by Beth Ciotta
Cared, not loved. Still. Rocky knocked the back of her thick noggin against her headboard. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Same here.”
“Why didn’t you say something before now?”
“You wouldn’t let me.”
Her entire body flushed with the truth of that simple statement. She’d shut him down, pushed him away … for thirteen years. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say we’ve made peace with the past. Say you’re ready to approach our attraction with a clean slate.”
A clean slate sounded like heaven. Like somewhere she’d never been where the possibilities were endless. She flashed on Gram’s reckless approach to life. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Chickenshit, my ass. “I’m ready.”
He kissed the back of her hand, winked. “Good.”
Heart pounding, Rocky finished off her beer, set the bottle on her nightstand alongside the mallet. She felt flustered and wonderful and a little self-conscious. “So where do we go from here?”
“Forward.”
“How’s that work exactly?”
“We’ll find out together.”
She tingled with anticipation and, wow, contentment? “So this is us at peace, huh?”
Grinning, he sipped beer and squeezed her hand.
Her pulse raced. “I guess something good came out of my bizarre freak-out. Thank you for coming tonight, Jayce.”
“I’ve seen too much to dismiss sixth sense, babe. Just because I didn’t spot anyone, that doesn’t mean someone wasn’t there.”
“It could’ve been two teens stealing away for a hookup for all I know. Why did I think the worst?”
Jayce didn’t answer, but he did open his arms.
Rocky snuggled close. “Thanks for not making me feel like a paranoid twit.”
He kissed the top of her head, flipped off the bedside light.
Together they watched some show about adoptable pit bulls.
Rocky thought about Jayce’s devotion to homeless animals and his new commitment to combat cyberbullying. For as long as she’d known him he’d championed the underdog. For the first time ever she wondered what fueled that passion. Exhausted from the whirlwind day and content in the moment, she decided to pursue that discussion another time. Moving forward entailed more nights like this, right? Not to mention the time she’d be spending at his house. Transforming every room would take time. More than ever, she relished the challenge of making that stark house a warm home.
Rocky tugged at Jayce’s collar, bade him to meet her gaze. “Feel like sleeping over?”
He smiled—a smile that wrapped around her heart and pumped through her system like freaking sunshine. Pulling her closer, he brushed a possessive kiss over her lips. “Thought you’d never ask.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rocky didn’t remember falling asleep. She didn’t hear Jayce leave, but when she woke up the feeble light of morning illuminated her room and he was gone. She remembered then that he’d said something about a 9:00 a.m. meeting. She glanced at her bedside clock.
9:45
For real? The construction crew would be here in fifteen minutes. Get your lazy rear in gear, Monroe. She never slept this late. Amazing she’d slept at all given her scare, but instead of having nightmares about a potential vampire stalker, she’d dreamed about puppy dogs and Jayce.
She looked to see if he’d left a note but didn’t see anything. She checked her phone. He’d sent a text at 8:00 a.m.
CALL IF U NEED ME
She smiled and hugged the phone to her chest. A second later, she rolled her eyes. Sap.
Still wearing her sweats and a cami, Rocky rolled out of bed shivering as cold air brushed over her bare arms. She moved to the cracked open window to close out the chilly breeze. Dark clouds loomed, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Maybe the construction crew wouldn’t come after all. Although there was plenty to keep them busy inside.
Flashing back to the night before, Rocky stared out at the vast lawn, the distant mountains, the nearby road. Everything looked normal. So why couldn’t she shake that icky feeling of being watched?
“You’re being ridiculous,” she told herself. Still, maybe she’d forgo her run through the woods this morning. Running with the willies, dodging shadows, and enduring heart palpitations at every unexpected sound did not appeal. Not to mention a storm was brewing. Considering the late hour, she’d do better to shower and race over to the DMV in Pixley, replace her license, and … Rocky froze halfway to the shower. She couldn’t race anywhere. Not on her own. Not without her driver’s license.
