The New Hope Cafe (5 page)

She still was.

“You’re worried.”

“A little,” she lied, fighting for calm.

“How about we swing by the market for some of that bread you
wanted? That
challah.
You can go to town on the
French toast tomorrow. How’s that for turning lemons into lemonade?”

The idea did cheer her a little. “Speaking of lemonade…the mix
we use tastes awful. Let’s get some lemons. Where I waitressed before, we made
tons on fresh lemonade.”

Jonah groaned. “Here we go.”

She smiled. She felt better, she realized. The café had done
that for her. All day she’d felt cheerful, energetic and useful. She was glad
Rosie had pushed her to try the French toast.

She had another idea. “I spotted a coffee grinder in the pantry
when I was looking for the sugar. Fresh-ground coffee would taste so much
better. Cheaper, too, in the long run, because you can control the grind.”

“This keeps up and I’ll have to track down Rusty’s diagnostic
unit and drive it back myself.”

She laughed, but she started a grocery list as they drove
toward town.

* * *

“I
THINK
I nailed it.” CJ held out another cup of coffee to
Jonah.

“You said that last time.” The woman had been trying out blends
since five and now his head buzzed and his stomach burned from all the
caffeine.

“But this is really it.”

Resistance seemed futile, so he took the cup, his fingers
brushing hers just enough to jolt his equipment the way the coffee had jolted
his brain.

He sipped the brew. It was full-bodied with a hint of mocha,
but he wasn’t about to give her any more to crow about. “It’s good.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Grinding the beans takes more time.”

“It’s so worth it.”

“Coffee is coffee to our customers. They want hot caffeine,
period.”

“We’ll test it. Let’s see if anyone notices.”

“No dropping hints now.”

“I swear.” She held up a hand.

“Or lingering looks. Or eyebrow shorthand.”

“Eyebrow shorthand?”

“Yeah. You talk with your eyebrows.” He cleared his throat.
“You have…uh…talkative eyebrows.”

“Talkative?”

“Yeah, like now. They’re half up, half down and curvy. Just
trust me. They talk.” He felt like an idiot saying so and noticing in the first
place.

“You want me to duct tape them?”

“If I have to keep you from cheating.”

“I won’t cheat. It’ll be a true test. We seem busier today,”
she said, nodding at the packed booths. “Do you think it’s the French
toast?”

“I think it’s the new waitress. The place is full of
men.
” She looked so hot in short white pants and a
yellow top that shivered over her breasts that he wished she’d worn a full apron
again. And that pink smell was killing him.

“That can’t be it…can it?”

Absolutely.
Before he said that, he
noticed the light in her eyes had faded. “Nah. You’re right. It’s gotta be the
toast.”

“Told you!” She beamed, then danced off, sashaying those hips
of hers. She had no idea how sexy she was. She acted friendly, not flirtatious,
but she had men hanging on her every word, tying up the booths forever, joking,
laughing, showing off.

Smiling, he absently sipped more coffee.
Mocha notes…definitely....

The bell clanged and Evan walked in. Automatically, Jonah
scanned him for signs of inebriation. Steady stride…solid posture…clear gaze.
Sober still.
Ninety days this time. He knew
because he’d slipped into the back of the meeting to see him get his chip. He
was proud, but it was too soon to say so.

Evan took a counter stool.

“You hear back on that job?” Jonah had set him up with an
interview about a marketing job for a national home-improvement chain.

“Could you grill my eggs before you grill me?”

“Coffee?” CJ asked, holding out a mug, a carafe in her other
hand. She seemed to appear out of nowhere just in time to take an order or
refill a mug.

“Please.” He watched her pour. “You’re the new Darlene,
right?”

“Her name’s CJ,” Jonah said. “This is my brother, Evan.”

“I’m so glad to meet you!” She shook Evan’s hand vigorously.
“We love your toothpick sculptures. My daughter’s in your room.”

“She’s what? Wait. You’re staying at Rosie’s?”

“Our car broke down and she was kind enough to let us
stay.”

