“It hasn’t been this hard for me to get a kiss in a long time … probably since I met this girl at a bar named Rose. Took hours of convincing back then,” I joke, attempting to lighten the mood. Her beautiful blue eyes open slowly but she doesn’t budge.
Her expression softens but when she swallows, her throat tightens.
“I just want to kiss you,” I repeat.
“Please,” she pleads with me but I don’t know what for.
“Please what? Tell me what you want,” I say, pushing her for more.
“Please kiss me.” Her voice is begging and I’m more than relieved to oblige, leaning over the counter with my hand gripping the back of her neck. It’s a desperate, deep kiss that steals the tension, shattering it when her lips crack against mine.
If it was sparks I felt on the pier, as I did at the bar that night years ago, right here, right now, those sparks just burst into flames. Her lips part and I deepen the kiss, my hands moving lower.
Fumbling in between the heated kiss, she leads me back to the corner of the gallery. My body’s pressed against hers, caging her in. Needing to breathe, she breaks the kiss but I can’t. Not with the way her fingers dig into my shoulders like she needs me to stay right there with her. Nibbling down her neck, I let the memories of years ago wash over me and mix with the here and now.
A soft moan escapes her lips and my need turns primal. “I want you,” I groan against the curve of her neck. This woman makes me want, she’s a beautiful tease, but there’s a softness and sweetness to her that makes the longing deeper and something more.
“I can’t,” she says in a breathy voice, calming herself with deeper breaths and finally loosening her grip on me.
“You worried someone’s going to see?” I ask and glance over my shoulder. With my head spinning, and all the blood in my body nowhere near my brain, I come to the very obvious realization that this woman doesn’t want to be fucked in her place of work.
Both of us still catching our breath, she answers me, “I haven’t dated in a long time.” The cords of her neck tense as she swallows then adds, “It’s a small town and I already have scandal all over me. I don’t really want any more.”
“Kissing me would be scandalous?” I offer her an asymmetric grin and nudge my nose against hers.
Even though it lightens the tension, she’s adamant. “We were doing a little more than kissing.”
“I know,” I tell her, “I get it.”
There’s a look in her eyes, like there’s something else, but I tell her the one thing I decided, “If you want to kiss me, then kiss me.”
She leans forward and plants a chaste kiss on my lips, this time molding her lips to mine a little more, and then gives me another, deepening it.
If she just keeps kissing me, there won’t be any problems. Robert can fuck off now that there are no secrets between us.
Magnolia
“I am complete chicken poo.” The theme song to Bridget’s favorite show fills the living room. She’s plopped cross-legged on the ottoman with mac and cheese on a little pink plate. Well … there’s some remnants of cheese left. I’m surprised my little girl didn’t lick the plate she ate it so fast.
“It’s ridiculous. I am an emotional wreck, for one, and chicken poo on top of that.” I cannot believe I told Robert but not Brody. I just … I just wanted him to kiss me again and I’m so afraid that he’s never going to kiss me again.
“Chicken poo isn’t quite what I’d call you.” Renee says each word slowly, carefully, testing them out. One would think she’s trying to comfort me, but knowing her she’s trying to twist the words to come up with some sort of teasing joke to make me laugh. She bugged me for every sordid detail. So the moment I locked up at work and came home, Renee was on me. As if I wouldn’t tell her anyway. She’s the first and only person I texted.
She already knew he’d come to the shop, though. Apparently “the handsome young bachelor” is the talk of the town. And the town knows he’s got an interest in me. I’m pretty sure the second part of the rumor going around is completely made up. The part about Brody and Robert hating one another. They don’t even know each other.
I didn’t bother to ask Renee if the town approves when she told me what was going around; I couldn’t care less if they do.
Tossing a little pink unicorn into the air and letting out a deep exhale, I say, “He already had to deal with Robert and I still don’t know how he found out about that.”
“Maybe you freaking out because Robert looked your way was a clue?” Renee’s voice is mocking as is her raised brow. “Like, just a tiny little clue?”
“A clue!” Bridget chimes in and gets both of our gazes to the back of her unmoving head. Her cute little locks bounce as she sways to the show.
“Is she listening?” Renee whispers.
“She’s a three-year-old … she’s always listening. With her little bat-like sonar hearing,” I whisper back.
Renee got all the good details first. The part about how he confronted me and kissed me and got me all hot and bothered. And now we’re stuck on the other part that goes hand in hand with that. The part where I probably should have told him my little girl is potentially his when I had the chance. Well, shoot.
A vibration on the coffee table alerts me to a text and I don’t miss that Renee scoots closer to me from the plush chair she claimed as “her spot” when I first bought it. “Is it him?”
“You are worse than Miss Jones,” I say, pretending to scold her as I guard the phone from her prying eyes.
“Pfft,” is all I get in return as she sits back in the chair.
I really like kissing you.
A smile pulls my lips up and there’s a warmth in my chest as I stare at the phone screen, both my hands wrapped around it.
My head falls back against the pillow and that’s when Renee says, “It is him, and you’re all gooey inside.”
