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“Maybe I’ll drop it by their office on the way home.” Reggie looked up at him.
“Good plan.”
“The Reno Cuisine?” Patty beamed. “How exciting.”
“You have no idea,” Reggie said. Tremont was doing well, but competition was tough in Reno, and they needed every edge they could get. This would help establish them.
“Exciting and hopefully lucrative.” Justin smiled at the prep cook and again she went pink, even though she was old enough to be his mother.
“Patty,” he added, “you might just be our good luck charm.”
TOM HAD FINISHED FUNNELING HIS frustrations into a massive apartment sterilization project and was packing laundry into bags for his weekly trip to the cleaners when the phone rang.
“Tom Gerard,” he answered as he cinched a bag shut.
“Mr. Gerard? This is Debra Banks from the Letterbridge Hotel Corporation.”
Tom dropped the laundry bag on the sofa and stood up straighter. Finally. He’d turned down an offer from them two years ago, but now he wasn’t turning down anything. Maybe they knew that.
“Would you be interested in flying to our corporate office in Seattle for a meeting and interview with our culinary vision team?”
“Yes, I would,” Tom replied without hesitation. “When?”
Many fine chefs worked for hotels. It was exactly the kind of corporate, don’t-color-outside-the-lines environment that had gotten Tom in trouble in the past, but things had changed since he’d found out Reggie was pregnant. He was going to have to learn how to survive in a corporate environment. There weren’t many other options. He could give them a year or two, then try to move into a more creative kitchen.
“I know it’s short notice, but next week, if you can work it into your schedule.”
“I, uh, think I can do that.”
Ms. Banks went on to describe exactly what they were looking for—three chefs to head operations in three different areas of the country. They had a short list of four chefs for each region. “Does that sound like something that would interest you?”
It sounded like an answer to a prayer.
“I’ll email you the meeting, flight and hotel information. Please call if you have any questions or conflicts at all with the time.”
“Sure thing. Thanks.”
“No. Thank you. I certainly hope you become part of the Letterbridge Hotel team.”
So did Tom.
REGGIE GOT IN TO BED AT NINE, still making plans for Reno Cuisine. She and Eden had made some preliminary decisions that afternoon, decided on a French bistro theme, since it hadn’t been well represented in the last competition—unlike luau and garden party. They had a ton of work ahead of them and Reggie was supremely grateful. She wanted her plate full. Loaded to the brim. Anything to keep her from obsessing full time over how to handle the baby situation. So far, she’d had no word back from Tom.
But she’d hung up on him. Maybe that was that.
She knew it wasn’t.
Mims was curled up on her chest and she was just nodding off—finally—when her cell phone rang, startling her awake. “Great,” she muttered, automatically snapping on the beside lamp before she answered.
“Reggie.” Speak of the devil… There was no mistaking Tom’s voice. “I’m flying to Seattle and routed the flight through Reno. I’d like to see you.”
“When?” Realizing she was holding the phone in a death grip, she forced herself to relax her fingers.
“Day after tomorrow.”
Damn. Kitchen prep and nothing else. She was so tempted to lie and say she was booked, just to buy some time, but it would only put off the inevitable. Better to man up, get this first difficult meeting over with.
“Yes. I can see you then,” she grumbled.
“You don’t need to sound so thrilled about it.”
Reggie ignored her irritation. Anger would get her exactly nowhere with Tom. He dealt with high emotions every day in the kitchen. A master. “Will you have enough time between flights to go in and out of security?” she asked politely.
“I’ll take a later flight if I have to.”
Oh, joy. “All right. Any idea what time?”
“Around noon as things stand now.”
“I’ll meet you at the airport. McDonalds. It’s on the lower level.”
There was a moment of silence, then Tom said, “McDonalds it is.”
REGGIE TOLD EDEN AND JUSTIN about her imminent meeting with Tom the next morning in the kitchen as they drank the lattes Justin had bought.
“Maybe I should go with you,” Eden suggested.
Reggie appreciated what her sister was trying to do, but she’d gotten herself into the situation and she’d take care of it on her own.
“No need,” she said. “We’re going to start a dialogue. Nothing more.” Because she wasn’t ready for anything more. Just a civil meeting with the father of her child. In a public place.
Damn, but she was nervous.
Justin said nothing as he drank his coffee. Which wasn’t like him. And he wasn’t meeting Reggie’s eyes, which in the old days meant he either had or was planning to pull a fast one. Nowadays it meant he had something to say and was biding his time.
Reggie finished her drink and tossed the paper cup into the trash. “Are you meeting with the birthday people this morning?” she asked Eden.
“They’re coming here to sign the contract and finalize the menu. Which means I’d better get it printed out.”
