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“What's he like?”

“Charming,” she admitted. “He's the guy who walks in the room and knows exactly what to say to everyone. He can convince you of anything. I loved being around him, but at the same time when I was with him I felt different. I can't explain it.”

Violet picked up her margarita. “Less shiny?”

Jenna considered the description. “Yes. That's it. I felt less than I'd been before. Looking back I can see that he wasn't especially brilliant in the kitchen, but he convinced us all he was. For years, I told myself I couldn't keep up. I guess that's when I started putting myself down.”

She hesitated. “I used to be so inventive in my cooking. Aaron would pick my ideas apart, make me feel they weren't any good, then a few weeks later, they would show up on the menu. When I asked about that, he said he'd made changes, improved them. But I wasn't ever sure he did. I used to take chances.”

She pressed her lips together. “Sorry. Too much information.”

“It's not. What you're saying makes a lot of sense.”

“You mean it explains why I'm not willing to do anything without charts and a plan? Structure makes me feel safe. It wasn't always that way.”

Violet eyed her over the glass. “Don't take this wrong, but I don't think you started it. I'll bet it was Aaron.”

“You think?”

Jenna thought about their relationship. She wanted to say he'd always been there for her. That he was supportive. But she knew it wasn't true.

“He wanted me to be less than him,” she said slowly.

“Maybe you scared him.”

“Nothing scared Aaron.”

“Everyone is afraid of something.” Violet spoke with a confidence Jenna envied. “If a guy pretends he's not, he's faking it. Trust me. I have experience when it comes to lousy guys. Show me a nice guy who wants to take me out and treat me well and I yawn. Parade a few losers in front of me and I can't get there fast enough.”

“That's not good,” Jenna said.

“Tell me about it. I have a whole list of wonderful men I'm not the least bit interested in. When you're ready for rebound guy, just let me know. I can suggest a couple dozen.”

Jenna laughed. “I'm not the rebound guy type.”

“Sure you are. Everyone is. It's kind of required. You've ended one relationship and you need to think about starting the next. Rebound guy gives you confidence.”

“What does he get out of it?”

“Sex with minimal effort. Guys love that.”

Jenna shifted in her seat. “I've never been much of a guy magnet. I'm not sure rebound guy will be worth the effort it'll take to get him.”

Violet raised her dark eyebrows. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? The effort we're talking about is little more than wearing a short skirt and smiling.”

If only, Jenna thought wryly. “I'm not good with guys.”

“I doubt that, but even if it's true, it doesn't matter. The rebound relationship is about having fun. You get out there and remind yourself that yes, you can have a good time with someone else. You go out a couple of times, have hot sex, wake up feeling refreshed and move on.”

Jenna wondered what Violet would say if she confessed to the fact that she'd only been with one other guy before Aaron. The thought of sex with a stranger was terrifying.

“My parents met in college,” she said. “They knew right away that they were meant for each other. I always thought it would be like that for me.”

“I didn't know it was like that for anyone,” Violet murmured.

“I was holding out for perfect. Instead I got Aaron.”

“Maybe it's time to try fun instead.”

“I've never thought of dating as fun,” Jenna admitted. “I guess I was doing it wrong.”

“You're doing it again,” Violet said.

“Doing… Oh, right.” The put-down thing.

What was with her? When had she become that kind of person—always seeing the worst in herself?

“Okay,” she said, straightening. “Rebound guy. You swear it's fun?”

“It can be. Give it some thought and when you're ready, I'll hook you up with Mr. Blow Your Socks Off.” Violet grinned. “Unless you have other things you want him to blow on.”

Jenna felt herself blush. She sipped her margarita. “It's been a long time,” she admitted in a whisper.

“Then we'll get going on that.”

“Business first, sex second.”

“Are you sure you don't want to reverse those?” Violet teased.

“I have rent to make.”

“Fair enough. But when you want the sock thing, just let me know and I'll find you someone completely inappropriate.”

Jenna laughed. “I'd like that. It doesn't sound like me at all and I'm starting to think that might be a good thing.”

