Plain Jane's Prince Charming. Melissa McClone
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on making the sandwiches instead. Too much was at stake to be distracted. She didn’t want to think about Chase Ryder. She definitely didn’t want to think about his lips or kissing him. Especially kissing him.
And that’s when it hit her.
Garlic. The pesto spread needed more garlic.
Lots and lots of garlic.
Now she wouldn’t dare be tempted by any kisses. Real or in her imagination.
Chase had never been to the Hearth. Amanda, however, swore by their mochas and pastries, which was how the coffee house had come to provide breakfast at morning meetings. He deposited coins in the meter, stuck the parking receipt on his window and walked inside.
The smell of brewing coffee, and freshly ground beans hit him first. No different from the other coffee houses in Portland, but the scent of garlic and basil lingering in the air surprised him.
And he wasn’t often surprised. He’d succeeded in business by preparing for the unexpected. He didn’t believe in having too much information.
On his way to the counter, Chased passed customers sitting at small wood tables. A man typed on his laptop. A woman read a book. A couple paged through the newspaper. A young man with a ponytail and wearing a familiar looking apron cleared cups and plates from one of the few empty tables. No one occupied the big, comfy looking leather chairs near the stone fireplace. The hearth, no doubt.
As a customer grabbed his drink from the counter, Chase read the menu on the chalkboard hanging on the wall behind the counter. He didn’t see Jane, only an attractive young woman with long blond hair, a diamond stud in her nose and dangling beaded earrings.
“Excuse me,” he said.
She—Ally according to the nametag on her apron—poured cocoa powder into a jar and didn’t glance his way. “What can I get for you?”
“Jane Dawson.”
Her head jerked up and cocoa spilled on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared through a pair of swinging doors. A moment later, Jane rushed out.
“Hello, Mr. Ryder, I mean, Chase.” She sounded breathless. Pink tinged her cheeks. “T-thanks for coming.”
She looked younger, vulnerable and he wanted to erase her apprehension. But knowing what he knew, that wasn’t going to be easy. “You’re welcome.”
“The menu is up there.” She motioned to the chalkboard he’d already read. “I’ll take your order and we can sit down.”
“I’d like the prosciutto and provolone panini and an iced cappuccino.”
Jane’s brows drew together. “Iced cappuccino?”
He nodded. “My favorite drink when it’s warm outside.”
“Mine, too.” She pointed to an empty table. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll be right there.”
He sat and checked e-mails on his PDA. This afternoon off would cost him workwise and put him behind.
Two minutes later, Jane returned with their drinks and eased into the chair across from him. She’d taken off the apron. “The sandwiches will be ready soon.”
“Nice place in a popular neighborhood.” He took in the surroundings. “You must do a good business.”
“We do okay. Sixty percent of our business comes from the same forty percent of customers,” she said. “We stay busy all day long, but the mornings are the most hectic.”
“Is that when you work?”
She nodded and toyed with her napkin.
“Contrary to what my competitors might say, I don’t bite.”
“Do you nibble?” The pink on her cheeks deepened and she stared into her drink.
“Only sometimes.” Chase wouldn’t mind one now. She was sexier than he’d realized with nice curves that had been hidden by her apron. Yes, he’d been right to come. Chase leaned back in the chair to get a better look. “So don’t worry.”
“Do I look worried?”
“A little.”
Jane’s smile lit up her face. “More like a lot, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
He appreciated her honesty. “I’m really not that intimidating.”
“Lunch is served.” Ally placed the plates, each with a sandwich, potato chips and a dill pickle, on the table. “These sandwiches are a recent addition to our menu and are popular with our customers. Enjoy.”
“Thanks,” he said as the woman stepped away.
Jane handed him a napkin. “I hope you like garlic.”
“I love garlic.” He took a bite. “Delicious.”
She seemed to relax and bit into her own sandwich.
“So tell me about your fundraising event,” he said. “How you got involved. What you hope to achieve.”
She patted her mouth with a napkin. “My father was diagnosed with leukemia five years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Chase said. “How is—?”
“He died last year.”
Chase struggled for the right words. He couldn’t imagine losing his dad or any member of his family. “That had, still has to be difficult for you.”
Jane nodded. “During his illness, I met other families in situations similar to ours. Spiraling medical costs, little or no health insurance, the financial worries becoming as big a concern as the medical ones. I became particularly close to one family. A single mother named Michelle and her daughter Emma.”
The affection in Jane’s voice made the situation clearer. “They mean a lot to you.”
“They are the only family I have left. We live…I live with them. I met Michelle in the hospital chapel, and we became friends. Best friends. She was concerned about her daughter. I was worried about my father.
“Emma was diagnosed with ALL, acute lymphoblastic leukemia, more than a year and a half ago. There is an almost eighty percent cure rate with proper treatment, but it’s expensive. Michelle doesn’t have any medical benefits with her job and she earns too much to qualify for assistance.”
“So she’s having to pay for this on her own,” Chase said.
“Michelle can’t pay for this on her own.” The passion in Jane’s voice matched the fire in her eyes. “She owes half a million dollars and Emma has months of treatment remaining.”
This wasn’t only about Emma and her mother. He wondered what scars Jane’s father’s illness had left on her. It was none of Chase’s business, but he wanted to know.
Something in Jane Dawson sparked an interest he wanted to explore further. Nothing more than a gut instinct, but that’s why he’d accepted her lunch invitation though common sense had told him to stay away. He’d made millions by trusting his gut over common sense. “Tell me about the fundraiser.”
“I want to throw a dessert benefit to raise money to help pay Emma’s medical expenses.”
“Why a dessert?”
“I figured it would be less complicated than a dinner.”
“True, but that’s a lot of money to raise in one evening.”
“I know I can’t raise the entire amount,” she admitted. “But any amount will help them.”
At least she was realistic about her goals. He respected her drive and determination. Not many people would take on such a task for a friend. “Do you have a location picked