Read Online With a Little Help by Valerie Parv - Free Book Online Page A

concern,” she countered. “I can’t tailor an event to suit someone I don’t know.”
    â€œPoint taken.” All the same, it bothered him. He wasn’t ashamed of his background but it didn’t fill him with pride, either. Warring parents and a rebel half brother were hardly the Brady Bunch. “I can’t imagine you learned anything useful from what’s on record.”
    She stirred her coffee, looking thoughtful. “You’d be surprised. For instance, I suspect you never had much of a family life.”
    Only his training kept the surprise off his face.“My father’s the backbone of his town, and my mother’s been with my stepdad for more than twenty years. Isn’t that stable enough for you?”
    She met his gaze unflinchingly. “In my experience, pillars of the community don’t have a lot of time for their own families.”
    Poker-faced, he swallowed a mouthful of coffee. She’d started this, let her finish it. “Go on.”
    â€œBusy professional parents often don’t make time to cook and eat with their kids.”
    â€œTrue.” He hated the admission, but damn it, she was right. Growing up, he’d spent more time eating with his friends’ families than with his own. Later, medical texts had been his main dinner companions.
    â€œIf you’re used to eating out all the time and exploring exotic foods, where’s the novelty in doing more of the same?”
    â€œYou tell me.”
    Warming to her topic, she went on. “I want to hire a bunch of large old-style tables, dress them as family settings and serve the kind of comfort food we associate with growing up, like sausages and mash.”
    A feeling he recognized as resistance strummed through him. He didn’t want reminders of what he’d never had. He scrubbed his hand down his face, trying to chase away the discomfort. Emma didn’t need to feel sorry for him, or know as much abouthim as she evidently did. He felt exposed, and lashed out instinctively.
    â€œIs this a dinner or a therapy session?” Taking his anger out on her wasn’t fair, but he didn’t feel fair right now. Because she was getting too close to home? He shoved that thought away, too.
    â€œIt’s a party,” she said.
    Her tone didn’t change but he saw her eyes cloud with hurt, making him feel brutal. He wanted to take back his words and kiss away the self-doubt he’d sown.
    Instead, Nate played devil’s advocate. “Do you seriously mean to serve my guests sausages and mash?”
    â€œYes, except the sausage will be saucisse de Toulouse, the homemade sausage you find in a French cassoulet,” she pointed out, “served the way our mothers would have done if they’d had a clue.”
    â€œJust because you had problems with your parents doesn’t mean everyone does,” he said, annoyed at sounding so defensive.
    â€œI only said that they were busy with careers and demands outside their homes. I’ll bet many of your guests’ childhoods were the same. They’ll get the biggest kick out of this experience. And if their families were close, it will be a nostalgia trip.”
    He drained his coffee. “Personally, I think nostalgia is overrated.”
    Â 
    O N THE TABLE BETWEEN THEM , Nate’s phone jumped, startling them both. When he flipped it open, Emma told herself she’d been lucky to have his undivided attention for this long.
    He didn’t like her idea for his party. No, he resisted her idea, she amended the thought. His childhood had mirrored her own, she’d swear to it. His hurt probably ran every bit as deep. But being a man, he’d made a virtue of toughness, refusing to admit his feelings to anyone, perhaps not even to himself.
    Should she offer him another option that wouldn’t push so many buttons? It was her job to give her clients wonderful food and a memorable event, not to fix