Coming Home to Love (Lakeside Porch Series Book 2) (7 page)

“There are better ways to have fun, you know.” Sara watched the frown lines melt away from her roommate’s forehead.

“You are right, Sara. Please teach me how to have fun in Tompkins Falls.”

Perfect
. “Do you think Remy will ever give you a Saturday off?”

“As a matter of fact, since I filled in when he was out with the flu, he’s giving me this Saturday off.”

Double perfect
. “That could work. Manda’s classes start the first of February, and I keep telling her she needs a break from the hospital. Don’t you agree?”

“What are you planning?” Gianessa eyed her roommate. “A chick thing?”

“Yes, and it would be great if you’d come with us.”

Gianessa’s eyes brightened. “Where? What? Tell me.”

Sara held her arm in front of her and wiggled her hand, setting four bangle bracelets jingling.

Gianessa came closer to finger the bracelets. “Gorgeous.”

“I want to resume the Great Thrift Shop Adventures that Manda and I started last year.”

“These are enamel, hand-painted, worth a bundle. You got them at a thrift shop?”

“A buck apiece.”

“No way.” She stepped back and gave Sara a skeptical look.

“Way. In Ithaca.”

“I’m in.” Gianessa held up her hand.

“I figured.” Sara gave her a high-five. “We went all over the Finger Lakes and ended up with four favorite destinations.”

While she helped clean up the kitchen, she told Gianessa about their biggest finds and how little they’d spent. “Bottom line, we figured about ten bucks each for lunch, and both of us put a personal limit on what we could spend. Manda’s limit was twenty bucks, and usually she didn’t spend it all. Mine was ten, but whatever I didn’t spend one week, I’d roll it over to the next.”

“My limit will be the first tip of the week.”

Sara hummed with excitement. “I’m so glad you want to do this. It’s no fun alone. Manda was crazy busy her first semester of grad school. And then Joel’s accident. She said something the other day about missing our adventures, and when I said ‘soon’ she said ‘maybe’.” Her eyebrows arched impossibly high. “Let’s both work on her for this Saturday, okay?”

“Absolutely. I can’t drive, obviously, but I can spot a bargain and I might have two bucks to spend by then.”

“That would get you two of these.” Sara jangled her bangles one more time.

“I love the butterscotch one with the—”

“Hah. Not for sale.” She sniffed. “Is something burning?”

Gianessa turned in alarm and opened the oven door. Smoke wafted toward them. “Totally burned.” She muttered, “Why didn’t I set a timer?”

Sara opened the kitchen window a few inches while Gianessa turned off the oven. They both fanned the smoke toward the open air.

“You know,” Sara said without thinking, “usually you’ve got it all together, but sometimes lately you’re a total scatterbrain.”

“I know. I’m overwhelmed with getting my work back on a professional track and trying to . . .”

“Trying to what?”

From the way Gianessa’s eyes shifted and the little smile on her face, Sara doubted she was going to get a totally honest answer.
What’s she hiding?

Gianessa busied herself putting away the bags of flour and boxes and cans. “Just trying to fit in here,” she said evasively. “You’re a sweetheart to include me in the plans with Manda.”

“Are you kidding? I’m thrilled you’re joining the fun. Listen, I hope the shortbread cookies weren’t super important?”

Gianessa cleaned the layer of flour off the counter. “Justin and I will just have to make do without shortbread with our coffee tomorrow.”

“You were making these for Justin Cushman?”

“It was a stupid idea.”

“And you’re having coffee with him tomorrow?”
Romance in progress?

Gianessa carried the flour-coated sponge to the sink and turned on the water so hard it sprayed her T-shirt and jeans.

Sara clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Gianessa glared at the faucet. “The man makes me completely crazy,” she muttered.

Sara took pity on her. “Listen, why don’t I clean up here, and you take a nice relaxing bath? We’ll take turns doing laundry tonight. Sound good?”

“Heavenly. I’d hug you if I weren’t dripping wet.”

“Go. Soak. Relax.”
So Justin Cushman is making her goofy
?

At that moment, her usually graceful roommate tripped on the sill to the dining room.

