“Come on, push it. Push it. Push it!”
The only thing Major wanted to push was the stupid trainer out the nearest window. With each impact of his foot on the treadmill, sharp pains shot up through his calves, quads, and hamstrings; and his lungs felt like he was trying to breathe through soggy bread.
When had he gotten this out of shape?
Unfortunately, the personal trainer assigned to take him around and put him through his paces on his first visit to the gym had recognized his name as a former football player at ULB. Though how this whippersnapper could remember someone who played almost twenty years ago was a miracle.
The only thing that kept him from hitting the emergency stop button was the memory of how puffy his face had looked on TV. Sure, no one should trust a skinny chef—but who wanted to look at a pudgy one week in and week out?
He ran as hard as he could to keep from being flung backward off the machine while Mr. Universe called encouragement at him. Finally, the kid reached over and knocked the speed down to three and a half miles per hour.
“Walk it off. Walk it off.” He made a notation on the clipboard he carried. “Yeah, I think you can start with running fifteen minutes at ... seven miles per hour, then walk half an hour at three and a half. Gradually, you’ll work it up so that you’re running the entire forty-five minutes.”
Major followed him over to the weight machines and spent the next forty-five minutes pretending that he already had more muscle than flab, and planning to decrease the amount of weight on each one next time he came in. If he survived tonight.
After the last apparatus, Major was ready to dissolve into a puddle of melted lard on the floor. Sheer strength of will was the only thing that kept him upright when the trainer smacked his shoulder.
“Good workout, man. Come in four or five times a week and do that, and you’ll be back in your playing condition in no time. See ya later!” The trainer jogged away.
Major grabbed the top of the bicep curl machine as the floor wavered beneath him. Sweat dribbled down his spine ... and his face and his chest and his arms. Why should sweating in the gym feel entirely different from sweating in the heat and humidity of a busy kitchen?
And why had this stupid gym put the locker rooms on the second floor? He stared up the long flight of stairs, trying to talk his legs into carrying him up them.
“Hey—Major O’Hara, right?”
He turned at the man’s voice—and groaned inwardly when he recognized Ward Breaux. He knew he should have come in the morning instead of waiting until after work. He wiped his hand on his towel and shook the man’s proffered hand. “Yeah, good to see you.”
“Didn’t know you worked out here.”
“Just joined today.”
“What’d you think?” Ward started up the stairs two at a time.
Pride—that ghastly beast—refused to allow him to let Breaux leave him behind. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Major ran up the steps to keep up with the contractor. “To be perfectly honest, it kicked my butt. It’s been since college that I’ve made an effort to exercise regularly.”
“Yeah? What did you do back then?”
“Played football.”
“Really? Me, too. Where’d you play?” Ward nodded at several beautiful young women who smiled and eyed him hungrily when they passed them on the stairs.
None of them noticed Major. “Here, at ULB. Where’d you play?”
“Miami. I guess in your line of work, it’s hard to find time to stay fit.”
If Major could move his arms, he’d deck the guy. He didn’t need someone else to point out to him how out of shape he was. His legs were already screaming that they’d be sore for days to come. “It is. But I figured if I’m about to be on TV every week, I’d better shape up.”
“You’re going to be on TV?”
Finally, something he had that Breaux didn’t. “I’m going to be doing a weekly cooking segment on Alaine Delacroix’s show.”
Ward’s dark brows shot up. He opened the locker room door. “That hot chick who does the midday show on Channel Six?”
“Yeah.” Major wasn’t sure if he liked the fact that someone who was seeing Meredith had just called another woman a “hot chick.”
The contractor let out a low whistle. “No wonder you’re here. If I were still unattached and about to be spending that much time with Alaine Delacroix, I’d want to get in shape, too.”
If I were still unattached. A little piece of Major’s heart died. Things between Meredith and this guy must be more serious than Major originally thought if Breaux considered himself attached to her. Major didn’t see any reason to correct Ward’s notion that he would be spending time with Alaine, when it had been made pretty clear that it was only the production and camera people he’d see each week on Tuesdays when they came to film.
“Oh, by the way, Meredith told me she’d like to bring you in on planning the kitchen design in her new house. I’d like to pick your brain on that so I can include your ideas in my bid.”
Lovely. Just what Major wanted to do. Spend more time with the guy who was stealing Meredith away from him. “Sure. Anytime.”
“Great. I’ll get your number from Meredith when I see her later. Well, I’ll catch you another time.” Breaux flung his towel over his shoulder and went around to a different part of the locker room.
Major stuffed everything into his duffel and headed for home before he had to speak to Ward again. The cold air outside turned his sweat to clamminess, and since Kirby’s ragtop was more like a colander than a roof, he was shivering by the time he got home a few miles away.
He stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water work on his sore muscles and trying to clear his head. But he had to face the truth. He’d lied to Meredith last night. He wasn’t happy about Meredith and Ward Breaux. He was especially not happy that he’d had the perfect opportunity yesterday to tell her the truth—about Ma, about his feelings—but like a coward, at Anne’s untimely interruption, he’d allowed all of his doubts and insecurities to come flooding back.
