Chapter Seven

Elise had always loved wandering through a grocery store.

As she assumed her figure proclaimed to the world, she was a girl who loved to eat. But something about the orderliness and multitude of choices in a grocery store made her heart sing, and her mind whirl with meal ideas and recipe possibilities.

As a foster kid, food was always an afterthought for many of the families she was placed with – either she got the leftovers after everyone was done, or they’d spend money on cigarettes and booze instead of healthy food, or it was fast food every night because no one knew how to cook.

When Elise had hit college, she had eagerly taken several cooking courses, and had since become a recipe junky and a kitchen experimenter.

Food made her happy, and preparing and sharing a good meal was a way of showing you cared for someone else – something she had never had.

She couldn’t wait to start testing recipes on Betsy and Rose, she mused, wheeling the cart slowly through the produce section and towards the meat counter. She selected several good looking pork chops, a roast, some hamburgers to doctor for grilling and some pre-made kabobs, hoping against hope that no one in the house was a vegetarian.

She wheeled her cart away from the counter with a wave of thanks to the butcher and headed towards the bread aisle. She was wondering if she had the confidence to try baking her own bread and, lost in her own thoughts, wasn’t paying attention as she turned the corner of the aisle. Just as she was wheeling her cart around the corner, a flash of black leather came at her from the other direction, smacking heartily into the corner of her cart.

Elise watched, stricken, as the man she’d just mowed down lost control of the bag of apples he was carrying, and watched them helplessly as they scattered across several aisles, skidding to a stop underneath displays, racks, and under the feet of other shoppers.

Once they had all come to rest, she glanced up at the man who’d been carrying them, her face aflame with embarrassment and his face flush with pain.

“Oh… oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Elise stammered, reaching out helplessly to touch the man, then pulling back at his glare. “I didn’t see you…”

“Obviously,” the man retorted, wincing as he stepped onto the leg that had made contact with the cart. “Try paying attention.”

“I… I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Elise apologized. “Can I buy you some new apples or something? Do you need a doctor? Is your hip okay?”

She could see where he was rubbing his hip where the cart had obviously smacked him. He shook his head once, straightening his shoulders and righting his leather jacket. “I don’t need a doctor, and I can buy my own apples, thanks.”

“I’m really, really sorry, I really am. Can I make it up to you?” Elise asked, even as the man spun on his heel and strode away without another word, leaving her standing there, feeling like a fool.

#

Elise finally made it to the beach after dinner (the kabobs were delicious with the new potatoes she’d boiled), her Nikon slung around her neck, and the setting sun playing tricks with the colours of the sky.

She carefully picked her way down the berm and onto the sand, deciding that even though the air was cool, she would risk kicking off her shoes and walking barefoot on the sand. She walked slowly, occasionally stopping to take a photo, or to pick up a particularly pretty stone embedded in the sand and slipping it into a pocket. She turned around and looked towards Timberline several times, sensing that she was somehow being watched, but seeing no one.

She loved the solitude, the soothing repetition of the lake, and knew this was going to become a nightly sojourn – a walk on the beach would right anyone’s wrongs, she thought, skipping a stone out into the waves with a feeling of immense satisfaction at the number of skips.

After walking quite a distance, she turned around and was walking back just as slowly when a figure appeared on the beach near Timberline. She squinted, and then made out the figure of Rose waving at her. She hurried her steps and smiled as she approached the woman. “Isn’t this amazing?” she asked with a wide smile, gesturing to the lakeshore. “So beautiful.”

“No time for pretties, love… the master is back and he wants to meet you,” Rose said, her voice breathy.  “He’s waiting in the library, so you best hurry and meet him. If you can, find out how long the master intends to stay – if needs be, I’ll help you prepare meals and the like for when he’s here. He never stays too long…” she continued to talk as the women linked arms and hustled back up the berm into the yard, then to the porch of the house. Rose waved a goodbye as Elise entered the house and closed the door behind her, setting her camera down on a nearby table.

She self consciously smoothed her hair down and tried to kick the sand off her feet before jamming them back into her shoes.

She glanced over and saw Betsy curled up on a nearby sofa, a book in her lap and an half eaten apple in her hand.

“Look, Elise, my uncle brought us apples! Honeycrisp, my very favorite!” Betsy said happily, and Elise felt a frisson of embarrassment at the mention of apples.

Nonetheless, she squared her shoulders, and then strode purposefully towards the library.

#

“Sit down,” the voice said in the semi darkness, startling Elise, who couldn’t see anyone in the library at all. After a moment of adjusting to the dim light, she saw the top of a dark head of hair above one of the overstuffed chairs, and walked slowly towards the grouping of chairs.

Elise came to stand in front of him, stifling a gasp as she saw his face.

It was the man from the grocery store.

Well, of course it was, she thought wryly. Why would she expect to have good luck with her new employer?

“Sit down,” he repeated gruffly, not looking up from the pile of papers he had in his lap. Elise continued to stand, and he finally glanced up. “I apologize; I’m used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Please, sit down.”

