Sweet as Pie (Spring Hills Book 1)

by Brisa Starr

  But it is. I open my eyes and let loose, “FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUUCK!” I pound my fists down on the table, and my eyes fill with tears.

  “Did he say why?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head. “He says he just found out he owes a bunch of back taxes for some business he sold a couple years ago. He said it completely blindsided him, and he apologized profusely. It was nothing you or I did wrong… he just doesn’t have the cash.”

  “Fuck,” I whisper and hang my head down, blinking back the tears. I’m not going to cry. I look at Mom and Popster sitting across from me. Their eyes are full of sorrow, and that unleashes the tears. I feel like I’ve somehow let them down, too.

  This whole plan is meaningful to Mom, but that’s just because it was something we would do together. But it was going to be my project, while she focused on the bistro. She was just coming along with me for the ride, and to lend support.

  She knows I’m determined to be independent, free of the painful chains she lived with for so many years. She doesn’t ever want me to endure what she had to suffer, depending on a man for her survival, and the bistro doesn’t bring in enough money to provide long-term security for both of us.

  And now, all of our hopes and dreams just came crashing down, like pulling the wrong piece from a Jenga tower.

  “Square fucking one,” I say, my shoulders slumping.

  Mom pats my hand reassuringly and says with quiet strength, “Aspen, if there’s one thing I know about you… you will find a way. It’s just a setback.”

  “It’s one hell of a setback,” I say and exhale sharply.

  “Aspen,” Popster says. “Look at me.”

  I drag my eyes to him. “Don’t doubt yourself. Winning is in your blood. You will make this happen. I know it. You’ll get creative. Have faith in yourself. In you.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter to no one, just saying something to say something. I love Popster, but his words are too much for my heart to process right now. “You guys go home. I’ll finish up here,” I say, dragging my heavy body from the booth.

  They know I want to be alone, so they grab their things and quietly head out. Mom kisses my cheek as she goes, and Popster gives me a tight hug. As he releases me from his embrace, he holds me at arms’ length and looks into my eyes. “Aspen, you are a force to be reckoned with. You want this, and you will have it. It’s just a blip. Delays happen for strange reasons sometimes. Something better will happen. Trust me.”

  I wish I could believe him. Then, maybe I could swallow the iceberg in my throat, but all I see is more hard work into the unknown. I don’t mind hard work, and in fact, I love it. It keeps me focused and busy. But I prefer my hard work to go toward a clear goal. With a clear path… a strategy. Not just winging it, hoping things will somehow work out. Right now, I’m surrounded by darkness, and I can’t see which way to go. It’s terrifying, and it makes me afraid to take even one more step.

  “Thanks, Popster.” It’s all I can manage.

  After they leave, I sit down in the booth by the front door and stare at the wall. It wasn’t easy finding Robert, and I don’t know if I’ll find another investor now.

  The grandfather clock chimes, and I realize I’ve been sitting here for an hour. I’m still numb.

  I look around the diner and think about the struggles and triumphs we had launching this business. And as pissed, upset, and frustrated as I am at this turn of events, I decide… I will persevere.

  Somehow.

  If there’s one notable thing about me, it’s my adaptability. I’ve always lived my life taking the bull by the horns, dealing with challenges as they arise, and making my own way. This will be no different. I stand up and step away from the booth. But where will I come up with the $300,000?

  I blow out a puff of air and throw my hair into a thick braid down my back. Well, those pies aren’t gonna bake themselves. And if there’s one thing that makes me feel better, it’s baking pies. And I don’t like wasting time, especially at pity-parties.

  I put on my apron and head into the kitchen to make pies for tomorrow’s menu here at the bistro. On the way, I drop a ten-dollar bill into my swear jar for my reaction earlier to the news about Robert, and as pre-payment for the rest of the night.

  I pull the last pies out of the oven and set them out to cool on the countertop, filling the place with smells of sweet berries and buttery crust. I take my time cleaning the kitchen, lost in thought, but I look forward to going home to my bunny, my couch, and a glass of wine.