He couldn’t blame Ward Breaux for wanting to have a serious relationship with Meredith. And when he compared himself to the tall, fitness-club-commercial-perfect contractor, he couldn’t blame Meredith for choosing Ward over him.
After the shower, he took a couple of aspirin to hopefully head off some of the soreness he was sure would come, pulled on a clean pair of sweats and long-sleeved T-shirt, and went into the kitchen to fix supper. He opened the fridge and bent down to make sure he didn’t miss seeing anything in there.
Another Friday night, and here he was at home, alone. Alone, while Meredith was probably at this very instant getting ready for another date with Ward Breaux.
He should win her back.
The thought jerked him upright, and he cracked his head on the bottom of the freezer door. Win her back? He’d never had her to begin with. Had he?
He pulled stuff out of the fridge without really paying attention. The only thing that had kept him from asking her out all these years was fear—fear that once she found out about Ma, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Once burned...
But Meredith wasn’t anything like the other women he’d dated in the distant past. He should give her a chance, tell her the truth, see how she reacted.
He remembered the way the women in the stairwell had looked at Ward. Tossing a package of lemon fish onto the cabinet, he let the fridge door swing shut with a condiment-rattling slam. He couldn’t compete with that. He’d only look more like a fool if he tried.
But Major had known Meredith a long time; Ward, only a few weeks. Surely Major could call upon his greater knowledge of Meredith’s likes and dislikes to draw her attention back to him.
He loped into the living room and sank—painfully—into the desk chair. The notebook in which he’d been writing his sample menus was on top. He flipped to a clean page and started writing a new menu—a menu of ideas for romancing Meredith away from Ward Breaux.
“I ran into your friend, the cook, at the gym this evening.” Ward Breaux held open the door of Palermo’s Italian Grill and ushered Meredith in before him.
She tried to think which of the cooks he might have met who would have claimed to be anything but an employee of hers. “Which one?”
“Major O’Hara.”
“Oh, he’s a chef, not a cook.”
Ward chuckled. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No. The title ‘chef ’ is usually reserved for someone who’s been to culinary school.”
“And that’s a big deal?”
“It would be like me calling someone a contractor who doesn’t have a license.”
“Yeah—I guess it is a big deal when you put it that way. Anyway, I saw Chef O’Hara at the gym tonight. Told him that you wanted him to be involved in the kitchen design, so I’m going to set up a time to get together with him to get his ideas.”
The idea of Ward sitting down one-on-one with Major scared her for some reason. “Let me know when so that I can give you my input as well.”
Ward launched into his ideas for the kitchen design. Meredith only half listened as they followed the hostess through the large restaurant to a table near the rear windows overlooking the University Lakes. As usual when in public, the other half of her attention was focused on looking around to see if she knew anyone in the room. It wouldn’t do to walk past a former client without at least a greeting—that was one of the first things she’d ever learned from Anne.
Meredith opened the large, leather-like menu and started perusing the many selections. She’d eaten here only a couple of times since they’d open a year ago, and then with the family, so they had ordered the family-sized dishes and shared.
The waitress came to the table, introduced herself, and asked if they wanted drinks and an appetizer.
“Go ahead and bring us a basket of fried mushrooms and two iced teas.”
“Actually, make mine Sprite with a twist of orange, please,” Meredith hastily corrected, miffed Ward had assumed what she would want.
As soon as the waitress departed, Ward covered her hand with his. “Sorry, I should have asked instead of guessing.”
“That’s okay. I do usually drink iced tea, but sometimes I get in the mood for something else.”
They discussed the menu items, and Meredith wasn’t any more ready to order when the waitress came back with their drinks than before.
“Do you need more time, Mere?” Ward looked at her with those heavenly eyes.
She wished her heart would pitter-patter or skip a beat or something. “Go ahead and order, and I’ll make a decision by the time you’re finished.”
After the waitress finished flirting with Ward with her eyes, Meredith ordered crawfish and shrimp alfredo and gave the waitress her menu along with a warning glance. The girl had the good grace to look apologetic.
Though the tight waistband of Meredith’s skirt warned her she shouldn’t indulge in the fried mushrooms, once she tasted one with the sweet horseradish dipping sauce, she couldn’t help but eat a few of them. She didn’t want to go back to the much larger size she’d gotten to in college—turning to food after Brent announced his engagement to her roommate—but she wasn’t so concerned about her weight that she wouldn’t allow herself to indulge in treats every so often.
As they ate dinner, Ward told stories about his siblings, and Meredith shared a few about hers.
“Do you ever get to a point where, while you still love them, you’re just good and sick of your relatives?” Ward asked.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been going through for the last two weeks, as a matter of fact.”
“Really? What happened?”
“You.” Meredith grinned at him.
“Me? Was it because we ran into your brother?”
“Sort of, but it was what you said on our first date—asking me if I ever got away from them. And I realized, I never do. That project house has become something of a refuge for me, and I didn’t even realize it until you put it into words. The whole reason I’ve been so gung ho about doing the renovations myself is because that was the only place I could think of where I could get away from all of them.”
