Chapter Two

Powder sugar dusted the thick, golden waffles as slices of strawberries bordered the plate. A few swirls of chocolate syrup completed the delectable dish. Pacey rubbed his hands together in satisfaction as he surveyed his edible masterpiece after placing it onto a white, laced table cloth near the high ceiling window, letting the late morning rays give the finishing touch to the ambiance.

When Pacey had started working in the food service industry, he was basically looking to make some easy money and to stop Dougie 's persistent pestering to get a job, of course. How difficult could it be to follow a recipe? He'd thought. As time went on, however, and he'd learned the basic skills of being a chef, the creative, hibernated part of his mind sprang to life. He'd begun to experiment with different dishes. A pinch of oregano here; an extra spoon full of sugar there. And to his astonishment, people actually liked what he created. Thus, his career as a chef was sealed, despite a few detours. He became a respected restaurateur in his small town.

It brought him a different exhilaration than the open sea, but he loved the feeling of knowing he was finally good at something, professionally speaking, even if his screwed up personal life had fogged up his gratification for his success. He couldn't relish in it. He just lived in it.

Until now.

The two parts of his life had finally come together.

He finally had someone to share his success with.

He finally had Joey.

Memories from the night before flooded his mind, overwhelming him, warming him from the inside out. Pacey smiled to himself, pouring steaming coffee into mugs. Everything was perfect. They were perfect. Then again, they never had any trouble in the sexual arena of their relationship. It had been everything else that came crashing down around them like a big tidal wave making them struggle to the surface, Timing. Insecurities. His insecurities. Fears. Her fears. They were all part of the wave that had separated them.

But things were different now. They were different now.

"What is all this?' Joey's dubious voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Pacey lifted his head and grinned. Joey slowly walked toward the table with her still damp hair, a plain white t-shirt, and jeans. She was the image of gorgeous simplicity. "Breakfast," he replied.

One side of her mouth lifted in a lopsided smile, "You know, Pacey, you do not have to impress me at every meal with your culinary skills. I was only looking for your average waffles and syrup."

His brow raised as humor sparked his eyes. "Like 'L'Eggo My Eggo?'"

Taking a seat at the table, Joey gave him a pointed look, "I'm serious, Pacey. You don't have to be at your very best at every single moment of every single day. I," her voice hitched, "I just want to enjoy the time we have without too much pomp and circumstance."

He was just about to take his own seat when her ominous tone made him pause. The words enjoy the time we have sounded very cryptic and limited. His eyes watched her intently as she drizzled syrup on her waffles. Her movements were normal, not out of the ordinary.

Pacey shook himself out of his momentary gloom and he sat down. She must have meant the time they had for the weekend, he decided. His reply was lighthearted, "So I guess that means no moonlit carriage ride in the park tonight.'

He hoped that her face would light up and she'd say, "Actually, Pace, that sounds perfect."

But what he got was a regretful response. "Actually, Pace, I was hoping we could have another quiet night here. Maybe order a pizza.' As the words left her lips, another quiet night with just the two of them did sound enticing. But with her indirect eye contact and nervous hand gestures, it was obvious that her mind was not on a romantic evening. And she confirmed it by saying, "I have to spend some time today proofreading a four-hundred-page manuscript. I promised the writer I'd have it finished by Monday. And I have a feeling that it'll suck all the appeal out of a night out on the town."

"Is this writer Christopher?" Pacey asked, trying to keep his voice even. Over the last month, Joey had related to him the difficult time Christopher was giving her at work. Not only had he argued against every suggestion she'd offered concerning his manuscript, but the guy had made not so subtle innuendo about her relationship with Pacey. Even though Joey hadn't given him Pacey's name, apparently Christopher took it upon himself to do a little "investigating" around the publishing house. Joey assumed this when the ass remarked snidely that he doubted that a chef could keep her intellectually stimulated.

Pacey just wanted one moment with the guy to prove just how stimulated he could be.

Joey shook her head, "For once, I can honestly say that Christopher isn't the problem. It's this new author who has practically been begging me for the last week to read her script," she sighed dolefully. "I'm really sorry, Pacey, but this weekend will be about you and me, just give or take a few hours," her eyes lit with promise.

With that, the tension in his body began to ease. "Well, okay, I guess I could go for a pizza night," he gave what he hoped was his most agreeable smile, "but only if I make the pizza."

She rolled her eyes, "What happened to the boy who was satisfied with cold, stale slices from the Capeside pizzeria?"

"He's still here, I'm afraid. But he doesn't have majority control anymore."

"Very witty, Witter," Joey gave a crooked smile before turning somber. "But I mean it. You don't always have to go out of your way for me. You don't always have to take care of me." her eyes looked sullenly at him, leaving him with a sense of foreboding., foreboding he fought to push away.

What was bothering her? Pacey thought to himself, but he said out loud, "Jo, think of it this way. If I make the pizza, it'll give you room to work while I go to the store for supplies."

After she tasted the first bite of her waffle, closing her lids as if savoring the flavor, she smiled, "Well, if your pizza is as good as this, I think I can make an exception."

And with that, Pacey forced himself to believe everything was all right.

…...

Her eyes took in the words on the page for the third time: The bolt of lightning sliced across the midnight sky like an inauspicious sign of doom. Doom. She froze on that one word. The unwelcoming sense of gloom crept inside her, taking root in the pit of her stomach. As much as she'd tried to act, no, to be happy at breakfast, to relish in the renewed closeness that she had with Pacey, she couldn't block out what she discovered in the shower.

A lump.

Joey cringed and took off her reading glasses. There was no use trying to work. There was no use trying to deny that this was something. Thank God, Pacey had gone to the store. She didn't want him to pick up on her fake pretense. She didn't want him to know about this. Not now. Hopefully not ever. Pacey didn't need to worry over her. Knowing him, he'd want to stay past the weekend and hold her hand and in the process let the Icehouse go into shambles. And there was no way she would let that happen. The restaurant was his life, his crowning achievement.

She could take care of herself, Joey told herself. She would call the doctor on Monday after he left, until then she would have to find some hidden optimism, enjoy the weekend and savor every second with Pacey. Regret suddenly blew over her like a wintry gust of wind sweeping all the years she had wasted to the forefront. She had let stupid fears take control of her life. What if time was running out?

Just look at how relentlessly her mother fought, but still lost.

No, she thought, trying not to go down that dark road. She wouldn't allow her well known cynicism in the driver's seat.

But her mother's confident voice from all those years ago echoed through her mind, "Joey, honey, don't worry. The doctor says that it's probably nothing."

Her head fell back against the sofa as the manuscript dropped from her lap. She shut her eyes tightly, wishing this was just an everyday nightmare.