Chapter 1

© Copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne



Grocery shopping tended to be a breeze for Jenny Morton, despite her somewhat soured cooking reputation. She maneuvered her buggy to the frozen food section and packed her cart with frozen pizzas, potatoes, and prepackaged meals.

And not to forget the most important–she turned her buggy around the corner and went down the final isle.

She smiled as she opened the freezer door and felt the icy air on her cheeks–just to pull out one, very much needed, pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

Just one. For just the right moment.

That done, she spun her cart around–

And crashed.

She closed her eyes. Just her luck. In the grocery store no less. Making a scene.

She half expected someone to take out their camera phone and take a shot at her. She couldn’t count the number of grocery store disaster shots that had popped up on the station’s message board in the last year.

Slowly she opened her eyes, only to stare into a pair of oddly familiar deep blue eyes. Her hand trembled on the buggy handle, and she blinked to break the hypnotic gaze.

“Kevin?”

The blue eyes blinked as well, then that all-to captivating grin split across his face. “Jenny–Jenny Morten, right?”

“Got it in one.”

He came around and gave her a hug. Suddenly she felt 16 again–confused and disoriented–as she’d been with males for much of high school.

A decade ago.

She stepped back. “Wow! I can’t believe it’s you. You’re back in town?”

“For the time being.”

“Oh,” she tilted her head as she remembered her mother’s passing comment. “Your grandmother. I heard. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged it off, but she could see the sorrow in his eyes. “The wonders of small towns.”

“It’s not so small anymore–but my mom manages to stay in touch.”

“It is when you run into old high school pals the first day out of the house,” he glanced down at her basket. “Foraging for a teenage group?”

She laughed. If he only knew. “No ... for me. Just for me.”

“Some appetite.”

She shrugged, then glanced at his buggy. “I make do. You’re always welcome for a feast if you’re in the mood.”

He grinned. “I might just take you up on that.”

And the silence fell–as she’d known it would. There was little to say–to long ago partners, not quite friends ... Kevin two years her senior and long gone from town.

More than a decade gone.

She sighed as the silence grew toward uncomfortable. “It was good to see you, Kevin. You’ll be around?”

“Yeah–for awhile.”

She lifted a hand in a half wave, and pushed her buggy around him–refusing the temptation to look back. No–she’d learned her lesson with that one a long time ago.

She smiled as the pun popped in her head. He was one piece of meat ... she’d cooked over done.

But then ... that tended to be her habit.

* * *

“You wouldn’t believe who I ran into today while I was shopping,” Kevin told his sister as he put the last of the can foods away in the cabinet. She’d been instantly familiar–though he wasn’t sure why. The old, faded jeans, sweatshirt, and floppy pony tail were nothing like the high school girl he remembered.

Unless they were out late ... with the school of course, on one of their competitions.

He’d never asked her out–at least, not that he’d remembered. He didn’t think he’d thought of her in that way. But thinking of her now ... they way she’d been in the grocery store. She’d seemed so vibrant.

So alive.

“Who?”

“My old debate partner. Jenny Morton.”

“Jenny– The Jennifer Morton?” Cassidy turned around and looked at him, somehow delighted. “Really? At the grocery store?”

“Sure. I didn’t think you knew her.”

Cassidy leaned back in her seat and laughed, holding her rounded stomach. Kevin watched in half horror. She was too pregnant for such carrying on, he was sure.

Or either the pregnancy was making her stir crazy.

“What’s so odd about that?”

“Oh–Jenny. She’s become quite the celebrity around here. She found herself doing a cooking show on one of the local Atlanta stations. She’s quite ... horrible.”

He thought back to her buggy of pizza, fries and ice cream. It fit–but a show?

“You’re kidding–right?”

“No. She’s quite a hoot.”

“A hoot,” Kevin rolled his eyes and picked up the last grocery item, a bag of dog food. Already his grandmother’s part Boston Terrier, part demon–Regal stood at his feet looking up at him with soulful eyes. He thought of Jenny’s eyes–the way he remembered her. She’d been prim and proper, serious. Nothing like she’d seemed like today.

“Why... cooking?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. I only recognized her because Gran would talk about her being your partner when we’d watch the show ... which was nearly every morning,” Cassidy had replaced her glasses and was back sorting their grandmother’s receipts. “I always liked that one, she said.”

