A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance)

by Rochon, Farrah

  “Don’t call it my cleanup day. I just suggested it, but I can’t take the lead on this.”

  “Why not?” Corey asked, mimicking her stance as he leaned against the back door and crossed his ankles. “You just said yesterday that you don’t have anything to do over at Mrs. Eloise’s. And I already offered to help out. Why don’t we get together tomorrow afternoon after I’m done with baseball practice? We can go over ideas.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Spending time with you,” she clarified when he looked confused.

  “Come on, Mya. I’m not that bad.”

  “You, Corey Anderson, are the very definition of bad.”

  “Well, I am one of those Anderson boys,” he said.

  “It has nothing to do with you being one of those Anderson boys. You know that’s not the kind of bad I’m talking about.”

  He flashed that smile again, and she went liquid. God, how could he still have this effect on her?

  “Admit it,” he said in a low, way-too-sexy-for-her-own-good voice. “You like being bad with me.”

  She swallowed deep. “Liked. Past tense,” Mya said. “And, yes, I liked it way too much.”

  Looking over at him, she tilted her head to the side. There was a time when the man standing next to her could get her to do just about anything. He was just a boy back then, but he had consumed her every waking thought. Mya was sure he had no idea the power he wielded over her. She would have moved heaven and earth to please him.

  A smile touching her lips, she shook her head. “You always were my favorite mistake.”

  He covered his chest as if she’d struck him. “Ouch. A mistake? That’s harsh, Peaches.”

  Mya didn’t bother to correct him. As frightening as it was to admit, she got a slight thrill at hearing the long-ago nickname roll so effortlessly off his tongue. Memories of other times he’d whispered that name in her ear sent tendrils of heat cascading along her skin.

  It was a bad idea to allow those thoughts to invade her mind.

  “I need to go,” Mya said with an abrupt start. “Grandma is expecting a report on tonight’s meeting.”

  She opened the car door, but Corey reached across the open space, bracing his hand on the doorjamb. “Are we meeting tomorrow?” he asked. “Just to discuss plans. I promise.”

  That word slapped her in the face. Sobering, Mya said, “From what I remember, your promises aren’t always kept.”

  He dropped his hands, along with the smile that had been on his lips. “Mya,” he said with a defeated sigh.

  She didn’t wait for the rest of his response as she ducked into the car. Slipping behind the wheel, she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

  * * *

  Mya knocked gently on the door to her grandmother’s hospital room, not wanting to disturb her if she was sleeping.

  “Come in,” Aunt Mo called.

  She pushed the door open and laughed at the sight before her. A serious game of cards was in progress, and judging by the pile of cotton balls stacked on Grandma’s side of the small tray table, she was whipping Aunt Mo’s butt.

  “All this place needs is dim lighting and a haze of hovering cigar smoke,” Mya said.

  “Just let me win this hand,” Grandma said. “Then you can fill me in on what happened tonight.”

  A minute later, Aunt Mo was pushing away from the bed and mumbling about cheaters. Mya took her spot, gathering the cotton balls and placing them in the plastic bin that was supposed to serve as a washtub.

  “First things first,” Mya said. “What did the doctors tell you today?”

  “My sugar is under control,” Grandma announced. “All four readings today were in the safe range, so it looks as if I’ll be changing to this new insulin.”

  “And the anemia?”

  “The doctor thinks it’ll be okay if she adds more iron to her diet,” Aunt Mo said from the recliner that had served as her bed for the past two nights. “They’re discharging her tomorrow morning.”

  Mya’s shoulders slumped with relief. “That’s wonderful.”

  “I don’t know about that,” her grandmother said. “Are you going back to New York now that I’m on my way home?” The layer of guilt in those words was thicker than molasses.

  “I don’t think I’ll be leaving that soon,” Mya sighed. “Especially now that I’m the head of the Gauthier Civic Association’s Cleanup Day.”

  A whoop of laughter came from Aunt Mo. “What did those women talk you into?”

  Mya gave them the rundown on the night’s meeting, with Grandma stopping her to interject comments. Her eyes beamed with pride when Mya told her about her suggestion to get the community involved in sprucing up Main Street, and how the entire group loved it.

  “That is exactly what this town needs,” Grandma said. She covered Mya’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for agreeing to do this.”

  If her grandmother knew how close Mya had been to bolting from that classroom, she wouldn’t be looking at her as if she were Mother Teresa reincarnated.

  “It isn’t that big of a deal,” Mya said, smoothing the edges on the thin bedsheet before pushing up from the chair.

  “Yes, it is,” her grandmother said. “Main Street is the heart of this community. If those developers see how strong the support is for local business, then maybe we can get them to stop sniffing around.”

  Mya crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you have to say about your new best friend, Corey, being the new store’s biggest cheerleader?”

  Her grandmother shot her a frustrated scowl. “I’ve tried to tell him better, but he’s hardheaded.”

  “He says the developers plan to work with the local businesses.”

