by Regina Hart
Ean patted his stomach. “She’s right.”
“Well, as I said, I don’t need the money. But I’m having a lot of fun.” She stood and carried her coffee cup to the dishwasher. “I’m socializing again. And I’ve been experimenting with recipes.”
“I wish you’d told me the truth about your job, Mom.”
Doreen crossed to him. She cupped the right side of his face with her palm and kissed his left cheek. “You know now.” She stepped back. “I’ll be home by four o’clock.”
“That late?” Ean struggled with disappointment. “I just got home. I’d hoped we could spend at least today together.”
“We can spend the evening together.” Doreen walked past him and continued out of the kitchen. She stopped to collect her purple purse from the dining room’s corner table. “And I take Sundays and Mondays off. We’ll have more time together then.”
“What should I do until you get home?” Ean trailed his mother to the coat closet. He sounded five years old.
“Finish unpacking. Get settled in. Look up your friends. You’ll think of something.”
Ean looked down at his gray jersey and black running pants. They still were fresh and dry since he hadn’t gone jogging yet. “Can I come with you?”
Doreen paused in the act of slipping into her coat. “What about your exercise?”
He didn’t care that he sounded like a child. But he was concerned the chasm forming between them after yesterday’s argument would grow if they spent today apart.
“I’ll run later.” Ean settled his hands on his hips. “Do you serve breakfast?”
Doreen opened her mouth twice before words followed. “Yes. We serve breakfast, lunch and pastries.”
“Great.” Ean reached past his mother for his jacket. “I’ll order breakfast and see where you work. Besides, it’ll be good to see Megan again.”
His mother seemed flustered. “Well, all right. If you’re sure that’s what you want to do.”
He kissed her cheek. “Think of today as ‘Bring Your Kid to Work Day.’”
CHAPTER 4
Ean took in the dark hardwood flooring and bright inviting wall displays of Books & Bakery. The store had changed a lot since he’d left Trinity Falls, but there was something very familiar about it. It was midway through October, and Halloween themes dominated. Special-interest tabletop displays and overstuffed red armchairs lured patrons deeper into the store, where they were hypnotized by the rows upon rows upon rows of bookcases.
Megan McCloud was born to run a bookstore. Literally. She and her cousin, Ramona, had inherited the store from their paternal grandparents, who’d inherited the establishment decades earlier from his father.
Doreen’s excitement was tangible as she led Ean down the aisles. “With the money her grandparents left her, Megan has been able to modernize the store. It now has a Web presence so people can order books and specialty items online.”
“What about the money Mr. and Ms. McCloud left Ramona?” Ean looked around, fascinated by the new features cozying up to his childhood memories.
“Ramona used her inheritance to start her interior-design business.”
“I remember her telling me that.” Ean scanned the rows of bookcases made from the same dark wood that gleamed beneath his feet. Newly released titles were shelved beside perennial best sellers.
Everything was tidy and smelled of lemon wood polish. There was a rigid organization to the store that nevertheless contributed to the comfortable, inviting atmosphere.
“What types of specialty items has Meggie—Megan—stocked?”
“Mostly local artists’ crafts, like framed artwork, greeting cards and jewelry.” Doreen swept her arm in a semicircle that encompassed the store.
Ean paused at the end of the aisle, riveted by a painting on display. “Is that Ms. Helen’s work?”
“It certainly is.” Doreen beamed at the framed watercolor.
Ean scanned the glossy magazine covers as he followed Doreen past the periodicals. She led him toward the back of the bookstore, away from the comic-book stands lining the far left border between the store and the new café section. The display stirred memories. A vivid flashback of a heated debate between him, Quincy and Darius over who had the coolest superpower, Batman, Spider-Man or Superman? Twelve-year-old Megan McCloud, the self-appointed manager in training, warning him not to bend the pages of the comic book he was handling.
Ean trailed Doreen past the mystery and romance novels to the science-fiction and fantasy books. Some of the series lining those shelves had been stocked since his junior high years: Star Wars, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica. He’d spent countless Saturday afternoons among those books. They never went out of style.
“This is it.” Doreen seemed nervous and excited as she made the announcement. She crossed the threshold into a modest white-and-silver kitchen lined with modern, industrial equipment.
“Very impressive.” He didn’t know what he’d expected from his ex-girlfriend’s awkward younger cousin. But it hadn’t been this.
Ean circled the bright white-tiled kitchen floor. He pulled open the silver refrigerator door. It was well stocked with eggs, butter and other confectioner’s needs. The cupboards were positioned within reach for his much shorter mother.
He imagined her adding ingredients to the electric mixer before transferring the bakery pans into the industrial-sized oven. He could even hear her humming to herself as she moved around the room, just as she did at home. All of the equipment looked clean and well cared for. The room was a baker’s dream, one he hadn’t realized his mother had.
“This all looks good. It has everything you need.”
Doreen frowned. “You sound surprised.”
Ean shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jogging pants. “I never knew this is what you wanted to do.”
“Neither did I.” His mother’s voice was a whisper.
