Just One Kiss

by Isabel Sharpe

  Ouch. Not special enough. Lacking in passion. If people wanted to criticize, why couldn’t they come up with something concrete so she’d know how to fix it?

  “What on earth does that mean?”

  Daniel sighed. “I think he just didn’t care for them.”

  “Oh.” She nodded again. That hurt. She was proud as hell of those recipes. “Well, obviously he doesn’t have good taste.”

  Daniel didn’t laugh at her pretend-justification, didn’t even smile. He took in a careful breath, obviously feeling the tightrope starting to sway under his feet. “Jake didn’t work today. I asked him to come in and buy an assortment of your cookies and cupcakes and so on to bring to Larry instead.”

  Angela tried to process that, feeling as if her brain had switched into slow motion. “But I told you I didn’t need to sell that part of the business. It’s going fine. I don’t want to expand there.”

  “I know you did. But I think you have a really good chance of getting in with the cookies where you couldn’t with the pastries.”

  “Because his niece doesn’t make those?”

  “Yes, and…” He sighed and turned to face her. “They’re incredible. I think they’re what you should be doing. I understand that the fancy pastry thing is where your heart lies. Or actually, it’s where you think your heart should lie. But your true calling, your true passion, is the—”

  “Plain, old, ordinary, everyday—”

  “Angela.” He got up on his elbow, expression earnest, and even in the midst of her recoiling, she felt her heart wanting to reach out to him. “In your hands, they’re not ordinary. You have a gift. You elevate cookies and cupcakes and brownies to exactly the level of sophistication and elegance you think you need from pastries.”

  “Think I need?” She pushed herself off the bed.

  Daniel sighed. “This isn’t going well.”

  “No, it’s not.” She started pacing, night table to dresser and back, flung her arm out toward him. “It wasn’t your place to decide how I market myself or my bakery.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But if you want in at Slatewood, or more importantly, if you want to make a name for A Taste for All Pleasures, then cookies are the way to go.”

  She whirled to face him. “Because I’m not quite up to the rest? Because I’m reaching beyond myself and where I belong?”

  He ran his hand over his face. “I have to be honest. Yes, I think you are. I think you have this deep need to feel more special, more important, more…whatever it is, I don’t even know. Because I can tell you that you are—”

  “Not enough.”

  “No, God, no. The opposite. Have you seen how happy your cookies make people?”

  “But they don’t make me happy.”

  “They should, Angela.” He rose to sitting, gloriously rumpled, head turning back and forth to follow her pacing. “Everything about the way you are should make you happy. You don’t need to change—”

  “So because Larry loved my cookies you want me stuck there forever?”

  He sighed. “The irony is that Larry was in a bad mood and wouldn’t try them. Said he’d already given you a chance, and they were sticking with Nell. So it was all a big waste of time. Except it’s given me the chance to be honest with you.”

  “Honest, yes.” Angela stood, fists clenched, chest heaving to avoid tears. Here it was, the same damn message again. She wasn’t good enough to climb higher. She should stay down at the bottom of the pile where she belonged. But this time the announcement came from the one person she thought she could count on to support her, cheer her on, love her not only as she was now, but also as she wanted to be. Now it seemed as if she’d just picked out another Tom.

  At least this time she knew her strength, she knew what she wanted in her life and relationships, and what she didn’t, what was all-important to her and what was a deal breaker.

  Daniel might be the sexiest man she’d ever met, but if he couldn’t share her vision for herself, if he was going to keep her down the way Tom had, then he wasn’t the man for her.

  She opened her mouth to tell him. The words wouldn’t come out.

  Angela, you have to do this.

  For herself, and for her future, she had to have the strength to put herself first when she needed to.

  She needed to. Now.

  “Daniel…” She turned her face away, unable to look into his eyes. “I think you need to go.”

