Lakeside Romance

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and pushed away from the wall separating the entryway from the living room. “I know. Uncle Emmett was a bit of a pack rat.”

“Pack rat?” She laughed and shook her head. “Alec, I’m sorry to say, but this borders on hoarding.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“Okay, maybe not, but there’s no way I can have this house ready quickly, especially with everything else going on at the moment. Has it always been like this?”

“No.” Alec moved behind her into the living room. “After my aunt Elsie died and my cousin Gideon moved into Jacob House, Uncle Emmett couldn’t bring himself to cancel her magazine subscriptions. And she wasn’t here to pick up after him or nag him to get rid of things. Little by little, things piled up. He surrounded himself with memories of her.”

“How long were they married?”

“Forty-eight years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah. Emmett is actually my great-uncle. His wife was my grandmother’s oldest sister, but we’ve always been close.”

Yeah, she could see that. “Where’s your uncle right now?”

“Visiting his son, Gideon, at Jacob House, but he moved recently to the Lakeside Suites. Those apartments are small, so he had to downsize drastically.”

Sarah moved to the couch and sat on the edge. She rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her jaw. “So how do we pack up forty-eight years of memories?”

“Emmett asked the same thing.”

“What did you tell him?” She peered up at him.

He shrugged. “I didn’t have an answer.”

Neither did she.

Standing, she waved a hand over the piles of magazines. “What are you thinking of doing with all of this stuff...all of these memories?”

“Uncle Emmett took a few things with him like his favorite recliner, a few photos, a couple of Aunt Elsie’s watercolors, one of her knitted afghans and some of his favorite books. The rest will have to be boxed up and stored for now.”

“And then what? Instead of storing everything, what about donating it or maybe have an estate sale? That way you won’t have to deal with it later. And quite honestly, some of it needs to go in a Dumpster or be taken to a recycling center.”

Alec tossed his hands in the air and walked away, his back to her. “Oh, sure, let’s just pile everything on the front yard and let strangers root through his things.”

She put her fisted hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease. That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You asked for my help... It was just a suggestion.” She moved to the bookcase and removed a couple of volumes. Running her hand over the embossed covers, she turned and held one up to him. “These books are gorgeous. Some are in excellent condition. You might be able to find a collector interested in purchasing them.”

“How can we give it all away like the memories mean nothing?” Alec dragged a hand through his hair, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “You know what? This was a mistake. Thanks for taking the time to come by, but I don’t think this arrangement is going to work. I’ll figure out something else. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Sarah slipped the books back in place and held her palms up to him. “Now just hold on a minute. I’m not going to walk away just because you’re ticked at my suggestions...suggestions you asked for, by the way. I meant no offense. Let’s just chill a minute and figure this out.”

She wasn’t about to let him walk out on her now. She would see this through. Prove to him she could do this.

Alec walked over to the fireplace and picked up a framed decades-old candid shot of his aunt and uncle sitting on the dock at the Shelby Lake beach. “This was their first house—their only house—as a couple. I spent so much time here when I was growing up. To see it stripped piece by piece and sold for quarters at a yard sale... I can see why Uncle Emmett hated to leave.”

“This stuff...” Sarah picked her way to the fireplace to stand next to him. She waved a hand around the room. “They’re just things. Yes, it’s so easy to get emotionally attached, but they’re temporary objects. The memories will last forever.”

He held his silence for a moment, as if thinking over her words. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I spent the morning convincing Emmett he needed to let go of the past. Here I am going on like an idiot. I guess we’re both sentimental fools.” He returned the photo to the mantel.

Sarah touched his arm. “There’s nothing wrong with that as long as you don’t allow your past to keep you from facing your future.”

* * *

Alec needed to relax, but how could he when he had to teach this woman basic skills in just a few days? She’d burned popcorn. And now she expected to have enough skills to teach a bunch of kids? At least he’d be around to supervise.

He didn’t have time for these lessons, but he wasn’t about to go back on his word, especially since Sarah had battled him to help with his uncle’s house even after he’d freaked out on her. Man, he was an idiot. Once they finished with the house and the cooking lessons, he’d put some necessary distance between them.

Truth be told, he wasn’t used to having a woman in his kitchen. At least, not this kitchen. With the brick backsplash, cabinets painted a shade of navy that reminded him of Shelby Lake, copper countertops and the wood laminate flooring, it looked nothing like the bright and airy white kitchen he’d shared with Christy for almost two years.

That was the point.

The only part he’d brought from his past into this new space was his continued love of cooking to music.

But not today. With Sarah in his kitchen, the radio stayed off so he could focus on teaching her.

At first he’d worried he was getting more out of their bargain, but jerking his eyes back to the present showed him a messy mound of onions that stretched across the cutting board and looked nothing like the small pile he’d cut to demonstrate.

“No, Sarah, don’t hack the onion. Cut it.” Alec didn’t mean for his voice to sound so harsh, but patience wasn’t always his strong suit.

Sarah’s head jerked up. “I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re beating it with the blade of your knife. Let me show you again.” Alec reached for another, plopped it on the cutting board, and then stood next to Sarah. “Slice it through the root. If you cut it off, it’ll start to bleed, and that’s what causes you to cry. Allow the weight of your knife to work for you. Then place the onion flat on the board. Keep your knife pointed toward the root and slice through it. Solid strokes. Then turn your knife and slice through the middle and top. Hold everything together and slice evenly. You’ll end up with nicely diced pieces.”

Instead of copying him with the other half of the onion, she turned and looked up at him. Thick lashes fringed her eyes—eyes so close he could see the burst of sunlight in the field of green. Freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. Her lips parted slightly as if she were about to say something. If he lowered his head—

He jerked his thoughts out of dangerous territory. What was he doing? Why was he even thinking that way? How could he do that to Christy? To the life they shared? The blatant betrayal of his late wife’s memory speared his gut.

He released the knife and stepped back. “Uh, do it like that, and you’ll have even cuts instead of liquefying your onions.”

Sarah dropped her gaze to the pile on the cutting board. “Yeah, I’ll, um, do it that way.”

She turned back to the counter and picked up the knife. Her cuts slowed and were more meticulous.

Alec washed his hands, then gripped the edge of the sink. The rhythmic tapping of the knife competed with the rain pelting the open kitchen window above the sink. A breeze drifted across the sill and ruffled her already tousled hair. His blue apron fell almost to her knees, but it didn’t quite cover her white T-shirt and yellow skirt.

A couple of minutes later, the chopped pile grew. “Onions are diced. Now what?” She laid the knife down and then moved to the sink to wash her hands, her arm brushing his.

He stepped away, giving her some room. “Leave them there for a couple of minutes. Now we need to slice the sausage. Do you remember what I said about slicing?”

She raised an eyebrow and dropped a hand on her hip. “I’m not a total idiot, you know. I do know how to slice.”

He grabbed another board and set it in front of her. “Fine, then let’s get to it. This soup’s not going to make itself.”

For their first lesson, Sarah had requested that they make the same zuppa Toscana he’d made for Uncle Emmett. After showing her how to read the recipe and explaining which cooking tools to use, they’d made a list of the ingredients, which Sarah had picked up at the store.