“Rosie was kind?” He turned to Jonah.

“Don’t worry. There was something in it for her. She conned CJ
into working here while she’s waiting for her car.”

“Now that sounds like Rosie.” Evan sipped the coffee, then did
a double take, sipping more. “What did you do to the coffee?”

“You like it?” CJ shot Jonah a look. “It’s a medium roast from
Costa Rica. We ground the beans ourselves.”

“Damn.” Evan sipped more. “This beats the house blend at Coffee
Stop easy. You should offer it to go. You’d steal customers.”

“Really? You think so?” She was so excited you’d think she won
the lottery.

Jonah groaned. “I can’t believe my own brother betrayed me.” CJ
would carry on about this all day now.

“What?” Evan looked puzzled.

“We had a bet that no one would notice the coffee,” CJ said.
“And I just won.”

“Way to go.” Evan held out a fist for a bump.

“I like the to-go idea,” she said. “It would be easy to set up
a station with carafes, cups, lids and condiments.”

“Too much hassle,” Jonah said. “People buy coffee by
habit.”

“Not these days,” his brother said. “But then maybe my
marketing degree was a waste of time.” He studied Jonah over his cup.

“Whatever,” he grumbled.

“What can I get you to eat, Evan?” CJ asked, pulling out her
order pad.

“I hear you make killer French toast.”

“You heard that?”

“Jesus. Don’t encourage her,” Jonah said.

CJ huffed a breath. “You are such a p—”

“Don’t say it.” If she called him a
poop
in front of Evan, he’d never live it down.

“I was just going to say party pooper,” CJ said. She tore off
the slip with Evan’s order and held it out. “Give him double berries, okay? For
the coffee tip? Thanks, Evan.” She topped Evan’s mug, then waltzed away.

“Party pooper, huh?” Evan grinned at him. “Look at you, big
brother, all red and flustered. She’s cute, for sure.”

His face did feel hot. “She’s gone as soon as her car’s fixed.”
Hurry up, Rusty.
He started Evan’s order, then
turned back to him. “So what about the job?”

“No word yet. It was a long shot. Plus, it’s in Columbus. I
don’t know the music scene there.”

“The last thing you need is a music scene.” That had been where
the trouble started. “It would be a stepping stone. From there, you could—”

“You might as well know I took the job at the
Wash-Bowl-N-Brew.” He locked his jaw like he would as a kid when he’d done
something dumb, but wouldn’t admit it.

Jonah tensed. “Doing what?”

“Whatever they need. Work the car wash, the bowling
counter.”

“The bar?” Jonah snapped. “You’re not working in the bar.”

“If they need me to, I will. I’ll be fine. It’s time to rejoin
the world.”

Uh-oh. He sounded too confident. “What does your sponsor
say?”

“If I stick with the program, keep up with meetings, he thinks
I’ll be good. Unlike you, he has faith in me.”

“I don’t want you to get lost again.”

“I won’t. I promise you.”

He’d promised more than once.

“I saw you at the back of the hall when I got my chip,” Evan
said. “Ninety days. I’m good.” Yep, he wore that
I-got-this
look that came right before he tumbled off the wagon.

“So far.” Ninety days was barely a dent in all the days
ahead.

Anger crackled in Evan’s eyes. “Can’t you be happy for me?”

Jonah tried a different approach. “Come with me to New York.
We’ll find a place to rent together, get you a job.”

“I have a job, Jonah,” Evan snapped. “Leave it alone.”

Frustrated, Jonah went back to the grill and cooked up the
waiting orders. He plated Evan’s with extra fruit and brought it to him.

His brother dug in and Jonah went back to work.

When he returned, Evan was wiping his mouth. “That was amazing.
I hope you get the recipe from her before she leaves.”

Jonah shrugged.

“You set for New York,” Evan said. “It’s soon, right?”

“Six weeks. End of June. I’ve got a couple pieces to finish
still.”

“Rosie said someone wants to mass-produce your furniture.”

