Must Love Sandwiches (6 page)

“Sorry, Emma. Daisy let me in.”

Her eyes snapped open. The voice was unexpectedly deep. She threw off the pillow shield. The sunshine tunneled like a laser through her eyes into her brain. Tears filled her eyes and threw everything out of focus. Brad was standing beside the bed. He set a large, foam cup on the nightstand.

“Daisy said you had a migraine when she stopped by the truck, so I brought you some tea. It’s my special migraine blend.”

“Um…thanks. I’ve never tried tea for migraines.” Emma ran her fingers through her hair. She winced as her thumb caught in a tangle. The nasty headaches always made her look and feel like one of Max’s decomposing zombies. It’s a wonder Brad hadn’t run out of the room screaming in horror yet. “What’s in it?”

“Peppermint, ginger, black tea, a bit of lavender. My pastry chef at the restaurant I used to own got migraines. She gave me the recipe, said it helped her.”

Emma raised her head up and took a sip of the concoction. The bendy straw was a lifesaver. There was no way she could’ve managed an open cup, both she and her bed would’ve ended up soaked. The strong scent of mint made her nose tingle. She set the cup back down and flopped onto her back. Sudden moves. Not a good idea. Her stomach convulsed in protest. She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. Maybe the meditative maneuver would quell the urge to puke on Brad’s shoes. “It’s good. I’ll drink some more in a bit.”

She held her breath when the mattress depressed beside her hips. Her eyes fluttered open as Brad took her hand. He started massaging her palm by pressing his thumbs into the soft area just above the wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“A bit of acupressure. The pastry chef taught me how to do this, too.”

“You gave your employee hand massages?” A ripple of jealousy vibrated through her body and settled in her chest, putting a strangle-hold on her heart. “Sounds like a nice job benefit for her.”

Brad laid her hand on his leg. His thigh muscles were taught under the rough, denim fabric. “She was also my girlfriend, but we broke up over a year ago.” He picked up the other hand and began the massage routine again. “Are you feeling any better?”

Between the pain pulsing behind her eyes and the twinges of lust taking over the rest of her body, she couldn’t think. She took a deep breath and took inventory. The intense throbbing did seem to be lessening. “Actually, I do feel a little better. Amazing.”

“Doctor Brad’s home remedies to the rescue.” He guided her hand back onto the mattress and started tracing gentle circles on her temples. “Do you take any medications for your migraines?”

“I do, when I can keep them down. I was throwing up so much this morning I figured I would just be wasting them.” She wanted to smack her forehead for spouting that disgusting tidbit, but the impact could explode her brain.

“Since you are starting to feel better do you want to try to take some?”

She no longer had the urge to barf, thanks to his magical tea elixir and massage techniques. “I think I might be able to keep a pill down now.”

“Good. Where are they? I’ll get them right now so you can start feeling even better.” Her hand slipped off his thigh as he stood. She had gotten so comfortable with the intimate position she had forgotten it was there.

She shook her head, rattling the pain around like a ping pong ball. “No. Don’t worry about it. I can get them myself.”

Brad kissed her on the lips. She pressed her head back into the pillow. Her breath must be rancid. She hadn’t brushed her teeth yet. A flood of super-heated blood crept up her neck and pooled on her face. The effect must have been rather Christmas-like, going from green to red.

“I want to help you. I’m not going to take no for an answer.” He kissed her again. On the tip of the nose. The change in location was most likely a result of her nasty breath.

He stood up and pointed to the bathroom. “Is the bottle in your medicine cabinet?”

Emma took a quick mental inventory of what was in the cabinet. The tampons were stashed under the sink, so it was safe for him to conduct a search. “Yes. It’s the only prescription bottle in there.”

She wedged pillows behind her back as Brad rummaged through her make-up and lip gloss containers. The cold tea really seemed to help. Or maybe it was just Brad combating the ornery migraine.

He emerged from the bathroom and waved the orange bottle. “Found it.”