 

Violet pushed her cart through the grocery store. It wasn't where she usually shopped, but after running a couple of errands in Austin, she'd impulsively pulled into the parking lot of the upscale establishment. Maybe hanging out with Jenna was rubbing off on her.

With that in mind, she ignored the frozen food aisle and walked purposefully toward the produce. The area was huge and well-lit, with rows of fruits and vegetables neatly
arranged. She saw more types of lettuce than she'd ever seen in one place. Tomatoes were yellow and nearly purple, as well as red.

She quickly collected salad fixings, grabbed a gourmet salad dressing from the refrigerated shelves, then headed for the fresh pasta section. Tonight she was going to cook herself a real dinner. A real easy dinner, but still, it was progress.

As she maneuvered her cart, she noticed how nicely everyone was dressed. Men in suits. Women in expensive-looking jackets, with tailored skirts and great shoes. She saw a flash of red sole and stared, wondering if someone really was wearing Christian Louboutin shoes in a grocery store.

Trying to see the side of the shoe to decide if she liked the style, she wasn't looking where she was going and came to a shuddering stop as her cart collided with someone else's.

She glanced up. “Sorry. I wasn't looking.”

The cart's handler—a tall, suit-wearing guy—smiled at her. “I could tell. What was more interesting than—” he looked to his left and picked up a bottle “—imported olives?”

She smiled. “Shoes. A female cliché, if there ever was one.”

“Shoes, huh? Your thing?”

“I'm more a looker than a buyer. Sorry about the cart attack.”

She started to go around him, but he maneuvered himself in front of her and gave her a smile.

“Wait. I have a question about these olives,” he said.

“What makes you think I know anything about them?”

“Women always have knowledge about anything mysterious.”

“You think of olives as mysterious?”

“And you don't, which proves my point.”

He had sandy brown hair and hazel-brown eyes. His expression was friendly and interested without being too aggressive. His suit looked expensive but not crazy. He was clean-shaven, broad-shouldered and normal-looking. Not at all her type.

She would have excused herself and walked away except she was tired of always getting it wrong. Every guy in her life had been a disaster, probably because when it came to men, her gut didn't know what it was talking about.

So maybe she should ignore her lack of interest and see what else the nice man had to say. It was unlikely this one would steal her credit card or buy a car in her name, then not make payments.

“Olives can be difficult,” she said, moving her cart to the side so other people could get by. “Now, when the oil is difficult, you know you're in trouble.”

He laughed. The sound was low and pleasant. Easy. As if he were the kind of guy who laughed a lot.

“I'm Cliff,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Violet.”

“Nice to meet you, Violet.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” She paused, not sure what to say next.

Cliff continued to smile at her, as if she were the brightest part of his day. “I work in finance, which sounds more impressive than it is. I've been in town about five months and the only people I know are the ones on my floor at work. I'm putting in eighty hours a week because I don't know what else to do with my time. Have dinner with me?”

Nice, she thought. The guy was nice. And, of course, she wasn't the least bit interested.

“Thanks, but no.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I know meeting a guy in a gro
cery store isn't much better than meeting a guy in a bar. What do you really know about me, right? Giving me your number wouldn't be safe. So let me give you my card.”

He withdrew a card from his suit jacket pocket. “My work number is there, along with my cell. How about next Tuesday?”

“I don't get to Austin much. I live in Georgetown,” she said without thinking, not sure what to do about the invitation.

“That works for me. How about the Wildfire Restaurant? It's next to the Palace Theater. Tell you what. I'll be there at seven. I hope you'll join me.”

He held out the card until she took it.

“I'm a good guy,” he told her. “Ask anyone on my floor.”

She stared at the card. The company name was one she recognized and the location was a high-rise in Austin. Apparently Cliff really did have a job, and it was a good one.

She looked up only to see he'd turned away and was already at the end of the aisle. He rounded the corner without looking back. He probably
was
a good guy, she thought as she tucked the card into the back pocket of her jeans. No man had ever gone out of his way to make her feel safe before. Women like Jenna were probably well-treated all the time. They didn't know the world could be different. But Violet did. She knew how ugly it could be.