“The gallery owner set up a meeting with a manufacturer while
I’m there. We’ll see. Think about coming with me, Evan. I mean it.”

“Your grill’s smoking.”

Jonah turned back to the stove and saw the French toast would
be
a pinch
too brown,
as CJ put it. He flipped it over. He
should stick with what he could control—the food on his grill and the wood in
his shop.

People were too damned difficult.

He kept his focus all day until he found himself cleaning up
with CJ, just the two of them. She’d sent Ernesto home early for some family
deal. “I’ve almost got him talked into waiting tables,” she said to Jonah,
shoving plates into the dishwasher.

“How’d you manage that?”

“I found out the reason he didn’t want to. His sisters told him
his accent was bad and people would think he was illegal. Can you believe
that?”

“That’s why?”

“So I told him his English is as good as mine, which it is, and
that his sisters were messing with him the way siblings do. Anyway, did you know
he cooks?”

“He does?”

“Yeah. I sent him home so he can make the tamales for his
cousin’s
quinceañera
tomorrow. He makes his own
tortillas, too. You should use him more.”

“Yeah.” The woman had been in his kitchen three days and found
out more about Ernesto than he’d learned in eight months.

“Your brother was nice,” she said. “Easy to talk to.”

“He’s everybody’s best friend, all right.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being friendly.”

“There is if you’re a drunk. His best friends are drinking
buddies, okay?” He did not want to get into this with her. Already, he had a
knot in his gut. “Look, could we just…work?”

“Sorry. Just making conversation.”

He turned away to wipe down the front of the oven. He’d been
harsh.

When he turned to apologize, though, she was happily bobbing
her head, dancing as she carried pots to the sink, earbud cord leading to her
back pocket. Guess she’d gotten over her hurt.

Damn, could she
move.

He forced himself back to work, scraping the French toast
crusts off his grill. That was her fault, too. She’d done nothing but make more
work for him and—

She shimmied past him and his hand slipped and he jabbed his
thumb with the scraper, drawing blood. “Dammit!” He shook the injured hand.

She whirled, her eyes huge. “Did I bump you? I’m so sorry. Is
it bad?” She reached for his hand.

“I’ve got it.” He squeezed the cut to stop the blood.
“Just…don’t be so…disruptive.”

“Disruptive?” She stared at him.

“All that…” He made two fingers dance. What the hell was he
saying?

“Hold it.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re saying my
dancing
made you cut yourself?”

He cleared his throat, his face hotter than it got when he had
every inch of grill firing up beef. “You distracted me, okay?” he said in a low
voice.

“Well, you distract me, too, but I don’t blame you when I goof
up.”

“I distract you?”

Their eyes met and held. “You do.” Her blue eyes sparkled, her
lips parted and she heaved a sigh.

The hot pop of oil in his chest became a splash. In the steamy
kitchen, he wanted to shove the soup-crusted pots to the floor and pull her onto
the steel table and kiss her senseless.

What the hell? He shook his head to break the trance.

She stepped back, watching him. “Sorry you got hurt.”

“No big deal.”

“About your brother, I know how hard it is when someone you
love has demons to fight and you’re stuck on the sidelines.”

Exactly.
A connection snapped
between them like a flicked switch. It wasn’t sexual. It was personal. He felt
less alone. Damn. “Yeah. Anyway, I need to finish up.”

“I’ll try not to be so disruptive. Wouldn’t want you to lop off
a limb.” She grinned and hip-swayed away.

He turned and scraped the grill so hard he expected to raise
curls of stainless steel. He should have let her shake her moneymaker until she
wore it out. Torturing his libido was one thing.

Touching his heart was something else entirely.

CHAPTER FIVE

“T
OO
BAD
ABOUT
Rusty’s unit,” Rosie
said cheerfully over the supper dishes that night. “We’ll just make the best of
it.” The woman wasn’t even trying to hide her delight.

Cara felt glum. They were stuck another day.
What if he had to order parts?
It made her heart race
to think about it.

“Now that green sauce you put on the spaghetti,” Rosie said,
drying a plate. “What was it again?”

