“The food is ready.” Marilyn brought two steaming bowls to the table and sat next to him.
He took a spoonful. The scent, peppery and smoky, reminded him of something he couldn’t put his finger on. His stomach roared to life. The bite in his mouth held a hint of heat and something piquant in the background. “This is incredible. What did you say this was called?” He spooned another bite of the beef into his mouth, and the flavor filled his senses.
“Short rib stew.” Marilyn beamed. “I found the recipe on the internet.” She stirred her food but didn’t eat any. “Remember that venison stew we had at the lodge during our honeymoon? I wanted to try to recreate it. Except without the venison.” She crinkled her nose.
“Oh, right! What was that place called again? Rusty Waters?”
“Rustic Lake.” She sprinkled a little salt over the top of her bowl.
“This is better than theirs. You should make it back home. I’m loving this.” He reached out and put his hand over hers. Her gaze warmed.
“Some of the ingredients are kind of expensive. I don’t know that I will be making it very often.” She flipped her hand over and twined her fingers between his. Her thumb stroked his forefinger. Pulling his gaze away, he fished out a bite of pepper to eat next. Heat flooded him. This meal was doing funny things to him. He scraped the last bite out of his bowl, savoring the spice.
“I’m not sure if I care how expensive it is. This might be the best thing you’ve ever made for me. And you know I love your cooking.”
Still holding his hand, Marilyn scooted her chair closer to him. She spooned another helping into his bowl.
Tell her now. This quiet moment was ripe for spilling secrets. He took a deep breath. Marilyn, we need to talk.
“Have I said how delicious this is?” Quit stalling and tell her.
“Must be the exotic spices.”
He leaned closer to her. “Or the beautiful chef.”
With his free hand, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She wore it shorter than when they first married, but something about the look in her eye reminded him of the day of their wedding. His fingertips tingled as he ran them across her cheek.
“I did add an extra portion of love.”
He gave her a wink. “Oh, I can taste that.”
She blushed.
He took a breath. “Marilyn, we need to talk.” Now.
Except suddenly, his entire stomach convulsed. He dropped her hand and pressed his fist into his stomach. It gurgled in response. “I don’t feel quite right.”
Marilyn put her hand to his forehead. “You don’t look very good. But you’re not running a fever.”
His insides ate at him. His stomach roiled. He stood so fast his chair tipped over. “Bathroom.” He gasped. Then lurched toward it.
Suddenly he wondered if this had been a good time to give up prayer.
CHAPTER 8
SATURDAY, 6:30 A.M.
Okay, she was officially done with being sexy. Like, forever.
Every time she’d heard a horrible noise from the bathroom the day before, Marilyn’s heart had clenched.
Turned out, red ginseng came with a side of stomach issues. Who knew? Guess she should have warned her husband before he took his second helping. She thanked the Lord she hadn’t eaten much herself—that bathroom wasn’t big enough for two.
Now, sitting in the car next to him on their way into town, the space between them filled with the chilly December morning air that even the noisy car heater couldn’t blast away.
Sigh. So much for romance. Now she was sure she had imagined the spark of interest Bob had shown yesterday. Must have just been the heat from the stove.
And then she’d gotten the phone call from the hospital about Stella. Her heart had nearly stopped. Thank goodness her daughter’s injuries weren’t serious. Just some minor smoke inhalation from a fire in town.
Marilyn shuddered imagining how much worse that event could have turned out.
Bob had been asleep when she got the call, and she’d almost shaken him awake to drive them to the hospital, but in the end, she hadn’t wanted to wake him. He’d slept right through the night, so now she had to add her concerns about Stella to the list of things unsaid between them.
Stella hadn’t come home again last night. She must have slipped out after Marilyn brought her home. Marilyn couldn’t find it within herself to get too worked up about it. Bob was right. Stella was a grown woman and had to make her own decisions. Marilyn was too emotionally weary to deal with it anyway.
Marilyn, we need to talk.
Those ominous words had sat inside her all night. By morning, she’d resigned herself to hearing whatever Bob wanted to tell her today. She couldn’t imagine he was going to bring up the d-word, but maybe he wanted a separation or to live separately at home. A divorce wasn’t in his good-natured character.
When he’d gotten up before dawn, feeling fully recovered, and announced they needed some of the Flashy Fox’s famous cinnamon rolls, she’d decided that maybe whatever bomb he was going to drop might be softened by fresh coffee and something sweet.
Oh, who was she kidding? But here she was, as usual, by his side, bracing herself for whatever was ahead.
Merry Christmas Eve to the Brown family.
The car was filled with a thick silence. She missed the quick wit and gentle teasing they usually engaged in while on car trips. She blinked rapidly, but the tears threatened anyway.
Bob parked the car in front of a small storefront. An image of a stylized fox danced across the plate glass.
“I’m hungry,” Bob said. “It’s kind of a good feeling, actually. I wasn’t sure how things would be this morning.”
Marilyn put on a pleasant face. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I hope these cinnamon rolls live up to their hype.”
They pushed through the door to the bakery, and a warm, yeasty gust of air swept over them. Beside her, Bob took a big breath.
They’d entered a small dining area with a long bakery display lining the back. A swinging door hung at one side of the display. Several small tables were scattered around the space. Warm reds and creams made the room feel intimate and welcoming.
Just then, Elaine came through the swinging doors carrying a tray. “Oh! Hello! Sorry, I didn’t hear the door.” She slid the tray into the bakery case. “You’re Marilyn and Bob, right? We met during the snowshoe event?”
“Yes.” Marilyn kept her smile in place. “That’s us. We’ve come to try your famous rolls.”
“You’re in luck. I’ve just pulled a fresh batch out of the oven.” She gestured to the back. “I’ll go grab a few.”
“We’ll take a couple of coffees too, if you have any,” Bob said.
“Coming right up.” Elaine’s singsong voice played an annoying tune across Marilyn’s tightly strung nerves.
She forced herself to breathe deeply. She was a woman of faith. And she could handle whatever Bob had to say.
How foolish she’d been to think a nightie and a few days of romance would fix whatever this was between them.
“Let’s sit.” Bob indicated a table with two chairs near the cash register. She slipped off her winter coat and sat. Bob sat kitty-corner from her. He laid his gloves on the table.