A Recipe for Romance

Sarah Sullivan will do whatever it takes to make her summer youth program permanent. But when she’s tasked to teach the teens basic kitchen skills, her hope goes up in flames. Not knowing the first thing about cooking, Sarah needs help. Smelling the delicious aromas coming from her neighbor’s apartment one night, she thinks she’s found her answer. Alec Seaver might know his way around pots and pans, but the lone-wolf widower doesn’t want anything to do with the free-spirited beauty next door. But after he becomes Sarah’s reluctant partner, Alec realizes that she might just be the key ingredient missing from his life.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re home.”

Sarah’s eyelids fluttered open. She palmed his cheek. “You’re cute.”

He grinned. Yep, definitely the painkillers. He guided her out of the car and up the stairs. Once she was settled on the couch, he covered her with the knitted afghan. “Will you be alone today?”

“Just in the evening, but I can hang out at my brother’s. The girls think I’m kind of fun.”

Not just the girls.

Instead of dwelling on that sudden thought and before common sense kicked in, he spoke. “How about if we hung out at my place? I’ll cook dinner, and then we can watch My Fair Lady.”

“Will there be popcorn?”

“As long as you’re not making it.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “One little smoke alarm…”

She closed her eyes, a smile curving her mouth. Seconds later, her breathing evened out.

Alec closed the door behind him and headed down the steps. The dinner and movie were not a date. Just helping out a friend.

How many times would he have to repeat it for his heart to believe it?

LISA JORDAN has been writing for over a decade, taking a hiatus to earn her degree in early childhood education. By day, she operates an in-home family child-care business. By night, she writes contemporary Christian romances. Being a wife to her real-life hero and mother to two young-adult men overflows her cup of blessings. In her spare time, she loves reading, knitting, and hanging out with family and friends. Learn more about her at lisajordanbooks.com.

Lakeside
Romance
Lisa Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

To Scott and Mitchell. Walk with God.

I love you forever.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Mindy Obenhaus,

Susan May Warren, Beth K. Vogt, Melissa Tagg,

Michelle Lim, Joanne Bischof, Lynn Shultz,

Carolyn Vibbert, Amanda, Sara Patry

and the Coffee Girls for your brainstorming,

feedback and encouragement.

Thanks to Jeanette Walter, Kathy Hurst,

Bill Nobles, Lon and Kayla Hurst,

and Mark “James the Butler” Hurst for the

research help. Any mistakes are mine.

Thanks to Pastors C.D. and Jo Moore

for sharing Truth at the perfect times.

Thanks to Rachelle Gardner, Melissa Endlich

and the Love Inspired team

for bringing my books to print.

To Patrick for being my #1 fan.

Always and forever.

Thank You, Lord, for Your continued blessings.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Sarah needed to get rid of the dress.

Her pity party had gone on way too long. She wasn’t the first woman to be dumped, and she wasn’t about to let Adam’s commitment issues color her against marriage. After all, her brother, Caleb, had managed to find love a second time around with Zoe.

There was hope for Sarah, too.

Someday.

Even if the memories hadn’t faded, it was the only way to put the past where it belonged, so she could focus on her future—find a new purpose for her life. Whatever that may be. Holding on to the dress served only as a reminder that she wasn’t worth committing to.

For now, though, she’d sell the strapless gown studded with Swarovski crystals and seed pearls on eBay or perhaps find a consignment shop. Wasn’t there one in town—Christy’s Closet or something like that?

Until she could get rid of it, though, it would still be hanging in her closet...taunting her about her single status.

She couldn’t allow that. The dress had to go now.

She wadded the satin creation into a ball, stuffed it into a garbage bag and tossed it on top of a pile of empty boxes that needed to be recycled first thing in the morning.

Across the room, a breeze carrying the scent of pending rain rippled through the curtains, ushering in the whispers of the night through the window.

With renewed energy, Sarah tore open the flaps of one of the boxes stacked under her window. She pulled out an armful of romance novels, carried them into the living room and stacked them on the shelves of the empty bookcase standing next to her favorite chair. She returned to the bedroom for another load.

Finishing her unpacking now would give her time this weekend to get settled before beginning her new job on Monday—teaching life skills to teenagers in a summer outreach program through her church. She hadn’t expected to be adding that to her résumé, but then she’d never anticipated having her life turned upside down, either.

Cool air whisked over her bare arms. Leafy branches scratched at the window. Sarah gathered the books to her chest and pressed her forehead against the pane. The glass chilled her head, but did little to stop the familiar tension headache forming at her temples.

She’d done enough for tonight. It was time to wind down with a cup of tea.

Her stomach rumbled. And apparently a snack.

She pushed away from the window, set the books on the floor, reached for a pink sweatshirt and tugged it over her head, covering her white tank top and blue polka-dot pajama pants.

Feeling her way along the unfamiliar wall of the small second-floor apartment of the old Victorian house she’d moved into this morning, Sarah fumbled for the kitchen light switch. As she flicked on the light, she caught her big toe on the corner of the cabinet. Pain lanced her foot. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. Releasing a halfhearted string of whimpers, she hobbled over to the counter to turn on her Keurig.

Spying the apartment-warming basket her family had given her after dinner, she waded through ribbons and cellophane to find a package of popcorn. Comfort food—that’s what she needed.

While the popcorn popped in the microwave, she searched the white cabinets for the mugs her new sister-in-law, Zoe, had washed and put away. Grabbing her favorite Bartlett University ceramic mug, she dropped a decaf vanilla chai tea bag into the machine, slid her cup under the brewing station and pushed the button. The buttery scent of popcorn wafted her way, causing her stomach to growl even louder.

Once the water finished streaming into the mug, Sarah cupped it, inhaled the rich aroma and pressed her back against the gray L-shaped countertop to survey the newly updated kitchen.

With its white walls and the arched window over the sink, which looked out into the trimmed backyard with its large weeping willow bowing over the stream that sliced through the property, she had fallen in love with this room when she viewed the apartment. Too bad she wore the World’s Greatest Cook apron ironically. Otherwise, cooking on the shiny surface of the stainless-steel stove would bring her great pleasure. So would actually having someone to cook for.

Her mother kept telling her she wasn’t going to find a husband if she didn’t learn to cook. But she didn’t even want to think of that right now. She didn’t need a guy in her life.

She’d moved to Shelby Lake, the lakefront community in northwestern Pennsylvania, nine months ago—two days after Adam decided to end their engagement six weeks before their wedding. She’d helped her brother with his two young daughters and had pieced together her broken heart with tears and whispered prayers.

