Читать книгу Love and the Single Mum - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 11

Friday’s Soup of the Day: Sherry Chanterelle

ROBERT STOPPED TO READ the specials in the bistro window. He’d always loved mushroom soup, he told himself as he went inside.

He couldn’t say what he was doing back here. The soup was a convenient excuse, but he knew better. He paused at the sight of Margo serving an older man. The two bantered with a degree of familiarity that made him unaccountably envious.

He wanted her to smile like that at him.

No question about it, he had it bad. Wouldn’t he feel like a fool, though, when he found out she was married with a parcel of kids? He joined the queue waiting to be served and plotted the best way to find out what he’d come here to learn.

HE WAS BACK. Margo saw him on the street as he stopped to read the specials on the chalkboard. When he stepped inside, her heart felt like it was dancing. Nora had been right after all…or had she?

Robert’s smile when he stepped up to the counter seemed guarded.

“Hi, Margo. Could I have a bowl of the soup and a scone on the side?”

She took his money while Em filled the order. She glanced up once at Robert, but he wasn’t even looking in her direction. Maybe he really was here for the soup.

Robert carried his tray to the table at the back and, like before, he set himself up with the daily paper and his BlackBerry. She tried to ignore him after that, but it wasn’t easy. As before, he stayed for a long time. Once or twice she thought she saw him looking her way, but she couldn’t be sure.

After the lunch hour rush was over, Margo decided to go back to the kitchen to experiment with a new muffin recipe. She envisioned a combination of dried cherries, dark chocolate and pecans swirled into a batter of wholesome grains and buttermilk.

The challenge of concocting something new was just what she needed to take her mind off Robert Brookman. Not to mention Tom’s upcoming wedding.

As she scooped chunks of dark chocolate into the batter, Margo glanced out the open door at Robert’s back. She wondered how much longer he would stay. And what was he working on so intently? She couldn’t complain about him taking up a table since he continued to order food. So far he’d had two bowls of soup, three scones and four cups of coffee.

He’d also covered his table with newspapers and his laptop, and had taken half a dozen different phone calls. It was almost as if he’d decided to make her bistro his new office. And, cute as he may be, she wasn’t too happy about that.

Gently, Margo stirred the chocolate, cherries and nuts through the batter. It was thicker than most muffin batters, but if she added extra liquid now, she’d end up overmixing and ruining the muffins anyway. She’d just have to hope for the best.

Margo scooped the mixture into muffin liners, then put the tray in the oven. As she set the timer for twenty minutes, she noticed that it was almost three-thirty. Tom and Catherine would be picking the children up from school soon. Hopefully everything would go smoothly, but she couldn’t help worrying about Peter and Ellie.

Yesterday they’d acted as if their dad’s remarriage was no big deal, but the reality would surely hit soon. This could be terribly confusing for them.

As she ran a sink of soapy, hot water for the dirty dishes, Margo wondered if the family was due for another round of counseling. Maybe she’d discuss the idea with Tom when he and Catherine came back from their honeymoon.

Honeymoon…

They’d probably go someplace with five stars and 600-count bedsheets—a total contrast from her and Tom’s camping expedition in Marin County. They’d been college students with not much time between semesters, and even less money. They’d hiked in the mornings and spent their afternoons sleeping on the beaches and making love whenever they wanted. She’d been so happy and so optimistic about the future. But whoever dreamed on their honeymoon that divorce lay in the future?

“Something smells good in here.”

She whirled around to find Robert Brookman in her kitchen, just an arm’s length away. He looked different in the small galley space. Even better than she remembered.

Maybe it was me he was interested in… “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I was just—”

The loud buzz of the timer startled them both. Margo rushed to switch it off. “Sorry. I’m experimenting with a new recipe.”

She pulled the tray from the oven and her earlier fears were confirmed. The muffins were too flat. Even without checking, she could tell the consistency was going to be tough.

Robert inspected them, too. “They look smaller than the ones in your front display case.”

“I know. Something definitely went wrong.” She dumped the muffins out onto a clean cloth, wrote a few quick comments in her notebook then looked up at Robert. “Feeling brave? Want a taste?”

“I’m your man.”

The double entendre hit them at the same moment. Their glances collided, then they both looked quickly away.

