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“I hope you get exactly what you want,” she added, smiling at him.

“I will. I always do.”

The server appeared with the wine and made a show out of uncorking it.

Cliff tasted the small amount she poured. Violet braced herself for a whole swirling, twirling, sucking dance, but he only sniffed it once, took a sip, then nodded.

“Very nice.” He looked at Violet. “I hope you'll like it.”

“I'm sure I will.”

The server poured wine into both their glasses, then left.

Cliff waited while Violet tasted the wine. She didn't know enough to say anything other than, “It's nice,” which was true.

“You like it?” He sounded anxious.

“Very much.”

“Good.” He leaned toward her. “I've done all the talking so far, Violet. Tell me more about yourself. Where did you grow up?”

“A small town in Louisiana,” she admitted.

“You don't have much of an accent.”

“I can when I want,” she said in a drawl, then shifted back to her regular speech. “I watched a lot of movies when I was young and I wanted to sound like them.” Rather than her mother, she added silently. “I had a typical childhood.” She smiled as she lied.

Why get into the truth? It wasn't early dating material. It might never be something she told anyone. Why share that her mother had been the local town whore? That when Violet was two weeks shy of her fourteenth birthday, a man in town had given her mother a few hundred dollars for the privilege of raping her daughter.

Oh, it wasn't called rape. Her mother had promised her a special night. Violet had seen enough of her mother's business trade to know what was going to happen. Running away had earned her a whipping that had put off the deflowering a good month, but eventually the old man had taken her to a small house in a neighboring town and done his thing.

She'd cried and screamed until he hit her so hard, she was nearly unconscious. When she got home, her mother gave her fifty dollars and told her to go buy herself something pretty.

Instead, she'd saved the money, stolen from her mother when the woman was drunk and had run away the summer she turned fifteen.

She edited as she spoke. “I moved to New Orleans when I was still a teenager.”

“Great city. Did you like living there?”

She faked a smile. “Sure. There's always something going on. Lots of tourists.”

Her time in the city was mostly a blur. She'd discovered getting high made her life bearable, and she'd been young enough and pretty enough to find men who were willing to finance her habit. She'd mostly serviced the tourist trade, but had a few local regulars.

One of them, Sam, had taken her in when a particularly nasty customer had beaten the crap out of her. He'd warned her that if she didn't get out, she would be dead in five years. Violet wasn't sure why, but she'd believed him. She'd decided to make a change.

“From there I went to Pensacola. I got a job in an appliance store, answering the phones.”

It hadn't been much, but she'd gotten off drugs with help from a free program through a local church and had supplemented her pitiful income with a few customers a week. She'd learned to save, to plan and had gotten her GED.

“After a few years there, I came to the Austin area. My apartment is in Georgetown and I really like it. There's a sense of community.”

She'd wanted to go somewhere that no one knew her. She hadn't sold herself in six years and had no plans to go back to the business. She saved nearly a third of her salary, investing it safely. No matter what happened, she wanted to be able to take care of herself. Life had taught her to never trust a man.

“Have you always been in retail?” Cliff asked.

Violet nearly choked on the wine she'd sipped. “Pretty
much,” she said. “I love the store where I work now. Jenna's a great boss. Our customers are fun.”

She shifted the conversation back to him.

 

By the end of the meal Violet had a greater appreciation of a really great cabernet sauvignon and of Cliff. He was funny, charming, smart and apparently crazy about her. They talked more about his job. He admitted to being terrified of his assistant, a stern woman who had been with the company nearly thirty years. He liked his boss, enjoyed bike riding, hadn't dated much in high school and had never cheated on a woman. The most interesting part was she sort of believed him. Even about the not cheating.

Now, with the bill argued over—she'd offered to pay—they walked outside in the cool, clear night. Cliff reached for her hand as they moved toward her car in the parking lot next to the restaurant.

“I had a great time,” he said.

“Me, too.” The best part was she was telling the truth.

“Want to do this again?”

“Yes.”

They reached her car. Before she could pull her keys out of her purse, he stepped in front of her and cupped her face in his hands.

