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Margo hated that their innocence was being marred by this divorce. Their father moving out had only been the beginning of the hurdles they would face, she now realized. Next would be the new stepmother. And possibly halfsiblings sometime down the road.
Feeling her anger toward Tom mounting, Margo made an excuse to go to the kitchen. The table at the back was now occupied by two young men in leather jackets and artfully disheveled hair. She wondered if she’d seen the last of Suit Guy and was surprised to realize she felt a bit disappointed at the idea.
In the kitchen she allowed herself to slam the copper pots around a little. Life was so unfair at times. She hated being divorced. Learning to share her time with the kids had been difficult enough. Now she had to stand on the sidelines as Tom moved on and married again.
The kitchen door swung open, and Em breezed into the room. She pulled her apron over her head, then shoved it into the dirty laundry basket. “Sandy just showed up, so I’m off.”
Margo knew “off” was a relative term. Em would be going home to prepare dinner for her husband and starving teenagers. Then she’d spend her evening either watching her son play basketball, or driving her daughter to dance lessons.
“We have some leftover muffins from the morning. Want to take them for the kids’ lunches tomorrow?” Margo bagged them as she made the offer and Em accepted the package gratefully. A moment later Sandy—a college student with shoulder-length brown hair and serious, wide-set green eyes—popped in to grab an apron.
“It’s quiet out there, thank goodness.”
Margo could guess what she meant by that. “Edward hasn’t shown up yet?”
“Second time this week.” Sandy shook her head, slipped on the apron, then hurried back to the front.
Margo was glad she had Sandy to rely upon. Two months ago, Edward had seemed like a good hire. At first impression, he’d been good-natured, motivated and pleasant. But the day after she’d given him the job, he’d come to work with rings in his lip and eyebrow, as well as a stud through his tongue. Margo had nothing against self-expression, but it had seemed slightly deceitful to her that he had hidden his piercings for the job interview.
Lately, he’d been arriving late for work and shirking cleanup duties at the end of his shift. Today, when he finally arrived and came to the back to get an apron, he avoided eye contact with her.
“Hi, Edward. How are things?”
“Fine.” He still didn’t look at her.
“You’ve been running behind quite a bit lately. Is anything wrong?”
He shook his head, eyes still averted.
Margo sighed. “Are you sure there isn’t a problem?”
“No. Everything’s good.”
Margo tilted her head to one side. If there was one thing she was sure about, it was this. Everything was not good. Not with Edward, not with the bistro and not with her life.
But how to begin tackling the problems, she had no idea.
A MESSAGE WAS WAITING for Robert on his machine when he got home from the gym. He dumped his sports bag near the closet, then hit the playback button, hoping the call would be from his headhunter. But the recorded voice was about thirty years too young for that.
“Hey, Robert, it’s Andrew. Maybe you didn’t get my other message, but I was wondering if you could come to my birthday party tomorrow? It’s at six o’clock and Mom’s making a chocolate cake. Well, she’ll probably buy it, but it’ll be chocolate for sure. Um…see you then. Bye.”
Robert stared at the machine for several seconds, before erasing the message. Feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet, he hit the shower, trying not to remember Andrew’s last birthday party.
He’d bought the boy a fishing pole and foolishly he’d made a bunch of promises, never dreaming that he might not be able to deliver on them. Even now he didn’t know who’d been more excited about those pie-in-the-sky plans—him or Andrew.
Robert shut off the water, dried quickly then contemplated the remaining hours of the evening. He hadn’t eaten, and after his workout, he was starving. There were some frozen entrées on hand, or he could call for take-out, but he found himself craving…soup.
The squashed pear soup at Margo’s today had been delicious. Even better than the sunshine carrot from the day before.
As he made up his mind to go, Robert knew it wasn’t just the food he was after. Sure it was good and the atmosphere at the bistro was warm and welcoming, but there was something more compelling pulling at him: the friendly woman who owned the place.
As he passed by the phone on his way out, he tried not to think of the boy who’d left him that message. He knew Andrew would be home, waiting and hoping, and his heart ached to think of that.