“Actually,” Robert said, clearing his throat, “I realized something a few minutes ago. Ever since I saw you I’ve been trying to think why you look so familiar. About a year ago you had a line of credit approved at the Wells Fargo branch down the block from here, didn’t you?”

Margo froze. Great. This was exactly the link from the past that she did not need right now. Robert Brookman was from Wells Fargo. But now that he’d mentioned that, she remembered, too. She nodded reluctantly.

“I was on a branch tour. When I’d stopped to talk with your loan officer, I hadn’t realized he was busy with a customer.”

Busy with her. She recalled Robert apologizing for interrupting, then asking the loan manager to come talk to him when he had a few minutes. Ten seconds Robert had been in that office. Fifteen, tops. And yet, he’d remembered her.

“I checked over your file that day. I remember being surprised that a lawyer would decide to abandon her law career and open a restaurant.”

“You’re not the only one who was surprised by that decision. Most of my friends and family felt I was taking a terrible risk.”

Robert glanced out the open door to the room full of customers. “Your gamble seems to have paid off.”

She dropped her gaze for a moment. If only he knew the truth. “We’re pretty busy.”

“I’m not surprised. Your food is terrific. Especially the soup. But I’ve already told you that.”

“Thank you.” She wondered if that was what he was doing here. Checking up on her business on behalf of the bank. “I haven’t missed any of my loan payments.”

“Relax. I’m not here in an official capacity.” He tugged on his tie, and suddenly he was the one who looked uncomfortable. “Actually, I don’t work for the bank anymore. I was laid off last Friday.”

He tried to look as if this wasn’t any big deal, but Margo could tell it was. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well, the company was downsizing and I happened to be a recent hire since I just moved from Seattle a year ago.”

“What brought you to San Francisco?”

“A woman—my old girlfriend.” He shrugged. “She isn’t in the picture anymore, by the way.”

He gave her a questioning look then, and Margo knew he was wondering about her. Suddenly nervous, she switched the subject. “Would you like something to drink? Water or juice?”

“Water would be fine.”

She filled two glasses, then invited him to sit at the stainless steel counter with her. “I’ve been wondering what you’ve been working on every day, with your newspapers and laptop and all those calls.”

“I’m looking for a new job.”

She connected the final dot. “And you’re using my bistro as your job search headquarters.” Here was her chance to voice her objections, but all of a sudden she found she didn’t have any.

“Well, the coffee’s good and the food’s even better. Then there’s the atmosphere…”

He was looking at her in a very intense way. As if it wasn’t just the place he liked…but her. Margo gripped the edge of the steel counter, welcoming the feel of the solid, cold metal.

She ought to be encouraging him. A little flirting wouldn’t hurt. Instead she found herself panicking. Maybe she wasn’t ready to start dating, after all. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed the sign I have hanging on my counter out front. The one that says, “No cell phones please.” My daughter made it.”

“Your daughter.”

That seemed to bring him up cold.

“So the kids in the pictures last night are yours?”

“Two of them are. My son Peter is seven and Ellie is ten.”

His gaze dropped to her hands.

She swallowed, then added, “I’m divorced. It’s been about a year. My ex and I have joint custody of our children.”

“Oh.” He tugged on his tie again. “I’m never sure what to say to that. Sorry or congratulations.” He smiled nervously.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure, either.” According to the statistics, half of all marriages ended in divorce. But she’d never imagined that hers would be one of them.

She needed to change the subject. “So…how’s the job search going?”

He looked glad that she’d asked. “I’ve got a headhunter working for me and I’ve been calling a bunch of people I know, too. But so far I haven’t managed to nab so much as a first interview. They tell me the job market is tight right now. At least in banking.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon.”

He sighed. “I hope so. I graduated in the top ten percent of my class. Always got great performance reviews at both of the banks where I’ve worked in the past.”

“It hasn’t even been a week,” she reminded him gently. “Maybe this is an opportunity for you to take a little breather. Reassess your goals and your plans for the future.”

“Well, I did go sailing on Tuesday.”

“You took off a whole day, huh?”

He smiled at her teasing. “I made a few calls from the marina. So the day wasn’t a total waste. But seriously, I don’t need to think about my plans. I know what I want. No doubt about that.”

