Aimee (A Time for Love Book 3) (6 page)

Finally she got up and made her way to her car. Back at her apartment, she did as she’d told Charlene she would: wrote a note to Frank to tell him why she thought he should see her again. She emailed it to Edwina and felt much better. Charlene might have looked doubtful, but Aimee felt certain. If Frank was the man she was supposed to be with, he would answer her note, and they could try again.

After her depressing meeting with Edwina on Monday, Aimee’s week didn’t get any better. Her car refused to start, which made her late for work, and she had to pay for a new battery. She broke the heel off her favorite pair of pumps during a sprint across the hospital parking lot in the rain. Her boss, the dining manager at the hospital, said her proposed winter menus were “too ambitious,” and that she should stick to the basics. Her absentee roommate turned up in the middle of the night, only to leave the next morning for a week in Florida with an old schoolmate. Aimee tried not to envy her, just to be thankful she’d left a check for half the rent.

Worst of all, she was regretting her note to Frank. She wasn’t in junior high, so where had she gotten the idea that writing a note to say she liked him was a good idea? She hadn’t heard from him by Friday, and she could only hope he hadn’t laughed too hard when he read it.

“Aimee, your cell phone was ringing.”

Luann, one of the line cooks, held it out to her. The food service workers had to deposit their cell phones in a bin outside the kitchen, so the phones wouldn’t be a distraction during meal preparation and service. An unwritten rule was that if you passed by the phone area while a phone was ringing, you checked whose phone it was and let that person know.

“Thanks.”

It was probably either a wrong number or Charlene checking up on her again, but Aimee washed her hands and headed for storage room, the nearest quiet area where she could check her phone. The message indicator was blinking, so she dialed her voice mail.

“Good morning, Aimee,” Edwina’s pleasant voice said. “Could you please call me at your convenience? I have a message from Frank.”

Aimee’s heart jumped. He’d read her note. What was the message? Edwina wouldn’t keep her dangling if he didn’t want to see her again, would he? Or was she the type who believed in delivering bad news personally?

Aimee dithered over whether to call immediately or wait until her lunch shift was over. She didn’t want to start crying if the response was negative, but she wouldn’t be able to concentrate until she knew. She took a deep breath and dialed A Time for Love.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Darby’s on another line,” the receptionist’s smooth voice said after Aimee identified herself. “But I have a message for you. Can you be at our office tonight at eight? Mrs. Darby has arranged a brief meeting with you and your current match.”

Aimee hesitated. It was short notice, and she and Charlene had made vague plans to spend the evening together. But the message must mean Frank wanted to see her again! Charlene would understand.

“I’ll be there,” she promised and thanked the receptionist.

Immediately she dialed Charlene and left a message with the change of plans and then somehow got through the rest of her shift while mentally running through her wardrobe. She hadn’t bothered with laundry this week. Should she stop at her favorite shopping center for a new outfit? Did she have time for an emergency hair appointment?

No
. She’d blown their last date by trying too hard to impress Frank. She’d wear the same thing she’d planned to wear to meet Charlene, and her game plan for the night was just to be herself. The trouble was, she had spent so much time trying to fit into the role of fiancée for Tom, she was no longer sure what being herself meant.

By the time she parked outside A Time for Love’s building, her nerves were jangling. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so nervous or why it mattered so much that Frank give her another chance. After all, she barely knew him. Tish would probably tell her it was a rebound romance anyway, and she shouldn’t take it too seriously. She wasn’t really sure why she felt it so important to make another attempt to connect with Frank, and if this meeting didn’t work out, she’d drop the idea and move on, she promised herself.

Edwina appeared immediately after the receptionist called to let her know of Aimee’s arrival.

“Good evening, Aimee. You look lovely, as usual.”

She tucked her arm through Aimee’s and led her down a hallway past her office. Aimee inhaled Edwina’s vanilla scent and found her nerves beginning to quieten. They jangled again when Edwina led her through a door into a kitchen area with a small table where Frank was sitting. He stood up as Aimee entered.

“Miss Woods. Aimee,” he corrected after a glance from Edwina.

“Frank. It’s good to see you again.”

He held out his hand and enveloped hers in a firm handshake that left her skin tingling. He held out a chair for her, while Edwina fetched snack trays from the refrigerator and offered them coffee and bottled water. Then, to Aimee’s surprise, instead of leaving them, she pulled out the third chair at the table and sat.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Edwina said, “but I’ll be staying for the first part of this meeting, which I call a mediated date. Before we get started, I want to make clear that we’re here, as adults, to explore what’s best for the two of you. If either of you is uncomfortable with any topic or exercise I introduce, please feel free to say so.”

