Sugar and Gold

by Brea Viragh

  “I don’t think you should focus on Isaac anymore,” Leda said quietly. She picked up her own apron and tied the strings once, twice around her tiny waist. “I know I put his name in the ring, but it’s not worth your getting upset.”

  I stopped and turned. “Why not? If he’s being spiteful and trying to make me pay for ruining his life, I need to focus on him.”

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I answered. “Stop worrying.”

  I listened to the sounds of Leda settling in, the steady scoop of flour into bowl. Baking soda and salt and sugar. Her low and soothing humming of whatever song she’d heard on the radio that morning. The continuity was known to soothe any frazzled nerves. A meditation of repetition. There was no variation in baking, only a steady formula of exact measurements that, when followed in a precise manner, lead to wonderful outcomes. Every time.

  I enjoyed the familiarity, the knowledge that each subsequent step resulted in a product I was proud to serve. No deviances outside of the different flavor combinations. I worked hard doing what I loved, trying to make it perfect. When someone threatened my business and all the dreams and hopes for the future tied within those four walls, fury rose up. Not rose up, exactly, but rather dug in deep, taking up residence in the depths of my being.

  “Please don’t let this get you down,” Leda said with forced optimism when the quiet became too intense for her liking. “We’ll get over this hurdle one step at a time. And I’ll call in a few favors and get a cleaning crew in here. You and I both know there are no rats.”

  “The rats aren’t the point. The point is someone is tampering with everything I’ve worked for, and I can’t stand by and do nothing.”

  Leda put the finishing touches on a batch of Bavarian cream éclairs, our special for the day. The weight of our situation pressed down on her hunched shoulders. “What are you planning to do? I can see it brewing on your face.”

  With the dishes done, I turned my attention to the countertops, rubbing my forehead. “I need to say something.”

  “To get your point across?”

  “Absolutely.” Ice cracked in my voice when I spoke. I was just foolish enough, angry enough, to ride high on a wave of impetuousness. Slapping a towel down on the countertop, I said, “You know what? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

  I wiped my hand on my pants to dry them, shocked when Leda moved to intercept me. “Good for you!” She’d taken a swift turn off the blame-talk highway. For how long, I couldn’t say. “Just don’t go out there halfcocked. Everyone at the party loved your cupcakes. I received a glowing email last night about the quality and taste. Focus on standing your ground and getting to the bottom of this matter. A good defense is the best offense, right?”

  Logically, I knew Leda was correct. She’d learned from the past and came out on the other side with a good attitude. However—and it was a big however—my professional standing was insulted and I refused to take it anymore. Worse than the knock on my head, this was a declaration of war.

  “I’m going to his mother’s house,” I said, decisive. “There are certain things to be said between us. And it’s about time I say them.”

  “Good, I’m glad.”

  “Do you have this?” I asked, storming off and tossing a wooden spoon over my shoulder.

  Leda caught it. “You bet.”

  “Take care of the bakery.”

  I left the dog in her care along with the day’s work before driving off, teeth chomping together.

  The rental took to the curves like a dream. Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and practiced what I had to say. What I should have said to Isaac a long time ago. I focused on the reassuring cadence of my heart beating in my chest. Trying not to sound overhasty and furious.

  Look, I’m sorry I didn’t speak up. I was scared. I was a kid. But I don’t have time to waste on your silly notions of revenge. Don’t blame me for your choice.

  No, it wasn’t potent enough. Nothing seemed appropriate. Why couldn’t I get my thoughts in order?

  There were a great many things to air between Isaac and I. Aside from the obvious, our issues went back before the night of the arrest. The attraction I felt, the rush of fire and heat whenever he touched my skin...I would keep that to myself. I thought about the teenager I remembered, the mischievous looks in the hallway and his penchant for troublemaking. He was never one to turn down a prank.

  Well, this time I planned to call him on it.

  His mother and father lived outside of town, on a dirt road close to the river. Keeping my eyes peeled for any renegade in a silver SUV with chrome-plated grille, I flicked the blinker on and took the right faster than I should. The gravel skid brought me perilously close to the edge of the embankment.

