Читать книгу Lakeside Romance - Lisa Jordan - Страница 13

Chapter Three

If Sarah didn’t need Alec’s help so badly, she’d turn around and walk out the door. When he’d suggested cooking lessons in exchange for preparing his uncle’s house to be placed on the market, he hadn’t mentioned she’d be walking into an episode of Hoarders. Maybe for good reason.

And now he stood behind her, blocking her escape.

She set her bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor by the door and moved deeper into the abyss, wrinkling her nose. The air settled around her with the odor of mildew and vapor rub. The wooden floor creaked beneath her flip-flops as she stepped carefully onto a bare spot on the worn area carpet. She balanced herself on one foot while she searched for another space to step.

The image of jumping from rock to rock to cross the stream behind her childhood home slid out from a closeted corner in her mind. Finding there was no free floor space to move to, Sarah put her other foot down almost on top of her first, stayed put and turned in a slow circle to take in every angle of the cluttered living room.

Her gaze roamed over the rows of books spilling from the natural oak cases built around the door frame. Mismatched framed watercolor paintings in various sizes hung on the faded floral-papered wall behind a couch buried under throw pillows and knitted afghans. Towering stacks of magazines and newspapers lined a narrow path that led into another room. Heavy drapes concealed the sunshine that peaked through the gap and begged to light up the room.

She tried to keep her jaw from gaping like a trout, but she doubted she’d succeeded. A shudder shimmied down her spine.

She wasn’t trying to judge, but she just couldn’t wrap her head around the chaos. Sure, she needed things organized and put in their places. Otherwise, her brain simply couldn’t function. And obviously not everyone had to be like her, but still... Seriously, how did people live like this?

She dragged her fingers through her hair, then waved a hand over the room and looked at Alec. “I’m not gonna lie—I expected some light housekeeping. Maybe some basic organization. Or even some staging. But this...”

Even as her voice trailed off, the knots in her stomach cinched tighter. She needed the outreach program to be a success, but if those teens depended on her to help them cook, they were all in trouble. Somehow she’d have to figure out how to tackle this job.

Did Alec hope she’d take one look at his uncle’s house and bail? Set her up to fail so he could get out of helping her? If so, why even bother extending the offer? But he seemed so sincere, almost desperate.

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.

Having her in his kitchen might have been a mistake. But if he was going to teach her to cook, he needed the right tools—his tools. Her knives consisted of a paring knife and a couple of serrated steak knives. If only he could get rid of her fragrance of wildflowers, which was wafting through the room, curling through him and flaying open those wounds best left covered.

She pulled the link of Italian sausage out of the package and flopped it onto the cutting board. She picked up the French knife and started to cut.

“Not that knife.” Alec pulled a utility knife out of the block and handed it to her, handle first. “Try this one. You’ll have more control as you slice through the sausage. Be careful—it’s sharp. How did you become an adult without learning to cook?”

She took the knife and started sawing at the sausage. “Growing up we had a housekeeper who prepared our meals. Mrs. Nelson wouldn’t allow anyone in her kitchen. When I left home, I ate in the dorm cafeteria, ordered takeout or lived on cereal and freezer meals.”

He shook his head. “You have so much to learn. Frozen foods are filled with sodium and preservatives. You need to cook nutritious meals.” Catching her action, he stifled a groan and schooled his tone. She wouldn’t learn if he kept barking at her. “It’s not a log, Sarah. You don’t need to saw it. That knife is sharp. Pierce the casing with the tip of the knife and slice through it in a single cut. Like this.” He took the knife from her and demonstrated. Just as he’d done with the onion. After handing it back to her, he pressed his back against the sink to watch. Once he was sure she wasn’t going to lose an appendage, he turned around to wash the other cutting board.

“How did you learn to cook?”

He dried the cutting board, then slid it back into place on the shelf between his stove and refrigerator. “By reading recipe books and watching cooking shows on TV. I did it to help out my mom after my dad was killed, but then I found out I enjoyed it.”

“You lost your dad? I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. He was a marine killed in friendly fire when I was fifteen.”

The knife clattered against the board as Sarah sucked in a sharp breath. “You weren’t kidding about the knife being sharp.”

“I don’t kid about knives.” He turned to see her about to bring her bleeding index finger to her mouth. He grabbed her hand. “No, don’t. You’ve been handling raw pork.”

Still holding on to her, he pulled her to the sink and flipped on the water. He pumped hand soap onto her palm. “Wash your hands while I grab a Band-Aid.”

Sarah lathered her hands and rinsed. “It’s a minor cut. I’ll wrap a paper towel around it.”

“You’re working with food. It needs to be clean and covered.” Alec folded a paper towel and pressed it against the cut. “Hold this to get the bleeding stopped. I’ll be right back.”

He strode down the hall to the master bathroom. Rummaging through the medicine cabinet for the box of bandages, he kicked himself for letting his mind wander. He should’ve known better than to get distracted. If he lost focus, then someone got hurt.

He pulled out the last two and tossed the empty box in the trash. Leaving the bathroom, he turned off the light. As he passed his dresser, Christy smiled at him from her crystal frame.

His breath caught in his chest, and he nearly dropped to his knees. The Band-Aids fluttered from his fingers. He reached down and picked them up, then braced himself against the doorway. Sarah’s humming drifted down the hall.

Why had he invited her into his kitchen?

His lonely, vacant life of going through the motions without Christy wore on him, but he’d had his chance at love once. He couldn’t risk his heart a second time. The pain of losing her had gutted him. And he couldn’t go through that again. He needed to keep his distance from Sarah.