Cape Light Page 12

She placed the Bible very carefully on the mantel without looking at him. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is,” he said quietly.

  Jessica glanced at him but didn’t reply. Then she turned away and started back toward the kitchen. He felt his heart sink. I blew it, he thought.

  But in the doorway she turned and looked at him again. “I’m making dinner if you want to stay. Have you eaten yet?”

  The wet book in his hand nearly slipped to the floor. “Thanks. No . . .I mean, I haven’t eaten yet, either. Thanks for asking me.”

  “Nothing fancy,” she warned.

  “That’s okay.”

  “And I’m not a very good cook, so don’t expect much,” she added, starting to smile at her own caveats.

  “Do I need to sign a waiver or anything?” he asked innocently.

  She laughed and he felt happy. “I’m not that bad,” she said, walking out of the room.

  “Well, now you’ve scared me,” he called after her in a serious tone. Though he knew he’d gladly chew cardboard and claimed it tasted like soufflé if Jessica Warwick had cooked it.

  A few minutes later he found Jessica in the kitchen, surrounded by ingredients, sizzling pans, and pots boiling over . . . and no apparent plan.

  “Hmm, smells good,” he said encouragingly. “What are you making?”

  She glanced at him, pushing back a handful of curls with her hand. “Well, there’s some rice in here,” she said, pointing to one pot that appeared to be cooking too quickly. “And some chicken in there,” she added, pointing to another pan that was definitely cooking too slowly. “And maybe some salad in the fridge. I’m not sure,” she added with a sigh.

  “I’ll check,” he offered. In the refrigerator he found an onion, a pepper, a tomato, and some mushrooms, but no lettuce for a salad. He took the items out and placed them on the counter.

  Jessica glanced down at the vegetables, then back up at him. “You can make a salad with that?” she asked.

  “Well . . . no. But I can probably make the chicken a little more interesting. Mind if I give it a try?” he offered.

  She looked surprised at first, then relieved. With a small shrug, she stepped aside, giving him more room in front of the stove. “Not at all. What should I do?”

  “Let’s see. Why don’t you chop this?” he instructed, handing her the onion.

  Sam cooked as Jessica chopped, and in a short time he managed to transform her shaky start into a victorious finish.

  To escape the warm kitchen, they took their plates outside and sat on the porch steps. Jessica chewed slowly. “Hmmm. This is good. What do you call it?”

  He frowned. “How about . . . Chicken Warwick?”

  “No, I mean really.” When Sam just smiled in reply, she said, “You mean, you just made this up, without a recipe?”

  He shrugged. “Morgans are resourceful in the kitchen. You remember Granny, with the dandelions,” he reminded her, drawing another smile. “My dad is a commercial chef. He taught all of us a few culinary tricks.”

  “Well, remind me never to cook for you. Now I’m totally intimidated.”

  “That’s all right. I liked cooking dinner with you,” he said. I could get used to it pretty easily, he added to himself. “Besides, you chopped. That was important,” he teased her.

  “Yes, essential. Behind every great chef is a great chopper.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed.

  She was quiet for a moment, then she put her dish aside. “I don’t have anything for dessert. I can make some coffee for you, though.”

  “Why don’t we walk into town? I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone,” he offered.

  She took a moment to think over his offer. “Okay, but I’m buying since you made dinner.”

  Taken by surprise again, he tried not to show it. “Fine with me,” he said smoothly.

  She took his plate and he stood up and stretched. Then he noticed her dropping small pieces of leftover chicken in a saucer by the back door.

  “Do you have a cat?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered, glancing over her shoulder. “There’s this stray that comes around. It hides under those steps. I’ve been putting out food, but it won’t come out yet. I don’t even really know what it looks like.”

  He put his hands in his pockets, watching her from the bottom of the steps. “Maybe Chicken Warwick will do the trick.”

  “Maybe.” She smiled at him. “I’ll just bring these plates inside. Be right back.”

