Brunch at Bittersweet Café Read online

  “I’ll have to think about that,” he said finally. “Make sure that it’s a suitable prize.”

  “Okay then.” Melody tossed her napkin on the table and rose. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” She slung her big handbag over her shoulder, resisting the urge to glance back and see if he was watching her. But as she rounded the corner to the restrooms, she dared a look his direction. His eyes were locked on her.

  She escaped to the ladies’ room and went straight to the sink to wash her hands, even though they didn’t technically need washing. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she saw what Justin had no doubt noticed: her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes. Oh yeah, he had to know she was into him. She fluffed her hair, settled her hat at a slight angle, and replaced her lipstick in her bag without applying it. Presumptuous maybe, but she was taking no chances.

  Once she had herself together, she returned to their table, where Justin was signing a credit card receipt. He thrust it into the little folio before she could get a glimpse of the total and smiled at her. “I hate to call it an early night, but I do need to be at the airport by five tomorrow.”

  “Totally fine,” she said. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re flying tired.”

  He escorted her out of the restaurant, and she could feel the warmth of his hand where it rested on the small of her back, though that was likely just her imagination. He opened the door for her, held out his hand for support as she climbed in. She pretended not to notice how his touch lingered.

  “So where are you headed tomorrow?” she asked, just to fill the silence.

  “No idea yet. There should be an e-mail waiting for me with tomorrow’s schedule when I get home.”

  “That has to make it hard to pack. How would you know whether to bring your swimsuit or your snow jacket?”

  Justin laughed. “Doesn’t matter. Even when I overnight someplace good, I get in too late to enjoy the beach. I hear corporate pilots get laid over in horrible places like Maui and Nassau for days while they wait for their passengers.”

  “Must be terrible for them,” Melody said. “I’m told that some people actually sleep during the nighttime and work during the day. Which seems like a pretty revolutionary idea to me.”

  Justin didn’t look at her, but she caught his grin. Funny that they should have such disparate jobs and still be able to commiserate over the lack of regularity.

  They reached Melody’s apartment far too soon, and she was surprised just how disappointed she felt that the night was coming to a close. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll walk you up.”

  “You know, the neighborhood really isn’t that bad, despite what my mother seems to think.”

  He held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything. I’ll just feel better knowing that you’re safely in your own apartment.”

  Nope, he definitely thought she was going to get mugged on her way up to her place. But instead of irritating her, like her mother’s assumptions did, the gesture warmed her.

  Justin followed her into the building and up the stairs to her apartment, where he paused outside her door.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? Have a cup of coffee?”

  “Thanks, but I shouldn’t.”

  “Next time, then.” Melody realized it sounded like she was fishing for another date. Probably because she was.

  “That’s a guarantee.” His voice went deep, resonated with promise, but he didn’t reach for her. He did the opposite, in fact, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  Disappointment washed over her as she turned around and put her key in the door. Maybe she had somehow offended him or turned him off . . . which was a shame, because she’d really thought there might be something to that spark between them.

  So much for being gutsy and mesmerizing. That girl wouldn’t wait for a guy to make the first move. That girl knew what she wanted and acted on it.

  So why couldn’t she be that girl?

  Melody dropped her hand from the doorknob and turned. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled off her hat and stretched up to kiss him.

  It didn’t take long for Justin to recover and draw her closer, his hands going to her waist. If he’d been surprised by her forwardness, now he was in no hurry to move away, every brush of his mouth becoming a question, an inquiry, an exploration. When he teased apart her lips, she somehow lost her balance, melting into him until nothing remained but that moment: his scent, his taste, the feel of his muscular body against her soft one.

  He finally broke the kiss and stepped back, leaving her shaken and unsteady. “I really have to go. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  Melody watched him walk away, unable to form a farewell or do anything but stand there. Tonight had confirmed what she’d known the first time she laid eyes on him—if she fell for him, she would fall hard. A smarter, more sensible woman would quit this now before he could permanently embed himself in her silly romantic fantasies. But even as she thought it, she knew the truth: she was neither that smart nor that sensible.

  Chapter Twelve

  HE WAS A FIRST-CLASS JERK.

  Justin practically fled the building, berating himself for his lack of restraint. What had he been thinking? He’d promised himself that he would keep this thing with Melody businesslike, despite his decidedly unbusinesslike interest in her. He was leaving, after all, potentially moving across the country. Only a total loser would start something with a woman like that and have absolutely no intention of seeing it through.

  It didn’t even matter that she had kissed him. He could have kept it sweet and simple. Instead, he’d pulled her to him and responded like it would be the first of many to come. And it wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be.

  Melody was a knockout, though, and not just her looks. Her confidence, her enthusiasm, her sense of humor. The fact she had no problem bossing him around or making the first move, but clearly appreciated chivalrous gestures like opening doors and pulling out chairs. The way she savored everything, felt so passionately about her career. Her very presence had him doing the exact things he said he wouldn’t.

  He needed to put an end to this right now. For both their sakes.

