Suck it up, girl. The next three days were about Sophie and Zane, and she could—would—be the perfect bridesmaid. When the wedding ended, so did her time with the groomsman.
If Bryce became her brother’s agent, though… That added another layer of familiarity she didn’t like. Not one bit. She didn’t want her brother to love him. Didn’t want her parents to either. And they would. They all would. Bryce had that something that put everyone at ease and in like with him at hello.
She leaned forward and picked up the Roseville pottery book Payton had given her for her birthday. Thumbing to page one hundred, she carefully slipped out the piece of paper that held Payton’s list.
Until tonight, no one else knew about the list. She’d kept it to herself so that when she failed to fulfill all five items, she’d be the only one to know.
When, not if. And it killed her.
She wasn’t sure why she’d told Bryce except that it had felt nice to open up to someone who was close to Payton, too. The someone who had made what should have been easy into a tangled mess. Sharing responsibility for the screw-up made her feel a tiny bit better about it. But in the next few weeks—before she turned twenty-five—she’d figure out a way to follow through on her promise.
She tucked the list back inside the pages of the book, hugged the hard cover to her chest, and unfolded herself from the couch. From this moment on, she’d dedicate herself to the list and honoring Payton the best way she knew how. For once, she’d do something right.
Chapter Three
Friday mornings meant cinnamon-flavored fried dough stuffed with gooey apple chunks and dusted with powdered sugar. Perfection otherwise known as apple fritters. How Rachel, the owner of the Beach Café, crammed so much goodness into the tiny breakfast treats, Honor didn’t know, but they had to be laced with something addictive because everyone in town craved them.
Honor knew this because a hundred people stood in front of her in line. Okay, not a hundred, but enough to put her on a hungry edge since her fritter need had started well over an hour ago. She held the glass front door propped open with her foot, the delicious smell of baked bliss wafting to her nose before it drifted right out into the cool, misty air.
She also needed coffee.
Dreams of her misdeed with Bryce had interfered with all her good sleep. Leaving bad sleep. And bad feelings. She covered a yawn with her hand.
Someone waving his arm caught her attention above her fingertips.
There was a God.
She moved toward the front of the line, saying hello to everyone she passed, pausing for a second to give white-haired Mr. Case, owner of the building housing her new shop, a kiss on the cheek. She reached her favorite old guy right after that. “Uncle Tuck, hi.”
“Hello, Sunshine. Thought I’d buy you breakfast.” He wrapped her in a hug that made her feel six years old all over again. She hung on a little longer than necessary.
“Thank you. Good surf this morning?” His board shorts were damp and his hair smelled like saltwater. Tucker Mitchell had been one of the best pro surfers once upon a time.
“Not bad. Kicked a few of the young guys’ keesters.”
“I’m sure you did.” Her great uncle still did aerial maneuvers that drew gasps from beachgoers.
They stepped to the counter where she ordered large everything. Seemed like a good idea considering the full day ahead. Sophie’s parents and extended family were arriving later this morning, and Honor had offered to make sure everyone got settled into the White Strand Cove Inn. Then the bridesmaids had a date to pick up their dresses before everyone gathered for the rehearsal dinner.
“I hear there’s a wedding this weekend,” Tuck said, handing over a bag of fritters and her mountain roast coffee as they stepped away from the counter. “You still aiming to dodge that bullet?”
“You know how I feel about those bullets.” Tuck wore bachelor like a badge of honor. He’d been engaged once, but the morning of the big day he’d called it off. Blamed his fickle heart and thought his fiancée deserved better. Honor understood the feeling.
He pulled on her ponytail. “Don’t let your mother hear that.”
“You’re the only one who hears it.” She took a sip from her cup. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re the only chick I know who drinks her coffee black.”
“Why mess with a good thing?”
“Nicely said, Padawan. You got time to sit?” He nodded to a table in the corner.
Honor opened her white paper bag and breathed in the sweet perfection. “I wish I did, but I’ve got to run to the shop and then do a bunch of wedding stuff.”
“Hello, Tucker,” Mrs. Landry said with a saucy ring in her voice. She gave a kind, genuine smile to Honor as she scooted past them.
“Morning, Evie.” He reached out with his arm and…
“You did not just pinch Widow Landry’s butt,” Honor said, wishing she could unsee the deed. Everyone in town knew the two of them had a thing for each other, but jeez….
“You’re right, I didn’t. More like squeezed.” The corners of his thin, weathered lips lifted high enough to reach his pale blue eyes.
“TMI, Uncle Tuck.” She kissed his cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. Love you.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” he called as she hurried out the door of the café and down the palm tree lined street.
She slowed her steps to enjoy the quiet morning and pulled her first fritter from the bag. Still early, the shops were silent, and she gazed into the windows as she walked and ate. She crossed over Bluff, glancing south to the sea, dustings of sunshine sparkling off the water a few blocks away.
Two more fritters, another block. The sun grew more insistent. A car horn sounded, drawing her attention to the street. Dylan, Cooper’s best friend, waved from his beat-up convertible and shouted, “Hey, Honorlicious.”
