ELIZA SHAW SWORE AGAIN as she shifted to balance her
dripping, overstuffed handbag, stack of damp mail, twisted
skeleton of an umbrella and soggy bag of food, all the
while trying to unlock her apartment door.
"Dammit!" she muttered through clenched teeth. The perfect
ending to the day from hell. She hated days like this. She
was wet from head to toe and had a raging headache to
boot. Sometimes it didn't pay to get out of bed.
"If anything else goes wrong, I'm wiping the date off the
calendar for years to come," she muttered, finally
succeeding in opening the door. She burst into her
apartment, dropping the handbag and remnant of her
umbrella onto the hardwood floor.
She kicked off her sopping shoes and tossed the mail on
the counter separating the kitchen from the living room.
She was freezing. The month of April was supposed to be
the beginning of spring, not the tail end of winter. The
forecast had been for a little rain — ha! If the storm
that now raged over Boston had arrived after midnight as
predicted, instead of twelve hours earlier, she wouldn't
have been caught in it at all. She glanced at her watch.
It was not quite eleven-thirty. Too bad the storm hadn't
listened to the weatherman.
Every cab in the city had been elsewhere, leaving her to
trudge the twenty blocks between work and home in the
pouring rain. The wind had laughed at her paltry umbrella,
twisting it inside out within seconds of leaving the
safety of the restaurant.
"If I ever win the lottery, I will hire my own chauffeur,"
she vowed as she traipsed into the kitchen. She turned the
faucet on high, blasting water into the teakettle, which
she quickly set on the gas range. Hot chocolate or tea
would help to warm her up along with a hot shower.
Impatiently waiting for the water to boil, Eliza went to
the flashing answering machine and pushed the button. She
needed to get out of her wet clothes. The rain had soaked
through her jacket and even her sweater was damp.
"Hello, Eliza," a familiar voice said. "I know you're
still at work, but call me when you get home no matter how
late."
Eliza frowned, checking her watch. It was late, but she'd
still call. Stephen would wait up until she did. He didn't
like the fact she worked until after eleven most nights,
and after midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. But as a
sought-after chef in one of the hottest restaurants in
Boston, Eliza was used to the long hours. Stephen knew
working late came with her job. There was no need to have
her check in every night.
Guilt tugged at Eliza. She was tired and cranky. She
should appreciate that Stephen cared enough for her to
want to know she was safe. It was nice to feel cherished.
She shouldn't take out her bad mood on him.
She picked up the phone as the teakettle screamed.
Carrying the portable receiver with her into the kitchen,
Eliza quickly made a cup of tea, then punched the speed
dial for Stephen's number.
"What are you doing still up?" she said when he answered.
"Waiting to hear from you. You're later than I expected."
He sounded worried. "Are you all right?"
"Sopping wet. There were no cabs so I had to walk."
"In this downpour at this time of night? You should have
called me."
She smiled, feeling warmed with his concern. "I'm fine,"
she assured him. "I wouldn't have asked my worst enemy to
come out on a night like tonight."
"I wish you'd quit that job," he said. "Find something
that has daylight hours. Or open a business of your own.
You know I'd back you in a New York minute."
He'd suggested it before. Maybe it was time she gave the
idea some serious thought. "After this walk home, I'm
closer to starting that catering business we've talked
about," she murmured, taking a sip of the warm tea. More
days like this and she'd take the plunge. She'd never
thought of herself as an entrepreneur, but she had menu
ideas for special events bubbling around in her mind.
"You'd still be working evenings, but with a better
clientele," Stephen said. " And you could take off when
you wanted. Let's get married right away, sweetheart."
He'd been patiently waiting for her to pick the right time
to get married. She loved Stephen, but was not quite ready
to make that final commitment. What was wrong with her? Or
was she still adjusting to the fact they were engaged? It
had only been a few weeks. She needed to get used to the
idea.
"Maybe I could work from home and we could spend all our
time together," he said facetiously.
Eliza laughed. "Sweetie, I can't see your clients coming
to our flat. Besides, we'd be tempted to do a lot more fun
things besides work."
His chuckle warmed her even more. She did love him. She
wished she had called him for a ride, just so she could
have seen him this evening. Why was she dragging her feet
about setting a wedding date?
"Okay, so open a bakery. At least you'd keep more normal
hours."
"Something to think about, but bakers have to start work
about four in the morning. I'm not sure that's for me."
Baking was fine, but she loved the challenge and range
that creating main courses offered.