She looked from one to the other, and they both nodded. Aimee glanced at Frank, and he met her eyes briefly before turning back to Edwina. The tops of his ears were red, and she wondered why he was already embarrassed.

“We’re here because both of you see potential in the other, but you weren’t quite able to connect well enough on your dates to move on to Phase 2,” Edwina said. “We’ll go through a series of questions and exercises to help you get to know each other better. For this first exercise, I’ll call out questions about your tastes and preferences. Both of you respond, and if either wants to find out more about the other’s answer, you can ask a follow-up question. First question: early bird or night owl?”

“Early bird,” Aimee said, and Frank agreed.

“Rain or sunshine?”

“Sunshine,” they said together.

“Summer or winter?”

“Summer.”

“Sweet or salty?”

“Sweet.”

“Read a book or watch TV?”

They both hesitated. “Watch TV,” Aimee confessed, hoping he wouldn’t think her too uncultured.

“What do you like to watch?” Frank asked.

“Cooking and fashion shows. Competitive ones mostly, the kind where chefs have to cook a gourmet meal with $5 and a jar of pickles or designers make a dress out of fishing tackle. What about you?”

“TV. Detective shows, mostly.”

Aimee nodded, and Edwina continued with her stream of questions. Their answers were surprisingly similar, until Edwina asked, “Ice cream or cake?”

“Ice cream!” Frank answered promptly.

“That’s tough,” Aimee said. “It would depend on the type.”

“What’s your favorite flavor?” Frank asked.

“Of ice cream? I love a good vanilla, but I’m partial to butter pecan too. What about you?”

“Apricot custard.” At Aimee’s look of surprise, he added, “It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“Apricot custard ice cream? I’ve never tried it.”

“You should.”

“Is it made with egg yolk?”

“I’d have to get the recipe from my mother, but yes, I think so.”

At Aimee’s urging, Frank described the process his mother used to make the custard, and the conversation soon turned to other foods. Edwina did not interrupt, just watched quietly as Aimee told how she had once made a Play-Doh birthday cake for her best friend and been disappointed when her friend wouldn’t eat it.

Frank laughed. “So that put an end to your dream of becoming a baker?”

“Not really,” Aimee said thoughtfully. “I still like the idea of opening my own bakery.”

“Using real dough, I hope?”

“Definitely! Now you have to share something you did to one of your childhood friends.”

As the conversation continued, Edwina added a plate of cookies to the trays on the table and then quietly excused herself. Aimee and Frank hardly noticed. They continued talking until finally Aimee began to yawn.

“Sorry, it’s not that I’m bored,” she assured him. “I just had to be at work really early this morning for the breakfast shift.”

“I’m glad you wrote to suggest another meeting,” Frank smiled at her. “Maybe we could continue our conversation tomorrow?”

Aimee appreciated the way he asked, hopeful but not over-confident. He was sincere and just a little shy, avoiding her eyes as he waited for her answer.

“I’d like that.”

Exactly on cue, Edwina reappeared at the door to the kitchen. “Did you have a good talk?” she asked as she began clearing away the trays of food Aimee and Frank had nibbled on during their talk.

“It was nice. We want to see each other again.” He looked at Edwina as if for permission.

“Are you two available tomorrow? I could use your help at a little charitable event we’re having.”

Frank looked at Aimee, who shrugged. “Sure, we’ll do it,” he said.

“Great.” Edwina beamed at them. “I’ll see you in the morning at nine. Wear something comfortable.”

She didn’t allow Aimee more than a quick goodbye to Frank before ushering her out to the lobby. Aimee paused at the door.

“Thank you. I appreciate getting a second chance with Frank,” she said.

“That’s why I’m here,” Edwina smiled and waited at the office door until Aimee was on the elevator.

Edwina hadn’t said what type of event it was, Aimee realized as she headed to the car. But did it really matter? She’d be spending the day with Frank. He wanted to see her again.  They’d just had the best conversation she’d had with a man in years, and Aimee couldn’t stop smiling. She felt like a high school girl who’d just found out her crush wanted to ask her out. Sure, it was just one evening. Way too soon to doodle “Frank plus Aimee 4-ever” on her binder or start shopping for a prom dress, but much better than the crushing rejection she’d experienced on Monday. There was hope, anyway.

