We both laughed.
“Oh, yeah. I remember. Those were tough days, man. But I got out of there. Graduated and went straight to work. It was a struggle at first to build it, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“Amazing,” Mindy said, elated.
During the rest of dinner and even through dessert, Derek’s little girl was still trying not to look at me. She’d fail every time I glanced her way. There were moments she would cave, and when I felt her eyes on me, I’d wink at her, just to get under her skin. She’d either snatch her eyes away really quickly, or poke her tongue out at me with a slight grimace.
I had a feeling it would take her a while to warm up to me as a person, but I didn’t mind. I planned on making many more trips to the Jennings’ home in the future. Derek was my best friend, and I couldn’t forget to mention that Mindy was a wonderful cook. Having good talks and great food always made for the perfect Saturday night.
It had taken a while for Derek and I to find time to hang out with so much going on in our lives. I was glad that we finally did.
Being around them made me feel like I belonged.
It was a nice feeling—a feeling I never wanted to go away.
3
KANDY
September 8th, 2007
Hey diary,
My birthday was today! Turning eleven is cool. I don’t feel any older, but it’s okay, I guess. I’m closer to being a pre-teen, so that’s pretty awesome! Anyway, I don’t have much to talk about today. Mr. Cane came over again. He looks at me funny…like he knows about my crush but doesn’t want to say anything. I hope he doesn’t. That’s really embarrassing.
Anyway, gotta go. I have softball practice in thirty and have to pack up!
Bye,
Kandy
January 12th, 2008
Hey diary,
He gives me chocolates a lot. Like every time he sees me. Is that weird? Mom says he’s just being nice and thoughtful, but he doesn’t bring her chocolate or anything. Maybe when he picks it up, he’s thinking of me? Maybe he likes me too!
Hahahahahaha! That’s so stupid. He’s too old for me.
Talk later,
Kandy
September 8th, 2009
Diary,
I turned 13 today. I also got my first period. It’s so weird having something wedged between my legs!! Is this how it feels when a baby wears a diaper??? Yuck! It’s so gross. Mom said I’d get used to it, and she also promised not to embarrass me by telling Dad about it right in front of me. She gave me some painkillers and told me I didn’t have to do dinner and cake with them tonight if I didn’t feel like it. She said I could bring some cake to my room and eat it here, but I stayed for dinner. Mr. Cane visited again. I like seeing him. He always smells good too, and on top of that, he brought a birthday gift for me. I thought it would be chocolate again, but it was an iPod. I’ve got it hooked into Mom’s computer right now while my favorite songs download to it. I can’t wait to listen to it!
Even though I don’t want him to know it, he’s a really cool guy. Why can’t cool, nice guys like him be my age? :/
Bye, diary.
Kandy
4
KANDY
My love-hate relationship with Cane grew in size, dwindled, and then blossomed again with each passing year. It was like watching cycles of clothes washing inside a washing machine, the same routine over and over again.
He came around at least once a month for dinner, always with a new bottle of wine his company had created, some Belgian chocolates—some caramel-filled and some not—and his smart-ass mouth.
The only reason it wasn't a full-blown hate-hate relationship was because he brought me sweets every time.
By age thirteen, I felt I was getting too old for the gift of chocolates. I'd finally hit puberty, had gotten my period months ago, and like all teenage girls assumed when they were thirteen, I was pretty much a "woman" now.
I remember the day he came to our home with two bags instead of one. After getting the iPod for my birthday, the chocolates could hardly compare.
"You can keep it. I won't eat them," I told him when he offered them. "They'll screw up my diet." My parents were nowhere in sight, both in the kitchen preparing the food while I sat in the living room reading.
"Bits, I brought this chocolate for you, just like I always do." He tossed them onto my lap. "Don't break the tradition. Take them."
"And if I don't?" I challenged.
He rolled his neck, and it cracked. I was so sick of that damn neck roll. Then again, a lot of things annoyed me at this age.
"Give it to a friend for all I care." He turned his back to me and started to walk off. It was interesting. He would only act that way when my parents weren't around, but around them, he was practically a saint, and oh-so-sweet, as Mom would say.
"God, you're so annoying," I muttered.
"Right back at you, Kandy Cane," he said, never looking back.
I was pretending to be the snotty teen—you know, the kind where nothing ever fazed her, and she just shrugged everything off? Yeah, that definitely wasn't me in that moment, and it wasn't working.
Every time he called me Kandy Cane, I wanted to squeal. I wanted him to say it over and over and over again. His voice was like silk, smooth and delicate. It was deep and somehow hypnotizing. He constantly joked with me and my parents about how my name matched so well with his. To be honest, I liked it. Probably a little too much.
When he walked out back with my parents, I went up to my room, storing the chocolates in the drawer of my vanity, like I always did. I would eat some of them at night before bed, or I'd take some to school and share them at lunch with Frankie—but I was never going to tell him that.
These chocolates were too good to pass up, and when I did some research online and saw they were $15 a bag...well, I couldn't be that much of a bitch by wasting them.
I found out a lot about Cane during my research on Tempt, too.
