Recipe for Romance (5 page)

Emily felt her cheeks warm, but before she had a chance to shut down the question, Jack turned to Scott, who was settling himself into the folding chair. “It’s a real reunion over here, today. You and Emily used to date, didn’t you?”

Emily filled another pie plate, holding her breath. Seconds seemed to pass as she waited for Scott’s answer, her heart racing with expectation.

“Yeah, we used to hang out,” he finally said.

Her hands went still. They used to
hang out?
Three years of her life, all those days spent laughing and talking, curling into each other’s arms, dreaming of a future. They were just hanging out!

Tears prickled the backs of her eyes, whether from fury or sadness, she wasn’t even sure anymore. She thought it had hurt when he disappeared without a trace twelve years ago, but hearing him dismiss their relationship all over again only broke her heart for the second time.

She set the pie plate down and turned to him, resting her hands on her hips. Watching him sit there with that expectant grin on his face that used to be reserved just for her, practically basking in the attention of half the town who had gathered to see Scott Collins—back at long last!—she felt her heart begin to rip all over again.

“Who’s up first?” Lucy called out, and a shuffling and nervous laughter fell over the crowd.

“Why don’t I kick this off?” Emily heard herself say.

Scott swiveled to her. Dread clouded his eyes, but there was no denying the amused twitch in that cocky grin.

Setting her jaw, Emily swiftly picked up a pie plate and walked to the line Lucy had drawn out in white chalk. Without waiting for a signal, she hurled the plate in Scott’s direction. Whipped cream splattered at his feet.

A rumble went up in the crowd, but Emily barely noticed it. Her chest heaved with each breath as she stared at him, remembering the way his mouth used to curve when he saw her across the room, the way his brow would lift ever so slightly, the way he would quietly come up to her and place one hand on her hip. Lifting her chin, Emily marched back into the bakery, ignoring the way the crowd hushed and then slowly started to whisper with speculation. She walked around the counter, grabbed Scott’s beloved cherry pie from its stand, and beelined back to the door. An audible gasp released from the crowd as she stepped onto the sidewalk, but they were of no concern to her at the moment. There was only one person on her mind, and he had it coming. This was well overdue.

“Emily—” Scott’s old buddy Jack started, but she nailed him with a hard look and he clamped his mouth.

She positioned herself before she lost her nerve, but the adrenaline pumping in her veins showed no signs of slowing. She locked eyes with her target, noticing the way his brow had furrowed to a point. He let out a nervous chuckle.
This is for stealing my heart, Scott.
She pulled her arm back, fixing her eye on that lopsided grin that quickly vanished as she released the aluminum pan, sending it flying in his direction.
And that’s for breaking it.

She knew even before it hit him square in the face that her aim was perfect. And he knew it, too—she saw his expression dissolve into one of frozen shock just before the pie slammed into him, dead center, knocking him slightly to the left. Bright red filling oozed from the sides of the flimsy pan as it slowly slid down his nose. Scott swiped at the cherries and bits of crust that clung to his face, his eyes wide and confused, and for a moment, Emily almost felt sorry for what she had done. But then she remembered. He was no friend of hers. And she had nothing to apologize for. That was his department.

The crowd was laughing now, but Emily wasn’t amused. Blindly muttering something to Lucy about going back inside to man the counter, she wove through the throng of onlookers, ducked into the empty storefront, and pushed past the swinging door to the kitchen. And only then, only when she was sure no one would ever see or ever know, did she allow herself to cry over Scott Collins.

Chapter Three

S
cott pulled his car to a stop and shut off the ignition, sighing as he leaned back against the smooth leather headrest. The evening sunlight reflected off the windows of his parents’ house, making it impossible to see inside. He felt an odd sensation of disbelief that he had once lived here at all, much less that he had spent the first eighteen years of his life knowing every inch of the house by heart, thinking of it as home. Still one of the prettiest houses in all of Maple Woods, time was obviously posing a challenge for its upkeep: white paint peeled from various corners of the siding; grass was sprouting up through a few cracks in the brick path leading up to the center door; the yard needed weeding and the bushes needed to be pruned.

Lucy’s car was parked at the top of the driveway, and Scott couldn’t fight the twinge of resentment he felt toward her. She had won—dragged him here against his will. She didn’t understand the circumstances that had kept him away, but why the heck couldn’t she just respect his wishes? Wasn’t he doing enough for her already?

Scott gritted his teeth.
It’s now or never.
He pulled on the latch and thrust the car door open, closing it behind him with quiet force. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode up the cracking path to the faded green door, wondering if he should knock or just try the handle. Hesitating, he knocked twice, peering through the slender window that framed the door for any sign of activity inside. Seconds later, an older woman with gray hair and a plump middle entered the front hall. When she saw him through the glass, she stopped walking and her hand flew to her heart.

His mother.

Instinctively, he pulled back from the window. He ran his fingers coarsely through his hair. The last time he had seen her she was an attractive woman in her late forties. Now she was sixty. Rationally he knew it had been a long time. He just hadn’t realized the toll the years had taken on her.

