Love And Miss Communication Part 27

He was seated outside of her door, dressed in a b.u.t.ton-down and the bottom half of his chef uniform, with a newspaper open on his lap.

"Finally, you're here. I've been rereading articles."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Evie said caustically. "Why are you outside my apartment?"

"First let me help you. I never knew you to cook. I don't suppose this is for Edward, is it?" Jack bent down in front of her, and the familiar scent of b.u.t.ter and garlic mixed with his ginger shampoo wafted up to her. Evie inhaled deeply in spite of herself.

"It is. Let's get this stuff inside." Evie fumbled with her keys, annoyed that her hands were trembling. She looked at her watch. There wasn't much time for her to prepare the meal and get dressed. She really should ask Jack to leave.

"How's Manhattan Maison going?" he asked, arranging the groceries in the fridge. Evie's face froze as she tried to remember what he was talking about. It clicked by the time he turned around to face her.

"Oh, terrific. I just did a huge project on the Upper East Side." Caroline and Jerome lived there, so at least part of what she was saying was true.

"I'm happy to hear it. You know, Evie, I said I'd leave you alone if you wanted, but I'm finding it harder than I expected. I also wanted to run something by you. I'm opening another restaurant and I'd love you to collaborate. JAK was just going to be a renovation, but here's a chance for you to execute a vision all your own."

Another restaurant? She couldn't help begrudging him. Edward had recently been awarded a prestigious teaching prize, and she wanted to share that with Jack. But it seemed too obvious, too out-of-left-field to bring up casually. So she said nothing.

"Anyway, I tried to contact you through your website but I guess you haven't gotten around to setting it up yet. I was thinking of pretending to be a stranger. Maybe then you'd take the job," Jack said. "Anyway, I'm doing a high-end French-Argentinean concept in Midtown. For theatergoers, but definitely not for tourists. Just locals."

How could Jack be such a New York sn.o.b when he was from an entirely different country? Edward would never act so uppity, and he was Manhattan born-and-raised.

"Sounds great," she said, not protesting when he started chopping the vegetables she had bought.

"I'm calling it Evita," he said, looking up from his knife work. "Do you like the name?"

"It's nice," Evie said neutrally. Was he implying that the restaurant was named after her? Was that even possible? She honestly didn't know how to react.

"I hope you think it's more than nice. It's inspired by you," he said.

By now he'd moved on to prepping her sprouts. His hands worked effortlessly. She remembered him telling her that knife skills were all about the wrist. If your bicep bulges, you're doing something wrong.

"After all, you supported me before I really made it," he said. This was news to her. By the time she and Jack met, he was already a well-regarded name in New York City's compet.i.tive culinary sector. She doubted if she would have even gone out with him if he'd in fact been a struggling restaurateur. Either Jack was trying to flatter her, or he'd rewritten history in his mind.

"Whose is this?" Jack asked, picking up one of Wyatt's baby bottles that was left behind.

"Aunt Susan's, if you can believe it. She adopted a baby."

"Oh dear. That lady thinks I'm rubbish," Jack said. "Didn't she say I was poisoning my customers when she found out only half my produce was organic?"

"She definitely said something about you being toxic. But I talked her down."

"Well, I still don't think she's going to root for me."

"There's nothing to root for. I have a boyfriend. And if people aren't rooting for you, it probably has more to do with the fact that you're married than knowing your broccoli gets sprayed with pesticide."

"Touche," he said with a forlorn expression, and Evie warmed to his conciliation. "Listen, Evie. I know my reappearance in your life is sudden. But I know you. You require complication."

"I don't know," Evie responded truthfully. A marriage was more than a complication. And she was annoyed with his presumptions about her. He never had especially good insights into her needs, except when he was putting a plate of spaghetti Bolognese in front of her.

"I'm sure your wife is very proud of you," Evie said, trying to focus the conversation on the more important matter at hand-why the h.e.l.l Jack was naming a restaurant after her when he was married to someone else.

"Zeynup? She likes the publicity," he said, with a one-shouldered shrug.

Evie delighted in hearing Jack insult his new wife, but she didn't let the pleasure creep onto her game face.

Opening score: fifteen-love, Evie.

"But yes, of course, she's very proud of me and has been really helpful," he added. It was just like Jack to give with one hand and take back with the other. Evie resented his ability to alter her emotional state within seconds.