“Hey, Dylan. Keep your eyes on the road.”
He saluted and she turned to watch him drive off. Duct tape covered his right taillight and a black and white “Be Excellent to Each Other” bumper sticker with a picture of Abe Lincoln helped hide chipped paint. She smiled, dug out another fritter, this one loaded with powdered sugar, and whirled back around.
Where she collided with a hard chest, inhaled the powdered sugar, and proceeded to cough in a fit of chokehold proportions.
One big, warm hand wrapped around her upper arm. A second hand patted her back. He said something, but she couldn’t make it out since she was about to hack up a lung. She knew his voice, though. And his delicious smell. His hands stayed put until she finally quieted down.
Through watery eyes, she glanced up at her roadblock. His gray T-shirt had coffee stains splattered across it. And… she sucked in her bottom lip… fan-fritter-tastic, she’d spit up on him, too.
She moved her almost-empty coffee cup to her other hand and wiped away the evidence of her spew. Mortified and at a loss for words, she kept right on rubbing his chest like a total lunatic.
And because he had a really nice chest. It distracted her from the apology that finally landed on the tip of her tongue.
“You done?” Bryce’s deep, sexy voice brought her back to her senses. What the heck was she doing?
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll buy you a new shirt, or clean this one.” She finally met his amused, and also very amiable, eyes. “Fritter?” She held up the bag.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I was reading a text and not watching where I was walking. You okay?”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other for several super-charged seconds before he took the bag and looked inside. “There’s only one left.”
“It’s all yours.” No way did she plan to put any more fritter near her mouth.
He pulled the baked treat out and took a bite. She watched him like he’d been coated in powdered sugar, too, and she wanted to lick it off him. Not good. Sooo not good. She looked away, reminding herself she was behavi
ng like the worst kind of friend.
He finished it off, crinkled the bag into a ball, and said, “Thanks.”
“Sure. I, uh, guess I’ll see you later at the rehearsal dinner.” She stepped around him. “Have a good day.”
She’d passed three stores when she felt him come up beside her. He’d either taken the minute to watch her backside or decide if he wanted more of her company. Both could only lead to trouble.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
She cringed and thought about changing directions. Unpacked boxes and a mess of inventory cluttered the antique store, and besides that, Honor liked to keep quiet about it. But since Bryce already knew about the list, she said. “To my antique store.”
“Does it have something to do with Payton’s list?”
Her heart hurried its beat. “Yes, but here’s the thing.” She tossed her coffee cup into a trashcan. “No one knows about the list. People in town know Pay and I wanted to go into business together, and I’ve told everyone this is to honor that dream. But if you could keep the whole list thing to yourself, I’d really appreciate it.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Thanks.”
“On one condition.”
The small two-story building with white trim around the windows and a sloped shingle roof came into view. Honor rubbed behind her ear. She ground her teeth together. “What condition?”
“Tell me what else is on the list.”
She stopped walking and without thinking jammed her finger into his chest. “You’re blackmailing me to stay quiet?”
He stepped back and raised his arms, bent at the elbows, palms flat. Surrender her ass. And if he thought his cute little smile and cleft in his chin along with those dreamy, too-sharp eyes would have some affect on her, he was wrong. She wouldn’t tell him another thing about Payton’s wishes.
“I’d rather call it friendly persuasion,” he said.
“We aren’t really friends and you’re about as congenial as a hippopotamus with a tooth ache.” She strode away. “And forget what I said about your shirt,” she called over her shoulder. Childish. But whatever.
“I’m curious, is all.” He fell right back in step beside her. His interest in Payton cut to the quick, reminding her where his heart had once lay. Maybe still lay.
“When I’m interested in something I don’t include stipulations. I’ll be sure to mention this tactic of yours to my brother.”
He flinched. “Point taken, but I thought no one else knew about the list.”
She inwardly fumed because dammit, he was right. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be this morning?”
He looked at the silver manly-man watch on his wrist. “Not for another half hour. And thanks to you I had a fritter and coffee, so I’m good.”
She slid a glance his way. His boyish simper made her forget herself, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from giggling. From wet clothes last night to dirty ones this morning, for a serious guy, he didn’t let flubs bother him.
His good humor was insanely attractive.
Honor had a feeling no matter what she said he’d find a way to stick around, so she kept quiet. She waved to Jules rounding the corner of her flower shop.
“Hi, Honor,” Jules said, a big white bucket filled with bright colored flowers in her hands.
“Need help with that?” Bryce asked, his body leaning in Jules’ direction.
“Nope. Thanks, though.” She disappeared inside an open glass door.
Honor knelt and retrieved the key from the plastic rock in the flowerbed under the wooden stairs. Jules had been nice enough to plant some roses and maintain a small garden for her since Honor killed even fake plants.
“Honor?” Bryce said.
Key in hand, she turned. He stood really close. Too close. Her knees reacted by wobbling a little. She held herself steady with a hand to the white staircase. “Yes?”
