One More Taste (16 page)

Decker tipped his hat at Granny June. “Great idea. If Carina hasn't popped, then we'll try our best to make it.”

“Me and Wendell, too. I mean, if he doesn't have to work,” Haylie said.

Knox demurred. “You know, it sounds great, but uh … Emily had had a point earlier. I only gave her four weeks for this personal chef challenge, so it wouldn't be fair for me to deprive her of any opportunities.”

“Agreed. Thank you,” Emily said. Movie Night was nice and all, unless a person happened to be an introvert with a strong aversion to crowds and who was presently in the midst of a time-consuming culinary challenge.

“Oh, pish. You young people and your excuses. Ain't nobody knows how to have a good time anymore. Going to bed early, staying in to watch television. It's a shame. We're raising a generation of fuddy-duddies. Emily can just as easily pack your dinner up in a picnic basket. You can eat it during the movie. Lots of folks do that, too. In fact, our family restaurant, Texas Table, offers a family style to-go meal for those attending the movie. Right, Emily? You can pack up his dinner. Maybe you can join us, too. It's been too long.”

“I'm very busy,” Emily said meekly. Going against Granny June was definitely not a strong suit of hers.

Granny June whipped out her smartphone and started typing.

Carina cast a worried look at Granny June. “What are you doing, Granny?”

Granny June ducked her head and typed even faster. “There. It's on our Facebook page now. ‘Next Sunday in the Turtle Doves Amphitheater at the showing of
Miracle on 34
th
Street
, meet our award-winning chef Emily Ford and the rest of the Briscoe family, including the newest executive on our team, Knox Briscoe.'”

Knox tried valiantly to hide a wince.

Granny June's face shone with delight. “Oh, look at that. We're already getting likes and comments on the post. You can't disappoint our guests, Knox. You either, Emily. You're both on the hook now. Together.”

Emily was impressed how Knox managed to turn his wince into a smile. She, on the other hand, was still recovering from the shock that she'd been unwittingly roped into yet another of Granny June's matchmaking schemes. Like moths to a flame. “Subterfuge,” Emily muttered under her breath. “Unbelievable.”

Before Emily could recover her wits, Granny June pulled her close, with one arm around her and the other around Knox. “By golly, it's a date.”

 

Chapter Eight

“I'm not self-sabotaging. I'm not self-sabotaging. I'm not…”

Emily had chanted that mantra during most of the hundred-plus mile drive to the small town of Hutchins, Texas, on this brisk, but sunny Sunday morning. If only chanting something made it true. But all Emily could hear was Carina's voice in her head, reminding her that this was the most important month of her life, so she'd better not screw it up by making dumb-ass choices. Not exactly Carina's words, but close enough.

She ran a finger along the conservative neckline of her charcoal gray knit dress, ruing the fact that nothing was quite so unbecoming as stress sweat. All she'd wanted to do was swap recipes over the phone with Knox's mother, Linda. That in itself was crossing a professional line, since she'd contacted Linda Briscoe on Saturday afternoon without Knox's permission. It hadn't taken much sleuthing to locate her. Her address was plainly written on the envelopes of the old letters and cards Granny June had presented to Knox and his sister, which now sat on the desk in Knox's den. It also hadn't taken much for Emily to rationalize the decision because the payoff would be worth it if she could wow Knox by presenting him with her take on his favorite childhood dishes. Or, better yet, his father's favorite foods. After all, what was a little line crossing when Emily's career was at stake?

But she couldn't quite figure out a way to rationalize her split-second decision to accept Linda's invitation to join her at Father of Light Lutheran Church the next morning. Emily had done a lot of things in the name of culinary excellence, but attending church was a first. True, Linda had refused to share any personal details about Knox over the phone, insisting Emily join her for Sunday worship. Emily couldn't decide if Linda had insisted because she was lonely, or because bringing a newcomer to church might make her look good to her fellow congregants. Or maybe she just wanted to double-check Emily's standing with God before revealing the secret ingredients in her barbecue sauce recipe.

Regardless of the reason behind the offer, Emily had agreed to Linda's terms because she couldn't shake the notion that the more she'd gotten to know what made Knox tick, the better her meals had become and the more impressed he was. Carina's assertion that Knox was Emily's muse had been a tough pill to swallow, but she'd been right. He was. And now it was time to take that inspiration to the next level.

