Kate Hoffmann - Paris or Bust!

“Where on earth did you get the idea that you were a wallflower?” he asked.

She stopped in midsentence and he realized he’d interrupted a description of how she was learning to clean and oil the farm machinery. “What?”

“In your essay, you said you were a wallflower in high school,” he said. “That’s not true. Lots of boys had crushes on you.”

Jody let out a hoot. “Name three!”

“Me, me and me.”

“You’re kidding.” She studied him as if seeking confirmation that this was a joke. “Come on, Callum, all the girls wanted you. I was your buddy.”

“You were my girlfriend,” he said.

“I was not! When did we ever go on a date?”

“We went to the prom,” he reminded her.

“You took pity on me. I said I didn’t have anyone to go with and you said, ‘How about me?”’ Jody’s forehead puckered. “Besides, you couldn’t wait to get out of town. You were just marking time, hanging around with me.”

“That’s not true. We went together all through college.” They’d both graduated from the University of Texas at Austin. “We dated for four years.”

“Study dates don’t count,” she said. “When did you ask me out for a romantic dinner?”

“You’d have laughed in my face.” Callum’s pride wouldn’t let him mention that he’d lacked money for such luxuries. The son of a feed store owner, he’d had to work his way through college and pay off student loans afterward.

“You should have tried me.”

“Okay, I’ll try you now,” he said. “May I take you out for fine dining and dancing, Madame?”

“Where? At the Downtown Café?” It was the fanciest restaurant in Everett Landing. That’s because it was the only restaurant.

“Just a minute.” Callum checked his watch. “It’s nearly five. People eat early in the country, don’t they?”

“Oh! That reminds me. I’ve got to start cooking.”

“Don’t move. Tonight you’re dining at Il Ristorante Callum, the finest Italian trattoria in Everett County.” Ignoring her halfhearted protest, he whirled into action.

As he’d expected, Jody kept her kitchen well stocked. In no time, he’d put a large pot of water on a burner, retrieved spaghetti and sauce ingredients from the pantry and set to whipping up dinner.

A man of the world knew how to cook and cook well, Callum had concluded long ago. With the food editor at Family Voyager contributing to his education, he’d honed his skills. Thanks to his interest, the magazine now included recipes with its feature stories on restaurants.

Jody watched with her chin resting on the heel of one hand. “I never thought of putting black olives in my spaghetti sauce.”

“Wait’ll you taste it.” The tomato mixture simmered, filling the air with the scents of basil, thyme and oregano. The salad, into which he’d tossed artichoke hearts and diced cucumber, stood ready on the counter. Careful not to break the strands of spaghetti, Callum stirred some into the boiling water.

With dinner under control, he skimmed down the abbreviated staircase to the living room and flipped through Jody’s CD collection. Once he bypassed the Sesame Street stuff and some old-time country classics that must have belonged to her parents, there wasn’t much left.

One label caught Callum’s eye and he extracted the jewel case. “Would you look at this! Everett County Regional High School Marching Band’s Greatest Hits. What a long title. And since when did we have any hits?”

“It was a fund-raiser,” she said. “Remember? It came out the summer we graduated.”

“How were sales?” He hadn’t kept track, but he suspected Jody had.

“We made enough to buy the band new uniforms.”

“Outstanding!” Callum put the CD into play. “I wonder if we can dance to it.”

“I’m not even going to ask if you’re kidding, because you’re crazy enough to mean it,” Jody said. “So tell me. How does one dance to a march?”

“By doing what the band director accused us of doing all along.” He pulled her to her feet. “Ignoring the rhythm and just going with our instincts.”

Laughter bubbled out of Jody as Callum drew her close. Small but lushly built, she flung her arms around his neck the way she used to in high school.

As they swayed together, ignoring the occasional flat blat of a trombone and the rousing beat suitable for a football halftime, Callum felt her breasts press into his chest. Through his shirt, he noticed the tips harden. Just like in the old days, his body sprang to full attention.

He buried his face in her hair and relished the fresh scent of hay. Let the pasta turn to goo and the salad wilt. He only had an appetite for the woman in his arms.

JODY HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN how much fun Callum could be. He filled her house with a sense of magical adventure.

“This is better than a trip to Paris.” Quickly, she added, “Almost.”

“How would you know?” he murmured into her ear. “You’ve never been farther than Santa Fe.”

“You read my whole entry?”

“All two hundred and fifty words of it.”

“Tell me about France,” she said. “You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Several times.” Judging by the lilt in his voice, Callum had found something new and wonderful every time he’d visited. “The whole city comes alive from early morning until late at night. The streets smell like fresh-baked bread. In the sidewalk cafés, people debate issues as if they held the fate of the world in their hands.”

“I can’t wait!”

“After Paris, we should go to Rome,” he murmured, as if they were really planning to travel together. “We could dine beside the Spanish Steps and dance at a smoky little club I know. What else would you like to see? Venice? Sorrento? Perhaps Granada. There’s a beautiful city.”

He’d visited all those places, Jody thought dazedly. She could have gone with him if she’d accepted his offer five years ago to accompany him back to L.A. And, of course, if she hadn’t been pregnant. But even if he’d somehow managed to keep the magazine going while supporting a family, their relationship would never have lasted. Kids apparently didn’t mean much to Callum. He hadn’t even asked about hers.

Speaking of the boys, it was time they came in for dinner. Reluctantly, Jody separated from Callum. “I have to go get Ben and Jerry.”

“Great! I love ice cream.”

“No, my children.” From beyond the kitchen, she heard the side door slam. The boys still hadn’t learned to close a door quietly. “Oh, there they are.”

She hurried through the kitchen. In the hall, she found her two little guys wriggling out of their jackets. Despite traces of dirt on their jeans and shirts, both had shining clean faces and hands.

“Louise made us wash at the pump,” Ben said.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Jody took a deep breath. Her decision not to notify Callum about her pregnancy had seemed the best choice at the time for both of them. She’d had second thoughts, third thoughts and fourth thoughts as she watched the boys grow up without a father, but until last year their grandfather had done his best to fill that role.

She had no idea how Callum might react when he learned the truth. Had it even occurred to him on reading her essay that the boys might be his? If so, he’d given no indication of it since his arrival. But then, he hadn’t seen Benjamin and Jeremy yet.

It was too late to turn back now. At some level, she’d been hoping for, and dreading, this moment ever since she entered the contest.

Gathering her courage, Jody shepherded her sons into the kitchen. Callum stood in profile, draining the pasta into a colander.