The kiss was inevitable, she thought, bracing herself for contact. She knew the drill, how to get through it without letting her indifference show. Because touching and being touched wasn't the same for her as it was for other girls. It wasn't that she didn't like the contact, it was that she could barely feel it. Doing what she'd done had messed with her body. She'd gotten so used to disconnecting from what was happening that it was nearly impossible to experience desire.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. The touch was tender, soft and gentle. He offered rather than took, and she found herself relaxing. It was nice, she thought. In time, if she was patient, there might be something more.

“I'll call you,” he whispered, before stepping back. “Good night.”

“Night.”

He was a good guy, she told herself as she drove away. Other women might take that for granted, but not her. She knew the other side too well, and had promised herself she would never go back.

J
enna arrived at her parents' house Sunday morning at ten-thirty, just in time to see a catering truck pulling out of the circular driveway. She stared at the van, horrified.

She'd been so careful to keep her problem a secret, guessing that if she told her mother how unhappy she was that Beth would blame herself. But the catering truck seemed proof that her mother had guessed her secret and either felt sorry for her or didn't want to trust her with an important meal.

She collected the cinnamon rolls she'd made—the only thing her mother would let her bring—and went inside.

“What was that?” she asked as she entered the kitchen.

Beth looked up from the quiche she was sliding into the top oven. “What was what?”

“You called a caterer?”

“I had to. I wanted to make a good impression on Serenity and Tom.”

Jenna swallowed, feeling she'd just been hit in the stomach. “Mom, I'm a chef. I would have done the cooking.” Brunch food was easy. She could follow a recipe with the best of them.

“I know, but you're so busy with the store. I didn't want to bother you. This way, you can just enjoy yourself.” Her mother touched her cheek. “I hate to burden you when you have so much going on.”

Jenna stared into her eyes and told herself to accept Beth's words at face value.

“Okay.” She set the cinnamon rolls on the counter. “These need a three-fifty oven for forty minutes.”

Her father strolled into the kitchen. She walked toward him as he held out his arms.

“How's my girl?” he asked, hugging her as he kissed the top of her head.

“Good.”

“Did your mother tell you she wanted the meal to be vegetarian?”

“I never said that,” Beth said primly, setting out champagne glasses. “I said we were having vegetarian dishes. Serenity said they would eat eggs and cheese. I'm being supportive. Besides, there are going to be breakfast meats, too.”

“Only because I insisted.” Marshall winked at his daughter. “God put us at the top of the food chain for a reason.”

“Brace yourself,” Jenna said. “Serenity is bringing a dish.”

“I'm sure it will be delicious,” Beth said. “You are both to behave.”

“Breakfast lentils,” Jenna teased. “Yummy.”

Marshall groaned. “Tell me again why they're coming?”

“Because I invited them. They're family.”

Her dad squeezed her. “Your family, not mine,” he whispered. “They're not related to me.”

Jenna laughed.

Beth pointed to the doorway. “You're making trouble, Marshall. Get out until you hear the doorbell. Then you may greet our company and open the champagne.”

“We're drinking at breakfast?”

“We're having mimosas. Now git.”

Marshall strolled out the way he'd come.

“That man,” Beth grumbled. “He torments me because he can.”

Watching her parents together made Jenna feel a little better. At least some parts of her world were where they should be.

“All right,” she said, crossing to the refrigerator. “What did you pay those people to bring you?”

“Two kinds of quiche,” Beth said, motioning to the oven. “One with only eggs, cheese and vegetables and one that is the quiche equivalent of an all-meat pizza. For your father.”

“And?”

“A fresh fruit plate, scones, a tray of breakfast meats I only need to warm for ten minutes and petit fours.”

“Petit fours?”

“Those are for me. For later.”

Jenna laughed. “Mom, you make me crazy.”

“Then I must be doing something right. Come on. Let's put in your cinnamon rolls.”

 

Serenity and Tom arrived right on time. Jenna was determined to be pleasant and welcoming, offering to be the one to go and greet them.

“Good morning,” she said as cheerfully as she could, while
trying not to let her eyes bug out when she caught sight of Serenity's outfit.