  14

  BONNIE STARED AT the figures on the printout again. She’d already checked three times for errors, and there were none. The bottom line was worse than she’d expected, and she’d expected bad. Unless business picked up substantially soon, she was in serious trouble.

  A wave of nausea made her close her eyes and try to breathe past it. Sweat pricked under her arms. Her vision clouded. She laid her head on the cool top of her desk, trying to calm the anxiety attack.

  Of the five Come to Your Senses friends, she’d be the only failure. Angela was doing well enough that she was working to expand. Jack kept himself going shooting weddings and portraits so he could concentrate on the art photography he loved best. Demi seemed to have a steady stream of clients. Seth had inherited enough money to buy a small country, so he had the luxury of working at what he loved, regardless of income.

  Bonnie had no such luxury. She’d used money inherited from her grandmother to open Bonnie Blooms, and now she was on her own. Her parents hadn’t understood or supported her dream of owning her own shop. Conventional to the point of tedium, Mom and Dad believed any possible risk should be avoided. Leaving the house without an umbrella on a cloudy day? Why on earth would anyone take a chance like that? Bonnie was up against that attitude when she announced her plans to start a business not only by spending a good chunk of her savings, but also by taking on a load of debt only years of decent profits would erase.

  Needless to say, they had not been enthusiastic. Now, a year later, Bonnie had yet to make anything close to decent profits.

  New businesses took a while to get going. She knew that, and had been prepared, she thought. But she’d bet every outwardly sensible entrepreneur dove in secretly convinced the world would be changed by what he or she offered. Bonnie had been the same. Look at her shop. It was gorgeous. How could anyone not want flowers this beautiful, this tempting, this reasonably priced?

  Apparently they could. So she was faced with the grim prospect of coming up with a way to get herself noticed or continuing to deplete her savings until she had to cry uncle.

  The bad news? As if that wasn’t enough? Marketing was not her strong suit. Her creative strength was visual, not words or concepts. Others at Come to Your Senses were more talented in that area, but to enlist their help, she’d have to admit she was struggling. Her pride hadn’t allowed that yet. She’d always been fiercely independent, probably to a fault, and she still clung to the hope that she could dig herself out of this alone.

  What if she couldn’t?

  The nausea swept her again. Deep breaths. Positive thoughts.

  Everything was going to be okay. She was young, strong, smart and she was going to be fine. There were more ways she could economize before she had to give up, including subletting her apartment and moving into the shop’s office. She wouldn’t be able to hide that from the others, but she could make something up about a friend who needed a place to stay, and Bonnie didn’t mind a downstairs cot.

  Yeah, she wouldn’t buy it, either.

  Tears came. She was so tired. Too tired to fight them, too tired to go upstairs so she could bawl in private. She wasn’t sleeping, was losing weight from not eating well or enough. That had to change. She couldn’t get sick. Hiring someone to run the store while she was out of commission would put her back further than fresh meat, fruits and vegetables once in a while. Once a week? Twice? Could she manage that?

  She didn’t know. She was too tired to figure it out.

  The building’s front entrance opened. Bonnie reached hastily to turn
ed out the lamp at her desk so she wouldn’t be seen. Someone coming back from a Saturday night out? Footsteps sounded out in the hall, pausing by her door. She hadn’t bothered locking the shop since the building was closed for the night.

  Go away, whoever you are.

  No such luck. Footsteps sounded in among her flowers.

  “Hey. What are you doing up so late, little girl?”

  Seth, heading for her office. Where had he been? Out doing something not-sexual again with the sexiest woman in Seattle?

  “Working.” She tried to sound cheerful, quickly took the disastrous budget report off the screen and kept her gaze on the monitor so he wouldn’t see her tears.

  “All work and no play…”

  “You play enough for both of us.” That actually wasn’t true, he worked like a demon possessed, composing, teaching, getting the word out about his music, trying always to find new avenues for its performance, but right now attack was her only defense.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He drew up a chair behind her, in the corner of her office where she’d imagined a cot could go if she moved some file cabinets. In her peripheral vision she saw him cross his long, strong legs and fold his arms. As if he were going to stay awhile, damn it. “How’s business?”