She was tired of losers who made her heart beat faster. Of jerks who hurt her, either physically or emotionally. Jenna made normal seem pretty damned wonderful. Maybe it was time for Violet to experience normal for herself.

T
he last time Jenna had had this many butterflies in her stomach, she'd been getting married. Hopefully the reopening of her store would prove to have a happier ending. She waited anxiously by the oven as cookies baked. As per their plan, food would be available the second the doors unlocked.

While she waited for the three-hundred-and-fifty degrees to work their magic, she glanced around the store. She and Violet had rearranged a few shelves and reworked most of the displays. Gone was the rigid order she had so loved, and in its place was a welcoming riot of color and equipment. Dish towels spilled out of mixer bowls, mugs nestled next to coffee-makers. A gourmet coffee display was nearby.

The website was up and working, ads were in all the local papers, coupon inserts in two, and somehow Violet had man aged to get them interviewed for a local blog.

She checked the cookies, then eyed the class schedule on
the wall. The big dry-erase board was filled with offerings from organic food for babies and toddlers during the late-morning to a singles cooking class on Friday night. Her perfect kitchen would be invaded by people who had no idea what they were doing, and she was actually sort of okay with that.

Even more surprising, she was trying something new. The organic food for babies and toddlers was completely out of her comfort zone. She'd nearly vomited when she'd agreed to the class, but she was going to do it. She figured an eighteen-month-old wouldn't be as critical as Aaron.

Giving up control was a good thing, she reminded herself. At least it would be when she got used to it and stopped hyperventilating at the thought. Trying to keep control of everything had become a habit in recent years. Maybe it had been a way not to notice how out of control her marriage had become.

She returned to the oven and pulled open the door. The timer dinged just as she drew out the tray and set it on the waiting cooling rack.

Across the room, Violet groaned. “What are those? They smell amazing.”

“A brownie-cookie with a melted chocolate center.”

“I'm going to gain weight working here, aren't I?”

“If I'm doing my job right.”

Violet grinned. “Tell me when they're cooled. I want to taste one and make sure they're okay. For marketing purposes.”

Jenna laughed. “Thanks. We wouldn't want to risk serving our customers anything that wasn't good.”

“Exactly.”

Jenna slipped the second batch into the oven and shut the door. Precisely two minutes after the cookies had come out
of the oven, Jenna used a spatula to transfer them from the cookie sheet to a second cooling rack. She glanced at the clock. They were less than five minutes to the grand reopening.

What if nobody came? What if all the changes didn't make a difference? What if she failed?

The swirling thoughts made her want to pound her head against the wall. Instead she forced herself to breathe slowly. Everything was going to be fine, she reminded herself. Her new plan was in place and it was based on making customers happy, rather than being everything she wanted the store to be. Even as she hovered, twenty dozen sugar cookies waited to be decorated for today's class on decorating with spring flowers.

The table by the register held fifty brightly colored lunch-size paper bags Violet had bought at the dollar store. Inside some were the nonperishable ingredients for the sugar cookies. The others held the same for the brownie-cookies. Recipe cards were attached. Everything was premeasured in sealed plastic bags. All that was required were eggs and butter.

Next to the bags, stacks of mixing bowls, cookie sheets and cooling racks partially blocked printed schedules of the cooking classes for the next two weeks. Later in the week there would be a ribbon-cutting ceremony with members of the Georgetown Chamber of Commerce stopping by.

They'd done what they could do, she reminded herself. What happened now was up to the good people of Georgetown.

“It's time,” Violet said as she walked toward the door. “Oh.”

“What?”

“There are people waiting outside. I hadn't noticed.”

People waiting, as in customers? Jenna walked toward the front. Sure enough, there were five or six women standing on the sidewalk. As soon as Violet unlocked the glass front doors, they walked in.

Several of them held flyers or coupons in their hands. They looked around eagerly. A couple inhaled, then groaned.

