Taking a Chance Page 10

  She took a deep breath, sitting back in her chair. “She was from Ireland. Catholic to the core. No meat on Fridays, you gave up something important for Lent, and birth control was for Protestants.”

  Jasper laughed. “Oh, boy.”

  “She had ten children, eight of whom made it to America with her. The other two are buried in tiny graves somewhere in her hometown. My dad was the oldest, and his dad was a force. Success was not optional. It was required. Dad was the first of his family to go to college, and he was determined to make his parents proud. And us, I suppose.”

  “Did he?”

  “He…did.” Emma felt the corners of her mouth head downward as she pictured all of the nights Mom would plastic-wrap his dinner and put it back in the fridge…all of the birthdays when he called from somewhere that wasn’t home…all of the days and weeks that sometimes had gone by between sightings of him.

  “I’m guessing there was a cost?”

  “There was definitely a cost. But he was a hard worker, and he was proud of his success. He only wanted the best for us.”

  “Naturally.”

  Jasper said the word innocently enough, but there was an undertone of tension that made Emma snap her eyes to his.

  “It was—fine. Truly. My mother was a powerhouse family manager. We wanted for nothing, and she ran a tight ship. It was all good.”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  She studied him for a moment. “What were your parents like when you were a kid?”

  “Boringly fantastic.”

  “Really?” She smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone describe his own family like that.”

  He shrugged. “We lived the Norman Rockwell life. Little house in a little town with a little family. Christmas tree in the living room, stockings on the fireplace, Jell-O salad in the fridge.”

  “Wow. You look really great for someone born in the seventies.”

  “Very funny. And the salad was only for special occasions.”

  She laughed. “I have never had a Jell-O salad. Now I feel deprived.”

  “I’m sure we could get Horace to whip some up for you. If there’s one thing we have a lot of in that kitchen, it’s gelatin.”

  “Hard to believe this soup came from the same kitchen as Horace’s creations.”

  Just then, he jumped, just like he had last Friday night at the café table. He swore silently as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  “Still not used to that alarm?”

  “Unfortunately, I have to get going.” He looked apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sure. Of course.” She started to slide off the bench. “Thanks so much for the soup. You’re totally hired if you want to convince Horace into early retirement—just saying.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She stood up and stacked her bowl inside his, then picked them both up. “I have a lot of work to get done tonight still, anyway, so I should get back into the office.”

  As she turned to go, she felt his hand on her arm—gentle but firm. “If I said I might have a better offer, would you be interested?”

  “I’m not going out to Whisper Creek to meet the cowboys. Don’t even suggest it.”

  He smiled. “Wasn’t going to. I was actually thinking about inviting you to come with me.”

  “Um…”

  He chuckled. “For a long drive to a deep, dark wood. Obviously.”

  “I assumed as much.” She felt her cheeks flush.

  “Promise it’s an innocent invitation. It involves kittens.”

  She laughed. “Oh, that’s so much better, yes.”

  “Yeah, I suppose that came out wrong.” He laughed, too. “But seriously, I’m fostering kittens for my friends Daniel and Hayley. They’re vets, and someone dropped a litter on their porch a week ago. They need to be fed every three or four hours, and since—as you so kindly pointed out earlier—I have my own business and make my own schedule, they asked if I might be able to take them for a few weeks.”

  “Kittens.” She smiled. “You have—kittens.”

  “If you make a comment right now about living in my mother’s basement or something, I—”

  “Wasn’t going to.” She put up her hands. “Promise.”

  “So? What do you think? Can you put aside paperwork for a couple of hours in order to feed poor, starving, abandoned kittens?”

  She laughed. “You’re a piece of work, Jasper.”

  “Thank you.” He took the bowls from her hand. “I’ll take these back to the kitchen while you go close up your office and get your stuff.”

  “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “Kittens, Emma. Cute, fluffy, mewy little things that only want love. And formula.”

  He made what must have seemed like a desperate-kitten face, and in that moment, she lost all sense of reason. Any man who could cook a soup she’d donate an arm for, make her laugh as much as she’d done in the past half-hour, and fostered kittens for his veterinarian friends couldn’t be a serial killer, right? So leaving with him wasn’t a monumentally moronic idea, even though she barely knew him?

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Just let me grab some things. I’d love to see the kittens.”

  “Excellent.” He smiled broadly, and it hit her between the ribs.

  Every freaking thing about this man was hitting her in weird places.

  Back in her office, she pulled out her phone. She might be stupidly enamored of Jasper in this insane moment, but she wasn’t completely stupid.

  “Hola, chica!” Ari’s chipper voice came across the airwaves, giving Emma a sudden stab of homesickness. “Two weeks down! Please tell me you’re not sitting in your hotel room doing nothing on a Friday night.”

  “I’m not.”

  “If you’re still in the office, that’s not acceptable, either.”

  “Well, I am still in the office, but I’m leaving, if that gives me any points.”

  Ari laughed. “Only if you’re going somewhere besides back to the hotel room.”

