Serving Up a Sweetheart Read online

  “Am, but can’t sleep. Have to be ready.” Her shoulders and eyelids drooped.

  “I only have two things left on the last list and that’s because I wasn’t sure how to go about them.” He’d never seen so many serving dishes and cutlery in all of creation.

  Her neck craned. “You finished all but two things? You’re a keeper.” She smiled so brightly and her words planted such a vivid seed, he almost ran off the road.

  “You’re really pretty, but exceptionally so when you do that.”

  “What?”

  “Smile.” He loved being on the receiving end. Maybe they could build a close friendship after all. It took a mile for Meadow’s blush to tame. The rush of red that graced her face reminded him of the showy roses in his mom’s yard. His grin faded on the fleeting memory that she’d nurtured her flowers but never her family.

  Once at the barn, Meadow guided them through everything else that could be done ahead of time. Under his outdoor lights as darkness fell, they loaded covered buffet servers, hot and cold drink dispensers, serving bowls, beverage bins, and gobs of catering gadgetry Colin couldn’t identify. He’d been able to finish the wagon wheel display, and they loaded that into his truck since Del’s vehicle was unavailable.

  He carted Meadow’s countertop convection oven while she hefted her portable microwave. Midway, she yelled, “Race ya!” then sped ahead. He met her mirthful challenge. Somehow she had rallied from her earlier fatigue.

  By the time they reached her SUV, they were laughing hysterically and about to drop the heavy items. Just being in her presence was fun, laughing alongside her a joy. He never realized she was so funny. He severely regretted not taking time to get to know her in high school. His loss. He’d caved to selfishness and peer pressure—big-time regrets.

  Peace settled between them while they loaded pan carriers, chafers, trays, condiment holders, table numbers, signs, and nonperishable food.

  She playfully pinched tongs at him and said, “En garde!”

  Colin armed himself with his own set and countered, “Prêt!” He grinned at her obvious delight that he knew the French word for ready. He was trying to remember the word for go when a spark lit her eyes.

  “Allez!” she commanded, then lunged, making playful contact with his sleeve.

  He tamped his foot several paces forward, forcing her to scramble back. Then she blocked, advanced, and—most surprising of all—giggled like a carefree little girl.

  After fencing themselves into fits of laughter, they continued gathering a plethora of other catering stuff and serving ware. It was well after 1:00 a.m. when they wrapped up. Rather than feeling exhausted, he felt exhilarated.

  “Thanks, Colin. You made a stressful prep a delight rather than a duty.”

  “My pleasure.” He fought OCD-fueled urges to sweep unruly bangs from her eyes.

  She pressed fingers to her temples, something he’d come to realize she did when majorly stressed—and just when he thought she’d relaxed. She let him walk her to the pole barn and up its porch steps. “Thanks, Colin, for letting me stay here. It’s cozy.”

  “My pleasure. I like having you close.”

  Her eyes softened at that. He wanted to stay and chat with her, but it was cold and late; the next day would be filled with catering challenges, and he didn’t want to push down too many walls at once.

  Soothing forest scents, stars, and night sounds greeted them, which added an ambience of romance to the air. He tried to ignore it, but his will vaporized the instant she tilted her face up and peered shyly through her lashes. He’d already turned off the outdoor lights except for one, one that allowed him to see every facet of her lovely face.

  “See you tomorrow?”

  “Are you sure after lunch is soon enough for me to get there?” He drank her in as she nodded. Wanted desperately to fix the haunted look that never really ever left her eyes. How much of it had been etched there by him? Swallowing hard, he did the exact opposite thing he wanted: said good night and stepped off the porch to head to his house.

  “Colin?”

  Thinking she’d forgotten something, he turned his head. Conflicting emotions swirled in her face. He swiveled fully, showing her he’d listen if she was ready. She scanned his eyes before brushing the ground with hers. “Thanks. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “No need to.”

  She nodded and recaptured his gaze. He loved staring into her eyes so much; he walked backward all the way to his door since he’d memorized the path. Grateful the barn was right next to his house and that his house porch light was still on so she could see him, he waved playfully once there and, okay yeah, in a flirty way.