“Get it together, girl,” Gianessa said under her breath.

She’s got it bad.
Baking cookies didn’t go with a casual cup of coffee at Starbucks.
What are they cooking up?

“Poached salmon with dill, roasted red potatoes—with your rosemary and fennel—and a salad of field greens and beets tossed in a lemon vinaigrette.” Justin stopped reading his menu and fiddled with the pencil.

“I like it, Justin.” Gianessa beamed a smile. “And it’s all gluten-free. Let’s get to it.”

Justin set aside the pencil and posted the menu on an upper cabinet. “I’ll start the poaching liquid,” he proposed. “You work your magic with the fennel and rosemary. Let’s make the vinaigrette together so I can learn.”

“It’s a plan.”

Justin removed items from the refrigerator—one brown-paper-wrapped salmon, one sprig of fresh thyme, assorted dried spices, one sweet onion, one fresh lemon—and lined them up on the counter beside Gianessa’s fennel bulb and rosemary. He turned to find Gianessa squatting next to a cabinet with the door wide open. “What do you need?”

“Fish poacher.” Her voice echoed into the cabinet.

When she moved to the next cabinet, her skirt hiked up showing plenty of thigh. Justin enjoyed the view.

“Pop taught me everything I know about cooking. He loved poaching a chicken on the stovetop in a big pot, big enough to hold the whole bird without cutting it into pieces. Good for Sunday dinner, a jug of soup, and sandwiches for the week. There it is.” She wrestled the elongated poaching pan from the back of the cabinet and handed it up to him. “Mauviel.”

“Which is?”

“French. A respected name in copper cookware, very exclusive.” She stood up and tugged her short skirt back into place.

Justin watched the procedure.

Gianessa flashed a smile. “You’re not too ill to enjoy a little leg.”

He examined the Mauviel copper pot. “Very impressive,” he said, without admitting he meant her legs. He raised his eyebrows at her.

She smiled her thanks and got back to business. “Time to unwrap our salmon. Do you want the honors?”

Justin wrinkled his nose.

“Tell me you didn’t buy a whole fish—scales, head, eyes, and all?”

“Not intentionally.”

She unwrapped the brown paper to find a perfectly prepared slab of pink flesh. “
Magnifique
! Justin, you chose well.”

“I take no credit. I asked the fish department for a magnificent salmon for poaching, one that would impress my cooking teacher.”

She threw up her hands in celebration. “And they don’t even know me!”

He laughed and saw a knowing look come over her face. “You schemer! You know perfectly well how to cook, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“Justin Cushman, you bought a perfect salmon and assembled every ingredient I could ever want for poaching liquid—thyme, bay leaf, clove, onion, and lemon—without a single hint from me.”

Justin blustered. “The fish department—”

“Nonsense.” She planted her hands on her hips. “They’d have given you wine suggestions and coached you to pick out two of their ready-to-bake salmon steaks.” She tapped her foot with an agitated rhythm.

Justin enjoyed the display. He folded his arms and raised one eyebrow.

Gianessa pushed out her chest with a sniff.

Justin took slow steps in her direction. “So,” he observed, “two imposters have revealed themselves.”

Gianessa stood her ground. “I’m not an imposter.”

He smiled disarmingly. “Nor are you an entirely cool, reserved, disinterested professional.”

Gianessa’s eyes opened wide. They stared at each other.

Justin savored the moment of truth. He could see by the set of her cheeks and mouth and jaw that she would never blink first, but he also detected a glimmer of fear in her violet eyes. He was going to blow it with her if he didn’t back off.

“Full disclosure.” He shifted his weight to his back foot and let his smile soften. “I am a decent cook, but I don’t know the first thing about planning a week’s worth of menus that represent good nutrition and that are strictly gluten-free.”

The tapping continued—nervous, hesitant.

“You do, Gianessa, and I need to learn.” He spoke with all the humility he could muster.

She huffed.

Justin spread his hands in surrender. “And I have the social skills of a bull in a china shop.”

She snorted at that and struggled against a smile.