  “You son of a bitch,” I growled through clenched teeth. I wasn’t sure if I meant Isaac, or me. Or the car. Could have been the car.

  Several more minutes of navigation brought me to a sharp curve leading through a field, houses on either side. I caught sight of Isaac’s pickup truck on the sloped driveway between them and pulled forward. There was no nerve to gather this time. No lump to swallow in my throat. I was ready for the confrontation. Delighted to have an outlet for all those pent-up feelings and emotions. I was going to hit him as hard—rhetorically, of course, unless he pushed my buttons—as the asshole had who’d clipped me in the alley the other night.

  Let’s see how Isaac likes a little blood.

  The Howards were out for the day, attending to the greenhouse in town which they managed for a larger farm. I’d enjoyed my fair share of fresh tomatoes and basil from the establishment and knew both husband and wife to be hard-working, kind people. I’d thought Isaac the same, once upon a time. I wasn’t sure anymore.

  I heard the buzz of a weed trimmer and classic rock playing too loud as I pulled to a stop. Herbs grew madly here, taking over garden beds in controlled chaos. There was lavender and oregano along a fence line overrun with honeysuckle. Beds of sage, rosemary, and thyme ready for harvesting. Talk about bringing your work home with you.

  I spotted Isaac harnessed to the string trimmer, spearing through weeds in an attempt to bring order to the yard. The sun and the labor had sweat beading along his face and a line darkening his t-shirt.

  Okay, the man was good-looking. I’d admit it freely. Good-looking and sexy. Of course, any halfway in-shape guy doing manual labor was sexy. I slapped the car into park and wrenched the key out of the ignition before heading toward him. Sexy wasn’t the point, I reminded myself, but revenge was.

  Isaac caught my gaze when I stepped outside, shielding my eyes from the sun. He shot me a smile with a hint of annoyance at the edges before turning off the machine and starting toward me.

  “Well,” he said slow and loud. “Essie Townsend. To what do I owe the pleasure? I hardly expected to see your kind in my neck of the woods.” His tone was friendly, though I saw his teeth come together through the smile. “Thought you would be helpful and give me a hand with yardwork? I’ve got a bit of clearing to do.”

  His voice, rough and deep and husky in all the right ways, vibrated through me in sensual waves. I shoved those thoughts and feelings aside. “I’m not here for yardwork and you know it.” Even when I could see he wasn’t pleased with my arrival, I stood my ground. “You’re a son of a bitch.”

  “Am I?”

  “You think you’re so cute. I thought we were finally starting to be friends. Take a look at this.” I kept my glare accusing but my tone mild and unthreatening, shoving the paper in his direction.

  Much to my chagrin, Isaac took his time, removing the harness and setting the weed trimmer on the ground. Then he unfolded to his full, sweaty height, and at once I was aware. Aware of the staggering set of his muscled chest and arms. He was fierce, roguish, enough to make me lose my mind. I squared my shoulders and vowed not to make an exception in his case. Maybe I’d surprised him, maybe he hadn’t expected me to b
e a pain in the ass. The way he was.

  “You mind?” He gestured toward the porch. “I need some water.”

  “I’m being serious! Look at this paper and tell me what you think. You butthole.”

  “I’m a butthole now?” He made me wait, watching while he grabbed a bottle of water and chugged half of it without taking a breath. Wiping his mouth, he scanned the paper when I shoved it in his face. Chuckled. Offered me a sardonic smile. “How funny.”

  “Funny?” I nearly bit my tongue. “You have got to be kidding. If this is your idea of a sick joke, I’m here to tell you I won’t stand for it. Do you understand me, Isaac? This is bullshit.” Anger stripped me of any grace as I scrambled up the steps. “You’re out to get me, and I understand you are within your rights to want payback. Beat me up if you have to. Send me threatening texts. But leave my business out of this.”