The door flung open and his mother’s bright blue eyes locked with his. Blinking back tears, she leaned forward and grabbed him, squeezing him tight to a body that still felt familiar.

As soon as he could, he pulled back, standing uncomfortably in the door frame, allowing her gaze to roam over him with nostalgic appraisal, as though she had just stumbled upon a once-cherished childhood toy in the attic. He hated this. He
hated
this. He had thought he had cut off his feelings a long time ago—that he would be strong enough to deal with this reunion if it ever came—but the ache in his chest proved otherwise.

“It’s so good to see you,” his mother said breathlessly, and Scott managed a weak smile.

“The house looks nice,” he offered, stepping into the hall. He glanced around. Everything was exactly the same. Every painting hung on its same hook, every chair sat planted in the same position. Yet somehow, it was all different.

“Ah well, I’ve been meaning to get someone out here to take care of the yard now that...” she trailed off and inhaled sharply, closing the door behind him and then smoothing her hands over her skirt.

Scott balled his hands at his sides. “Is Lucy in the kitchen?” he asked, following the smell that was wafting from the back of the house.

Lucy was standing at the big island in the middle of the room, tossing a salad. Her eyes were unnaturally bright when she smiled. When she said hello, her voice was a notch higher than usual. It was then that he realized she was nervous. Well, she was the one insisting on this awkward arrangement. He wasn’t sure why she thought it would be easy. For any of them.

“I see you’re all cleaned up,” she observed.

Scott shrugged. He had hoped to avoid thinking of Emily for just one night, but that was impossible. Being here in this house only stirred his emotions to the surface. “Keep tossing pies at me and I’ll never get into the office to get the library project under way,” he warned.

“Don’t worry,” Lucy replied. “That’s it for the promotional stunts. But between you and me, I think you were a bigger hit than the mayor would have been.”

“Glad I could help.” He glanced around the room. “Where are George and Bobby?”

“George’s at the diner. Bobby’s studying for a test tomorrow.”

Scott nodded. Topic closed, the room fell silent again. He released a heavy sigh. “Where’s...”

“Dad?” Lucy lifted an eyebrow. Tight-lipped, she returned her attention to the salad. “He’s upstairs.”

His mother appeared in the arched doorway that led to the dining room. “He’s so pleased to know you’re here,” she added.

That makes one of us.

Scott rolled his shoulders, pushing back the resentment. He was angry at his parents—angry to the bone—but damn it if a part of him didn’t ache when he thought of them. It was easier, with time and distance, to just focus on the bad—on the event that had severed his ties with them for good. But all it took was one hint of his mother’s smile, the lull of her voice, to make him wish with all his might that things could have been different, that he could have just loved his parents and let them love him. That he didn’t have to look at them and be reminded of everything that had been lost instead.

He set his jaw and turned to the window, looking out over the backyard that stretched to the wood. Tulips had sprung up around the edges of the house providing a cheerful contrast to the situation within.

“Your father won’t be able to come down for dinner,” his mother was saying as she pulled three place mats from the basket on the baker’s rack. “We’ll take some soup up to him after he rests.”

They wandered silently into the dining room, his mother taking her usual place at the head of the table closest to the kitchen, he and Lucy sliding into their childhood seats on autopilot. Scott unfolded the thick cloth napkin and placed it in his lap. “Looks delicious, Lucy,” he said as she handed him a plate with a large steaming square of lasagna.

“Lucy’s been keeping us well fed,” his mother said through a tight smile. “More food than one person can eat, really,” she continued, her voice growing sad. “Have you been over to the office yet?” his mother continued.

It both amazed and saddened Scott that his relationship with his mother had come to this: polite, stilted conversation. As though there was never a bond between them—not a shared love, not a shared life, not a shared secret.

He took a bite of the lasagna. “Not yet.” He forced his tone not to turn bitter when he said, “Given Dad’s commitment to the company, I think it’s safe to assume everything is in place for the library project and I can just take over where he left off.” A heavy silence fell over the room.

Lucy bit on her lip and then asked tentatively, “Why don’t you go upstairs and see him after we’re finished with dinner?”

His stomach twisted, but he nodded. Wordlessly, he finished his meal, slowly pushed back his chair and followed his mother up the stairs, his pulse taking speed with each step. He kept his gaze low, noticing how the floorboards creaked under the weight of each step. Lucy stayed downstairs, under the guise of cleaning up the kitchen, but he knew better. She was down there wringing her hands, saying a hundred desperate prayers that progress would be made, and that all would be forgotten.

Oh, Lucy.

“He might be sleeping,” his mother whispered as they approached the master bedroom. She stopped, her hand clutching the brass knob. “Let me just go in and tell him you’re here.”

Scott stepped back and his mother slipped through the door, leaving it open an inch. Through the crack he could hear her soothing voice telling his father that “Scottie” was home and wanted to see him. If his father said anything in return, it wasn’t audible from this distance.

