Look Before You Bake (11 page)

"Oh, Soren. You don't know what this means to me."

"I have an idea." He rubs his thumb across my lips. I kiss it, but his eyes are solemn. "I have an idea, but I know you're holding back. There's more going on than you're telling me."

My heart trips and stops. Of course there is. But I don't want to bring up Gerry. And Harold. And my father's debt. I don't want to ruin this perfect moment with my sordid history. I want to start fresh. I want to take this success, take control of my future, and leave the past behind. "It's in my past," I say. Soren is gazing deep into my soul. "It's over. Just how Selune is in yours. When I get back to Honeycomb Falls I'm going to put it behind me once and for all."

He nods slowly, and I see him actively make the decision to trust me. "Come," he says. "I haven't shown you my cabin yet."

Before he can begin leading me deeper into the valley, I catch his hand in both of mine. "Soren." My voice stops him, and he turns to look back at me. "You're not going to leave this place, are you?"

He sighs and looks down. "It's my duty to protect Iminyë."

I nod. I can't bring myself to ask any more clearly than that what's in my heart. "This valley is a good three days' hike from Honeycomb Falls."

Soren steps in closer, and I can see the pain in his eyes. He's been thinking about that too. The distance that will separate us. "You'll give me reason to visit town more often."

I nod, a knot in my throat. I'm ruining the moment, ruining everything by asking, but I have to. I have to know. "How often will that be?"

A deep sigh. "Not often enough."

Something flutters within my heart and goes still. Maybe it's the unparalleled happiness I just felt that forced me to face the truth. That this is temporary. That Soren won't be mine. That I won't be his. That what we're experiencing here is an escape, a flight of fantasy, a moment of pleasure and joy that cannot last. All day I held his hand and pretended that we were together. That what we felt was true and would last, would conquer all obstacles. That the natural, easy happiness I felt with him would last forever. But no. His duty is to this magical place. And I find that I can't fault him. I can't ask him to sacrifice this little slice of paradise just to be with me. I can't ask him to abandon Iminyë.

"Come," he says, pulling me gently to follow him. "Tomorrow I'll lead you back to town. But we still have tonight."

Sadness and pain make my desire all the more intense. I squeeze his hand in my own and give him my bravest smile. "Yes. We still have tonight." Though part of me wants to stay away from him. To protect my heart. To make the pain that is sure to follow less devastating, when I leave him behind and return to town alone. But I know I won't. If this is to be my one moment of true happiness, then I will drink my fill, and drink deep. I'll savor every moment I have with him, in this impossibly beautiful place, so that down the years to come I'll be able to think back and remember that I was once truly and utterly and totally happy with a man I could have come to love.

Chapter 11

Soren escorts me to the edge of Honeycomb Falls before drawing up short. It's late afternoon. It's taken us four days to hike back, four days of slow strolling, holding hands, and rampant, mind-blowing sex. The closer we've come to town, the slower we've gone, with this final afternoon taking us forever to cover the final mile. I'm sore in all kinds of new places, while my legs are feeling stronger than ever. My mind is starry with memories of lovemaking on the banks of streams, against trees, in the warm sunlight, under the cool light of the stars and moon. Holding Soren's hand as Honeycomb Falls' church steeple slips into view over the last stretch of trees, I feel an anguished denial arise within me. It can't be over. It can't.

There's one thing we agreed on last night. That when this moment came, we wouldn't stand around awkwardly for an hour, hugging and kissing and saying our torturous goodbyes. We'd hug, hug really tight, and then simply go our separate ways. And the next time Soren was in town, whether that was in three months or six? He'd stop by to say hello, and we'd see where we were then.

So when we reach the center of the little glade, I turn to him, and before I can speak I feel his strong arms wrap around me. I'm enveloped in his familiar smell. I can't believe this is happening. I pull back to look up into his eyes, and I see stars swimming in their chocolate depths, see a wealth of emotion and pain and sadness that tugs on my own despair. How can I have just met the perfect man, only to have no choice but to say goodbye? Again my mind races, trying to find a solution, but he can't abandon Iminyë, and I can't abandon my father. There's no way out.

