The Baby Truce (13 page)

Eden cornered Tom shortly after Reggie told him he couldn't go to the wedding. “Thank you for taking my place this week.” Since there was no belligerent gleam in her eye, Tom deduced that he hadn't screwed up her food. Or made her sister unhappy.

“Are you guys going to need me next week?” Not that he wasn't coming in, but it would be easier with Eden's blessing.

Eden snorted. “Uh, yes. Reno Cuisine prep starts next week.”

That was news. He was working on dishes as per Reggie's suggestion, but…three week lead time on the prep? “I thought that wasn't until the end of June.”

“We have to come up with a theme. Build the display.”

“You guys build displays?”

“We'll hire a carpenter.”

“How big is this display?”

Eden shrugged. “That's what we'll figure out next week. Plus we have two weddings coming up.”

Tom was aware of that. Both were smaller, more intimate affairs, but with higher-end food, so again careful prep was involved.

“And,” she added as her sister came out of the office, clipboard in hand, “Reggie seems more relaxed with you around.”

“We've…talked.”

“So things are going okay?”

“I'd say so,” he said cautiously, wondering if she was leading him into a trap of some sort.

Eden leaned her forearms on the counter. “How long you going to be here?”

“I can honestly say that I don't know.” Tom was very familiar with Tremont protectiveness and knew the easiest path was to simply accept it.

“Any job leads?”

“Nothing concrete. Just some wishful thinking.”

“What are you wishing for, Tom?”

“Something that allows me to provide for my child and still build a career.”

“Building hasn't been your forte lately.”

Tom pursed his lips. “You're a lot like your sister, you know?”

Eden shrugged.

“All right. Rebuild. Anything else?”

“No,” she said, pushing herself off the counter. “Just getting an update, since Reggie won't tell me a damned thing.” She smiled up at him, then hobbled toward the office.

 

T
HE CREW LEFT THE KITCHEN IN
waves the morning of the wedding. Justin and the cake went first, followed by the rented refrigerator van with Patty at the wheel. Eden and Reggie were to follow in the Tremont van.

“I wouldn't mind having you there today,” Reggie said to Tom after changing into her black dress. “But I
don't want to chance it.” He saw her point, since even his elderly neighbors had put a name to his face.

“Don't trust me in the kitchen alone?”

“Well, there is a potential for disaster.” She smiled up at him. “Fire. Sharp things.”

“I'll try to follow all the safety rules,” he said in a low voice, then watched as her color rose. There'd been a definite change in her since the night he'd fed her peanut butter. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had he been able to get his hands on bread and the good jelly.

“Yes, you can see where following safety rules has gotten us,” she said. Then, before Tom could answer, she added, “You don't have to meet us tonight. We have plenty of people to put things away.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We'll see,” was all she said before Eden called her from the doorway. Reggie took two backward steps, always a risk on a rubber-matted surface, and said sternly, “Behave.”

“Yes, Chef.”

I
T WAS EERILY QUIET IN THE
kitchen after everyone had left, and Tom found that quiet wasn't necessarily his friend. He was used to movement, noise and controlled chaos while he cooked.

Since he hadn't heard a peep from Lowell, he'd taken to perusing professional journals online, looking for opportunities. Not a lot of luck so far, but he still had time. He was well-off financially, but not so well-off that he could live without working—fiscally or mentally.

He needed to get back into a real kitchen. Real to him, anyway. If anyone ever found out that he'd practically begged someone not to cry in this kitchen…well… Pete would probably be proud of him, but Tom would have lost the respect of everyone else he'd ever worked with.

So how to get back into a kitchen without being underemployed, yet be able to watch his kid grow up?

Conundrum city.

Start his own place with the backers he didn't have? For some reason that didn't seem like the solution—even if he had backers. In fact, the thought made his gut twist. Never a good sign.

Tom had just finished a veal dish that he thought might do well at the Cuisine competition when a buzzer
went off. Someone had come into the reception area. He wiped his hands on a towel as he walked across the kitchen.

A middle-aged woman, masquerading as a thirty-year-old, stood on the other side of the counter, her expression one of barely suppressed outrage.

“I'd like to speak to Reggie,” she said loudly, her large hoop earrings quivering as she spoke.

“Not here.” Tom continued to wipe his hands.

The woman's chin jerked up. “When will she be back?”

“Tomorrow morning. Can I help you?”

“Are you familiar with the invoicing?”

“Yeah,” he said. Why not? Reggie didn't need to deal with this if he could take care of it.

The woman slapped a paper down on the counter in front of him. “I paid the bill in full
before
the dinner.”

Tom took the sheet and read it over. It was for a sit-down dinner almost a month ago. Twelve people paid for in advance. The invoice was for an additional four.

“Apparently you didn't pay for the extra four guests,” he said matter-of-factly, noting when he glanced up that the woman was now studying him.

“Why would I pay for the extra guests? You served pasta and smaller pieces of dessert, cut the rolls in half and refused to leave the leftover pasta.”

