The Right Time (14 page)

He found Sophie in the living room, sitting at his desk with her eyes glued to the computer screen. He came closer to see what held her so engrossed she didn’t notice he’d entered the room. Then he saw what she was reading.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ransom demanded.

She jumped, clutching her chest. “I—”

Angry at the invasion of privacy, he snapped, “You had no business snooping in my computer.”

“I wasn’t snooping. I wanted to log into the system at work, and the Word document was open and—”

“And you started reading, which you had no right to do. It’s confidential.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“You invaded my privacy.”

She stood, staring at him in open-mouthed shock. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, but your restaurant plan sounds amazing. It is your plan, isn’t it?”

Her flattery did nothing to assuage his anger. “Yes,” he said tightly.

“The portabello mushroom burger with caramelized onions and roasted peppers—oh my, it sounds delicious.”

He hesitated. She’d been his inspiration for adding the vegetarian items, and the idea for the mushroom burger had come to him out of the blue. Each time he created a menu item in his head, he wrote down the list of ingredients and a full description. He even had a mockup of the menu, which he sometimes revised. With a farm-to-table restaurant concept, the menu would change seasonally. A few days ago, he’d opened that document, for the first time in weeks, and typed new ideas he planned to test.

“Vegetable lasagna is one of my favorite things, and that sounds good, too.”

“You’re just saying that,” Ransom muttered.

“No, I’m not,” Sophie insisted.

She sounded genuine, and if there was one thing he knew about Sophie, she was genuine.

Ransom scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Those plans don’t mean anything.”

Her eyes widened, as if he was crazy. “I don’t mean to pry, but help me understand why not. They’re very detailed.”

“Cooking is a hobby. That’s it. Something to pass the time.”

The more they talked, the more irritated he became. He guarded this part of his life with aggressive tenacity. He had notebooks filled with ideas and recipes, demonstrating how his ideas evolved over the years. Most days his tools of preference were his laptop and the recorder app on his phone, but he was under no illusions about the viability of the restaurant business.

He snapped the laptop closed. “This conversation is over.”

Why are you here?

That was the question he’d asked her. Sophie came because yesterday she went to meet Keith for dinner, hoping for a glimpse of Ransom. Nine times out of ten, when she was with her boyfriend, she was thinking about Ransom. Was it right? No, and she certainly wasn’t proud of her thoughts, but she couldn’t escape them.

The office manager at the firm told Sophie that Ransom was out sick. Then this morning he didn’t show up at the bike shop. She never completed the route, doubling back so she could run off and get supplies for him.

She’d worried about him, so it only made sense that she was disturbed to hear him dismiss his talent, like someone severing the spoiled spot from an apple and tossing it away.

“Forget I said anything.” Sophie left him in the living room. She returned to the kitchen and ran water in the sink to wash the dishes. She had no business being there, intruding on his life and space.

“I’m sorry.” He stood in the open entrance between the kitchen and living room.

Her hands stilled in the soapy water, and she glanced over at him. He looked ill but adorably scruffy. His hair was a mess, and he needed to shave, but she had to admit that having his hair-roughened face against her breasts had evoked an involuntary need in her loins. The rumpled sleeveless shirt and sweats only added to his appeal, showing off his muscular tattooed arm and hinting at his firm thighs.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

“My ideas about the restaurant are private,” he explained.

“Why?”

“First of all, I don’t know if I’m any good. I’m not a professionally trained chef, and…opening a restaurant is a risky venture,” he mumbled. Resting a hip against the counter, he studied her.

She didn’t know this person. The confident lawyer was vastly different from the hesitant chef.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m sure you know that restaurants often have multiple investors. You could even start with a small place and maybe one day grow into multiple locations.” She dried her hands on a towel. “If you ever want to test your vegetarian recipes, I’ll be your guinea pig.” Her weak smile drew one from him, too. Encouraged by the softening of his attitude, she asked, “Do you ever cook for anyone else?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why not? You have to get other opinions to know if you’re any good.”