But what could he do? Belinda had said no contact, and she was the boy’s mom.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Robert stepped inside Margo’s Bistro. The place was small, holding ten tables, max, not counting the annex through an archway to his left. The colors of the decor were vivid, but the tones blended harmoniously—sort of like the flavors in Margo’s soups.
Robert checked behind the counter. The older brunette he’d seen on his previous two visits wasn’t on duty now. Instead, two college-aged kids were at work. The girl seemed to be hustling her buns off. The guy acted as if he was annoyed about something.
Robert scanned the rest of the room, disappointed when he didn’t spot Margo. He’d taken a chance, hoping she might have returned for the evening, but it hadn’t paid off.
Since he was here anyway, he lined up to place his order. Reflectively, he dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He touched a piece of cardboard and pulled out one of his old business cards.
Robert Brookman, MBA, Senior Account Manager, Wells Fargo.
Hard to believe that only last week this had been him. He’d been someone important, an employee at one of San Francisco’s oldest and most prestigious banks. He’d been on his way up, a man bound for success.
He’d had an office and colleagues, a desk and a mound of work waiting for him at the start of every day. He’d taken pleasure in tackling and conquering those files before the closing of every night….
Robert Brookman, MBA, Senior Account Manager. That was who he was. Or who he had been. A busy, important person whose every minute of every day was spoken for.
Now he had the disorienting notion that if he suddenly disappeared, if someone walked into this bistro right now with a gun and forced him out into a waiting car, no one would notice. He could be gone a week, a month, hell even longer, and not a person would raise an alarm.
Robert scrunched the card, then pushed it back into his pocket.
“May I help you?” the pretty college student asked him.
“Yes, thanks.” He ordered soup and a scone, then carried his food to the table at the back that he’d begun to think of as his. Two doors led off from the short hall at the rear of the restaurant. One was marked Employees Only. The other was the washroom. He sat with his back to both of them, then lifted a spoonful of the soup to his mouth.
It was good. Really, really good. He closed his eyes and savored the complex, complementary blend of flavors. Despite the amazing taste, though, he found he didn’t have much of an appetite.
He set down his spoon and glanced through the arched opening. And that was when he spotted her.
Margo was sitting with another woman who also appeared to be in her mid-thirties—a woman with dark, reddish hair and a nice, slender body. She was very attractive, too, but Margo was the one who held his eye.
She was even prettier than he remembered. Curvier. Sexier.
But the dimples he’d noticed when she’d served him earlier that afternoon weren’t much in evidence now. She and her friend seemed to be having a pretty intense conversation. He wondered what about.
He watched them surreptitiously for a while, and then he kicked himself. Two attractive women, about his age, sitting within a few yards of him? What was he waiting for?
Robert slid his chair back and got to his feet.
CHAPTER THREE
“PHEW. SORRY ABOUT THAT.” Margo sank into the rattan couch next to Nora after running upstairs to check on the kids. On the table in front of them was the chocolate zucchini cake and a packet of photographs she’d put there earlier.
“No problem,” Nora assured her. “Everything okay?”
“Both sound asleep.” Stairs from the bistro kitchen ran up to the door of their apartment so it was easy for Margo to run back and forth. It was like being on different levels in a multi-level home, but just to be cautious Margo also had a two-way monitor set up so they could talk to one another if needed. She placed the small receiver on the table, next to the cake. “So how was your week?”
“Busy.” Nora sighed. “Like usual.”
As well as being the mother of an active little boy, Nora had a full-time job as a physiotherapist. On top of all that, her sister was living with her but not paying her share of the household expenses.
“How are Suzanne’s wedding plans coming along?”
“I’m not sure. Suzanne’s being a little cagey lately. I hope her fiancé knows what he’s getting into. I love my sister, but—”
She didn’t need to say any more. Suzanne was a charming person, but not exactly reliable where money was concerned.
“So how about you, Margo?” Nora helped herself to a piece of the cake, then lost no time digging in to it.
“It’s been one of those days….”
“Oh?”
“I had a call from my ex. But first, take a look at these.” Margo slipped the photographs from their packet. “I had the pictures from last week’s party developed. There are some really cute ones of Danny.”
