Twice the Chance

“Mind if I walk with you?” he asked.

She shrugged instead of stating she’d rather he go ahead without her. What was the matter with her?

“I’ve got a family picnic later,” he said, and she instantly pictured Brooke and Robbie. “How about you? Got any plans?”

“Yes.” She swallowed the ache of loneliness in her throat, wondering where it had come from. Her plans involved finding a quiet spot on nearby Folly Beach where she could gaze at the ocean and read a book. “It’s nice to have an evening off.”

“Don’t you work the day shift?”

“I have a second job.” Now, why had she told him something even her restaurant coworkers didn’t know?

“Does it involve cooking, too?” he asked.

“Telemarketing. I’d love to work for a caterer, but those jobs are hard to come by.” She couldn’t seem to stop confiding in him. At least she hadn’t told him why a caterer would be reluctant to hire her. Or that without two jobs she wouldn’t be able to afford her apartment.

He didn’t say anything for long moments. “What if I offered you a catering job?”

“What?”

“A friend of mine is moving out of state. I’m inviting people to drop by my house Saturday afternoon to say goodbye. I don’t know what to feed them.”

“How about burgers and hot dogs?”

“The party’s in the afternoon and they won’t all be coming at the same time. Some of them will be hungry, some won’t.”

“You could go with finger foods.” As the idea took hold, she elaborated. “Mini quiches, stuffed mushrooms, cocktail meatballs. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds great,” he said. “Then you’ll do it?”

She hesitated, and he named a figure double what she earned on any given night at her telemarketing job. “I’ll pay for the groceries, of course.”

The offer was tantamount to dangling a Godiva in front of a chocoholic. Just the thought of having the freedom to cook something not on the Pancake Palace menu sent her heart beating faster.

Because she wanted to immediately accept, she didn’t. She’d learned in prison that opportunities like this one were seldom as good as they seemed. “I hardly know anything about you.”

“My players will vouch for me.” He slid her a grin. “I don’t only coach youth soccer, I coach the Faircrest High boys’ team, too.”

She hadn’t pegged him for a full-time coach. She would have guessed doctor, lawyer or any of the other professions associated with ambition.

“Is that where Brooke and Robbie will go to high school?” She couldn’t seem to stop digging for more information about them.

“Terry—that’s my sister—sends them to private school. They don’t live in my district, anyway. My brother-in-law inherited a place south of Broad.” He named the most prestigious part of peninsular Charleston, an area so rich in history and beauty that it resembled a living museum.

“Is that where you live, too?” Jazz asked.

“My town house is near Magnolia Plantation,” he said, referring to a popular tourist attraction nestled along the western banks of the Ashley River. “I bought it because it backs up to green space.”

Jazz also lived west of the river but on the less desirable side of Ashley Greens Park, where multi-family housing and strip shopping centers were more common than trendy neighborhoods. Her apartment abutted another apartment.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

Are your niece and nephew my children?

“No,” she said.

“You sure? I want you to feel comfortable when you come over,” he said. “I swear you can trust me.”

She didn’t trust anyone.

“Then give me the run of the kitchen and treat me like an employee.” She hadn’t consciously decided to accept the job until that second.

He saluted her. “Aye aye, captain.”

She felt a grin teasing the corners of her mouth. “How do I get in touch with you?”

“Give me your cell number and I’ll call you,” he said.

“But you don’t have your phone with you, do you?”

“Believe me, I’ll remember the number.” His inflection was jaunty enough that she wouldn’t have been surprised had he winked.

She recited her phone number, and he repeated it just as they reached the offshoot of the path that led to her apartment. She pointed. “Home is that way.”

“I’ll call you,” he said before he resumed his run.

She headed home, sure she was making a mistake but equally certain she’d follow through with the job.

“CAN YOU BELIEVE Matt’s having a goodbye party for Carter? What, if anything, is he thinking?”

Matt paused at the entrance to the teachers’ lounge at Faircrest High School a few days later. The door was ajar, something that volleyball coach and psychology teacher Donna Lee must not have realized, considering the volume of her voice.

Donna sat at the only occupied table, her back to the door. She was flanked by school librarian Fran Van Houten and Tom Dougherty, who’d taught PE and coached football at Faircrest for almost twenty-five years. Fran’s body was angled forward, her mouth slightly agape as she focused on Donna. Tom leaned back in his chair, cradling a cup of coffee in his large hands. He met Matt’s eyes and rolled his.