“Huh? Oh. Pesto. Throw basil, pine nuts, Parmesan, garlic and
olive oil into the food processor and flip the switch. Really easy.”

She’d brought up the food processor from the café pantry, where
she’d found the coffee grinder, as well as an industrial citrus press she’d used
to make fresh lemonade. People had loved it, which had really boosted her
confidence. Rosie had inspired her.

“Too much fuss for one person.”

“The basil’s right in your garden.”

“The garden’s too much fuss, as well. I’m too old to be
crawling around in the dirt.” She sounded depressed all of a sudden.

“You’re not that old,” Cara said.

“I’m sixty. That’s plenty old in my family.”

Rosie said it so ominously that Cara stopped washing and turned
to her. “Are you feeling okay?”

“’Course I am.” She slammed the cupboard door hard enough to
rattle the china inside. “And when I’m not, there’s nothing to be done about
it.” Rosie dropped into a chair at the table, tossing the red-checked dish towel
over her shoulder. “Let the rest air dry.” She sounded weak.

Like Grandma before her heart
attack.

Cara put down her sponge, dried her hands and sat across from
Rosie.

“Quit eyeballing me like that,” Rosie said. “I’m fine. I’m
about done with the café, too. Writing’s on the wall. No one wants to sit down
to a meal anymore. It’s all fast-food, rush, rush, gulp it down. When a café’s
done, it’s done.” She shrugged, then tried to smile, but failed. “Besides,
closing the place is about the only way I’ll get rid of Jonah.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came here to sort out Evan. Evan’s sorted, but Jonah’s
still here.”

“I get the feeling Jonah doesn’t think Evan’s okay.”

“That’s Mr. Doom and Gloom for you. His divorce ran him down
and he hasn’t peeled himself off the tarmac yet.”

Rosie reached for the jelly bean bowl on the counter and set it
in the center of the table. She fished out two black ones and popped them in her
mouth.

Black meant
bad luck will befall
you.

“What happened? Do you know?” Cara ate a green jelly bean to
reverse it.

“Hardly. The man’s secretive as a spy. I have to think it
started with the miscarriage.”

“His wife lost a baby?”

“Two of ’em. Twin girls. Seven months along, I think.”

“How devastating.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Rosie ate a yellow jelly bean, then tossed in a blue
one.
You’ll come into money.... You’ll take a
trip.

“You should have heard him when she got pregnant. He was so
amazed. It was like he’d won the lottery and a trip to the moon, like he
couldn’t believe his luck, even though millions of people have babies every
day.”

“But then he lost them.” Cara couldn’t imagine that
heartbreak.

“He sent me a card. Couldn’t face the phone, I guess. Wrote
that the babies were gone.
Gone.
That was how he put
it.”

Thinking of Jonah, Cara ate an orange jelly bean, which meant
your wish will come true.
“When did that
happen?”

“Two years ago. The divorce, I have no idea. When he offered to
come out to help Evan and me, I said,
What about your
business? What about your wife?
Know what he said?”

“No.”

“Same thing he’d said about those babies—
They’re gone
.”

“His wife
and
his business?”

“That’s all he would say.”

“He seems to be a private person.”

“And no good comes of that. Bottle it up and it just ferments.
We have enough trouble with things that ferment in this family. He’s still
moping around, expecting the worst from Evan.”

“Healing takes time.” Cara knew that firsthand. She’d recovered
quickly from her head injury, but the trauma to her soul had lingered for months
and months. She’d been strong for Beth Ann, but inside she’d been a shaky mess.
College had helped, given her a mission. She’d just begun to feel whole when the
news of Barrett’s release came and tore her apart again.

“Yeah, well he’ll heal right quick if I close the café out from
under him.” Rosie picked up a few candies, frowned, then threw them back into
the bowl. “Hell, we’re eating up Bunny’s poker pot.”

She rose to set the bowl beside the deck of cards on the
counter, then dropped heavily into the chair, staring out the window for a bit.
“Forty years is plenty long to keep a promise, don’t you think?” She searched
Cara’s face.

