Plain Jayne (34 page)

That night I dreamed I cooked dinner for Levi. I put the pork chops in the oven. When I opened the oven to check on them, they'd turned into chickens. Whole, roasting chickens. I had to call Gemma to see if the recipe would turn out okay with chicken. She told me that it wouldn't work with chicken, but it might work with veal or lamb. So I closed the oven door for twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes pass, I check, and there's a rack of lamb in my oven.

Instead of marveling at my oven, I reasoned that all was well because Gemma said lamb would work. Then I went to start the salad and found that the whole thing had wilted overnight.

Then Levi showed up, and I had to explain to him that I didn't have salad. He stood up really straight, saying he couldn't eat dinner if there wasn't any salad.

That's when I woke up. Sweating.

I marched down the hall to the kitchen, flung open the refrigerator, pulled open the produce drawer, and retrieved the bag of salad.

Fresh and crisp and green. Just like I'd remembered.

Rolling my eyes, I went back to bed.

I looked at the clock. Five thirty. Levi had told me he planned on arriving at a quarter till.

Problem was, the pork chops were nowhere near done, and I had a horrible suspicion that I had overzested the lemons. I'd remembered reading one of Gemma's articles once about the white stuff being bitter. Unfortunately, I didn't remember this until I'd dumped the lemon zest into the sauce mixture.

I jumped when my cell phone buzzed on the laminate countertop. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jayne, it's me,” Levi said. “I'm running late. I had trouble closing up, but I should be there soon. Do you want to pick up some dinner on the way out? I was thinking something quick, like sandwiches.”

My eyes darted to my still-pink-in-the-middle pork chops “No, we can't pick something up!”

“Why not?”

I bit my lip. “I just…don't want to.”

“Do you want to eat something at your place and I'll pick something up for myself?”

“Can't you wait until you get here? How far out are you?”

“Thirty minutes.”

Surely the pork chops would be done in thirty minutes. They'd been cooking for nearly an hour.

“Okay. I'll see you in thirty minutes.”

“So what are we doing about food?”

“I'll think of something,” I said and then hung up.

Thirty minutes. I looked at the pork chops, picked my phone back up, and called Gemma. “They're not cooking!”

“Who they?”

“The pork chops! He's going to be here in thirty minutes, and the pork is still really pink.”

“How long have they been on the stove?”

“An hour!”

“Um, Jayne, I don't mean to insult your intelligence, but is the correct burner
on
?”

“Of course it is!”

“And there's heat coming from it?”

“Yes!”

“Keep your pants on. Are the chops browning at all?”

“A little.”

“What temperature do you have the burner on?”

I examined the little black dial. “How should I know?”

She sighed. “Okay. I think I told you to start with medium-high heat, brown both sides, and then cook covered on medium low.”

“Oh.” That would do it.

“Use your words, Jayne.”

“Where on the dial would you call medium-low?”

“Between medium…and low.” She cleared her throat. “Jayne—”

“Closer to the medium or the low?”

“Middle.”

“Oh.”

“Where is it?”

I yanked the black dial into the appropriate position. “In the middle.”

“Right. Where was it before I asked.”

“Um…” I winced. “Maybe…more low than medium?”

“Did you ever have them on medium-high?”

“Not so much?”

“Well, if they've been there for an hour they're at least making progress. Turn the heat up to just under medium.”

“You speak words of confusion.”

“You get odd when you're cooking. Turn the dial to not-quite medium. Cover them and ignore them for ten minutes or so.”

“Or so?”

“Check in ten minutes. Call me back.”

I would like to draw a veil over my memories of the food preparation and phone calls that ensued.

Twenty-six minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

“I'm really close,” Levi said, “but there's an accident on I-84.”

“Can you get off?” I asked as I set the table. “I can give you back-road directions.”

“I'd get off if I could, but nothing's moving at the moment. I'll call you back when that changes, okay?”

“That's fine.”

“Are you all packed?”

“Just about.”

Kind of, sort of, not really. I had the clothes I wanted to bring in a pile. They were clean. This was progress.

“Okay. Let's try to leave pretty soon after I get there. How late does your mom stay up?”

“She'll be up if she knows we're running behind. I'll call her when we know what our actual estimated time of arrival will be.”

“I miss you.”

A smile broke out across my face. “Yeah?”

“And I hate being stuck in traffic when I'm so close to seeing you.”

“I'll be praying it breaks up soon,” I said and then hung up.

Then sat down.

Pray? I didn't pray. Not anymore, and not unless it was a life-threatening situation. But it had occurred to me, just the same.

I closed my eyes. God and I were doing better these days. I'd gone to church with my mom and Gemma. I'd sung the songs. Spontaneous prayer shouldn't be far behind.

Would God listen to a prayer like that? Was He actively concerned with Portland's traffic troubles? More important, would He pay attention if I asked?

I knew the answer to that question even as it passed through my mind. Years of Sunday school had that effect on me.

He would pay attention. He just wouldn't necessarily answer the way I wanted to.