“When you said you worked in a bakery, I never realized you ran it, that you were the baker. Whenever I called, you talked about gardening, knitting and visiting with friends. But you never mentioned this. You never even mentioned Megan.”
“I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think it was a big deal. I know, Mom. But it is.” And it changed everything.
His mother had never before worked outside of the home. She didn’t have to. As a financial executive with the investment firm headquartered in the neighboring town, his father had made enough money to take care of his family. That left his mother with plenty of time to spend on him. Ean’s gaze swept the room and its many shiny appliances. It had replaced him as the focus of much, if not all, of his mother’s attention.
Doreen hung up her coat and shrugged into her apron. “Just because I have a job doesn’t mean I won’t be able to spend time with you.”
Ean frowned. Had his mother read his mind?
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Ean watched as she worked the room, gathering cooking utensils and ingredients with quick, practiced movements.
She spared him a smile from over her shoulder. “You know I don’t like people helping me in the kitchen. It throws me off my rhythm. Just sit down and keep me company.”
The words drew a chuckle from Ean. His mother had been telling him the same thing since he was six. That’s when he’d started offering to help with the baking, when all he’d really wanted was to lick the bowl.
He crossed to the corner of the kitchen and chose one of the two spindly honey wood chairs at the matching circular table. “That I can do.”
“Good. And you can also tell me the real reason you decided to quit your job and come home.”
Ean tensed. He hadn’t expected that question, at least not this soon. He didn’t know if he could answer. He opened his mouth to try, when they were interrupted.
“Who are you talking to?” The feminine voice was filled with laughter. It floated into the room just moments before its speaker.
Ean gingerly rose fr
om the decorative chair and turned toward the threshold.
The woman was tall, perhaps five inches shorter than his own six-foot-three. Her warm honey skin glowed under the harsh lights of the industrial kitchen. Thick dark hair fell in waves to her shoulders. She had a runner’s build, with long, slender limbs draped in a brown pantsuit. The suit’s style was nice, though the color was less than flattering. A wide matching brown belt cinched her tight waist.
She carried herself with a grace and confidence that fascinated Ean. And when she turned her startled chocolate gaze toward him, everything in the room receded, except her and the drowning sensation crashing over him.
Without a word or a movement, she’d pinned him in place. His heart slammed against his chest, again and again and again. Her eyes seemed to target the farthest corners of his heart and soul, searching for his secrets. He had an irresistible urge to share them with her.
Who was this woman?
“Meggie?” The question croaked from his dry throat.
She gave him a long, slow blink. “Megan.”
He studied her features, looking for the skittish girl in this confident woman. “You’ve grown up.”
“So have you.” Her voice was somber, different but familiar.
She’d always been so serious. More often than not, her face had been buried in a book recently purchased from her grandparents’ shop. Now Ean couldn’t take his eyes from the delicate features once hidden behind those pages.
How long had it been since he’d last seen her? “The last time I saw you, you were about fourteen. I was leaving for college.”
“Actually, I’d attended your father’s funeral in February. But it’s understandable that you wouldn’t remember.”
Stunned, Ean glanced at his mother. Doreen’s nearly imperceptible nod made him feel worse. “Thank you for attending.”
Megan forced herself not to fidget. Making polite conversation with a childhood crush should rank as one of the top ten worst things an adult would ever have to do. Ean’s olive green eyes locked with hers. The awkward fourteen-year-old who still lived inside her wanted to run and hide. The slightly-less-awkward twenty-eight-year-old she’d become stiffened her knees and held his gaze.
She took a calming breath. “I was sorry when your father died. He was one of my favorite people.”
Ean’s eyes never wavered from hers. “I hadn’t realized you’d known him that well.”
“He’d been my grandparents’ financial advisor and then mine. But he was also a good neighbor. He looked out for me after my grandparents died. I miss him.”
“Thank you. So do I.” Ean looked away.
Had she said something wrong?
Megan turned to Doreen, who was blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Doreen wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “No, dear. Don’t mind us. You said exactly the right thing.”
“Mom’s right.” Ean’s voice was kind. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The approval in his gaze went a long way toward relieving Megan’s concerns.
He’d certainly grown up in the almost fourteen years since he’d left town. He now carried in spades the appeal he’d had as a young man, an appeal that had tempted and tortured the young Megan. Her eyes traced the chiseled features beneath his copper skin, the wide forehead and square jaw that warned strangers of his stubborn personality. Yet his full lips always seemed on the verge of a wicked smile.
His body also had matured from the lanky student-athlete who had quarterbacked the high school football team to a man who wasn’t a stranger to a weight room.
Megan switched her gaze from Ean to Doreen. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ll leave you to finish catching up.”
Doreen chuckled. “Did you think I was talking to myself?”
Megan gave her friend a crooked smile. “You would have thought the same.”
Ean took a step toward her. “You’ve done a great job with the bookstore. Your grandparents would be proud.”
Megan caught her breath. Doreen was the only other person who’d ever said those words to her. But Doreen was her friend; then again, Ramona was her cousin. However, she’d never given her such praise.
Megan swallowed the lump in her throat. “You said exactly the right thing.” She turned to leave.