His mother tipped her head around the door frame and nodded. With one last sharp breath, Scott entered the room, his blood stilling at what he saw. His father, once a strapping, robust man with a handsome face and personality that could intimidate even the strongest of men on a construction crew, had withered into a frail wisp of his former self. His skin, once bronzed from days spent on job sites, was now an alarming shade of grayish-white. Propped up on two pillows, his eyes were hollow and dark.

Scott crossed the room, his body numb.

“Dad.”

“I knew you would come home.” His father’s voice strained with effort, but it was still deep, still authoritative. “I knew someday you would put this business with the Porters behind you and finally come home.”

Scott’s pulse hammered.
“I haven’t put this business with the Porters behind me and I never will,” he said evenly.

“Scott!” his mother cried out, but he couldn’t stop now if he wanted to. Even now, after all this time, the man still refused to acknowledge what he had done. The part he had played.

“A man died,” Scott insisted, silently pleading with his father to set things right once and for all. “A man with two daughters and a wife. And I was the one who took him from them,” Scott said quietly, feeling the anger uncoil in his stomach as the words spilled out. “You knew I was responsible for the accident that day and you kept that information from everyone. From the police. From Lucy. Even from me.”

“You were nine years old, Scott. We were just trying to protect you—”

“No.” Scott shook his head forcefully, trying to drive out the words, the excuses. “I should go, Dad.”
Before I say anything I’ll regret.
“You need your rest.”

Scott paused with his hand on the door, and then slipped into the hall. His mother grabbed him by the elbow.

“Thank you for seeing him, Scott. It means so much to us.”

Scott’s eyes flashed on his mother. “Why can’t he just admit it, Mom? Why can’t you? You denied the Porter family insurance money that was owed them.”

She visibly paled and looked away. “It was an
accident,
Scott.”

“Maybe so, but it didn’t have to happen. I had no business being on the machinery that day. A nine-year-old kid shouldn’t be on a job site.” He shook his head. “If I had never overhead you talking about it all those years later, would you ever have told me that I was the one responsible for the accident?”

His mother hesitated. “Probably not. You were already upset by the commotion that day. And what were we supposed to tell you? You were nine, Scott. We didn’t want you or your sister to have to live with this. Lucy still doesn’t know,” she added.

“I’m aware of that,” Scott said, “and I don’t intend to burden her with this.

“Then you can understand how we felt. We were trying to protect you.”

“By blaming the victim?” Scott cried.

“We never could have recovered from a lawsuit. Richard Porter was gone. There was nothing we could do to bring him back.”

“Then you admit it. You chose to protect yourself financially.”

“We chose to protect the company financially,” his mother corrected him. “Nearly a third of the men in this town were employed by Collins Construction. They had wives and children—families of their own, depending on that paycheck. Would it have been better to make them all suffer?”

“So it was fair for Emily’s family to suffer? They had nothing. Nothing!”

It was a no-win situation, he knew that now. A man was dead, his family impoverished and the only way they would have been reimbursed was for others to suffer at their expense. The only way everyone could have been spared was if Scott had never been on that machine that day. If his father hadn’t let him tag along to work.

“We covered the funeral expenses,” his mother offered, and Scott clenched a fist, willing himself not to lose his temper.

“It doesn’t change the fact that we are all living this lie! The police took Dad’s statement for the events of that day. Collins Construction had just finished building that addition on the Maple Woods police station—at cost. He knew they wouldn’t pursue a criminal investigation when everyone was pointing the finger at Mr. Porter’s negligence, and so it all just went away. And Emily and her family were not only denied the money they were rightfully owed for their father’s wrongful death, but worse—” his throat locked up when he thought of it “—is that you allowed them to think their father’s carelessness led to his death.”

“It wasn’t easy for us, either. We thought you would never have to know your part in this. And then all those years later you had to go and start dating Emily Porter. Of all people! Believe me when I say we
never
intended you to know the truth, especially when we saw how much you cared for her.”

Scott lowered his voice. “You
knew
how much she meant to me, and you never even welcomed her into our home.”

“You didn’t honestly think we were going to be able to invite that girl into our lives, feeling the reminder every day of what we did.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “And here I thought you walked away with a clear conscience.”

His mother stared at him levelly. “My conscience will never be free.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Scott retorted. He ran a hand through his hair. “I have to go,” he said, taking a step back, and then another. This was a useless, maddening effort.

“What are you doing?” Lucy cried in alarm, her face pale, her expression stricken as he bolted down the stairs.

“I shouldn’t have come here!” he said, bursting past her toward the front door. “Now do you see?”

“What is
wrong
with you?” Lucy hissed. “Our father is dying. Do you hear me?
Dying.
Why can’t you get over yourself for once and be the bigger person?”

Scott whipped around and met his sister’s desperate gaze. “Lucy, when it comes to our parents, I do not want to hear another word about my relationship with them. Not. One. Word.”

“You’re a jerk,” Lucy snapped.

Scott hesitated. “I’m worse than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Scott shook his head. “You have no idea.”

Lucy’s voice softened. “Try me.”

“Forget it,” he said, striding for the door. He placed his hand on the knob and twisted it, hesitating. Turning to face Lucy again, his gut tightened at the sight of her anguished face. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this, Lucy,” he said, closing the door behind him.