As soon as she got home, she called Charlene. She and her friend had arranged to go for brunch the next morning, but Charlene would understand. In fact, she might be secretly relieved not to have to deal with the basket case Aimee had been earlier in the week.

“Sorry, but you said to call after the meeting, no matter how late,” Aimee said when Charlene answered. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“No, I wasn’t asleep.” Charlene sounded distracted.

“The meeting went well. Wonderfully, in fact. Frank and I had the best conversation, and we really clicked. We have so much in common! Frank said he wanted to see me again, and Edwina suggested we help out with an event A Time for Love is hosting tomorrow.”

“That’s great, Aimee.”

Now Charlene was sounding sleepy, so Aimee hurried. “Anyway, she wants us to be there at nine. Would you mind terribly if we rescheduled brunch? Maybe we could do it Sunday, after church?”

“Sure, that’ll be fine.”

There was a pause, and when Charlene spoke again, all trace of sleepiness had left her voice. “Aimee, I’m glad for you. I hope the relationship with Frank works out. But for now, at least until you’re sure, don’t build your whole life around him, okay?”

“Okay,” Aimee agreed automatically, but once she hung up the phone, she sat staring at the bare space on her wall where a portrait of her and Tom had hung until she had packed it away a couple of weeks ago.

What had Charlene meant? Sure, Aimee’s life had been built around Tom. They’d built their lives together, around each other. But that wasn’t a bad thing, was it? When you loved someone, you made him an integral part of your life. It didn’t mean she was going to start rearranging her life for a man she barely knew.

Even if she did think “Aimee Clare Elkins” had a nice ring to it.

The next morning, Aimee dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and added just a touch of lipstick. Frank hadn’t seemed impressed by her glamorous style for their dinner date, so she might as well see if he could handle her normal, more natural appearance.

“Call me tonight, and tell me all about it!” Charlene texted as Aimee was leaving, and Aimee responded with an OK.

When Aimee pulled into A Time for Love’s parking lot, Frank was loading a stack of folding chairs into a white van, and she paused to watch. He moved smoothly and efficiently, transferring the chairs from a cart into the cargo area. When the cart was empty, he folded it and set it beside the chairs.

As he closed the back doors to the van, he spotted Aimee and grinned. “Morning!”

“Hi.” Aimee returned his smile. “Any idea what we’re doing today?”

“All I know is, it involves kids, lots of chairs, and a local park.”

“It involves far more than that,” Edwina said briskly as she came around the side of the van, arms loaded with boxes.

Frank opened the side door of the van, took the boxes from Edwina, and slid them behind the passenger’s seat. The blond receptionist who always manned the front desk hovered behind her, with another stack of boxes. Frank wedged them into the van beside the first stack.

Aimee couldn’t help noticing that the van had only two seats, and when the receptionist slid into the driver’s seat, Aimee waited.

“Aimee, would you mind giving Frank a ride to Klausen Park? He has the directions, in case you don’t know where it is.”

“Sure, no problem,” Aimee said casually, but she couldn’t help smiling.

Frank looked pleased also. At least they’d have a few minutes alone, and if the event wasn’t too chaotic, maybe they could grab some quiet time to chat.

“Park behind the community center across the street from the park,” Edwina instructed. “See you there.”

Aimee joined the light Saturday morning traffic on the interstate and was relieved to see Frank appeared calm, hands relaxed against his knees. She hated driving a nervous passenger, especially a male who assumed all females were terrible drivers. When they’d first started dating, Tom hadn’t wanted her to drive, but he’d gradually learned to trust her behind the wheel and even designated her as the primary driver for their catering deliveries.

But enough thoughts of Tom. He was gone, Frank was here, and they were going to have a great day.

“You have to give me a clue about the event,” Aimee told Frank. “Did you load anything besides chairs?”

“Boxes of unknown items,” Frank said. “And balloons and a helium tank.”

“It sounds like a party. Maybe a kid’s birthday?”

“Could be,” Frank agreed. “Do you like children, Aimee?”

Was he asking indirectly whether she wanted any of her own? She chose her words carefully. “Yes, and I hope to have kids someday. But I don’t have much experience with them.”

“You told me you’re an only child,” Frank nodded. “But you didn’t have younger cousins to play with or neighbors’ children to babysit?”

“Not really. We didn’t have any other family nearby, and the neighborhood was mostly older families.”

