Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Kristin Billerbeck, Kristy Dykes, Aisha Ford, Birdie L. Etchison, Pamela Griffin, Joyce Livingston, Tamela Hancock Murray

  “Do you want me to stay, Ryan?”

  He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  They were alone on the sidewalk, no neighbors in sight. Feeling suddenly daring but a little anxious, too, Erica closed the distance between them until she was within touching distance. “But what do you want?” she insisted softly.

  “Whatever you want.” He looked beyond her, avoiding her eyes.

  Clamping a tight lid over her fear of being rejected, Erica spoke. “Well then, if you really mean that, what I want is for you to stop treating me like I’m nothing more than Wes’s kid sister—when I think what you really want is to kiss me as much as I want you to.”

  Sudden flames burned within his eyes, rivaling the heat she felt in her face at blurting the bold words. Yet after weeks of his coming around to see her, and not always Wes, what was Erica to think? Especially considering the longing in his eyes when she’d caught him looking at her, time and again.

  “So now you’re playing counselor?” His voice sounded as if he needed to clear it.

  She’d already stepped over the line of embarrassment. Might as well rush all the way in and hope she wasn’t acting too much the fool. “I’m just telling you how I feel, Ryan. I think you like me as much as I like you. But for some reason you don’t want to admit it.”

  He inhaled a swift breath, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake. What if she’d misread his actions?

  An eternal moment stretched between them. Just when Erica was ready to escape back to the house, he gently brushed his gloved fingertips across her jaw, pushing back a thin strand of long hair that had connected with the corner of her mouth.

  “I do like you, Erica. But let’s take this slow and easy. Please?”

  How slow was slow? And easy? Patience was never an easy virtue for Erica, but she nodded, trying to understand his point of view. Okay, maybe she was trying to push things between them too fast. She’d never had any real and lasting relationships with either her adoptive parents or her few former boyfriends. Maybe her desire to experience the joy of a truly loving relationship spurred her into jumping in the middle of love’s shining sea, when she should just carefully wade out through its shallow waters. The waters beyond could be tumultuous if one wasn’t prepared—hadn’t her school chums told her that? She didn’t want an icy and unexpected wave to overtake her before she could get a grip on her life or her feelings. She wanted the waters to ease around her, warm and inviting, like being immersed in the hot springs up to her neck.

  Wes and Stacy had taken her for a daylong trip to the hot springs weeks ago, and Erica loved them. That’s what she wanted her experience with Ryan to be like—a love that was warm, tender, and soothing, like the springs. But one that was bubbling up, effervescent, and alive, too! Until then, she would just have to be patient. Too bad they didn’t offer a course on patience online, like they did cooking classes.

  “How about we get that hot chocolate?” Ryan asked, breaking Erica from her thoughts. He held out his hand for her to take.

  Confused, Erica studied him, caught his faint smile, then returned it and clasped his gloved hand. “You’re on.”

  The lighthearted mood back, they strolled down the sidewalk. Feeling silly, Erica swung their clenched hands between them in exaggerated arcs as if they were two young kids, until she had him laughing and they were both bantering again.

  Later that night, once Ryan left, Erica jotted an e-mail to Cynthia, her online cooking instructor.

  I blew it, Teacher—I really blew it. I don’t think I’m cut out to be another Sara Lee or Betty Crocker. Just call me Butterfingers—or better yet—The Cookie Cremator. This “substitute queen” really blew it.

  She went on to type out all that happened then sent the post. She was surprised when the computer bell dinged not five minutes later, telling her she had mail. It was from Cynthia.

  Erica,

  First rule of baking, and one that will save you a great deal of embarrassment in the future: always sample your creations before serving them to guests.

  Erica felt the blush heat her face. She should have known better. Ryan had walked into the kitchen at the same time the cookies came out of the oven, and Erica was so excited about her treat for him, she’d offered them without taste-testing first. She read the remainder of the post.