  He nodded, watching her disappear into the house again. He turned and stared out at her yard—the hopeful, half-finished garden and the pots of pink geraniums. Everything about her seemed . . . remarkable. Even the way she couldn’t cook. He hadn’t felt like this about anyone in a long time. It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

  He heard her come out the back door again and turned. She’d combed her hair back and tied it with a thin, blue satin ribbon that matched her shirt . . . and her eyes.

  She was carrying a small purse and had put on some lipstick. “Ready?” she asked.

  He nodded. When she turned and started walking, he fell into step easily beside her. He had the urge to take her hand, but didn’t dare. He had the feeling this was going to get worse—a whole lot worse—before it got better.

  IT WAS A SHORT WALK TO THE VILLAGE FROM JESSICA’S house. They stopped at the Creamery for two ice-cream cones—mint chocolate chip for Jessica and Rocky Road for Sam—then continued down Main Street to the harbor. When they reached the Bramble Shop, Sam pointed out his workshop, which was on one side of the barn behind Grace’s place. Jessica wondered what it was like inside and almost asked Sam if they could take a look. Then caught herself. She didn’t want to seem too interested. He might read too much into it, she thought.

  When they reached the dock, they found an empty bench and gazed out at the water as they ate their ice cream. The sun slipped behind a mound of peach-and lavender-colored clouds, the rippling water in the harbor reflecting the colors of the sky.

  “Great ice cream,” Sam said between bites. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. The Creamery has the best,” she added.

  “Absolutely. Always did, always will.”

  She could tell from the way he said it that he’d been a regular at the Creamery as a child, the same way she had. She suddenly wondered why he’d never left Cape Light. She’d had her own reasons for going, getting away from an unhappy family history. But Sam seemed to have so much going for him. Why did he stay here? Wasn’t he curious to see more of the world? “Sam . . . did you ever think of leaving here?” she asked after a moment. “I mean, it must be hard to live in the same place where you grew up, see all the same people all the time.”

  He was quiet for a moment. She wondered if she’d insulted him. “I did leave New England for a while. A few years after high school, I went down south with a buddy of mine. He talked me into going down to Texas for the winter, to the Gulf, and I just sort of stayed down there and moved around. Savannah, Charleston, the Keys. There was plenty of work wherever I went, plenty of fishing, sunshine, and . . . socializing,” he recalled. From his wistful smile she assumed he meant women and partying. Sowing his wild oats, as they used to say.

  “Sounds like fun. Why did you come back?”

  He shrugged. “I like it here. It suits me.” He ate some more ice cream, then added, “I missed my family. I missed the seasons changing. Even the winter. It can get pretty boring, staring out your window at a palm tree.”

  “I guess so,” Jessica said.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t find it dull around here, if that’s what you mean. Not too dull anyway. You could live in the biggest city in the world and be bored,” he pointed out. “You remember what Thoreau said: ‘I’ve traveled widely in Concord.’ ” His ability to quote Thoreau surprised her. But the more she learned about him, the more he disproved
her assumptions.

  Besides, he had a point. She’d often been bored in Boston, even though she was surrounded by things to do, new places to go.

  “I like to see the same people every day,” Sam went on. Not defensively, she noticed. Just stating a fact. “It makes me feel . . . connected. Like I belong.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just because I grew up in a big family. I don’t know. It just feels right to me. I just think this is a great place to live. A great place to raise kids,” he added.

  “Uh . . . yes. I guess it is.” She blinked at him, suddenly feeling tense and uncomfortable. Raising kids? How had they gotten onto that subject? She hadn’t been thinking of him that way . . . well, not really. She was, she had to admit, attracted to him. Very attracted.

  But all that was totally under control. It really was.

  Sam was nice. Nicer than she’d ever expected, actually. Spending the evening with him had been fun, a great diversion from her canceled date with Paul. But Paul was the one who was right for her, Jessica reminded herself. He fit with her future, the kind of life she wanted for herself. Not here in Cape Light, but out there, someplace different, more exciting.