Now that Caleb and Zoe had returned from their honeymoon, they needed privacy to blend their families together. And Sarah needed the freedom to explore her future. She’d also concentrate her efforts on making the summer outreach program a success in order for the church board to continue the program on a permanent basis.

A sense of anticipation tickled her sternum.

She took another sip of her tea, then set it on the counter.

Shouldn’t that popcorn be almost done?

Sarah glanced at the microwave. Smoke blackened the door. She wrenched it open. Gray billows escaped and spiraled toward the ceiling. She coughed at the acrid smell burning her nostrils and throat.

Burrowing her nose into the collar of her sweatshirt, she grabbed a dish towel and waved the smoke away so she could pull out the charred bag. Heat burned her fingers as she tossed the smoking mess into the sink and turned on the water.

Sarah glanced at the timer on the microwave. Instead of three minutes, she had added an extra zero.

Way to go.

A shrill sound pierced the air.

She threw open the window over the sink, then darted across the room to wave the dish towel in front of the smoke alarm to stop the offending sound before it woke up the neighborhood.

Her arm ached as she stretched on tiptoes and flapped the towel like a hyperactive bird. Once the noise stopped, she sagged against the wall and blew out puffed cheeks.

Heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs and a pounding on her front door jerked her to her feet. A male voice yelled through the steel door. “Open up!”

Heart hammering, she dropped the towel in the sink and raced to the door, then threw it open.

A man stood at the top of the landing dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt, jeans and bare feet. His dark brown hair looked as if he tamed it with a garden rake. Shadows darkened his jaw. With one arm braced against her door frame, he stared at her with eyes the color of faded denim. His nostrils flared as his chest heaved and lips thinned.

She was in so much trouble.

Silently begging her racing heart to settle down, Sarah cleared her throat. “May I help you?” One shaky hand on the doorknob, she rested the other against the frame, shielding the opening with her body.

“Do you always answer the door without checking to see who it is?”

“No. Not usually. I just...well, it’s been kind of a crazy night. I wasn’t thinking—”

He cut her off by stepping forward and trying to shoulder past her into the apartment.

“Excuse me. What are you doing? You can’t come in here.” With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she closed the door partially to block his entrance.

As if she could even take him if he tried to push his way in.

“Where’s the fire?” As if realizing what he was doing, the man stepped back, but he reached for her wrist. “The fire department’s already on its way. You need to get out where it’s safe.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp. Heat crawled up her neck.

Could this night get any worse?

Sirens screamed down the street, becoming louder as they stopped in front of the house. Lights flashed in the darkness at the bottom of her steps.

“There’s no fire. I overcooked my popcorn.” Sarah jerked a thumb over her shoulder and nodded toward the kitchen.

“Popcorn?” He rubbed a hand over his face, then shook head. “My alarm went off for popcorn? You can’t be serious.”

His alarm?

Wait a minute. Didn’t Mary Seaver, who showed her the place in her grandson’s absence, mention interconnecting smoke alarms between the downstairs and upstairs apartments? So that would make this man her downstairs neighbor...and landlord.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

* * *

After dealing with flight delays, crossing a couple of time zones and spending a week away from work at a real-estate conference, all Alec wanted was a decent night’s sleep. But, apparently, that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

With hands jammed in his front pockets and bare feet, Alec stood on the sidewalk next to his new neighbor as the fire crew double-checked the upstairs apartment. He tried to tell them it was nothing more than burned popcorn, but since the security company had notified them, they needed to do their own investigation.

And he knew that.

But that did little to settle the memories the alarm had awakened in his mind. He forced even breaths into his lungs and exhaled slowly to calm his hammering heart. He could attribute his sweat-slicked skin to the thick-as-fog humidity.

A sweeping glance down the street showed nosy neighbors standing in their yards, gawking at the activity going on in front of his house.

Exactly what he hated—people in his business.

His bones sagged as his eyes burned with fatigue. The pounding in his skull didn’t help, either.

Why had Gran rented the upstairs apartment to a scatterbrain?

She’d called him to say a sweet, responsible girl from her church was looking for an apartment for the summer. Despite his hesitation at renting to someone without meeting her first and for only a short time, he’d given in, trusting Gran’s judgment. Look where that’d gotten him. With a signed lease and three months’ rent paid in advance, he was stuck with the popcorn burner.

His new neighbor—what was her name again?—glanced at him and stuck out her hand. “I’m really sorry for causing so much trouble. I’m Sarah, by the way. Sarah Sullivan. I promise not to be a problem in the future.”

Her smile revealed even, white teeth and emphasized her high cheekbones. The streetlights haloed her short dark hair that stood out at all angles. The top of her head didn’t even come to his shoulder. She didn’t look old enough to be out of high school, let alone living on her own. Something about her seemed familiar, but in his brain-fogged state, he couldn’t place where he’d seen her.

He shook her hand quickly, then released it. “Alec. And that’s good to know. I like sleeping at night. You related to Caleb Sullivan?”

“Yes, he’s my brother.”

That was how he knew her. “He’s a good man.”

“The best.” She looked at him and cocked her head. “Didn’t you play at his wedding a couple of weeks ago?”

“I did.”

The image of her walking down the aisle in the pale blue halter dress clicked into place.

Billy Lynn, Shelby Lake’s battalion chief on duty and Alec’s brother-in-law, strode over to them and clapped Alec on the shoulder. “All’s clear. I’ll phone it in to the security company. You’re both free to go back inside.”

“Thanks, man.” The tinge of smoke that lingered in the material of Billy’s turnout gear snaked through Alec, unearthing memories best left buried.

Sarah shot them a quick, apologetic smile. “Again, so sorry. Have a good night.” She jogged barefoot across the grass and disappeared into the house.

Billy chuckled and shook his head. “You’re going to have your hands full with that one.”

“I don’t have the time, or the inclination, to deal with anyone.”

Billy’s lips thinned as he scrubbed a hand over his buzzed head. “You know, Alec, Christy’s been gone four years today.”

Alec held up a hand. “Stop, okay? I know exactly how long she’s been gone.”

He didn’t need a calendar to know what day it was.

“My sister wouldn’t want to see you like this.” Billy crossed his arms over his chest, emphasizing his wrestler’s build.

“Yeah, well, she’s not here anymore.” And he had no one to blame but himself.

“No. No, she isn’t.” Billy heaved a sigh and moved his helmet to his other arm. “Listen, since I’m already poking the bear...we have an opening in the department, if you’d like to come back.”