Watch your ass, Rocky. I am.
She reeled with a troubling notion. Was it possible? Anything was possible, she supposed, but why would Billy spy on her? She hadn’t thought to mention their run-in to Jayce because she’d pretty much pushed the incident from her mind. It’s not like Billy hadn’t had legal reason to pull her over. Her taillight had been broken. Knocked out, she assumed, by a careless driver in the airport parking lot. Not that she thought she deserved a ticket, but Billy had been a jerk to Rocky and her brothers ever since she could remember. Their dads were longtime rivals, and Billy had an inferiority complex that had manifested into shifty arrogance. She’d chalked up his warning to his normal dickhead behavior.
Just then her cell phone rang. Speaking of dickheads or, rather, pinheads. “Morning, Tasha.”
“I need you to call everyone and schedule an emergency meeting of the Cupcake Lovers,” she said in a rushed, hushed voice. “I’ll touch down at Starlight around four. To be on the safe side, make it for five.”
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t go into it right now. I’m in the middle of that cupcake tour with Brett. I slipped into the restroom to give you a heads-up.”
“Are they canceling the book?”
“God, no. They’re sending a video crew to shoot footage of the club in action. Footage for a documentary and a book trailer.”
Rocky blinked. “We haven’t signed the contract yet.”
“Dev got it, right? Brett said Legal overnighted three copies.”
“He got it and he’s looking it over.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine. If not, he can haggle. Meanwhile Highlife wants to take advantage of our involvement with the Spookytown Spectacular. A small film crew’s been booked to fly up and cover the event. There’ll be interviews and random shots and … I’ll fill everyone in when I get home.”
Rocky’s head spun. “I’m not sure everyone will be available on such short notice.”
“Just gather as many members as you can. It’s important.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s crucial I impress upon everyone the importance of being on our best behavior. Highlife thinks the Cupcakes Lovers are squeaky-clean, all-American do-gooders.”
“Last I knew there weren’t any ax killers in the club.”
“Would you be serious?”
“I am.”
“We, everyone, need to be on our best behavior. No bickering or backstabbing. No scandal. No freaking drama.”
Rocky sank down on the bed. Drama like her possibly being stalked? By the town’s deputy, no less? Drama like Monica not being able to conceive and suspecting Leo of having a roving eye? Or Chloe being ticked at Rocky for keeping her attraction to Jayce under wraps? Scandal like Gram getting ready to shack up with Vincent? “Well, hell.”
“You see what I mean,” Tasha said, still whispering. “We need to clean up our act. That includes you and me.”
“Did hell just freeze over?”
“We don’t have to be best buds; we just need to be civil. At least while the film crew’s in town.”
Rocky smirked. “You must want the deal even more than I thought.”
“You have no idea. I have to go. Arrange the meeting. Text me the location.”
Tasha disconnected, leaving Rocky with mixed feelings of dread and joy. Highlife’s commitment to this project was impress
ive, and no doubt most of the members would be ecstatic about the potential rocket to fame. Nowadays who didn’t want their slice of televised glory? Well, except maybe Rachel. However, having to police their personal lives … the thought was daunting, not to mention annoying.
Irritated, Rocky dialed Jayce.
“You okay?” he asked, answering midway through the first ring.
“Annoyed.”
“At me?”
Her mouth twitched. “For once, no.”
“What’s up, Dash?” Jayce asked with a smile in his voice.
Squaring her shoulders, Rocky took what she hoped was a step forward in their relationship. “I need a favor.”
* * *
“Is this a bad time?”
Luke glanced up from the inventory list to the woman peering in through his partially opened office door. The veil of dull blond hair hiding three-quarters of her face was a dead giveaway. Rachel.
“I knocked,” she said in a tentative voice, “but when you didn’t answer…”
“Sorry. I was concentrating.” Trying to make sense out of the jumble of numbers and words in front of him. Distracted, Luke waved her inside his office without maintaining eye contact.
