He nodded toward a booth in the back, but she took a seat in front of the big window to the street. They sat down, across from each other. While Carter leaned forward, his arms on the table, Sophie sat upright in the chair, which was a foot out from the table.
“I think I should tell you what my father is trying to do to me,” Carter began. “Maybe if I explain the horrible, medieval thing—”
“Carter, I have to make lots of soup for tomorrow, so I really don’t have time to hear about what your daddy is doing to you. Besides, whatever it is, I’m sure I can top it. What I want to know is what you’re doing about the cookbook I stole.”
Carter looked surprised at her words. “Nothing.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I’m not doing anything about the cookbook and I don’t plan to. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Sophie wasn’t sure she believed him. “That’s the Treeborne cookbook,” she said. “It’s worth everything. Your family never shows it to an outsider. They—”
“The whole thing is and always has been a publicity gimmick. Yes, my great-grandmother had a cookbook and—”
“In code.”
Carter smirked. “Yeah. A code made up by her. She had a drunken husband who sold everything she owned, so she made it useless to him.”
“Do you know what it says?”
“Yes I do, since she told her son when he decided to go into the frozen food business and it’s been passed down to me.”
“So the ads are true, and when your father sees that the cookbook is missing he’ll—”
“Do nothing,” Carter said. “Right now all he can think about is merging with the Palmer cannery. That’s why he wants me to marry the owner’s daughter. She’s a serious druggie.”
Sophie glared at him. “Is this where I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Poor you. Married to make a deal. Sounds like the title of a book.”
Carter looked at her for a moment. “You don’t seem like the woman I knew.”
“The one who had to be nice to local football heroes in the hope of getting a tip? Or the one who had to give up a career and stay in a town run by Treebornes? Or maybe you mean the one who was swept off her feet by the son of the town tyrant for a summer fling?”
Carter couldn’t help a smile. “Whoever she was, I liked her.” He lowered his lashes and his voice. “No, Sophie, I loved her. In fact, I’ve come here to ask you to marry me.”
While she stared at him in astonishment, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring box, which she recognized as a design created by her friend Kim. “I stopped in a little jewelry store when I got here yesterday and I bought you a ring.” He went down on one knee and as he opened the box he said, “Sophie Kincaid, will you—”
She got up from the chair, walked to behind the counter, and put on an apron.
Carter, his face red with embarrassment, got up, closed the box, put it on the table, and went to her. “Sophie?”
She was scrubbing the clean countertop.
“Sophie, please talk to me.”
When she looked at him, her face was furious. “So that’s it?” she said through clenched teeth. “You walk in here and expect me to say yes to a marriage proposal? Then what? I throw my arms around your neck and all is forgiven? Do you even remember what you said to me before you shoved me out the front door?”
“I didn’t mean to be so physical, but I was afraid my father would come home. If he saw you there he might have said some really cruel things to you.”
“Cruel? Like what you said to me? Your father couldn’t have hurt me as much as you did. To be able to do that you have to know a lot about a person—as you did about me. All those months when we were together and I’d confided so much to you! You used every bit of it to cut me down.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t try to make me think you didn’t mean to hurt me. You meant every dagger slash. And you know what? You had thought about every bit of it, planned it. You did mean it!”
“You’re right,” Carter said, “but my father—”
He broke off because someone had knocked on the door. Standing outside was a short, stout man with gray hair, and he was holding a two-foot-square piece of plywood with a plastic covered lump on it. Over his shoulder was a big canvas satchel.