“Tell me you don’t keep the key to your store in a rock.”
“Where else would I keep it?” She scooted around him and started up the stairs.
He followed. “On your person. In your purse. Somewhere it’s safe?”
“I hate carrying a purse and if I put the key in my pocket, I’d lose it.” She wore a striped black and white cotton-blend dress today that fell to her ankles and hugged her body in the most comfortable way. Two small pockets sat on each hip, one held a ten for the breakfast she’d been treated to, the other held lip balm. Not the end of the world if she lost either one.
“What about a car key?”
“It’s under the front seat.” She tossed a quick smile over her shoulder. “There are no key thieves in White Strand. The only crime that happens here is during bingo night when someone uses a black Sharpie to change a number.”
She stopped at the top of the stairs and put the key in the lock. “Umm…” She turned and looked down at Bryce. He stood two steps from the top of the landing. “Thanks for the company but I’ll see you later.”
“I don’t get to come in?”
“It’s still a work in progress.”
“Would it make a difference if I told you I’d really like to see what you and Payton wanted to create?” A swallow worked its way down his throat. She hadn’t considered how hard it might be for him, too, to have lost Payton. Twice actually. Without any sort of conclusion but silence.
Her shoulders sagged. He deserved some breathing room and consideration. “I sometimes forget she’s not here. Is that weird?”
“No.” He took a step up. “I think that’s perfectly normal. I remember when my grandfather passed away and my dad telling me he still expected him to walk through the door. And on several occasions my dad even picked up the phone to call him before remembering he was gone.”
“How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
“I’m sorry. Do you remember him?”
“A few things here and there.”
“I wish all the time Payton was still here.” Honor turned and opened the door in silent invitation. Bryce softened things inside her, and while having Payton in common hurt too much for anything serious to happen between them, maybe they could let each other off the hook now and then.
“She’s lucky to have had a friend like you.”
Honor squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m the lucky one,” she said under her breath.
Sunlight spilled into the space and she hurried over to the windows to let in some fresh air. Turning to find Bryce scanning the large room, she almost changed her mind and asked him to leave. The far left wall cried out for new paint. The hardwood floor needed a few new boards and sanding, and once she found the right screwdriver, she’d assemble the pile of shelves.
Several pieces of furniture decorated the space, but boxes overflowing with fragile items wrapped in newspaper sat in no particular order in the corners.
“It’s nice,” he said, his voice sincere, and her overactive nerves calmed. “Is the space below yours, too?”
“Only until Mr. Case rents it. For now he’s letting me store a few things for free.”
Bryce raised his eyebrows. “You’re leaving something out.”
How did he know that? “Okay, not exactly free. I’m helping him get a date with Shirley in the mayor’s office.”
“How’s that going?”
She lifted some loose papers on the small desk in the middle of the room. “Have you ever tried getting two stubborn senior citizens together?”
He came up beside her. “Can’t say that I have. You looking for something?”
“My measuring tape.” She searched the desk drawer to no avail. “I wanted to measure one of the walls.”
“We could do it the old fashioned way with our feet. I’m a size eleven, so that’ll get you a pretty close measurement. Which wall?” He wandered over to the help-me-I-need-paint wall.
“That’s the one,” she managed to get out, her mind having immediately jumped to shoe size indicating another size.
Or was it big hands that meant a big—
“Back me up here, shop owner.” He gestured her over with a lift and tilt of his chin.
She hustled to his side while she extinguished all thoughts of inches and how she’d felt him pressed up against her their night in his hotel room.
“You all right? You look a little flush.”
“Fine.” She glanced down with every intention of looking at his feet, but got stuck on his zipper instead. Involuntary and sooo inconvenient, given he cleared his throat. Her gaze jumped back to his handsome face.
His very nice white teeth sparkled. Crap. He’d caught her checking out his junk. This man discombobulated her from here until Tuesday.
“Like what you see?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She kept eye contact, daring him to call her bluff.
“I could show you.”
She shook her head. They couldn’t flirt and keep the tenuous connection they’d just established. “No. You can’t.”
“You’re right.” He pressed a hand to the wall and looked down. “Sorry. I forgot myself for a minute.”
“It’s okay. I did, too.” Turning off the feelings he triggered whenever he stood close hadn’t been as easy as she’d hoped it would be. “So, measurement?”
“Let’s do it.”
With silent agreement, they focused on his shoes and she quietly kept track of each step he took along the wall.
“Fifty-seven,” he said at the same time she said, “Fifty-three.” She’d let his very nice counting voice intrude on her thoughts for a couple of seconds, but she thought she’d stayed with him.
“One of us can’t count,” he teased before his attention drifted and he veered around her to pick something up off the floor. “Look what I found.” He held up the tape measure.
She snagged it from him. “Five bucks says I’m closer.”
“You’re on.”
They worked together to take the measurement, Bryce hanging on to the metal dispenser while she pulled the tape. “Sixty-two,” she said, letting go and watching it fire back into its case.
Blame it on the Kiss Page 4
