The Secret Ingredient (Love Around the Corner) Page 2

  “Right. I was expecting someone else.”

  “I’m the only brother she has.” He sounded peeved.

  “She said you needed a video, but she didn’t explain much.”

  “Ah, it’s a lot to go into over the phone.” He brushed one hand down his side as he glanced over the garden. It certainly looked a lot better than it had before she and the kids had gotten to work on it earlier. Now at least most of the weeds were uprooted and wilting in the sun.

  As she waited for Nate to get to the point, she directed the kids to pick up the gardening debris and pile it into the wheelbarrow parked in the middle of the plot. Emma and Ralston were mutual sidekicks and had been since first grade. June wondered how their friendship would weather puberty. Reflecting that hormones messed up most things, she leaned over and gathered discarded tools, wiping soil from the edges off with her boot soles.

  “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Nate spoke up. “You’re busy.”

  “I’m always busy. It doesn’t mean I can’t listen and work at the same time. We’re wrapping up here anyway.”

  With a shrug of his big shoulders, Nate waded in and retrieved a shovel Emma had left among the popcorn seedlings. “I need help with a video. They have a list of things they want, and it’s complicated.”

  Complicated. June relished complicated. “We need to stack the tools in the shed, right over there.” Handing him her collected trowels and Ralston’s hoe, she pointed the man in the direction of Mike the Custodian’s outdoor-equipment shed. Mike was on the grounds mowing today, and he’d lock up later. June tried not to notice Nate’s rear view as he walked away, but she couldn’t help noticing how the soft shirt clung to the muscles of his back. Hmm. He didn’t seem to be much younger than she was.

  Ralston and Emma had almost tipped the wheelbarrow contents over by the time she got to them, but together they pushed the awkward cart to the compost heap the fifth-grade science classes had constructed. The front tire stuck into the soft ground at the edge of the open enclosure, and she and the kids struggled to lift up the handles and dump the load. Just as she bent her back to give it a shove, Nate’s hands were easing hers away and with an easy shrug, he tossed the weeds into the bin. So those shoulders weren’t just for show.

  Emma and Ralston disagreed over who was going to push the wheelbarrow back to the shed until June told them to each take a handle and work together. With a glance at the man next to her, she wondered what to say. “Thanks for your help. With cleanup.”

  “What is this? I don’t remember a garden here.”

  June looked over the ragged square cut into the lawn beside the school building. The students always put it together with such enthusiasm in April and May, but once school was out, it tended to run wild over the summer. The yellow pear and black tomatoes seemed to be faring well with benign neglect, as were the onions and beans. The peas on the trellis were sad, but peas always were once the temperature rose. “It’s a community garden.”

  “Who eats all the produce? There’s no one here.”

  “I take it to the seniors at the Acres. What exactly is this project you need help with?” June peered at him.

  Nate turned to face her. “It’s an audition video for a television competition. A reality show.”

  “What, you’re a singer?” June’s heart dipped. Just her luck. He was a musician surrounded by groupies and having reckless sex every night. Nate laughed out loud, and her nerves hummed.

  “No way. I’m a cook. A chef, I mean.” He straightened up and gave a nod like he’d promoted himself.

  June was intrigued despite her good sense warning her to step back from her curiosity. “You mean like Top Chef, or that horrible one with the cursing man…ah, Hell’s Kitchen?”

  He nodded and leaned her way. “So you know about them. Yeah, it’s like those, but it’s a new one. The audience votes on it, kind of like American Idol.”

  June shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. How can someone watching in Idaho know what the food tastes like?”

  He shrugged, and she was again distracted by those shoulders. He must lift really heavy bags of potatoes every day. “I have no idea. But they want another tape from me, and there’s this long list of things they want to see before they bring me out to Hollywood. Or Burbank maybe. I’m not sure where they’re filming it.”

  “You have the list?”