I like kissing you too.
“So what’s the plan?” Renee asks and my sweet little innocent bubble pops. That’s exactly what it feels like. When I’m with him, we’re in our own little world where everything is perfect and all that matters are the butterflies in the pit of my belly.
And then my bubble pops. Just like it did now, right in time with the show ending on the television.
Clicking the power button, the screen goes black and Bridget yelps in protest. “Heyyyy!”
“Bedtime, little miss,” I tell her and toss both the remote and my phone on the ottoman.
Renee grabs my phone like I knew she would and I don’t stop her.
“No bedtime,” Bridget says then pouts. It’s a truly impressive pout, one where she sticks out her bottom lip and flashes puppy dog eyes at me. With both my hands on the ottoman, I lean down and give her forehead a kiss. “I told you only one show. Come on now,” I say then hold my hand out to her, standing up straight and Bridget follows my lead. “Time to brush our teeth.”
“Night night, little miss.”
“Night night, Raynay.”
Even though Bridget sounds completely defeated, she doesn’t fight bedtime. With the little yawn she gives me as her bare feet pad on the floor, I know she’ll be out like a light in only a few minutes.
It’s only when she’s tucked in with her night light on and the door open an inch, just how she likes it, that I head back to the living room. Brushing my hair out of my face, I let my cheeks puff out with an exaggerated sigh.
“So what is the plan?” I ask Renee, feeling that nervous pitter-patter in my chest.
It’s late, the night is dark and the salty breeze is now a little too chilly for the window to be cracked, so I close it. Renee hasn’t answered, so I turn around to face her and lift a brow as I say, “How can I tell him?”
Renee stretches out her legs and rests her head on the back of the chair before grinning like a fool and holding up my phone. “I don’t know but I like kissing you,” she jokes and then laughs, and I can’t help but smile.
&
nbsp; And to toss a pillow at her smiling face.
“You’re no help.”
Brody
The smell of wood stain is overwhelming. It engulfs me as I lay down another sample of granite on the plywood that will be the bar top.
“I still like the steel best,” Griffin calls out from across the room. Of course he has his laptop open, his feet propped up while I do the manual labor.
A few of the painters look his way, probably wondering what the hell he’s talking about and if it relates to them. Griffin’s gaze never leaves the documents on the screen and everyone goes about their business.
There are at least a dozen guys in this place day in and day out. Construction is practically finished with the exception of some of the plumbing that needs updating and the same goes for the wiring.
It’s eating up a good chunk of the money I set aside for this part of our business. I love the brewery, but it better pay me back. Between the steel countertop and the gray slab of marble with the waterfall edge, there’s no doubt we’d save money on the steel that Griffin keeps going on about.
“You like the steel look or you like the price tag?” I call out to where he’s seated in the booth and that gets his attention.
“If I say both, will you know I’m lying?” he asks and a huff of a laugh leaves me.
The steel may be economical, but the vision in my head, the shared dream of this bar … it calls for a pricier aesthetic.
Exhaling and heading to the cooler, I decide we can look at the numbers again. We can push the online retail and the partnerships we have lined up. A little more time may not be so bad. It’ll be better than opening a subpar bar.
With a beer in hand, the water beads dripping down to my wrist, I sit across from Griffin. I don’t expect him to stop working when I ask him a question; he never stops working if that laptop is open.
“Who the hell is Robert Barnes?” My swig is short because of the look Griffin gives me. It’s a cautious gaze behind his glasses.
“The guy we have a meeting with?”
“The guy who happens to be Magnolia’s ex,” I say, my response immediate and firm.
“That girl’s gotten to you,” is all he says and then he’s back at it.
A moment passes and then another as I read through our texts.
She likes kissing me too. Just reading that sends a warmth through me. “Yeah, she’s gotten to me,” I admit to him and take another swig. This new batch is going to be a bestseller. Smooth with a hint of citrus. Not too bad on the calories. We created the batch for our female clientele and I would bet good money that this is the one the taste testers pick.
My mind isn’t even on Magnolia anymore. I’m too consumed with all of the dollar signs and work I see when I take in each space of what will be our bar. Until Griffin asks, “I thought you didn’t want to know?”
“What do you mean?” I don’t like the way he asked that question and I’m sure he can tell that from my tone and the pinched expression marring my face.
“You said you didn’t want to know the gossip and rumors and all that?” Even though his statement is somewhat accusatory, it’s still voiced as a question.
The glass bottom of the brown bottle in my hand thuds on the plywood tabletop. “What do you know that I don’t?” There’s a stillness around us and I don’t like it. “You said he’s an ex, still harboring feelings. You said there was drama—”
“And you said you didn’t care,” Griffin butts in, closing the laptop and leaving the booth in favor of the cooler closer to the bar. “Which is good.” His last statement catches me off guard. I even flinch, which only makes him continue.
“You talked about her nonstop years ago.”
“I was just asking if you saw her after I left.”
“Yeah, I remember. Your big dumb puppy dog pout wasn’t fooling anyone.” His sigh is full of frustration. “She’s the one you wanted a chance with and now you’re here; she’s here. It’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“What is your point?”