“If Carter hadn’t given notice,” Donna continued, “the school board would be investigating him as we speak.”

Carter Prioleau was leaving Faircrest after eleven successful years as the athletic director. He’d been instrumental in improving the school’s athletic facilities and helping to build a stable of winning coaches.

Tom cleared his throat and nodded to where Matt stood. Donna kept talking.

“It makes you wonder if Matt’s qualified to run the athletic department,” Donna said. “He should be distancing himself from the whole mess.”

Tom drew a circle in the air with his finger and pointed at Matt. Donna finally turned, her sleek dark hair swinging with the movement. Her face lost color until it was nearly the shade of the white Formica on the tabletop.

“Good morning, Donna.” Matt advanced so he was standing just steps from her. “Am I interrupting?”

She shook her head mutely.

“I thought I heard my name,” Matt said.

Donna mumbled something unintelligible, then rose. “I’ve got to get to class.”

“Me, too.” Fran got up so fast she bumped her knee on the underside of the table. “Except I’m going to the library. That’s where I’ve got to get to.”

The two women hurried off, their heels clicking on the linoleum, leaving Matt alone in the lounge with Tom. The other man was dressed in shorts and a maroon Faircrest High T-shirt, his standard work clothes. At over fifty, with muscle packed onto his short frame, Tom was a walking advertisement for the weight room.

“What was that all about?” Matt asked.

“If you’ve got a couple minutes, I’ll tell you,” Tom said.

Matt mentally went over his schedule and determined there was nothing that couldn’t wait. He started to pull out a chair and sit down.

“Not here.” Tom drained the rest of his coffee. “Somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”

“That leaves out the athletic office,” Matt said. “It’s a beautiful morning. Let’s go outside.”

To get there they needed to navigate a sea of teenagers, most of whom greeted them. When they finally walked through the double doors into the crisp morning air, yellow buses were lining up at the curb. Tom veered around the side of the school building toward a four-hundred-meter running track that Carter had successfully lobbied to have resurfaced.

“It’s quiet out here in the morning,” Tom said as they stepped onto the springy surface of the deserted track. Beyond it was a thicket of woods that separated the school property from a surrounding neighborhood. “Nobody will overhear us.”

“I appreciate that you’ve got my back, T.D.” Matt used the nickname Tom had gotten long ago when his teams started racking up touchdowns. “But I can handle the Donnas of the world.”

“That woman’s got a bigger mouth than a hippopotamus,” Tom said. “But it’s not just her. Everybody’s talking about Carter and that summer school teacher.”

“Carter told me she accused him of sexual harassment.” Matt had worked closely with the A.D. since being hired as his assistant. “He said it was blown way out of proportion.”

“Not according to the gossips,” Tom said. “Donna says it’s why Carter resigned before the school year started.”

“No way!” Matt’s exclamation startled into flight some sparrows foraging for insects in the infield grass.

Tom put up a hand. “Just telling you what I heard.”

“But that’s bull,” Matt said. “Carter had a tough summer, with his marriage breaking up like it did. He’s leaving town because he needs a change of scenery.”

“You can figure out why people think he’s getting a divorce,” Tom said.

It didn’t take much brain power. If the gossips believed Carter was guilty of sexual harassment, it followed they’d think he cheated on his wife.

“School started two weeks ago,” Matt said. “Why didn’t these stories come out then?”

“They did,” Tom said. “Everybody’s talking about it. Teachers. Parents. Students.”

“I haven’t heard much about it,” Matt said.

“That’s because everybody knows Carter recommended you to take over his job,” Tom said.

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Because your dad and me, we go way back. And because I like you.” Tom cleared his throat. “You’ve got to be smart, Matt.”

“What do you mean?”

“That party you’re throwing for Carter, you should think about canceling.”

“I’m not turning my back on Carter because of gossip,” Matt said. Not to mention he’d lose his excuse to see Jazz again, although he could come up with another reason. He’d been working on a plan when he’d had the good luck of running into her at the park on Labor Day.

“Fair enough,” Tom said.

They walked without speaking until they reached the point on the track where they’d started. “You’re coming to the party, right?” Matt asked.