“Thank you. Just leave it on the nightstand, please.” The tablets rattled as he opened the child-proof cap and set the bottle next to the tea.

Brad stroked her hair. She almost started purring like a contented kitten. He said, “I’ll be back this evening to check on you.”

“You don’t have to come back. I’ve had many migraines and none of them have killed me yet.” She slid down the pillow ramp and burrowed back under the sheets. That was such a stupid statement. Migraines weren’t lethal and they both knew that. Was it the pain or his presence that made her mind take a break from rational thought? She slid the sheet down, to uncover one eye, and focused on the clock on the nightstand. “Wait. It’s just past one o’clock. What about the food truck? Don’t you have to get back to it?”

“Nope. Whale had an appointment this afternoon, so we shut down early. That’s the beauty of having a food truck instead of a restaurant. We can open and close whenever we want to do things, like helping damsels in distress.” He patted her foot. “I’ll stop back later.”

After the door thumped shut behind him, Emma pried the plastic lid off the foam cup and chugged the tea. If a little bit helped, maybe finishing it off would make her feel good enough to get cleaned up. There was no way Brad would see, or smell, her like that again. Even though she didn’t want to date him she still had some pride.

An hour later Emma finally felt good enough to crawl out of bed. It was never a good thing to wake up with a migraine firmly rooted in her head. There was only so much stress her body could take before it shut down in protest. The break-up with Max, increased orders, developing a jewelry line, swearing off men and then almost immediately meeting hunky Brad, the ultimate temptation. All of those things ganged up and attacked her with an imaginary baseball bat of pain.

Emma sat on the edge of the bathtub as it filled. She sprinkled in a handful of lavender-scented Epsom salts and lowered herself into the warm, soothing water. The heat loosened the last knots of pain in her neck and scalp. When she finally emerged the migraine was gone, but she was so sleepy she could barely move. She slipped into her threadbare, pink robe, instead of the jeans and t-shirt she had hung on the hook on the door, and climbed back into bed. A little nap would make dealing with Brad’s return visit easier. He had been so sweet and gentle, her fickle heart had almost forgotten he was off-limits. She repeated a mantra as she drifted asleep, “I will not be like my mother. I will not be . . .”

A persistent knocking woke her. She rolled over and stretched. The room was filled with murky, gray light. Outside the window dark storm clouds were crowded in the sky. She jumped as another series of knocks reverberated from the door. The digital clock numbers glowed like a red beacon. It was almost 6 p.m. She had been asleep for hours.

“Just a minute,” she called as she scrambled out of bed. She tripped over a shoe, unnoticed in the dim light, as she hurried to the entranceway. She yanked the door open and was greeted by Brad’s 100-watt smile. “Come in. Have a seat wherever you like. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said as she backed into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it. Why hadn’t she set an alarm?

The quick change routine went well, until she tried to balance on one foot while wiggling into her jeans. Her hip slammed into the edge of the vanity.
That’s going to leave a bruise.
She grabbed her brush and prepared to do battle. Taking a nap with damp hair was a bad move. She wielded the brush with one hand and pulled bottles of make-up out of the medicine cabinet with the other. When most of the rat’s nests were untangled she abandoned the brush and squirted a blob of foundation into her palm. She dipped her fingertips into the peach-colored cream and looked into the mirror to apply it. What was she doing? Scrambling to make herself pretty for a man she couldn’t have. Maybe Brad wouldn’t be so nice and charming if she looked like an ogre. She washed the makeup down the drain and opened the bathroom door. He smiled, instead of running away in terror.

“You look like you’re feeling better.” He pointed at a plate sitting on the kitchen counter. “I forgot to tell you about another one of my migraine treatments, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. They’re kind of like the chicken soup of the dessert world. They cure almost everything.”

“Another remedy I have never heard of, but I am definitely willing to try.” Emma loosened the edge of the plastic wrap and removed two cookies from the sweet stash. The intoxicating smell of chocolate and butter escaped from the plastic tent. Her mouth watered. She took a bite out of one cookie and offered the other to Brad. “Thank you. I think I shall make a full recovery.” She took another bite and mumbled, “These are delicious. Why don’t you make these into sandwich cookies?”

