“The pudding. It was great.”
“Honey, I’m not your mom. Look at me.”
Berry blinked and concentrated, shaking the last of the cobwebs away. Did she just call Jake Sawyer Mom? He felt like Mom. Strong and reassuring, pressing kisses against her temple, into her hair. She could get used to this. This could be habit-forming. Jake Sawyer was going to make some woman a wonderful mother… except he looked awful. Grime streaked his face, emphasizing the grim set to his mouth and the cold terror in his red-rimmed eyes. Berry touched her fingertip to a sweat-soaked ringlet that had fallen across his forehead. “You look terrible.”
Jake broke into a grin, his teeth seeming extraordinarily white in the soot-darkened face. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”
“Of course.”
“You got smacked in the head with a fire extinguisher that fell off the truck. It knocked you out.”
“That’s what happens to you when you don’t make time for breakfast. You get wimpy. My mother warned me this would happen.”
The stricken look left Jake’s face and was replaced with an only moderately successful attempt at anger. “Don’t ever skip breakfast again. It’s enough to scare the daylights out of someone.”
How great is this, Berry thought. No one was hurt, and Jake Sawyer was worried about me. Okay, so my apartment is trashed, and that’s a bummer, but I’ve got a man hovering over me who seems to genuinely care if I live or die.
Jake looked at her carefully. “You sure you’re okay? Your apartment just burned to a crisp, and you’re grinning from ear to ear.”
“I know. I can’t help it.” Berry pushed her mouth together with her fingers, trying to wipe away the smile. “I’ll try to look more serious.”
Mrs. Fitz dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “Lingonberry, I’m so sorry. It was all my fault. I got a nice big tip for delivering those pizzas, and I spent it on some newfangled electric curlers, and the dang things burned the apartment up.”
Berry looked to Jake. “Is that true? Is that how the fire started?”
Jake nodded. “Mrs. Fitz plugged the curlers in to heat up, and then she set the case on the couch. Somehow, the curlers overheated and started to spark. The couch caught fire, then the curtain went up.”
“How bad is it?”
“Could be worse. The fire was confined to the couch area. Mostly what you’ve got is smoke damage. The downstairs wasn’t affected at all.”
“Can I go in?”
“Yeah. I just went through with the fire marshal. They’re packing up to leave. You’ll have to go down to the fire station later to fill out some forms.”
Berry nodded and led the little parade of three ladies and Jake Sawyer up the stairs to her apartment. She walked into the middle of the living room, her feet squishing across the wet carpet, and blinked into the darkness. Everything was charcoal-gray. The walls, the ceilings, the rugs, the windows. The couch looked like it had been burned to cinders by the fire, stomped into oblivion by overzealous firefighters, and drowned.
“Yikes,” Berry said.
“It makes a body want to cry to see it like this,” Mrs. Fitz said. “It was so cozy.”
“It’ll never be the same,” Mrs. Dugan said. “Everything in here smells like smoke. All our clothes, all the linens, all the tea bags.”
Berry agreed. “It is pretty smoky. Tomorrow morning we’ll open the windows and try to air it out.”
“Maybe we should go back to the train station for a while,” Mildred said. “You could come with us, Lingonberry.”
Jake gave a long-suffering, earth-rocking sigh. “Nobody’s going to the train station. I have an empty house with plenty of space. You can all stay with me for a few days while we get the apartment cleaned.”
Berry looked at him sidewise. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
He wanted Berry in his house, big time. Mrs. Fitz, Mrs. Dugan, and Miss Gaspich, no. They were nice ladies, but he had no desire to live with them. Problem was, he had even less desire to see them living at the train station.
“I’m sure,” Jake said.
“A house!” Mrs. Fitz elbowed Mrs. Dugan. “Hear that? We’re gonna live in a house.”
Miss Gaspich carefully squished across the room. “I’ll get my toothbrush and my nightie.” She stopped at the bathroom door and gasped. She plucked a dingy gray object off the sink and held it up for inspection. “Is this my toothbrush?” Tears filled her round eyes and made streaks down her sooty, wrinkled cheeks. “That’s the last straw. Even my toothbrush.”
Jake gathered the ladies in his arms and ushered them down the stairs. “We can get new toothbrushes and clothes. Let’s just get out of here for now. Everything will look better in the morning.” He locked the apartment door, put the CLOSED sign in the window of the Pizza Place, and locked the front door. “I got a rental car today. It’s just down the block.”
Berry looked at Jake when they reached the car. It was a tan SUV.
“You don’t seem like the SUV type,” Berry said.
Jake helped Mrs. Dugan climb into the backseat. “I don’t know what type I am. One minute I’m a carefree bachelor, riding high on Gunk, and then all of a sudden I’ve got a houseful of women. And none of them are any good for bachelor-type pursuits.”
Berry rammed her hands onto her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean? What do I look like, chopped liver?”
Jake tugged at a yellow curl. “I’m afraid, Lingonberry, that you are very much like your name: delicious but virtually unobtainable. You would not be the first choice of a carefree bachelor. You are definitely wife material.”
Berry thought about it for a moment and decided he was right. She wasn’t much of a party girl. Even if she didn’t have The Plan, she’d still be more apple pie than martini.
Jake cranked the SUV engine over, pulled away from the curb, and headed north.
“Hey, look at this,” Mrs. Fitz exclaimed, ten minutes later. “We’re out in the country. Isn’t this something?”
“This isn’t the country,” Mrs. Dugan said. “This is the suburbs. You can tell the difference because the suburbs haven’t got cows. There are cows in the country.”
Berry tried to relax as the scenery on Ellenburg Drive flew by. Cows or not, in her book this was country. There were pretty houses, tucked back off the road with lots of space between them. The road narrowed to cross a good-sized creek and then began to snake uphill to Jake Sawyer’s house. Berry felt as if she was going on vacation. She hadn’t been on a vacation in six years, but going on vacation was like riding a bike-you never forgot the feeling.
There was a sense of expectation in the car. The air over the backseat fairly crackled with it as the ladies leaned forward in hushed anticipation, and in the front seat Berry couldn’t have been more excited if she was spending a week at St. Moritz. She hugged herself and grinned. There would be lots of peace and quiet, and crickets chirping, and trees whooshing in the wind, and Jake Sawyer in his underwear. The image of Jake Sawyer in his sexy blue briefs was stuck in her brain like the refrain of a song that refused to be forgotten. Jake Sawyer in his underwear. How do you forget something like that?
Berry bit her lip, silently groaned, and rolled her window down a crack. It was getting warm in the car. This would never do. She had to put all this into proper perspective. This was not a vacation. And this was certainly not going to include Jake Sawyer in his you-know-what.
Mrs. Fitz poked her in the shoulder. “Are we almost there?”
“Yes,” Berry said, “and this is not a vacation.”
Mrs. Fitz shook her head. “What a ninny. Of course it’s a vacation.”
The house looked smaller and much less menacing by daylight. In fact, Berry decided it was downright cheerful. The house was bordered by dormant flower beds and a broad lawn. Several oak trees pressed their limbs toward the yellow siding. The lawn was surrounded by a buffer of woods. The white gingerbread trim sparkled in the sunshine. The front door was carved oak and topped with a stained glass window.