“It doesn't look like you were charged extra for dessert.” Eden had actually broken it down into extra charges for drink, salad and dinner. She'd probably had to run out and get more food to stretch the meal for the extra guests.

The woman slapped her hand down on the counter. “I am not paying this bill. It's outrageous. And I will tell my friends to avoid this caterer.”

Tom placed his palms on the counter on either side of her hand and she snatched it back. “How fair is it to hire someone to serve twelve people, then spring an extra four on them? Do you have any understanding of the amount of planning that goes into putting on a decent dinner?” He spoke in what he believed was a reasonable tone, and there was no reason for her eyes to glaze over like that. “I
understand
that I hired this firm to cater my dinner. They did nothing more than stretch the food—which I paid for!”

“You contracted twelve people. Did Tremont let the other four
uncontracted
people go hungry? No. They rolled with the punches and fed your guests. Probably ran to the store to get more food.” She started to answer, but he cut her off, saying, “Now you have the gall to flounce in here and say you aren't going to pay for services rendered and food consumed?”

The woman's hand went up to her chest and she pressed it against the oversize pendant necklace she wore. “They didn't leave the leftovers.”

Tom leaned farther across the counter, his voice dropping as he said, “I bet that if I went and pulled this contract, it clearly states twelve people, no leftovers. Am I right?” The woman glared at him. “So it comes down to you wanting something for nothing after throwing a giant damned monkey wrench into the evening.” He pushed the invoice toward her.

“I'll take this to small claims court.”

“You'd better damned well check your contract first.”
Reggie was going to kill him.
He reached out and took the invoice back. “But you know what? I'll pay this fricking bill and you can get your ass out of here.” He was so proud that he didn't say “bony ass.”

“You really are him, aren't you?” the woman said. “That…that…rude chef.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

She gave a couple slow nods as she backed to the door. “You're going to regret talking to me that way.”

“Lady, as I see it, you don't have an invoice and this conversation never happened.”

Tom watched through the window as the bitch got into her pricey car and drove away.

He was so not cut out for this business.

And he was going to have to confess, so Reggie wouldn't be blindsided by this—he glanced down at the invoice—Mrs. Bremerton. He crumpled the invoice.

Was he going to have to join a twelve-step program to learn to stop triggering like that? Reggie was right. When he saw a fool, he pointed and cried fool, and it was doing nothing but getting his ass into trouble.

Justified or not, he was going to have to rethink this strategy.

 

F
RANK SHOWED UP AT THE BACK
door with a bowl of sauce shortly after Tom got home. When he'd agreed to be a sauce consultant, he hadn't realized it would be a full-time job.

He tasted it, then shook his head. “The other recipe was better.”

“That's what I thought. Want to come eat with us tomorrow? Bernie's all agog at the prospect of cooking for a top chef.”

“Some people get intimidated by that.”

“Not Bernie. Not much sense, but loads of confidence.” Frank bent to pet the dog.

“Yeah. I'm free. Should I bring anything?” Isn't that what neighbors did? Bring a dish? He'd seen stuff like that in movies.

“Dessert?” Frank asked.

Tom grimaced. “Not my forte, but I'll see what I can do.”

Frank grinned. “Bring something frozen. We don't care. You're the guest.”

Tom went to check his email. The wedding reception would last into the night. Reggie thought they might get back to the kitchen around one in the morning. Not the best time for confessions.

Maybe the next morning. Or even Sunday, after Reggie had had some time to rest. Whenever it was, he had to make certain that he gave Reggie a heads-up before Mrs. Bremerton attacked.

R
EGGIE SLEPT IN LATE
Saturday morning, since Eden and Justin had insisted they could handle the after-wedding breakdown and inventory. And Reggie was too exhausted to argue. The wedding reception had gone off perfectly, a rare turn of events she believed was well-deserved payback for a high-stress week.

Justin's cake, finished a good hour ahead of time—thus allowing him to help in the kitchen—featured a spectacular cascade of confectionary daisies down one side. The florist had managed to find Shasta daisies at the last minute for the buffet display, so Reggie had used the silk daisies as accent pieces at the end of each banquet table, tying bouquets with white ribbon and attaching them to the tablecloths.

As Patty gained confidence, she started to become more vocal. And a bit bossy with the temps. Reggie would address the issue if it continued, but for right now she was satisfied with the result of a long week's work. And she and Tom had done all right. They had managed to enact a workable truce.

But for how long?

She finally got out of bed at eight, when Mims
walked over her for the sixth or seventh time, demanding breakfast. Now.

Reggie slipped into her robe, scooped cat food into Mims's bowl and started water for herbal tea. The smell of coffee didn't bother her as much as it had when she'd first discovered she was pregnant, so she thought about investing in some decaf. Perhaps today.

And maybe she'd stop by the Home Depot and look at paint chips for the baby's room. She didn't want to make hard-and-fast color choices until she knew if she was having a boy or a girl, but now that she could barely button her pants, some planning was in order.