  Don’t feel bad. Every cook—especially one so new to baking as yourself—has her moments. I could tell you of a few embarrassing mistakes that I made when I first started, like the time I lifted the beaters while the mixer was still going. But I better not say more, lest you lose respect for your teacher. And I do understand your reasons for needing to substitute, but try not to do too much of that if you possibly can. If you’re unsure about the suitability of your substitute, please contact me. I would be more than happy to help or offer any suggestions I can.

  Happy cooking! (And it will get better. I promise.)

  Cynthia Lyons

  Erica smiled. The woman was such an encourager. Maybe Erica would make it through this course, if not with flying colors, then with crawling ones. She groaned at her lame joke and punched out a reply to Cynthia.

  Chapter 6

  H earing a knock at the door, Ryan pushed the mute button on the TV remote and went to answer. “Wes,” he said with some surprise when he saw his visitor, whom he’d seen only that morning. “Everything okay?”

  Wes walked into Ryan’s apartment, hands in his jacket pockets, and eyed the place as if he’d never seen it before. Ryan moved to pick up his jacket that he’d tossed over the chair and shoved his shoes under the coffee table with his socked foot. Empty, food-speckled cardboard containers from Ming-Lee’s Chinese Restaurant were strewn over the coffee table from dinner, and he swiped them together, walking with his armload to the kitchen trash.

  “What’s up?” he asked once he returned. Wes still hadn’t taken the seat Ryan cleared for him. Ryan looked at the brown vinyl cushion to make sure nothing else was there. He was no housekeeper, as all his friends knew, and generally picked up around the apartment once a week since he was rarely home. His sisters jokingly called him a hopeless slob, but he didn’t think he was as bad as all that.

  “I need to talk with you about Erica.” Wes remained standing a few feet inside the door. He seemed uncomfortable, and Ryan thought he understood. Wes must need counseling. Maybe things between him and his newfound sister weren’t as smooth sailing as Ryan had assumed from seeing them together these past weeks.

  Ryan adopted his understanding, counselor expression. “Come on in the rest of the way and sit down.” He reclaimed his sunken spot on the vinyl couch.

  Wes finally moved and took a seat on the matching chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve been over to see Erica a lot lately.”

  “Yeah?” Taken aback, Ryan copied Wes’s sitting position, waiting to see where this conversation was going.

  Wes compressed his mouth. “I’m just wondering where all this is leading and what you’ve got in mind.”

  In disbelief, Ryan stared at his old friend some seconds before he answered. “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me what my intentions are toward your sister?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “Wes, this is me you’re talking to. Your best buddy from high school.” Ryan tried to remain calm, though he felt justifiably upset. “We’ve known each other since we were in Little League together. We go to the same church, and for the past five years, I’ve come to your house every Sunday to eat dinner with your family. And now you’re telling me that you don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Wes began to bounce one leg in his nervousness. “It’s just that I care about Erica. Stacey said she’s uncertain about everything right now and is trying so hard to fit in with our family. I feel sorry for the poor kid. I know she’s scared to face the past. Whenever I bring it up, she cuts me off and changes the subject.” A trace of a smile
lifted his thin lips. “She’s trying hard to please you, too, what with those awful desserts she makes. No one wants to hurt her feelings and tell her she’s no cook. So we force the food down anyway. But she does it all—the cookies, the pastries, the pies—for you. Stacey told me that’s the only reason Erica enrolled in the cooking class. To please you.”

  Ryan squirmed. He hadn’t known that. He remembered the tart, stringy rhubarb concoction that followed last Sunday’s meal and his polite comment that he was too full, after taking the first awful bite that made his lips pucker. In the future, he resolved to be a more gracious guest. Even if he had to get his stomach pumped afterward, he didn’t want to hurt Erica’s feelings.

