s my fault. I want to concentrate on the emporium but I can’t get Aidan out of my head.” Cassie shrugged.

“Hamlet’s ghost.” James grinned. “I brought a bottle of Chardonnay for our picnic. That will help blur the images.”

“We have an appointment at Bridges Dairy Farm at eleven.” Cassie took out a pen and notepad from her purse. “It’s a family-owned dairy in east Sonoma.”

Cassie watched the vineyards slip by outside the window: miles and miles of green and purple grapes. She turned to James. “How did you end up as an interior designer?”

“My parents live in a high-rise in Chicago. My father’s an architect. He wanted me to be an architect; my mother wanted me to be an attorney. Growing up, I spent weekends and summers on my grandparents’ farm.” James maneuvered the car off the main road, down an unpaved lane.

“When my parents started fighting over my career, I told them I wanted to move to the farm.” James laughed. “That set off a family war. I finally agreed to go to college and I discovered I loved designing buildings: not the hard exteriors, but the warm insides. I loved creating spaces that made people happy. Designing restaurants seemed natural. People are happiest when they’re eating and drinking.” He pulled up in front of a white farmhouse.

James jumped out of the car and opened Cassie’s door. The outside air was frigid. Cassie wished she’d brought a thick coat and a pair of gloves. There was a picture of a cow on the front door and a black-and-white doorbell.

A blond man answered the door and a petite woman with blue eyes stood next to him. A girl with blond pigtails jumped behind them, as if she was waiting for a clown at a birthday party.

“Come in.” The man ushered them inside. “This is my wife, Selma, and our daughter, Jenny.”

“Would you like to see the cows?” the girl asked. She was about ten years old, with a snub nose and a face full of freckles.

“Not quite yet.” James grinned. “I bet the cows are the stars around here.”

“Our cows won five gold medals at the county fair.” Jenny nodded proudly. “Would you like a glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies? I made them myself.”

Jenny disappeared into the kitchen and Cassie and James sat in the living room opposite a bay window overlooking the cow pasture.

“We own over twenty acres.” Selma followed her gaze. “We have two hundred cows, and they’re free to graze in the pastures. We don’t use antibiotics and all their feed is organic.”

“It sounds like just what we’re looking for at Fenton’s.” Cassie smiled.

“We’re very excited about our new line of products.” John squeezed his wife’s hand. “We produce churned butter with sea salt imported from France. And we just started a line of yogurt with cream on top that sold very well at the farmers market.”

“Try the milk. It’s from Ollie, my favorite cow,” Jenny interrupted, placing a tray and two glasses on the coffee table.

“Did you milk her yourself?” James took a cookie and dipped it in the glass of milk.

“My dad says I’m not old enough. Ollie is my best friend. Would you like to meet her?”

“I’d love to meet Ollie.” James stood up and brushed cookie crumbs from his slacks. “Some of my best friends growing up were cows.”

James followed Jenny to the barn and Cassie pored over brochures and marketing plans with John and Selma. She liked the design of their butter containers: ceramic pots with black-and-white labels and a cow’s hoofprint on the bottom.

“And I love the idea of selling your milk in reusable glass bottles.” Cassie put down her pen. “We’ll have a whole fridge of milk in colored bottles. And we’ll put a display of the butter pots next to the bread oven. Customers can sample fresh baked bread with churned butter.”

Cassie heard the kitchen door slam and Jenny walked in, followed by James smiling sheepishly.

“Your shirt is all wet.” Cassie frowned.

“Ollie and I were getting along so well, I thought I’d see if I remembered how to milk her.” James took the tea towel Selma produced and sponged his shirt. “I remembered where to put the stool but I forgot to warm my hands.” He smiled at John and Selma. “Ollie got pretty upset and sprayed milk everywhere.”

Cassie stood up and put her hand out to John and Selma. “We’ll be thrilled to sell your products at Fenton’s.”

“Can we have cake to celebrate?” Jenny looked at her parents.

“We have a few more appointments.” Cassie smiled. “But you’ll have to come to Fenton’s with your parents. I’ll share a piece of chocolate cake with you.”

