Only when she took back her hand did Rourke realize that her fingers had been icy cold—on one of the hottest days of the year. She swallowed, wincing as though the effort pained her. Her eyes shone brightly with tears. “Joey left a while ago.”
Rourke nodded. He’d said his goodbyes the previous night. Things had been strained between him and Joey this summer, but they’d been best friends all their lives. Rourke had to believe that meant something. He hoped like hell it meant Joey would forgive him for making a play for his girl.
“Maybe he already told you…” Jenny was saying.
“Told me what?”
“He and I…he asked me to marry him.”
Right, Rourke thought. Just perfect. This had to be some cosmic joke.
She twisted the slender band of the ring around and around her finger. “Anyway, I thought…” Her voice trailed off into a wisp of uncertainty.
She really wasn’t joking. Rourke forced himself to focus on what she was saying. She was going to marry Joey. She was going to be his best friend’s wife. He turned himself to stone because he didn’t want to feel anything—not hurt, not disappointment, not rage. “That’s good,” he said evenly. “Congratulations.”
She nodded, her eyes still swimming. “Thanks. Um, you said you needed to talk about something?”
He gave a little laugh then, thinking, thank God. Thank God he hadn’t said what he’d come here to say. It was the only thing he could think of that would make this moment worse.
Food for Thought
BY JENNY MAJESKY
Bittersweet Dreams
Eileen has been a bakery regular for years, and she loves chocolate more than any other customer we know. Chocolate has magical properties when prepared correctly. It’s an appropriate ingredient for days when it feels as though the whole world is against you, or on the anniversary of a sad event, because it tends to enhance one’s mood. The addition of a hint of liqueur brings out some of chocolate’s finest nuances. Frangelico is a good choice. Made in Italy with roasted hazelnuts and bottled in a container that will remind you of Mrs. Butterworth’s, it won’t overwhelm the other flavors.
The cocoa content of chocolate matters; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The very best taste comes from chocolate with a cocoa content of 70 percent or more. Also, avoid anything with an ingredient called “vanillin,” a chemical substitute for real vanilla. Possibly most important of all, choose chocolate that uses cocoa butter. Interestingly, it melts at 93°F, which is close to body temperature. This, I think, is no coincidence.
EILEEN’S BITTER CHOCOLATE CAKE
sugar for dusting pan
2 sticks unsalted butter
6 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
3 ounces unsweetened, strong, dark chocolate, chopped
1-¼ cups sugar
4 extra-large eggs
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
lightly sweetened whipped cream
1 tablespoon Frangelico liqueur
toasted chopped hazelnuts
Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter a 9 inch-diameter springform pan. Sprinkle bottom and sides with sugar. Wrap foil around bottom and 2 inches up outside of pan.
Combine butter and both chocolates in a glass bowl and melt in microwave, stirring until smooth.
Whisk sugar and eggs together. Mix in flour. Stir in warm chocolate mixture. Pour batter into prepared pan. Place cake in large baking pan. Pour enough boiling water into baking pan to come ½ inch up sides of cake. Bake cake until top is firm and toothpick inserted into center comes out with some moist crumbs attached, about 1 hour.
Remove cake from water and cool completely on rack. Transfer cake to platter, release pan sides. Add Frangelico to the whipped cream. Garnish each slice with whipped cream and a sprinkle of hazelnuts.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You’re making a big mistake,” Rourke said. “You’re running away instead of sticking around and figuring things out.”
Jenny didn’t let herself look at him as she moved around the bedroom, packing her only bag. “Figuring what out?” she asked, discomfited by the way he was watching her. “Us?”
He didn’t answer; she didn’t expect him to. Nor did she want to pursue the issue. It was one thing to fantasize about Rourke—that wasn’t a stretch. But when she’d begun to imagine that this was her life, she realized that the time had come for her to move on from this place. There wasn’t much to pack, of course, which she found strangely satisfying. “I’ve been here long enough, anyway.”
“Long enough for what?” He leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles and folding his arms.
She wondered if he missed sleeping in his own bed, but she would never ask him. “For me to get over the initial upheaval, to tie up loose ends.” She picked up a shirt and tossed it haphazardly into the suitcase. “At least it’s nice to know I was never that attached to my clothes. I hardly miss anything.” She shook out her new flannel pajama bottoms and then wadded them up.
“What do you miss?”
“Exactly what you’d expect—my journals, the stuff on my hard drive. One-of-a-kind photographs and mementos. Little things that belonged to my grandparents. This is not a mistake, Rourke. I have to move on with my life.”
He picked up the suitcase. “In that case, don’t let me stop you.”
He could, she realized with a lurch of her heart. There were things he could say that would keep her here, or at least make her listen. Now, if he’d said, “I need you,” or “There’s this thing between us,” maybe she would already be unpacking her bags. It was unsettling to admit to herself that he could tempt her to stay with just two words—don’t go.
He didn’t say anything of the sort. He wouldn’t. They couldn’t talk about Joey. Rourke was mired in guilt over what had happened, and Jenny knew they both had the sense that it would never be resolved. It was just as well. If he asked her to stay, she might say yes, and they’d end up having some sort of drama that would end badly and ruin their newly recaptured friendship.
They walked outside together into the cold, crisp morning. She said goodbye to the animals, feeling an unexpected