  “Actually, a stranger has invited me back to his place to help feed his kittens.”

  There was a long, studied pause, and Emma could practically hear Ari’s wheels turning as she waited for a response.

  Finally, Ari laughed. “Good one.”

  “It’s true, actually. But I know his name, so it’s totally legit.”

  “Awesome. It took you only two weeks with dementia patients to lose your own mind?”

  Emma laughed. “I’m actually calling you because I am going to someone’s house, and he did lure me there with kittens, but I thought it might be a good idea for someone to know where I’m going in case I disappear and never come back.”

  “Um, Emma? Who is this guy? And how is the kittens part not sending you running?”

  “He’s the one I told you about—Jasper. His dad lives here at Shady Acres.”

  “And does he have references? I mean, not that there’s anything necessarily creepy about a single guy in his thirties who has—you know—kittens that he uses to lure women to his house.”

  “I know how it sounds.”

  “That’s good, because if you didn’t, I’d worry.”

  “He’s really nice, Ari. Promise. He just made me soup, actually.”

  “Soup and kittens. Marry him.”

  Em laughed again. “Shut up. It was really good soup.”

  “Why is this man making you soup? Are you sick?”

  “No. He’s just nice.”

  “You mentioned that part.” Ari paused again. “Hey, Emma?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re working pretty hard at not saying a whole lot of anything useful here. Just saying.”

  “I’m not really working at it. I just had this weird urge to make sure I don’t go off alone with him, without anyone knowing where I went. And I know you can do absolutely nothing from Florida, but…well, I don’t have anybody else to call. So, you win. Don’t you feel special?”

  “
Absolutely. So give me his name, number, and measurements, and you can be on your way.”

  “All I have is his name.”

  “You sure it’s his real one?”

  “Funny. Yes.”

  “Okay. Just answer me one question.”

  “One.”

  “Is he hot?”

  “Deathly.”

  Ari laughed. “You didn’t even think about it.”

  “Didn’t have to. He’s ridiculously hot. So hot that his single status makes me suspicious that he bats for the other team. Except I don’t think that’s possible.” Emma took a deep breath. “No, it’s definitely not possible.”

  “Okay, second question.”

  “You said one question.”

  “True, but your answer to that one leads me to require another one.”

  “Ari? He’s waiting in the hallway.”

  “I’ll keep it quick. Would you consider dating him? If the opportunity presented itself?”

  Emma sighed. “By all reports, the real director’s surgery went well, and there’s a good chance she’ll be back sooner than the original twelve-week mark. It would be insane to even think about dating out here.”

  “Completely. So have a terrible time, okay? Don’t even think about doing anything like kissing him.”

  “I’m not. I wouldn’t. Not a chance.”

  “Mm-hm.” Ari laughed. “Full report in the morning, girl. And Em?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do something worth reporting, would you?”

  Chapter 12

  “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.” Jasper unlocked the front door of Java Beans Café and stood back to let Emma walk in before him. As she passed, he tried not to inhale. The last thing he needed was to be caught trying to catch a whiff of her shampoo.

  She turned around once he’d closed the door. “You know, I’ve heard of being married to your job, but living at your job takes it to a whole new level.”

  “Says the woman who has barely left her office at Shady Acres for two weeks.”

  “It’s a nice office.”

  “It is not a nice office. The mountains of paperwork are likely to swallow you if you stay in there too long.”

  “Fine.” Emma looked around, and Jasper found himself half-holding his breath, wondering what she thought of the place. “This is a much nicer office. Plus, it smells better than mine. Coffee beats antiseptic any day of the week.”

  “Would you like some?”

  “Are you kidding? You bring me into the legendary Java Beans Café and expect that I won’t want coffee?”

  He smiled as he walked around the counter. “Legendary. I like it.”

  “I believe that was your word, not necessarily mine.”

  “You still haven’t tasted my beans in their prime location, which is here. They lose their java juju when they leave the shop.”

  Emma laughed, and the sound of it made him want to amuse her again—over and over, so he could listen to the sound.

  He pulled a mix of beans from containers and put them in the grinder as she slid onto a barstool. “I’ll convert you, too, even though you’re an East Coast girl.”

  “Now would be a bad time to admit I prefer tea, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Coffee it is.” She looked above his head at the huge chalkboard the former owner had left, then laughed again. “What is with the menu, Jasper?”

  He looked behind him like he didn’t already know what it said. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s a little—snippy, maybe?”

  “It’s clear. I strive for clear.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely clear.” She started reading the three lines scribbled in his best green chalk. “ ‘No grandes. No lattes. No triple-anythings. We have coffee. Large. And it’s amazing.’ ”

  “See? I ordered coffee in the city for years. It’s stressful. Here? Not stressful. You come in, you tell me how many, I give you the brew I think you’ll like best, and off you go to start your day.”

  “You don’t even let your customers pick their own brews?”

  “Nope.”

  “And they come back?” Her eyebrows went upward, but she was still smiling.

