remembered an important appointment.
“I have a few things to finish up in my office, and then I’ll be right over.”
“See? Now was that so hard?” Stan smirked. “Do I know how to make things happen, or do I know how to make things happen!”
If only she could hold him accountable if things went sideways—and they probably would—and she ended up firing Ian?
“IT’S A LOVELY old building,” Maleah said, leaning into the deck rail. “And the view, well, it’s priceless.”
He’d half expected her to berate him for agreeing with Stan. And for every awful thing that might have happened to her since the guards carted him off that day. During the drive from the Institute to the bistro, he’d made up his mind to take it on the chin. She had a right to vent some frustration. God knows he’d done his share during his ten years at Lincoln. Her polite behavior seemed too good to be true...
He nodded toward the Constellation. “Ever done a tour of her?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit it, but no.”
She smiled. Not the big loving smile that he’d seen in his dreams. But close enough.
Considering.
“It’s on my bucket list, though. Along with the Science Center. The National Aquarium. Poe’s house, and Babe Ruth’s, too. The B&O Railroad Museum...” She faced the water again. “Not sure why it seems like I never have time for things like that. I have friends—married with kids—who’ve seen all of Charm City’s sights.”
Married. With kids. If he hadn’t screwed up, she’d be married with kids. His kids. Eyes shut tight, Ian lowered his head, hoping what he’d done to her wasn’t the reason she’d remained single.
From the corner of his eye, he could see her, watching as a sailboat floated silently by, its navigation lights reflected by the dark Inner Harbor waters. If not for the motorcycle, roaring by on Thames Street below, she could have heard the quiet clank of rigging lines hitting the mast, too.
Arms crossed and shoulders hunched, Maleah shivered.
“Let’s go inside,” he said. “I’ll make us some coffee and we can get our Stan talk out of the way.”
Nodding, she followed him. A lifetime ago, she would have reached for his hand, given it a loving squeeze as they walked down the wide-planked hall. Lord, how he missed things like that. Missed her. It hadn’t been easy, picking up the Sunday Sun and reading about her involvement in one fund-raiser or another, or turning on the evening news and seeing her respond to reporters’ questions about improvements to Washburne. It hurt like crazy, knowing she was literally minutes from him, yet completely out of his reach. That seemed fair punishment for what he’d put her through, but he didn’t have to like it.
She’d stopped to admire sketches of the building as it had looked a century ago, and photographs of the changes it had undergone through the decades. Hands pocketed, he stood beside her.
“Looks like the former owners took great pains to preserve the historical integrity of the place.”
“It was a mess when my aunt bought the place.” He pointed to the collage of snapshots, showing each phase of construction. “She has a good eye.”
She stepped up to a more recent collection of pictures. “Who’s responsible for these?”
“I am.”
Even looking apprehensive, she was gorgeous. If he’d known how hard it would be, standing this close to her, Ian never would have suggested a one-on-one meeting. Not even for Stan, his dad’s boss.
“Feel free to wander around while I get the coffee started.”
Yet again she followed, this time to the kitchen.
“Wow. Nice setup.” She turned slowly, taking in polished stainless appliances, countertops, and shelving lined with pots, pans and kettles that shone under the fluorescent lights. “I know a few people who own restaurants who’d turn green with envy if they saw this place.”
Pleasant as all this small talk sounded, Ian tensed, wondering when the proverbial other boot would drop. He hid the uneasiness by stepping into the cooler.
“How many chefs do you have?” she called out.
“Two, right now.” Ian emerged carrying two slices of cheesecake. “Of all the things I used to do around here,” he said, kicking the big door shut, “I miss that most.”
She pulled out a stainless stool and sat down. “So you still like to cook, huh?”
No fewer than a dozen times, he’d made good old-fashioned country breakfasts for her, his dad and Gladys. As he filled two big white mugs with coffee, Ian wondered if she could still pack away meals like a linebacker...
He slid a mug across the counter and grabbed forks and napkins from bins near the industrial dishwasher. “It’s decaf, so...”
“Good.” She flapped a napkin across her knees and picked up a fork. “So there are a few things I have to say,” Maleah began.
Ian braced himself and waited for that other boot to drop.
Maleah said, “I get the impression you and Stan go way back...”
“He was my dad’s college roommate. Bought the company where Dad works. And since it’s cheaper to ship things in and out, here on the coast, Stan made Baltimore his corporate headquarters.” He paused. “I get the feeling you have some history with him, too.”
“Not as far back as your association with him. Stan is Washburne’s biggest donor, so like it or not—and for the most part, I do not—I’m expected to defer to his whims.”
“Bummer.”
“Make no mistake, Ian. I’m in charge of the Kids First events. Put me on the spot that way again, and I’ll have a new assistant like that. And you’ll just have to find a new way to help your hostess and her little boy.”
Who’d told her about Terri and Avery? he wondered.
“I, ah, I didn’t mean to step on your toes. It’s just...when Stan issued that Do It My Way order, I tried to find a solution that would appease everybody, equally.”
“Uh-huh.” Chin up and shoulders back, she used her fork as a pointer. “But for future reference, I’ve been on my own for a long time. I don’t need or want a hero.”
She’d always been spunky, but not like this. “Message received.”
He took a bite of cheesecake, and so did she.
“Which chef came up with this recipe?”
“Gladys. She taught me everything I know about running a restaurant.”
“I always enjoyed spending time with her.” After taking a sip of coffee, she asked, “Did she visit often when you were...”
Eyes closed and blushing, she waved a hand in front of her face. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“Nah. It’s only natural that you have questions. Ask me anything. Really.”
Maleah sighed. “I honestly wouldn’t know where to begin.”
He didn’t like seeing her uncomfortable. Liked it even less that he, alone, had made her feel that way.
“Kind of a convoluted story, my ending up owner of Sur les Quais. Gladys banked every dollar I earned in lockup, so when I got out, I had a tidy nest egg waiting for me. She insisted that I move into the furnished apartment upstairs,” he said, thumb aimed at the ceiling. “When I’d racked up a couple dozen ‘Thanks, but we don’t hire ex-cons’