A November Bride (7 page)

“They do?”

“Yes—so they don’t float away from one another. Isn’t that adorable?”

Several younger children pressed forward to watch the animals, pushing and shoving one another to get the best
spot, causing Sadie to ease to the right side of the tank. She never took her eyes off the trio of otters sliding through the water, swimming around the blue bucket filled with a chunk of fish-laden ice.

Five minutes later, she turned to share a laugh with Erik. Where was he? She slipped through the crowd, rounding the corner of the exhibit to find him talking with a college-aged girl overseeing the display of faux barrels overflowing with stuffed otters.

“The real ones are much more fun to watch,” Sadie said, walking up behind him.

“Yes, but you can’t take one home with you.” Erik held up a medium-sized brown-and-white, stuffed otter, using it to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.

Sadie stepped back. “That tickles.”

“Then let’s hope he behaves when you take him home.”

“This is for me?”

“Of course. You can’t come to the aquarium and not get a souvenir.” Erik pocketed his receipt and thanked the cashier. “Don’t forget to name him.”

“Erik.”

“What?”

“That’s his name—Erik.”

“You have to be more creative than that. Something like Nanuk or Oscar or Swimmy.”

“Swimmy?”

“It’s better than Erik.”

“You said I get to name him—and I did.” She tucked the plush memento into the top of her black cross-body purse. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But that furry thing looks nothing like me.”

“You’re right—whiskers but no beard.”

“You’ve never liked my beard, have you?”

Sadie scanned Erik’s face: his deep-set blue eyes, hawkish nose, and firm jaw. “I admit I wasn’t too happy a few years ago when you announced you were growing it.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t crazy about the whole lumberjack look.” Sadie reached up and touched the dark blond hair covering his jaw. “But your beard is nice. You keep it trimmed—not all wild and crazy like Karl Marx or . . . or one of those Duck Dynasty guys.”

Erik’s boom of laughter caused the people around them to stop and stare. “That’s quite a jump in history—Karl Marx to Duck Dynasty.”

“You know what I mean.” She dropped her hand, tucking it into the pocket of her skirt. “It’ll be a long time before I give you a compliment again.”

And it would be even longer before she touched Erik Davis’s face again. His beard was soft. And his full lips had curved into a much-too-alluring smile. Where had the thought of letting her fingers trail up to the hair along his temple, which he also kept trimmed close, come from? Followed quickly by a desire to kiss him.

“You want to go see the mermaids?”

What?
Sadie shook her head, clearing her thoughts.
The mermaid show.
“No, I don’t think so.”

Erik linked his arm through hers. “You never dreamed about being a beautiful underwater sea creature?”

“No.”

She’d dreamed about being beautiful for years—all the while enduring the teasing of classmates. A taunt whispered across her mind.
Pirate.
But if you were the only kid in class wearing an eye patch, what else would your classmates call you? Disappearing into the ocean had never been part of the dream. Becoming invisible, yes.

“Sadie?”

Sadie pulled her hand away from her left eye. “What?”

“Do you have a headache?”

“No. No. I’m fine. Lead on to the next exhibit.”

It’d been worth crawling underneath the exhibit to the viewing half domes to make Sadie laugh again. Of course, the space was built to accommodate children, not grown men. Through the haze of blue water, distorted multicolored fish darted by against the backdrop of the faint outlines of the people standing around the tank. Where was Sadie? How long did he need to stay under here to get her talking to him again? And why had she suddenly gone silent?

As he backed out into the open space again and rose to his feet, he bumped into someone. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem—Erik?”

Dusting his hands off, Erik turned and faced Charlie Ferguson from church.

“Hey, Charlie. You here with the family?”

“Yep. Angie’s talking with Sadie.”

“Perfect day for the aquarium, isn’t it?” The two joined
Sadie and Angie and the Fergusons’ three children. “Did you all watch the mermaid show?”

“We sure did.” Angie looked from Erik to Sadie and back again. “So, what brings you two to the aquarium?”

Erik draped his arm around Sadie’s shoulder, unable to ignore the way she stilled. “We’re on a date.”

Now Sadie went ramrod stiff. “We’re not dating . . .”

“Yes, yes we are. Dating, I mean.” Erik kept the smile on his face despite Sadie’s swift kick to his ankle.
Ouch.
“I asked Sadie out and she accepted. So this is a date.”

“Wow, that was fast.” Angie’s eyes widened. “Last I heard, you were dating Lydia.”

“Um, yeah. I was. But now I’m not.”
Great.
He sounded like a jerk. “I’m out with Sadie. Today.”

“That’s wonderful.” Angie waved as Charlie tugged her toward the next display of fish. “Well, we’ll see you at church.”

When the family turned away, Sadie aimed another kick at his ankle.

“Come on, Sadie! Are you trying to cripple me?”

“What are you doing, telling them that we’re dating?”

“This is a date.”

“This is a between-you-and-me date. You don’t have to announce it to the whole church.”