  “Sick joke?” He kept his words sweet. His eyes were a different story. Cold. Unblinking. Weighing my denial. He completely ignored the beating comment. Which said to me it wasn’t outside his realm of possibilities. Taking another long slug from his water bottle, Isaac continued, “Did you come here just to berate me? Or did you actually want something?”

  “Laugh it up,” I snapped. Clutching the stair rail to stay upright, I fought back a dizzy spell with a shake of my head, finger pointed at his chest. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Essie, you can’t think I did this.” He moved to grip my shoulders and still the hasty movement of my feet. “That’s absurd. Use your head.”

  I sidestepped him and went on the offensive. “Of course I think you did this. Who else would call in a complaint? You’re out to get me.”

  “I don’t believe in spite,” he answered darkly.

  “I’m being persecuted.” I drew my arms close to my chest, looking away. “You’re out to get me.”

  “Sugar, I am just getting started where you’re concerned. Don’t act like you’re hurt. This,” he pointed down to the ball of paper clutched in my hands, “is not—”

  I shook my head until black strands of hair obscured my face. “Will you cut it out with the ‘sugar’? I am not now nor will I ever be your sugar, honey, sweetie, baby, or any derivation. Besides, you admitted this was your doing.”

  “I never said anything like that, yet you seem hell-bent to pin this on me.”

  “You’re also the one who thought it would be cute to send me a nasty text.” I held up the cell phone to emphasize the point, finally putting the two together. “It was uncalled for.”

  He took a step forward and prompted an equally hasty retreat from me. “Show me,” he demanded.

  “Not on your life, pal.”

  He crowded me against the wall before I had a chance to react. The same posture he’d employed the other day. An intimidation tactic. This time I was prepared. The moment he sucked in a breath to speak, I lifted my knee and brought it between his legs. I made contact, the slightest bit of contact to let him know I wasn’t playing, and was rewarded with a flinch.

  How satisfying.

  “You gonna hurt me?”

  “I might. As long as you know you’re not the only one capable of serious damage.” I didn’t tell him about the fear. How the text flashed in my mind and sent a shiver along my bones.

  He didn’t move, and we both understood we were on tentative ground. “Let me thank you for stopping when you did. Otherwise the church choir would be minus a baritone.”

  “I’m not helpless, and I refuse to be intimidated.”

  “I never thought you were helpless. A little nervous, maybe.”

  “It’s because of you! You make me nervous when you act like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Impossible and intimidating! I...I don’t appreciate it. Not one bit.”

  “Ruined your happy little flow, did I? Ruined your monotonous routine?”

  “Yes!”

  Isaac gentled his grip on my arms and released me, bracing his hands on the wall. I slowly lowered my knee in a gesture of goodwill. His gaze skimmed over my eyes, down my face, and settled on my mouth. “I’m sorry if you’re hurt. I promise, this wasn’t me. Although I’ve been doing a little thinking...”

  “About ways to torment me into moving out of the country?” I retorted, the last of my fury fading with his nearness.

  “No, about why you piss me off the way you do. Why I can’t get you out of my fucking head. It’s a puzzle.”

  Nope, I was wrong. The fury was back. I glared up at him. “I’m surprised you have any brain cells left to think with. Most of them are devoted to how to ruin me.”

  “Shut up about it.”

  “Will you please back up a little!” I demanded, tapping my fist against his chest. There was no room to breathe, no room to draw air into my lungs. “If you want to hash it out, then I need space to talk. This has been a long time coming”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Unless you’re willing to discuss our mutual interest in each other. Then I could count the ways to hash it out.”

  He bent to brush his lips against mine, a whisper of movement I managed to dodge at the last moment. His kiss landed somewhere in the vicinity of my hairline yet still had my stomach fluttering.

  “There’s no interest,” I assured him. “Not when you’re telling me how I piss you off.”

  “You do piss me off.”

  “Oh, like you’re a bucket of roses?”

  “I never claimed to be.”

  “Then watch how you speak to me,” I said.

  “Aw, Es. I’ve been away a long time. I’ve got needs, normal needs like everyone else. I haven’t been with a woman in going on three years. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to be a gentleman. Do you want to help me remember?”