She walked into the living room, opening blinds as she went, letting the sun in, then stopped and backed up a few steps to take another look out the front window. She knew that car.

And the dark-haired man sitting inside.

What the heck?

The teakettle whistled, since she'd barely filled it, and she went back into the kitchen, grabbing her cell phone off the end table on the way. She punched in Tom's number after turning off the burner. He answered on the first ring.

“Are you sitting in a car in front of my house?” she asked, dropping a tea bag into a cup.

“If you're asking that question, then you probably know that I am.”

“Why?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes. I think you better,” Reggie said, her heart beating harder. This had to be bad news. What had hap
pened? Did he have a job? Had there been a mishap in the kitchen?

She went to the door after quickly pouring water over the tea bag. She had a feeling she'd need a drink of some kind after talking to Tom.

“Why are you here?” she asked after letting him in and closing the door again.

“I made an error in judgment yesterday.”

Just as Reggie had thought. Disaster after the perfect service. “What kind of error?”

“This woman—a Mrs. Bremerton—showed up with an invoice.”

Instant bad feeling.

“Did you argue with her?” Reggie guessed.

Tom shrugged. “I told her what I thought of people who tried to weasel out of paying what they owed.”

The sinking feeling reached
Titanic
depths.

“How did she respond?” Reggie asked flatly.

“Well, she threatened me. But you don't need to worry about the invoice. It's paid. In cash.”

“You didn't extort money from her?”

“No.
I
paid the invoice—”

“You paid!”

“Someone had to. Then I told her the conversation never happened, and sent her on her way.”

“Politely.”

“Under the circumstances.”

Reggie held in a rant. “Good customer relations, Tom.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “She was…aggravating.”

“Do you want some tea?” Reggie asked, hoping to get a few more details so she knew what she was up against.

“No. I drank about a gallon of coffee waiting for you.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since six. I wanted to talk to you before you went to the kitchen. And I couldn't sleep.”

“Because of Mrs. Bremerton?”

“Because of a lot of stuff.”

For some reason, the thought of Tom not sleeping bothered Reggie—probably because nothing ever bothered him. If he wasn't sleeping, then…well, she didn't know what. She'd never known him not to sleep.

“My tea will oversteep if I don't get to it,” she said, leading him to the kitchen. She pulled the bag out and dumped it in the trash. “Have a seat.”

Tom took the chair she indicated, tapping his fingers on the table as she situated herself opposite.

“Tell me what happened.”

He gave her a recap, which didn't include much more data than she already had, so when he was done, she asked, “Do I send flowers?”

“Hell, no. You're better off without her business.”

“Reno's a little smaller than New York City.”

“Even if you do, I think her beef is with me.” His mouth tightened momentarily before he said, “She recognized me as ‘that rude chef.'”

Reggie laughed. Rude chef. She couldn't help but love the description. And while she'd lost a customer, the curiosity factor of having the rude chef in her
kitchen would quite possibly mitigate any damages Tom may have done. “You denied it?”

“She didn't believe me.”

“I'm never leaving you in charge again.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I don't think I'm ready for public relations.”

Reggie stretched her feet out under the table, her toes brushing the side of his canvas shoe. She shouldn't feel this relaxed about his confession, but what was she going to do? All she
could
do was keep it from happening again.

“Am I forgiven?” Tom asked, not moving his foot away from hers.

Reggie nodded slowly, picking up her tea and taking the first slow sip. Somehow lemongrass flowing into her system wasn't quite the same as caffeine, but it tasted good.

“Thank you.” He leaned back, settled his eyes on her face, raised his eyebrows. “When are you going to the kitchen?”

“I'm not. Eden's orders.”

“Good for Eden.”

“No. Good for me for following them.”

He smiled. “So what are you doing today?”

“I, uh…”

He held up a hand. “Never mind. I didn't mean to pry.”

“Paint. I'm going to look at paint.” She had to stop shutting him out.

“You're painting?” He looked around at her cheery
red walls, then a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. “Nursery?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

Reggie laughed again. She couldn't help it.

“What?”

“Nothing. It's just that…I know the feeling. This has been a life changer.”

“Yes.” He reached out to take her free hand, and she didn't pull back. His hand was big and warm and safe feeling. “I should pay for at least half of that paint.”

She allowed her fingers to curl around his. “You should.”

“What color?”

“I'm not making a decision until I know if it's a boy or girl.”

“Maybe we could get a neutral color.”

She bit back the “we?” that formed on her lips. “You're right. Traditional pink and blue is kind of…”

“Traditional?”

“Well put.” Reggie slipped her hand free and clasped her cup in her palms. “You want to come?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Yeah. I do. But I have to be done by two.”

“What's at two?”

“Barbecue with my neighbors.”

Reggie almost dropped her cup. “You're going to a neighborhood barbecue?”

“With the old guys next door. They blackmailed me into being their sauce consultant. Want to come?”

“Why don't we see how the morning goes? If we haven't killed each other, then maybe I will.”