Brad took a bite of his cookie. “What kind of filling do you think would be good?”

“Chocolate frosting, or better yet, ganache. That would be so decadent and yummy. Or . . . what about marshmallow fluff? Then they would be kind of like a whoopie pie.” Emma worked her way around the room, turning on lamps to offset the dreary darkness. Brad sat on the couch and she settled into the battered chair across from him. The lumpy recliner was covered with a raucously colored, scrap afghan she had found at a rummage sale. A dislodged spring poked into her hip, like an accusing finger pointing out that she was supposed to be staying away from men. No cozying up for a long conversation allowed.

“Now that is something I could definitely do. Thank you for the wonderful idea.” He was talking to her, but his gaze was focused on the wall behind her. “What is that little door?”

“It’s one of my fairy doors. You’d be surprised at how many people like to pretend fairies live in their walls and gardens.” She pointed at the terrarium sitting on the table next to him. “One of my miniature benches is in there.”

He leaned closer to the glass bowl. “That’s amazing. How do you get so much detail into something so tiny? I can see the pattern in the wood.”

“The bench is made out of polymer clay. The stuff is easy to sculpt. I use a lot of dental tools to add detail.” Customers in the gallery often commented on her work, but the praise from Brad made her heart rate skyrocket. Her fingers brushed his thigh as he squeezed around her chair to get a closer look at the fairy door. She jerked her hand away.
Off-limits. No touching.
“I modify wooden doll house doors for those.”

He read the minuscule welcome sign on the door. “Welcome to the O’Donnell House. I see your fairies are of Irish descent.” Brad returned to the couch. He focused his full attention on her this time. “I love your idea for the cookie sandwiches. Anything else you can think of that we can make for the truck?”

Emma squirmed as she looked into his eyes. When she was a teenager she used to read the romance books her mother kept stacked next to her bed. Often the heroine would get lost in a man’s eyes. Emma had always thought it was just a literary phenomenon that didn’t happen in real life. Until now. “What about fruit soups? I had a really great cold, cherry soup in Traverse City a few years ago.”

“You are brilliant. I should hire you as a recipe development consultant. You figure out what dishes sound good. Then Whale, Geek and I can figure out the recipes. Why don’t you and I have dinner together on Wednesday night? I promise it’ll be strictly a business meeting, not a date.”

Emma sucked air in between her teeth. A trickle of pain snaked up the back of her head. One, last blow from the migraine to accompany another bit of temptation. A diversion might work to throw him off topic. “Whale and Geek. What kind of names are those?”

“They’re like brothers to me. How many times have you heard siblings make up nicknames for each other? Will is pretty obvious. He’s as big as a whale. Since Hank always wears those ugly, black rimmed glasses and can’t live without a thousand tech gadgets, he’s Geek.”

Weird. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t remember what the guys looked like. When she stopped by the truck she always focused completely on Brad. The other men just drifted through her peripheral vision like indistinct ghosts.

He tilted his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. “Now that I’ve answered your question it’s your turn to answer mine. Will you meet with me to discuss more dessert ideas?”

That didn’t work.
She squirmed in her chair. “On Wednesday night? I need to get a bunch of orders ready to ship, but I guess I could get away for a few hours.”

“Great! My friend just opened a new restaurant I think you’ll love. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Daisy tied the apron strings into a big bow behind her back. There was barely enough money in the checking account to make the rent. Replacing stained clothes, even at a second hand store, was not an option. As the weather got warmer sales of cozy, wool accessories dropped. Her fingers were sore from making lacy scarves and hats out of light cotton yarn, to replace the winter items in the gallery, but not many had sold yet. Emma had found her a commission for some baby blankets, but that money was sitting safely in the bank, waiting to pay the rent. Luckily lunch was inexpensive and should be delicious.