Last Kiss of Summer

by Marina Adair

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Kennedy gave his shoulder a little nudge this time. “Thanks for listening, but can we go back to normal, I’m thrown by you being all sweet and caring.”

  Luke’s good humor died and his expression turned serious, withdrawn, as if her words somehow upset the easy camaraderie they’d formed. In fact, he looked disappointed, but Kennedy had the distinct idea it wasn’t in her.

  “Don’t mistake my ambition for apathy, just like I would never mistake your tears for weakness. I care,” he said as if he needed her to believe him. “So much sometimes it taints every decision, complicates what should be easy solutions.” He took off his ball cap and met her gaze, head on. “I’m not a bad guy. Just someone who is trying to do the right thing.”

  Kennedy looked at him and there was something about the pain she saw in his eyes, the conviction in his words, that called out to her, drew her in. Made her want to believe in good guys.

  “I’ve heard of these good guys,” she admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever met one personally.”

  He reached out and touched her cheek with so much care, she felt her knees wobble. “Then you’ve been hanging around the wrong kind of guys.” He tilted his head toward her, leaned down, and—

  “I don’t know if we should, ah…residual weirdness and all,” she said, embarrassingly doing nothing to stop their momentum.

  “Oh, we really should,” he whispered. “No weirdness, I promise.”

  Kennedy didn’t put too much stock in promises, but she was too far into this to resist.

  Luke slid his hand down and around to her lower back to pull her close, close enough that all she had to do was move her lips and they’d be kissing.

  Only Luke lived up to his promise. He didn’t go in for a kiss or a quick grope, but gave her exactly what she needed.

  A hug.

  The kind of hug that had her heart sighing and her head spinning. It was as if Luke knew what she wanted even before she did, because the second his hands slid around, gently stroking her back, Kennedy realized she needed this more than her next breath.

  Clearly suffering from a lack of comfort, the kind one couldn’t get from pie alone, Kennedy fell into his strong body, letting her head rest against his chest and telling herself she could be weak for just a moment. For just this moment someone else could carry the weight, hold her world together while she sorted through the emotions she carefully avoided for fear of shattering.

  Those big, safe arms of his could right the world, cure acute heartache, and stop a big city girl from giving up on her dream with one squeeze. Of the last she was certain. So she let go of the fear, the what-ifs, and all the self-doubt she’d collected, and listened to the steady beat of his heart. Matched her breathing to its rhythm and the softness of her body to his touch, until she wasn’t feeling anything.

  Except Luke. He was everywhere. His scent, his energy, his compassion—his goodness. It was there, in every breath he took, every touch he delivered, creating a whole new set of problems.

  Without the fear, there was plenty of room for other emotions. Lust being the most obvious. Closely followed by desire. Warm, luscious, bone-melting desire.

  Every time Luke’s big hands trailed down her back, they got lower and lower, bringing their bodies closer and closer. Making it more than apparent that her nipples were over the pity part of the night and wanted to get on with the party.

  He smelled delicious, like the evening air, apple pie, and tomorrow. He felt even better, pressed up against her, his arms so big that when she tightened her grip around his neck and moved up slightly, they grazed the outsides of her breasts.

  “Luke,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed as he did it again. Just a small shift, but enough to have all of her happy spots smiling, especially when he tightened his grip at the right moment to cause even more delicious friction.

  A zing of awareness shot through her and all she could think about was his mouth—on hers. What he would taste like, if his kisses would be as life altering as his hugs. And what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that fierce protectiveness he gave so readily to those in his life.

  More than anything, Kennedy wanted to see what it was like to work with all of that intense passion, instead of against it.

  She nuzzled closer, she couldn’t help it, and her mouth accidentally grazed the lobe of his ear as she leaned. She heard his breath catch, felt his body tense with what she was pretty sure was desire.

  For her.

