There were no catering companies in the phone book. None. Eli rang two local cafés and the famous bakehouse, which he had yet to visit, but none of them did private catering. In addition to that, neither of the cafés could spare any staff, and the baker refused to help, cursing Eli in a thick German accent for daring to introduce mass-market baked goods to the township. Not that he had done so yet, but when asked, he couldn’t deny that a couple of well-known chain bakeries were interested in renting shop space from him. Eli was, apparently, notorious among a certain set of locals.
He searched the Internet for caterers, but nothing in this backwards little town was on the web. Finally, he called the pub.
The Irish bartender answered. “Davy of Davy’s speaking. What can I do you for?”
“I need a caterer,” Eli replied, thinking he might have more luck if he didn’t mention his name. “Tonight. I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if you know of anybody.”
“Who’s asking?”
“Eli,” he replied.
“Eli who?”
“Lockwood,” he said impatiently. There went that plan.
“Ri-i-ight. I remember you.” Davy’s voice had taken on a sly tone that Eli didn’t much like. “You’ve got a thing for our Aria.” Eli didn’t have time to correct him before he barreled on. “Well, tonight’s your lucky night, my friend.”
Eli’s heart sank. “Why?”
“We don’t have any professional caterers in town, but we do have a couple of bloody good home-cooks who cook for fundraisers from time to time. Your lady friend is one of them.”
Eli sighed. So much for hiring a caterer to make his life easier. Involving Aria would never simplify things, and after she had run from him twice, it seemed unlikely she’d be willing to help.
“Anyone else?” He crossed his fingers.
Davy seemed puzzled but answered anyway. “Nancy Harding, but she’s visiting her niece in Wanaka at the moment, and Eliza Brown.”
“Do you have Mrs. Brown’s number?”
Davy gave him the number but made sure to tell him Aria’s as well. Eli called the first number.
“Eliza speaking.”
“Mrs. Brown,” he began. “This is Elijah Lockwood.” No point in trying to hide his identity again. “I hear you’re a good cook.”
“Yes.” The old woman sounded wary.
“Would you consider catering for a dinner tonight? I know it’s short notice, but I’m desperate. You can name your price.” Hopefully, adding a financial incentive would aid his cause.
She took her time answering. “I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged tonight, Mr. Lockwood. Your best bet is to call Miss Aria Simons. I’m sure you know her.”
Was he paranoid, or were the locals pushing him toward the feisty journalist?
“I do,” he replied. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you?”
“No, Mr. Lockwood. Not tonight.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll give her a call. Thank you for your time.”
Aria was dozing off in the back corner of a workshop about public transportation when her phone rang, jolting her back to consciousness. Leaping at the chance to escape the workshop, which was going nowhere fast, she excused herself and accepted the call.
“Hey, there,” she greeted cheerfully.
“Aria, this is Eli.”
His smooth voice sent a ripple of desire down her spine, and she flashed back to their kiss last night. Her body temperature ratcheted up a couple of degrees.
“Hi, Eli,” she greeted him, doing her best to sound nonchalant despite her racing heart. Was he calling about last night? Did he want to talk about it? Apologize? Ask for more? She wasn’t sure which option she’d prefer. “Can I help you?”
“Davy the bartender tells me you’re a ‘bloody good cook’. His words, not mine.”
She laughed. Typical of Davy to talk her up to an unattached man. “Is that a question or a statement?”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” she replied, tucking a curl behind her ear as she pressed the phone closer to prevent anyone around her overhearing. “I’m a passable cook.”
“Are you free tonight?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” she teased. Sensing his awkwardness, she said, “I’m sorry. I was joking.”
“I need a caterer.”
Oh. Not quite a date, then. Couldn’t blame a girl for dreaming. “What for?”
He paused. Sighed. What was bugging him? “My parents are coming to dinner.”
Aria laughed out loud. “And you need a caterer for that? Seriously, roast some potatoes and a chicken, and they’ll be happy.”
“I wish it were that simple.”
Aria shook her head. He made it sound like he belonged to the Addams Family. Even if they weren’t like her family, they couldn’t be that bad. Was this a ruse to see her again? She hoped so; otherwise, he seriously needed to relax.
“It’s always that simple with family,” she advised. “Make a little effort, and they’ll appreciate it.”
“Not my parents,” he said shortly. “I didn’t call to get your opinion. I need a caterer. Will you do it?”
His tone was snappy, and she couldn’t help feeling hurt. “Well, I could have been, but now I’m not so sure.”
“I’ll pay you.”
She groaned and raked a hand down her face. “Not everything is about money, Eli.”
“Then name your price.”
She hesitated, seeing the opportunity that had dropped into her lap. “Information,” she replied, in control once more. “I need a killer article. Something big. Exclusive, but not scandalous. Can you help me with that?”
For twenty seconds, she thought he’d tell her to go to hell. Wouldn’t blame him if he did.
“What kind of story?”
He was listening to her, at least. “Anything that will sell papers.”
“You don’t care about the content?”
She shook her head. “Not as long as it’s worth my time.”
She heard his breathing down the phone. Then he said, “Okay, deal. But if you write anything I don’t agree to, I’ll make you pay for it.”
The threat should have bothered her, but it didn’t. Perhaps because she’d seen him kowtow to his little sister only the night before, or because she knew the reason for his reluctance. “Agreed. I’ll help with your meal. I can be there at five and have dinner done by six-thirty. Does that suit?”
“Yes.” He exhaled softly. “Thank you. Is there anything I need to buy?”