She headed to the office and Reggie turned to face her brother. “What?” she said softly, perplexed by his attitude.
“I’m concerned,” he said flatly. “About you. And the kid.” He crumpled his cup in one hand. “You’ve spent so much of your life raising us, and now you’re going to be raising a kid you didn’t expect to have. Probably without a father around.”
Without a father around.
They’d basically grown up without one around and it had left a mark. Especially on Justin, who’d idolized their dad until he’d let him down one time too many. Hero worship had turned to bitterness.
And now Reggie was about to reenact the crime.
She wanted to say, “The kid will have a great uncle, though,” but she didn’t wish to put that burden on Justin.
“We’ll do all right,” she stated.
He had more to say. She could see it, but he was holding back. “If you change your mind about having one of us come with you, pick me. Okay?”
Reggie reached up and patted her brother’s cheek, then smiled. “First on the list.”
REGGIE ARRIVED AT THE AIRPORT McDonalds early because she wanted to make sure the smell of food wasn’t going to trigger any bouts of nausea. So far, so good.
She chose a table close to the edge of the seating area, where she could watch the escalator, see Tom before he saw her.
She didn’t have long to wait. Less than fifteen minutes after she sat down, he came down the escalator. Tall, dark, striking. Two women traveling up on the opposite side gave him second glances, but he had zeroed in on her.
Reggie swallowed.
This is Tom. Just…Tom.
But they had so much to hash out, and were undoubtedly coming at it from two different angles. Tom was probably wondering what this would do to his career, and Reggie was wondering what his career would do to the kid.
“No bag?” Reggie said before he could speak. She wanted to take control. Now. Always.
Good luck to her.
“I checked it.”
“So if you take a later flight—”
“It’ll be waiting for me. Do you want something?” he asked, gesturing at the counter.
“I already had orange juice.”
“Been here long?” he asked, looking at the table, empty except for her napkin. The napkin was to give her something to do with her hands.
“Not really.”
Tom sat opposite her and for a moment they regarded each other coolly. Warily.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Distraught. Confused. Nervous.
“A little sick in the morning, but not as bad as last week.” There was no way she was going to pour her soul out to him, count on him to make things better, help her through this.
“Me, too,” Tom said. Reggie smiled. Or tried to. “We have some stuff to work out,” he added softly. But Reggie heard that underlying steel she remembered so well.
“Yes.”
“I have no idea where or how to begin.”
Reggie reached for the napkin. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“I remember that part from our phone conversation.”
She didn’t answer immediately, not wanting to make any more errors at this point in the game. “What exactly do you see as your role here?”
“Father?”
Reggie briefly twisted the napkin between her fingers, then realized what she was doing and made herself stop. “How much contact do you want with the baby?”
“Jumping right into it, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
Tom put both his palms on the table in front of him and Reggie focused on his long, strong fingers, with the small nicks and scars from past culinary adventures. He had wonderful hands. There was a lot about him she’d found wonderful…and yet something had prevented him from fully giving himself to her. And that had made it possible for him to walk away from her—from their plans—pretty much devastating her.
“I’m here as a first step only.”
“Agreed,” Reggie said. “We can’t arrange custody until the baby is born, but I’d like to understand our roles beforehand.”
Tom nodded, lightly moving the tips of his fingers over the tabletop.
“Do you want custody?”
He looked up at her point-blank question, his dark eyes unreadable. “That’s what I’m here to figure out.”
“If you have any doubts about it…err on the side of caution,” Reggie said.
He cocked his head, his eyebrows moving together. “Meaning?”
“A kid needs a steady father, Tom. I know that because I didn’t have a steady father.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t be steady?”
Reggie gave a short laugh, crumpling the napkin. “What makes me think you would be?” She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but it was oh so true. He had no record of steadiness, and she was justified in pointing that out.
His expression darkened, the first sign that his temper was taking over. Reggie had never been intimidated by his moods, and when they had argued in the past, she’d merely stuck to her guns and eventually the storm would peter out. But sticking to her guns took time, and today she didn’t have time.
“I’m sorry, Tom. That was uncalled for.”
“But somehow it seemed to come from the gut,” he said.
Reggie leaned back in her chair and studied his face. With the exception of the longer hair and the beard, which was little more than a neatly trimmed five o’clock shadow, he looked almost the same as he had seven years ago. But he wasn’t. Her Tom was there—she’d seen glimpses of him the night they’d slept together—but he was buried under a heavy layer of Chef Tom Gerard. The dog-eat-dog world he had embraced had changed him.
But why had he chosen it over her? Why couldn’t he have stayed with her?
“Maybe it did,” she allowed. She put a hand against her flat abdomen. “I’m concerned about the baby.”
“And I’m your biggest concern.”