  A tingle zipped from my heart down to my nether regions. “I don’t care. If you’re looking for an easy lay, then land your gaze elsewhere.” I had enough room to raise my hand and shield my gaze from him. Guilt played a tune along my insides. Guilt for sending him to prison and complicating things more. “I’m not interested.”

  “Not interested,” he repeated.

  “You’re a bully and a jerk.”

  Temper edged into his voice when he spoke again. “It’s goddamned insulting that you think so little of me, after what I did for you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I know what you did for me, and I’m grateful,” I pleaded, needing him to understand. “So grateful. I’ve told you the same thing every time you’ve brought it up. Now I need for us to be clear and on the same page. What do you want from me?” A sick feeling had my head feeling light as my feet refused to move, my body a play of oppositions.

  I wanted to get back to my life. Get back to normal. Before I lost it. Before he sent those traitorous nether regions into spasms.

  “What do you think I want?” Isaac retorted hatefully.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Answer me. If you really think I ran your car off the road, and called the Health Department...if you’re really as angry at me as you say, calling me a jerk isn’t going to cut it. Tell me what you think I want.”

  “Revenge.”

  “No. Not even close.”

  “Do you believe it’s my fault that you had to go to prison?” I asked in a whisper.

  “No. Maybe.”

  He shifted, moving into my personal space. I watched his face morph and change. I watched the resentment and irritation melt away to be replaced with curiosity. He bent his head, breath fanning across my cheek. I was ashamed when my knees almost gave way beneath my weight.

  “What do you think I want?” he asked again. His voice was a caress, and even with the swimmy feeling in my head, delight pooled low in my abdomen.

  I couldn’t think beyond his name. The image of him filled my vision, kept a stranglehold on my mind until I spun out of control, disoriented. “Isaac.”

  “Essie.”

  “You want to torment me,” I said softly, feeling embarras
sed. Embarrassed and overheated. It must be 110 degrees out here. That or I’d reached my boiling point. “You want to keep me walking through fire to whittle away at my confidence. Until I’m nothing but a sniveling pile of coward in a meat suit to make up for your prison stint.”

  “A meat suit?” Isaac asked with one brow raised.

  I tried to push away from him, to break contact and shatter whatever spell he had on me, but made the mistake of coming too close. Isaac gripped my shoulder before I could pass. He pushed me in front of him. Forced me to stand in place.

  “Let go,” I growled.

  Struggling to free myself, I fought against his steadying hold though I recognized his strength. Unbreakable. It was strength hidden below the surface, more than physical might and muscle. I twisted around to avoid facing him but Isaac refused to give up the ground he’d gained.

  “Will you stop acting like a child?” He lifted his hands to the sky, palms up.

  On any given day, the statement would have rubbed my last nerve. “Then leave me alone.” I slapped furiously at his forearms with indignation fueling my frustration, my head spinning with a mixture of concern and desire.

  “Make me.”

  “You are not allowed to talk to me like this, Isaac Howard. Do you understand? What happened between us doesn’t mean you can say what you want to people. Whatever issues we have, it doesn’t mean you can threaten me.”

  I swept an angry hand through the hair falling over my eyes and broke the glare I had going. I expected him to fire back at me, basically tell me, as they say in the South, “go jump in a lake.”

  He laughed instead, and it grated on my last nerve. “You’ve always been a bit bigheaded, but man, three years really grew the thing to staggering proportions. Why should it matter to you what I say?” Isaac stepped forward, resulting in an automatic step in the opposite direction for me. His lashes, thick and dark, shadowed those interesting gold and green eyes.

  He let his gaze wander lower, dipping from my mouth to the skin showing above the neckline of my t-shirt. Then he moved to lock eyes with mine. “You need to hear the truth, because the girl I remember had more than a small pinch of humility. Now there’s nothing behind those chocolate eyes. You want to pin your problems on me because it’s easier. I refuse to be your scapegoat anymore.”