  That statement got her another disapproving glower. “They say that now, but I know how these big companies work. They’ll drop their prices until no one else can compete with them, and after they’ve run all the other stores out of business, that’s when they’ll jack the prices up.” Her grandmother wagged a finger at her. “You mark my words. If we let those developers set up shop here, it’ll be the beginning of the end of this town as we know it.”

  Mya leaned over and kissed her grandmother’s forehead. “You don’t have to worry about that. Gauthier isn’t going anywhere.”

  Mya was taken aback by the comfort that accompanied that thought. For someone who had spent most of her youth itching to flee this town, she couldn’t deny the sense of security she’d derived in seeing that so much of Gauthier had remained the same. This town—these people—would always be a part of her.

  Despite the disruption it would cause to her nicely structured life, Mya knew she wouldn’t be buying a return ticket to New York anytime soon. New York would always be there. She owed it to Gauthier to make sure the same could be said for her hometown.

  Chapter 6

  Corey gulped down half the cup of sweetened iced tea as he read over the expense reports from last season’s games. The school board’s financial director had warned him that Gauthier High’s athletic department would probably face budget cuts. He was preparing himself for when probably became definitely.

  “You look like someone just stole your bicycle.”

  Corey’s head popped up. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched Mya stroll toward the wooden picnic table he’d commandeered underneath the carport at Jessie’s. She looked good enough to eat.

  “Just work,” he said, closing the manila folder and scooting over on the bench to make a spot for her. She walked over to the other side and sat across from him. That was probably for the best. For the past few days, he hadn’t been thinking straight when it came to Mya.

  “I can’t believe this place hasn’t been shut down yet,” she remarked, her eyes roaming around the open-
air carport that was attached to Jessie LeBlanc’s wood-frame house. “I’m no expert on Louisiana state law, but I believe it’s illegal to run a restaurant out of your home’s kitchen.”

  “And that’s supposed to stop Jessie?” Corey laughed. “She caters the Policemen’s Banquet every year.”

  “Gotta love small towns where things like proper licenses and permits don’t matter.”

  “Can you smell that fried fish? Who cares whether or not she has a permit?” Corey rose from the picnic table and entered through the screen door that led to the back porch. Rapping lightly on the open kitchen door, he ordered two plates of fried catfish with a side of potato salad and two sweetened iced teas.

  When he returned to the table, Mya was gazing toward the huge oak tree in Jessie’s backyard, a wistful smile tilting her lips.

  “I know why you’re smiling,” Corey said as he slid onto the bench.

  She brought her gaze to him and quirked a brow.

  He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. Heavy on the husky, he murmured, “Junior year. Gauthier versus Slidell High School. I hit three home runs, and you rewarded me over by that oak tree.”

  Her smile broadened as she slid a heavy-lidded gaze back toward the tree. “Everyone was sitting here under the carport eating burgers. They never even realized we were gone.”

  “And we just slipped right back here after we were done,” Corey said, his gut tightening at the memory.

  “You talked me into doing the wildest things,” Mya murmured.

  “Nah-uh.” Corey shook his head. “That time, you’re the one who did the talking. I was sitting over there with the guys.” He pointed to the spot where Jessie used to keep an ice chest filled with free sodas for the team. “You caught my attention and lured me over to that oak tree.”

  Her eyes widened and her grin turned into a full-on smile. “I remember now,” she said.

  “You seduced me, Mya Dubois. I was like an innocent little lamb being led to slaughter.”

  She barked out a laugh. “Don’t even try it. Everything I knew about seduction, I learned from you.”

  Corey reached across the table and fingered her slim wrist. “I taught you well.”

  The pulse beneath her delicate skin escalated as his gaze silently, steadily bore into hers. As the heat of the shared memory burned hotter than the midday sun, Corey leaned forward, the impulse to taste her mouth overriding his senses.

  The minute his lips met hers, he was catapulted back in time, to an era when his entire world revolved around getting to do this very thing as much as possible. He traced his tongue along Mya’s lips, urging them to part. When they did, Corey dove into the moist warmth, probing, seeking, unearthing her unique flavor.

  Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, reacquainting himself with a mouth he had not tasted in fifteen long years. She tasted just as he remembered—sweet with a hint of spice.

  With a pained moan, Mya abruptly pulled away from him.

  “Stop this, Corey,” she said, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths. “I’m not going there with you again, so just stop it.”

  Corey suppressed the curse on the tip of his tongue. She was resisting him. He refused to believe she was immune to these rekindled feelings.

  He wouldn’t call her on it...yet. But he would prove that she was as affected by him as he was by her.

  He flipped the pages of his notebook until he found a clean sheet. “Are we ready to get started?” he asked.

  With a shaky hand—evidence that she had been affected by their kiss—Mya gestured to the folders sprawled out on the picnic table. “Did you have something else you needed to finish?” She pulled a pen and paper from the bag she’d brought with her.

  “Not really,” Corey said. “This paperwork isn’t going anywhere. I’ll get it done tomorrow.”

  She shot him a quizzical look. “I always wondered what coaches did during the day while their players are in class.”

  “This coach teaches economics and American history,” Corey answered. He was pretty sure the shocked expression on her face should have offended him, but it was too funny for him to be upset.