  “Every day, most of them. Because I know them, and I know what they like, and they know I’m right.” He shrugged. “That’s just how it is.”

  “Okay, then.” She put her elbows on the bar. “What are you brewing me?”

  “Magic.”

  She laughed. “I’d guess no less. But what is it, really? What beans are you using?”

  “Can’t tell. Java juju secrets.”

  “Of course. I shall respect the juju.” She peered toward the swinging door to his back rooms. “So where are the kittens?”

  “Back there.” He hooked a thumb toward the back, where he’d outfitted a rec room fit for a family of ten. And, lately, a laundry basket full of itty-bitty kittens.

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded like she was considering something. “Is now a good time to tell you that I called my best friend before we left Shady Acres, and I gave your full name, number, and contact details in case you’re actually a serial killer in disguise, luring me with the promise of cute kittens?”

  He stopped in the process of filtering the water, looking over his shoulder at her. Was she—could she actually be—nervous? Around him?

  “Good to know. And that was smart.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m practically a stranger, right?” He shrugged. “I mean, you’ve been here for two weeks, and all you know about me is—well, probably not much yet. I’m glad you let somebody know where you are.”

  “Seriously? It doesn’t make you feel—I don’t know—like I have trust issues? Or that you exude some sort of serial-killer vibe?”

  He laughed. “If I exude that vibe, then I’ve got problems I didn’t even know about. And if you have trust issues, I imagine you’ve got reasons. Either way, I’m not remotely insulted that you called someone.”

  He poured coffee into two large mugs. “Cream?”

  “Black, please.”

  “Atta girl. You may stay.” He lifted his mug. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” She smiled, and her eyes held his for a beat longer than she probably meant for them to, given the way she blinked and looked away after a few seconds.

  “Want to see the kittens?”

  “Yes.” She practically jumped off her stool. “Yes, please.”

  He grabbed the bottles he’d made up earlier, then led the way to the back room, which he’d painted a deep, buttery yellow after he’d refinished the wooden floors to a high sheen. He’d outfitted it with three huge leather couches, a Native American patterned rug he’d fallen in love with, and a large-screen television that hid behind a cabinet on the wall.

  “Wow.” She stopped just inside the doorway. “Do you let your customers come back here? Because I have a feeling they’d never leave if you did.”

  “Nope. This is a friends-only spot.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Thank you. It’s sort of become the ad-hoc gathering spot for the Super Bowl and the NBA finals and all of those testosterone-filled events that require chips and beer and a lot of yelling.”

  “Sounds—charming.”

  “It’s not. Not at all. But it’s fun. Kind of like an old-fashioned men’s club, without the sexism.” He cringed. “Or it was, until the ladies of Whisper Creek talked me into letting them have a Jammie-Grammy party last year.”

  “What is that?”

  “I’m not even sure. A lot of chocolate was involved, and way too much mooning over musicians who—I gotta say—couldn’t even sing. But I think the point was more about having a girls’ night in their pajamas while their men held down their respective forts.”

  “I think I need to meet these Whisper Creek women.”

  “I’ll take you out there anytime.”

  His offe
r was in the airspace between them before he had time to think about whether he should even put it out there, and he wasn’t sure what her reaction would be.

  He was sure that he actually cared what it was, and that was a revelation that didn’t sit too well in his gut.

  “If you want, I mean,” he backpedaled. “You really do have to see the place.”

  “My friend Ari will kill me if I don’t get out there and send her pictures before I leave, so I might have to take you up on it.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Yeah, he’d leave it there. She hadn’t said no, right? So that was almost a yes. Sort of.

  “Oh!” She squeaked as she spotted the laundry basket in the corner. “Is that them?”

  She headed for the basket, kneeling beside it when she got there. He watched as she tentatively reached toward the little fluff-balls, like she was afraid to touch them. He had a heat lamp over the basket and hot water bottles in blankets so they could keep warm, and so far, they were doing okay. All of them had survived the first two weeks, and every single one of them was growing.

  He was probably inordinately proud of that fact, but he guessed in some sort of misplaced sense, he had a right to be.

  “Go ahead and pick one up.”

  “You first. I don’t want to break them.”

  “They’re less breakable than they look.” He scooped one, who mewed quietly at the disturbance before nosing around for the bottle she knew was waiting. “Try the black-and-white one—he’s the biggest.”

  She reached in tentatively, putting both hands under the kitten and drawing it out of the basket and to her chest.

  “Oh-h.” She made a sad face as the kitten mewed plaintively. “Shh. It’s okay. Dinner’s coming. Shh.”

  “Here’s a bottle. He won’t be quiet until he has it firmly in his mouth, believe me.”

  She took the bottle and positioned it so the kitten could drink, which he did, frantically at first. After about ten gulps, though, he calmed down and started purring, and Emma’s face melted.

  “Do you hear that?” she whispered. “He’s purring!”

  “Yup. I think he likes you.”

  “Ha. He likes his food.”