  “Normally I wouldn’t have told you and risk embarrassing Erica should she find out. But I don’t want her hurt, Ryan. You haven’t exactly dated anyone since high school, so your sudden interest in Erica is puzzling, to say the least. You were a regular Fonz in our sophomore and junior year, dating a different girl every weekend. The sudden switcheroo from wildly popular with the chicks to sworn off them for good confused me.”

  Ryan’s face heated. He didn’t like to be reminded of his past. “So what you’re saying, basically, is that for you to see me with Erica sets off all sorts of mental alarms because you think I may have resorted to my old ways? The big bad wolf ’s waiting for his chance to gobble up your little sister?” Ryan was unable to keep the bitter sarcasm from his voice. Again, he forced himself to maintain self-control. After all, Wes didn’t know the entire story. Ryan never told him.

  “Wes, I’m a practicing Christian now. I wasn’t then. I’m also a high school counselor and need to keep my reputation squeaky clean. If I didn’t abide by what I tell those kids, then I wouldn’t be much of an example, would I?”

  Wes placed his palms on his knees and stood, evidently tense. “I know all that, but you’re confusing Erica. Stacey’s had a number of talks with her, and Erica doesn’t know how you feel about her or even where the relationship is going, if there is one. Her words, not mine.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it?”

  “Tell her.”

  The answer was so obvious Ryan should have figured it out himself. Yet to tell Erica would mean to break a confidence, to share a secret. And the only way he would do that was to seek permission first, obtained through a long-distance phone call. The thought made him suddenly tired.

  “You’re right. I should’ve said something long ago.”

  Wes chuckled, and Ryan looked up from staring at the faded ring on the coffee table. “What’s so funny?” Humor escaped him at the moment.

  “I do believe this is the first time I’ve ever counseled you, old buddy.”

  Ryan grinned. “Even counselors need advice sometimes.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  “None taken.”

  “Good.” Wes moved to the door and put his hand on the knob. He looked over his shoulder. “See you at dinner Sunday?”

  “Not this time around. I need to take care of some things.”

  “I understand.”

  Once Wes left, Ryan sank back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling. It would be better for Erica if he made himself absent for a while. He enjoyed her company, but after learning what he had, he didn’t feel right about continuing his visits. She wanted them to be more than friends, and Ryan just couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Erica moved through the small crowd flocking the bake sale tables of the church cafeteria and spotted Stacey. “Have you seen Ryan?”

  “No.” Stacey’s gaze fell to the plate of brownies in Erica’s hand. “Just find any old spot to put those down.”

  “Oh, these aren’t for the sale. The ones I made for the fund-raiser are over there already. I put these aside for Ryan.”

  Stacey’s brow wrinkled. “Erica, Wes and I think there’s something you should know….”

  Erica looked past her, catching sight of a tall auburn-haired man in a beige polo shirt near the glass doors. “There he is. Sorry, Stacey, but I need to catch him before he leaves.” She weaved through the hungry buyers and hurried out the door, catching up to Ryan on the sidewalk.

  “Oh—hey, Erica.”

  Wasn’t he glad to see her? He seemed tense. “Are you coming over for dinner?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

  “I suppose I could. I do need to talk to you about something. Or we could talk now.”

  “Now’s not a good time.” If they talked now, he wouldn’t come for dinner, Erica somehow knew. “I should go collect the kids from children’s church. Stacey has her hands full with the bake sale. So, I’ll see you later.” She gave him a bright smile and hurried away, then realized she still held his plate of brownies. She would just give them to him after dinner.

  The next few hours plodded by for Erica, but Ryan did come to dinner. He was quieter than usual, though he laughed at Billy’s corny jokes and gave the proper amount of interested admiration to the new dress on the doll Peggy shoved toward his face. After the dishes were cleared away, the family scattered, leaving Erica and Ryan alone. Sure their absence was intentional, Erica suddenly felt nervous. Quickly, she retrieved the plate of brownies from the counter and set it in front of him.

  “I made these for you,” she explained.