The confidence in his voice was compelling, but as Margo met his gaze, she was struck again with the incongruous notion that he was talking about her, and not the job at all.

She swallowed. “You know—”

They were interrupted again, this time by the ringing of the bistro’s phone. She went to answer it and was dismayed to find herself talking to a credit manager from Wells Fargo. As she conducted the brief conversation, Robert took a bite from one of the muffins. He didn’t look impressed. She turned her back to him.

“Three weeks. Yes, I understand. Goodbye.” She stared at the phone on the wall for a few moments. In her mind she pictured the account book upstairs, the files of loan statements and growing pile of unpaid bills.

“Bad news?”

Pride almost made her fib. But what was the point? Robert was a banker, maybe he could give her a few pointers. “You know how I said that I was making my loan payments?”

His expression grew serious. “Yes?”

“Well, I have been. But not the full amount. I was hoping to renegotiate my monthly payments. But now the bank wants to see my cash flow projections for the upcoming year. And they want them in three weeks.”

“Let me guess. You don’t have cash flow projections.”

“Should I?” He didn’t need to answer. She could see by his expression that she should. “Oh, Lord. I can barely keep up with the bills, the tax remittances and monthly payroll.”

“Are you doing all that yourself?”

“Partially. I bought a computer package that was supposed to integrate everything…accounting, payroll, taxes, inventory… But I’m not using it to its potential.”

“Restaurants survive or fail based on certain key numbers. Inventory management is one. Meal costing is another.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve read the manual that came with the package.” Well, she’d skimmed the manual. She simply didn’t have the time to go through it in detail. “Once I’ve got my feet on the ground, I’m going to hire an accountant.”

Robert gave her an incredulous look. He glanced up, as if inspecting the ceiling, then down to the concrete floor. Finally, he said, “I realize we haven’t known each other very long. But there’s something I have to tell you.”

Margo guessed this wasn’t going to be good news. “Yes?”

“You can’t wait until you have money saved in the bank. You need to hire an accountant now, or you’ll never get your feet on the ground.”

Margo knew Robert’s suggestion was well-intended. But he just didn’t have a clue. “I don’t have the money for any extra expenses.”

Robert considered that. “How about free soup and scones? Maybe the occasional cup of coffee, too.”

Was he offering to help her? “But you’re a banker, not an accountant.”

“Close enough. I’ve seen tons of cash flow statements. I ought to be able to figure out how to prepare one.”

She was sure he could. Better and faster than she could, anyway. “But—”

“It’s not as if I’m particularly busy right now,” he pointed out. “This’ll help fill my time until I get a real job.”

“That’s a generous offer. But it wouldn’t be fair for me to accept.” It might not be fair. But it was tempting. She’d love to put all the accounting worries behind her and focus on the jobs she knew how to do well.

“Are you worried about taking advantage of me?”

His eyes sparkled with humor and she knew she wasn’t imagining the double meaning this time. “You should be so lucky, Robert Brookman.”

He gave her a once-over. A thorough study that began with her swept-up hair and ended with the polished pink toes peeking out from her espadrilles.

“Yeah, you’re right. I should be so lucky. In the meantime, why don’t you show me your books and let me see if I can help?”

“Well…if you’re sure.” She led the way upstairs to the apartment she shared with the kids. It was a three-bedroom and quite roomy, but there was no space for a separate office, so she’d set the computer up in a corner of the living room.

The raspberry-colored sofa faced the television. On the opposite wall, a dark-blue, stained wooden armoire held the computer. Next to that was an open-shelf unit filled with labeled baskets. “Here’s where I keep my records.”

Robert pulled one of the baskets off the shelf. It was crammed full of unpaid invoices. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

“I’m just a little behind on those.” She brushed past him to open the doors of the armoire and power up the computer. Above the computer was a shelf where she kept important reference books.

“Here’s the manual,” she said brightly. “One good thing about not having much room…everything’s at your fingertips.”

He put his hand on the book, which happened to bring his hand right next to her breast. She caught her breath, felt a zap of pure, physical reaction. Looking up, she saw his gaze on the scooped neck of her top.

Speaking of things being right at someone’s fingertips…. The double entendres were killing her today.

She thrust the book at him, then backed away. “You wanted to dive right in…well, here you go.” She headed for the stairs. “I’ll be right back with some coffee.”