“You mean to Eddie? About the café? He’d want you to be happy.
If you don’t enjoy the café any longer, then—”

“Oh, I love the place. That’s not it. Like I said, when the
end’s upon you, you surrender. I don’t have time to—” She stopped abruptly.
“It’s just time,” she finished, though that wasn’t what she’d started to say,
Cara could tell.

Rosie clearly didn’t
want
to close
the café, but she felt she had to. “It sounds like you lost customers to the
fast-food places and maybe the bistro, but you can get them back. The French
toast was a hit—receipts were up, Jonah said—and Evan had a great idea about
selling the new coffee to go.”

“You sound like Eddie. He was Mr. Never Say Die. The man saw
what he wanted to see. In a way that’s what saved me. He saw fire and spirit in
me when I felt as dead and cold as a rosebush in winter. He loved me like I was
worth it. After a while I felt like I was.”

“That’s how love is supposed to work,” Cara said, her throat
tight at the thought. It was what she’d naively hoped for when she’d married
Barrett.

Rosie got a faraway look in her eyes. “I tried to be the woman
Eddie saw when he looked at me. Not sure I succeeded.” When she looked back at
Cara her face was paler, the lines around her mouth deeper, her eyes rimmed in
red. “It’d take more than good coffee to fix the café and Jonah’s only marking
time at the grill. You’re running off, remember?” She shook her head. “I’m
bone-tired, CJ. Think I’ll turn in early.” She started off, then braced herself
against the refrigerator before stepping into the hall.

Something was wrong. Rosie would bite her head off for asking,
but she intended to anyway. Cara’s grandmother had ignored minor heart problems
until a massive attack killed her. Cara didn’t want that to happen to Rosie.

When it was time for bed, Cara was surprised at how cheerful
and talkative Beth Ann was. She’d had fun at Rosie’s shop. She’d told Cara that
she knew how to miss Serena less. That was a relief. Maybe Beth Ann would adjust
to Phoenix better than Cara expected.

Cara dressed for bed, but the pulse of a headache sent her to
the bathroom for aspirin, then to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Moonlight cast the kitchen in silver. A metallic clunk drew her
gaze to the floor. A barefoot man in jeans lay under the sink. Jonah. She
gasped.

Jonah jerked up, hitting metal. “Damn!” He rubbed his head.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, though it was obvious he
was fixing Rosie’s sink. He was naked to the waist. Moonlight glinted off his
chest and stomach muscles. The light he was using under the sink outlined him in
gold. He looked alarmingly sexy, and her mouth went dry.

“I
was
changing the U joint. Now
I’m seeing stars.”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect to see you…like that.” She
waved her fingers at his bare chest.

“Same here.” He looked her over like he could see straight
through her dark silk robe to her cami and shorts and beyond. She clutched the
lapels, but the idea gave her a charge that wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

He touched his head gingerly. “There’s a lump.”

“Guess I disrupted you again.”

“You did.” He shot her a smile, his teeth flashing white in the
dim room. She liked making him smile. It felt like a prize.

“Didn’t mean to. I came for water, I swear.” She held out the
pills as proof.

“I’m almost finished, if you want to wait.”

“Sure it’ll be safe? I’m serious. I don’t want you to lose a
body part.”

“If I keep my eyes where they belong, I should be okay.”

Oooh.
Another zing flew through
her. She was almost used to the feeling.

Cara sat. On the table was a footstool with clamped legs that
Jonah must be repairing.

There was something natural and homey about waiting while Jonah
did a household chore. The silence settled around them, except for the clucking
of Rosie’s chicken clock. Cara didn’t feel her usual compulsion to fill the void
with words. Something about Jonah Gold slowed her down, steadied her.

She almost felt safe with him. That was an illusion, of course.
She’d felt safe with Barrett and he’d turned out to be the most dangerous man
she ever hoped to meet. You had to find safety for yourself, on your own
terms.