"You could do charity work," he suggested. "You know
Mother would love to have you on some of her committees."
Eliza wrinkled her nose, not that he could see. "I don't
think that's my thing." They'd had this discussion once
before. She thought she'd made her position clear.
Sometimes Stephen heard what he wanted to hear, not what
she said.
As for Stephen's mother... Eliza adored Adele Cabot. She
was all Eliza wished her own mother had been — loving,
elegant, devoted to her only child. And she was more than
welcoming to Eliza. At one point Eliza had wondered if her
feelings for Stephen had grown out of her liking for Adele
and her hopes to have her for a mother-in-law.
"It beats working nights and never having time for a
normal social life," he said easily. "Speaking of which,
Mother is having some friends down at the Cape this
weekend. I told her we'd join her."
This wasn't the first time he'd made plans for them
without consulting her. She wasn't up to dealing with it
tonight.
"Stephen, you need to check with me before accepting
invitations."
"This is just a weekend at home. No big deal."
"I'm working Friday and Saturday nights, but I could make
it there Sunday in time for brunch," Eliza said. She loved
spending time at the old Cabot family home on Cape Cod. It
was totally different from what Eliza was used to. She'd
been a foster child in a small Mississippi town — no
family, no background, no money. But her lack of
background hadn't stopped Stephen from proposing, or Adele
from accepting her into the family with welcoming arms.
Eliza's childhood seemed distant — as if it had happened
to someone else. Boston had been her home for the last ten
years.
"Switch with someone like you did two weeks ago," Stephen
suggested. "I can't do that very often. That was for that
special opening at the museum you wanted us to attend. I
traded with Paul, but I can't keep asking him. He has his
schedule and I have mine. Once in a while maybe." Didn't
Stephen realize that many people came to the restaurant
solely because of her cooking?
"It would give us time together," he said in that sexy
Bostonian accent that still sounded exotic to her ear.
"I'll see about switching Saturday night. Then I could get
there Saturday morning, but I can't switch two nights."
Eliza was firm.
"Deal. I'll take what I can get. We're leaving Friday
afternoon and will return Monday morning. Shall I drive
back and pick you up?"
"No, I'll get there on my own."
"I'll drive Mother's car and leave you mine. That way you
and I can come back together."
"Sounds like a plan."
"And maybe while we're there, we can discuss setting a
date for the wedding," Stephen suggested.
"We'll see." Eliza hated to feel pressured, but she was
too tired to argue tonight. "I've got to get out of my wet
clothes. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Her bare feet felt like blocks of ice. She had plonked the
bag of food on the counter beside the mail. Thankfully the
soggy paper sack had held up. She didn't know what she
would have done if she'd dropped her dinner in some puddle
blocks from home. She popped the meal into the oven, set
on a low heat, and headed for the bedroom and some warm
clothes.
A quick hot shower and sweats, that's what she wanted.
That, plus peace and quiet for at least twelve hours!
Ten minutes later she was toasty warm in fleece sweats and
thick socks. Her hair was slightly damp, but she hadn't
wanted to spend a lot of time drying it. She was starved!
Passing through the living room, she picked up the ruined
umbrella and stuffed it in the trash. She ran a practiced
eye around the room. It was tidy. Immaculate, actually.
Just the way she liked it.
She returned to the kitchen to eat a late dinner. People
sometimes teased her about being a neatnik, a control
freak. But she liked order. She felt able to cope with
anything as long as there was a certain amount of harmony
in her life. In Eliza's mind, order equaled harmony.
Sitting at the breakfast bar, she riffled through the mail
as she ate the warmed roasted squab. She could almost feel
the storm inside the eighth-floor apartment. Rain sheeted
down her windows, the wind howled. She pitied anyone still
out in the tempest.
Once she'd finished eating, she took her hot tea and the
newspaper that had come in the mail and went to sit in her
cozy chair in the living area. The Maraville Bugle arrived
weekly — a hometown paper for a woman who hadn't been to
Mississippi in ten years.
Boston had been her home since her second set of foster
parents had moved to the city a couple of years after
she'd graduated from high school. While Eliza was not
technically a part of their family, they'd invited her
along and she'd gone. After high school she'd tried a
semester of college, but it wasn't what she'd wanted. She
had felt restless and had had no direction, so had been
happy to move east. She'd lived with the Johnsons until
they'd been transferred to California six years ago. Eliza
still missed Dottie and Al and kept in touch.