Unfortunately, the more Emily considered how many lines she was crossing, the more certain she was that Knox was going to be royally pissed when he found out. She wasn't sure there was a meal profound enough to assuage him. She swallowed hard. Guess she'd find out.

The charming, two-story brick and light blue house that Knox had grown up in sat in the middle of a long, unassuming residential street and was easily the nicest and most well kept on the block. The front yard was impeccably landscaped with a lush green lawn and perfectly trimmed hedges. Little touches of whimsy were everywhere Emily looked, from an autumn-themed flag showing a pumpkin pie declaring
Pie Season!
, to a family of painted wooden rabbits staged in the flowerbeds beneath the front windows, and a painted wooden sign near the front door reading
Frog parking only. All others will be toad.

Despite Emily's nerves, she had to smile at that. Maybe Shayla got her love of groan-worthy puns from her mom.

The front door opened before Emily could ring the bell. Linda Briscoe met her on the front steps with a bright wide smile and open arms. She wore a busy orange Halloween sweater featuring pumpkin buttons, dangling crow-shaped beads, and felt applique scarecrows, but it somehow seemed to go perfectly with her petite, slim figure, short, salt-and-pepper hair, and upbeat energy that reminded Emily very much of Granny June.

Emily stuck out her hand in greeting. “Linda? I'm Emily.”

Linda threw her arms around Emily and gave a hearty squeeze. “It's so good to meet Knox's girl!”

“Thank you. But, like I said on the phone, I'm his personal chef, not his—”

“If you say so, dear.” The next thing Emily knew, Linda had pushed a Bible into her hands. “Off we go. I'll drive. It's been ages since I've gotten to shuttle a young person around. My kids insist on driving me everywhere. It's so obnoxious! As if I'm senile. You wait here. I'll lock up and open the garage.”

Before Granny June's injuries in the chapel fire the year before, she'd always insisted on driving Emily around, too. The last of Emily's misgivings about meeting up with Knox's mother on the sly evaporated. This was bound to be a great, if hair-raising, adventure. Not more than a couple of minutes later, Emily buckled into the passenger seat of Linda's newer model hybrid hatchback.

Linda put on a pair oversized, round-framed sunglasses and backed out of the garage, pumping the brakes too hard and way too much. Emily braced her hands and tried to hold her neck steady so she didn't get whiplash. No doubt about it, this was going to be a wild ride, the kind of hair-raising, pedal-to-the-metal ride that Granny June used to take her on in her tricked-out golf cart.

“Okay, here we go. Now, look over there at Glenda's house as we pass,” Linda said, gesturing to a small, yellow-trimmed house on the right as they crawled down the street at a solid fifteen miles per hour. The car drifted right, as though pulled by Linda's attention. “It looks like her oranges are almost ripe. Last winter, I helped her pick them and we managed okay for two old ladies, but let me tell you, the juicing was another—”

Emily glanced straight ahead in time to see Linda's car nearly bumping the curb and headed straight for a parked car. “Watch that car!”

“Oops.” Linda jerked the wheel left to avoid the car, though she managed to tap mirrors with it. Not that she seemed concerned. “As I was saying…”

Rattling off her story, barely pausing for breath, Linda rolled them down the street, hugging the gutter, and occasionally swerving to avoid parked cars and trashcans. Emily hugged the Bible she'd been entrusted with, lest she be tempted to take over steering the car as they crawled down street after street, barely pushing twenty miles per hour.

When they'd arrived at the Father of Light Lutheran Church parking lot, nearly twenty minutes later, the numerous horn honks they'd received echoed in one of Emily's ears and Linda's non-stop storytelling in her other. On Linda's fifth attempt to straighten the car in a parking spot, Emily realized that she'd dug nail marks into the leather cover of the Bible. She rubbed the leather, trying to work out the impressions. As she stepped from the car, she realized both her legs had fallen asleep, probably due to the sheer effort it'd taken not to stretch her foot across the cab and stomp down on the gas pedal herself. Linda Briscoe was a crazy driver, indeed. Crazy slow with a fondness for listing right.