“Cooking takes time and energy, Sophie.” He spoke to her as if speaking to a child.

She rolled her eyes. “Not that much time and energy, and actually
doing something
will get the ideas off paper and make it more real. Your ideas will go from concept to reality.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know.”

“How will you know if you’re any good if you’re the only one eating your food?”

He chuckled. “I’ve had other people eat my food.”

“You just said—”

“Not nowadays, but in the past. In college, that’s how I paid my expenses. I worked part-time in the dining hall at first, but then I started cooking in my apartment every so often. It got to the point where friends would chip in five, ten bucks each and I’d get all the groceries and cook several nights a week. They even left me tips.”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

He nodded with a laugh. “I made so much off of tips and cooking, I was able to quit my job at the dining hall.” He shrugged.

Sophie marched over and thumped his arm.

“Ow. I’m sick.” He furrowed his brow at her and rubbed the spot she hit.

“What is wrong with you? You’re obviously an excellent cook. Why won’t you let people enjoy your food?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know how to explain it. I have a burning desire to create, even if no one else tastes it.”

He seemed genuinely perplexed by the dilemma, but she understood. “Passion,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “Yeah. Passion.”

They smiled at each other.

“Take the leap,” she said.

Hesitation surfaced in his eyes, but Sophie suspected it wasn’t just about failure, because he faced the possibility of failure every time he took on a new client. With millions of dollars at stake and clients depending on his legal acumen, he carried a heavy load every day he worked. What she saw manifested in his eyes was much more.

“What’s holding you back?”

He rubbed his neck. “Remember I told you I did a lot of dumb shit when I was younger?”

She nodded.

“I was into everything stupid a teenaged boy could get into. Smoking pot. Vandalism. Joyriding. You name it, I did it. I got into trouble often, but always got let off the hook because of my family name. People in the community loved and respected my parents, so it was perplexing to have a son turn out to be such a screw-up.” He braced his arms on the counter behind him. “There were plenty of people who thought I was a lost cause, that I would end up dead or in jail because of my foolish behavior. I was basically told, on more than one occasion, that I wasn’t shit and would never be shit.”

His jaw hardened, and her heart broke a little. She sensed the pain he must have experienced, the self-doubt as he continued in the same destructive behavior, essentially living up to the negative comments that had been levied at him. She didn’t think he’d speak on the topic anymore, but he continued.

“One of my teachers, Mr. Lang, told me I was too smart to be throwing my life away. He had a brother who owned a restaurant and convinced him to hire me—washing dishes, of all things—and working at that restaurant kept my ass out of trouble. Mind you, I hated it at first. No teenager wants to spend his evenings and weekends washing dishes.”

“Of course not, but having the job obviously helped.”

“Redirected my energy,” he confirmed. “My past created problems when I wanted to go into law. You can become a lawyer with a criminal background, but they make you jump through some serious hoops. Fortunately, I did all of my dirt as a juvenile.”

She looked down at her hands, trying to form the right words to encourage him. Heaven knew she’d made mistakes over the years with her decision-making, so she didn’t want to come off as lecturing. “I can’t tell you what to do, but you should really—”

“Sophie, I’m one of the top attorneys at my firm.”

“I understand, and you should be proud of your accomplishments. But who says you have to be restricted to one career? You’ve obviously been working on your idea.”

“It’s a silly hobby that won’t amount to anything.”

“Aren’t you the person who just told me he used his cooking skills in college to feed his friends and pay his expenses?”

He laughed. Goodness, he was gorgeous. All dimples and white teeth.

“Touché, but that was years ago. I don’t have time to dedicate to cooking. Not like I used to. It’s more sporadic now, when I have time. If I have time.”

“Make time.”

“You’re very bossy, you know that?” He pursed his lips for several seconds. “I’ll think about it. One day I’ll cook and you can come over to eat.”

“I can’t wait.” She bounced excitedly, honored to be privy to this side of his life, a side hidden from others.

