TO be a surprise!” Tina Ballard said, leaning on the counter in the Tremont kitchen reception area, her gold bracelets rattling on the granite surface. Her younger son, Jed, stood behind her, jangling his car keys and generally looking bored as only a teenage kid could.
Eden jotted down the word surprise and drew a circle around it. Tina beamed. She was trim and tanned from playing tennis, her dark hair perfectly cut. “His birthday is on the fifteenth. It’s a Tuesday, so that should really make it a surprise. Who has a party on a Tuesday?”
In addition to cooking for the Ballards every week, Eden had catered many of their parties, but never on a Tuesday. “Not many people do that,” she agreed.
Jed rolled his eyes. The Ballard boys were just a touch spoiled. Their father worked as entertainment director of several hotels in the Cassandra chain, including the Tahoe Summit. He pulled in one heck of a salary, but he’d always been down-to-earth and personable. As was Tina.
“I’ll work up some menus and be in contact,” Eden said.
“Good.” Her client patted the counter. “Oh, I heard that Justin finally got the Firebird going.”
“Yes, he did,” Eden said. And she hated it, because he drove too fast.
“Michael will be pleased. He only sold it to Justin because of you, you know.”
Eden smiled. “I thought it was because of all that begging.”
“That, too.”
Jed gave a small cough and Tina straightened up from the counter. “We’d best be going. I know you’ll do a spectacular job with this.”
“I will,” Eden agreed, as her best customer waved and disappeared out the door.
Good money, good times, but surprise parties were a pain.
She went back into the kitchen, where Patty was running a basin of warm water to wash the counters down after a full day of making chicken potpies.
“I thought Justin would be in by now,” Patty said.
“Double shift at the Tahoe Summit,” Eden told her. Again.
“He does too much,” Patty said. Eden didn’t answer, since the prep cook said that at least four or five times a day, but she did glance at the clock. It was later than she’d thought.
“Oh, man, I’ve got to hurry. I told Reggie I’d be at their place at seven.” It was her babysitting night, an evening she looked forward to, since she couldn’t quite get enough of her new niece, Rosemary Eden Gerard. Tom, Reggie’s husband, put in long hours renovating the house he was going to use as the site of his new restaurant, and he insisted that they get one night out a week.
“You know I don’t mind finishing up here,” Patty said briskly. “I like cleaning at the end of the day.”
“Thanks.” Eden didn’t hesitate in accepting her offer. Patty did like cleaning up, finishing up, locking up. Being indispensable. And in a way, Eden felt sorry for her. Other than at Tremont, she didn’t seem to be indispensable to anyone.
Eden hung up her apron, thanked Patty again, who waved her off, then rushed out the front door to the lot. And stopped dead when she saw the envelope stuck under her car’s windshield wiper.
Drawing in a breath, she yanked out the heavy envelope. Cream colored and expensive—no doubt who had left it there.
Eden dropped the envelope on the ground and got into her car. She’d pick it up and throw it away some other time. But right now, even though she couldn’t see his car parked anywhere, she had a strong suspicion that Ian was watching, waiting to see her reaction to whatever he’d written.
He wouldn’t be getting a reaction from her because she wasn’t going to allow him to engage her. She jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine, letting it run for a few seconds before she put it into gear and backed out of the parking spot.
She noted with a touch of satisfaction that she’d run straight over the envelope, leaving a nice dirty tire mark on the pristine cream paper.
“IT’S OPEN,” TOM GERARD called when Eden knocked on the back door of her sister’s house. Brioche, her brother-in-law’s part-Yorkie dog, raced across the kitchen to greet Eden, nearly sliding out the door as she skidded to a stop on the tile floor.
“Hey, Bree,” Eden said, leaning down to ruffle the hair of the little terrier’s head. The dog grinned at her and danced on its hind feet. Mims, Reggie’s fat cat, watched disdainfully from the kitchen door, but Eden knew that before the evening was over, cat and dog would be snuggled together in one bed.
“Thanks for coming,” Tom said, handing Eden the baby and then gently prying tiny fingers off his slate-blue silk tie. Rosemary’s lower lip jutted out as she lost possession of her new find, so Tom made a silly blowing noise at her stomach. The baby gave a huge gummy grin and waved both hands. Tom laughed.
“New trick,” he said to Eden with a crooked smile. “There’s a bottle in the fridge ready to go. Just heat and serve in about an hour, and she should go down.”
Not if Eden had anything to do with it. The baby might go to sleep, but she’d be in Aunt Eden’s arms in the rocker while they overdosed on classic movies.
“I need to hurry my wife along so that we can eat and be back before Reggie falls asleep.”
“I swear she’s pregnant again,” Eden said.
“Not likely.” But he didn’t look displeased by the idea. “And she’s not throwing up.”
“It’s probably a boy. Different chemistry involved.”
Reggie came out then, her dark hair swept up. She was wearing an emerald-green dress that made her look cool and elegant, exactly the opposite of how Eden felt nine-tenths of the time. Somehow blond and short did not translate into cool and elegant. She might have felt on the edge of sophisticated at Reggie’s wedding, and maybe at one or two of her proms—not the one where she fell in the fountain, thanks to her brother—but in general she had to settle for being the perky Tremont.
Perky.
She hated that word.
“You look great,” Eden said, transferring the baby to her shoulder, in case Reggie had any ideas about relieving her of her burden.
“Thanks.” Reggie came around behind her to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “We won’t be long. I got the payroll done. Don’t let me forget to give you the checks.”
“They’re on the dining-room table,” Tom said, helping his wife into her coat.
“How’re things at the kitchen?” Reggie asked as Tom firmly shepherded her to the door.
“All caught up.” Barely. Eden patted the baby’s back. “You know we’ll call you guys if we get into the juice, and in the meantime you can stop worrying, stay home and enjoy motherhood.”
Which was exactly what Reggie was doing. She’d promised to take six months off, coming back in May