“In San Francisco?” Jenny jumped up and down.

“We can take the elevator to the top of the St. Francis. Then you can see the whole city,” Cassie said.

*   *   *

James and
Cassie climbed into the car and James backed down the lane.

“I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” he said when he turned onto the main road.

“I’ve never seen a man wearing a Brooks Brothers shirt soaked in cow’s milk.” Cassie giggled.

“Cows have an innate sense about people. Ollie could tell I was an amateur.” James turned to Cassie. “It’s nice to see you smile.”

“That was my first business deal.” Cassie took her notepad out of her purse.

“Congratulations.” He squeezed Cassie’s hand. “You’re going to make the emporium a huge success.”

Cassie put her hands in her lap and kept her eyes on the window. Farmers drove tractors over fields of lettuce. Cassie saw apple orchards and roadside stands selling baskets of cherries.

James broke the silence. “I’d like to see the artist next. He’s a bit eccentric. He doesn’t have any furniture. I hope you don’t mind sitting on hay.”

Cassie pulled her gaze from the window. For a minute she wished she were driving with Aidan in his ancient Toyota. She wanted to smell the familiar scent of his shampoo and feel his leather jacket rubbing against her arm.

James pulled up in front of a red barn with a giant mural painted on its side.

“What an amazing painting,” Cassie said, looking out the window.

“Isn’t it? I drove by one afternoon and I had to stop. It reminds me of Bruegel. All those paintings he made of village life.” James paused. “I’m babbling. I minored in art history at Northwestern.”

“You have a lot of talents.” Cassie opened the car door. “Dairyman, art historian.”

“Emily and I are members of the Art Institute in Chicago. Maybe we could visit the Legion of Honor. They have a retrospective of van Gogh.”

“I should spend all my time at the emporium, if I’m going to be ready for Mother’s grand opening.”

“You’re right,” James replied awkwardly. “We both better work like mad. Your mother wants everything yesterday.”

Suddenly Cassie felt very cold. She rubbed her hands together, remembering how Aidan would blow on her hands until she was warm.

“Are you okay?” James turned around. “You look pale.”

“I wish I had worn gloves.” Cassie felt tears spring to her eyes. “I forgot how cold it gets in the country.”

James knocked on the door but no one answered. “Let’s go in.” He opened the door and motioned Cassie to follow him.

Cassie breathed in sharply. The barn was huge, with square skylights cut into the ceiling. Every surface was covered in murals: the walls, the ceiling, even the floor was painted in bright colors.

She stood in the middle of the barn, turning slowly so she didn’t miss anything. Every scene was full of people. Women shared platters of fruits and pastries. Children kicked a ball in a village square; men played chess on outdoor chess tables.

“I love it,” she said. “I feel like I’m standing in a group of women, listening to their conversation.”

“Exactly.” James joined Cassie in the middle of the barn. “I imagined a whole wall of murals in the emporium. When you go down the escalator you already feel the space is full of people shopping and eating and drinking.”

A stocky man wearing an apron entered the room. He had gray hair and short fingers covered in paint.

“Gregory, this is Cassie Blake, the owner of Fenton’s.”

“My mother is the owner.” Cassie blushed. “I just work there.”

“It is an honor to meet you, Miss Blake.” Gregory kissed her hand. “I’ve finished your pieces, they’re in the loft. But first we must have lunch. I’ve been working since six o’clock.”

“We have to make a few more stops.” James shifted his feet.

“Nonsense.” Gregory shook his head. “I must eat and it would be impolite to eat in front of you. My neighbor gave me two bottles of an excellent sauvignon blanc. Miss Blake, please allow me to make a chair for you.”

Cassie sat cross-legged on the bale, looking at the feast Gregory had prepared. There was a long French roll, a tub of goat cheese, and three steaming bowls of vegetable stew.

“I never understood the starving artist.” Gregory poured three glasses of wine. “How can you paint if your stomach is growling? To a long business partnership with the beautiful owner of Fenton’s.”