  Tonight had been a pleasant way to pass a few hours. Lovely, really. But that’s all it was. She was sorry now if she’d given Sam the wrong impression. She looked down at her ice cream and concentrated on finishing.

  Sam was quiet, too. He looked up at the sunset. “That’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” he said. “Same show every night, but I never get tired of watching.”

  Jessica nodded. It wasn’t necessary to answer. She had an urge to reach out and take his hand, but only because he seemed disappointed, and she felt bad for him. He was really such a nice man. With a quick wit and a thoughtful side. More complicated than she expected. And interesting.

  But not for her.

  The sun dropped below the horizon and the blue sky darkened.

  “Time to go,” Sam said finally. He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it, holding on lightly as she came to her feet. She met his gaze for a long moment, then let go.

  “So what do you actually do at the bank—besides stare out your new window, I mean,” Sam asked as they walked back to her house.

  She glanced at him and smiled. He never tired of teasing her, did he? She had been staring out the window a lot, too, though she’d never admit it.

  “Review loan applications mostly,” she said. “Do the number crunching. Make recommendations about which ones should be approved, and structure the terms.”

  “Give out money, you mean?”

  “Well, you could put it that way.” She glanced up at him and nodded, his strong, handsome features in profile distracting her for a moment.

  “Hmm, that sounds like fun.”

  She met his eye and laughed. Most people assumed her banking job was serious and dull.

  “It is fun sometimes. I really like telling people their loan has been approved, especially when I know they want the money for something special. Like buying a house or starting a business.”

  “Yes, that must be a good feeling, helping people that way.” His quiet smile and the light in his dark eyes made her forget what they were talking about for a moment. “Did you always want to be a banker?”

  “Not really. Even in college I didn’t really know what I wanted to be,” Jessica admitted. Thinking back, she could only recall her mother’s pressure that she pursue some career path that would lead to respectability and success. “I liked business courses, though, especially finance. And one thing led to another.”

  “Well, I’d never guess what you do for a living. . . . I mean that in a nice way, of course,” he added. His tone and attractive half smile told her he was teasing her again. But somehow, she didn’t mind.

  “Well, thanks . . . I think,” she said wryly.

  He laughed and reached around her to open the front gate at her house. Jessica went around to the back door to let herself in, and Sam followed.

  Halfway across the yard she touched his arm. “Wait,” she said quietly. He followed her gaze and saw a big, scruffy-looking calico cat sitting on the top step, licking its paws.

  “It’s the cat I’ve been feeding,” she whispered. “I don’t want to scare it.”

  “Be careful. She might bite.”

  Jessica called quietly to the cat. It looked up and arched its back, its body stiff. Jessica kept her voice gentle as she slowly moved forward. Then she bent down and held out her hand. Cautiously the cat approached her and took a tentative sniff. Then it circled her, finally rubbing against her legs.

  Jessica looked at Sam. “I think she’s friendly.”

  “I think she knows you’ve been leaving her chicken.”

  “I’m going inside to get some milk. Just watch her a second,” Jessica instructed. “Don’t let her get away.”

  “Okay, I won’t,” he promised, looking a little unsure.

  Jessica reappeared seconds later, with a small bowl of milk. She set it down on the top step, and the cat ran over and began lapping it up. Jessica sat down on the steps and ran her hand along the cat’s back.

  “What are you going to call her?” Sam asked.

  Jessica thought for a moment. “Elsie,” she said very decisively.

  He laughed. “I thought that name was more in the pet cow category.”

  Jessica gave him an indignant look. “For your information, I had a cat named Elsie when I was young. Another stray, actually. I found her at our new house when we first moved into town. It took me weeks to get her to come out. I used to work on her every day after school. I didn’t have any friends, so I guess I had the time,” she added with a rueful laugh. “This Elsie is really a pushover compared to the first one.”