Alec shook his head and scoffed. “You’re in rare form tonight, aren’t you?”

Billy shrugged. “What can I say? Haven’t seen you in a while, so I figured why not get it all in while I can?”

Alec waved a hand over the yard. “Dude, you know where I live.”

“Yeah, I know, buddy.”

“I appreciate the offer, but that part of my life is in the past, where it needs to stay.” The fire department didn’t need a crew member who still battled nightmares or freaked out over smoke alarms.

“Don’t even go there, man.” Billy’s voice snapped like a whip. “You threw away your career because of one house.”

Alec’s heart smashed against his ribs. “Go there? Dude, I never left. And it wasn’t just any house, Billy. You know that. It was my house. The one I shared with my wife. The one where we were going to raise our family.” His chest tightened as he chugged in ragged breaths. He jammed his fingers through his hair, then locked his hands behind his head.

Billy’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to get you riled up. I just hate seeing you merely existing.”

“I don’t think I’ve had a decent night’s sleep in four years.” He mumbled the words mostly to himself. He didn’t need to close his eyes to feel flames from the past searing his skin or smell the choking grasp of the thick smoke. Or hear his wife’s frantic screams, begging him to save her... He ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I have a responsibility to my grandparents now.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Alec.” Billy gripped his shoulder.

“Tell that to your mom.” Jane Lynn’s grief-stricken screams echoed inside the dark chambers of his mind.

You should have saved her! My daughter is dead because of you!

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced the accusation back behind the locked door of his memory. He glanced longingly toward his front door. “I appreciate your concern. I do, but I’m running on empty. I need to catch some z’s.”

Billy gave him a long look. “I’m serious, man. Would you want Christy to live like this if she had lost you?”

Of course not, but how could he explain the deep hole in his heart that couldn’t be filled by anyone else?

“I know it’s been tough. I miss my baby sister every day,” Billy continued. “You know, I used to watch you two together and think you were the perfect couple. You’d cook these fantastic meals together, and anytime Etta James came on the radio, you’d pull Christy away from the sink and dance with her. That’s what you need—to find another dance partner...someone who makes you laugh and brings back the joy in your life.”

Billy stated the impossible. No one could fill his arms...or his heart...the way Christy had. She had been a perfect fit.

He shot a mischievous look at Alec. “If you don’t start living—I mean really living instead of going through the motions—then I’m going to pass out your number to every single chick I know...and I know plenty.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Alec dropped his chin to his chest a moment, then glared at Billy. “Fine, you win.”

The teasing tone dropped out of Billy’s voice. “It’s not about winning, Alec.”

“Yeah.” Alec rubbed his thumb and forefinger over eyelids made of burlap. “I really need to hit the hay.”

Billy clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah, okay. We’ll talk soon.”

“Later.” Alec strode across the lawn, his feet and the frayed hems of his jeans dampened by the night dew. He entered his apartment, locking the door behind him.

Instead of heading for his bed, he dropped into the oversize leather chair in the corner of the living room. Swinging a foot onto the matching ottoman, he rested his head against the cushioned back.

The minute the fire alarm had screamed through the stillness of the night, his adrenaline had yanked him out of his sleep. He had thrown on clothes and rushed upstairs. All he could think about was saving the new tenant. He couldn’t handle another death on his conscience.

Sitting up, he opened the drawer in the side table and reached for a handful of photos, smudged with fingerprints and creased from being handled. He leafed through them quickly, not really needing the visual reminder of Christy’s smile or the way her blue eyes sparkled when she laughed. But, for a moment, he needed to flip through them to remind himself why he couldn’t respond differently to Billy’s offer.

He paused on the one photo that nearly mangled his gut each time he looked at it—a candid shot of him and Christy slow dancing in his grandparents’ kitchen. They had celebrated their first Christmas together as a married couple with his family. While doing dishes, their wedding song had come on the radio. He asked Christy to dance with him. She’d fit perfectly into his arms. He hadn’t minded the way she teased him playfully about his missteps. His sister, Chloe, had taken the picture as he dropped a kiss on the tip of his wife’s nose.

The memory only served to hurt him more deeply. Because, as he continued to gaze at the image, a thought invaded his mind. He hadn’t just lost his wife and everything they owned in the fire—he’d also lost his unborn son.

Alec dropped the pictures back in the drawer and slammed it shut. He pushed himself out of the chair and wandered down the darkened hall to his bedroom.

More than anything, he wanted to bring back the family he’d lost and have the life he was meant to live. But that was impossible.

If he could turn back the clock, he’d make different choices—choices that would’ve protected Christy and his baby. As long as the trauma from his past continued to plague him, having a life with anyone else was impossible.

But he couldn’t drown out Billy’s words. His brother-in-law still remained single, despite his share of dates, so he didn’t understand what it was like to love and lose one’s partner.

What Alec wouldn’t give to laugh again and to have the same kind of happiness he’d shared with Christy.

But dancing ever again?

That was out of the question. No one could fill his arms the way she had.

Chapter Two

This wasn’t how Sarah expected to start this new initiative. At least they had a buffer of time until the teenagers started next week. Sarah and Melissa had planned to use this week to finalize any last-minute details, buy supplies and set up the community center for group cooking. But now it looked like she may be on her own.

She parked her dented yellow VW Beetle in the parking garage, grabbed the basket of white daisies and hurried across the lot. The doors to Shelby Lake Memorial swooshed open. The tang of antiseptic spiraled her back to last summer when Dad had spent time in Pittsburgh after suffering a heart attack.

Finding the elevator, she took it to the second floor. She stopped at room 218 and tapped softly. Hearing a faint “come in,” she entered and then partially closed the door to drown out the dinging call bells and talking in the hall.

Sunshine spilled through the narrow window, streaking across the pale green walls and glossy tiled floors.

Melissa Kendall, the pastor’s wife and her summer outreach program partner, lay in the bed. She was dressed in a hospital gown with an IV pumping fluid into her arm, and her dark hair fanned across the pillow, emphasizing the chalky whiteness of her skin.

Nate, Melissa’s husband and Sarah’s pastor, slumped in an uncomfortable position in a chair next to the bed, eyes closed, his hand resting on his wife’s.

Eyes drowsy, Melissa managed a weak smile. “Hey.”

“When you suggested we get together this morning to talk about the program, you failed to mention the new meeting spot.” Sarah smiled to show she was joking.

“Yeah, well, you know me—Queen of the Last-Minute Changes. Pretty flowers.”