  The sun is setting, but a few dark clouds are rolling in. As I walk to my car, I take off my chef’s coat and sling it over my shoulder. I suddenly feel like I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone. Change of plans… I head to the Crossbow Dixie for a drink. I need it.

  I walk inside the bar, and my eyes have to adjust. The place is dark and somber, matching my mood, and I’d swear you can still smell stale cigarette smoke from decades ago, before the non-smoking laws. This place is an icon, been here since before I was born, and it’s one of my favorites. It’s a place where I can go to think, be alone, but still have others around. I also like the simplicity of it—a bar and a small dining room with a few wood tables and worn, wooden chairs.

  I cross the room to the bar and see an empty barstool. I step up onto it, and the bartender, Jerry, comes over. He’s a tall guy with receding hair and tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves, and he’s old enough to be my father. “Hey, Aspen. What can I get you?”

  “Gin and tonic. Eight olives in a bowl. And a large bowl of popcorn.” He steps away to get the popcorn. “And nuts!” I call to his back.

  He brings the popcorn, olives, and nuts and sets them down in front of me. While he’s pouring my drink, he says, “Congratulations on The Rose Hotel. I’m excited to see what you do with it.”

  Shit. Might as well get this over with. Get the truth spreading around town now.

  I sigh. “That’s no longer happening. At least, not now. Our investor pulled out. I’ll take my drink now. And the next one.”

  “Oh, damn,” he says. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He furrows his eyebrows and hands the first drink to me.

  “Yeah, thanks. You and me both.” I swallow half my drink and shove a handful of popcorn into my mouth.

  “What are you gonna do then?” he asks, wiping down the bar.

  I finish chewing and swallow the popcorn with the rest of my gin and tonic. I hold it up, signaling for the next one. He knows I’ll stop at two. “Find another fucking investor hiding under some rock, I hope.”

  “Well, maybe it won’t take as long to find one this time,” he says, pouring me another drink. “Everyone in town was real happy when they heard your plans. Maybe someone will step up sooner than later,” he adds with a kind smile, and, leaving me alone, he walks over to talk to one of his staff.

  I pop a few olives into my mouth and lean forward with my elbows on the bar. The alcohol starts to soothe my frayed nerves. I’m nursing my second gin, when my peripheral vision tells me the person next to me has turned to look at me. I don’t return the glance. Probably some creep wanting “to talk.” He says nothing, but I know he’s still looking at me. It’s creepy.

  Without turning my head to see who it is, I give the guy a sideways glance. My eyes go wide, and I whip my face to him. It’s hot Mystery Man from the bistro who was spewing crazy shit at me.

  Gin in my veins, it’s my turn.

  “You!” I snarl and narrow my eyes, shooting daggers at him.

  He jerks his head back and lets out a sharp huff of air through his nose. He squints his blazing green eyes back at me, and, holy shit, he’s really hot. I try to ignore the heat spreading rapidly through me, wishing my veins were filled with ice instead. I shake my head.

  I’ve been without a man too long.

  By choice, Aspen!

  And right now? I’m in no mood for bullshit.

  I’m ready to rumble.

  “Who the hell are you any
way, Mystery Man, who says bat-shit-crazy stuff to people? You got a bone to pick with me? Wanna sue me for something? Go ahead. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.”

  He’s steely calm this time, and though the place is dark, his emerald eyes glow like summer grass at sunset. He’s wearing some fancy-ass, white cotton button shirt, with cufflinks, and the top button is unbuttoned. I think he’s wearing black dress pants, but it’s too dark to tell. He’s dressed nice, like he was the other day.

  “You don’t recognize me?” he says. “You really don’t know who I am?” His jaw flexes, and my throat tightens.

  “No. Sorry to pop your ego, Mr. Mystery, and I’m not in the mood for fucking games.” He tilts his head, and his bedroom eyes stare at me longer than is normal between strangers, but… maybe we’re not strangers? A vague feeling rattles uncomfortably in my stomach.