“Can’t. The wife’s got me booked all day.” Tom avoided Matt’s eyes, telling Matt everything he needed to know.

Tom hadn’t only relayed the gossip. He believed it.

JAZZ WHEELED HER grocery cart into a line that was three-deep on Friday afternoon, relieved that for once she didn’t have to mentally add the prices of her items.

Crab. Artichoke. Fruit. Ground beef. Sausage. Spinach. Mushrooms. Eggs.

If Matt hadn’t dropped off an envelope of cash by Pancake Palace, she wouldn’t have had enough money in her checking account to cover the bill.

“Buy whatever you want,” he’d told her when he filled her in on the specifics. Guests were dropping by between two and six o’clock on Saturday, so they wouldn’t expect a full meal. He was anticipating as few as a dozen people and as many as twenty-five. She should err on the side of too much food rather than too little.

The envelope had contained two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, which seemed excessive. She wondered why Matt hadn’t bought some party trays from the super-market’s deli department. He could have added precut fruit and veggies and been all set for much less than he was paying her.

“Hey, Jazz!” Sadie came up behind her, still wearing the Pancake Palace waitress uniform that was a size too tight. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

The grocery store was two doors down from the restaurant, making it a convenient after-work stop.

Sadie held up a green plastic basket filled with groceries. “Benjy wants sloppy joes for dinner.”

Benjy was Sadie’s six-year-old son and the reason the waitress didn’t work nights. The boy already had a deadbeat dad. Sadie refused to saddle him with an absentee mom even if it meant sharing an apartment and child-care duties with another single mother.

Jazz knew all this because Sadie hung out in the kitchen with her and Carl when business was slow, never seeming bothered that Sadie did almost all the talking.

“What are you making for dinner tonight?” Sadie peered into her buggy before Jazz could block the view. “Ooo. Are you having company?”

“No,” Jazz said.

“Then what’s the occasion?” Sadie was smiling, making it impossible for Jazz to take offense at her prying.

“A catering job,” Jazz said.

“That’s great! I didn’t know you did that sort of thing! How long have you been at it?”

Jazz swallowed the urge to tell Sadie it wasn’t any of her business. The other woman was just trying to be friendly, the same as always. “Actually, this is my first time.”

“How exciting! What kind of job? At a country club? A private party? What?”

“The, um, client is throwing a goodbye party for one of his friends.”

“His?” Sadie picked up on the pronoun. “You’re dealing with the guy and not his wife?”

“The client’s not married,” Jazz said.

Sadie placed one hand on her curvy hip. “Then why didn’t he just buy a deli tray and some beer?”

Jazz’s thoughts exactly. Her doubts resurfaced. “I don’t know.”

“He probably wants something real nice.” Sadie laid a hand on Jazz’s upper arm, the deep pink of her fingernails in sharp contrast to Jazz’s tan shirt. “I think it’s great that he hired you.”

A doorbell sounded, loud and urgent. The people in line in front of them looked around to see where the noise was coming from. Sadie giggled, dug in her voluminous purse and pulled out a cell phone. “It’s my text message tone. Isn’t it funny?”

She pressed a button and read the lines of type. Her face crumbled, all the happiness disappearing. Jazz clamped her mouth shut, reminding herself of her long-term policy not to get involved in problems that weren’t hers.

Sadie’s eyes teared up. Oh, damn.

“Are you okay, Sadie?” Jazz asked.

“No. It’s from Ace.” Sadie thrust her cell phone at Jazz so the text was visible. Ace was the guy Sadie had been dating for the past few weeks.

Sorry, babe. Not feeling it anymore. Later.

Sadie sniffed loudly. “I can’t believe he broke up with me by text. What kind of guy does that?”

A guy who isn’t worth crying over.

“I’m sorry.” Jazz thought of how excited Sadie had been whenever she and Ace had a date planned. “Seems like you really cared about him.”

“That’s just it. I didn’t!” Sadie said. “Ace is a jerk. I mean, he nicknamed himself! And he didn’t want to meet Benjy.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Sadie dashed away the tears from under her eyes. “Because everybody I date turns out to be a jerk. I wouldn’t know a nice guy if he fell from the sky and landed in front of me. I’m a loser magnet!”

“We all make mistakes,” Jazz said.