“Nell asked me to tell you that the delivery guy is getting impatient. He’s only midway through his route and—”
“Like I don’t have other obligations? Tell him I’ll be right there,” Luke snapped. “No, wait. Sorry, Rachel. Bad day.” Chest tight, he passed her Pete’s clipboard. “Do me a favor and rattle off the liquors and quantities listed while I find the damned file for the Sheffields’ birthday party. It’s a multi-tasking Monday.”
Luke listened as Rachel quietly relayed the detailed list. She read quickly and with ease. He committed every word to focused thought. Meanwhile he rooted through a file cabinet, looking for the file that included all the anal details for Amy Sheffield’s sixteenth birthday party even though he knew precisely where the file was.
When Rachel finished, Luke took back the clipboard and signed off at the bottom. “Ask Nell to tell Pete everything looks great. Sorry for the wait.”
Rachel nodded, taking back the clipboard and leaving Luke’s office without another word.
“Shit.” Rattled, he sleeved sweat from his brow. Normally Anna signed off on these things, but she’d called in sick and her assistant, Danny, was running around the kitchen prepping to do the work of two people. When Anna wasn’t available, Luke had been able to rely on Connie or one of his regular patrons to convey specifics. Amazing how creative he’d grown over the years. He almost always found a way to pass off anything involving reading in a way that didn’t betray his dilemma. Mostly under the guise that he couldn’t be bothered. He had other things to do. It was not like he couldn’t read an inventory list or the phone book or e-mails or texts … it just took time. Time to sort out the letters and to make sense of the gibberish his eyes saw. Only today he’d been rushed and Rachel had caught the brunt of his frustration.
He blew out a breath when she rapped softly on the door and peeked back inside. “Pete said, No problem.”
“Thanks, Rachel. Sorry I bit your head off. Like I said, bad day.” The glitch with the inventory list and his lead chef’s absence were mere drops in the troubled waters. Rocky and Jayce. Gram and Vince. Dev and Chloe. Sam and Rachel. And what the hell was up with his parents? He would’ve thought that retiring to Florida would have been relaxing, yet whenever they spoke on the phone Luke sensed tension. As did Rocky. He was pretty sure Dev knew something that the rest of them didn’t, although he pretended otherwise. Luke didn’t press because he honestly didn’t want to know if his parents were having marital problems. He wanted to believe they’d work it out. Meanwhile the rest of his love-struck family struggled with their issues right in front of his eyes. Last night’s dinner had been a freakfest of repressed feelings, except for Gram, who’d let it all hang out. Currently free of any romantic entanglements himself, Luke felt compelled to make sure everyone skated through these awkward times unscathed. A round of happily-ever-afters, please.
“Maybe I should come back tomorrow. For training, I mean.”
“What? Oh, that. I forgot.” He caught a flicker of hurt in her eyes. Were they hazel or brown? He couldn’t tell. She averted her gaze before he got a good look. “Not entirely,” he clarified. “Lost track of the time. Let me show you around, describe the basics, and we’ll take it from there.”
Twenty minutes later and Luke had a deeper understanding of what his cousin saw in meek, mousy Rachel Lacey. She was smart. Whip smart. Kind and patient. Probably part of the reason she was so good with the kids at Sugar Tots. And when she smiled, she was sort of pretty in a bland vanilla way.
“Still interested in the job?” Luke asked.
“I think I can handle it. Do you?”
Was that a hint of sarcasm? He tempered a smile. Maybe not so meek after all. “We’ll see.”
“When do I start?”
“Let’s go into my office and talk about a schedule. Want some coffee or a soda?”
“I’d love a beer.”
Really? Not that he hadn’t indulged in a drink before noon on occasion, but … “I thought you had to go straight to Sugar Tots.”
“So did I,” she said with a frown. “Gretchen called early this morning and said she’d miscalculated her new budget. Instead of cutting back my hours, she’s cutting me loose.”
“Oh, shit. I mean, sorry.” Shit. “Surely she can’t run the day-care center on her own.”