“Really?” Kevin turned back around and leaned against the counter. “I wonder why?”

Cassidy shrugged. “She was your partner. For a reason, I suppose.”

“Yeah–“ but only briefly. “So when does this cooking show come on?”

“Sometime in the morning–when most of us should be at work.” Cassidy clipped the receipts together and pushed herself up. “I think she teaches up at the high school, so she films the shows in the summer. Coaches the team now.”

“Debate?”

“What else?”

* * *

“It’s always amazing how much flour you get on yourself,” Angie said as she followed Jenny into the green room. They usually sat there in between takes to wait out the cooking process. Sometimes, the recipes sent in from viewers could be made in 30 minutes–with careful orchestration. Those were the viewers she liked, who took pity on her.

But most of the time, it took prep time and waiting time and cooking time that would be edited out for the final product. Her station manager picked the recipes sent in, and he, like most of the audience, liked to see her squirm, somewhat panic ... and joyfully applauded when she didn’t quite succeed.

She had ceased thinking of it as failure.

Now ... if she managed to burn down the station ...

Of course, the recipes would always be worse if she tried them at home. Here, the ingredient were purchased by an intern before hand and set out in correct proportions. Someone else watched the clock, would tell her when to head back into the studio–with just enough time to roll cameras and hear the winsome bell.

At home ... she would end up in her office, playing around, and forget to set the time, miss the timer all together ... or screw something up so that the whole recipe ended up in a terrible burnt mess.

She looked herself over before sitting down on the sofa.

“How do you think it went?”

Angie shrugged. “Better than last week. I wish sometimes we could pan the camera crew when you mis step a direction. The horror on their face when you added the eggs without separating the yokes out–it was hilarious. Of course ... your face was much better.”

“All for the entertainment, my dear.”

“You should win an Emmy.”

“What? In the reality disaster category?” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Serious, Ange. How much longer do you think Norm’s going to go for the novelty?”

“As long as the ratings are in.”

“We were down again last week.”

“Summer slump. You getting tired of it?”

Jenny snorted as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I hate cooking ... I like the experience and the paycheck’s paying off student loans.”

“Don’t foget about Europe.”

“Who could. I’m going as soon as the rest is paid off. It’s not bad for part time work ... I just wish ...”

“What?”

She opened her eyes and turned to face Angie. “That people wouldn’t stare at me at the grocery store. You’d think they’d expect prepackaged meals with the way I cook on TV. I’m nothing but honest with them.”

“Maybe they do ... don’t you realize Jennifer Grace? Everyone wants to be you.”

“Why?”

“Because ... who wouldn’t want to make money when just about everyone could do what you’re doing?”

Jenny snorted and leaned her head back to wait out the rest of her break. “As long as it’s fun.”

Her life had certainly changed. Seeing Kevin had sparked a mental game of remember and wonder. Did she regret the changes? Not a bit. Did she wonder what life might have been like?

All the time.

In high school, she’d been all about competing and winning. She’d planned to work for a top law firm. She and her partner had gone to Nationals and brought home the gold. She’d had colleges and scholarships sweeping in. Her SAT scores had been better then she had imagined.

But she’d been tired. At some point, she just stopped. She stared at her trophy, at a stack of acceptance letters ... and wondered.

She’d moved in her life so many times. Her father had been all about moving up in the company. They might as well of been military. Her mother had worked hard to keep the family active and doing well in school.

They were close, so very close as a family. It was just the three of them. Her father had settled down, let her go through high school at the same school ... but sitting there on her bed just about to finish high school, she knew he was itching to move. Things would start to change again.

She would go off to college. The winds would begin to blow. She would be running. And running. And moving.

Like her father.

It hadn’t been enough. She’d left the next fall for a small school. She’d put down roots, found a church home, spent her time building relationships.

She could have been a lawyer.

She could have been a political consultant.

She could have gone to congress, been a journalist, made her mark in international politics.

Instead, she took her skills and became a teacher ... because there were other confused souls meandering through high school needing a voice, a chance, a life of their own.

And this was her life ... back in the first town she could call home.

Doing the first thing she’d ever loved to do.

She laughed at herself as she stared across the green room at herself in the mirror ...

She was doing what she loved ... and that wasn’t cook.


HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!




Return to Over A Flame Table of Contents

Cybergrace Banner Exchange 2000