  Surprisingly, she didn’t recoil, scorn, or scoff. Rather, he saw a tremendous smile on her face that surely eased tension from her eyes and lifted her shoulders from the burdening weight of Del’s emergency surgery.

  “Tomorrow,” he called softly as a promise. Not even sure yet for what.

  “Tomorrow.” She met his pledge with a grin he could swear was part miracle, part maniacal. Probably thinking humorously of him and the bumbling mess he’d be in his fledgling attempt as her assistant cooking host in an actual high-risk catering event.

  Peeling apples was one thing. Pulling off chef-level meals and service entirely another. It hit Colin full force what he’d actually agreed to do for her.

  Lord, help me not drop an entrée pan or something equally disastrous. He really was a complete spaz in the kitchen. Of course, Meadow already knew that and had let him help her today anyway. Did that mean it was possible to earn her trust after all?

  Lord, order our day. Don’t let me ruin Meadow’s catering reputation.

  He thought about his inability to stop thinking about her or curb enjoyment of her presence. He was making strides earning her forgiveness, but after seeing her strength today and interacting with her tonight, Colin was tempted to want more.

  Much more.

  It was either the stupidest or the bravest struggle he’d ever owned.

  He courageously added to his mental Meadow Agenda: Earn her admiration and build a friendship forged in forgiveness.

  Once inside, he peeled his curtain back to make sure she made it safely inside. Hand pressing the window reflecting her entry into the haven of his barn’s doorway, he prayed.

  “You’re all about renovation, Lord. Redeem the mistakes of my past and let your will prevail between us in whatever fashion pleases you.”

  “It’s green.”

  Christopher, one of the teen helpers, pointed at the blob simmering in a stockpot the next afternoon. Colin grinned at him and winked at Meadow. She felt laughter bubble at Christopher’s innocent observation. Joy also rose that Colin had quickly bonded with her waitstaff teens, Chris, Aimee, Abbi, and Aurora. Clearly, they adored him.

  Despite her and Colin’s late-night scramble to get everything done, a feat she never would’ve accomplished without him, Meadow wasn’t tired today. Not even after dreaming restlessly of him all night and while enduring the teen girls’ matchmaking efforts ever since he’d arrived. She was glad, though, that they’d had only a half day of school that morning.

  Aurora sidled next to Colin and said conspiratorially, “Mr. McGrath, did she admit how much fun she had prepping and loading supplies with you yesterday?”

  Colin’s eyes held delight and mirth as he faced Meadow. “Why no, she didn’t.”

  Abbi joined the teasing by adding, “Yeah, before you got here she said you make even mundane tasks adventurous.”

  Chris said, “Ladies, give it a rest. Seriously, why is the chili all green and stuff?”

  “It’s supposed to be that color,” Aimee informed him. “Meadow used authentic Hatch chiles from the bride’s New Mexico family homestead.”

  Aurora attached herself to Meadow, as usual when she was preparing something new. She was a sponge for learning. “The bride met the groom at a rodeo there.”

  Meadow helped Aurora measure ingredients
for Spanish flan. “She’s a Hispanic New Mexico native, he’s a former Texas rodeo cowboy, hence their Tex-Mex wedding theme.”

  Colin nodded. “Nice.”

  Nice was the graceful symphony of sinew and strength evident in his arms as he hand-shredded a block of cheddar cheese. Took tremendous effort to peel her eyes away.

  “Plus, they rescue Andalusian horses. That mission’s how they met.”

  “Awesome. I’d love to hear more stories about how your engaged clients met, Meadow.”

  The earnestness that had entered Colin’s eyes made her sad his engagement hadn’t worked out. That she’d begun to have his best interest at heart made her wonder when he’d seeped under her walls. There were a billion women out there. Surely if she could turn his attention to one, the teens would stop teasing them. “Colin, I’m surprised you’re not dating.”

  She’d know if he was. Between Flora and Del, they seemed to have found out just about everything there was to know about Colin since he’d come back. Still . . . “I hope our deal isn’t impeding your social life.”