  “Fine. Great.” She couldn’t manage more on that topic. “How’s your film director?”

  “Still waffling. I probably won’t hear for a few weeks still.”

  “Look…” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m pretty busy right now, Seth. Would you mind leaving me alone?”

  “Yes. I would.”

  Her body stiffened. She turned her head for emphasis, giving him her profile. “I need you to leave.”

  “I need to stay.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my sweet, darling Bonnie, you’ve been crying, and that freaks me out because you never do.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “Except because of me, which I could never fix. But I don’t think this is about me, and I am going to stay like a wart on a log until you tell me what it is, so I can help you.”

  “Logs don’t have warts, they have bumps.”

  “This log has warts. Nasty ones. With hair.”

  She managed a brief snort of laughter. He had the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy, but having grown up with brothers, she did, too. “Moles have hair, not warts.”

  “Are you going to keep deflecting the subject with your know-it-all corrections or talk to me?”

  “The first one.”

  “Fine.” He got to his feet. “This calls for serious action.”

  Familiar enjoyable alarm shot through her. You never knew with Seth. “What are you going to do?”

  “This is for your own good.” He took the keyboard off her lap, pulled her to her feet. “I advise you not to resist.”

  “Jeez.” She tried to pull away. “What are you going to do, spank me?”

  “Mmm, Bonnie, do not tempt me like that.”

  She blushed crimson, knowing exactly the night and place they were both flashing back to. Sex with Seth had been unlike anything she’d ever known. Things bodies could do together, to each other, that would ordinarily have horrified her, had been highly erotic with him. She’d never met anyone so uninhibited, no one who’d been able to get at the dark sexual side of herself she hadn’t known existed.

  “Seriously, Seth. I have work to do. Whatever you’re planning, you can just—”

  “Shh. Relax.” He pulled her out of the office, pulled her stiff body toward him, right hand at her waist, left hand holding hers. “I’m just going to dance with you.”

  He was going to dance with her? Of all the ridiculous—

  His light baritone filled the shop and her senses with “Summer Wind,” the song many sang, but in Seth’s eyes Frank Sinatra owned. He danced her gently around flowers, some at eye level, some waist, some knee, her beautiful English garden.

  Bonnie sighed. He smelled so, so good. Like Seth. And he felt good. And she so needed arms around her right now. Even chaste ones. Even Seth’s.

  She gave in, relaxed against him and let herself be danced. He pulled her closer, right arm circling her waist, chin at her temple, her left hand brought in to rest on his shoulder. His chest was warm and solid under her cheek; she could hear and feel his voice rumbling through it.

  Tears came again in a steady silent stream she couldn’t stop and prayed he wouldn’t notice. It was all too much. The shaky finances of her store, being in Seth’s arms again, and a song about love and loss.

  “Hey, Bon-bon.”

  “Mmm?” The syllable was all she could manage.

  “Remember that time your birth control messed up and you were pregnant by that guy you were seeing? What was his name…Roger?”

  The beautiful spell snapped like a twig. God, why was he bringing that up. Roger had dumped her a week before her period was late, and she’d been a mess. Seth, only a friend then, had found her crying and was so sweet Bonnie had spilled out her pain and her fear. He’d gone with her to the drugstore, held her hand while they waited for the test results, went with her to the doctor and stood by her during the unexpected miscarriage two weeks later. Not long after that they were a couple, then and for the next wonderful year until he panicked.

  “I was the only person you told. Is that still true?”

  She nodded against his chest.

  “Remember you asked me never to tell anyone?”

  She nodded again.

  “I never did, Bonnie.”

  “Why are you talking about this now?”

  He stopped dancing, put her arms around his neck, put both of his around her and gazed down at her, his handsome face more serious than she’d seen it in years. “I know I’ve screwed up big-time with you. I know I hurt you badly. I know that there are still feelings between us, and that you are frustrated sometimes.”