Elise hesitated a moment longer, and then sat primly on the edge of the chair opposite him.

He worked in silence for another long minute or so, and then cast the papers aside and then studied her for a long moment.

She noted his dark hair, slicked back from his face, and his eyes, which appeared equally as black. He sported a five o’clock shadow, and the same black jeans, black turtleneck and leather jacket he’d been wearing earlier in the day at the grocery store. He appeared quite tall, all legs in his chair, and he was obviously a decade or so older than her.

Handsome, in a mobster sort of way, she decided – and definitely not her type. In college, she had tended towards the sensitive, artistic types – the ones who were non-threatening and gentle, a counter to her upbringing of rough men with rougher manners.

“Annaliese Blake,” he said, tenting his fingers and studying her. “You’re younger than I thought.”

“Elise,” she whispered through a parched throat, and then cleared it. “Everyone calls me Elise,” she repeated more strongly. “And I’m 24, but I’m fully qualified to teach Betsy,” she added, a touch defensively.

“She has already told me how much she likes you,” he said, almost as a dare. His voice was deep and melodious, as though he could narrate audiobooks or commentate golf tournaments.

“She’s a very sweet girl, and very smart. I’m looking forward to challenging her academically.”

“Her mother – my sister – was also very smart, but rarely applied herself. I don’t want that to be the case with Betsy,” he said, still watching her.

“I assure you, I don’t intend for that to happen. You have my condolences – you and Betsy – in her loss,” Elise added, and he nodded in acceptance.

“Where do you come from? Who are your people?” He asked after a moment.

“I was born and raised in Iowa. I have no people to speak of, just myself,” Elise replied, keeping the answer simple.

“No family?”

“None that I know of, sir,” Elise said. “Dead or gone.”

“When?”

“When I was a little girl.”

“How did you manage to pay for college?” He inquired, sounding genuinely curious.

“Scholarships, tutoring for extra money, working for the university, waitressing – whatever I had to do.”

“This must be a very abnormal situation than you’re used to,” he answered, gesturing around them, and she nodded.

“No situation is ‘normal’ to me, sir. This is just – different. And different can be refreshing.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he shot back. “Do you read?”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Do… you… read?” He repeated, the words exaggeratedly slow as he gestured around the room again.

“Voraciously, sir,” she replied. “Do you?”

He gave her a ghost of a smile, and then returned to his hardened mask of a face. “I fumble through the occasional Dick and Jane book.”

It was her turn to hide a smile.

“What of your hobbies?” He asked, and she was taken aback by the continual change in subject.

“I… I like to cook, obviously. I read. I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me about yourself, Ms. Blake,” he shot back, sounding annoyed. “We don’t know each other at all, and I like to know who’s living under my roof.”

“Would you prefer I didn’t?” Elise fired back, and that ghost of a smile reappeared on his face.

“I didn’t say that,” he said, his tone softer. “I just want to know more about you.”

She should have bit her lip, but her fiery tongue jumped ahead of her. “I’m a Taurus that likes long walks on the beach, romantic comedies and Italian food. I like going dancing or out for a night on the town, Chihuahua puppies and Jimmy Choo shoes.”

There was a long pause, and Elise wished she could retract her words, but then he barked out a huge laugh, making her sigh in relief.

“Alright, I deserved that,” he said with a grin. “Sue me.”

She smiled and felt herself relax a bit. She owed him something for that smart ass remark. “I like photography,” she said softly.

“You take pictures?” He asked, and she nodded. “Can I see them?”

Elise hesitated – she really was so shy about her art. “Maybe once I’ve heard your eHarmony profile in return and we know each other better.”

“Fair enough,” he said, standing. Her guess had been right – he was tall. “Another night. I’m tired and I’m sure you are too from chasing my niece around all day. Good night, Ms. Blake.”

“Please, call me Elise,” she begged gently.

He nodded and began to walk away when she cleared her throat. “Um, sir?”

He turned and pinned her with a gaze. “What should I call you?” she asked after a long moment.

“Call me?”

“Well, Rose refers to you as the master, and Betsy calls you uncle, and I’m not crazy about calling you either one of these, so… sir? Mr. Hale? Dude?”

He grinned, and then bit it back almost immediately. “Perhaps not ‘dude’. If I may call you Elise,” she nodded in agreement, “then you can call me Mr. Hale, or by my given name.”

“Which is?”

“Tucker,” he said softly. “Tucker Hale. Nice to meet you.”

“And you. Sir.” She added with a small smile. He watched her for a long moment, his gaze burning into her, then spun on his heel and headed for the door.

“And my hip still hurts like hell,” he said gruffly over his shoulder, “Elise.”

Elise’s legs were wobbling so badly, she barely found the chair before sinking down into it, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the shared memory of apples flying everywhere and a bruised hip.

Tucker Hale.

She felt she knew no more about him now than she had an hour previously.

And that was more intriguing than she liked to admit.

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