  His expression deadpanned. “I’m spending time exactly where I want to.”

  Gulp. “Out of guilt? Because I’d hate to be the cause of your lack of a love life.”

  “My lack—?” His head whipped up so fast he bashed it on a cabinet, then laughed. “Spending time with you”—he gestured to the organized mess around them—“and all this chaos is an honor.”

  “Aw. What a guy!” Abbi breathed, to which Aurora sighed and Aimee grinned. Chris rolled his eyes, clearly in solidarity with Colin.

  Meadow absolutely flustered herself by realizing she no longer had any idea which side she stood on. Nevertheless, she busied herself mostly to hide how his words thrummed delight through her. “Is chaos why you’re compelled to go behind me straightening utensils, arranging pots in order of size, and lining every celery stalk to microscopic degrees on trays? Yes, I noticed.”

  He blushed. “I’m compulsive like that. But not impulsive.” He peered from where he pulled taco shells from the oven and fixed her intently with his gaze. “Regarding your dating question, maybe I haven’t convinced the right one yet.”

  Her pulse sped, then plummeted. He hadn’t said “found.” He’d said “convinced.”

  Which meant he had someone in mind. She couldn’t deny disappointment at that. And she hoped it wasn’t Blythe Matthews.

  “Green chili looks kinda gross, but it’s actually very tasty,” she said to change the subject.

  Chris and Colin eyed the bubbling poblanos, onions, lean ground beef, garlic, flour-thickened sauce, and flame-roasted tomatoes with skepticism.

  “If you say so,” they responded at the exact same time, then laughed.

  She dipped a clean spoon into the pot and drew out a spicy bite. Chris stepped back, but Colin leaned and sipped it off, suspicious expression still intact. A moment later he lolled his head back and moaned. “Amazing. Seriously.”

  Chris leaned in and gave the chili a second look, eyed Colin, then tried it. “Sick!”

  Meadow scowled until the girls translated, “Sick means good nowadays.”

  “Save us a couple of bowls of that, would ya?” Colin said to Meadow.

  “Glad to. I always make extra for my veteran buddies.” She recalled his pleasure at discovering she hadn’t forgotten his wounded friends, that she hadn’t waited to fulfill that part of their bargain. He’d thanked her profusely and offered to deliver meals she cooked. That it meant so much to Colin touched her.

  “I’m gonna gain ten pounds a year if you keep feeding me like this.”

  His statement seasoned her confidence but also stunned because his phrasing made it sound like he thought they’d be in one another’s lives for the long haul.

  He’d made similar statements all week. Was he trying to hint at something? Fish for feelings? She couldn’t manage to bring it—or her hopes—up. She wasn’t that brave. Yet. Every day around Colin grew her courage.

  Except he’d said he hadn’t convinced the right one yet.

  A thought materialized that he could’ve meant her. Impossible, right?

  That would almost be tragic. Their past and her inability to let go of it was too big a barrier between them. Plus, he’d made clear his aversion to romance in light of his last relationship. Yet sometimes it seemed he liked and treated her as more than a friend.

  Should she step over fear and into faith that God may have goodness cooking for her? She’d avoided getting serious with anyone because she’d been career building and waiting for the right guy.

  Is this you? Dare I hope, Lord?

  Her mind swayed in constant contrast, not knowing which image to grasp. Was Colin really the man he portrayed standing here? Or was he the heartbreaker she remembered from yesteryear?

  The teens had been working since shortly after noon and, thanks to Colin, Meadow felt on top of things enough to excuse them until they had to be at the rehearsal dinner venue, dressed in uniform.

  After the teens left, Colin gestured to loaf pans. “We stuff chili in the soapy things?” Yeast scents permeated the air, mingled with hearty cheese, meat, and Mexican spices.

  Mouth watering, Meadow giggled. “Not soap. Sopapillas. It’s like Native American fry bread, and we’re going to make it from scratch.”

  “We?”

  “Since I don’t have a mouse in my pocket, yes.”