  “Maybe you’ve just gotten better at it,” he said kindly.

  He felt sorry for her, hearing that she hadn’t had friends, but thinking back, that was probably the way it had been. He remembered kids talking about Jessica and Emily when they first started school. Their father had created quite a scandal. Sam couldn’t remember the details now, only shocked suppositions that Mr. Warwick might go to jail. He never did, but they’d had to give up the estate, and the town had talked about it for years. It must have been awful for Jessica and Emily.

  “I’d better get going,” Sam said after a moment. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  “Thank you for cooking it,” she said, smiling at him.

  “I’m not sure when I’ll get back to start the roof. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Will you be around?”

  “I should be. I’m in the phone book. Just give me a call and let me know if I need to move furniture or cover anything.”

  “All right.” He nodded. She thought he would leave, but he didn’t. “How about on the weekend . . . can I call you?” he asked.

  She felt a curious nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. “About the ceiling?”

  “Well . . . no. Not really. I was wondering if you’d like to get together. Maybe have dinner or see a movie?”

  His expression was so serious. Even in the dim light Jessica could see that though he was trying to sound offhand about it, it was important to him. When she met his gaze, she nearly felt herself saying, Yes. Sure. Why not?

  Then she remembered Paul. He’d be calling any minute, if he hadn’t already left a message. He said he’d be coming down from Vermont later in the week. That could mean the weekend. She couldn’t make a date with Sam, then miss out on seeing Paul. She already had plans. Practically . . .

  “I’m sorry . . . I have plans,” she said slowly. “But thanks, anyway.”

  “That’s okay.” He shrugged. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Sure, some other time.” They both knew he wouldn’t ask again. She felt sorry for hurting him. “Good night, Sam.”

  “See you, Jessica. Thanks again for dinner.” Then, looking down at the cat, he added, “Looks like you found a good deal here. Don’t blow it.”

  He smiled briefly, then lef
t the yard through the back gate.

  Jessica sat stroking the cat as she watched Sam disappear into the shadows. Did she make a mistake? It didn’t matter anyway. It was too late to change things.

  Back inside she found the message light blinking on her machine. “Hi, Jessica. It’s Paul again. Are you there? Sorry I keep missing you tonight. Call me back if you can, okay?” He gave the number, and Jessica nearly fell over herself, rushing to get a pad and pencil to write it down.

  She called Paul back right away, and he picked up on the first ring.

  “Jessica, I’m so glad you called back. I was just sitting here, watching the news, hoping it was you. I thought maybe you were mad at me for canceling our date. I hope not.”

  “Oh, no . . . I wasn’t mad,” Jessica quickly assured him. “Disappointed at not getting to see you, though,” she admitted.

  “Me, too,” he agreed.

  “But it’s okay, really,” she continued. “I’m sorry to hear you’re having such a tough time up there.”

  “Well, the situation has improved a lot since this afternoon. A glitch with some software was worked out a lot a faster than I expected. So things are basically under control here now,” he explained. “I can probably leave sometime tomorrow.”

  “Wow, that’s good news,” Jessica said, feeling a surge of happiness. They’d be able to see each other even sooner than she’d expected.

  “The only problem is,” Paul went on, his voice suddenly tight, “I have to head straight back to Boston. I’m flying out tomorrow night for Minneapolis. I just found out about it a couple of hours ago, but there’s another huge problem out there, with the motel chain account. Looks like I’ll have to oversee the entire project, or I’ll lose the deal. And it’s a big one I don’t want to lose,” he added emphatically.

  “Really? Minneapolis?” she asked. That was halfway across the country. . . .

  “I know it sounds terrible. I guess it is,” he admitted with a sigh. “Looks like I’ll be out in the Heartland for most of the summer. There are at least, oh, a dozen properties. I’ll have to visit all of them—Minnesota, Wisconsin, South Dakota. I hear it gets very hot in the summer out there,” he added.