"Goodbye, Nita." At some point over the last few days he's taken to calling me by my secret nickname. It causes the knife in my heart to twist just a little harder.

"Until next time, Soren-bear." It's the silly name I've come up with for him. I try to sound brave and cheerful and fail completely. Then, just as we agreed, he turns to walk away. No kiss, we decided. Kissing leads to the weakening of all kinds of resolve, and we knew that one goodbye kiss would lead to one last goodbye lovemaking session, which in turn would only complicate things and make them all the harder.

So Soren simply turns, stronger perhaps than I am, and walks back the way we came. I stand there, desolate, and watch him go. His long strides. His broad shoulders. This mountain man of a bear who stepped into my life to turn it completely upside down and then disappear.

My eyes fill with tears, which I wipe away angrily with the back of my sleeve.
Be happy you had a week of bliss with him. That, and you can now save your father
, I tell myself.
That's what matters. That's what counts.

But I can't help but feel as if a part of my heart is being torn away and taken by Soren as he goes, leaving me incomplete. He rounds the curve in the trail, and like that, he's gone. I'm looking at a beautiful forest, an empty forest, at a kaleidoscope of fall colors, but nothing else. I heave a bitter sigh, hug myself, and then reach down to shoulder my pack. Its weight is down almost three quarters from what I started out with, all the food gone, and I slip it on my back with ease. Turning, I walk the last five minutes and step out of the trail onto the road which leads back into town. I sigh as I dig out my cell phone and turn it on. Just shy of five o'clock. I can't wait to call my dad, to call Rachel and Hui, but first I make my most important call.

The phone rings twice before it's answered. "Ms. Hall."

"Mr. Whitman." I take a deep breath. "I have more honey."

"Excellent." He practically purrs. "Coincidentally, I am in town today. I'm dining at the Wise Salmon. Would you care to join me?"

"I – sure!" I need to shower. To change. Luckily the Salmon is only a block north of my apartment. Thank goodness for small towns.

"Marvelous. Does five thirty work for you?"

Half an hour. I can run home, shower, and just make it. "Sure! I'll see you there."

"I'm looking forward to it." Then he hangs up.

A thrill runs through me. I'm going to do it. I'm going to save my father. I immediately dial his number as I hustle into town, and leave an excited message on his voicemail. Then I call Rachel as I run down Conway Road, and leave a voicemail for her too. I run up to my second floor apartment, dump my backpack against the side of the couch, and fight the knot of sadness that my pile of romance novels sends shooting through me. I won't think of my own romantic adventure that's come to an end. I won't. I'm all business now. Hard, tough, cold as steel. Or at least, I have to be. I have to be tough, I have to make this deal work. Later I'll grieve for Soren, and what could have been.

I arrive at the Wise Salmon only three minutes late. I can tell a week of hiking has done me well, as I'm barely out of breath as I hustle up to the door. Has it been only a week since I dined here with Rachel and Hui? That feels like months ago. It's a small establishment, and I quickly see Mr. Whitman seated by the back windows with the best view over the river. I've never met him before, but I know his face from the magazines. Patrician, silver haired, with an aquiline nose and gray chin, he's handsome for an older man. That expensive suit certainly doesn't hurt, either. He catches sight of me as I approach, and stands, extending his hand.

"Ms. Hall. So glad you could join me."

"Of course, Mr. Whitman. Thank you." We shake hands almost formally, and then I sit across from him. I can't believe I'm here. With him. He's famous. I've seen his TV shows. Dreamed of visiting Boston and eating at his restaurant. Read his biography where he detailed his travels around the world as a teen, savoring the cuisines of different cultures. And now here he is. With me. Having dinner.

The waitress steps up and Mr. Whitman orders a white wine. I ask for a water. The last thing I need is to have a spinning head while I'm trying to do business. He asks me about myself, and I discover that he's a wonderful conversationalist, interested, polite, amusing. Soon I'm asking him about his career, whether he really did eat insects in China, and he's regaling me with anecdotes and amusing stories. The food of course is delicious, and when the plates are finally taken away, I feel at ease, sophisticated, and very, very impressed that this world traveling and super famous chef would spend a whole dinner with me.

"Now," says Mr. Whitman, leaning forward after ordering two crème brulees. "Shall we discuss business?"