  “Gimme a miter saw—I’m in my element. Gimme an oven mitt—I’m a misfit.”

  She’d started giggling, but his last word killed it. She tried to shake it off.

  He was beside her in a heartbeat. “Hey, what’d I say that upset you?”

  She sprinkled wax paper with flour. “It’s stupid, really. Just that Blythe called me Little Miss Misfit all through school.”

  “And my saying the word misfit induced bad memories you’d forgotten.”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him lowering the bread basket he’d been holding before he curled his hand over her shoulder. “It is a big deal.”

  His words froze her frame but thawed her heart. He drew close. So close. His gentle breath ruffled hairs on her neck.

  “Words wound worse than bullets or blades. But you’ll ultimately be okay.” His voice resonated deep. To barren places she’d thought too fragile, too far out of reach. Yet he managed to get there, to seep words in like water through a microscopic breach, wicking through her window frame, reversing the drought that had become her soul. A tiny bead, then a trickle, then a flood. Tears. Now.

  Silent, she let them flow.

  Courageously not blinking the moisture away this time, she hoped like crazy what he said was true, right, and maybe even could be a promise from God. That knowledge alone would make her—and everything—okay.

  “God himself will make you okay,” he repeated with penetrating conviction.

  That made it sound like the promise from God she’d hoped for. Dare she believe?

  “What makes you say that?” she whispered, tattered soul truly needing to know.

  “Because I know it’s true, I know it’s for you, and I know you need to hear it.”

  “I hope you’re right, Colin, because I feel far from okay,” she whispered with such frailty from a raw-honest place, unsure he’d even hear or if she was ready for him to. “This is embarrassing. I haven’t cried since high school.” Her famed walk of shame, actually.

  “It’s time then.” She turned her head to look at him. He smiled, appearing to want to encourage her. “What triggered your tears?”

  “The frustrating fact that I still feel like I have ‘loser’ tattooed on my soul.”

  His gorgeous emerald greens tracked every tear as though sacred jewels slipped down her cheeks. The strength of his hand multiplied into her shoulder as care magnified in his Irish eyes. “Feelings can lie to us.”

  Could be good or bad, Meadow decided. Especially since
she was having unsettling feelings of warmth beyond friendship, care for Colin that was scary.

  “Just because someone calls you a name, doesn’t make it true. How much enchilada sauce did you say?”

  She smiled at the drastic change in subject, dabbed at her face with a towel, and brought the can over. “Just enough to cover the pan bottom.”

  He drizzled sauce while she observed the crimson pouring. She envisioned heart-red streams of forgiving oil drenching down an ancient Israel cross.

  Thank you, King Jesus, for dying for me. Meadow pictured nail-pierced hands plunging through dirt, like she’d shoved fists into the snowman for her shoe. Images hit of those strong, scarred hands deep underground, closing deftly around a root. She thought of Colin’s hand coming out of that snowman with her shoe and realized the symbolism.

  God sent him to encourage her. Lord, I release Colin from any wrongdoing, and I reject this bitterness. Please pull it out of me, root and all.

  “Let me guess, tortillas next?”

  Colin’s question drew her from the prayer, but she departed it in peace. Something felt different inside. Either the green chili was working up an inner warmth or hope had a safe place inside her to lay its head for the first time in ten years.

  “Yep. Two deep, like this.” Together they layered corn tortillas over the enchilada sauce, then added hamburger meat cooked with onions and garlic, then cheese.

  Colin spread her clumped cheese to the edges, making her smile. “Sorry. OCD.”

  She grinned. “Not complaining. My enchilada pie never looked so good.”

  They started adding the next layers.

  “We add tomatoes and lettuce after baking?”

  She nodded, not complaining one bit when their hands brushed and mingled in the process. Maybe their hearts a little too?

  He peered down at her. “It layers like lasagna.”

  She smiled. “Exactly. You’re a fast learner.”

  “On some things.”

  His remorseful tone elicited compassion and an urge to comfort. She changed the subject instead.

  “Del’s improving.”

  He nodded. “She told me about her abusive ex.”