He'd launched Tempt, a wine and chocolate company, when he was only twenty-five years old. By age twenty-seven, he'd won many awards for his wines, and his brand was ranked first place in a popular magazine, which boosted the Tempt name and its sales even higher. Celebrities began posting images of his wine, and it quickly became a household name.
He was featured in an entrepreneur magazine for Atlanta, his face all over the cover, and there was even an article about how he got started. There was nothing about his personal life though, or his family, which left me curious because, even with us, he hardly spoke about anything personal. He’d mentioned a sister who lived in California because she wanted to be an actress, but not much else.
I started warming up to Cane several years later, though. He was a great person and also a great friend to my family. He attended several of my softball games after I’d shamelessly begged him. He cheered me on right along with Mom and Dad, and of course I always played my hardest when he made an appearance. My crush on him was still present, but I began to appreciate Cane for more than that. He made my family happy, especially my Dad. I couldn’t count how many times Cane showed up at our place with tickets to a local basketball or baseball game.
There were times when he’d take me out for milkshakes, even when I knew he had a busy schedule. He told me I was a champ and had no doubt that I would get an athletic scholarship for softball. I hoped so.
By age seventeen, I'd gotten over most of my premature, hormonal nonsense, and he began bringing me pens and notebooks from his job, along with the delicious chocolates. They all had the word Tempt on them. I loved to write, and I loved collecting pens, so getting them was a true pleasure, even more so than the chocolates.
He surprised me with Tempt's latest branded notebooks and pens during several of our dinners, and I thanked him in the sarcastic way only a teenager can.
The very first time he gave me a notebook set and pens he’d said, “I noticed you’re always writing in notebooks.”
“They help me
express myself a lot better. I don’t think I’d be able to live without my journals.”
He smirked. “Well, good. I’ll keep that in mind.” That one smirk made my belly go haywire. The butterflies had been unleashed, and I couldn’t control them.
I still pretended I didn't like him, which was my own version of flirting, and somehow it worked. Pretending not to like him, but really admiring every single thing about him. I couldn't ignore the way my heart raced when he sat beside me at dinner, and his arm or knee would accidentally brush against mine. I couldn't forget how I'd rush to the window and watch him get out whenever I heard his car pull up.
I would intentionally wear skirts and dresses whenever he was around, but he would never notice. I kind of wished I was older so I could tell him just how I felt. Unfortunately, he was seventeen years my senior. That was a lot of years.
I liked him a lot, and even though he teased and taunted me, I still wanted him.
I enjoyed his company, and so did my parents. They trusted him. They loved him. He was like family to us.
One day, I was getting ready for dinner when I heard a car door shut. I smiled as I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and fluffed my straightened brown hair. I knew it was him. I heard another door shut, though, and my smile immediately collapsed.
With a slight frown, I rushed to my window, spotting Cane walking up the sidewalk that was scattered with orange and brown leaves. My heart nearly failed me when I saw a woman at his side, her arm linked through his.
Straight, slick brown hair.
Rosy red lips.
Tall and thin, but not so thin that she didn’t have curves.
She was stunning, from what I could see.
I stepped away when I heard the doorbell ring, my heart racing. I was too nosy to stick around in my room.
I walked down the stairs as casually as possible, the hem of my frilly pink dress flowing around my thighs.
Mom and Dad were introducing themselves, and then I heard laughter and the woman's shrill voice say, "Wow, I love your dress!"
I finally stepped around the corner as all of them chatted and greeted each other.
Cane looked at me first.
And then Mom.
And then her.
She was even prettier up close. Silky, beige skin, green eyes, and perky breasts. They weren’t fake either. I instantly envied her.
"You must be Kandy," she said, stepping toward me. She even had manners. Wow.
"I am," I said, tipping my chin. She pulled me into a hug, and my eyes stretched wide. I found Cane's gray-green eyes, and a smile twitched at his lips.
I avoided a frown.
"So nice to finally meet you! Quinton has told me all about you! I'm Kelly." Quinton. She used his first name? Intimate…
She pulled away, and I smiled at her. It was forced and tight. "It's nice to meet you too, Kelly."
“So, dinner is ready! How about we pop open that bottle of wine you have there, Cane, and let's eat!" Dad declared.
"Oh, that sounds amazing," Kelly chimed. "I've been saving my appetite for tonight's dinner. Cane has told me all about how wonderful your cooking is, Mindy."
Mom beamed and thanked her graciously. Great. She knew how to kiss Mom's ass, too.
Mom wasn't an easy woman to please, but she loved compliments about her cooking and clothes the most. After all, she worked hard trying to perfect her look and her delicious dinners. She'd scroll through Pinterest like a madwoman, asking me constantly if something looked good enough to wear or cook.
Kelly walked with Mom to the kitchen, Dad following after them to most likely help. Cane was unbuttoning his suit jacket, about to put it on the coat rack, when he glanced over his shoulder at me. "What do you think of Kelly?" he asked.
"She's pretty," I admitted.
He smirked. "I know." He hung his jacket on the coat rack. "Jealous?"
I narrowed my eyes at him, my heart slowly thudding now. Asshole.
He was only kidding, but he had no idea just how jealous I really was.