Her birth mother wore a long, flowing dress of rainbows. Not rainbow colored, which would be marginally better, but fabric covered in brightly colored rainbows. They swirled, they flowed, they circled into a kaleidoscope of color that nearly made her dizzy. Dangling earrings that looked like stained glass competed for attention. By contrast, Tom was practically normal in jeans and a tie-dyed shirt.

“My little girl,” Serenity said as she entered the house. She passed her casserole dish to Tom, then approached Jenna and lightly kissed her on each cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks. Um, so do you.”

Tom gave her a smile and also leaned in for a kiss—single cheek this time. Jenna took the casserole dish from him and stepped back.

“Serenity, you remember my mother, Beth Stevens. Mom, this is Tom.” Jenna saw her father making his way toward them. “And this is my dad, Marshall. Dad, Serenity and Tom.”

The men shook hands.

“Come into the kitchen,” Beth said. “For years I tried to get people to hang out in the living room, and it never happened. So I've given up. Now we simply migrate to the kitchen and keep it casual.”

Part of the reason Beth had remodeled the space, Jenna thought, proud of her parents' home. There was a big work area, bar seating at the high counter, a sofa by the window and a fireplace tucked into the corner.

“Refrigerator or oven?” Jenna asked Serenity, raising the casserole slightly.

“If we're eating in the next half hour, it can stay out. I
made a breakfast rice pudding with vanilla rice milk and dried fruit.”

Which didn't sound too awful, Jenna admitted. “Rice milk, not soy or almond milk?”

“Too much soy can mimic estrogen. Almond milk is delicious, but too sweet for the recipe. I use rice milk often. Most people who have grain issues are fine with rice.”

“God's food,” Tom added, coming up behind Serenity and putting his arm around her waist.

Serenity laughed. “That's what we used to tell our boys.”

Jenna didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately, Beth had already handed Marshall the bottle of champagne.

“I thought we'd start with mimosas,” she said. “Toast to our new relationship. I'm so delighted you've come to get to know Jenna.” She pulled out a pitcher of orange juice. “I squeezed it myself, from organic oranges.”

Serenity looked pleased. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Wait until she gets a load of the plate of breakfast meats,” Marshall murmured in Jenna's ear.

Jenna did her best not to grin.

While the champagne was opened and mixed with the orange juice, Beth got Serenity and Tom seated at the counter. She disappeared for a second, only to return with an armful of photo albums.

Jenna groaned. “Mom, no.”

“They'll want to see them.”

“We will,” Serenity said, taking the glass Jenna offered.

Beth set the largest of the albums between Serenity and Tom. “Jenna, stand here and explain what everything is.”

“You've labeled every picture. It's very clear.”

Beth shot her a warning look behind their backs.

“Fine,” Jenna mouthed and took up the position.

The first page showed Jenna as a newborn, in Beth's arms.

“Oh.” The soft sound seemed to barely escape Serenity's lips. “They wouldn't let me see you,” she whispered. “They said it would be easier to give you up. I wasn't going to change my mind, but I would have liked to hold you.”

The words hit Jenna in the gut. For the first time since her arrival, Serenity seemed like a real person and not a caricature. While still in high school, she'd gotten pregnant and had given up her child. That had to have been tough. Not anything Jenna would have wanted to go through.

Serenity turned the page. There were dozens of photos of Jenna through the first few months of her life. The first steps, the first taste of real food, several bath pictures. Tom touched the school picture from when Jenna was seven. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“She looks like your mother there,” he said, then cleared his throat. “The shape of her face.”

“I know.” Serenity glanced at Beth. “I was telling Jenna that her grandmother was an excellent cook. She was French, as was my grandfather.”

“When did you see Jenna?” Beth asked, her voice more curious than concerned.

“I stopped by the store yesterday.”

“She wants me to teach vegan classes,” Jenna added.

“That would be different,” her mother said. “It's all about finding the right recipe, I would imagine.”

“Are your parents still alive?” Marshall asked, pouring more champagne into his glass.

“My folks live in Hawaii,” Tom said. “We visit them when we can. Mostly they come to see us. Serenity's not much of a flier.”