  She knew the intelligent choice was to pull back, thank him for the hug, and scurry inside before they did something that couldn’t be undone. Instead she leaned forward, until her lips brushed his ear again, because now that she knew he was feeling it, too, she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “We have a problem,” she whispered.

  His hands pulled her closer. “Yes, we do.”

  “I want to kiss you.”

  “But if you did, then you’d be admitting that you were wrong?” he guessed and she could hear him smile.

  She lifted her head and met his gaze, and bam, she was lost. Luke wasn’t smiling; there was nothing easygoing about him now. His gaze was hot, heated, and so damn intense, she could feel a pulse start below her belly button.

  “I’m more concerned about you being right,” she teased. “Which would lead to you being smug, and eventually an argument. And I really don’t want to argue right now.”

  She was enjoying this sweet side of him too much.

  “Sweetness,” he said, but it wasn’t in his usual alpha god tone that implied recreational sex with a guaranteed standing O. This time it felt like an endearment. “The last thing I want to do right now is argue with you.”

  Man of his word, Luke cupped her by the neck and took any possibility of an argument right out of play when he kissed her. There on her front porch, surrounded by pie and the faint scent of a new beginning, he kissed her as if this was why he’d come here.

  Kennedy felt that hopeful beginning bloom into something that had room to grow. Something warm and real, no matter how long it lasted. Because the minute she registered the sensation of his lips on hers, she knew this wasn’t a let’s-get-to-the-naked-part, prelude-to-sex kind of kiss. It was soft, patient, and controlled, as if it was the main event and he had all night to prove it.

  And himself.

  Lord help her, when a man like Luke set out to prove himself, women like Kennedy had no choice but to fall. Right into his arms and into that kiss, which was better than amazing.

  It was epic. Magical. The main course, dessert, and a dozen apple pies all wrapped up in one fantastic man. His mouth was confident, his hands gentle on her hips, turning her toward him so he could up his game, sliding his tongue along her lower lip.

  He held her in a way that was completely unexpected: tender and slightly erotic, and she was pretty sure he could bring the à la mode without even laying a finger on her. But chemistry was only half of the appeal; the rest came from how she felt when she was with him.

  Bold, strong, and desirable. Like he was taking the time to show her that she was deserving. And if that wasn’t enough to convince her that maybe, just maybe, good ones did exist and he was one of them, Luke brought her hands to his mouth, delivering a kiss to each scrape, giving extra attention to the cut on her palm.

  His eyes met hers. “That’s going to be a problem.”

  “Thankfully, I’m a master fixer.”

  Luke placed her hand on his chest, and held it there. “Remember when I said not to mistake my ambition for apathy. Well, promise me that you won’t mistake a good moment for a good guy.”

  “Because they don’t exist?” she whispered, wanting desperately to believe that they did.

  “Oh, they exist,” he said, “and I’m one of them. But when it comes to you, I don’t think I can be good enough.”

  Chapter 11

  She was late.

  With less than two hours before the shop opened, Ke
nnedy parked her car in front of Sweetie Pies, grabbed three of the bags of apples she’d loaded yesterday from her backseat, and hurried toward the shop. Main Street was already a hive of activity, early morning shoppers braving frosted sidewalks to get a jump on their end-of-week shopping.

  Kennedy needed to get a jump on her baking if she was going to have anything to sell to her morning customers. After sharing a few “good mornings” with the other shopkeepers, she clutched her coat tightly to her, and made her way toward her shop, her breath catching when she caught a glimpse of the sign hanging from the two marble columns on either side of the clock tower.

  Washington State’s Sixty-eighth Annual Gold Tin Apple Pie Competition:

  Where harvest and home come together. Entries Due Friday.

  Kennedy had wanted to enter that contest since she’d first read about it in Southern Cooking, when she was fifteen. Now she lived in the hometown of the competition, and owned the shop of one of the competition’s biggest winners: Sweetie Pies’ HumDinger. Which was automatically entered to defend her title.