“I didn’t announce it—”

Sadie stomped away, forcing Erik to double-time it to keep up with her. “Angie’s going to put us on the prayer chain!”

“What? The prayer chain is for prayer requests.”

Sadie bowed her head, hands clasped together, her voice a muted whisper. “We need to pray for Sadie and Erik. Yes,
they’re dating! I saw them at the Denver Aquarium! It was so cute! We need for God’s will to be done in their relationship. We need to pray that they stay pure and not give in to temptation . . .”

“Now you’re being absurd.”

“You have obviously never volunteered for the prayer chain.”

“Yeah, and if that’s what really happens, I don’t plan to either.” Erik risked taking her hand and pulling her toward the exit, keeping space between them in case she decided to kick him again. “Are you hungry? I thought we could have lunch at the Cheesecake Factory.”

“Bribing me with cheesecake isn’t going to make me forgive you.”

“It’s worked in the past, Sadie JuJube. Cheesecake is my go-to plan when I need you to like me again.”

“Humph.” Sadie allowed him to lead her toward the exit. “It’s a good thing I like cheesecake. And you’re wrong again.”

“I’ll figure out your middle name one day.”

“So you think, my friend. Seventeen years and counting.”

“I’m no quitter. You should know that about me by now.”

S
adie ran her hand down the front of her chef’s coat, pressing a palm against the queasiness in her stomach. She never had flying-out-of-formation butterflies when she stood before an “audience” in the Hartnetts’ kitchen—or the Coopers’. Yes, this morning’s audience was live—but they were also invisible. She’d just pretend they were as imaginary as the ones who were presented with her weekly meals.

Even though the local morning show was on a commercial break, she refused to mess with her bright red bandana. No need to risk getting it misaligned—or pulling it off altogether.
Relax.
The set was almost like home: truncated counter, a range and sink, her already-prepared pistachio encrusted pork loin sitting off to one side, all the ingredients separated out into clear glass bowls surrounding a prepped, uncooked pork loin.

“Mel said the two of you went to culinary school together?” Derrick Franklin, the male counterpart of the
morning team, continued a steady stream of questions during the commercial break.

“Yes. At the Broadmoor.”

“Are you working at a restaurant now?”

“No, I’m a private chef for several families in the metro area.”

“Interesting.” He faced the TV camera as the lights came up. “Time for our segment. Cynthia does the intro and then we’re on. Just relax and pretend we’re talking in your kitchen.”

As she stared into the bright glow of the lights, Sadie tried to swallow, the smile on her face causing her lips to tremble. Why hadn’t she asked for a bottle of water?

We’re just talking in the kitchen. Pretending to cook. It couldn’t be simpler. In less than five minutes, you’re out of here.

Sadie stood in the Coopers’ kitchen, the cup of coffee gone cold in her hand. She’d stored the groceries in the fridge. Changed into her chef’s coat. Set out her menu and her knives. And here she stood, already half an hour behind schedule.

Imaginary lights, camera, action!

Today she couldn’t even conjure up a smile for an imaginary audience.

Of course, being an utter failure on live TV—knowing
real people
had witnessed her on-air mortification—well, that was enough to make her want to abandon cooking all together.

The debacle had happened two days ago, and thinking about it still caused her to groan out loud. She’d flustered—if not completely frustrated—Derrick Franklin. Once the segment was over, he’d walked off the set with nothing more than a curt, “Thank you for your time.” And she was almost certain the cameraman had covered up a laugh with a lousy imitation cough.

When the station manager asked her to bring in a fun recipe, she’d selected a favorite, one she’d prepared dozens of times. She’d chatted with the host during the commercial break. Sure, she’d felt a little nervous, but didn’t everyone?

And the minute they went live . . . she couldn’t remember how to boil water. Franklin had to almost drag every word out of her, filling in the awful silences with statements like “And before we came on the air, didn’t you mention something about trimming the fat off the pork loin?” Franklin’s eyes pleaded with Sadie to relax. Be normal. Be anything other than a freaked-out chef.

She’d hacked on the piece of meat while mumbling about needing to remember to remove the “silver skin” too. But did she explain that was a tendon membrane?
No.
And if the camera zoomed in while she prepared the stone-ground mustard, honey, and red wine sauce, then everyone in the Denver area saw her hands shaking like she needed a stiff drink.

The ring of her cell phone shattered the memory. Erik. He’d called her twice a day since her death-by-morning-show disaster. She retrieved the ingredients for chicken cacciatore from the fridge, piling them on the counter. “I’m fine, Erik.”

“Are you convincing me—or yourself?”

“Very funny.”

“Sadie, you weren’t that bad.”

“You’ve never lied to me before. Don’t start now.”

“You’re making this worse than it was.”

“I was there, Erik.” Sadie turned on the water and began rinsing the fresh vegetables in the sink. “I didn’t even remember my own recipe for pistachio encrusted pork loin.”

“Always a favorite of mine.”

“I couldn’t say pistachio.
Pistachio.
”

“You did now.”

“I sounded as unintelligible as Tom, the Muppets’ Swedish Chef.”