“Sounds lonely.”

It had been, at times. The street where she lived had been quiet, with no kids riding bikes or playing basketball in the driveways. Aimee’s mother would wave at the neighbors as they passed by, but she rarely socialized. Aimee had spent most of her time alone until she was old enough to help her mother with the cakes she baked to earn extra money.

When Samantha, her best friend in fourth grade, had a new baby sister, Aimee had been intensely jealous, both of the baby and of the time Samantha spent helping with her. She used to wish her mother would remarry so she’d have brothers or sisters or fantasize that somehow a baby would turn up on their doorstep, and they’d have to take care of it.

“Sometimes. I did help in the nursery at church occasionally, but once everyone knew how much I liked to cook, I got drafted for kitchen duty most of the time. What about you?”

“With five older brothers and sisters, I had a constant stream of nieces and nephews to play with. Sometimes more than I could handle!” he laughed. “I loved it. I’d like to have three or four of my own.”

“Three or four?”

He shrugged. “If I’m blessed enough to find a wife who agrees.” He changed the subject. “How did you get interested in cooking?”

“I helped my mother with the birthday cakes she used to make. We decorated them with princesses, fire trucks, dinosaurs, whatever the customer wanted. At first, I would just help stir the batter or pour the sugar, but I wanted to learn how to do the whole thing. When I was in high school, my mother got a better job, and I took over making the cakes.”

“You ran it by yourself?”

“Yes. It wasn’t exactly a million-dollar business, but it did pay for my prom dress.”

They chatted about her cooking until they arrived at the small concrete-block community center. When A Time for Love’s van parked beside them, Frank begin carrying the chairs and boxes inside the community center. Other volunteers were setting up tables and booths around the park, and Aimee followed the receptionist inside, where they unfolded the chairs Frank was unloading.

Once all the chairs and boxes had been brought inside, Edwina gathered the group for a briefing.

“We’re partnering with the police department and Klausen’s Kids, an organization that helps at-risk and disadvantaged youth, for a kids’ fair. We’ll have food booths, carnival games, craft demonstrations, and competitions. Each booth will give out either a small prize or a ticket the kids can use towards a larger prize. The prizes aren’t the usual carnival trinkets; they’re items area crafters made and merchants donated. This is the third year for the fair, and we expect it to be the largest yet.”

Aimee nodded. Who wouldn’t be excited about an event that helped kids? And maybe a little nervous too, if she had to interact with them.

“Aimee, I’ve got you and Whitney working one of the refreshment stations, where kids can learn to make their own Belgian waffle. It may get messy,” she warned. “Frank, you’ll be helping with the carnival games outside.”

She sent them off on their assignments. Aimee was disappointed she wouldn’t be working with Frank, but maybe they could catch up during a break. She headed for the table Edwina had indicated, and the blond receptionist joined her. Whitney. Aimee sent the girl a silent apology for not remembering her name.

“What do we do?” she asked.

Whitney set the box she was holding on the table. “Pick up a tablecloth from over there,” she pointed, “and we’ll get the station set up.”

They spread out the leaf-patterned tablecloth and set up half a dozen waffle irons at one end of the table. A volunteer delivered a blue cooler, and when Aimee opened it, she found jugs of waffle batter and containers of toppings—whipped cream, fruit, powdered sugar, nuts, and an array of syrups.

Once the table was arranged to Whitney’s satisfaction, she said, “Since you’re the cooking expert, and I’m more the microwave-dinner type, you’re in charge of the waffle irons. I’ll help if we get busy.”

Aimee nodded. Hopefully they wouldn’t get too busy. She was relieved when Edwina called Whitney over to help at another table, and she took the time to rehearse the instructions she would give to the kids. Spray the waffle iron with cooking oil, pour the batter, close the lid, and wait for the waffle to cook. Simple enough. She could do this.

“Are you ready for the fun? We open in less than ten minutes.”

Aimee turned to see Frank beside her. “I hope so.”

He glanced up and down the table and grinned. “Need a practice run?”

“Sure.”

Aimee sprayed the waffle iron with oil and then showed how to pour the batter in. While the waffle was cooking, she explained, “Belgian waffles are typically made with a yeast batter, rather than the baking soda in traditional waffles, and they’re thicker, with deeper indentions. Great for holding yummy toppings! Sorry, that’s the spiel I plan to give the kids.”

Frank sniffed the air. “It smells delicious!”