  “Seth, don’t, not now, I can’t—”

  “Shh, please.” His finger landed gently on her lips. “Just let me tell you two things. One, I’m frustrated, too. You are still the most amazing, funny, sexy, fabulous woman I’ve ever met.”

  Bonnie swallowed more tears. He undoubtedly thought he was being sweet, but he might as well stick a rusty knife through her stomach. Far kinder to tell her she had no hope of ever being with him again. “What’s the second thing?”

  “I’m still a guy you can tell anything to, Bonnie. And you’d still be completely safe doing it.”

  She stood in his arms, staring at his chest. Outside it had begun to rain; drops pelted her windows, making it feel warmer and more intimate inside, fresh with the smell of her beloved flowers. And she made her decision, too exhausted and burdened to care if it was a good one or not.

  “The store is not doing well.”

  He stiffened. She lifted her head to look at him. Familiar as his features were, they still startled her sometimes with their beauty. In the dim light of the shop they did so now. Strong square jaw she used to tease him he borrowed from Ashton Kutcher; high forehead under spiked brown hair; narrow hazel eyes that made him look gang-member fierce unless he was laughing. His mouth, surrounded by faint gray stubble on flawless skin, was a work of art. He’d had several offers to model from age sixteen on, all of which he’d turned down.

  “How bad?” He could have been asking about the weather, which made it easier for her to continue.

  “I’m thinking about moving into the office.”

  “God, Bonnie.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me? I have plenty of money. I could—

  “No.” Her chin went up. “I’m not taking your money. That’s not why I’m telling you this.”

  “Of course not.” He looked away and back, clearly upset. “But it’s just sitting there doing me no good. Why won’t you let me help you?”

  She couldn’t explain. He didn’t understand what it was like when money really mattered: having, not having, borrowing, buying, spending, owing. All of it was a game to him
. No stakes at all. “I can’t. It’s too…”

  Intimate. Another reason. Seth riding in again for Bonnie’s rescue. She couldn’t handle that emotionally.

  “Well, for God’s sake, Bonnie, if you’re moving anywhere it’s in with me.”

  She snorted. “Oh, there’s a good idea.”

  “No, okay, not a good idea. But…” He took a deep breath. “Okay, how about this. How do you want me to help?”

  Her eyebrows rose. What did she want? Well. That was new.

  “I guess just listen. Sprinkle me with a little sympathy now and then. Make sure I’m never alone, even for a second. Keep replenishing my supply of mood-altering drugs.” She forced a teasing smile. “I really don’t know, Seth. I’m just starting to face this myself. I need more people in the shop every day, and I need to sign on more repeat customers, weekly orders for hotel and office lobbies, that kind of stuff. The problem is that the established businesses already have florists, most of whom are also established and therefore can price lower than I can. And there aren’t a whole lot of new businesses popping up these days.”

  “You need to get the word out somehow.” He frowned. “Will you let me do some thinking about this?”

  “Sure.” Unexpected relief flooded her, even though nothing had been solved. “Thank you, Seth.”

  “Newsflash for you.” He brought her back close, still holding her shoulders. “It is al-ways o-kay to ask for help.”

  He was joking now, enunciating like a grade-school reading teacher, but still Bonnie caught her breath. When he was like this, tender and caring, when he made it clear how well he still knew her, understood her, and wanted to be there for her, she was in the most danger.

  “What is this thing called ‘ask for help’? Is that what they do on your planet?”

  “Yes.” He slid his hands down her arms, took her fingers in his. “And more than that, it is particularly okay to ask me for help.”

  “I’ll try to remember…”

  He moved back then forward, extending and contracting their arms, a slow jitterbug step. “I hate that you’ve been going through this crap by yourself. You don’t need to do that. You don’t ever need to do that. You can always come to me. Promise?”