“I figured they’d cheer you up.” Sarah set the flowers on the windowsill and moved over to the bed. She squeezed Melissa’s fingers. “When you didn’t show up at the community center or answer your phone, I called Nate’s secretary, Cindy, to see if you were at the church. She told me where to find you.”

Pulling her hand out of her husband’s grasp, Melissa tried to sit up but winced and dropped back on the pillow. Lines tightened around her mouth. “I didn’t feel so hot in church yesterday, and then after lunch, I started having some nausea and stomach pains. Last night I doubled over, so Nate called the ambulance. Once we arrived, I was rushed into surgery for an emergency appendectomy.”

“I’m so sorry. How are you feeling now?”

“Tired, and a little sore. I woke up in pain a little while ago, and the nurse gave me something, but it hasn’t kicked in yet.” Melissa’s eyelids fluttered as if she were fighting sleep to talk.

“Who’s staying with Little Nate?”

“He’s with Mom and Dad.”

Sarah smoothed Melissa’s hair away from her forehead. “Is there anything I can do?”

Tears welled up in Melissa’s eyes and seeped over the curve of her face.

“Hey, it will be okay.” Sarah opened the small box of hospital tissues and handed one to Melissa.

Melissa wiped her eyes and shook her head. “All those months and months of planning, and now our summer program is coming to a halt.”

Sarah’s heart picked up speed. “What do you mean ‘coming to a halt’? Did the program lose funding?”

“Nothing like that.” Melissa shook her head, then offered a wobbly smile. “I’m pregnant, Sarah.”

“Oh, that’s great! Right?”

“Yes, of course.” She dropped her gaze to her hands and tore the tissue into small pieces. “But with the emergency surgery, my doctor wants me on bed rest for the next few weeks to ensure I don’t lose this baby.”

Nate stirred and looked around the room a little confused. Then he stretched, stifled a yawn and nodded to Sarah. “Hey, Sarah.”

“Hi. I hear congratulations are in order.”

He shot a worried glance at Melissa but couldn’t hide the smile creeping across his face. “Yeah, thanks.”

He leaned over the bed and brushed a kiss across his wife’s temple. “How are you feeling, babe?”

“Sore. Tired.”

“Close your eyes and rest.” Nate stood and stretched again. “I need to find some coffee. Sarah, care to join me?”

Sarah cast a quick look at her friend only to find her struggling to stay awake. “Sure.” She leaned over the bed and gave Melissa a gentle hug. “Don’t worry. Just focus on getting better.”

Nate grazed his fingers across Melissa’s cheek. “We’re going down to the cafeteria. We’ll be back shortly. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Her voice slurred as she tried but failed to keep her eyes open.

Sarah headed for the door and waited in the hall for Nate. He joined her, dragging his hands through his hair. Dark circles smudged his eyes. Morning stubble darkened his jaw. His wrinkled polo shirt and shorts showed he hadn’t left his wife’s side.

“Long night, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that. The pain meds have kicked in, so Mel’s going to be out for a while. Let’s hit the cafeteria for some coffee and food.”

“As long as you don’t mind being away from her.”

“I do, but I need to check on Little Nate and call Cindy to cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.”

“Nate, is there anything I can do?”

He stabbed the ground floor button on the elevator panel, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts before bracing a shoulder against the wall. “Yes, but I need coffee so I can speak coherently.”

As the elevator made the trip toward the main level, Sarah wondered if she should be concerned about Melissa’s anxiety over the demise of the program. Or was she stressing because she couldn’t help? Hopefully Nate could shed some light on the situation. If they were truly thinking about canceling, maybe she could get him to reconsider. Not just for the community’s sake and for all the kids signed up, but for her sake, as well. She needed the income to hold her over for the summer. Plus, the next three months would help her figure out what she wanted to do with her life.

The scents of breakfast beckoned them toward the hot-foods station, where Nate heaped a plate with eggs and several slices of bacon. Sarah filled two foam cups with coffee. Nate paid for the food, and then they found an empty table toward the back of the hospital cafeteria.

After praying over his food, he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. A few more bites and a couple slurps of coffee later, he wiped his mouth and sat back in his chair. “Now I feel a little more human.”

“You’ve had a rough night.” She stirred creamer into her coffee.

He pushed the rest of the eggs around the paper plate. “Yeah, she had me pretty scared for a while.”

Sarah reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “She’ll be fine, Nate.”

“I know.” Pushing his tray aside, he leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “So you’re getting settled in your new place?”

“Yes, it’s been an...interesting weekend. Met my landlord.” No need to tell Nate about the popcorn...she wanted to convince him to keep the program.

“Alec Seaver’s a good man. He’s been through a lot. Don’t let his gruff get to you.”

Remembering her landlord’s stony glare, she stored that bit of info away. She wanted to ask more but knew Nate wouldn’t spill what wasn’t his to share. One more thing she respected about her pastor.

“Listen, Sarah, I need to talk to you about the summer outreach program.”

Her hands tightened around her cup. “Sure, what’s up?”

“This is such a great opportunity for our church to reach beyond its doors and connect with the kids who don’t attend regularly or at all. You and Mel have done a ton of planning. It’s scheduled to begin next week with Mel teaching the bulk of the cooking portion of the program, right?”

Sarah picked up the plastic stirrer and twisted it into a knot. “Yes, very few people have Melissa’s cooking talents.”

“I wasn’t a fool to marry a woman with mad culinary skills.” A smile tugged at his mouth as he patted his trim stomach.

Sarah laughed. “Very smart move on your part, my friend.”

Nate’s smile disappeared. “I talked with the doctor after Melissa’s surgery. This pregnancy surprised all of us. We’re thrilled, but we’re also concerned because she’s already had two miscarriages since Little Nate was born. The doctor wants to keep her activities limited for the next couple of months to ensure she’ll be out of danger. Mel’s parents and her brother and sister-in-law have already offered to do what’s necessary to help us.”

“It’s always great to have a supportive family.” Sarah’s heart panged a little. Other than Caleb and Zoe, she didn’t really know what that entailed. “What can I do to help?”

“I need to know if you can handle the program by yourself. We still have church members signed up each week as volunteers to lend a hand, so you won’t be all by yourself. Plus, I’ll be in every morning to do the daily devotional like we talked about. Melissa’s stressing out about losing this outreach opportunity. If she knows you’re willing to continue the program without her, then she’ll relax.”