“It's unnatural,” his wife said. “I've done it a few times, but it feels so dangerous.” She sighed and smiled at a picture
of Jenna at twelve. “Your grandparents grow organic coffee. We have some at the apartment, if you'd like to try it.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“My parents were killed several years ago,” Serenity said. “A boating accident. They were lost in a typhoon. I was devastated, but they died doing what they loved.”

“Sailing?” Beth asked.

“Sailing around the world. They did it every couple of years. They had a beat-up sailboat they'd owned forever. There were places they'd stop every time. It was a good life.”

Jenna excused herself to put the quiches into the lower oven to warm. As she straightened, her head spun, but not from a blood rush. It was too much information, too many people and facts. Grandparents. She hadn't thought of that. The grandparents she knew were Beth and Marshall's parents. Beth's had moved to an upscale retirement development in Boca, while Marshall's folks were still in the same house they'd lived in for forty years in Houston. The only change in their lifestyle was now the help lived in to give them a bit more assistance.

The grandparents she knew flew to Europe and took cruises on giant ships. They didn't sail around the world over and over again or grow coffee in Hawaii.

She didn't know these people. She had no emotional connection to them, but she couldn't escape a biological one. She was who she was, at least physically, because of Serenity and Tom. She had brothers and apparently a couple of grandparents. She might have aunts, uncles, cousins…

Over the next few minutes, she busied herself checking on the dining room table, then setting out the food that didn't have to be warmed or cooled. She noticed her mother had
put Tom and Serenity on the same side of the table, which meant she was sitting across from them in her usual spot.

No escaping it now, she told herself and refilled her champagne glass.

Serenity followed her into the kitchen. “How are you doing?” the other woman asked.

“Fine,” Jenna said automatically.

“I'm only asking because I'm sensing you're struggling with something.”

Jenna stared at her, wondering if Serenity's direct line to the universe really gave her unexpected insight. “Everything is great,” she said, lying. “There's no struggle.”

“Of course there isn't,” Beth said as she walked into the kitchen. “Jenna is very happy with her store and what she's accomplished in such a short period of time. Aren't you, honey?”

Jenna nodded but couldn't shake the feeling Serenity wasn't convinced.

It didn't take long for the quiches to finish, the cinnamon rolls to brown and the breakfast meats to heat. She and Beth carried in everything while Marshall seated their guests.

“The quiche in the white dish is only eggs and cheese and vegetables,” Beth said as she set it down next to Tom. “The other has bacon and ham in it. I'm sorry to say, we're meat eaters in this house.”

“I understand,” Serenity told her. “But I hope you'll try the rice pudding.”

“Of course,” Jenna said. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Serenity smiled, then showed them a couple of pictures. “My boys. Dragon is the one on the left.”

Jenna stared at pictures of two men she'd never met yet were related to her. They were both dark-haired and good-looking. Dragon looked as if he were holding in a smile, and
she found herself thinking she would like him. Wolf was more serious but still appeared friendly.

“They're very handsome,” Beth said with a sigh.

“I hope you can meet them one day,” Serenity murmured, taking back the pictures.

“Sure.” Jenna smiled brightly. “Let's eat.”

When they were all seated, they paused for a moment to say grace. It was a Sunday morning tradition. When Marshall had closed with “Amen,” heads went up and food started to circulate.

Jenna put both bacon and sausage on her plate before passing it to her father. She sampled from both quiches and then, because she was curious, she took a scoop of the rice pudding. With Serenity watching, she took a bite.

The rice was well-cooked, the texture creamy. It was sweet, and the dried fruit was just moist enough to balance the consistency.

“This is good,” Jenna said, hoping she didn't sound as surprised as she felt. “Could I get the recipe? I think it's something I could make with my mothers and kids class. A few of the children are lactose intolerant.”

“Of course. Commercial dairy is filled with hormones,” Serenity said. “I hope you tell your customers to buy organic.”

“Pass the butter,” Marshall said.

Jenna knew better than to look at her dad. If she did, she would start laughing. Instead, she glanced at her mother, who was giving her husband a “You're going to get it later” glare.

Tom put down his fork. “I have some wine for you back at the apartment,” he said. “We brought a few bottles with us.”

“You have a winery?” Marshall asked, looking interested for the first time.