Menu for Romance

Three minutes until eight o’clock. He moved the vase to the center of the table then set out the plates, napkins, silverware, and cups and saucers. He measured distances between utensils and china using his fingers— the way Maggie Babineaux had taught him—then stepped back to make sure everything looked uniform and symmetrical.

“What’s this?”

His stomach jumped at Meredith’s voice. He stepped aside so she had an unhindered view of the tablescape. “Breakfast.”

The shoulder strap of her overloaded briefcase fell from her shoulder into the crook of her elbow. She jolted to the side from the shift in weight, then hugged her arms around an opaque garment bag. “Breakfast?”

“Yes. You know, the meal that one usually eats first thing in the morning. Which for you typically consists of a child’s-size box of Cheerios, dry, and possibly a tub of applesauce, if you get around to eating it, with several cups of coffee, I believe.”

“What—do you have a nanny cam in here somewhere to keep up with my eating habits?” She smiled, but wariness still filled her eyes. She hung the garment bag on the coat hook on the back of the door then went around her desk, divested herself of her briefcase and purse, and turned on her computer.

“No, we’ve just had enough early morning meetings for me to observe the fact that you take a very haphazard approach to breakfast.” He clasped his hands behind his back to try to stop the itching sensation in his fingers from wanting to go to her desk and straighten up all of the paper stacks, line up the several sticky notes on the edge of her computer monitor, and close the partially opened file drawer in the credenza behind her desk. The office hadn’t looked this disheveled when he dropped off her dinner box yesterday afternoon.

“Do we—are we supposed to be meeting this morning?” She grabbed her thick leather planner out of her briefcase and flipped it open on top of the papers strewn over her desk blotter.

“No, but I saw on the computer that you don’t have any meetings this morning—at least Outlook showed your time as free—and I hoped to be able to get half an hour with you.”

Being in the same room with Meredith made yesterday’s frustration with her evaporate. The dark gray suit she wore highlighted her figure to perfection—making him wonder what was in the hanging bag on the back of the door.

“Are you working an event tonight?”

“Tonight? No. Pam and Lori are overseeing a couple of functions—I thought they’d worked out the catering with your staff.” Concern troubled her usually calm, golden brown eyes.

“Yes, I have staff assigned to both events. I just saw you’d brought extra clothes and wondered...” His thought drifted off when Meredith turned deep red.

“Oh, that.” Her voice squeaked. “I have plans after work and didn’t want to spend the evening in a suit.”

Major stopped rubbing his tongue against his teeth and caught the inside of his cheek between them instead. Plans? A date? With whom?

“So what did you want to meet with me about?” She carried a legal pad and pen over to the conference table.

“Meet? Right. Why don’t you get started serving your plate.” He picked up the carafe and poured coffee for both of them.

“This looks wonderful, Major. Thanks for thinking of it.” She sat down and draped the cloth napkin over her lap.

He cut open a croissant, slathered it with honey butter, arranged a layer of raspberries on one half, then replaced the top.

“A raspberry sandwich?” Meredith grinned at him as she layered her bread with bacon and the egg she’d just sliced. “Not a bad idea.”

Of course she had a date tonight. Any man would have to be an idiot to pass up the chance to date Meredith Guidry. Call me an idiot, then. “Something I picked up from my roommate during culinary school.”

“How’s the week been? Sorry I’ve been missing you, but clearing everything up after the New Year’s gala and trying to get things going for the H to H banquet have kept me running.” Meredith took a big bite out of her bacon and egg sandwich.

Major hid his amusement. One thing he’d always appreciated about Meredith was the gusto with which she ate—no pretense, no falsely dainty bites, just a sheer enjoyment of the food in front of her. He washed down his raspberry croissant with a slug of coffee then gave her a recap of everything the catering division had done that week.

Meredith refilled both coffee cups. The recap of the catering division’s week turned into a discussion of the New Year’s Eve gala and what they could improve upon next year.

But I might not be here next year.

The last bite of his sandwich stuck in his throat. That was something he hadn’t taken into consideration about the restaurant deal: not working with Meredith day in and day out. But not seeing her every day might help him stick to his resolve of never dragging her into the uncertainty of his life, the fear that at any time a call would come that his mother’d had a psychotic break and would have to be removed from the assisted-living facility and find a new place.

“So are you going to tell me what you wanted to meet with me about?” Meredith rested her elbows on the edge of the table and cradled her coffee cup in both hands.

He pushed his plate back, grateful for the derailment of his train of thought. “I guess you know that I had an interview with Alaine Delacroix from Channel Six yesterday.”

“Alaine Delacroix? The girl who does that talk show at noon? Interviewed you?” Meredith’s brows flattened into a frown.

Major didn’t know what to make of her response. “Yeah. Apparently she’s going to be doing a story on the Hearts banquet and wanted to interview me about that, and the New Year’s gala. And she also wanted to talk to me about the cooking segment.”

“The cooking segment?” Meredith almost dropped her coffee and set it down quickly. “What cooking segment?”

He rubbed his forehead. Obviously she was as much in the dark as he’d been. “You didn’t know that I’m apparently supposed to be doing a weekly cooking demonstration for Alaine Delacroix’s show?”

She shook her head. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

“Oh.” His heart twisted at the pained expression that filled Meredith’s eyes—and the knowledge that he’d probably just put her in a very awkward position. “I thought maybe, since the catering division falls under your department...” Shame sloshed around in his gut at the memory of the accusatory anger he’d held toward her since yesterday.

“Catering does, yes. But you know that my parents sometimes like to make decisions without department directors’ input.” Meredith didn’t pull her gaze away from her clasped hands.

He opened his mouth then clamped it shut. Asking Meredith if she really thought her parents did that with any of their other executive directors probably wasn’t the best direction to take the conversation. He wanted to apologize, to take back the knowledge he’d just thrust upon Meredith that her parents didn’t respect her authority and position. But once the soup was spilled, there was no getting it back into the pot.

“I’ll talk to my mom and pass along whatever details she can give me.” Meredith’s soft voice and the weariness in her eyes when she finally looked up tugged at Major’s heart. He wanted to reach over and hug her, wanted to express the sentiments he’d kept bottled up for years, wanted to make her a permanent fixture in his life.

But she deserved better. She deserved more than what he could offer her. She deserved a man who could devote his whole attention to her, who hadn’t been a coward and hidden his schizophrenic mother from her.

“Is there something else on your mind?” Meredith asked.

He frowned and stared into the little bit of coffee remaining in his cup. “I had a meeting with your parents Monday. They want me to consider investing in a restaurant with them.”

With what looked like a conscious effort, the remnants of her earlier frown disappeared. “Dad told me yesterday. It’s a great opportunity for you. When would it happen?”