Ean’s voice stopped her again. “I have great memories of this store and your grandparents.”
Reluctantly, Megan turned back to him. “I never thanked you for the flowers you sent to their memorial service.” Ramona had, and Megan had convinced herself her cousin’s response was enough.
“My mother told me about the changes you’ve made to modernize the store. You’re a smart businesswoman.”
Megan thought she’d faint at Ean’s feet. “I’d better get back to work. I have a lot to do before we open the store.”
She trembled as she escaped to her office. The store wouldn’t open for another hour. She could have stayed to talk with Doreen. And Ean. No, she couldn’t have. Megan collapsed into the blue executive chair behind her desk. Each minute in Ean’s company had turned back time until she’d regressed to that fourteen-year-old girl confronted by her crush. His praise had taken her breath, and his olive eyes, focused just on her, had melted her insides.
Damn him.
Megan lowered her head into her hands. She couldn’t handle many more encounters like those. But how could she avoid him in a town this small? Her friends were his friends. His mother worked for her. They were bound to see each other. Often. And if Ean and Ramona picked up where they’d left off? Knowing her cousin, Megan was sure Ramona would show him off to her as often as possible.
Family rivalry was hell.
“The prodigal son returns to Trinity Falls.” Darius Knight’s voice came from just behind Ean.
A smile stretched Ean’s lips. He set his coffee mug on the counter and rose to greet his childhood friend. His smile broadened to a grin when he saw Quincy standing with Darius.
He shook both men’s hands and patted their shoulders. “I needed a break from you jokers.”
Darius snorted. “Then you came running back when you realized you couldn’t function without us.”
Ean stepped back to get a better look at the two men he hadn’t seen in almost a year. Not since his father’s funeral. He swallowed back that sad memory and focused on the pair’s annual visits to New York.
He’d been thick as thieves with Darius and Quincy since their days in the Pee Wee Football League. Darius had been the team’s prime-time tight end. Quincy had been its powerful running back. Now Darius was an intrepid reporter with the town’s daily newspaper, though he looked like he belonged on the nightly news. Quincy still looked more like a football player than a university history professor.
“I heard it was the other way around.” Ean waved a hand between the two friends. “The two of you couldn’t function without me.”
Darius shook his head in mock pity as he claimed a seat at the counter. “I’d check my sources if I were you, my friend.”
Ean chuckled. It was good to be home. He looked over his shoulder at Quincy. “How’ve you been, Quincy?”
“The same since we last spoke a month ago.” Quincy took a seat on the other side of Darius.
Ean’s smile wavered at the other man’s short tone. “I feel as though I’ve walked into a time warp. You both look the same.”
Darius’s eyes twinkled with evil intent. “You look older.”
Ean broke into laughter. Darius hadn’t changed. It was like being back on his front porch with his friends after school, sharing dreams and swapping insults.
Quincy shifted in his seat, staring down at the gray-and-white–marble countertop. “I’m sorry the town seems so prosaic to you. Maybe you should have stayed in New York.”
Ean frowned. He opened his mouth to respond but was forestalled by his mother’s appearance.
Doreen liberated two mugs from the collection behind the counte
r. “And how are you young men this morning?”
Darius and Quincy returned his mother’s greeting with an easy familiarity as she gave them each a mug. This morning’s meeting seemed a comfortable habit for the three of them. The sting of envy deepened the frown across Ean’s brow. For months, his childhood friends and his ex-girlfriend’s younger cousin had shared breakfast with his mother almost every morning. Meanwhile, he’d been in New York chasing an adolescent’s dream.
“Do you two want the usual this morning?” His mother’s question confirmed his suspicions.
Darius smiled up at Doreen as she filled his mug with coffee. “Yes, please.”
Doreen quirked an eyebrow. “Darius Knight, that innocent smile didn’t fool me when you were a child. And it certainly doesn’t fool me now. My son’s return doesn’t give you a free pass to cause havoc like you three did as children.”
Darius lifted the mug to his smiling lips. “Your suspicions wound me, Ms. Doreen.”
Doreen tipped the coffee carafe to pour the hot, fragrant drink into Quincy’s mug. “Quincy was always the sensible one. But he had his hands full, trying to keep the two of you out of trouble.”
Darius pretended to choke on his coffee. “Don’t let his quiet demeanor fool you. Some of those misadventures were Quincy’s idea.”
Quincy lifted his mug of black coffee. “I don’t remember it that way.”
Ean offered his mother a smile as she topped off his drink. “Thank you.”
Quincy’s surly manner stood out against the friendly banter around the counter. Darius seemed oblivious of the tension surrounding their friend. Was Quincy always this grumpy in the morning? For his students’ sakes, Ean hoped the professor didn’t schedule any early-morning classes.
Doreen returned with a white Books & Bakery paper bag she handed to Quincy. “One Trinity Falls Fudge Walnut Brownie, fresh from the oven.” She turned to the other customers at the counter. “Your orders will be right up.”
As Doreen returned to the kitchen, Darius reached for the bag.
“Touch it and die.” Quincy scowled at the other man. “If you want a brownie, order your own. Why are you always going after mine?”