Did that mean I shouldn't ask?

Before I could talk myself out of it, I bowed my head and uttered the silliest prayer of my life, “Lord, please help the traffic to regulate.”

That was all.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. My tense shoulder muscles relaxed.

My cell phone buzzed again.

“It's me,” Levi said when I picked up. “I just wanted to tell you traffic's moving and I'm coming up to an exit.”

I gave him directions to my apartment, all the while wondering if the traffic had cleared before or after I prayed.

When Levi arrived at the door, my eyes gravitated to the bag in his hand. “You got dinner.”

“Just fries.” He wrapped his arms around me in a hug, but I was too upset to enjoy the sensation.

“Are you still hungry?”

“Wha—” he stepped inside and saw the set table, the serving plates, and bowls covered in foil. “You made dinner.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise. Are you still hungry?”

“Of course.” He beat the bag with his hands into a wad. “Of course I'm hungry. It smells amazing in here.”

Actually, it smelled like I spilled something on the burner, but it was sweet of him to say so. “There's pork chops and rice and salad. I even had time to run around the corner and get a loaf of bread.”

“I'm sorry I'm late.”

“That's okay. I called my mom. Everything's fine.”

“I've got your bookcase in the bed of my truck.”

“Shall we bring it in?”

“Sure.” He planted a short kiss on my lips.

“How heavy is it?” I asked on our way down the stairs. “Can just the two of us handle it?”

“I was clever and designed the back to attach with pegs; we'll be fine. You look wiry.”

Fifteen minutes and a lot of grunting later, we had all of the pieces up the stairs. Didn't tweak my wrist once. Levi dragged the parts into the study,
where I had cleared a space for the new piece of furniture. “The pegs, see, go in like this.”

I watched as he aligned the back with the body and connected the two. “It seems like it would be hard to design it to match perfectly.”

“It was. I'm that good. Shall we get it into position?”

At that moment, my stomach growled. Loudly.

“Let's eat,” he said, turning my shoulders toward the table.

I lifted the foil from the serving plates, checking to see if the food was still warm. “Let me get this for you.” I began to scoop food onto his plate. “What do you want to drink? There's filtered water, Coke, and milk. I've been drinking milk ever since your mom was here.”

“Hopefully not the same carton.”

“I bought new milk. Even finished the last one before it got chunky. Do you want pepper? I think I have a pepper shaker around here somewhere.”

“Sit down. Get yourself some dinner.”

“I'm trying to do this right.” I shoved my hair behind my ear. “I wanted it to be…you know…”

He smiled. “It's very special. I appreciate it a lot. May I?”

I nodded, and watched as he filled my own plate with food.

“When do you think you'll be able to be brace free?”

“I don't know. Another week, maybe. Maybe less.”

“You've managed well.”

“I improvise. How does it taste?”

“Wonderful. Really, really good.”

“Really?” I took a bite, expecting the worst. “Hmm. You're right.”

After a few moments Levi pushed his plate away. “I can't eat another bite. That was amazing.”

My eyes narrowed. “You didn't eat very much.”

“It was filling.”

I looked at my plate. I'd already put away the same amount and wasn't yet near full. I put my fork down. “You filled up on fries.”

“Jayne, I didn't know you were making dinner for us.”

“I asked you not to get dinner!”

“I didn't get dinner.”

“No, you got a giant deep-fried appetizer.”

“I'm sorry. My hands were shaking on the road. And I didn't think you cooked.”

“I'm broadening my horizons! I'm perfectly capable of cooking a single meal. Your mom makes meals in her sleep.”

“That's because she's been doing it since she was eighteen.”

“And I'm twenty-six, so I'm behind and it's time I started catching up.”

“You're not seriously angry about this, are you?”

“No. Yes. No. I don't know.”

“Finish your dinner.”

“I'm not hungry anymore.”

“Right. Just look at those juicy, perfectly cooked chops.”

“You're not going to make me hungry.”

Trouble was, they were really, really good. But I didn't particularly feel like giving him the satisfaction of being right.

I reached for my fork.

“It's Gemma's recipe. Of course they're perfect.”

My resolve lasted for another thirty seconds. “These are really good.”

He sat back in his chair. “You look pretty.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

I knew I looked rumpled, and I had yet to take off my apron, but the way he looked at me made me believe him.

“Want to get the new bookcase settled?”

“Sure.” I followed him down the hallway.

We pushed together until the bookcase was flush against the wall. I stepped back. “That looks really good.” I hugged him around his torso. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said, turning me so I faced him. “Always.”

Under his gaze, I couldn't move. With a single smooth gesture, he cupped the back of my head with his hand and drew me close, his lips touching mine with infinite care.

So this was what it was like to kiss Levi on purpose. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed him back.

Lincoln City could wait.

L
evi held my hand until we hit the Van Duzer corridor. By that time, the sky was black and the road slick with new rain. Levi kept two hands on the wheel; I rested my head against the seat back. I couldn't see the ocean in the dark, but I knew it was there, close by.