“Yes, Nate, of course. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”

“Great. Because backing out is not really an option.” Nate drained his cup and stood, grabbing the tray. “I appreciate everything you’re doing, Sarah. Like I said when I hired you—if this program is a success, the board wants to make it a full-time opportunity. That way we can help these kids way past summer, even if it’s only for a couple of hours after school. They need to know they matter.”

Sarah followed Nate out of the cafeteria, chewing on his final words. She’d figure out a way to get through the cooking portion of the program, even if it meant reading dozens of cookbooks, viewing YouTube videos or binge-watching the Food Network. It couldn’t be that hard. After all, a bunch of teenagers wouldn’t be expecting Rachael Ray, right?

She couldn’t let her church family down...or the kids involved in the program.

* * *

If only life’s problems could be solved with a pot of soup.

Alec lifted the lid and stirred the heavy cream into the zuppa Toscana bubbling on the stove. He tossed in two large handfuls of chopped kale, gave it another stir and then topped the pot with the lid to let everything simmer for about ten more minutes. The aroma of cooked sausage and fried bacon mingled with the chopped onion and pressed garlic.

Ella Fitzgerald crooned from his docked iPhone on the counter. He hummed along as she sang about someone watching over her.

The timer on his bread maker beeped. After turning the machine off, Alec reached for a pot holder, pulled the bread pan out and turned over the steaming loaf of Italian herb bread onto the metal cooling rack.

The doorbell pealed, sending his shoulders to his ears. He made another mental note to install a different, less intrusive sounding one.

Swallowing a sigh, he dropped the pot holder on the counter and wiped his hands on a dish towel before heading to the door.

He’d left the front door open, allowing the afternoon breeze to sweep in through the screen door. He saw a woman’s silhouette on the porch. Too tall to be his sister. Besides, Chloe would knock once and come in without waiting for an invitation. Or come in through the back door.

The woman turned, and his steps slowed. His new tenant stood on his welcome mat, her arms wrapped around a stack of books, and a wide smile emphasized those incredible cheekbones.

“Can I help you?”

She shifted the books and pulled a hand free to give him a little wave. “Hi, Alec...right?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

“Yeah, well, I checked my mail and found a letter addressed to you in my box.” She pulled an envelope off the stack of books and thrust it at him.

He took it, caught the return address—Shelby Lake County Juvenile Detention Center—and his gut tightened. He shoved it in his back pocket, planning to add it to the rest later. “Thanks for dropping it off.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned away from the door and started across the porch. Before he could close the door, she turned back to him. “You’re probably going to think I’m a nut or something, but I could smell something amazing coming from your place, so I wondered who did your cooking.” Her words tumbled over her lips so quickly and without a breath in between that Alec was thankful she didn’t just pass out from the effort.

“My cooking?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, something smells so great.”

Was she wrangling for an invitation?

“I do my own cooking.”

“You made...” She paused, lifted her nose and inhaled deeply a moment before letting out the pent up breath slowly. A smile spread easily across her face as if it was something she did often. “It smells fantastic. What is it, by the way?”

“Zuppa Toscana and Italian herb bread.”

“Sounds like something you’d get in a restaurant. My friend Melissa is an amazing cook, too.” Sarah shifted the load in her arms again. Alec caught a glimpse of one of the titles and recognized it as a cookbook he had sitting on the shelf next to his fridge. “Would you like a job?”

He scowled “A job? I have a job.”

“Right.” She waved a hand as if dismissing her offer. “I’m sure you do. This isn’t even a regular job. Especially since you wouldn’t get paid.”

“That sounds really appealing.” He folded his arms over his chest and pressed a shoulder against the doorjamb.

She laughed, a sound that stirred a dormant feeling inside him. “Actually it’s a temporary volunteer position. I’m overseeing a new summer outreach program through the youth ministry at my church. We’re helping teenagers learn basic life skills such as cooking, cleaning, budgeting, etcetera. My program partner, who is this amazing chef, had emergency surgery last night, so now she won’t be able to do the cooking portion of the program. And, well, as you saw last night with the popcorn fiasco, I’m not exactly Martha Stewart.”

Did this woman ever breathe between sentences? Another time, he might’ve found her rambling endearing...

He straightened and reached for the stack of books. He turned them over to read the titles on the spines, then curled them into the crook of his arm. “Did Billy put you up to this?”

“Who?” She shot him a questioning look.

“Never mind. So let me see if I’m understanding you correctly... You’re looking for someone to help you teach teenagers to cook?”

She rubbed her hands over the red creases the stack of books had left on her arms. “Yes, actually. Are you interested?”

Placing his free hand in the front pocket of his jeans, he laughed and shook his head. “No. Not in a million years, sister.”

“But—” Her brows knitted together.

“I’m sorry.” He handed the cookbooks back to her. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take some food to my uncle.”

Even though Gran would lecture him on his rudeness, he closed the door and walked back to the kitchen, not waiting to see if his babbling neighbor continued to stand on his front porch.

The last thing in the world he wanted was to hang out with a bunch of teenagers. No, thank you. He wasn’t going down that road again.

He flicked the heat off under the sputtering soup, stirred it a final time and then ladled some into several glass bowls. After packing the single servings into a shallow box along with the bread, Alec carried the food out the back kitchen door and followed the sidewalk trailing behind his house to the garage.

He dropped the food off to Uncle Emmett at the Lakeside Suites and spent forty minutes listening to Emmett grumble about getting kicked out of his home. In an effort to placate him, Alec promised to stop by the house to get a particular book. Having moved into the assisted-living apartment last weekend, Uncle Emmett still insisted he needed certain things from his home, despite the family’s insistence that he downsize.

Alec unlocked the dead bolt and pushed open the front door of the yellow house with white trim and a wraparound porch. The scent of neglect and abandonment permeated the air. Or maybe that was Alec’s guilt eating at him. Maybe he should’ve tried harder to help Emmett stay in his home. But the decision was out of his hands and it wouldn’t have solved the problem—Emmett’s doctor said his uncle’s health required assisted living.

Despite the midafternoon sunshine, darkness shrouded the room. He pushed back the outdated drapes and hefted open the window, hearing the pulley weights thunk, and then stepped back to allow waves of fresh air to filter out the staleness. Sunlight straddled the stacks of magazines and towers of books while dust motes scattered across the heavy maple furniture that had been as much a part of this house as the occupants.

Uncle Emmett and Aunt Elsie had purchased this house over fifty years ago, but after Aunt Elsie’s death, Emmett couldn’t bring himself to make any changes, including canceling her subscriptions to her favorite painting magazines.

