Jenna laughed, then leaned across the console and hugged hermother. “I love you, too, Mom. Thank you.”
“I haven’t bought the coffee yet.”
The thank-you wasn’t about the drink, but then her motheralready knew that.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Beth told her as she climbed out of theSUV. “This is where you belong. Real people live in Texas, not in Los Angeles.All those Hollywood types.” She sniffed. “Is there anyone normal in thecity?”
“A few, but they never go out at night.” Jenna linked arms withher. “I’m glad I’m home, too.”
* * *
Jenna couldn’t quite escape the feeling that going backto look at her store was like returning to the scene of the crime. But it had tobe done, and someone, probably her, needed to get her business started.
Despite having spent the past couple of weeks getting thingsready for the grand opening, every time she pulled into the parking lot andstared at the space she’d rented, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it.
Three months ago she’d been in Los Angeles. Her husband hadwalked into their tiny bathroom while she’d been brushing her teeth and hadannounced he was leaving her for another woman. He was in love and he wasleaving.
What Jenna remembered most was standing in that cramped spacewondering when she was supposed to spit. At what point in that kind ofconfession was it polite or expected for her to lean over the sink, spit andrinse?
She’d been unable to speak with all that toothpaste in hermouth, so she’d stood there like an idiot. Eventually Aaron had walked out,leaving her stunned, emotionally shattered and with toothpaste dribbling downher chin.
Later they’d talked. Or he’d talked, explaining all the reasonsthe breakup was her fault. She realized now that that was Aaron’s thing. Takingwhatever was good and strong in a person and systematically destroying it. Onthe outside, he was pure charm, all dark good looks and an easy smile. On theinside, he was the devil. Or at the very least, an evil minion.
She supposed she could have fought for her marriage, but a partof her had been relieved to have a reason to leave. So she’d packed upeverything she owned and had returned to Georgetown, Texas.
She’d been lost, so going home had made sense. As much asanything could, under the circumstances.
She was grateful her parents had never asked why she didn’t tryto get a job in a restaurant. She’d been a professional chef for nearly adecade. It was what she knew. Or it had been. Today, cooking anything seemedimpossible.
Oh, sure, she could throw together something easy. A bisque, adozen or so pasta dishes, a savory tart, prime rib. The basics. But tocreatively cook? To take new flavors and blend them into something so good itwas almost magic? That had been lost.
It was as if her culinary soul had been stolen. As much as shewanted to blame Aaron—and a case could be made that he was guilty of theft—she’dbeen the one not standing guard, not protecting what mattered most of all. She’dbeen the one to let him berate her, mock her and claim her best ideas as hisown. She’d let herself begin to doubt her abilities, her imaginative self, andnow she was just someone who had once known how to cook.
The killer was, no one knew. Not that she wanted to talk aboutit or have people feel sorry for her—she didn’t. On the outside, she was as goodas she’d ever been. It wasn’t as if she’d lost her actual skills. But the thingshe’d loved best—the spark of creating—was gone. And she didn’t know how to getit back, much less articulate the problem to anyone else.
She tried to tell herself that opening a cooking store was agrand adventure. It was her new destiny. She would pass on her skills to others,share the wealth, so to speak. And if she didn’t want to use that asinspiration, she had three years of lease payments to worry about. If shecouldn’t perk her mood with self-help, then she would get real with fear.Whatever worked.
At least the location was great, she thought, staring at thebig windows and glass front door. Old Town was a thriving part of Georgetown,and her store was in the middle of it. To the right of her space was a yarnstore called Only Ewe. To the left was an insurance agency and, beyond that, abeauty salon.
Old Town itself—a series of square blocks—was a combination ofbusiness and retail with some residential areas. There were restaurants,boutiques and a couple of banks. Foot traffic was high, and Jenna was hopingthat impulse buying was also a part of everyday life.
As she got out of her car and studied her store, she toldherself she could do this. She could be successful with her new business. She’dnever been a big believer in “fake it until you make it,” but maybe now was thetime to explore a new philosophy. After all, like it or not, the store wasopening. The sign would be delivered early next week. The final deliveries ofher inventory would arrive two days after that. Then it was just a matter ofgetting everything in place and opening the doors.
She was waiting to see how well she did before spending moneyon advertising. Grate Expectations would sell high-quality kitchen supplies withexpert instruction. She would demonstrate, offer cooking classes and give thepeople in town the chance to learn the secrets of professional chefs. Theredidn’t seem to be any competition for this kind of business in the nearbycommunities.
As she pulled out her key to the store, she heard a car doorslam. She turned and saw a dark-haired woman walking toward her.
“Hi,” the woman called. “Jenna?”
“Yes. You must be Violet.”
They’d spoken on the phone. Violet had been one of nearly adozen calls she’d had about the job she’d posted in the paper. Of the potentialapplicants, Violet had had the most experience, not to mention the most normalpersonality.
Now Jenna took in the short, spiky hair, the dark eyeliner andthick lashes. Violet’s beige lace T-shirt covered a deep purple tank top. Herskirt was layered and also purple. Dozens of necklaces hung down in variouslengths, while an equal number of bracelets clinked on her left arm. High-heeledankle boots completed the outfit.
She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties. Humor andcuriosity sparkled in her brown eyes and her smile was friendly.
“Great location,” Violet said as Jenna wrestled with the door.“Very upscale. You’ll get a lot of walk-in traffic. Especially if you’recooking. People will follow the smell.”