Recipe For Redemption

“Thanks. It’s Jason, actually.” He cleared his throat, inching his chin up as if accepting a challenge. “Jason Corwin.”

“Welcome to Butterfly Harbor, Jason. Tell me something.” Holly leaned in as Luke slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Will you be videotaping your cooking lessons with her? I’m thinking they’d make great holiday entertainment—ow!” She glared at Abby, who had yanked hard on her ponytail. “Seriously?”

“Very seriously,” Abby said as she hugged the stuffing out of her godson until he squealed. “You, sir, have been MIA for too long. I miss my movie and pizza buddy.”

“Sorry.” Simon grinned up at her, those big brown eyes of his even bigger behind thick black-rimmed glasses. “Charlie and I have been busy.”

“I knew it.” Abby sighed and spun him around so she could lean her chin on the top of his head. “I’ve been replaced by another woman. You two aren’t trying to take over the world again, are you?” She peered over his shoulder at the haggard notebook clutched against his chest. Simon and his notebook. A dangerous combination.

“Not the world,” Simon said with a little too much seriousness, that jolted Abby’s nerves and was reflected in Holly’s suddenly attentive expression. “Just Butterfly Harbor.”

“Don’t worry. The sheriff is on full alert.” Luke shifted on his feet, barely leaning on the cane in his hand. “His school starts soon, so we stopped in for a quick snack before heading out to find the perfect backpack. Jason, good to see you again. Remember that poker game I told you about.”

“Sure. Yeah. Sounds great.”

Abby wasn’t entirely convinced Jason thought so.

“Give Paige your order.” Holly patted a hand against the front of Luke’s khaki shirt before she lifted up on her toes to kiss him. “But I’ll make your mocha shake.”

“You realize that’s why I’m marrying you, right? No one makes a mocha shake like you.”

Holly eyed him with suspicion. “Hmm. And here I thought it was my homemade pies. Simon, let’s leave Aunt Abby and Jason to their lunch, shall we?”

Abby would not blush. She would not... Too late!

“Back corner booth is free.” Abby hopped off her stool by the register and hurried off, hearing the muted rumblings of manly farewells and fellow customers’ conversations.

“Tell me something.” Jason slid into the booth across from her. “Is Butterfly Harbor a news dead zone, or does no one care about my past?”

Abby eyed him as she sipped the water she’d set on the table when she’d first arrived. “As far as scandal rankings, I would put cheating on a national TV show somewhere between Mrs. Greely’s penchant for pilfering neighbors’ flatware and whoever’s been snipping buds off Mr. Rondale’s prized roses. Someone will probably say something at some point, but if you’re looking to have that past held against you, the last person you want to talk to is Luke. He’s a big believer in second chances.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“If you ask, he’ll give you the abbreviated version. Growing up we called him the bad boy of Butterfly Harbor.” Abby’s heart still ached for the life Luke led growing up. Between his abusive alcoholic father and an accident that had nearly cost Holly’s father his life, Luke had worked hard to overcome his past. She still admired the courage it had taken for him to come home after all those years away. “It was rough going when he first showed up, but then he stopped letting his past define him. Now look at him.” She nodded to where Simon had all but superglued himself to the sheriff and Holly stroked a finger down the center of her fiancé’s chin. “Happily ever after.”

“Nice to know things work out for some people.”

“Things work out for a lot of people.” How sad he didn’t realize that.

“But not you.” Jason glanced uneasily at the laminated menu behind the ketchup bottle. “You’re not married.”

“Blunt and charming as ever.” Yet somehow she was getting used to it. “Maybe I’m waiting for some tall, handsome, scandal-ridden ex-chef to sweep me off my feet.” She grabbed the menu to push into his reluctant hands. “Meanwhile I divide my time between a genius eight-year-old and, most recently, a bowling alley tech with a penchant for shoe rentals.”

“I never know whether you’re joking or not.”

“I wish I was joking. Read the menu already, Super Chef. It’s not going to bite, and look.” She swiped her fingers over the top of the black-and-orange Formica table and showed them to him. “No pedestrian grease.”

“Darn straight there’s no grease, pedestrian or otherwise.” Holly frowned at her as she set a glass of water down for Jason and tapped her fingers against the rolling pin sticking out of her apron. “This diner might be old, but it’s my second baby. It was my grandmother’s for almost forty years.”

“I’m beginning to think I should have worn protective gear.” Jason glared at Abby, who grinned in response.

“That remains to be seen.” Holly placed a firm hand on her hip. “It’s not often we get celebrities in here, let alone chefs with bestselling books and award-winning restaurants. I’m hoping we’ll surprise you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Jason said. Abby was certain he was trying to find the means to inch out of arm’s reach of Holly’s weapon of mass destruction. “Can I have a minute with the menu?”

“Absolutely. Twyla will take your order when you’re ready. And you.” Holly pointed a stern finger at Abby. “We’re not done with our conversation. I’m not happy with you.”

“Love you, too,” Abby sang as Holly waltzed away.

“What isn’t she happy about?”

“Nothing important.” Abby pinched her lips shut and tried not to dwell on the rings she’d sold. Good thoughts. Positive thoughts. They weren’t gone forever. Yet.

“Did you have to tell Holly what I said about diners?”

“I tell Holly everything.” Abby shrugged. “Have ever since the sandbox.”

He set the menu down. “You’ve been friends that long?”

“You sound surprised. You were friends with your brother, weren’t you? What?” She couldn’t decipher the odd expression on his face.

“We were. But we were also competitive. I figured that’s all people saw.”

“Then people weren’t looking very closely.” All anyone had to do was look at the photos from David Corwin’s funeral to see his twin brother had been devastated by his death. She’d bet that arrogant and rude demeanor Jason wielded like a weapon was his shield against the grief. One thing about grief: the more you struggled against it, the tighter its grip became. “You look like him, you know. Since you cut your hair and grew the beard. Was that on purpose?”