Ransom stared at her, and some phantom emotion flashed across his face. Their eyes remained on each other, and the moment seemed frozen in time. Her pulse pummeled her wrist.

He walked toward her, and not knowing what else to do, Sophie stayed in place, afraid to break the spell. “There’s no one else like you, is there?” He studied her face, eyes scouring her features, then moved abruptly away. “Time for another dose of antibiotics,” he said, heading toward the living room.

Her heart constricted painfully. She should have said something or given a hint of how she was feeling. Admitted there was no one else like him, either, and that she thought about him constantly—an indecent amount.

But she’d promised Keith she’d work on their relationship, and meant to do it. Keith was a sure thing. Ransom wasn’t. When his assignment in Atlanta was over, he’d be gone, and then where would that leave her? Alone. So no matter how much she thought about him or second-guessed her commitment to moving forward with Keith, being with Ransom was a far less viable option.

With her throat uncomfortably tight, she finished washing the dishes and then went to find Ransom in the living room, where he was standing over the computer. Sheets of paper whispered out of the printer at the end of the desk.

“I’m going to leave now,” she announced.

He looked up in surprise. “Why?”

“It’s getting late.”

It would be dark soon, and she definitely shouldn’t be here then. She’d already dry-humped him in bed. Sick or not, he presented a temptation she found hard to resist.

He nodded, a rueful twist to his mouth. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She picked up her purse and hugged it to her chest. “Bye.” Why didn’t she move? “Promise me you’ll move forward on the restaurant idea.”

His smile was slight, feigning lightheartedness, the same as she. “I promise.”

One foot in front of the other, Sophie.

“Take care,” she said, feeling weepy.

She rushed toward the door, her upper lip trembling as she fought an overpowering urge to cry. Leaving him tore at her heart.

Outside in the hallway, she pressed her thumb hard against the elevator button and stepped into the cabin when it arrived on the floor. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the interior wall.

Why was it so hard to stay away? She rubbed her chest, where a sharp ache had developed.

Why did it hurt so much to leave?

The apartment seemed extra empty with her gone. The absence of Sophie’s caring and vibrant personality left Ransom feeling desolate and hollow.

He dropped into the chair and buried his head in his hands. He should go back to bed, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. Talking to Sophie gave him some ideas, and he needed to order supplies to carry them out. It would take thirty minutes, an hour at the most, to search online for what he needed. After all, he promised Sophie he’d move forward, and that was what he intended to do.

Ransom rolled his neck and clicked on his favorite website for dishes and cookware. He scrolled down the page, adding items to the cart as he went. He could feel his pulse accelerate as he found each new item. At the end of forty-five minutes, he had everything he thought he’d need, at least for now. And for the first time in years, he placed a substantial order, and then sat back…and smiled.

Sophie entered the home of her longtime friends, Jay and Brenda Santorini, and they all exchanged hugs. Brenda was the editor of an entertainment magazine and Jay owned a marketing firm. They were her oldest and dearest friends, and had shocked everyone by getting married right after the holidays, after being in love for years and suffering in silence. She couldn’t be happier for them as a couple, and for the baby on the way.

“Look at you.” Sophie crouched in front of her friend and placed her hands on her two-month pregnant belly. “Hello in there,” Sophie said, even though her friend wasn’t showing yet.

Brenda laughed, ever chic-looking in a maxi dress, her short hair smoothed low on her head, and her dark skin glowing.

“Stop it, crazy woman.” Brenda looped arms with her, and they went into the dining room with Jay, where a spread of eggplant parmesan, salad, and crusty garlic bread awaited.

Sophie inhaled deeply, pulling the scent of homemade marinara sauce, garlic, and oregano into her nostrils. “Mmmm. I can’t wait. I’m starving.”

They sat around the table and dived into the delicious food, and soon the conversation turned to the problem at hand—the ongoing custody battle between Jay and his ex-wife, Jenna. Their twin sons were supposed to move in with Jay this fall, but Jenna was fighting against it.