  I stuff a handful of popcorn into my mouth and take another sip of my drink.

  He straightens his neck and says, “You should know who I am, Aspen. You destroyed my family.”

  “Again, Riddle Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are. You have the wrong person. Either that, or you’re insane.”

  “I’m Ryker. Ryker Miles.”

  Holy shit.

  “Ryker Miles?” The name spills out of my mouth. A crazy bark of laughter explodes from my throat. Oh, this is too rich. As if my day couldn’t get any worse. Ryker Miles… the son of a bitch who bullied me in high school. The guy I thought was nice and sociable, even a friend at one time, turned out to be a total jerk when he started trash-talking my family in front of the kids at school.

  “Ha. Well, look at you,” I say. “You look different.” Fucking bastard is hot as hell. I take a long drink of my cocktail this time. That’s not how I remember him looking in high school.

  We stare at each other for a moment, and a brilliant, white-hot energy pulls between the two of us. It’s making me uncomfortable, and my toes tingle, like my Spidey Sense telling me to get the hell out of here.

  I break the staring contest, though I could have stared at his sexy, arrogant face all night. “Ryker, the only thing I remember about you, is you being a dick in school to me.”

  I turn my face back to the bar, done with this conversation. Jerry is looking down at the wine glass he’s drying with a white towel, pretending not to listen, but his raised eyebrows give him away.

  It’s with significant effort that I don’t look back at Ryker. He really has changed, at least regarding his looks. I might be off men for the next five years, but I can still appreciate a piece of art when I see it.

  Ryker isn’t done though, and tension emanates from him like waves of heat. “You don’t remember what you said to me in the cafeteria that day?”

  Without turning to him, I cock my head, and my memories line up like a platoon of soldiers. Why, yes, I do remember. I said something in particular to him, and it was then that he stopped bullying me.

  We were sitting in the cafeteria at the lunch table. The popular kids were nearby, and I fit in, sort of on the periphery, and only sometimes. It wasn’t always easy though. When my parents got divorced, the other kids, and their families, took sides. So, although the popular kids didn’t shun me, like they did the poor kids, the stoners, or the nerds, they didn’t always invite me to things either. It sucked.

  Ryker was nice to me, but then one day, he started poking fun that my parents had divorced, making everything worse, and making me feel like shit. This went on for days, and he just wouldn’t stop.

  One day, I went home upset, and I told my mom about it. And I’ll never forget… she laughed an evil laugh. She said, “The next time he does that, ask him if he knows where his mother goes on Tuesday nights.”

  Well, the very next day, Ryker was giving me shit again, and I did just that. He was talking trash to me in the lunchroom, for all to hear. So, I asked him, “Do you know where your mom goes on Tuesday nights?” Our corner of the cafeteria immediately fell silent, and somebody gasped a hushed, “Oh my god, did you hear what she just said?” I must have hit a nerve. Ryker’s eyes froze with confusion and fear.

  He didn’t answer me. And he never bothered me again.

  That all happened toward the end of the school year, junior year. Summer vacation came, and I never saw him again. I moved to Arizona to do my senior year of high school, living with my two aunts, to establish residency and qualify for in-state tuition at Arizona State University. Even back then, I knew my goal was financial freedom, and I had no intention of graduating from college saddled with a mountain of debt.

  I turn my face to him and nod. “I remember.” My feistiness, and the gin, get the better of me, and I’m in a pissy mood anyway, ready to destroy everything in my path.

  “So, did you ask her?” I scoff.

  Pain and shadows fill his eyes as he looks at me. “Yes, Aspen. I did,” he says through his clenched teeth. “And my parents got divorced.” My smirk fades. I almost liked the way he said my name, but the anger lacing it scares me now. And the part about his parents getting divorced… well, I didn’t know that.

  He stands up, and he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and puts it on the bar. He grabs that black leather journal and turns without a second glance at me, and he walks away. My gut twists like I’ve been sucker punched. A flurry of strange emotions swirl inside me… dread, sadness, loneliness, and what’s that other thing… lust?