When the waffle was ready, Aimee slid it onto a plate and pointed him to the end of the table. “Help yourself to your favorite toppings.”

“Thanks.” Frank looked over the selection of plastic bowls and bottles. “What do you recommend?”

“You can’t go wrong with strawberries and cream.”

He spooned toppings onto the waffle and took a bite. “Wow, it’s delicious!” He closed his eyes to savor the taste.

“You’re supposed to tell me it’s the best one you’ve ever had,” Aimee teased.

“It’s the only one I’ve ever had,” Frank answered. “But not for long, I hope! I’ll be back for seconds later,” he added hastily as Edwina bore down on them to steal him away.

The time with Frank had helped Aimee’s nervousness, and when someone opened the double doors at one end of the community center and called out that the carnival was officially underway, she braced herself for the first customer. But no crowd of eager kids burst inside. Instead, the first arrivals stopped at the games stations, and she could hear laughter as they tried their luck.

A tall teenager, his reddish brown hair flopping over his thin face, wandered into the center and glanced at all the food booths. He headed for the popcorn stand and was munching when he stopped beside Aimee.

“What’s that?” He gestured to the table.

“A waffle maker. Would you like to make a Belgian waffle?”

“Sure.”

Aimee coached him through the steps and then stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say, as they waited for the waffle to cook. Whitney filled in the silence by asking the boy about foods he liked to eat and telling him about the other booths.

He slathered butter on the waffle, drenched it in maple syrup, and consumed it in about three bites. “Cool,” he said before he moved on.

“Cool?” Aimee echoed, and Whitney shrugged.

After their first client, a group of teens wandered in together. “Is all this free?” one of them asked, and Aimee nodded. They scattered to the various stations, and Aimee stayed busy with a steady stream of hungry kids that grew to a mob as lunchtime approached. Whitney fetched them both bottled water, and they kept the line going as fast as they could. One boy went through the line three times, and everyone seemed to enjoy the waffles.

When the crowd finally thinned, Edwina appeared. “Go, take a break,” she urged Aimee. “Get some refreshments. See the rest of the carnival. I’ll fill in for you.”

Aimee thanked her and made her way outside. The day was warm, but the fresh air felt good. She wandered past a wood-carving station and a clown who was making balloon animals. The carnival games were crowded, and she spotted Frank encouraging a little boy who was trying to toss a ring over the neck of a bottle. The little boy was thrilled to land one ring, and Frank handed him a coloring book and Crayons as his prize.

“Your turn,” Frank told Aimee.

“Me? I’m hopeless at games like this.”

He held the rings out to her. She shrugged and took them. After she missed on all three tries, Frank retrieved the rings, came around the booth, and stood beside her to help her with her throws.

“I think this is cheating,” she said when he gripped her arm to guide it.

“It’s strictly exhibition play.”

“Okay.”

Together they landed all the rings on bottles. Then Frank signalled to the man running the game beside him and offered Aimee his arm.

“Would you like to tour the carnival?”

“Is it okay for you to leave?”

“Edwina lined up someone to cover for me. She told me to take a break when you came, so I’m just following orders.”

Aimee smiled. “In that case, I’d love to see the carnival. Where do we start?”

“The food booths?” Frank asked hopefully. “I’m starving!”

Aimee was enjoying the fresh air, but she couldn’t resist Frank’s pleading expression, so she agreed. They made fruit and yogurt parfaits, mini sandwich wraps, popcorn with Parmesan sprinkled on top, and cookies decorated with swirls of icing. Frank got his second waffle and then stained his fingers as he made a blue raspberry shaved ice.

They took their treats outside and wandered through the craft booths. Aimee watched a woman knitting at what seemed an incredible rate and pointed her out to Frank. He nodded. “She’s almost as fast as my mother.”

“Your mother knits?”

“Yes. The joke is that if you tell her your sock is worn out or your mitten has a hole in it, you’ll have a new one by morning, so she even knits in her sleep!”

His mother was a knitter. Good to know. Aimee vaguely remembered a pair of knitting needles she has stuffed in the back of a closet somewhere. She should pull them out and practice a bit. Just in case.

They passed a booth where kids were waiting in line to tie-dye t-shirts and caps and stopped beside a booth where the volunteer had stepped back to allow a preteen girl to demonstrate making a string bracelet. A small crowd had gathered, and the girls jostled each other to see who would be next. They had moved on towards a soap-making booth when Frank stopped suddenly.