Lakeside Romance

Nate’s smile disappeared. “I talked with the doctor after Melissa’s surgery. This pregnancy surprised all of us. We’re thrilled, but we’re also concerned because she’s already had two miscarriages since Little Nate was born. The doctor wants to keep her activities limited for the next couple of months to ensure she’ll be out of danger. Mel’s parents and her brother and sister-in-law have already offered to do what’s necessary to help us.”

“It’s always great to have a supportive family.” Sarah’s heart panged a little. Other than Caleb and Zoe, she didn’t really know what that entailed. “What can I do to help?”

“I need to know if you can handle the program by yourself. We still have church members signed up each week as volunteers to lend a hand, so you won’t be all by yourself. Plus, I’ll be in every morning to do the daily devotional like we talked about. Melissa’s stressing out about losing this outreach opportunity. If she knows you’re willing to continue the program without her, then she’ll relax.”

“Yes, Nate, of course. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”

“Great. Because backing out is not really an option.” Nate drained his cup and stood, grabbing the tray. “I appreciate everything you’re doing, Sarah. Like I said when I hired you—if this program is a success, the board wants to make it a full-time opportunity. That way we can help these kids way past summer, even if it’s only for a couple of hours after school. They need to know they matter.”

Sarah followed Nate out of the cafeteria, chewing on his final words. She’d figure out a way to get through the cooking portion of the program, even if it meant reading dozens of cookbooks, viewing YouTube videos or binge-watching the Food Network. It couldn’t be that hard. After all, a bunch of teenagers wouldn’t be expecting Rachael Ray, right?

She couldn’t let her church family down...or the kids involved in the program.

* * *

If only life’s problems could be solved with a pot of soup.

Alec lifted the lid and stirred the heavy cream into the zuppa Toscana bubbling on the stove. He tossed in two large handfuls of chopped kale, gave it another stir and then topped the pot with the lid to let everything simmer for about ten more minutes. The aroma of cooked sausage and fried bacon mingled with the chopped onion and pressed garlic.

Ella Fitzgerald crooned from his docked iPhone on the counter. He hummed along as she sang about someone watching over her.

The timer on his bread maker beeped. After turning the machine off, Alec reached for a pot holder, pulled the bread pan out and turned over the steaming loaf of Italian herb bread onto the metal cooling rack.

The doorbell pealed, sending his shoulders to his ears. He made another mental note to install a different, less intrusive sounding one.

Swallowing a sigh, he dropped the pot holder on the counter and wiped his hands on a dish towel before heading to the door.

He’d left the front door open, allowing the afternoon breeze to sweep in through the screen door. He saw a woman’s silhouette on the porch. Too tall to be his sister. Besides, Chloe would knock once and come in without waiting for an invitation. Or come in through the back door.

The woman turned, and his steps slowed. His new tenant stood on his welcome mat, her arms wrapped around a stack of books, and a wide smile emphasized those incredible cheekbones.

“Can I help you?”

She shifted the books and pulled a hand free to give him a little wave. “Hi, Alec...right?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

“Yeah, well, I checked my mail and found a letter addressed to you in my box.” She pulled an envelope off the stack of books and thrust it at him.

He took it, caught the return address—Shelby Lake County Juvenile Detention Center—and his gut tightened. He shoved it in his back pocket, planning to add it to the rest later. “Thanks for dropping it off.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned away from the door and started across the porch. Before he could close the door, she turned back to him. “You’re probably going to think I’m a nut or something, but I could smell something amazing coming from your place, so I wondered who did your cooking.” Her words tumbled over her lips so quickly and without a breath in between that Alec was thankful she didn’t just pass out from the effort.

“My cooking?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, something smells so great.”

Was she wrangling for an invitation?

“I do my own cooking.”

“You made...” She paused, lifted her nose and inhaled deeply a moment before letting out the pent up breath slowly. A smile spread easily across her face as if it was something she did often. “It smells fantastic. What is it, by the way?”

“Zuppa Toscana and Italian herb bread.”