Like any proud mother, Nora reached for the pictures eagerly. She’d oohed and aahed through about half of them when she suddenly stopped. Leaning close to Margo she whispered, “Who is that guy? In the back. The one staring at you?”
Margo felt a prickling at the base of her neck. Not a creepy, icky prickling, but a sensual, exciting sort of tingle.
She knew without looking.
He’d come back.
She pretended to check out the washroom door. Yes, it was Suit Guy, only he wasn’t dressed in his suit now, but in jeans and a T-shirt and he looked hot.
Suddenly she became very aware of the ambiance in the room. In the daytime, when sunlight streamed in from the floor-to-ceiling windows and highlighted the lemon tree and the hibiscus, the bistro’s annex room had the feel of a greenhouse.
At night, however, when she drew the ginger-colored curtains and lit the candles, then the annex was transformed into an intimate, slightly exotic place—a world away from the bustle of cosmopolitan San Francisco on the other side of the walls.
In short, it became a room perfect for romance….
“Is he looking this way?” she asked Nora.
“Not anymore. Now he’s eating his soup. Do you know him?”
“He came in yesterday, then again this afternoon. But the answer is no. I don’t know him.” That shadow of a memory just would not take substantial shape. She wondered if perhaps she just wished she’d met him before.
“Would you like another piece of cake?” Margo asked. Nora was already finished her first and was sipping on her chai latte.
“Forget the cake. How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?”
“Are you trying to be cruel?” No one knew better than Nora the pathetic state of her social life. That was one of the subjects they often talked about—how hard it was to meet men when you had kids and worked full-time.
Sometimes Margo wondered if that part of her life was over for good.
“Wait.” Nora tried to appear blasé. “He’s looking this way again.”
“Probably at you.”
“No way. This one is yours, Margo. What are you going to do about it? He’s coming this way.”
“He is not.” But he was. Margo couldn’t believe it. She set down her fork, but in her nervousness, she knocked aside the photographs she and Nora had been looking at.
Several of the glossy four-by-sixes fell to the floor.
Suit Guy scooped them up as if he’d crossed the room for exactly that purpose. Before handing them over, he glanced at the photos and frowned.
“Thank you.” Margo accepted the pictures and set them on the table. “That was clumsy of me.”
The guy had boy-next-door looks, except for his eyes, which were darkly lashed and deeply blue. Right now those eyes seemed to be looking at everything in the room except her.
“No problem. I was just coming by to, uh, to tell you how much I enjoy your soups. Do you make them here?”
Soup? He’d crossed the room to ask about soup? Margo shot an “I told you this wasn’t what you thought it was” look at Nora. “Sure. We have a different special every day, and they’re all my own recipes. I’m glad you like them.”
“The best I’ve ever tasted.”
She sensed Nora grinning at her and her face grew hot. “By the way, I’m Margo.”
“Yeah. I assumed as much. From the name of the place.”
Margo felt her face grow hotter. “Margo Evans,” she clarified.
“Robert Brookman,” he said before shaking first her hand, then Nora’s.
Realizing she hadn’t introduced her friend, Margo added quickly, “And this is my friend, Nora Clark.”
Robert asked Nora a few questions and seemed keenly interested. Margo sank back into the cushions of the sofa and prayed desperately for Sandy or Edward to call her with an emergency from the kitchen. She’d known Robert wasn’t looking at her. He liked her soups. Not her.
When Robert found out Nora was a physiotherapist, he told her about a buddy with a sore knee. Nora gave him the name of a colleague who ought to be able to help, then scribbled a number on the back of one of her business cards.
“Thanks a lot.” Robert pocketed the card. “Well, I should be going. Sorry to interrupt, but it was good to meet you, Nora. You, too, Margo.”
He left without giving either of them a backward glance.
ROBERT HIT THE SIDEWALK and kept on walking. He didn’t care where he went, he just needed to move. That had been close. Damn close. He’d gone to that table intending to ask Margo out, but one look at those pictures had changed his mind.
What if those were her kids?
