Part 15 (2/2)

Cam checked the timer. Two more minutes for the pie. She checked her list. The baby mixed greens sat ready in the three-wood Costa Rican salad bowl her parents had given her, violets scattered over the top. The salmon fillet was marinating in her special soy-ginger-lime mix. The strawberry-rhubarb pie was almost done. She'd boil water for pasta at the last moment, while she grilled the salmon. She planned to toss the gemelli with pesto frozen from last summer and top it with freshly grated Parmesan. A simple and delicious dinner. No way could she compete with Jake's expertise, so why try?

When the timer dinged, Cam pulled the pie out of the oven and let it rest, glad she'd thought to buy rhubarb from Green Spring Farm on her way home the day before. She stirred sugar into sour cream and spooned it carefully on top. She tried to steady her hand when she noticed it shaking. Sure, she was a little nervous. Not only was tonight a date with a man she liked, but it was a dinner for a chef.

”That's why I'm producing only dishes I know I can do well, right, Preston?” Cam slid the pie back in the oven and set the timer for seven minutes as Preston rubbed his head against her knee. She glanced at the table. A simple white cloth, the bucket of carnations, Marie's rose china, pink cloth napkins under the silver, a bottle of Mill River Winery Naked Chardonnay in a chilled wine cooler. Oops. Candles. Cam rummaged in the hutch until she found two gla.s.s candlesticks and two red candles. Oh, well, they matched the color scheme close enough. She set them up and checked the time. Six o'clock. Jake should be here any minute.

Striding into the living room, Cam smoothed down a stray lock of hair as she checked her appearance once more in the tall oval mirror. She'd picked a gauzy pale blue Indian blouse that set off her eyes and white capri pants. The tiny bells on her silver Indian earrings jingled when she moved her head. Of course, she'd rolled the sleeves of the blouse up for cooking, and a drop of strawberry juice had landed on the pants, near her knee, which kind of spoiled the look. Cam knew she wasn't a style setter. If Jake was going to be involved with her, he'd have to learn that this was what he was going to get.

When the timer rang again, Cam dashed back to the kitchen and carefully extracted the pie, setting it on a wire rack to cool.

She looked down at Preston. ”Don't you get any ideas about licking the sour cream off the top of that, sir.” He only occasionally made his way onto the countertop, and this would be a particularly inopportune time to do it. Cam rummaged in the lower cupboards until she found an extra-large colander. She turned it over and covered the pie. A proper farmhouse would have had a pie keep. If Marie had had one of the cupboards with doors made of perforated metal, it was long gone now.

Cam made her way outdoors to wait in a lawn chair under the tree. A breeze that had sprung up brought the tang of fresh-cut gra.s.s. A mosquito keened near her ear and earned a slap. It was still a couple of hours until sunset. This one must have been extra hungry. She closed her eyes, trying to still her mind. A motorcycle sped by on the road. The leaves rustled in the tree above her, and a branch rubbed against another.

She got up and wandered over to the flower garden, which was in its purple phase. The j.a.panese irises. The pointy stalks of lupines. The delicate columbines. Cam bent over and pulled a few weeds. While she was at it, she deadheaded several of the narcissus that had gone by, a task Marie had taught her on one of Cam's first visits to the farm, twisting off the little bulging bulb where the flower had been. ”The energy has to go back into the bulb in the ground and nourish it, so it will flower next year, too,” Marie had said.

Cam looked back at the yard, glad she'd taken twenty minutes to mow it earlier. It made everything look tidier, nicer, even the peeling paint on the back of the house. But where was Jake? It had to be almost six-thirty. Maybe he'd had an accident. Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he thought fas.h.i.+onably late was cool. She realized she didn't really know if he was habitually late or not. She didn't know much about him at all, for that matter. Cam dusted her hands on her pants, as was her habit.

”Oh, rats,” she said as she looked down. She didn't usually wear white for precisely this reason. A dusting of dirt now decorated the outer seam of both pant legs.

Just then a Cooper Mini with the top down pulled into the drive. There he was. Just in time to see her ruined outfit. Cam watched Jake unfold himself out of the tiny convertible. He wore ivory linen slacks with black sandals and a loose silk s.h.i.+rt in a bold print with blocks of black, red, and ivory tumbling every which way. To Cam's eyes, he looked relaxed and stylish. And s.e.xy.

”Sorry I'm late,” he called, waving a floral wrap full of flowers. He leaned into the backseat and emerged with the other arm tucked around a bottle of wine and a paper bag. A CD was clamped under his chin, preventing him from straightening all the way. ”Help?”