“Have you?” Sadie peered at her through watery blue eyes.

Luke Bennett’s face flashed in Jazz’s mind. One of his eyebrows was cocked and his grin was coaxing, the way he’d looked when he offered to show Jazz a good time on her eighteenth birthday.

She’d been nervous about becoming a legal adult because her foster parents would only house her until the end of the school year. Luke made the landmark seem like an adventure.

“No more kid stuff,” he’d said.

That statement turned out to be prophetic. Since she was eighteen when the crime was committed, she was charged as an adult.

“Oh, yeah,” Jazz said. “I made a whopper.”

Sadie’s tears stopped. “Is that why you wouldn’t go out with that Matt guy?”

“How do you know I wouldn’t go out with him?” Jazz hadn’t shared any information about Matt. After a while, Sadie had given up asking about him.

“You’d be smiling way more if you were dating someone that hot,” Sadie said.

Jazz did smile then. She liked Sadie. The waitress made it impossible not to.

“I’m not looking to date anyone right now,” Jazz said.

“Why not?”

Should Jazz tell her? What would it hurt? “I don’t trust my instincts.”

“You and me both, sister,” Sadie exclaimed. “You and me both.”

CHAPTER FOUR

JAZZ CRACKED THE Crock-Pot lid Saturday afternoon to check on the meatballs, getting a whiff of the pineapple preserves she’d used to make the sauce.

Excellent.

She transferred bite-sized quiche, stuffed mushrooms and mini crab cakes from plastic containers to a tray she could pop in the oven when guests started to arrive.

All of the hors d’oeuvres had passed her taste test. So had the fresh fruit she’d arranged on skewers, purchased earlier today at the local farmer’s market.

“Did you know you’re smiling?”

Jazz looked up from her work to find Matt in the kitchen, leaning against the half wall that led to the rest of the town house. He wore khaki shorts that ended a few inches above the knee and a button-down, short-sleeved cream shirt that contrasted with his thick golden-brown hair. He looked fantastic.

“Nothing’s more satisfying than cooking.” Jazz swept a hand to indicate her surroundings. “Especially in a kitchen like this.”

The rest of his town house was nice, with rich, dark-wood furniture and a color scheme that incorporated shades of navy, forest-greens and burgundy. The kitchen was spectacular. Granite countertops with plenty of space. Top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances. Plentiful cabinets with wood inlays. It was a kitchen fit for a gourmet.

“Then you’re glad you took the job?” he asked. “I got the impression something was holding you back.”

The twins, she thought.

“It was you,” she blurted out. Anything to throw him off track. To soften the abruptness of her accusation, she smiled. “I thought the catering thing might be a scam you use on women who refuse to date you.”

He threw back his head and laughed, a pleasant, rumbling sound. “Then how do you explain the goodbye party for my friend?”

“Tell me, does this mysterious friend have a name?” She injected heavy skepticism into her voice.

Matt was still grinning. “His name is Carter Prioleau.”

“A good Charleston name.” She stroked her chin, nodding in approval. “I couldn’t have made up a better one myself. And why, pray tell, is this Charlestonian leaving God’s country?”

Matt’s expression turned serious. “I wish I could make up a story, but the truth is he’s going through a divorce. It’s been pretty hard on him.”

The doorbell chimed. Matt checked his watch. “That’ll be my proof. Carter’s always on time.”

“Can’t wait to meet your alibi,” Jazz said, eager to see his smile again. He didn’t disappoint her.

She was also smiling when she turned the oven to preheat. Flirting with Matt had been fun, especially because she could tell he was a good guy. More of a go-getter than she was used to, perhaps. But he wouldn’t pursue her if she made it clear she wasn’t interested.

Except, didn’t being flirtatious convey the opposite message? She took a deep breath. There she went again, worrying for nothing. She was hardly a beauty. Heaven knew she wasn’t a catch.

A man as charming, good-natured and—she might as well admit it—hot as Matt could have his pick of women. He didn’t have to chase an ex-con who really needed to make it clear that nothing would happen between them.

A giggle that didn’t sound masculine traveled through the town house.

“It’s so nice of you to do this for Carter.” The low-pitched female voice preceded Matt and his guests into the kitchen. Its owner had luxurious long black hair and a bra size Jazz guessed was double D, and she was probably no older than thirty. Her pale pink sundress wasn’t particularly short or tight but showcased her to voluptuous advantage.