He couldn’t get involved with another single mom. Hell, what if she was married? He hadn’t even thought of that. They ought to make the wearing of wedding bands a legal requirement. It sure would make the life of a single man a heck of a lot easier.
After a while, when he’d blown off the worst of the adrenaline rush, Robert slowed his pace. He noticed a boutique cycle shop ahead and went to gaze in the window.
A sweet little two-wheeler, a BMX just like Andrew wanted, was in the display window. Maybe he could buy it for his birthday. Belinda had said no contact—but he could have it delivered….
Imagining the delight Andrew would feel getting that bike, Robert was sorely tempted.
But no. He might not be breaking the letter of Belinda’s request, but he would definitely be breaking the spirit.
Reluctantly Robert turned away from the window. He checked out the street signs at the next intersection, got his bearings, then headed toward home. He walked slowly, in no rush to get there.
Oddly enough, he found himself thinking of Margo again. Damn, why hadn’t he just asked her? Are you married? Are these your kids? He’d been caught so off balance, all he’d managed to do was chat up the physiotherapist. And he wasn’t even interested in her.
Well, he’d be better off forgetting about both of them, he decided. He’d really blown things tonight.
AFTER ROBERT LEFT the bistro, Margo turned a blank face to Nora. “Was it something I said?”
Nora laughed. “Actually, I think it was something he saw.” She tapped the photographs. “He definitely got cold feet after he picked up these.”
“I don’t know how cold his feet were. He left with your phone number.”
“That was just business. I get that reaction all the time when people find out what I do for a living.”
Margo wasn’t so sure.
“Trust me,” Nora added. “He was planning to talk to you until he saw those pictures. Maybe he’s worried you’re married.”
Maybe. Margo looked at her ringless hands. Somehow she didn’t think that was it. “Oh, well. He looked kind of dull, don’t you think?”
“Not really.”
“You should have seen him in his suit.” In his dark blue pinstripe, Robert Brookman had appeared to be of the same ilk as her ex—a business-obsessed workaholic who scheduled evenings out with his wife with less frequency than his semi-annual dental checkups.
“I bet he looked really hot in his suit, too.”
Margo wouldn’t admit that Nora was right. “It’s probably just as well. My life is too hectic for romance, anyway. If he calls you, make sure you say yes.”
“I keep telling you—it’s not me he’s interested in. But even if he was…I’m not sure I’m ready to start dating yet.”
Nora’s expression grew sad and Margo knew she was thinking about Kevin.
Nora didn’t talk about him much. All Margo knew was that he’d been a cop, killed in a car accident before Danny’s birth. It was a loss from which Nora didn’t seem fully recovered. But Margo hoped that she would move on soon.
Kids were terrific. A job you loved was great, too. But there were times when Margo longed for more and she knew Nora did, too. With a sigh, she picked up her fork and took another taste of cake.
After a moment’s silence, Nora said, “Weren’t you going to tell me something about your ex?”
Good lord. How could she have forgotten? “I need more coffee before I get into that story. Hang on a minute.”
Margo hurried to the other room and slipped behind the counter. No customers were waiting in line at the moment so she had free access to the espresso machine. Sandy was clearing tables, while Edward made a show of rearranging the goodies in the display case.
A few minutes later Margo returned to the annex room with a fresh chai latte for Nora and a top-up to her mocha.
“So…?” Nora prodded.
“You’ll never believe this.” Margo settled back into the couch, then took a deep breath. “Tom’s getting married again.”
Nora looked shocked. “But didn’t you say his affair with the bimbo was over?”
“Apparently he started dating someone else, about four minutes after the first affair ended. The new bimbo is named Catherine and she works part-time in reception at a law firm. That’s all I know about her.”
Nora leaned closer as Margo relayed her conversation with Tom, practically word for word. “I’m just stunned,” she concluded. “I can’t believe my children are going to have another mother.”
“No—no, don’t say that,” Nora insisted. “You’re their mother. Not this Catherine person.”