She was glad neither of them had turned on the overhead light.
It would be like the blast of a car horn on a quiet night.

There was plenty of light to see the way Jonah’s pectorals
quivered, his abdominals tightened and his biceps swelled as he twisted and
hammered and pried. Cara couldn’t help but sigh. In a few minutes, he emerged,
crouched, reaching up to turn on the faucet. Checking for leaks, she
assumed.

There was something extremely sexy about a man’s back. Was it
the shape? The rolling muscles? The taper to the waist? She wasn’t sure, but
Jonah’s was mouthwatering. She was glad he couldn’t see her staring.

Then he turned and caught her. Their eyes locked. Cara darted
her gaze to the side, totally mortified.

He cleared his throat. “So…that’s got it.”

“Great. Good job. Glad you finished.” What was she going to do,
sign his work order?

Jonah put away his tools, washed up, then fixed two glasses of
ice water. He handed her one, ice tinkling musically, then sat across from her.
She took her pills. When she finished, she caught him staring at her. He shifted
his gaze to the footstool.

“You’re repairing that?” she asked.

“It’s crap—laminate over plywood—but it was Eddie’s, so it’s a
treasure to her. I’ve offered to custom build anything she wants, but
no....”

Cara smiled. “She was talking about Eddie after supper.
Something she said really hit me. She said he loved her like she was worth it
and after a while she felt like she was.”

Jonah was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice
was soft in the darkness. “You ever have that?”

She’d never talked about her marriage to anyone. Not really.
The clock marked the seconds with soft clucks. In this dark kitchen, with this
quiet, thoughtful man, she wanted to.

“At first, I thought so. But it was a trick.” She paused. “I
was only eighteen when we married. I didn’t know much.”

“That’s young.”

“I would have waited, but he was already twenty-eight and he
wanted to start a family, so I went along.” She went along with everything, too
timid, too uncertain of herself to disagree.

“Did you love him?”

“I thought I did. I admired him. He was brilliant and
accomplished. I was flattered that he chose me.” Barrett had seemed to adore
her, so she hadn’t minded when they stopped going out with other couples, when
he discouraged her from making her own friends. After Beth Ann came, it was
Family Time all the time. She was grateful for his devotion, flattered by his
focus. She hadn’t known that her isolation, his subtle but relentless digs, as
well as his intense jealousy, were hallmarks of an abusive relationship. How
could she have been so stupid, so blind, so slow to act?

Cara swallowed hard. She was too ashamed to say any of that,
but Jonah’s quiet attention made her want to keep talking. “Even when two people
love each other—or think they do—it can go terribly, terribly wrong. You know?”
She raised her gaze to his.

“That’s true.”

“For you, too?”

He nodded slowly.

She felt a rush of relief. He understood. He hadn’t been
through what she had, but his marriage had crumbled. Cara and Jonah inhaled as
one.

“If I’d only figured it out sooner, you know?” she said. “If
I’d paid more attention. If I known what to watch for, the warning signs. If I’d
known
better.
” Her voice trembled.

“Knowing better isn’t enough. You have to act better. I knew I
wasn’t built for marriage, but I put us both through it.” His voice was rough,
his eyes burning with regret. “Whether you know better or not, people get
hurt.”

Their eyes met again. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” Jonah
said.

“Me, too. About you.” For the first time, she didn’t feel alone
in her pain. Her whole body was alive to the moment, the man, what they’d
shared. Without thinking, she pushed her hands across the table toward him. As
if by reflex, he covered them with his own.

That touch turned the moment inside out, made it
physical…intimate.

This time, the zing was a rush, a steady current that turned
some places soft and others tight and hot. She hadn’t felt this with Barrett,
even at the beginning. She’d had a teenage crush. She’d hardly known her own
body when they married. This was adult sexual desire. It came from deep within
her. She ached to be touched and to touch him in return.

Cara lifted her eyes to meet Jonah’s, his dark pupils wide and
shining with desire. He was tense, hardly breathing, his jaw muscle taut,
holding himself back from what he wanted to do.