“Sounds like something you’d get in a restaurant. My friend Melissa is an amazing cook, too.” Sarah shifted the load in her arms again. Alec caught a glimpse of one of the titles and recognized it as a cookbook he had sitting on the shelf next to his fridge. “Would you like a job?”

He scowled “A job? I have a job.”

“Right.” She waved a hand as if dismissing her offer. “I’m sure you do. This isn’t even a regular job. Especially since you wouldn’t get paid.”

“That sounds really appealing.” He folded his arms over his chest and pressed a shoulder against the doorjamb.

She laughed, a sound that stirred a dormant feeling inside him. “Actually it’s a temporary volunteer position. I’m overseeing a new summer outreach program through the youth ministry at my church. We’re helping teenagers learn basic life skills such as cooking, cleaning, budgeting, etcetera. My program partner, who is this amazing chef, had emergency surgery last night, so now she won’t be able to do the cooking portion of the program. And, well, as you saw last night with the popcorn fiasco, I’m not exactly Martha Stewart.”

Did this woman ever breathe between sentences? Another time, he might’ve found her rambling endearing...

He straightened and reached for the stack of books. He turned them over to read the titles on the spines, then curled them into the crook of his arm. “Did Billy put you up to this?”

“Who?” She shot him a questioning look.

“Never mind. So let me see if I’m understanding you correctly... You’re looking for someone to help you teach teenagers to cook?”

She rubbed her hands over the red creases the stack of books had left on her arms. “Yes, actually. Are you interested?”

Placing his free hand in the front pocket of his jeans, he laughed and shook his head. “No. Not in a million years, sister.”

“But—” Her brows knitted together.

“I’m sorry.” He handed the cookbooks back to her. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take some food to my uncle.”

Even though Gran would lecture him on his rudeness, he closed the door and walked back to the kitchen, not waiting to see if his babbling neighbor continued to stand on his front porch.

The last thing in the world he wanted was to hang out with a bunch of teenagers. No, thank you. He wasn’t going down that road again.

He flicked the heat off under the sputtering soup, stirred it a final time and then ladled some into several glass bowls. After packing the single servings into a shallow box along with the bread, Alec carried the food out the back kitchen door and followed the sidewalk trailing behind his house to the garage.

He dropped the food off to Uncle Emmett at the Lakeside Suites and spent forty minutes listening to Emmett grumble about getting kicked out of his home. In an effort to placate him, Alec promised to stop by the house to get a particular book. Having moved into the assisted-living apartment last weekend, Uncle Emmett still insisted he needed certain things from his home, despite the family’s insistence that he downsize.

Alec unlocked the dead bolt and pushed open the front door of the yellow house with white trim and a wraparound porch. The scent of neglect and abandonment permeated the air. Or maybe that was Alec’s guilt eating at him. Maybe he should’ve tried harder to help Emmett stay in his home. But the decision was out of his hands and it wouldn’t have solved the problem—Emmett’s doctor said his uncle’s health required assisted living.

Despite the midafternoon sunshine, darkness shrouded the room. He pushed back the outdated drapes and hefted open the window, hearing the pulley weights thunk, and then stepped back to allow waves of fresh air to filter out the staleness. Sunlight straddled the stacks of magazines and towers of books while dust motes scattered across the heavy maple furniture that had been as much a part of this house as the occupants.

Uncle Emmett and Aunt Elsie had purchased this house over fifty years ago, but after Aunt Elsie’s death, Emmett couldn’t bring himself to make any changes, including canceling her subscriptions to her favorite painting magazines.

With their only child having been born with Down syndrome, Uncle Emmett needed someone to oversee his assets. In case anything happened to him, Emmett had signed the house over to Alec years ago. He’d done so with the promise that Alec would sell it and ensure the money went into Gideon’s special-needs trust so he could continue living at Jacob House, a local residential home for adult men who required special care.

Alec searched the shelves, found the book his uncle had requested, closed the windows and then let himself out of the house, locking the door behind him.