“That you should go for her and give it your best shot. You’re holding back and it’s pissing me off.”
“Well damn,” I comment, genuinely shocked.
“I’m sorry, but I think she’d be good for you and I think you need to … I don’t know, bro. I don’t know what you need but I’m pretty sure it involves her.”
“So why are you yelling at me for thinking about her?
“Because you don’t want to know the details. The details matter.”
My gaze follows him. “What if I change my mind? What if I want to know everything there is to know about her?” Adrenaline kicks in, forcing my pulse to race a little harder. I know Magnolia, although she’s still Rose in my mind, is hiding something. She barely talks about herself when we’re together, I have to pry every little detail out of her in between our heated kisses …
“You know anything about her daughter?” I ask him. I haven’t met her and I don’t know how to even go about bringing it up. “I’ve never dated someone with a kid. If I send Magnolia flowers, should I send a small bouquet for her kid too?” I was thinking about doing just that. And then I thought it might cross a line since she hasn’t brought up meeting her. I don’t want to ignore her, though. That seems … dickish.
“What did she tell you?” Griffin asks, and it’s surprising that he doesn’t get back to work. A prick travels up the back of my neck at how serious he seems right now. From the stern expression to the way his hands are clasped in front of him.
“Her name’s Bridget.”
“She didn’t tell you how old she is?” he asks and my pulse slows down just a tad when I shake my head. “She should be about three right now … a little older than three. You said you and Magnolia hooked up about four years ago?” I let the words sink in, and then the reality hits me.
There’s no fucking way. My next question comes out rough and I have to clear my throat to repeat it. “When’s her birthday?”
“Do I really need to tell you for you to put the pieces together?” Griffin asks.
Oh fuck.
Magnolia
“This graph is not my favorite thing in the world right now.” My comment is reserved for the soda can in my hand. I click, click and drop the link to it in the email, but I don’t send it yet. Instead I lean back, have a sip of my soda and note the downward trend.
It’s in direct correlation with the headline of Mandy’s email: Why are sales down?
The prints and even originals have dropped in sales recently and she wants to know why and what to do moving forward. Typing out my answer, I refer to the graph. Specifically, the last time we had new material to share on social media and update on the ad listings. We’ve got to keep it fresh and new with the products we’re promoting and the bottom line is, we haven’t gotten in a new artist or line for over a month now, so it makes sense that sales have declined in the last week and a half.
I’m confident in the explanation, but still, I grimace reading my response. I finish the drink and set the empty aluminum can on the end table before typing away with an update on the upcoming gala.
It’s all set. Everything is arranged. We could have an additional artist and drive someone new and upcoming for publicity.
Art never goes stale, but one thing is more important when it comes to marketing. Everyone loves the newest and even more than that … a sale. Bring them in with the new, hook them with the sale.
Nerves run through me, wracking my body as I hit send. It’s nearly nine and I’ve been working on this data analysis spreadsheet for five hours now. I’m so exhausted I could fall asleep right here. Between preschool, the list Mandy gave me to execute, and coming up with a solution to this very real problem, I have run myself into the ground this past week. More than that, I’m anxious that Mandy isn’t going to agree or want to go with any of the new artists I recommended.
Rubbing my tired eyes with the heel of my palms, I remind myself I’ve done everything
I can. That’s all I can do.
Knock, knock. The knock at the door makes me hold my breath as I quickly turn around to stare down the hall. My eyes are laser focused on Bridget’s bedroom. As if I can see through the walls and know instantly if she woke up.
Shoot, shoot, shoot. I’m quick to set the laptop on the coffee table, nearly tossing it down to get to the door before whoever’s there can knock again.
Who would come over this late at night? The question makes me feel more annoyed as I unlock the lock and pull open the door.
Until I see Brody standing there.
The anxiousness from work? Nonexistent.
The annoyance that someone would wake up Bridget? Dulled.
Guilt-ridden nerves spread through every inch of me as I wrap my robe tighter around myself and feel the salty night breeze shift my hair off my shoulders … yup, that’s what takes over. Guilt.
All because of the look in his eyes. There’s a worry there, a knowing look. I can barely breathe as I swallow thickly. “Brody, you’re here late.”
My murmur is even and then, glancing behind me to check Bridget’s door one last time, I step outside and gently close the door behind me.
The stars are out tonight, the moon too and its light filters through the leaves of the overgrown trees that line the park out front. “You couldn’t call?”
My heart hammers, slowly but with precision at the sight of him. His black T-shirt is stretched across his broad shoulders, his striped shorts making him look like a model for some overpriced store at the mall a town over. But his hair is rumpled, and his expression lacking any charm, only hurt. His eyes tell me everything I need to know.
Still, I wait for him. “Bridget is sleeping… so,” I say and don’t bother finishing. The crickets from the park have made their presence known and it’s just them and us out here on my porch.
“You have a daughter?”
“Yes … I told you.” Even to my own ears, it sounds like an excuse.
Tequila Rose Page 13
