The Holiday Swap(39)

But it wasn’t her twin, unfortunately. “Hey, babe,” Brett said. She rolled her eyes; she did not need this added layer of complexity right now.

“Hey, Brett.” Charlie leaned back against the countertop and crossed her arms as she tucked the handset between her chin and shoulder. “Why are you calling?”

Brett misinterpreted her question, and her tone. “I’ve been calling your cell, but it keeps going to voicemail.”

Charlie glanced at the cat’s-eyes clock. Jake would be here soon. “Yeah, it has been wonky. So, listen, now’s not a good—”

“I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. You’ve been working so hard, and—” Brett spoke over her, then stopped himself, adding, “Sorry, what did you want to say?”

He sounded so earnest that Charlie softened, just a little. He wasn’t her cup of tea, but her sister had spent many years in a relationship with the man so he couldn’t be all that bad. Charlie didn’t need to drive a further wedge between him and Cass, even if they were no longer a couple. But she didn’t have time to deal with Brett right now, because it was almost seven.

“Oh, that’s sweet, but can I take a rain check?” Charlie asked.

There was silence on the other end of the phone, then Brett sighed.

“I’m not feeling great,” she added quickly. “I’ve had this headache all day.” It was the truth, so she didn’t feel that badly using it as an excuse.

“Anything I can do?”

“I just need a good night’s sleep.” Again, the truth. So many things had been racing through her mind that she’d barely slept the night before.

“Are you sure? I could bring you some soup.”

“Just rest. That’s all I need.”

“Okay, but call me if you need anything.”

She hung up and then pressed her fingers against her eyes, willing the pounding in her head to go away. Just then there was a knock at the door. Charlie opened her eyes to a welcome sight. Jake was standing at the bakery’s door, slightly bent over, because of his height, so he could peer in the window. He smiled and gave a wave. When Charlie opened the door she was again struck by how gorgeous he was. Those green eyes, which were especially vibrant against the ruddiness of his snow-chilled cheeks, held hers. She felt mesmerized by Jake and for one long, embarrassing moment Charlie just stood there staring at him.

Jake handed her the bottle of wine in his hand, and with a smile asked, “Can I come in?”

“Yes! Yes, please,” she said, stepping aside to let him inside. He smelled of winter and something warm and spicy, and her senses were overwhelmed by this handsome man now only a few inches from her.

“I know I’m ten minutes early, but . . . Well, I’m always early. It’s a flaw, I know. But hopefully one you can put up with?” Jake joked as she closed the door behind him.

“I’m always early, too.” Charlie glanced at the bottle he had handed her—a Barolo from Italy—but she wasn’t familiar with it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a glass of wine. Alcohol just didn’t agree with her, so she generally avoided it.

Jake hung up his coat on the hook by the door. “Gran thought that was your favorite. Did I get that wrong?”

“No, you got it right. It will be delicious, and it’s perfect for pasta night. Thank you for bringing this.”

“My pleasure,” Jake said. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms etched with muscle. “So, why don’t you put me to work, Chef?”

Charlie tossed him one of her dad’s aprons. “Put that on and let’s head upstairs. You’re on gnocchi, okay? Potatoes are almost ready to come out of the oven.”

Jake tied the apron around his waist, and Charlie tried to cover her snicker because even though her dad wasn’t a small guy, the apron looked about two sizes too small for the burly firefighter.

“I make this look good, right?” Jake asked, spinning around once. Charlie burst out laughing, and then started up the stairs, Jake a step behind her.



* * *



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Charlie had been prepared to walk Jake step-by-step through a pasta-making lesson, but he wasn’t a novice. “I’ve made gnocchi a few times, actually,” Jake had said, picking up the ricer and expertly squeezing the oven-soft potato through it. “Back in Colorado.” He paused for a moment and something heavy hung in the air, but then it was gone. Charlie wondered if she’d imagined it.

As they worked elbow to elbow, creating the little pillows of potato dough and the truffle Parmesan cream sauce, Jake told her about how everyone at the firehouse had been complaining they’d gained weight since he’d arrived and taken over as head cook. Charlie could believe it—he definitely knew his way around the kitchen.

After dinner Jake topped up their wine and they moved over to the couch. There was an easy rapport between them—moving in sync while they cooked, easy conversation during dinner, and lively banter as they cleaned up afterward.

There was a natural pause as they sipped their wine. In the quiet, Charlie felt a swell of guilt at misleading Jake. Her hands stilled on her wineglass.

“So, this has been amazing but I still have to proof the dough for early tomorrow. And I’ve been fighting this headache all day. I’ve probably had enough wine.”