  I watch him walk out the back door to the parking lot, a little of the air in my lungs going with him.

  Divorced?

  Wow. I had no idea. I never imagined my little barb would cause his parents’ marriage to fall apart. Hell, I was only a kid. But is that what he’s saying? That it’s my fault his parents divorced? That I’m the reason?

  “Hey, Jerry. I’ll be right back.” I jump off the bar stool and run out to the parking lot after him.

  6

  Ryker

  “Hey, Ryker!”

  I stop, my keys in my hand. I already have her voice memorized. I should get in my car and leave, but I turn around. Aspen marches up to me, the white lines on the asphalt marking the parking spaces between us.

  She plants her feet in a strong pose and puts her balled fists on her hips like she’s some kind of superhero. Her eyes sparkle like diamonds, even under the cloudy, chaotic sky, and the wind picks up speed, blowing the blond wisps of hair framing her beautiful face. Then she fires her words at me, sharp as a whip. “What the hell are you talking about? How am I the cause of your parent’s divorce?”

  “Because you are,” I snap, and that puzzling pull makes me step closer to her. I should get out of here, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to turn away from her.

  I don’t want to.

  Ominous clouds roll overhead, and a loud clap of thunder booms in the distance. She jumps, and her eyes dart upwards, and when the lightning cracks the sky, it lights up her face, highlighting her high cheekbones. I inhale sharply, and her eyes flick back to me.

  “Look, Ryker, I was not the reason your parents got divorced! If anyone hates anyone here, it’s me who hates you!” she says, with an icy gaze.

  “Wait. What?! What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, my shoulders rigid.

  “I remember that question I asked you, because I’ll always remember the shitty way you treated me in high school. You were a grade-A asshole, bullying me because my parents were divorced. I got tired of taking your shit, so I fought back. You were the dick!”

  I stop.

  What?

  “I did what?”

  “You were a bully, Ryker,” she says, her thundering voice now falling fragile, like a snowflake. “You hurt my feelings and embarrassed me, saying the meanest things about my family. You used to be nice to me, and then one day, you started talking trash. After a few days of it, I’d had enough. I told my mom. She told me to say that to you about your mom, which I did. And it worked. You never bothered me again. I neve
r thought it would cause a divorce, but shit, that’s not my fault. I’m not the one who was having an affair. If you’re blaming me, you’re just blaming the messenger.”

  I rub my hands over my face. My god, she’s beautiful.

  My pulse is hammering in me everywhere… my eyelids, my neck, my cock. I shake my head once. I vaguely remember teasing her, I guess, now that she says it. But I honestly don’t know why I would have done that. Maybe I liked her back then, and she wasn’t paying enough attention to me. Maybe I was just an immature fuckwad.

  Yeah, that’s possible. Well, if I’d wanted her attention back then, I sure got it, just not how I expected. I always had this idea in my head that she was the reason for my parents’ divorce. My immature brain thought it over and over, like a fucking mantra, and it stuck. I went years thinking she was the reason, and I was blind to the truth. How stupid of me. She didn’t literally cause the divorce. I knew Mom was the reason, but I never wanted to admit it, completely.

  Fuck. I am an asshole.

  I look at her, and her chest is still heaving, but less now. I like when her chest heaves. Then, the thunder shakes the earth again, and she flinches. I step closer to her, and she’s about to move back, but she doesn’t.

  “Was I really that much of a dick to you in school?” I wince, and I almost want to laugh. It all seems so stupid now, including my behavior toward her the other day in the diner.

  “Yes!” she says, and her expression tightens. She crosses her arms over her chest, a sexy pout on her succulent cherry lips.

  A car pulls into the parking spot next to us, and four guys get out, laughing and boisterous. We stand there staring at each other, waiting until they’re out of earshot, and I can’t pull my eyes away from hers.

  “I’m sorry, Aspen. Shit. I didn’t know I was such a dick to you. I believe you, but I honestly don’t remember doing that.”

  She just stands there, looking at me. Trying to read me, maybe.