And she'd gabbed the entire drive, from the story of juicing oranges to remarking about birds she'd seen in her backyard and the rising costs at her favorite deli and so much minutiae that it seemed as though she needed to voice the words that had been building inside her for so long, waiting for a sympathetic ear to share them all with. As though she'd invited Emily to church not because she was trying to save her soul or make her jump through hoops, but because under all her unbridled zest for life, Linda was lonely.

And while Emily didn't mind being that sympathetic ear—as long as eventually the conversation turned to Knox's childhood and his father, and both their favorite foods—it was a relief to enter the church's courtyard. Not only because they were out of the car with their lives and limbs intact, but because she could simply stand there, smiling, while Linda introduced her around and gushed about Emily and Linda's children to her friends. Even if Linda kept calling her Knox's girl. Even if she kept fabricating half-truths about what a big shot chef Emily was. If that's what the lonely, effervescent Linda needed to tell herself and her friends, then so be it. At this point, Emily was just along for the ride, so to speak.

Once the service got started, Emily relaxed back into the wooden pew next to Linda, the Bible still in her arms. Emily had grown up attending a see-and-be-seen upscale church in Chicago with her parents, and so she'd always equated it with the lies of wealth that masked her family's dysfunction. The concept of a Heavenly Father reminded her too starkly of her own father who had damaged her beyond repair and the mother who'd warped the idea of forgiveness into a justification for staying married to the monster, keeping both her and her daughter in harm's way. Redemption, that grand Christian concept, had been a dream Emily had prayed for as a child—her father redeemed, reborn a good man through Emily's and her mother's and God's forgiveness. It'd taken a lot of pain and years for her to realize that the Holy directive to turn the other cheek didn't mean she had to be a punching bag for the Devil.

She heard the words of the sermon, songs, and prayers differently today. She could hear the hope and the sense of peace in those around her. The sense of trying to be good people and lift themselves out of the darkness in their lives. Like Emily had, and like she was still striving to do. After the final hymn, the pastor directed the congregation to bow their heads. Linda took Emily's hand in her bony one and they bowed their heads together. For the first time since she'd been sixteen and on the street, Emily prayed. The last time she'd prayed, it'd been for food, and for a warm, dry place to sleep.

It worked then, didn't it?
The cynic inside her wanted to scream
no.
But that would be a lie. She had found shelter and food, not always right away, but it'd happened. And then, not too many years later, she'd found Briscoe Ranch and the place of peace and love she'd always longed for.

Her prayer today wasn't so different from that last one. She prayed for Knox to give her the restaurant, for a chance to stay at Briscoe Ranch among her chosen family. Tears crowded her eyes, though she couldn't quite fathom why she felt so humbled and raw.

In a fog, she shuffled out of the church behind Linda, her eyes on Linda's black orthopedic wedges. Now and then, she shook hands with and offered plastic smiles to the parishioners she'd been introduced to. Some asked her to give Knox their greeting while others patted her hand and gave her blessings and told her how proud they could tell Linda was to have such a nice young lady in her son's life.

Emily thought about her own mother. Had she stuck it out with Emily's father after Emily had left? Was she lonely like Linda, too?

“You'll come with me back to my house now, right? And we can swap recipes. I'll fill you in on all Knox's favorite dishes, and maybe throw in some embarrassing stories you can tease him with,” Linda said with a wink.

“Of course. I'll stay as long as I can. Maybe you'll allow me to fix you lunch.”

Linda smiled. “Now there's a fancy idea. My own personal chef cooking Sunday supper. I'd love that. I've got a pot roast going in the crockpot, but maybe you can help dress it up a bit.”

Emily considered offering to drive home, but Linda had seemed excited to be the one behind the wheel, shuttling Emily to church. She climbed into the passenger seat again. “You and Clint were high school sweethearts in Dulcet,” she prompted once they were on the road.

“That we were,” Linda said wistfully. “I miss Dulcet sometimes, especially this time of year. My favorite. The countryside's so pretty in the fall. Are they doin' okay, then? All the Briscoes?” A hint of longing tinged Linda's tone, as though Emily had conjured her grief with the question. She definitely didn't seem angry about the rift, as Knox or Ty did.