“What are you baking?” one older woman asked. “It smells wonderful.”

Jenna smiled. “A brownie-cookie. I just pulled some out of the oven. Have a taste.”

She handed out the samples.

“Do you have the recipe?” another woman asked. “I came in for the sugar cookie class, but these are delicious.”

“We have recipe cards,” Jenna said, pointing to the front of the store even as she wondered if she recognized the woman. She might have been a retired teacher from her elementary school.

“We also have the ingredients ready if you want to buy those and make them at home yourself,” Jenna added. “You'll need eggs and butter, but we've taken care of everything else.”

Violet walked over with a few of the bags in her hand.

“How clever,” a customer said. “I want one of each.”

“Me, too.”

A third woman eyed Jenna. “That apron is adorable. Are you selling those?”

 

By six o'clock, Jenna's feet hurt and her back ached. She also felt a weird stretching sensation in her face, which came from having spent the whole day smiling. It was all pain she could happily live with, she thought as she watched Violet lock the front door. When she turned, they stared at each other, then both began to laugh.

“We did it!” Jenna said, bouncing on her already-throbbing feet. “I can't believe how many customers we had.”

“I know.” Violet pointed to the lonely bag sitting on the table. “I figured the ingredient bags would be popular, but I wasn't expecting them to go this fast. We're going to have to make more for next time. People are going to tell their friends and we'll have customers showing up, wanting to try what we've been cooking.”

Jenna sank into a chair. “Did you see those women with the cookies? They were so happy decorating.”

“Nearly everyone bought cookie sheets and cooling racks.”

The day had been crazy busy. She would have to come in early in the morning to restock shelves and prep for the next cooking class. If this kept up, she would need to hire a part-time person to prepare the bags and stock the shelves. Talk about a happy thought.

“You did this,” she said, turning to Violet. “You made it happen.”

“I helped,” the other woman corrected.

“If I'd been left on my own, I would have failed spectacularly.”

Violet studied her for a second. “Then I have a favor to ask. Say yes, and we can be even.”

Jenna smiled. “Unless you want a kidney, sure.”

Violet shifted uneasily, as if nervous. She fingered the bracelets on her wrist. “I have a date on Tuesday.”

“Is that all? Of course you can leave early.”

“No, that's not it. I met this guy. Cliff. He's nice. A business type.” She pulled a card out of her skirt pocket and held it out. “He has the kind of job where they give you business cards.”

Jenna took the card and studied it. She couldn't see any
thing noteworthy about the information. Cliff worked for a big financial firm. He was a senior manager, which probably meant he was one step away from being a vice president.

“I don't know what to wear,” Violet admitted. “We're going out to dinner.”

Jenna frowned. “You always look great. Fun and pulled together.”

“I have a unique style,” Violet said. “It's wrong for Cliff.”

“Not if he asked you out. What do you want to dress like?”

“Not what. Who. I want to dress like you.”

Jenna sat up straight. “Trust me. Stick-up-the-ass isn't a style to attract a guy.”

“You dress great,” Violet told her. “Sophisticated. Elegant.”

“Boring.”

“Classy.”

Jenna had never applied that word to herself. She wore tailored clothes because they tended to suit her body and weren't trendy. Shopping wasn't her thing. Those big mirrors in dressing rooms intimidated her. Looking at her butt in a three-way mirror wasn't her idea of a good time.

“You're serious?” she asked.

“Yes. I want to look right for my date with Cliff.”

“I'm really the last person you should be asking, but sure. I'll help.”

Violet sighed. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet. I haven't the faintest idea how to help you. Want to come to my house and look at my closet? It'll give us a place to start.”

“That sounds perfect.”

 

Jenna's townhouse was relatively new, with comfortable furniture and hardwood floors. She had a few scattered rugs,
artwork on the walls and extra shelving in the kitchen for her impressive collection of cookware.

The built-in, under-the-counter wine cellar and stainless steel appliances were about as far from Violet's somewhat rundown apartment as it was possible to get while staying in the same city.