She stood inches away from an average-looking man at least twenty years her senior, his thinning hair parted on the side and swept over his bald spot. The man held his chin high, and a smug smile played about his lips.

Matt’s own smile no longer reached his eyes. “Jazz, this is Carter and Kelly.”

“Her name’s Callie,” Carter corrected.

“Spelled with a C.” The woman formed a semicircle with her thumb and index finger.

“Sorry,” Matt said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll answer to anything, even, ‘Hey, you!’” Callie laughed again. She was nervous, Jazz realized. She was also pretty definitely not Carter’s estranged wife. “I really like your name, Jazz.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said. Matt stood stiffly, saying nothing. “I’m the caterer,” Jazz added.

Matt found his voice. “A friend who happens to be a caterer.”

Was that how Matt thought of her when they’d only known each other a little more than a month? In the three years she’d been out of prison, Jazz had made a number of acquaintances but nobody she’d call a friend, except possibly Sadie.

“A caterer, huh?” Carter released a low whistle and slapped Matt lightly on the back. “I didn’t know I rated that high.”

“Are you kidding? I owe you.” Matt sounded more like his normal self.

“For what?” Carter retorted.

“The job recommendation.”

Carter snorted. “Bull. You’ll be named A.D. even if I didn’t lobby for you.”

“A.D.? Isn’t that short for athletic director?” Jazz had intended to fade into the anonymity of the catering job but couldn’t let the comment pass. “I thought Matt was the high school soccer coach.”

“He is in the spring. And he’s doing wonderful things with the program,” Carter said. “But Matt’s destined for greater things. Right now he’s the interim A.D. but he’s the favorite for the top job.”

“I learned from the best,” Matt said, turning his head to address Jazz. “Carter just resigned as A.D.”

“I’m leaving the athletic program in good hands.” Carter gave Matt a hearty slap on the back. “Matt’s a golden boy who gets things done. He probably even managed to talk some people into showing up today for my party.”

An uneasy current ran beneath the smooth words. Callie fidgeted, appearing even more uncomfortable. Jazz wondered what was going on.

“Of course people will come,” Matt said.

“People from my golf league,” Carter countered. “Good thinking inviting them.”

“No problem,” Matt said. “If I ever want to join, I’ll have an in.”

“The league doesn’t play in the summer, buddy,” Carter said. “If you get the A.D. job, that’s the only season you’ll have time to breathe.”

“Excuse me.” Jazz didn’t need to stick around and listen to more evidence that Matt was a responsible person. “These hors d’ouevres have to go in the oven.”

That was the truth. Once the guests started arriving, her plan was to provide a steady supply of warm appetizers.

“Hey, Matt. Before I forget, can you show me that new putter you got?” Carter asked. “I’m planning to play a lot of golf in Florida.”

“Sure,” Matt said. “My golf bag’s in the shed out back.”

“I’ll come with you.” Carter turned to Callie. “Honey, will you be okay for a few minutes without me?”

“I guess,” Callie said.

Carter kissed Callie on the lips before heading with Matt for the French doors that led to the backyard. The town house was situated perfectly for a party, with a deck overlooking a good-sized yard flanked by evergreens. The temperature was in the low seventies and the sun was shining; ideal outdoor weather. Yet Callie stayed in the kitchen with Jazz.

“The food looks great,” Callie said in her soft voice when the men were gone. “But if I don’t watch, my butt blows up like a hot-air balloon.”

Jazz laughed. “I doubt that. But there’s fruit, if you want it.”

“Not my thing. Unless the fruit’s covered in chocolate.” Callie sat down on one of the tall stools beside the breakfast bar and Jazz got a whiff of perfume. Callie remained quiet for long moments before drawing an audible breath. “Can I ask you something, Jazz?”

The way Callie phrased the question made Jazz long to say no. She hesitated. “Go ahead.”

“Did it seem like Matt didn’t know about me?”

Oh, yeah.

Jazz lowered the oven temperature. She wanted the food warm, not overdone. “Why do you ask?”

“Carter’s the best boyfriend I ever had.” Callie rolled her eyes. “I mean, moving to Florida’s not costing me a dime. But I had to fuss up a storm before he’d agree to bring me today.”