With their only child having been born with Down syndrome, Uncle Emmett needed someone to oversee his assets. In case anything happened to him, Emmett had signed the house over to Alec years ago. He’d done so with the promise that Alec would sell it and ensure the money went into Gideon’s special-needs trust so he could continue living at Jacob House, a local residential home for adult men who required special care.

Alec searched the shelves, found the book his uncle had requested, closed the windows and then let himself out of the house, locking the door behind him.

Half an hour later, he parked his car in his garage. With the engine still idling, he pressed his head against the headrest and sighed. A jazzy tune crooned from the satellite radio station, but the upbeat tempo did little to raise Alec’s mood.

An unsettling feeling knotted his stomach. After returning the requested books, he’d had another conversation—more like an argument—with Uncle Emmett about Alec’s desire to get the Dutch Colonial home listed quickly. Getting it on the market by the end of summer needed to be his highest priority, but he couldn’t even think about listing it until the place was cleaned out and repaired. The higher the selling price, the more money for Gideon.

He just didn’t see how he could find the time to get it done. He could talk with Gran and Chloe to see if they’d be able to pitch in, but Gran wouldn’t be able to do the heavy lifting and constant bending at her age. Plus, between teaching piano lessons, running church activities and spending time with her Tea Grannies—a group of older women at her church who made it their mission to play matchmaker to the singles in the community—he couldn’t ask her to help out. His sister had her hands full with her early-learning child care center, especially with her annual state inspection coming up. Maybe he’d have to consider hiring someone, but bringing in an outsider to rummage through his family’s things didn’t really sit well with him.

He’d find someone... He had no choice.

Climbing out of his car, he closed the door, silencing the trumpet sounds from the radio. He glanced at the yellow Beetle parked in the other stall.

Wait a minute...

What if he did agree to teach his neighbor to cook? Would she be willing to help him out in return? But asking her was crazy. He knew nothing about her.

But Gran and Chloe knew her. After learning about the fire-alarm episode, both reassured him Sarah wouldn’t be any trouble. They’d spent the next twenty minutes singing her praises.

He did know her brother, and Caleb was an upstanding guy, not to mention a Shelby Lake police officer.

Maybe asking wouldn’t be so bad. She could always say no.

He took the stairs to Sarah’s apartment two at a time and rapped his knuckles against the door.

Music blared. A crash sounded, then a muffled cry before the door was wrenched open.

His neighbor greeted him with something brown splattered across the front of her shirt.

“Bad time?”

She popped a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “You know, I don’t think there’s ever a good time when you put me in the kitchen. Come in.” Pulling the door open, she moved aside to let him in.

He stepped inside and slid out of the way so she could close the door. “I don’t want to keep you from...whatever it is you’re doing—”

She pushed hair off her face with the back of her wrist and glanced toward the kitchen. “Creating a disaster, apparently.”

“I stopped by with a proposal for you.”

She lowered her head, batted her eyes and fanned herself with her hand. “Why, Mr. Seaver, it’s a bit sudden, don’t you think? We’ve only known each other a few days.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. What a scatterbrain. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all, but he was running out of options. He braced his hand against the door frame. “I need help getting a house ready to list on the market by the end of summer. You need someone to teach you how to cook. What do you say about helping each other out?”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“More than you know.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I don’t have a lot of options right now.” Alec dragged a hand through his hair. “Someone is relying on me. I won’t go back on my word.”

“That makes two of us.” Sarah crossed her arms and tapped her index finger against her chin. Then she flashed a bright smile. “I’ll do it. I’ll help with your house, and you can help my teenagers learn to cook.”

He lifted a hand. “What? No. I said I’d teach you to cook. It’s up to you to pass your skills on to them.”

She shrugged. “But I’d need you in the kitchen with me so I don’t screw things up or set off more smoke alarms. Two hours each afternoon, and I’ll give you the same amount of time each evening with your house.”

More than anything, he wanted to turn around and head back down the stairs, taking his absurd idea with him, but he couldn’t handle having the same argument every time he visited his uncle. “Fine. I’ll give you a few basic lessons, and I’ll be on hand to help you out.”

“Really? Just so there’s no misunderstanding—you’re sure you want to do this?”

Want to? Of course not. But he needed help. “Yes, I’ll be a regular ole Henry Higgins.”

“Who?” She frowned.

“Henry Higgins. You know—the professor from My Fair Lady who taught Eliza Doolittle how to speak properly.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose. “I’m not crazy about old movies.”

“Not old. Classic. Apparently you have more to learn than cooking.”

“When would you like to start?”

He glanced at the stain spreading across her shirt. “The sooner, the better by the look of things.”

Sarah stuck out her hand. “I accept your proposal, Professor Higgins.”

Alec shook her hand.

What had he just agreed to?

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.

Chapter Four

Keep it simple, Sarah.

How many times had Alec repeated that phrase over the past week?

Simple. Right.

She glanced at the clock hanging over the sink. Where was he anyway? He promised to be here an hour ago. She’d tried to stall as long as she could, but the teens were getting antsy.

The group of twenty teenagers, aged thirteen to eighteen, were assembled in the Shelby Lake community center kitchen and were currently swatting each other with dish towels and singing into spatulas as if they were auditioning for The Voice. Daniel Obenhaus and his brother, Toby, stood off to the side, talking to each other while taking in the ruckus created by everyone else.

Sarah pulled in a deep breath and raised her hands in the air. “Hey, everyone, let’s settle down and get back to work. Now it’s time to practice some of what we learned this morning.”

Once she had all eyes watching her, she shot another glance at the clock, murmured a silent prayer and pulled cartons of eggs out of the industrial-sized side-by-side refrigerator. She set them in the middle of the long worktable in the middle of the room, opened a carton and reached for an egg. “This morning we talked about the importance of good nutrition. Eggs are cheap, and they offer protein and nutrients. I’m going to demonstrate how to crack one.” She hit it gently on the edge of the bowl and pried the shell apart. The whites and yolks slid into the stainless-steel bowl without taking even a sliver of shell with it. She smiled and resisted breaking out into a happy dance. At home, she’d even attempted cracking them with one hand the way Alec did and managed not to create too much of a mess.

Scanning the group surrounding three sides of the table, she picked up the whisk, and then she beat the yolk into the white. “This is called beating the egg. We’re adding air into our egg mixture while getting it as smooth as possible. You can use a whisk like I am, or a fork...either one works.”