  He looked at the dark squares beneath the pink cellophane for so long Erica wondered if he’d heard her. Finally, he lifted a corner of the plastic wrap and picked up the smallest brownie. Substitutions had been necessary again, but this time Erica was pleased with the results.

  Ryan took a nibble and chewed. Surprise lifted his eyebrows, and he took a much bigger bite. “These are all right.” He sounded as if he didn’t quite believe it.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” Erica smiled in relief. “I had to substitute again. We didn’t have vegetable oil, so one of the girls in my online cooking class told me that applesauce works just as well.”

  Ryan took another bite and stared at the brownie as if puzzled. He sniffled softly, as though his nose was starting to run. “It doesn’t have any apple taste to it. But it does have a flavor that’s unique.”

  “That’s probably the carrots.”

  “Carrots?” Slowly, Ryan lowered the brownie. He sniffled again, harder this time.

  “Stacey didn’t have applesauce, either—the baby ate it all. And since this recipe was for an assignment, I had to bake it this week. So, because Lance’s baby food is like the consistency of applesauce, I figured a jar of carrots would work just as good. Carrot cake is delicious, so I thought it would work okay….” Her words trailed off, uncertain.

  The strangest expression came over his face. “It did work, except for one thing. I’m allergic to carrots.”

  “Allergic?” Years ago, a former classmate of Erica’s had been rushed to the emergency room because of a severe reaction to shellfish. Erica knew food allergies were nothing to tamper with. “Oh, Ryan, I’m so sorry! Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

  “No, I’m okay.” He pushed the plate of brownies far from him, as if even being near the dark squares could make it worse. “The reactions I’ve had have never been severe. Just annoying.”

  His voice sounded funny, as if his nasal passages or throat were getting clogged. Were his eyes watering?

  “Maybe if you drank some water it would help? And if you went outside, maybe the fresh air would help clear your sinuses?”

  “Maybe.” Ryan rose from the table to fill a glass with water. He drank it down and refilled it two more times.

  Spring warmed the days, though it was still cool enough for a sweater. Erica excused herself to grab one, then joined Ryan in the spacious backyard. An abundance of green-leafed oaks, maples, and gum trees filled the surrounding area. Instead of a fence, a high row of bushes acted as a boundary line all around. Ryan stuck his hands in his pockets and moved across the grass. Erica walked beside him.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?”
Ryan asked. “About living here?”

  At least he sounded a little better. “I thought, for now, I might apply at Jewel’s Mini-mart. They’re looking for a cashier.”

  “Then you’ve decided to move to Preston Corners?”

  “Yes. Wes and Stacey want me to, and I do, too. When I’m ready to dig deeper into the past, if I’m ever ready, I want them nearby. It’ll only take a week or so to make arrangements to move my things here. When I can afford it, I saw the most darling apartment complex near Wes’s.” She looked at him and gasped. “Oh, no!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your face!” She stood within a foot of where he was standing and reached out to touch his jaw. “You’ve got a patch of little pink bumps on your cheek.”

  “A rash,” he said weakly and lifted his fingers to scratch it. “Sometimes it happens when I accidentally ingest carrots or any member of the parsley family. Avocados, too.”

  “You don’t know how sorry I am about all this.” Before she could think twice, Erica moved to place a sympathetic kiss on the unaffected area at the corner of his mouth near the growing rash. She felt him startle, but otherwise he didn’t move. She pulled back to look at him. “Forgive me for poisoning you?”

  “Erica, that’s a little harsh. Besides, there’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t know.”

  They were standing so close she had to tip her head back to see his face. She lifted her hand to his opposite cheek. “At least this side’s okay,” she whispered.

  “That’s good.” His reply came low. They stared at each other a long moment before his head began to lower. At the brush of his lips across hers, her heart jumped. As he allowed them to linger, an electric-like warmth tingled through her. Suddenly he jerked back, as if the physical contact now alarmed him.

  “Ryan?” She felt confused. “What’s wrong?”