  He pulled a folded paper from his jeans pocket and brandished it. She indicated he should follow her to her car as she told Ralston and Emma thanks for their help and sent them on their way. They wandered off in the general direction of their homes after retrieving their discarded bikes from the sidewalk.

  June pulled off her gardening gloves and wiped her palms across her thighs before getting her keys out and unlocking the hatch of her small car. There was her baby, safe and sound. Her hands cupped around the leather Day-Timer in a practiced move and she flipped it to that week’s planner section. The end of July was only moderately booked.

  “What is that?” Nate edged to her side, and June fancied she could feel the warmth from his body as he stood there staring at her planner.

  “It’s my brain.”

  “Your brain has a lot of colors and sticky notes in it.”

  Not sure if he was making fun, June glanced at him and found he was smiling in a disarmingly friendly way. And he had a dimple. Damn. “I have a lot to keep track of. Let me see your list.”

  He unfolded and handed over a printout of an e-mail. As she ran down the list of required elements, her mind assigned blocks of time to each one. At least a couple of hours for the intro, five or more for the cooking demo. She couldn’t estimate how much time it would take to film him shopping in a grocery or “sourcing at other food source,” whatever that meant. Better safe than sorry, so allot all day to that one.

  She’d already half filled her schedule for the week but she knew she could work him in, especially if she managed to get him to laugh again. “What’s the deadline?”

  “July thirtieth at midnight.”

  “So, sent to them July twenty-ninth by noon, at the latest.” One week to complete it. She’d pad the schedule to allow a day for editing and any extra shots they might want to get. Maybe some sort of montage would be good.

  He chuckled, and she fought a responding laugh. “If you say so. Can you help me?”

  “I believe we can manage it. What’s your schedule like?” She shifted her planner in her hands and looked him over, wondering where he could be concealing a notebook. Those jeans fit closer than she’d originally assessed. Maybe he was one of those people who used his phone to keep track of his appointments. She’d never trusted the devices that much. Give her paper and a pencil, and she could organize an entire school assembly and awards luncheon in an hour.

  Nate searched the pockets of his jeans halfheartedly. “I, uh, don’t really have anything written down.”

  June recoiled a step. “You mean you keep track in your head?”

  “I don’t have that much going on. Just work. I don’t need little notecards and highlighters.” Now his mouth was turning down, and he reached to pull off his sunglasses. As soon as she saw his electric-blue eyes, a bolt of recognition snapped through her, and she backed away, cracking her head against the raised hatch of the car in the process. Nate Garner.

  * * * *

  She was like a little elf or wood sprite, something ethereal and strong at the same time. That’s all Nate could think as he babbled answers to all of June Sinclair’s businesslike questions. When she’d emerged from that little green-leafed hut and stared up at him with those clear honey eyes, he’d been floored by her. Then, he’d checked her ears for the slightest bit of pointiness.

  Just as he’d made a few jokes and been rewarded by her cautious smile, which was brilliant enough that he’d taken off his sunglasses and bask in the glow, she’d gotten a look at him and banged her head into her car. As she winced and rubbed her scalp, he hoped she’d been overcome
with infatuation and lost her balance.

  “You’re Nate Garner!” she sputtered as she frowned at him.

  “I have been all along.”

  “But, your sister is Becky Wray.” Nate waited for more from her. June flinched and shut her eyes. “Wray is her married name. I didn’t realize she was a Garner. Used to be.”

  “Is that a problem?” Why would his last name matter to her? He’d never met her before, a novel occurrence in a town as small as Palmer, Ohio.

  “Yes, it is. No, it isn’t. I have nothing against other Garners at all.” June tensed up her pretty mouth and snapped her enormous calendar book shut. “You broke my brother’s arm in football.”