  He nodded. “Believe it or not, I’m good for something other than swinging a baseball bat and hot-wiring cars. Who would have thought, huh?”

  That garnered him a chastising frown. “Stop that,” she said. “You know I never thought you were only good for swinging a baseball bat.”

  “What about hot-wiring cars?”

  “I’m being serious, Corey. I thought you dropped out of college to play in the major leagues?” she asked.

  “I left after my junior year, but I continued to take classes during the off-season until I earned my degree.”

  “I had no idea.” She fiddled with a couple of salt and pepper packets that had been left on the picnic table. “Do you miss it?” she asked after a few moments had passed.

  “Baseball?” Corey shrugged. “Of course I do. Baseball was my life.”

  “I watched your games whenever I could,” she said. “Both while you were in college and when you joined the Arizona Diamondbacks.”

  Corey fully owned the joy that single admission induced. He had always hoped she’d kept tabs on him once she left Gauthier, but he’d had too much pride to inquire from her grandmother whether Mya asked about him when she called home.

  “Those were good times,” he said. “But I’m enjoying coaching. When the doctors told me my shoulder injury was career-ending, I thought the game would be lost to me forever. It’s pretty satisfying to be able to put my baseball knowledge to good use, you know?”

  Why was he telling her all of this? She’d asked him to help come up with a plan for sprucing up Main Street, not recap his life story. Maybe if she didn’t look so damn interested in what he was saying, he’d shut up.

  Thankfully, Jessie’s granddaughter appeared, balancing two plates of perfectly fried catfish and rounded scoops of potato salad along with two plastic cups of iced tea.

  “So, what are your thoughts for this cleanup day?” Corey asked as he broke off a piece of fish, more than ready to shift the topic of conversation away from himself.

  Mya stared at him for a moment longer, then mercifully flipped the cover open on her notepad. “I jotted down a few ideas. Most of the stores do a good job taking care of their own property, but the public areas could use some work. We don’t have a huge budget to work with, but if we can get enough people to pitch in with the labor, we can use our dollars for other things.

  “I’m going to try to solicit as many donations as possible. I talked to Campbell’s Nursery over in Bogalusa, and the owner is willing to sell us seedlings and bulbs at cost. We’re going to add shrubbery around the base of the lampposts and some more flowers to the landscaping in Heritage Park.”

  “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

  Mya shrugged. “Grandma and I were talking about it earlier today. She was so excited. I guess she’s rubbing off on me.”

  As they feasted on fried catfish and diabetes-inducing sweet iced tea, they broke the cleaning tasks into categories and estimated how many people would be needed for each group in order to get the work done.

  “You won’t have a problem convincing your players to pitch in, will you?”

  “Don’t worry about the team,” Corey said. “And I’m pretty sure you’ll get people from the area churches to help out.”

  “You’re right. No town rallies behind a cause quite like Gauthier. I still remember when that political group from up north tried to stop the living nativity from taking place in Heritage Park.”

  “People take their Christmas celebrations seriously around here.”

  Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Speaking of celebrations, I need to head over to the library. I promised
Grandma I would help write the town’s history for the pamphlet she wants to put together for the anniversary celebration. Hey, you think Leroy Gauthier would have some info? Maybe I should stop in at his law office.”

  “Leroy Gauthier is an appellate court judge in New Orleans. His son Matthew took over the family practice.”

  “Little Matt Gauthier?”

  “He’s not all that little. He was only a few years behind us,” Corey said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to ask. The town is named after their family, after all. Maybe he has some old stories passed down at reunions that the rest of us don’t know about.”

  She pushed her empty plate to the side and flipped the cover on her notepad. The sight of her preparing to leave pinched his chest. “You’re not going to have any of Jessie’s bread pudding?” Corey asked, trying to think of any reason to get her to stay just a few minutes longer.

  “It’s bad enough I wolfed down that fried fish,” she said. “I’ll need to jog from here to Maplesville to work off this food.”

  Corey dragged his eyes in a deliberately slow perusal up and down Mya’s incredibly toned body. At thirty-two she was in better shape than someone half her age.

  “Your body is one thing you don’t have to worry about,” he said.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Corey.”

  “How am I looking at you?”

  “Like you’ve decided I would be a better dessert than Jessie’s bread pudding.”

  They were just words, but the image they brought to mind made him harder than forged steel. His tongue darted out of his mouth, and he licked his lips, remembering the taste a fifteen-year dearth could not obliterate.

  “It’s not even a question,” he said. “Just let me know when you’re ready to get on the menu.”

  He was well acquainted with that glazed look that came over her eyes. He had rendered her speechless with his lips and fingers and tongue enough times to know her body’s every reaction.

  Trying to start up anything with Mya was just asking for frustration and heartache. His rational side knew it as fact, but the part of him that burned like a bonfire for her was waging an all-out campaign to get into Mya Dubois’s pants. It was as if the raging hormones of the guys on his baseball team had somehow rubbed off on him. He was a grown man. He shouldn’t be sporting wood after a few minutes of light flirting and one kiss. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t hard as a brick. Only Mya could have this effect on him.