Justin sat on the nearest stool and rested one elbow on the island. “I asked you to come today because I wanted to know you better, yes, but I also need to learn to cook regularly for myself, without gluten, ever. And I enjoy cooking with a partner, much more than by myself. If you’d like to go home, I will accept that, and I’ll give you a ride.”

“Oh, shut up. We’re wasting a good salmon.” She executed a dazzling hip swivel, reached across the sink for a handful of paper towels, and set about preparing the salmon.

Justin muffled a laugh.

He moved to the counter a few feet from her and measured the ingredients for the poaching liquid. Gianessa pre-heated the oven and scrubbed the potatoes. Justin set the beets on the stove to blanch and assembled ingredients for the salad. Gianessa thick-sliced the potatoes and fennel and tossed them with olive oil on a baking sheet.

While the potatoes roasted and the salmon poached, she demonstrated the simple art of making vinaigrette.

“It’s not as tricky as I thought,” Justin concluded. “But then, you’re a good teacher.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you dress the salad with our vinaigrette.”

When the oven timer rang in the middle of tossing the salad, Justin calmly set down the salad utensils, pushed his hands into big oven mitts, slid out the roasting pan, and set it on the range next to the poacher.

Gianessa cocked her head. “You’re very comfortable in the kitchen. And fun to cook with.” That got her a smile. “I’ll finish the salad if you’ll set the table.” She watched Justin while she tossed the salad.

He selected plates and salad bowls from a cupboard and prepared the table for them, humming as he worked.

She smiled at his happy, slightly off-key tune. At last she identified it. “‘Anticipation? ’” she said with a laugh.

He turned and saw her watching him. “Carly Simon, right?”

“Yeah.”

Justin held her eyes. “We need music. What do you like?”

“Surprise me.”

“No. I want to know what you like.”

“This afternoon, a quiet, slow jazz would do it for me. Does Joel have anything like that?”

“Joel is not a jazz fan, but he has satellite radio.” Justin flipped two switches and adjusted the volume on a sexy, slow jazz quartet. “I found this station last night. Does it do it for you?”

“Perfectly. You have good taste.”

Seated at the table by the French doors, they toasted with Waterford goblets and tucked into the meal. Justin exclaimed at the zing of the citrus vinaigrette, and Gianessa complimented the way the poaching concoction enhanced the salmon.

“It’s the bay leaf that makes it, I think. I like your fennel and rosemary with the potatoes.”

“What would you have done if I’d left?”

“Fixed our meal and felt very bad about eating it alone. What would you have done?”

She raised her chin and shook her head.

“You’re not going to tell me.” With a twinkle in his eye and a nod of his head toward the radio, Justin challenged her, “What group is this?”

Gianessa shrugged but smiled at the game. As the meal continued, Justin scored more of the groups, but Gianessa knew more of the titles.

“I never figured you for jazz,” he told her. “I was sure you were a classical devotee. Debussy. The Romantics.”

“Not me.”

“Or perhaps bluegrass.”

“Bluegrass!” she burst out and covered her mouth, too late to stop a leaf of lettuce from escaping. “Bluegrass, are you crazy?”

“I’m teasing. I just wanted to see you react.”

“You wanted to see tiny red romaine fly out of my mouth. Confess!”

“I was hoping for a beet.”

She smiled into his eyes. “Seriously, you’re on some kind of quest, aren’t you? One that has brought you back to your hometown, which surprises me. Where do you think your quest is leading you?”

Justin thought for a moment, his gaze on the table. The situation was so unfamiliar to him. Gianessa wasn’t here as his date. She was coaching him back to health, and her question, however uncomfortable, was relevant. He forged ahead. “At the risk of putting a damper on our afternoon, I have the answer to your question.”

“It’s not anything bad, is it?”

“Not bad, but it is quite serious and quite sensitive. Are you sure you want to know?”

She set down her fork. “Yes, I do, Justin.”

He set aside his fork and knife and sat back. “There is a passage in the Bible that I thought about all the way across the Atlantic, both directions. It may be from Hosea. It’s about being in the wilderness and learning to listen with your heart.”

She sat back and studied him. “Are you done with the ‘wilderness,’ do you think? And now you’re learning to listen with your heart?”