Fifteen, all.

"Well that's good," Evie said. "I would hope so, seeing as you married her." She didn't mince words. As her aggravation with Jack escalated, she grew more certain that she was ent.i.tled to some sort of explanation about why he suddenly up and got married.

"About that, Evie," Jack said, putting down the knife on her counter. She thought he was signaling it was time for a serious conversation, one that involved his full attention. But instead he reached for the raw turkey and ran it under the faucet. He raised his voice to speak over the running water.

"I know you must have been surprised to hear I got married. To tell you the truth, it was all a blur. Zeynup got pregnant and I just panicked and proposed."

Aha! She knew there had to be a baby involved.

Thirty-fifteen.

"She miscarried, but by that time the wedding plans had all been set in motion. And I do love her."

d.a.m.n it. Thirty, all.

"And now?" Evie asked, moving to stand next to him at the sink. Even though she thought Jack's reason for following through with the wedding seemed cowardly, she still reached for the turkey, letting her fingers linger on his hands.

"And now, I can't get you out of my mind. Evie, when you came into my restaurant with that other chap, I thought I would die," he said.

Forty-thirty, Evie.

"Edward."

"Well I gather from this feast you're attempting that Edward is still very much in the picture. He's very lucky," Jack said, but he put his free hand on the back of Evie's neck at the same time, sending shivers down her spine.

"When you didn't respond to my many e-mails I nearly went crazy. I swear I checked my Hotmail every three minutes hoping you'd finally decided to get in touch with me."

Now you know how it feels, Evie thought. To not have the upper hand for once.

"What about Zeynup?" she asked, moving slightly away from him but not removing his hand from her body. His fingers started creeping their way through her messy bun until he pulled out her rubber band and her hair fell around her shoulders.

"Evie, she'll understand. I think she knows the truth about how we got to where we are now. This wouldn't come as a surprise to her," he said. By now the chopped vegetables that he put into a frying pan were sizzling and sending their caramelized scent upward. Evie turned down the flame, musing over the symbolism.

"But has anything changed, Jack? I'm not ashamed anymore to say that I definitely want to get married and have a family." She knew it was Edward giving her the confidence to say these things outright. A wonderful man who saw more of her real self than anyone else, who also wanted these very things with her, or at least she thought he did. He was often making references to the future. So why shouldn't Jack?

"We'll talk through all that later," Jack said, bringing the score to deuce. He snaked a hand around her back and ran his fingers over her breast. She hated that her nipples reacted to his touch by hardening and protruding. Stupid reflexes. Jack had to notice.

"I'd like you to go." She took a full stride away from him so he was no longer at arm's length.

"Please call me," Jack said as he let Evie start to push him out the door. When he was on the other side of the threshold he said, "Are you sure you don't at least want me to stay so I can cook this dinner for you?"

"No. Just go." Game-set-match.

But when she closed the door on him and looked back at the mess in her kitchen, she'd wished she'd accepted his offer. It was the least he could do for all the h.e.l.l he'd put her through. Maybe it was advantage Jack after all.

But no, Evie thought, it wasn't so. He had no more advantage over her. Jack could maybe win a game or two. But she would win the set.

He knocked a moment later. She opened the door a crack, and Jack forced his way inside.

"Evie, please. I need you." He lunged for her, putting his mouth on hers. His saliva tasted like acid. She recoiled, disgust moving across her face like a shadow.

"Jack, no more warnings. You need to leave now and not come back."

"Bradley Winter!"

"Brad Winter?" Evie was back at Book-A-Saurus, relieved that it had yet to be shuttered. Her mother called just as she was reading an article about innovations in Venetian plaster painting. She wanted to impress on the first day of school. "Why are you bringing him up?" Evie asked Fran. She was off to meet Caroline for a movie in a few minutes and had no time to discuss one of her high school boyfriends.

"Do you know where Bradley Winter is now?" Fran asked, obviously eager to share.

"No idea. Haven't seen him since graduation."

"Well, I know. He's the U.S. amba.s.sador to the Czech Republic. And guess what else? He married a swimsuit model. They have three kids." Fran's voice brimmed with satisfaction.

"How in the world do you know that?" Evie asked.

