Page 19 of You Had Me at Chocolate

Jude smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet”—he performed air quotes—“you, Rhonda.”

She eyed him speculatively. Like she had at the night of the party but, stone-cold sober, it was far more probing. Rhonda was clearly missing her vocation as a proctologist.

“You sure know how to make an entrance,” she murmured. “A public marriage proposal and then a flashy wedding cake that has the whole town talking.”

Grimacing, Jude took the opportunity to set the record straight. “The first was a bad case of jet lag. The second was a bad case of distressed bride.” He shrugged. “I have certain skills. How could I not use them?”

Looking him up and down she returned her gaze to his face. “You’re staying, then?”

“Yep.”

“For Clem?”

“No,” he denied, quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

Rhonda raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Jude swallowed as Rhonda dished out another penetrating look. “Really. I’m here for me.” If Africa had been about detoxing from the treadmill of celebrity by helping those less fortunate then Marietta was about starting anew.

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips as if she didn’t quite believe him but didn’t push any further. “Anyway… I better get these to Clem.”

“Sure, okay.” Jude stepped out of the doorway so Rhonda could pass. “Is there something I can do for her?” he asked as he followed her back through the house.

Rhonda looked over her shoulder at him as she reached for the doorknob. “Pray.”

Jude wasn’t sure prayer coming from someone with dubious connections to faith would really help the situation. “Please tell Clementine that I’m thinking of her and her mom.”

Rhonda nodded as she turned the handle. “I will.” Then she stepped out the door and into the cold night air.

*

After a night of tossing and turning, Jude woke knowing exactly what he could do. Clementine and her father would need to eat. And he could cook. They’d need to keep their strength up if they had long days of vigil ahead of them. It would be easy, he imagined, in that situation to be so anxious that the thought of sourcing and cooking and eating food could be too overwhelming.

Easy too, he imagined, to grab something quick and not particularly nutritious. But if good, healthy, nutrient-dense food was already there…?

He remembered when his grandmother died when he’d been seven and the neighbors had showed up at the door in a steady stream, all bringing food with them. He’d asked his mother why people kept bringing food when their fridge and freezer was already overflowing. She’d said that people never knew what to do for those who were grieving but everyone had to eat.

It hadn’t meant much to him at the time but it resonated with Jude now and whilst prayer wasn’t his thing, cooking sure as hell was.

Armed with purpose, Jude went out as soon as the store was open and bought what he needed. Then he spent the morning in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. He had no idea what either of them were in to or if they had any allergies or intolerances so he just stuck to basic food that could be spread over several meals and hoped for the best.

A huge lasagna. Chicken soup, loaded with vegetables. A mild lamb curry. He bought ripe juicy apples and oranges bursting with flavor and vegetables—broccoli, beans, corn, and carrots—that could be popped in the microwave and cooked in a few minutes and were chock-full of nutrients.

Then there was the sweet stuff. Jude was tempted to go all Parisian on them but this wasn’t about showcasing his skills. It was about food that could be boxed up into individual portions, that could travel and could keep and would be perfect for a sugar hit exactly when needed. So, he baked chocolate chip cookies and fudge brownies and made bags of caramel popcorn. He also made crunchy, nutty, seedy granola to go with the sweet, creamy tubs of yogurt he’d purchased for quick, easy nutritious breakfasts.

And he made cobbler. Peach cobbler to die for because, even if only for the duration of the eating, cobbler made the world a little bit better.

Then he portioned everything into individual plastic take-out containers and loaded them in the car and was on the road for Bozeman by two in the afternoon. He still had the rental car and he needed to do something about that—maybe he’d look for something to buy after he’d dropped off at the hospital—but the most important thing was to get this food to Clementine and her father.

And, truthfully, he wanted to see her. To give her a hug and tell her, although he’d been out of her life for a long time, he was back and if she needed anything to just ask. He wanted her to know he was here for her.

He wanted to be the guy she leaned on…

*

Half an hour later, he was striding into Bozeman hospital and riding the elevator to the ICU by quarter to three, a container of cookies in hand. When he got to the waiting room it was empty and the anticipation that had been building in his chest deflated like a popped balloon. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to see Clementine with his own two eyes, to know she was okay.

Until now.

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