Violet sat at the stool by the bar counter and wondered what it would be like to live like this for real. To have no need for extra locks, while enjoying garage parking for her car. The differences were both inspiring and depressing.

She accepted the glass of white wine Jenna offered, then waited while her boss shuffled through the contents of the refrigerator. In a matter of minutes she had loaded a plate with various cheeses, some cut fruit, and a dip she'd whipped up using sun-dried tomatoes and some mystery ingredients, and water crackers.

Violet eyed the offering. “Your life really is perfect,” she said without thinking.

Jenna nearly choked on her wine. “Excuse me? I'm getting a divorce, my husband cheated on me, I've just turned thirty-two, I have no kids, I own nothing and if not for you, my business would have failed.”

Violet nodded slowly. “When you put it like that.”

They both laughed.

Jenna held out her glass. “Today was a good day. Thank you.”

“It was good and tomorrow will be better.”

They clinked glasses.

“If you're right,” Jenna said, “then I'm going to break out my comfortable shoes. My feet are killing me.”

“Retail is all about standing.”

“Robyn's on to something with her knitting,” Jenna grumbled. “She gets to do it sitting down.”

“It's worse,” Violet said cheerfully. “Have you seen her fiancé? He's gorgeous.”

“Some people have all the luck.” She picked up the tray of food. “Come on. We can eat while you ponder my wardrobe. Please don't get your hopes up, though. You'll be wildly disappointed.”

The two bedrooms were upstairs. The smaller one, just off the stairs, was mostly empty. Jenna led the way down the short hall to the master.

They entered through double doors. The space was large. Even with the bed, dresser and two nightstands, she had room to hold an aerobics class. French doors led out onto a balcony. Violet didn't care if the view was only of a parking lot. No one she knew had a balcony off their bedroom. She had a feeling the master bath would be about the size of her entire bedroom, then nearly fainted when she saw the walk-in closet.

“Nice,” she murmured.

“More than I need,” Jenna said, as she put the tray on the dresser and set her wine next to it. “I'm not big on clothes. Plus, working in a restaurant means wearing a uniform of sorts. Black pants, white jacket. I'd put on a T-shirt underneath. Not exactly high fashion.”

Jenna joined Violet at the entrance to the closet and turned on the light. Shirts and pants hung on double racks. Dresses hung at one end. Boxes of shoes sat on shelves, and what looked like eight or ten white kitchen coats stayed dust-free in dry cleaner bags.

“My former life,” Jenna said, touching the plastic.

Violet couldn't decide if she sounded wistful or just plain sad. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes. Working in a restaurant kitchen is crazy. Orders come in together, there are too many people in
too small a space. There's lots of yelling and swearing. But making people happy is great. I loved being part of the celebrations. Someone's anniversary or birthday. It's like they chose me to make the event memorable.”

Jenna shrugged, ducking her head. “Not me personally. I'm not that self-absorbed. But they came to where I worked and trusted me with something special. I liked that.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“It took a while to get there. I spent years slicing and dicing to prove myself. The hours are long. It's impossible to have much of a social life. Unless you're married to a chef, which has its own problems. It's not like the store, where I have a lot of direct contact with customers. When you're back in the kitchen at a restaurant, you don't get much interaction.”

Violet had never thought of what happened behind the scenes when she went out to eat. She'd never considered that the person cooking the food cared about her experience one way or the other.

“You put a lot of yourself into what you do,” she said.

“Which is both good and bad.” She shrugged. “So tell me about your date. Where are you going?”

“Wildfire. It's in Old Town.”

Jenna studied her. “We're nearly the same height, but you have more curves. Not that I'm bitter.”

“You don't have to worry about your weight,” Violet pointed out.

“Yes, and you get to have breasts.” Jenna sighed. “My mom is always worrying about her weight. She gains and loses the same fifteen pounds nearly every year. What she can't see is she's beautiful no matter what. When I was a teenager, I would see my dad watching her and I knew what he was thinking. It totally freaked me out. Parents should not
have sex. But now, I think it's great. Well, in theory. I still don't want the details.”