“Dad, I need to talk to you. I have bad news.”
He paused the recording. “Bad news? Should I sit down?” It was his favorite Dad joke since getting his wheelchair, but this time I didn’t roll my eyes.
“I didn’t sell the café. The people who wanted to buy it were the ones who vandalized it. They were trying to force me to take their low offer.”
His eyes widened. “They did it?”
“They’re not good people.”
He slapped his hand on the arm of his wheelchair. “Then they don’t deserve Mack’s Place. Besides, now the café's all fixed up, isn’t it? You can get it humming again, so there’s no hurry to sell.”
“The thing is, I went to see my old boss at the Tribune. I’ll reopen for now, but as soon as a job comes up, I’ll close it down and leave.”
Dad’s expression slowly sagged. The dark shadows of age around his eyes seemed to deepen. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping.
“I’m really sorry, Dad.”
Lifting his chin, my father managed a sad smile. “I never thought I’d see the end of Mack’s Place. But if that’s what you need to do…” He lifted one shoulder and let it drop.
My heart was breaking. I rubbed a hand over my eyes with a heavy sigh. “Listen, I may not get a job anyway. They don’t come up very often at the Tribune, and I haven’t applied anywhere else yet—”
“Natalie!” My father barked my name so sternly, I jumped. “The only thing I regret about running the café is that I can’t do it for forty-two more years. I got to do the thing I loved. And I’m sorry you don’t feel the same way about Mack’s Place, but I’m coming to accept it.”
I nodded, giving him a sad smile. “Okay.”
“You won’t ask Kade to come back and cook for you?”
I winced. “Dad…”
“Okay, okay. Can’t blame me for asking.” He wheeled over to the bookcase. “That reminds me. I forgot to give this to Kade.” He pulled out a battered folder.
“What’s that?” As he wheeled back to me, I saw it was stuffed full of paper, its cover splattered with old food stains.
“All my recipes.” He handed me the heavy folder. “Will you give them to him? That way, if Mack’s Place has to close, at least my recipes will live on.”
I flipped through it with difficulty, because some of the pages were falling out, and others were stuck together. “This is precious,” I said.
“More than all the money in the world.”
“Then don’t give it away. I’m still determined to build you a kitchen you can cook in. You’re going to need it.” I shut the folder and tried to give it back to him, but he pushed it back into my hands.
“I know all those recipes backward and forward. Kade needs it so he can start making his cream sauce properly.”
“Kade’s been trying to come up with recipes for his show. You think he could use some of yours?”
Dad’s face lit up. “My recipes on TV?” He chuckled. “Sure. He should do that. It’ll improve his show no end. Probably lift his ratings.”
“I’ll courier the folder to him.”
“First tell me one thing. What went wrong between you two? I mean, first you were engaged, then he was back in LA…?”
Time to go before the conversation moved to shaky ground. My tears came far too easily these days, and I wasn’t about to break down in front of Dad. “I’d better go,” I said, getting up. “And no more strip poker, okay? The orderlies keep complaining.” I bent to kiss his cheek, clutching his precious folder to my side.
“Be happy, sweetheart,” he said when I straightened, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I may be a demanding old bugger, but that’s all I really want.”
“I’ll try.” Sure enough, I could feel a lump forming in my throat. Since Kade left, the slightest thing seemed to set me off and if Dad was going to be sweet, I had roughly ten seconds to get out before I became a blubbering mess.
“Love you, Dad.” I ran for the door.
“If you’re talking to Kade, tell him his lentil curry in Season Two was too moist!” Dad yelled after me. “And ask him what on earth he was thinking, putting sausage into his—”
The TV came back on, drowning Dad out. As the door shut behind me, I heard Kade’s warm, sexy voice instead.
“And now, are we finally ready to rub some meat?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kade
I turned the package over in my hands to see the sender’s address. The handwriting was Nat’s. I recognized the curly loops on the tall letters even before reading her San Dante address.
My heart was already beating fast when I ripped open the package to reveal a thick folder. Though I hadn’t seen the folder in years, it had once been very familiar. Inside was a collection of all the recipes Mack had created and collected over his long lifetime. As his apprentice at the café, I used to spend hours pouring over the recipes, selecting which ones to cook on any given day.
There was also a short, handwritten note from Nat.
This is yours now, Kade. Dad says he wants you to have it.
I stared at the words as though they could heal the wound in my heart, before opening the folder. I slowly turned the pages and ran my fingers over the dog-eared, food-splattered recipes, revisiting them like beloved old friends I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten.
This was the most precious gift I could imagine. Why had Mack parted with it? And after I’d lashed out at her before leaving San Dante, why would Nat send it to me?
I stopped at a salad recipe, struck by a memory. I’d been chopping lime and mint for the salad, and the fresh scent had filled the café's kitchen. Mack was out front laughing with some customers, and Nat was on vacation from journalism school,