  Easier said than done, considering he still had the car to deal with. The parts should be waiting for him when he got back. As soon as she had the Hornet delivered to his house, he could fix it up, introduce her to his auto-broker friend, and gently extract himself from the situation.

  His reluctance to do so had no relevance to the matter.

  His conviction should have made leaving on his next tour easier, but his mood ran toward stormy when he woke early Monday morning and made a quick breakfast in his dark kitchen, slamming pans and mugs with far too much vehemence. Probably not the right frame of mind for dealing with owners and their guests. He was paid not only to get his passengers safely from point A to point B, but to communicate that he wanted to be doing nothing more with his time.

  Even in his head, the thought took on a slightly sarcastic cast. He might have told Melody that he had taken the job for variety and quality of life, but he hadn’t told her that it often wore on him. Multiple short flights a day, multiple cities, a variation on the same hotel room, restaurant, and gym eighteen days a month. He spent more time in strange beds than he did his own. It was the reason he’d always had an exit strategy, always planned to move on when he found the right situation, regardless of what he told his dad.

  “Suck it up, cupcake. Three more months and it’s blue waters and white sands all the way.” He grabbed his roller case from where it waited in the hallway, draped his overcoat over one arm, and headed out to begin what would no doubt feel like a long, one-hundred-twenty-hour day.

  The navy-blue sky had begun to transition to dawn silver when he parked outside one of the general aviation terminals at Centennial Airport and made his way through the tiny building to the crew lounge, not much more than a glassed-in closet with a couple of computer stations an
d a handful of chairs. His first officer—whoever it would be today—hadn’t arrived yet, so he took the opportunity to go over his flight plans, the fuel orders, and the manifests before he headed out to the plane.

  “You Keller?”

  An arrogant voice intruded on his thoughts and he lifted his head from the clipboard.

  “You must be—”

  “Adam Cole, your first officer.” Something in the man’s tone suggested the words rankled.

  Justin sized the man up. Early fifties, slightly graying hair, in good shape. He immediately pegged him as a defector from the majors, one of the pilots who had bailed on his airline after the last contract negotiations. Great. The guys who had had seniority at their last job, especially the Airbus and 777 captains, tended to resent guys like Justin who joined the company early and climbed the ranks at a young age. Not to mention the general culture clash between captains and first officers that existed everywhere he’d ever flown. Justin got along well with all but a handful of the company’s F/Os, but with the way dispatch routed planes and distributed crews, he’d probably never fly another tour with this guy. Not worth setting things straight for the sake of five days as long as Cole did his job.

  Instead, Justin picked up his bag, indicated with his head for Cole to follow, and walked through the glass doors across the apron where their Citation XLS waited, already moved from its hangar and hopefully loaded with catering by the line crew.

  Justin left Cole to do the walk around as he climbed into the narrow cockpit and began his preflight setup—entering waypoints into navigation, calculating anticipated passenger and baggage weights, estimating fuel load. For the first time since he’d woken that morning, his foul mood lifted. Odd as it might seem, he enjoyed the minutiae, the process of readying the plane for its flight. The routine was comforting, necessary. Got him in the right frame of mind to pilot a metal tube through the sky at four hundred miles an hour.

  Cole appeared in the cockpit and handed over his clipboard. “You might want to take a look at the tires. I’m comfortable with the wear, but it’s your call.”

  Justin nodded. If there was any resentment, Cole wasn’t letting it get in the way of his job. Justin climbed out of the plane, agreed that the tires were fine, and signed off on the walk around. Time to start the engines and taxi the jet to the terminal entrance where they’d meet their guests.

  Fortunately it was just the owner and his wife, who brought only small bags and a tiny dog that looked far more like a rat than a canine to Justin. She yipped at him when he neared, the pink bow on her head bobbing and making her look even more ridiculous. Justin struggled against a laugh as he led them to the plane.

  “They have a dog,” Justin murmured to Cole when he returned to the cockpit.

  “Lord have mercy,” Cole muttered. “I could tell you stories about flights with the little ankle-biters.”

  Justin grinned, his opinion of the man shifting. “Rochambeau for cleanup duty?”

  “All right.” Cole seemed amused by the idea. “On three.”

  Cole threw rock, as predicted; Justin threw paper. “For your sake, I hope the stupid thing doesn’t have a small bladder.”

  “I hope the FBO in St. Louis has a carpet cleaner. I once flew a leg with a Great Dane who got motion sickness. There are just some things you can’t forget.”

  Justin chuckled. They ran through the last of the preflight checklists and began their slow trip down the taxiway toward the runways. When they were finally off the ground in Denver and pointed toward Missouri, he glanced over at him. “So how long have you been with the company?”

  “Almost two years,” Cole said. “Just relocated from Tulsa to Dallas. My wife’s an AA pilot and the commute was getting to her. At least this way it cuts a few hours off her day.”

  “Kids?” Justin asked.

  “One, but she lives with her mom. How about you? Married?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Good move. No reflection on my wife, of course, but it’s my third marriage. Got smart and married someone in the industry this last time. The job’s too hard for anyone who isn’t in it to understand.”