Cam laughed. She relieved him of the CD, and then of the flowers when he extended them to her. ”Thanks.” She peered into the wrap and said, ”Apet.i.tion again? What's his name?”

”Don't be silly. It was probably one of my customers.” But if not Jake, she had no idea who could have left them. ”So what's in the bag?”

Jake held out the paper bag. ”I brought just one little contribution. An appetizer, only.”

Cam wrinkled her nose. ”Oh, right.” Appetizers. She glanced up at Jake. His dark expression turned to hurt. ”I mean, thank you! I totally forgot about appetizers. And I really appreciate it.”

Jake's face relaxed. ”I just made simple pastries stuffed with crab and truffles.”

Yeah, simple, thought Cam. ”What a treat,” she said. ”Come on in.” She led the way into the house, her body aware of his following her.

Cam laid the flowers next to the sink, then drew two slender winegla.s.ses out of the fridge. ”Chardonnay okay to start? We'll have what you brought with dinner.”

”Lovely.”

Cam poured the wine and handed Jake his gla.s.s. ”Here's to summer. Less than two weeks to the solstice.”

”To summer.” Jake clinked his gla.s.s with hers and sipped. ”Delicious. It'll be perfect with the pastries. Give me a cookie sheet and an oven, and I'll just crisp them up.”

After directing Jake to what he needed, Cam leaned her elbows back on the counter and watched him work. His ample body and energy filled the room. He glanced over once and smiled.

After he closed the oven door, Jake examined the timer on the stove and, apparently being a quick study, set it for ten minutes. He washed his hands. ”Now, a wine opener. I want to let the red breathe.”

The man was all business. Cam handed him the corkscrew. While he opened the red wine, she clipped the ends of the flowers and arranged them in a heavy gla.s.s vase then placed it on the table, s.h.i.+fting the bucket of flowers to the table near the door. She remembered to roll down her sleeves and smooth them out.

Jake set the bottle on the counter and turned to her. ”There,” he said. He gazed at Cam, taking in her face, her outfit, her feet-thank goodness for the red nail polish she'd unearthed in her cabinet-like he was hungry for more than dinner.

The blush tiptoed its way up her neck.

”You look fabulous, Cam. The perfect summer hostess.”

Cam snorted. ”Yeah, perfect.” She shook her head, then gestured to her now less than white pants.

”Well, a hostess who can not only cook but can also grow the dinner, no? That's a good thing, that little bit of dirt.” Jake picked up his gla.s.s and, with a seductive look in his eyes, sidled over next to Cam, leaning one elbow on the counter so he faced her. ”What's on the menu, Madame Chef?”

His heat. His delicious scent. His ice-blue eyes boring into hers. She felt a little dizzy and a little damp.

The timer went off.

”Ah, saved by the bell!” Jake said as he left her side and busied himself finding a plate and a spatula, sliding the pastry cups-now tipped with a light toast color-onto the plate, offering it to Cam with a flourish.

Saved by the bell was right.

A couple of hours later Cameron took the last bite of her pie.

”That was splendid, Cameron. I must have the recipe.” Jake pushed back from the table a little and patted his stomach. ”What a meal.”

Cam nodded, taking a sip of coffee. The pasta and salmon had been a success, and Jake had exclaimed repeatedly about the freshness of the salad. Cam had promised him as many greens as she could cut as soon as they were ready in quant.i.ty, and had made a note to herself to feed the lettuce seedlings the next morning so they stayed healthy.

”Thanks for bringing the crab thingies. They were divine.”

Jake laughed with gusto. ”Thingies? A technical term among farmers?” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

Cam sputtered as she blushed. ”Hey, you're the chef. What do you call them, anyway?”

”Crab-truffle thingies.” He wiped the smile off his face but not out of his eyes. ”I put them on the menu every other week. They even got a thumbs-up from the reviewer last month. 'The crab thingies were divine' was in the second paragraph of the review.” Jake broke down and let the laughter out until he cried.

Cam tsk-tsked, protesting, ”I'll bet you wouldn't have the slightest idea what the beneficial parasite that colonizes tomato hornworms is called, so there.”

Jake wiped his eyes with his napkin, the hilarity apparently subsiding. ”No, my dear, I wouldn't. But you know what else I brought besides thingies?”

”A CD.”

”Righto. I'm going to clear here, and then I want to put on a particular CD for you. No, don't get up,” he said as Cam started to rise. ”Let me do it. You worked hard all day. I had the day off, remember?”

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