“Good for you.”
“Yeah, it was amazing—I realized I had no private life with my family, and that I needed to take a stand. I decided not to tell them about you.” Meredith kept her face straight—because Ward’s was so expressive when she teased him.
“You don’t want them to know about me?”
“That’s right. Unfortunately, one of my younger brothers occasionally goes out with one of the receptionists at the office, and she told him about you coming to pick me up last week; so he asked me about it in front of a bunch of siblings and cousins last night.” And Major. She still cringed at that. But everything had seemed pretty normal during their meeting this morning.
“And what did you tell them?” Ward swirled his tea in his glass. The sugar sludge in the bottom barely budged. She still couldn’t decide if it was endearing or just gross that he added sugar to already sweetened tea.
“I didn’t have to say anything. Forbes—the brother you met—came to my defense. Of course, that was only after I blasted him Sunday afternoon for prying.” And then she’d run out like a child. But he didn’t need to know that part.
“Can I interest you two in dessert? Tiramisu or apple crostata or amaretto cheesecake?”
Meredith’s mouth watered at the mention of cheesecake, her favorite dessert.
“What do you want, Mere?”
“We have a chocolate Gianduia cake that’s to die for.”
“I’m not real big on chocolate.” It shouldn’t be that hard of a decision. “I think I’m going to have to pass. My rule is usually that I can have either appetizers or a dessert, but not both. And since I’m taking half my meal home with me...”
“What about this?” Ward reached across the table and took her hand. “Why don’t you order whatever you want, and I’ll split it with you?”
How could such a completely generous and caring man engender absolutely no emotional response from her other than gratitude and a general liking? “Okay. Do you have a cheesecake that doesn’t have almonds or amaretto? I’m allergic.”
“We have a mascarpone cheesecake, but it has walnuts in the crust.”
“Walnuts are fine. Let’s go with that.”
“I’ll be right back with it.”
Meredith liked the warmth of Ward’s hand around hers—and the idea that anyone in the restaurant looking at them would think they were really a couple ... that she really had feelings for this handsome man, that someone had chosen her.
“You slipped away from me there for a minute.” Ward’s thumb circled her palm. “Where were you just now?”
“My mind wandered.”
He grinned. “Fine, keep your secrets.”
“I have to start somewhere. I need the practice.” The feel of his thumb rubbing her palm nearly sent her into a trance. She squeezed his hand to get him to stop.
“Do you already have plans for Valentine’s Day?”
“I do. I’m working that night. It’s one of our biggest events of the year—a charity banquet and auction to benefit the cardiac care unit at University Hospital.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You work New Year’s Eve. You work Valentine’s Day. Let me guess ... you work the Fourth of July?”
“Not usually. But you did skip Easter.”
“Easter?”
“Yes. The multichurch sunrise service followed by the Easter egg hunt in Schuyler Park.”
“I thought the mayor’s wife did that. That’s what they always say on the news.”
“I know. The mayor’s wife is responsible for leading the events and awarding the prizes. So it’s a marquee event for her—show her involvement in the community.”
“But you plan and organize all of it?”
She shrugged and nodded. “It’s my job. I don’t need any special recognition for it.”
“Uh, yeah, you do. With all of these events falling within a couple of months, I’m surprised you have time to go out to dinner. Glad, but surprised.”
“I have a good team of planners and assistants who work with me. I learned early on in this business to identify people’s strengths and delegate responsibility to them.” Just as Anne had done with her. She’d zeroed in on Meredith’s need to please the people she was working with and put Meredith in charge of working with customers. Learning how to stand her ground with vendors had been a hardwon battle.
“I can tell you don’t take enough credit for the amount of work you do and that your coworkers probably take you for granted.”
He saw things so clearly—things that until she’d met him, her eyes had been closed to. “Maybe.”
“Have you ever considered leaving and doing something totally different?”
Only every time she worked a major event. “Occasionally.”
“Like becoming an interior designer—maybe one who works hand in hand with a particular contractor?”
“Why, Ward Breaux—are you offering me a job?” She laughed, but it faded quickly when his expression remained serious.
“I haven’t seen your design aesthetic, but I can imagine it’s got to be impeccable, just from what I know about you and the work you’ve done on your house.”
The waitress chose that moment to return with the dessert. “Here you go. Enjoy.”
Meredith hardly tasted the first bite, still stunned by Ward’s offer. Leave B-G and go to work with him? Do the kind of work she’d gone to school for?
“Of course, I know you wouldn’t make nearly what you make as an executive director with a huge corporation. But there’s something to be said for job satisfaction.”
She couldn’t let him believe she didn’t like her job. “I do have satisfaction in my work.” She thought about the happy faces of the people at the New Year’s Gala. “I make people happy by giving them the best event possible.”
“But is that what you really want to do for the rest of your life? If you say yes, I promise I’ll never mention designing again. But if you can’t say yes, I want you to think about what I said.”
She opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative, but something stopped her tongue from forming the word.
Ward nodded. “I won’t pressure you, but I just want you to think about it, ’kay?”
“I don’t think I’ll have any trouble doing that.”