  “Right.” Justin didn’t say he had seen that firsthand with his own parents. That it was one of the major reasons he was thirty-four and hadn’t had a relationship that lasted longer than six months. That he wished the obstacles weren’t so well-documented now that he’d met someone new.

  Because that was ridiculous. Obviously.

  But the thought didn’t leave, just buzzed around the back of his head as they made the stop in St. Louis, then repeated the whole procedure again, plus a repositioning leg at the end of the day that took them to next morning’s departure city of Madison, Wisconsin. He was just trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing by backing off. It wasn’t as if he’d known Melody very long. He wasn’t arrogant enough to assume she’d be crushed by being dumped—which implied that they were actually dating, which they weren’t. It was simply that were he planning to stay in Denver for the foreseeable future, Melody seemed like the type who might be okay with his crazy schedule. She understood what it was like to have a job that required long and irregular hours. She hadn’t even blinked when he said he’d call her in a week.

  And yet, by the end of that week, he was already counting the minutes until he could see her again.

  The last leg of his tour landed him in San Francisco at midday. He and Cole were flying commercial back to their domiciles, leaving a handful of hours to kill. How was he going to pass four hours in a city known for its traffic?

  The idea struck him with a measure of guilt, almost as if he were doing something illicit. He was mapping out his destination on his cell phone when Cole approached, his hand outstretched.

  “I’m meeting a friend at the concourse bar until my flight leaves. It’s been a pleasure flying with you.”

  “Likewise.” Justin shook his hand. “I’m going to take the courtesy car. Do you want me to drop you at the terminal on my way?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Cole seemed surprised, but he shouldered his bag and followed Justin out to the battered sedan reserved for crews on layovers.

  Justin navigated away from the general aviation center toward SFO and dropped Cole at the departures deck, then made his way from the airport into the city. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to take the car for too long, but assuming traffic wasn’t terrible, he could do the round trip in ninety minutes.

  Forty minutes later, through surprisingly light northbound traffic, Justin found street parking in the Inner Sunset neighborhood and hoofed it three blocks to his destination.

  As soon as he pushed open the heavy oak door of Noelle Patisserie, the tinkling of bells enveloped him, along with the sweet, earthy scent of bread and pastries. A handful of customers lingered over coffee and croissants at small round tables. A couple, each carrying a paper bag laden with bread, brushed past him out the door.

  A middle-aged woman looked up from where she was wiping down a stainless-steel counter behind the cases. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re about to close.”

  “Please.” He held up a hand. “You wouldn’t happen to remember Melody Johansson, would you?”

  The woman stopped and gave him her full attention, expression surprised. “Melody? Yes, of course I remember her. One of our best apprentices. I haven’t seen her since she decided to move to Paris. Why? Something didn’t happen to her, did it?”

  “No, nothing like that. She was just telling me about this place the other day and how it made her realize her calling as a baker. I’m in San Francisco for a few hours, thought it would be nice to bring something back for her.”

  A knowing smile came over the woman’s face. “Boyfriend?”

  “No, just a friend.”

  “Long way to come from the airport for just a friend.”

  Justin frowned, puzzled, until he looked down at himself and remembered he still wore his uniform.

  “I’m Marin.”
The woman offered a hand, which he shook the best he could over the top of the case. Justin offered his name in return. “As you can see, we’re pretty much cleaned out for the evening. Just a few loaves of bread left.”

  “I’ll take them. She waxes rhapsodic about bread, so I know she’ll be thrilled.”

  There went that knowing look again. She pulled them out of the case one by one and slid them into individual paper bags. “What’s Melody doing these days? I take it she’s back in the States?”

  “She was a pastry chef at a restaurant in Denver for a while. She and a friend are about to open their own place.”

  “Really! Good for her. I can’t say I’m surprised. She took to baking like she was born for it.”

  “Are you responsible for all this?”

  “Only the pastries,” Marin said. “The bread is my husband’s domain. He’s already gone home for the day. Here, I’m going to wrap up a couple of croissants for you to take for yourself. Don’t try to save them; they won’t be good for much longer.”

  “Thank you.” Justin took out his wallet, but she waved him off before he could pull out any money.

  “No, it’s my pleasure. Tell Melody that Jeff and I said hello and good luck on her new place. If we ever make it out to Denver, we’ll come by and see her.”

  It was polite fiction and they both knew it. Owners were tied to their bakeries; sole proprietorship didn’t come with vacation time. But he smiled anyway. “She would love that, I’m sure. I’ll let her know.”

  “Please do. It was nice meeting you, Justin. I’m glad Melody has found someone who appreciates her and her talent.”

  His smile faltered, but he waved good-bye and stepped out onto the cold, windy street. He’d only been thinking about the coincidence that he was in San Francisco so soon after Melody had talked about this place; he hadn’t been thinking of the message the gesture would send when he was trying to cut ties.

  No, he’d been thinking about that kiss and how he’d really like to experience it again. The exact opposite of cutting ties.