Fifteen-year-old Amber Jennings, whose dad worked at the Shelby Lake Police Department with Sarah’s brother, Caleb, tossed her blond braid over her shoulder and raised her hand. “Miss Sarah, my mom just like cracks the eggs into the skillet and scrambles them with a spatula. Why do we need to like mess around with bowls and whisks and stuff? Makes more dishes to wash.”

“Amber, your mom’s way is totally fine. And I hear you about having extra dishes to wash. But beating isn’t just for eggs. As we progress throughout the summer, we’ll create other dishes that use this technique, so if you learn how to do it in the beginning, then we can continue to build upon those skills to make more challenging dishes.” Or at least that’s what Alec said when he’d reviewed the lessons with her. Hopefully her words carried more confidence than she felt.

“The only time anything gets beaten in my house is when my old man goes on a bender.” Brushing his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, seventeen-year-old Garrett laughed and elbowed the kid next to him. “Know what I’m saying?”

Despite the kid’s teasing tone, truth sliced through his words. In her career of working with youth, Sarah had seen too many bruises that came with ready excuses. She’d have to keep a watchful eye on this group. These kids weren’t young men and women she’d been associating with on a regular basis through the church’s youth ministry. Most of them didn’t attend church. But she hoped to forge those lasting relationships by the end of the summer and draw them into her youth group.

Having worked with youth in community outreach programs in her former church, Sarah had approached Pastor Nate and Melissa with her idea after Christmas—instead of inviting kids and hoping they would come to church and get involved in the youth program, she suggested the church go to them and offer life skills they could take back to their families. Melissa jumped at the idea immediately. They’d spent months securing grants, preparing the curriculum, rounding up volunteers and spreading the word.

Sarah exchanged a quick look with Mindy, her volunteer for the week, and waited a moment until she captured Garrett’s gaze. She smiled, but the firmness of her voice relayed the promise in her words. “Garrett, the only beatings happening here are the ones with the food.”

His eyes dropped to the toes of his beat-up purple Converse shoes, but then his head jerked up and a smile spread across his face. He shoved a hand in the pocket of his baggy shorts and waved at her with the other. “Aw, Miss Sarah, I was just messin’ with you.”

She reached for another egg and rolled it in her hand. “How about you start messing with this egg and show me some of those smooth skills I know you’ve got?”

Garrett swaggered to the table, amid his friend’s heckling and hooting, trying to act as if he was doing her a favor, but for a second, he looked at her with softened eyes as if to thank her for the reassurance of her words.

She gave him a barely discernible nod and handed him the egg, giving his fingers a slight squeeze in the exchange. She stepped back, giving him a little space, and watched as he broke the egg with one hand and then beat it smooth with practiced strokes.

“Great job, Garrett. This isn’t your first time, is it?”

“Nah, my mom...she works in the kitchen at the Lakeside Lodge. I’ve been cooking since I was a little kid.”

“Great. You’ll be a huge help this summer.” She pointed to the stacks of stainless-steel bowls and a basket of whisks. “Okay, friends, grab your bowls and whisks. Let’s practice beating your eggs.”

The sounds of eggs being cracked against bowls and the scraping of whisks against stainless steel filled the oversize kitchen. Whites splashed across the table and a couple of yolks landed on the floor.

Sarah pressed her back against the counter and tried not to glance at the clock for the third time in ten minutes. Crossing her arms over her chest to tamp down the building frustration at Alec, she gave the teens space to do as directed. “Once your eggs are beaten, I’ll show you how to scramble them.”

Some of the teens were siblings like Daniel and Toby, who lived with their grandma and attended her church. Others were only children. And some like Amber, who had working parents and younger brothers and sisters at home, could benefit from the skills being learned over the summer.

And while they were here, with her, they were safe. If they learned nothing else this summer, they’d know they were loved. And worthy. They mattered. That was one aspect of the program she guaranteed.

A throat clearing behind her caused her to jump. She turned to find Alec standing in the doorway, wearing a red polo shirt with Seaver Realty embroidered on it. With a tight smile on his face, he shoved his hands in his tan trouser pockets.

Instead of jumping down his throat at his lateness, she smiled and schooled her tone. “Hey, glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. Something came up at work.” His gaze darted around the room, his jaw clenching. “How’s it going?”

She waved a hand over the crowd. “We haven’t set off any smoke alarms.”

“Yet.” A slow smile spread across his face as he pointed to the square box above the door. “Good thing, too, because these smoke alarms are tied into the city fire department.”

“Good to know. Anyway, to answer your question—we’re off to a good start.” With Mindy at the table lending the teens a hand, Sarah turned her back to them and lowered her voice. “Your suggestion about beginning with breakfast was a hit.”

“Told you it would be. Teach them the basics and build up from there. Eggs are one of the simplest things to cook...for most people.”

“Hey, I didn’t burn that third batch.” She struggled not to stick out her tongue.

“You’re right. Those had a slightly less charred taste.”

“One of these days I’m going to knock your socks off with my cooking, Mr. Seaver.”

“I may be on Medicare by the time that happens, Ms. Sullivan.” His teasing tone melted away some of her anxiety. She was so afraid he wasn’t going to show, and then she’d have been left to her own devices. That was a disaster in the making.

“You scoff at my abilities now, but you’ll see... I’m a fast learner.” He didn’t need to know she’d been poring over cookbooks and watching cooking shows in her spare time. Or see the amount of burned food she’d thrown away, making her bank account cry. At least she hadn’t set off any more smoke alarms this past week.

She slipped an apron off the hook by the door and tossed it to him. “Now that you’re here, suit up. You can help us with the next step.”

He caught the apron with his left hand, but his mouth tightened and his nostrils flared. His eyes darted around the room. A ragged breath squeezed from his chest. Color drained from his face.

She cocked her head and frowned. “You okay?”

“Hey, Miss Sarah, who’s the dude? Your boyfriend?” Garrett winked and nudged his buddy.

“No, Garrett, he’s my...friend who will be helping us with cooking this summer.” Sarah reached for Alec’s arm and tried to pull him deeper into the kitchen, but he stood his ground. He stiffened and shook off her hand while taking a step back.

Was she jumping to conclusions with that last identifier?

She and Alec were friends, weren’t they? Over the past week of cooking lessons, they’d developed a sort of rapport. His growling lessened in the kitchen, so that was good, right?

“Well, your friend’s about to split.”

Sarah turned to find Alec stalking to the door. “Excuse me a minute, guys.” She left the kitchen and hurried after him. “Alec, wait up. Alec.”

Alec ignored her call, flung the door open and let it slam behind him without even turning around.

What in the world had gotten into him?

