“You name-drop yourself?”
John gave Al a stony look.
“No one in fashion would respect me if they knew what I looked like.”
“Then cut your hair and shave the beard. It’s not like you don’t know how to dress well.”
“I haven’t been beardless since my freshman year in high school.”
“You could grow a full beard in high school?”
“My family’s hairy.” John shrugged his shoulders. “I shaved in sixth grade.”
“Oh.” Al looked around the bar. “I still don’t think I’m grasping the entire issue.”
“Look, I don’t expect you to understand; I was just hoping you’d listen.”
“Mate, I’m listening. But I can’t offer any advice if I don’t get it.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense, but I like this look for me. People avoid me. In high school, that was a benefit. Now I’m used to it. People don’t talk to me, they don’t stare at me.”
“What do you mean they don’t stare? Half this room can’t keep their eyes off you.”
“But they’re gawking because I look homeless.”
“As someone who doesn’t look homeless, may I suggest people would probably stare less if you were shaven and had clean clothes.”
“People used to stare—that’s why I grew the beard and hair out. They still look, but at least now they see what I want them to.”
What was he hiding? Birthmarks, scars from a rabid squirrel attack? Al wanted to know, but the politeness his mother had drilled into him had finally taken effect.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I have to get a shave and haircut. I don’t see any way around it.”
“What if you just trimmed it up a little neater? You still wouldn’t see a ton of skin, but it would give a little definition to your face.”
“Nah. If I’m doing it, I’ll do it right.” John sighed in submission. “I can’t believe we’re sitting in a bar full of lovely ladies and we’re talking about my beard.”
“Pathetic, really. And I’ve got your back should you need it.” Al put his hand on John’s shoulder. “At least I have a lovely lady to go home to. Which brings us full circle. Thoughts?”
“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” John’s smile told Al he teased. “Okay, it’s been two weeks since the obit. I’d say in the next week or so tell her you got the job. That works out. A week for the paper to mourn, a week accepting résumés, a week for interviews. Heck, you could even push it back more with the holidays. If Hannah really was hiring you, she’d tell you the week of Thanksgiving so you’d have the long weekend to get ready. Plus, you’d be hired in time for all the holiday food columns.”
“Thanksgiving. That might be perfect. Once again, John, you’ve saved my pasty white arse.”
• • • • •
Al twitched as he watched the clock and listened for Lou’s arrival. Today was his first Thanksgiving. Lou planned to cook the two of them her family’s traditional meal. The turkey sat in a cooler of salted ice water, happily brining since last night. So far, it didn’t differ much from Christmas dinner back home, except Lou hadn’t mentioned anything about pigs in a blanket. But any holiday centered around food was his kind of holiday. The only possible negative was that he’d planned to tell Lou about his fake new job today.
Since waking, he had changed his mind four times. He didn’t want to ruin a perfect day with Lou, but he couldn’t bear not sharing this part of his life with her. He didn’t want to lie or evade anymore when she asked about his writing. He had his freelance articles to show her, but Hannah planned to use his real byline next week so he had to tell Lou now. With all the grief A. W. Wodyski had brought her, Al fretted that Lou couldn’t accept his new job, that she’d be crushed he wanted to work for the paper that ruined her restaurant. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Lou had said she’d arrive at eight in the morning to start cooking. She’d given him strict instructions to have coffee waiting, the bird brining, and something for breakfast. He made scones again, this time with pumpkin pie spices to fit the occasion. They had the entire day ahead of them to fill with cooking, talking, and making love. He wouldn’t get a better opportunity.
Buzzzz! Finally. He pushed the button to let her in but thought better of it. He ran to open the door in person. Thank God he did. She had two large bags full of food and supplies stacked on top of a rolling cooler. When he opened the door, her face split into a glowing smile.
“You saved me. I didn’t know how I would carry this up. I’ve got the bags if you can grab the cooler.”
With a peck on the cheek she scooted past him to prop the door open while he carried the cooler. Back in the kitchen, she unpacked using one hand while the other held a disappearing scone.
Between bites she said, “Happy Thanksgiving, handsome.”
“You, too. But it feels a little wrong to celebrate people having to leave England.”
“It’s the perfect holiday for you, too. You left England looking for something better, just like the pilgrims did.”
Al hugged her from behind and kissed her neck.
“But I found so much more than Native Americans and pumpkins.” Lou turned and kissed him. When he tried to continue, she briskly broke it off. “Not today, love. This is serious cooking. No time for messing about. We have a bird requiring stuffing, rolls to start, and pies to bake.”
“You are a cruel mistress.”
Lou winked.
“Trust me—it will all be worth it. This is the best holiday! It’s like a chef created it. Thanksgiving is the only holiday we have contingent on the food. That’s all you have to do—eat. Best. Holiday. Ever.”
“What can I do to help?” Al said with a dramatic sigh, which Lou chose to ignore with a smile.
“Rinse the brine off the bird, dry it off, then rub it with this.” Lou handed him two sticks of soft butter. “Salt and pepper it, too. Don’t forget the inside.”
Lou started browning sausage and ground beef, adding the mirepoix, and tossing it all with seasoned croutons made from the restaurant’s bread scraps. In minutes the kitchen felt like home. Now was his time to tell her, while she was busy but not chopping anything.
“So, I have a new job. A full-time one.”
Lou turned to look at him.
“That’s amazing. Where is it? What are you writing about?”
“Well, you know how I love food, right? I applied for the job to replace the food critic who just died, and I got it. I’m the new food critic for the paper.” While Al spoke, his fingers continued to rub butter into the same spot on the turkey. Lou stopped stirring the meat; her shoulders dipped, and a line grew between her eyebrows.
“You applied for the critic job? Why would you do that?”
“It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I just never had an opportunity before now.” He hated the lies. Get through today and I’ll be done, he thought. All honesty from now on.
“You didn’t mention you wanted to apply.” Lou’s eyes shone a little more, her face scrunched as if she were sucking on a lemon.
“I didn’t know how you’d react. And what if they didn’t hire me? I didn’t want to have this conversation if I wasn’t getting the job.”
“I see. Why upset the apple cart if the cow isn’t going to hit it?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have.” Al waited for a response.
Lou stood still for a moment.
Unable to stand the silence and not knowing what she thought, Al asked, “Lou?”
“Give me a moment, please; I need to think about this.” Lou turned back to the stove, finished the stuffing, and shoved it into the turkey. She set it in the roasting pan and added some turkey stock. The entire pan went in the oven. She washed her hands, set the timer, and turned to face Al. He never wanted to hurt her. That was the whole point of the plan.