Kelly was charming and witty. She was simple and practical. She knew when to laugh and when to appear concerned, shocked, and so on. She was everything I was not, and I wanted to hate her—I really did—but I couldn't.
She didn't deserve my hate.
She didn't know about the hardcore crush I had on my dad's best friend.
She only knew me as Kandy Jennings, Derek and Mindy Jennings' eighteen-year-old daughter.
So instead of directing my hate toward her, I passed it over to Mr. Quinton Cane himself.
Yes, it was childish of me to no longer accept the chocolates he brought to our dinners, and to not say more than two words to him whenever he happened to drop by. It was beyond childish of me to hurry and finish my food and excuse myself from the table, just so I wouldn't see him and Kelly holding hands, or kissing, or sharing an inside joke. It was dumb of me to think he even cared how I felt, when he didn't even have the slightest clue.
Well, I thought he didn't care, until one day I was leaving school and his car was parked in front of the building. It was April in Decatur, Georgia, and the sun was beaming down, no clouds in sight.
Cane was leaning against the passenger door of his Chrysler 300 wearing gray suit pants and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses covering his eyes. I couldn't tell behind the dark tint of the lenses, but I was pretty sure his eyes were fixed on me.
"Oh my gosh,” Frankie gasped as we walked out of the building. “Who is he?”
I stopped walking, focusing on him. "My dad's friend. The one I’ve been telling you about," I mumbled. I had no idea why he was here right now.
"Oh—the hot, rich guy!” she said, almost loud enough for him to hear. I wanted to strangle her. My face flooded with heat and embarrassment swept through me.
I stopped and held Frankie's wrists, looking her deep in the eyes. "Play it cool. Is he still looking at me?"
"Uh, yeah," she laughed. "He took his sunglasses off. Looks like he's ogling you to death."
I looked back with furrowed brows, and Cane had indeed taken his sunglasses off. His head was tilted now, and he flicked his fingers twice, a silent demand for me to come to him.
"I'll call you later," I told her.
"Please do! I want to know everything!"
She twirled around, meeting up with her boyfriend, Troy, by the flagpole.
Unease swept through me, a bundle of nerves building up in the pit of my stomach. I walked to him, and my heart was slamming down on my ribcage. My mind was screaming a million different thoughts.
Thoughts like: He’s so fucking hot. Why does he have to be so damn hot? I hate him, and his stupid, cocky, sexy face.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, finally meeting up to him. I looked around, meekly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Everyone was staring at me. I felt exposed, like everyone knew how I felt about this hot, older man.
"Your dad called and told me your mother had a last-minute meeting and wouldn't be able to pick you up today," he said. "He's on duty, per usual, and since I don't have any meetings for the rest of the day, I told him I would come get you."
"Why?" I asked, apprehensive. “I could have caught the bus to my friend’s house.”
He pushed off the car, grabbing the door handle and pulling the door open. "I wanted to."
I ran my tongue over my dry bottom lip, peering around. People were still watching our exchange. I guess if I saw a handsome man like Cane parked in front of our school with an expensive car, I’d be staring too.
I knew getting into his car was the only thing that would spare me from the gaping and gawking, so I slid my backpack off, handed it to him when he extended a hand for it, and climbed inside. He shut the door behind me right away.
The scent of leather and sandalwood surrounded me, as well as a small trace of tobacco. The car was clean and practically empty, like he hardly spent any time in it. There was
nothing in the cup holders but a silver Zippo lighter.
Cane slid behind the wheel after putting my backpack in the trunk and started the engine. It pulled off, smooth and easy, and he drove with his left hand, checking his wrist for the time.
"You have a clock in your dashboard, you know," I said.
He glanced sideways. "Shut it, Bits."
I rolled my eyes, but my heart doubled in speed. It was already starting. The bantering. Teasing. The inside jokes. My own twisted little version of flirting.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Since I have you, I thought I'd take you to a late lunch before taking you home. I have reservations. You'll like it."
I sighed, twisting in my seat. His brows dipped when he glanced my way again. "Put your damn seatbelt on, Kandy. I’m not about to get my ass handed to me by your parents if something happens."
When he cursed at me, I felt good and bad all the same. He only cursed when we were alone, and it gave me a thrill. Like it was a secret thing only we knew about. Like he considered me older and at his level of maturity.
I clicked my seatbelt into place and then threw my hands in the air. "There. Happy now?"
He smirked, but said nothing.
We were quiet for a few seconds, a song by Elton John pouring out of the speakers, barely discernible.
"I know why you're upset with me," he finally said. "Why you've been treating me like shit the last couple of months."
I looked at him. "I'm not upset with anybody. I only see you when you come to the house. How can I possibly be mad at you?"
"It's because of Kelly," he said, merely ignoring my comment.
My pulse skittered. He stopped at a red light and looked at me. "When I asked if you were jealous of Kelly, I didn't think you really would be, Kandy."
My heart dropped to my stomach. Shit, he knows. "I'm not jealous," I lied, palms clammy now. I snatched my gaze away, fire building in my throat. I had the urge to open the car door and roll out—anything that would spare me from the shame and truths right now.
Wanting Mr. Cane Page 2