  A rush of pride washed over her as she unlocked the door, flipped on the lights, and headed straight to the coffeemaker.

  First order of business: caffeine. Tall, hot, and strong.

  After Luke left, Kennedy had told herself that what happened was nothing more than two adults sharing some pie, casual conversation, and a kiss that was absolutely not a game changer. Then she’d gone straight to bed, pulled out her journal, and made a list of ways to test the theory—just to be sure.

  By midnight, she had thirty-six different and creative ways, starting with a private taste-test of her newest creation—off her lips—and ending with a candlelit dinner for two at her kitchen table. Which ultimately inspired another list: WHY LIST ONE IS A BAD IDEA: (1) Non-big-deal issues don’t deserve an itemized list, especially one that includes candles and my grandmother’s paprikash; (2) Making it a list makes it a big deal; (3) Refer back to number one.

  When she woke up, face pressed to the pages of her journal, she compared the two and decided that since list two was so small in comparison, and lacking in the fun department, she’d spend her morning expanding on list one.

  Setting the apples on the counter, she mentally added a liquor-infused whipped cream to her tasting, and reached for the coffee grinder. Surprised to find that the machine was already percolating, and the first pot of coffee was nearly ready.

  Kennedy swallowed past the unexpected lump as a warm rush of gratitude filled her chest. Yesterday, Paula had offered to prep the nonheirloom apples and some of the easier items to bake so Kennedy could finish up her harvest. That she had also come in early this morning to start the coffee was another example of Paula’s thoughtfulness—and another reason Kennedy needed this to work.

  Paula and Fi had entrusted Kennedy with their legacy, and she wanted to do them proud. She wanted to do herself proud as well. And even though Kennedy was scratched to bits and sore in places she didn’t even know had muscles, she was vibrating with all the possibilities this adventure could offer.

  Destiny Bay looked out for their own, and yesterday they’d made it clear that Kennedy was included in that group. She didn’t think that she’d be invited to the mayor’s house anytime soon, but she couldn’t walk through town without a half-dozen people stopping her to wish her a good day or ask her about the pie du jour.

  Slowly but surely, she was making fans of the locals. And today’s specialty was guaranteed to blow their taste buds away: comfort pie.

  The toasted graham cracker crust, creamy sweet potato and dark chocolate filling, and marshmallow vodka-infused topping created the perfect treat for a chilly autumn morning. And it was the perfect way to give the town a little of what they’d given her yesterday.

  Not having a second to waste, she filled her mug and picked up the heaviest bag so she could peel the apples she needed to get the first batch of HumDingers in the oven. Halfway there, her cell vibrated in her back pocket. It was Ali.

  Juggling her bag and coffee mug, she managed to fish it out. “You’re up early.”

  “And you’re not here,” Ali said, and Kennedy could hear the idling of an engine in the background. “Figured you’d either fallen out of a tree last night or you were stuck under a bushel of apples somewhere unconscious.”

  Kennedy laughed. “No, I just overslept. You’re at my house?”

  “Yeah, I called you a few times, and when I didn’t see the shop lights on, I came here.”

  Kennedy looked at her phone, which she must have flipped to silent. “Sorry about that. But I got to the shop a few minutes ago.”

  She heard Ali release a breath. “Good, because Cosmo called and he is coming today.”

  “Today?” Kennedy looked around at the empty pie racks, even emptier display case, and felt the first signs of panic set in. “I thought he was in Portland until Sunday.”

  “He decided that he didn’t want to wait. He was afraid that Fi would catch wind of it and try to stop the deal.”

  Not needing the caffeine, which would be overkill with the amount of adrenaline pumping though her veins, Kennedy ditched the mug for another bag of apples. Her time crunch had just been crunched. “Yeah, well, I understand that he and Fi have a history, but this deal is about new beginnings, a chance at a fresh start. So by definition, no history allowed.”

  And that included Philip!

  “Good to hear,” Ali said. “So then you didn’t sell the apples to Callahan?”