  Now he remembered. It was the big rivalry game of the season, and the conference title was also on the line. Palmer had played Western, the smaller, rural school on the other side of the county. All the elements for epic high school legends were present that cold night. He remembered how hyped everyone had been, from the screaming fans with face paint to the cheerleaders squealing for more. There had been trash-talking and late hits and in the fourth quarter, he’d landed on a skinny kid named Sinclair, and there had been a sickening popping sound.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” It had been over a decade ago, but another apology or two wouldn’t be amiss. At the time, he’d written a note and never heard anything back. He hadn’t seen the kid again, or thought much about it. Until now.

  “Sorry? You have no idea—” June shut her mouth and kept frowning. Nate sensed they were at a delicate moment of decision and kept quiet.

  “Right. It was an accident. Unintentional. Just a game. Let it go.” She sounded like she was repeating a mantra for a calming effect, but the glint in her pale brown eyes made Nate nervous.

  “So, are we calling it quits on this?” he ventured, hoping against hope it wasn’t true. Making the video with her had suddenly leaped to the top of his to-do list, if he’d ever bothered to make one.

  “I told your sister I would, and I don’t go back on my promises. Ever.” Her grim tone made him think of someone facing a firing squad and refusing a blindfold. She looked him over, and not in the interested-female way he’d been hoping for. “You don’t have a calendar or schedule of some sort?”

  Nate shook his head, and she sighed. Slowly the planner fell open in her hands, all the little colored tabs and notes bristling along the edges. She tore a piece of paper out, laid the whole conglomeration in the trunk of her car, and leaned over it. He risked a glance at her rear end, but her voice startled him before he could consider the finer points.

  “Okay, tell me when you have to work, or have other commitments.”

  As he recited his work schedule, he watched her make notes in a neat hand, and then transfer information to the loose sheet. She referenced his smudgy printout and made little thoughtful noises as she cracked open a green highlighter and blocked off squares on the calendar. Hell, it looked like she was planning his life for the next week or so.

  “Hey, what’s this? A four-hour block to film the omelet thing? It only takes a few minutes to cook an egg.” He’d cooked thousands of them on the griddle at the diner. He could fry, scramble, or boil the things while half asleep, and some mornings he had.

  She turned away from her paperwork with a patient expression. Maybe her ears weren’t pointy like an elf’s, but her chin certainly was. “I have no idea how many takes will be required, and there will be at least two camera setups. One for you and one close up. I’ll have to do some research and come up with a rudimentary storyboard so we don’t miss anything.”

  Huh, he hadn’t thought of that. Maybe she did know what she was doing.

  “We’ll need to plan locations, buy supplies, check wardrobe.” She paused. “Were you planning on just putting a camera on a tripod at the kitchen table and throwing something together in a half an hour?”

  He’d been anticipating exactly that. June seemed to sense his dismay. She laid a small hand on her calendar and turned her whole body his way.

  “To do this correctly, bare minimum, it’s going to take several days. Some of your fellow competitors have probably hired professionals for theirs. Music, graphics, fancy effects, who knows? I’m not that good, but I can handle the basics. It’s going to be work, for you, and for me.” She raised a delicate eyebrow, but her voice was tough enough to quiet a classroom of wriggling kindergarteners.

  So much for flirting his way through this while paying only half attention to the task at hand. Instead of wondering what sort of underwear she favored, he should be focusing on this schedule, and the possibility it might actually work. “Okay. What do you need me to do first?”

  June narrowed her eyes, studied him a moment, and then turned back to her book. More notations, and then little sounds of annoyance and satisfaction until she handed him a sheet with a flourish. It was covered with graphs and lines and squares, clear green blocks and tiny yellow dashes, everything neat and square and within the lines. Intimidating as hell. Nate took a breath and dove in, reading her timeline of preproduction, beginning today, to filming, then editing, and an extra square of time mysteriously labeled “as needed.”

  “May I keep this copy of their requirements? I’d like to use it as a reference. Would you be willing to send me a copy of your first audition, so I can get a feel for what they’ve already seen?”

  Nate was too stunned by her lightning-fast scheduling to do more than nod agreement. What exactly had Becky gotten him into?

