The Complete Eagle Cove

Chapter 4 -3

Greg didn’t know which was worse, having Jessica’s long legs out in plain view, or having her wrapped up in the green-and-gold quilt, her sleep-tousled hair the color of the sun, and clutching her mug of cocoa like a life preserver. It was impossible that someone could look so good right after they woke up. It made it far too easy to imagine waking up next to her the morning after; then the one after that and…

Mrs. Baxter came back out of the door and dumped a handful of tiny marshmallows into Jessica’s mug. She looked up at her mom with the radiant smile of a woman who loved her mom with all of her heart.

He knew—in that single flash of an instant he knew—that no matter what real-world facade of disaffected urbanite she wore, Jessica Baxter would do anything for her mother. She’d just revealed that the Jessica Baxter he’d fanaticized about all his life was real, not some illusion that he’d been fooling himself with. He might not know her, but he certainly knew what sort of person she was.

Greg forced himself back to the present as he thanked Mrs. Baxter for the cup of coffee, a nice contrast to the morning’s coolness. Eight days. Yes, he could think of a lot of things to do over the next eight days. It was plenty of time. And if it wasn’t enough, maybe his new restaurant would open in Chicago.

He looked away from Jessica, because he didn’t want her to see what he was thinking about “their” future—not even a little. It was utterly insane, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself, so like a good chef, he’d follow his instincts.

“We were going to keep it a simple affair,” Mrs. Baxter sat shoulder to shoulder with her daughter, but declined to duck beneath the quilt making Jessica look even more cozy. “But May Conklin at The Brass Plover Pub is incredibly overbooked for any catering next weekend. Frankly she was overbooked for this weekend and was only going to do the wedding as a favor to me. So, I was wondering, Greg. Could you possibly cater the wedding next Saturday?”

“Sure,” he agreed appreciating the way Jessica’s face was relaxing as she sipped her cocoa and watched the ocean. “I’d be glad— Huh?”

Jessica smirked without even turning to look at him. She clearly knew what effect she was having on him…and didn’t seem to mind, which gave him a sliver of hope.

He did his best to force his attention back to Monica.

“Well, her Scottish pub makes her the biggest restaurateur in town. Cal Jr. at The Blackbird Bakery is handling the cake, but I’m desperate for the food. You’ll take care of that for us?”

“For how many?” He’d been invited, he was fairly sure of that. Living back in Eagle Cove a calendar had become less and less meaningful. Five days working for the Judge, the rest of his time, social or cooking, was typically fluid on a daily or even hourly basis. “How elaborate? And for how many?”

Mrs. Baxter looked ever so innocent as she said, “Nothing fancy. It’s an afternoon wedding, so just a friendly sit-down dinner right here.” She waved a hand to indicate the grounds of the old Victorian. The large grassy yard sprawled out to the sea cliff.

Jessica’s eye roll told him one degree of the trouble he was in.

“And I think we only invited twenty or thirty.”

Fewer than he’d fed last night so—

Jessica practically snorted her cocoa with laughter and gave herself a coughing fit that had her mother suddenly solicitous.

“How many invitations did you sent out, Mom?”

She shrugged delicately, she was a softer version of Jessica. Was that time or was Jessica merely a more sharply edged person? Jessica cut a far sharper picture in the world.

“Thirty.”

“Anyone turn you down?”

“Just your aunt, but since Gina is going to be my maid of honor again, I know she’s just teasing.”

Jessica turned to face him. “That’s thirty families. Plus, knowing Mom, anyone else she happened to be chatting with or sold a house to or…”

Greg blinked hard. Mrs. Baxter wouldn’t have thought a thing about inviting people. She had an outgoing warmth that made her one of his favorite people in town completely aside from her role as Jessica’s mother.

“Maybe you should start with an elk,” Jessica teased him.

“Too bad the gray whales are done migrating,” he shot back. Every spring they shrimped their way up the coast, returning each fall. But this was July and he knew nothing about cooking whale anyway.

“Or tourists. No one would ever miss a couple of tourists.”

“And I thought I was the one getting ghoulish,” Greg grimaced.

“No tourists,” Monica Baxter stated as if it was a rule rather than disgust. “They’re the ones who buy weekend residences and hire out my Ralph for day-trip fishing. I refuse to cut into the family businesses for this.”

Greg laughed as Jessica looked at her mother as if she’d grown a second head. He leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the moment. He knew exactly what she was feeling. It was just three years ago that he’d come home and discovered that his mother and father were not the people he’d thought they were—they were better. He recalled the shock of seeing Judge Slater so shattered by the loss of his artist wife. That’s why he’d stayed in town and his father had appreciated it, not that either would ever say a word on the subject of course. Apparently Jessica had been unaware of her mother’s sense of humor.

“I’ll do it, Mrs. Baxter. We’ll need a better estimate of how many I’m cooking for, but I’ll come up with a couple of menu ideas for you.”

“Oh you sweetheart. I always knew you were a good boy,” she leapt to her feet and offered him a hug and a kiss on the forehead. Then she turned to her daughter, “Well, I have a house-showing out at the Carson place in half an hour, so I have to run along. Natalya and Gina went out with Ralph to spend a day together on the water, so you have the run of the place.”

And in an instant he was alone with Jessica Baxter and a sudden awkward silence descended on the porch.

Greg nursed his coffee but couldn’t think of a thing to do to break the silence. He’d abandoned her on the beach last night. Yelled at her about him being an i***t. Great. He’d found a way to be insulting to both of them. And if he sat here like a dumb mute much longer, he’d blow any chance of—

“You were going for a run?”

He looked up to see Jessica was still gazing out at the ocean. “I was.”

“Give me a minute,” and she rose to head indoors, leaving him to contemplate her undressed look as she walked away, and the rumpled quilt now abandoned on the porch swing.

In moments she was back. The shorts were no longer, but they were now visible as the loose nightshirt had been replaced by a form-clinging t-shirt in fire engine red that declared: Journalist! in a headline bold font followed by: Mess with me and I’ll spell your name wrong. The t-shirt wasn’t made out of the thickest material.

“Go ahead, spell it wrong, please!” Greg teased her. “I’d bet anything that it would be completely worth it.”

Her laugh was merry as she rested one of those long legs on the porch rail and began stretching out. A last sip of the coffee did nothing to jog his brain to life. He knew how to talk to pretty women, had earned himself a bit of a reputation for how easily he could sweep up a tourist. He just didn’t know what to say to Jessica Baxter and she absolutely knew it. He retreated to the kitchen to rinse out his mug and buy himself a little space.