Part 4 (1/2)
CHAPTER FOUR.
Sunday morning, Sawyer pulled into Jori's driveway just as she was descending the steps of her apartment and allowed herself a moment to drink in the sight. Seeing her for the fi rst time in something other than the boxy chef jacket and loose pants, she felt a fl ash of arousal. Jori's red polo s.h.i.+rt was tucked into khaki shorts riding low on narrow hips. Short, s.h.i.+ny curls were free of their usual bandana, and dark sungla.s.ses obscured eyes Sawyer already knew she could get lost in.
”Good morning.” Jori bent to smile at her through the car window, and when Sawyer saw a small gold four-leaf clover resting in the hollow between her collarbones, she fought the urge to reach out and touch it.
She stretched across and pushed the door open, took the foil-covered plate Jori carried, and held it until she got settled.
Jori glanced at Sawyer as she turned the car around and headed down the drive. She looked comfortable, steering with one hand draped over the top of the wheel. She wore baggy camoufl age cargo shorts and an olive green T-s.h.i.+rt, and the baseball cap pulled low over her eyes shaded her face.
Sawyer glanced pointedly at the plate on Jori's lap.
”Double-fudge brownies.” Jori laughed as she guessed the sudden look of desire on Sawyer's face was for the brownies, not her. ”I know Brady said not to bring anything, but I fi gured everyone likes dessert, right?”
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”Tell me they're frosted and you'll own me.”
Jori was surprised by a surge of pleasure in reaction to Sawyer's words. An unsolicited vision of herself claiming Sawyer fl ew through her mind. ”I'm sorry, no. They're not frosted.”
”Well, I'm sure they're good, just the same.”
Sawyer turned her attention back to the road, and Jori mentally jerked her mind back on track. She had no business thinking about Sawyer s.e.xually; that would only lead to trouble.
When Sawyer pulled the car up to the curb in front of a ranch-style home, Jori felt the familiar racing of her heart and questioned why she had agreed to this outing.
She'd been described as shy, but Jori thought the description a bit simple for the panic that bordered on debilitating. Her chest tightened and she struggled to keep her breathing even. After a lifetime of feeling this way, she should be used to the weakness in her limbs and her sweating palms, and she tried to talk herself out of her nervousness. It wasn't like she was a complete stranger, thank G.o.d, or she would be shaking and nauseated. ”I know Brady, Erica, and Sawyer,” she mentally chanted while she willed her heart to slow.
As she followed Sawyer to the backyard, she tried not to think about the other fi fteen to twenty people Sawyer had said would be there. She forced herself to focus on the expanse of Sawyer's back and the set of her broad shoulders rather than the ball of fear forming in her stomach. Sawyer's T-s.h.i.+rt was tucked in, her shorts rode low, and a wide brown leather belt circled her hips. Watching Sawyer's arms swing slightly at her sides, Jori had the sudden urge to capture one of her hands and try to draw strength from her obvious social ease. Instead, she followed in Sawyer's wake as if she could blend into the aura of confi dence that surrounded her.
At least a dozen adults stood in groups around the large * 44 *
backyard talking and laughing, and nearly as many children zoomed around.
”Would you like a beer or some lemonade?” Sawyer asked as she led her toward a picnic table laden with food.
”Lemonade sounds great, thank you.”
”Hey, Jori,” Brady called from where he stood nearby expertly fl ipping a row of hamburgers. The smoky scent rising from the grill made her stomach growl.
”h.e.l.lo, Brady. Something smells delicious.”
”Yeah, Brady's the man on the grill,” Sawyer said as she handed her a plastic cup. ”But he sticks to that because he knows he can't compete with Erica's potato salad.”
”Yes. It's true. I bow to my sister's culinary mastery.” Brady laughed.
”See that you remember that. Hi, Jori,” Erica said as she walked by carrying a plate of hamburger buns.
”Don't worry, I have him well trained.” A tall strawberry blonde winked at Brady. She s.h.i.+fted the bags of potato chips she carried into one arm and with the other drew Sawyer into a hug.
”You don't come around often enough,” she murmured, then released her and smiled at Jori. ”I'm Brady's wife, Paige.”
”Jori.” She had seen Paige at the restaurant a few times when she fi rst started working there, but they'd never actually met. She did remember, though, being impressed by the level of respect Brady seemed to have for his wife, evident in the way he had talked about her and now in the way he looked at her.
”Ah, the pastry chef. I've heard good things about you.
Welcome to our home.”
”Thank you.” She couldn't help but be taken in by Paige's friendly smile. Her green eyes were bright, and the dash of freckles across the bridge of her nose was the only hint of color on otherwise porcelain skin.
”You two go get some food. I'll bring these over in a minute.”
Brady began stacking the burgers and hot dogs on a platter.
Jori followed Sawyer to the picnic table, then-after they * 45 *
fi lled their plates with potato salad, baked beans, corn on the cob, and hamburgers-to a couple of lawn chairs under a tree.
She took a bite of the potato salad and said, ”You're right.
The salad's great. I know Erica and Brady are chefs. What happened to you?”
”I'm the black sheep,” Sawyer said lightly, and Jori wondered if she was being blown off. But then she continued. ”Erica wants to be in the kitchen, not the offi ce. That was always supposed to be my place.”
”But you don't want it. Why did your parents choose to retire when they knew Erica didn't really want to take over?”
”They didn't exactly choose. My dad had a heart attack.”
”Oh, I'm so sorry.”
”He's fi ne. It was a mild one. But his doctor told him he was on his way to another if he didn't slow down. So they decided it was time to do what they always talked about doing and they retired.”
”And Erica took over.”
”Yes.” Sawyer paused and bit into her hamburger, hesitant to reveal what she knew everyone else saw as selfi shness on her part. ”By the time they were in junior high, Erica and Brady knew they wanted to cook. They both waited tables at Drake's during high school. So everyone a.s.sumed I'd take Dad's place.
And when it came time to go to college, I didn't feel pa.s.sionate about any other subject, so I majored in business as expected. But when it came time to work at the restaurant I started feeling like I might suffocate.”
”Why?”
”I don't know. It's like I was supposed to fi t into a mold that just wasn't right for me.” She hadn't wanted to step into the role her father had prepared. She wanted to fi nd her own way, but, looking back, she hadn't been very successful at that either. ”I had to try something else.”
”What did you do?”
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