“But what about when the kids spend time with their father?” Margo set the mocha down. Even chocolate, coffee and whipped cream couldn’t entice her tonight. “You don’t know Tom. He’s a traditional guy. He’ll expect Catherine to do all the cooking and cleaning up. She’ll be the one making Ellie’s and Peter’s lunches for school and washing their laundry and oh…”
Margo made a weird noise—she wasn’t sure if it was a sob or a choked laugh. “Listen to me, complaining about another woman doing the chores that I get so tired of sometimes. But as much as I hate the weekly grind of laundry and lunches, I hate even more the idea of Tom’s new wife doing it.”
Nora squeezed her hand. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Margo was still grappling with the enormity of this thing. “From now on my kids will be going on vacations with this woman. They’ll see new places with her, share new experiences. All without me.”
“But you’ll go on vacations with them, too.”
“That isn’t the point. The kids are little and I’m their mom. I don’t want to miss the first time they go skiing. Or visit a dude ranch. Or see Washington D.C.”
These were all trips she and Tom had at one time planned to take with their children. Now he’d be doing all that with Catherine.
“Poor Margo, I don’t know what to say. I’d go crazy in that situation,” Nora admitted.
Margo knew that she would. Although it was awful that Nora’s husband was dead, at least she didn’t have to worry about joint custody arrangements or stepparents or any of that messy stuff.
“Does Catherine have children?”
Good question. “I don’t think so.”
“Hopefully your kids won’t have stepsiblings to worry about.” Nora was working hard to find something positive to say.
“But that means Catherine will be clueless about kids.”
“True. Like in that movie Stepmom, when Julia Roberts’s character is so insensitive in the beginning.”
“Not to mention the real mother dies in that movie,” Margo pointed out.
“Okay, so that was a bad example. Sorry. I really am trying to make you feel better. Eat some more cake. I’m sure this Catherine will turn out to be a very nice woman.”
Margo took a bite of cake and wondered why neither Nora’s comforting words nor chocolate seemed to help.
“You need a distraction. Like that guy, Robert Brookman…”
“The guy who couldn’t get out of here fast enough once he saw a picture of my children?”
“Maybe I was wrong about that. As you said, he was probably worried that you might be married and just choosing not to wear a ring.”
“That’s an optimistic interpretation.”
“Tell you what,” Nora said. “If he comes by again tomorrow, you’ll know he’s interested. If he doesn’t…then start looking for someone else.”
“Someone else? I thought we’d just established the fact that neither of us have time for a man in our lives right now?”
“Hey, you were the one complaining about your ex-husband’s new fiancée. Don’t you know that the best defense is a good offence? Instead of worrying about the new woman in Tom’s life, I say you make him worry about the new man in yours.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday’s Soup of the Day: Sherry Chanterelle
ROBERT STOPPED TO READ the specials in the bistro window. He’d always loved mushroom soup, he told himself as he went inside.
He couldn’t say what he was doing back here. The soup was a convenient excuse, but he knew better. He paused at the sight of Margo serving an older man. The two bantered with a degree of familiarity that made him unaccountably envious.
He wanted her to smile like that at him.
No question about it, he had it bad. Wouldn’t he feel like a fool, though, when he found out she was married with a parcel of kids? He joined the queue waiting to be served and plotted the best way to find out what he’d come here to learn.
HE WAS BACK. Margo saw him on the street as he stopped to read the specials on the chalkboard. When he stepped inside, her heart felt like it was dancing. Nora had been right after all…or had she?
Robert’s smile when he stepped up to the counter seemed guarded.
“Hi, Margo. Could I have a bowl of the soup and a scone on the side?”
She took his money while Em filled the order. She glanced up once at Robert, but he wasn’t even looking in her direction. Maybe he really was here for the soup.
Robert carried his tray to the table at the back and, like before, he set himself up with the daily paper and his BlackBerry. She tried to ignore him after that, but it wasn’t easy. As before, he stayed for a long time. Once or twice she thought she saw him looking her way, but she couldn’t be sure.
After the lunch hour rush was over, Margo decided to go back to the kitchen to experiment with a new muffin recipe. She envisioned a combination of dried cherries, dark chocolate and pecans swirled into a batter of wholesome grains and buttermilk.
The challenge of concocting something new was just what she needed to take her mind off Robert Brookman. Not to mention Tom’s upcoming wedding.