She couldn’t exactly chase after him. She had a responsibility to the teens, especially with that same charred-egg smell she’d come to recognize filtering through the air. With a shrug and an eye roll, she sauntered into the kitchen as if she didn’t care about Alec’s actions. But her insides swirled like those beaten eggs. What had caused him to bolt? Was it something she’d said?

* * *

Alec pushed through the community center door and gulped large mouthfuls of air. He grasped the metal railing with a trembling hand and forced his shallow breathing to stabilize. A gust of wind pummeled his face, cooling the sweat on his brow and upper lip.

What was he doing? He must’ve been out of his mind to agree to help Sarah with this program. He couldn’t work with kids. He should’ve just texted her and canceled for today, promising to make it up to her. But, no, Mr. Man-of-his-Word showed up and then hightailed it out of there faster than his sister being chased by a snake.

He was such an idiot.

What kind of guy let a group of teenagers get under his skin? They were a bunch of kids. Harmless, right? He’d thought the same thing about Justin, too.

But that didn’t make it right to walk out on Sarah, especially since she’s been putting in time every day since their agreement at his uncle’s house, making a dent in the mess. She did have great organizational skills. And now he wasn’t living up to his end of the bargain.

He sat on the steps and buried his face in his hands. This day couldn’t end fast enough.

After the housing deal he’d been working on fell through and the irate owners and their screaming toddler caused him to show up late at the community center, he knew he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to spend the next two hours in the kitchen.

Apparently Sarah had everything under control anyway. No smoke alarms had gone off, and the kitchen still appeared intact. She didn’t need him. And he didn’t need to spend the next hour calming down from the panic attack that threatened to squeeze the breath from his chest. Yet here he was.

Behind him, the community center door opened.

“Alec.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Sarah standing a few steps behind him, then dropped his gaze to focus on the intricate pattern stamped into the concrete steps.

He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and he was sure she was ready to blast him about walking out on her.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He pushed out a ragged breath.

“Was it something I said? Or did?”

He hated the hesitancy in her voice...and knowing he was the cause of it.

“No, it’s nothing you did. I just...” How could he explain himself to her when even he wasn’t quite sure what had him running for the door? What else could he say? A bunch of teenagers turned him into a first-class wuss? Grown men shouldn’t be having panic attacks.

Alec fixated on a daisy growing in the crack in the sidewalk. Despite the hard circumstances and daily foot traffic, the flower thrived in the sunshine. It reminded him of Sarah. She deserved some sort of explanation.

“Four years ago, I worked for the fire department. We volunteered in our off-hours as mentors to at-risk kids in the community.”

“That’s a noble thing to do.”

“No more than what you’re doing.” And he meant it. Anyone who could do her job deserved a prize.

“What happened?” She sat on the step next to him, close enough for him to smell her shampoo. The edge of her pink skirt brushed the tops of her knees.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. Why had he begun this conversation?

“Mindy’s in there. Plus, Pastor Nate walked over from the church and they’re holding down the fort for a few minutes.”

Great. He hadn’t seen the volunteers in the kitchen. Someone else to witness his freak-out.

“What happened with the program?” The soft, questioning tone of her voice frayed the already ragged edges of his nerves.

He shrugged. “Nothing. As far as I know, they’re still doing it.”

“What changed, then?”

“A kid named Justin. His dad was an alcoholic—a mean drunk at that. Justin and I bonded over music, and I was teaching him how to play guitar. Things seemed to be going well until he came to me with a black eye. I had to report it.”

“Of course. His safety was your first priority.”

“One would think. Somehow he found out I gave the anonymous tip about the same time his mom, desperate to escape her abusive husband, set their house on fire while Justin’s dad was passed out inside.”

“Oh, no!”

“We arrived on the scene in time to put the fire out. Justin’s dad ended up in the ICU, and his mom was arrested. Justin blamed me. I tried to get him to calm down and promised him everything would be okay. Biggest mistake of my life.” Alec rubbed a finger and thumb over his eyes. “He and his brother were put in emergency foster care. He promised I’d pay for destroying his family.”

“What happened?”

“We were on scene at another incident when a call came in for a residential fire. 731 Meadowbrook Drive.”

“You remember the address?”

“Yes. I’ll never forget it. It was my house.” He struggled to breathe, the memory still as fresh as when it happened four years ago. “Where I lived with my pregnant wife of almost two years.”

Sarah sucked in a sharp breath.

“The fire consumed our house quickly. I tried to save her.” Unbidden tears pricked his eyes. “The fire. It was too hot. I did everything I could. But...” His chest tightened. “I lost everything that night because I got involved in a troubled kid’s life, hoping to make a difference. I can’t afford to make the same mistake twice.”

Sarah stood, her expression torn. “Alec, I had no idea. Why did you even agree to working with me?”

“I don’t know. I needed help with Emmett’s house. If I did this for you, then I could use your assistance without feeling guilty about it. Plus...” He shrugged. “I thought maybe enough time had passed to where I could handle it again. When I walked into that kitchen...”

“It came rushing back?”

“Something like that.”

“Have you talked to anyone?”

“Like who? About what?”

“Like someone who specializes in PTSD.”

“You think I have post-traumatic stress disorder?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. Panic attacks. Lack of sleep. A couple of common signs.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, then, if you’re fine, let’s head back inside.”

Alec hesitated. He was fine. Other than the nightmares that jerked him away from time to time, and the scent of smoke that made him want to crawl out of his skin, he was golden.

But to go back inside?

The group assembled in the kitchen, focused on breaking eggs, looked like a bunch of regular kids, not disturbed pyromaniacs out for revenge. But how could Sarah look at them and see promise? All he saw was potential destruction. Was there really any hope in helping them?

Justin could’ve been any one of those kids. He’d shown promise, needing someone to believe in him. Someone to help him see he could do great things. Alec had tried, and it cost him everything.

How could he risk that again?

But then again, he had nothing left to lose.

A slight throat clearing jerked him out of his thoughts. He blinked a couple of times and caught Sarah’s pointed look and raised eyebrow. She stood over him and extended a hand to help him to stand.

If only it were that simple.

Something Billy, his brother-in-law, had asked prodded at his brain... Would Christy want to see him living this way?

He was left with one giant choice—face his fears or let a bunch of kids send him running for the door. Neither option sounded appealing, but he couldn’t continue down the path he’d been walking.

He put his hand in Sarah’s and forced his legs to move. Steeling his spine and squaring his shoulders, he spoke with more bravado than he felt. “Let’s do this.”

Hopefully history wouldn’t repeat itself.

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