  “No,” she said, trying to ignore the pinch in her chest. They both needed those apples, but what if in order to save her business, she hurt his?

  Kennedy pushed back her ingrained need to please. She didn’t have the luxury of what-ifs. She couldn’t give in. Even a kiss that had enough lasting tingles to power a small country wasn’t going to distract her from her goal.

  There was a long beat. “And you didn’t happen to hire someone else to deliver your apples, did you?”

  “No.” Kennedy closed her eyes, then offered, “Do you need me to? I know you’re super busy, and if you can’t do it, I understand.”

  It would suck, because Kennedy had no idea where she’d find someone else willing to haul fifteen bushels of apples in exchange for a girls’ night. But Ali’s offer had been beyond generous to begin with, and as Kennedy well knew, life happened.

  “I’m still game,” Ali said, and Kennedy felt herself relax. “A hot dinner that doesn’t come out of a box or the microwave while watching The Bachelor? I am so there. But unless you hung your apples back up in the trees, they’re gone.”

  “Gone? How could they be gone?”

  “Were they there when you left?” Ali asked.

  “Yes. No…I don’t know,” she admitted. She’d been in a rush when she left; she didn’t take the time to check. “But I think I would have noticed if they were gone. Or at least heard whoever took them.”

  Except that Kennedy hadn’t gotten all that much sleep, but during the few hours she did manage, she’d been dead to the world. Or dreaming about her thief with the mouth of a god.

  Kennedy froze. Thought back to last night. Luke appearing out of the shadows, his uncharacteristic compassion, and that sweet side that threw her off balance.

  “Is there orange dye all over the grass?” she asked.

  “Do pails with orange water lining the porch rail count?”

  “Good guy, my ass.” Anger, red and hot, had her feet moving toward the kitchen. “What time is Cosmo coming?”

  “Around three.”

  Enough time to get her first few batches in, find Luke, and show him just what a pain in his ass big city heels could be. He played a good game, all right, but she was better. Compared to her turbulent childhood, this would be as easy as pie.

  “Thanks, Ali,” she said. “I’ll call you back when I find out where they are.”

  Setting her apples on the cutting board, Kennedy grabbed her apron off the hanger, and her sharpest knife out of th
e cutting block. It wasn’t just anger that had her heart pounding; it was confusion and disappointment.

  Sure, they’d both made it clear that last night wasn’t a truce, but Kennedy had really thought that they’d shared a real connection, one that trumped petty pranks. One that held the potential for a positive relationship of some kind. A relationship that, once again, Kennedy had read far too much into.

  Wondering if she’d ever learn her lesson, she washed up at the sink and turned to dry her hands when she froze once again. This time it wasn’t panic or anger, but something that went much deeper and warmer.

  Lining the back wall of the produce refrigerator were fifteen bushels full of apples. Enough to fill her shop with pies for her big day, and last her for the next two weeks. And on the shelf above them, sitting in the middle, was a single apple—and a note.

  With shaky hands, she opened the door and picked up the apple. Unfolding the flap, her breath caught.

  The apples are for your pies. The peeler is to make you smile…L

  Kennedy choked out a laugh, because next to the apple was a peeler made from a drill, a special bit, and an industrial hand peeler. The drill was electric and bright pink, and the bit was sharp enough to easily slide though the core and spin fast enough to skin an apple in a few seconds. It would cut her prep time in half—and save her fingers from further damage.

  But what had her exposing her soft underbelly was the craftsmanship. This wasn’t some store-bought device. It was custom made and hand crafted—just for her. Which meant that sometime between leaving her house and this morning Luke had found the time to make it.

  For her.

  And sometime between last night and this morning Kennedy had started to believe that maybe good guys really did exist.

  * * *

  A warm blast of nutmeg and toasted graham cracker greeted Kennedy as she opened the oven door. She shifted the latest batch of comforter pies around the shelf to make sure they browned evenly.