“We, she, has a couple of loyal volunteers. Sugar Tots will get by.”
“I didn’t realize things were that bleak for the preschool.”
“Yes, well … It’s complicated.”
Unsure what to say, Luke went with what he knew. “Domestic or imported?”
“Domestic is fine.”
He nabbed two longnecks from the cooler. The way his day was going, he didn’t mind joining her. “Glass?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Huh. He twisted off the cap, handed her the chilled beer, then clinked his bottle to hers. “Welcome to the Sugar Shack.”
“Here’s hoping I last longer than a week.”
As if he’d fire her on the heels of losing her other job. You’re stuck with her now, Monroe. In tandem, they took a sip and then moved into his office. Luke sprawled in the chair behind his desk, whereas Rachel sat primly on the edge of the vintage sofa Rocky had picked up dirt cheap on one of her antiquing sprees. With Rachel and Luke alone together in his office, she seemed to fade a bit, turning in to herself. Gaze averted, shoulders hunched, the toes of those clunky suede boots turned inward. As if she was hiding from life. Considering her life as he knew it, he almost understood. He thought about Sam’s impression of the woman. A tortured soul. Damaged and repressed. What’s your story, honey?
“About my schedule,” she said, fidgeting under Luke’s scrutiny.
“Right.” He swigged more beer, then set aside the bottle and studied the calendar on his desk. “I definitely need coverage on the weekends.”
“Weekends are perfect.”
“Not this weekend,” Luke said. “Not for you. The Spookytown Spectacular runs Friday through Sunday.”
“So?”
“Aren’t you already committed to the Cupcake Lovers booth?”
“They can do without me.”
“But that camera crew … Didn’t you hear? Rocky told me Tasha called this morning. Said the publishing company’s sending some freelance video crew to shoot footage for a documentary.”
“So?”
“Don’t you want to be in the video?”
“No.”
“But you’re a member of the Cupcake Lovers. A contributor to the recipe book.”
“So?”
He was beginning to hate that word. “So don’t you think you should be involved?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about the Cupcake Lovers, the club, and how the club’s baking bene
fits the community, the military, and various charities.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I don’t mind missing the shoot, Luke. I’ll square my absence with Rocky and she’ll square it with the other members. I’d rather work. I need the money.”
“Okay.” He got that. She’d lost her other job. Her steady income. But hadn’t she saved enough to sustain her for one week? Most young women these days would kill for a sliver of fame. Apparently Highlife was hoping this video would go viral, giving the Cupcake Lovers a leg up on instant popularity. Why was Rachel so adverse to exposure? Not too long ago, she’d bowed out of a group photo shoot. Was she that insecure about her looks? That shy? He understood self-esteem issues, but she was supersmart and kind. Why was she so damned antisocial? Aside from the Cupcake Lovers and Sugar Tots, she kept to herself. Luke was the exact opposite. What was life if you couldn’t share it with others? Lots of others? Not to mention the Shack was known for its cheerful, easygoing, friendly atmosphere. Timid Rachel-stick-up-her-butt-Lacey was all wrong for this job, yet he kept that thought to himself. He’d never been one for turning his back on a person in need, plus he felt compelled to look after her for Sam’s sake. “I’m strapped for help on the night shift.”
“I don’t mind working nights.”
“It’ll put a damper on your social life.”
“I don’t have a social life.”
“Pretty sure Sam would like to change that.” Okay. That came out of the blue and, seriously, it was none of his business, but Luke couldn’t help meddling. Sam was crazy about Rachel, and Rachel … Well, hell. In spite of her issues, Luke sensed she’d make a great mom for Ben and Mina. He could see it. What he couldn’t see was her happily, or successfully, waiting tables at the Shack.
She fidgeted on the sofa, fussed with her shapeless dress. “Sam’s a nice guy. A really nice guy.”
Luke raised a brow. “Just not your type?”
“Something like that.”