I nod, trying to compose my face in what I hope is a professional expression. "Yes. Absolutely."

"You mentioned on the phone that you have acquired more Elysian honey. Is that correct?"

I nod again. "I have. Yes."

His eyes light up, and I notice him slowly relax his hands, as if he's fighting the urge to clench at his knife and fork or the tablecloth itself. "Wonderful. Is this to be a monthly delivery, or...?"

"Seasonal." Soren said he would bring however much Iminyë gifted me every three months.

"Seasonal. So a large delivery each time?"

I nod again. "Yes, I believe so."

"Mm-hmm." He nods and flicks away some breadcrumbs from the tablecloth. His tone becomes overly casual. "And... who's delivering the honey to you?"

I hesitate. "A friend."

"A friend. Of course. Does he – is it a he? Does he live here in Honeycomb Falls?" Mr. Whitman glances up with a smile that's brittle and fake. I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.

"I'd rather not discuss my friend, if you don't mind." It feels awful to say that, and my stomach scrunches up tight. I hate being confrontational.

"Oh, of course, of course." He shrugs and makes a face. "I just like to know everybody that I'm doing business with. The partners of my partners, if you will. To make sure that I'm not taking on the wrong sort of people. It's a lot of money we're talking about here."

I feel incredibly awkward. "I understand, but I'm really sorry. I'd rather not talk about him."

"Sure. How about this. And forgive me for being bold. I'd be willing to double the amount of my investment if you put me in touch with your supplier. My own restaurants would greatly benefit from a little of this honey. If I could speak to him, perhaps he would be willing –" He stops speaking as I shake my head.

"I don't think it works that way," I say very quietly.

His smile becomes feral. "Ms. Hall. We're talking about one hundred thousand dollars."

"It's not the money." I feel like I can't tear my eyes away from his, as if I'm being hypnotized by a cobra.

"No? Then explain it to me. What is it?"

"I can't explain it. It's not mine to explain." Why do I feel like running? This is just business. We're talking options. I'm politely saying no. I can't fault him for asking, can I?

"You are being most unreasonable, Ms. Hall." His voice is tight, as if he's speaking through clenched teeth. He's still smiling, though. "I thought we were getting along splendidly."

"We are," I say. Why do I feel like I'm standing on quicksand? "I did what you asked. I found more honey for my bakery. Please, don't be upset."

"You don't trust me." His face goes cold, and his smile finally disappears. "I find that insulting after all the trust I've placed in you."

"What?" I feel bewildered. "Wait, no –"

"Very disappointing. Well, I don't have to sit here and be insulted. I'll let you think the matter over. I leave tomorrow morning. If you change your mind, you have my number. Good evening, Ms. Hall."

And then, to my complete astonishment, he sets his napkin down on the table, rises, and stalks away. I gape after him. I might as well have had the wine, because my head's spinning. What just happened? I fight the urge to run after him. I got the honey! Wasn't that our deal? I watch as he pays and then heads out the door. I can't tell him about Soren. About Iminyë. That's not my secret to tell. I just can't. Which means I won't get the money. Which means I won't be able to pay Harold. Which means I'll have to marry Gerry.

Panic and tears threaten to swamp me. It's not fair! I rise to my feet and leave the Wise Salmon before I start openly crying. I march down the dark street to my apartment. What can I do? What can I do?

Part of me wants to run to Rachel for advice, for help, but for some reason I don't make the call. This is my problem. This is my life. I can't run to Rachel every time I run into a roadblock. I have to figure this out myself. Just as I reach my front door my father calls me back, but I don't answer. I can't speak to him feeling the way I do, my voice choked up with tears, overwhelmed and panicked. I'll call him when I have a solution. A plan.

I head upstairs and let myself into my apartment. Turn on the lights and stand in the middle of my tiny living room, exhausted and burned out and wanting to just lie down and cry. But I can't. I have to think. I have to figure this out. My phone rings. I glance down, and my heart skips a beat: Soren. Why is he calling? We agreed to go our separate ways. I almost answer. I'd love to hear his voice. But I'm so on edge I know I'd just break down into tears. No. I can't handle that. Not yet. Not now.