“Two dozen potatoes and a block of cheese.” Deathly silence. Winding him up was such fun, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “How do you like Italian? I can cook pumpkin ravioli, risotto, and lemon cake for dessert. No need to buy anything. I have everything I need at home.” She’d have to sacrifice the family cake, but she’d happily give up ten such cakes to get the story she needed.
“That sounds fantastic.” His voice had warmed considerably, and she found she liked it.
Aria grinned. “You’ll make it worthwhile, I’m sure. Now, I’d better get back to work. See you later.”
At five o’clock, Aria turned up on Eli’s doorstep with several bags of food and a big smile. Eli wondered if she ever stopped smiling.
“One caterer, as promised,” she announced, pushing past him to unload the bags in the kitchen, her calves sleek as she bounced along the hall in chunky high heels.
“I’m so glad you could help,” he said, regardless of the price he’d pay for her assistance. He needed her on-side tonight. Family dinners were, frankly, unpleasant. Hopefully, she would cook a great meal and stay away from his parents. The last thing he needed was for her to bring up their kiss in front of them. On that note...
“I bought you some chocolates,” he told her, grabbing the box from the bench and handing it over.
“Do you think you can buy my goodwill with chocolates?” she asked, laughing.
“Of course not. I need to apologize for last night. I got carried away, and I’m sorry.”
“Wow.” Her eyebrows shot up as she scanned the box. “Good choice. Creamy and chocolatey. Perfect. How did you know?”
Eli smiled as her approval sent a tingle of pleasure through him. Most women of his acquaintance weren’t easily pleased. Many things about Aria were refreshing. She was colorful and cheerful and passionate. Nice to look at, too. The women he usually met tended to be elegant and sophisticated—tall and lean, whereas Aria was average height and delightfully proportioned. Today, a V-necked summer dress displayed her ample curves to perfection.
“They’re my favorite,” he confessed.
She opened the box and offered him one, then popped another into her own mouth and closed her eyes dreamily. “So good.”
Eli gritted his teeth as the gooey inside of the chocolate melted in his mouth. How did she make the simple act of eating so sensual? He swallowed. “We’ll be eating in the dining room. Do you need anything before you get started?”
“No, I’ve got everything sorted. Don’t worry,” she added, seeing the apprehension on his face. “It’ll be fine. Go and be with your parents.”
He headed back to the dining room, which he’d cleaned and filled with a large oak table, which stretched nearly the entire length of the room. His parents and Therese had congregated at the end nearest to the fireplace—not that it was burning, with the warm summer air.
“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so,” he informed them.
“I assume you’ve hired a cook?” Frances asked, as if the idea of cooking for themselves was inconceivable.
“Yes, Mother. She came highly recommended.” So highly recommended, it made him suspicious.
“Nothing but the best for my children,” Phillip commented.
An hour passed in stilted conversation until Aria emerged with the ravioli. A patterned apron covered her summer dress, and she had a spot of flour on her cheek. Eli wanted to lick it off. Then his mouth watered for a different reason. Damn, the ravioli smelled good.
“Aria,” Therese exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Cooking your dinner.” Her eyes slid nervously toward Eli’s parents, then back to Therese. “How’s the kitten?”
“He’s fab. I’ve named him Aroha,” Therese replied. “Because I love him. He’s soooo cute. He slept on my bed last night.”
Frances and Phillip both frowned, and Eli gestured for Therese to stop talking. Their parents weren’t partial to pets and were no doubt looking for somebody to blame for the kitten.
“I’m glad it worked out.” Aria wound around the table, placing a bowl of ravioli before each of them. Everyone waited while Phillip tasted the first bite.
“Delicious,” he said after a painful five seconds.
Aria beamed and scurried from the room. Eli felt oddly proud of her, a strange warmth in the vicinity of his chest. He shouldn’t be surprised that the woman could cook. She also saved kittens and stopped stupid girls from getting a criminal record. What didn’t she do?
The best surprise was dessert, a beautifully decorated yellow cake. Three tiers high, spotted with edible daisies and butterflies, it was a work of art.
“Did you do this yourself?” Eli asked, unable to mask his approval.
A smile elevated her face from simply pretty to beautiful. “Yes, I did,” she replied. “I’m a bit of an amateur cake decorator.”
“It looks divine,” Frances said. “Lacking the flair of a true professional, but no one would expect you to reach their standard, dear.”
Eli rolled his eyes. So like his mother to deliver a backhanded compliment.
“Thank you,” Aria said simply, and he admired her graceful acceptance of the comment. She handled herself well, better than he would have thought. “Do you need anything else from me?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll see you out.”
“I’m sure she can see herself out,” Frances interjected.
“I can,” Aria confirmed, looking as if she’d like nothing better.
“Nevertheless,” Eli continued. “I will see you out.” He stood and, taking her elbow, escorted her to the front door. When they reached the porch, his grip tightened. “Thank you for saving me tonight,” he murmured, gazing down into her bottomless brown eyes, aware of her bare skin against his fingers as he rubbed a thumb over her elbow, so smooth and so soft. “I know you’ll probably milk me for all I’m worth, but I want you to know that I really appreciate your help anyway. I would have been stuck without you.”
Aria smiled, her eyes twinkling. “You’re very welcome, Eli Lockwood. I’ll come by to talk to you tomorrow, if that suits.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” And, oddly, he was.
Before he could second-guess himself, Eli leaned over and kissed her cheek. She blushed deep red and hurried away, waving to him before she hopped into her car, a ridiculous little thing with a flower painted on the side. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he went back into the lion’s den.