"Facebook. After you quit the d.a.m.n thing, I joined just to see what the h.e.l.l it's all about."

"And why are you telling me this?" Evie said, surprised to hear her mother cussing.

"Because you dumped Bradley Winter when he sent you roses and chocolates for Valentine's Day. You thought if he was so into going steady with you, then you were settling by being with him."

That was actually true. At the time she told Fran she dumped Bradley because his house smelled like whitefish.

"Look, you play the part of the insecure girl with the misfortune of being single when all her friends are married. But the truth is that you don't think anyone's good enough for you. Anyone, that is, except for the one person that didn't want you. He's apparently the guy you'd be willing to marry. But trust me, if Jack did ever actually marry you, his novelty would wear off pretty quickly."

"Yikes, Mom. How long have you been saving up this speech?"

"Not long. I had an epiphany after seeing Bradley's Facebook page."

"Congratulations. The only thing Facebook did for me was make me suicidal," Evie said, a bit too contemplatively. "Exaggerating, of course!"

"Well that's your own doing, Evie," Fran said. "You've got to think about your future. Long-term happiness. What you deserve. Who is going to be the better father? Who is going to be the better husband? Who do you love? And by love I mean come home to at the end of a long day when your feet are aching and-"

"Mom, I got it. Please don't worry about me."

"I really hope so. I had to catch you before I left with Winston for New Haven to see May play in her squash match."

"Be sure to tell her I say h.e.l.lo," Evie said in a sarcastic tone.

"Evie, cut it out. Winston's girls are lovely. They practically worship you. What do you have against them?"

"Worship me?" Evie scoffed. "May never so much as asked me about Yale."

"Evie, please. Don't play dumb. They are intimidated by you. You're beautiful and successful and live this big life in Manhattan and you see them as sheltered babies. They know that. I wouldn't feel comfortable asking you for advice either. I gotta hang up because Winston is nudging me out the door. I love you," Fran said.

"Love you too, Mom."

Chapter 20.

"I'm officially old," Evie said, flexing her feet in bed to work out the morning cramps. She couldn't believe it was her birthday and how much had changed since last spring. At least the last couple of months had been uneventful-in the absolutely best way possible.

"You look as young as the day I met you." Evie could hear the familiar sounds of the morning routine from the bathroom-the toothbrush clinking against a gla.s.s, the foam of the shaving cream emerging from the can.

"Very funny," Evie responded, cozily tugging the blankets around her neck. Though she was rather pleased if he meant what he said. A lot had transpired. If she'd resisted some extra wrinkles along the way, that alone was reason for celebration.

"I think it's time to wake up, birthday girl," he said, appearing beside her with two mugs of steaming hot coffee, hers prepared just the way she liked it. "You excited for tonight? Should be fun." Caroline was having a party at her house later to celebrate Evie's birthday. Evie made her promise to keep it small and casual, but Caroline was not capable of hosting anything to which either of those adjectives could be applied. At least she promised not to serve red wine out of respect for the new furniture Evie had ordered for the living room.

"Yeah, it's nice everyone will be there." She sat up in bed, resting her head dreamily against the headboard. "But truthfully, I'm more looking forward to the after party." She clinked her mug against his, and they both took sips through big smiles.

"So what do you want to do today? Anything you desire, I'm at your service."

Evie was disappointed. While the sentiment was kind, she had sort of expected that the minute she bounded out of bed an elaborate day would unfold, one that might even involve a proposal by night's end. But now it seemed like she was being left to plan her own birthday.

"I don't know. I haven't thought much about it," she lied.

"C'mon, surely you can think of something you'd like to do."

Evie glanced out the window. It looked like a perfect spring day, one of the perks of being a May baby.

"Well, I guess we could go for a walk, maybe get some breakfast?"

"Sounds perfect."

"Okay, I'll throw on my clothes," Evie said, reaching for the jeans and tank top on the floor next to his bed.

"You look beautiful in the mornings." He stood next to her with a towel wrapped around his waist. Evie inhaled his freshly scented skin. It was hard to be mad at him, especially after her erratic behavior just a few months before.

"Thank you, Edward. I love you." She stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. "I'm so happy to spend my birthday with you. Wait, happy's not enough." Evie paused and touched her pointer finger to her chin to show deep contemplation. "I'm elated. That's a much better word."