  Chapter 2

  Eyes bleary from watching Top Chef Canada auditions on YouTube, June leaned away from her laptop and glanced over her apartment. It was just like she’d left it an hour before when she’d slipped into research: small living area running right into a galley kitchen, short hallway leading to a bedroom and bath and filled with comfortable furniture and needlepoint pillows, just as it should be. All she needed was a cat or little dog and she’d be settled in quite well as a spinster lady, even though she was far from it. The men she’d brought home with her on occasion had been quite content to burrow in her downy bed and eat off her fine china. It was just that they had all eventually turned into an unexciting obligation in her schedule, rather than an anticipated event.

  With a sigh, she rose from her chair and stretched her back. This filming project was going to be a challenge from top to bottom. Judging by what she’d seen online, she could more than match any shaky handheld efforts, but if she was going to do this, she wanted it to be good quality, just like she wanted her furniture to be solid wood. She was confident in her schedule, but the uncertainty she was feeling centered on the man who was the focus of the whole enterprise.

  Nate Garner was a wild card. In her limited experience with him, she’d picked up on a certain devil-may-care quality in his approach to life. It matched his wicked smile. However, now that she’d found out he was the guy who’d mauled her brother, it didn’t matter that she found him attractive. This was going to be strictly a business arrangement. He was younger, handsome, and had that easy charisma, all signaling “not her type” like a flickering neon sign in the night.

  A knock at her door startled her, and she spun around, hoping it wasn’t a solicitor trying to sell her a vacuum or a different natural-gas provider. A glance through the window revealed her grandmother, standing on the stoop, grinning, and clutching a big tote bag, her friend and partner in crime, Lola Miller, just behind her. June opened the door and hugged them both.

  “I know you’re busy; this will only take a minute,” Grandma Rhonda apologized as she toddled in and deposited the bag on the coffee table. Lola immediately lowered herself onto the sofa and fanned dramatically like she’d been hiking in the desert for days.

  “I’m not busy. Let me get you both some water.” It was warm outside, and June had grave suspicions as to what the two older ladies had been up to already that morning. When she returned with full glasses and handed them over, both women thanked her and went back to their business of rummaging in the bi
g, denim tote. Bundles of things, wrapped in newspapers and plastic shopping bags, spilled out all over the walnut surface of her table, and June couldn’t repress the thrill of anticipation.

  “You went to garage sales without me?”

  “Just a few stops on the way to the farm stand, sweetie. Look what we got you,” Gran said, her gray eyes glittering with acquisitive fever. “And we’re still on for the flea market tomorrow.”

  June nodded, remembering the big pink block in her planner labeled “FL MKT.” This would be her first big shopping expedition since the end of the school year, and she was giddy with the thought of what sort of cool things she might discover. Gran and Lola’s wrinkled hands unwrapped a stack of Spode bread and butter plates, a crystal goblet in her pattern, and finally, something small and shiny. Jewelry!

  June beckoned for it, and Lola handed the pendant over with a smile. It was a gorgeous little silver sardine tin, filled with carved Bakelite fish, gleaming as bright and crisp as it had been when it was in a Hattie Carnegie display case in the nineteen sixties.

  “Oh, Gran, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it? How much was it?”

  Her grandmother waved her hand like it didn’t matter. “Found it over at Ruth’s daughter’s sale. Only thing there worth a cent. Everything else was baby clothes and NASCAR stuff. Guess how much she had on it?”

  June gave her grandmother an assessing look; the woman was a master bargainer.

  “Two dollars! Got it for one.” Lola jumped in with a quick nod. “We’re lucky we got out of there without a couple of old Dale Earnhart Matchbox cars. The woman had to have at least twenty of them.”

  June went to her bag and retrieved some cash, which she managed to hand over to her reluctant grandmother. The whimsical pendant made her smile. The kids would be fascinated by it. She knew she’d get lots of questions and begs to be allowed a closer look.