The Heavenly Bites Novella Collection

by Christine S. Feldman

  “Mmm. Maybe later.” Doyle went over to stand beside the bed. “Uncle Theo, Delia. Happy Valentine’s Day.” And then when Gram reached upward with her free hand and beckoned, he stooped down to let her cup his cheek and kiss it, smiling at her as she did so.

  It was a very simple thing, but the unexpected sweetness of it left Aimee with an astonishingly powerful desire to try cupping his face between her own hands—albeit to kiss him in a very different way. Funny, the things that could get a girl hot and bothered.

  Doyle glanced around the room at the numerous paper hearts and cupids on the walls and then reached to run a streamer between his fingers. “You?” he asked Aimee as he let the streamer slip free.

  She nodded.

  “A lucky guess.” He gave her a wry smile before turning his attention to his uncle again. “You’re in good spirits. Not hiding a celebratory bottle of champagne from the nurses are you?”

  “No need. Not with the right company.” Theodore gave Gram a sly look. “Now hush, boy, I’m busy wooing.” And he started serenading Gram again right along with Sinatra.

  Doyle held his hands up in defeat and backed away, a move that brought him next to Aimee.

  “Hi,” she said to him, rather enjoying the effect his proximity seemed to be having on her. “Glad you made it.”

  He nodded once, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Could you and I step outside for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  “Make it two or three,” Theodore called after them as Aimee led the way out.

  The hallway was quiet except for the faint sounds of conversation emanating from a room that was several doors down from them. Doyle closed Theodore’s door behind him and then turned to face Aimee.

  “They seem very happy,” he said, nodding toward the room and its occupants. “And I’m sure it’s the first time in a long time my uncle has actually celebrated Valentine’s Day. At least, with someone else.”

  “Same with Gram,” Aimee said, feeling immensely grateful just then to Theodore.

  “Thank you for making the day special for him.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He studied her as if only just beginning to figure her out. “It is, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t know quite how to respond to that, so she didn’t try. “You’re still worried, aren’t you?” she asked, recognizing the familiar tension in his posture.

  He nodded, and she thought again how tired he looked.

  “The doctor said he’s recovering well, Doyle. You don’t—”

  “I don’t need to worry?” he interrupted, smiling grimly. “Easier said than done. I do worry about him—and about her.”

  “Gram?”

  “Yes. Because if this happens again, it will affect her now, too. Because she’s in it, now. She’s involved. I know you probably think I’m overreacting, but—”

  “No.”

  Her answer made him do a double take. “No?”

  “No,” she said again. “I get it. Kind of hard to go through everything that’s happened this week and not get it, don’t you think?”

  He didn’t answer. Maybe he thought one rough week hardly qualified her to weigh in on the subject.

  Then again, she knew a little more about it now than he realized. “Theodore told me about your mom.”

  Doyle grew very still. “I see.”

  “So, no, I’m not going to give you a hard time about worrying. I’m sorry, Doyle. This week must have been hell for you.”

  His jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

  “If something happened to Gram, I’d be a mess. I understand wanting to protect them, especially after this week. I hovered over Gram so much I think I drove her nuts. I’m still hovering a little,” she admitted. “And part of me wished she’d never met Theodore when I saw how hard this was on her. But then I realized something.”

  “Which was?”

  “She’d have missed out on that.” Aimee nodded toward the door to Theodore’s room. Strains of Theodore’s increasingly bad singing floated to them through the closed door along with Gram’s laughter.

  Some of the tension in Doyle’s frame lessened as he listened to the sounds of their merriment. “The nurses are going to kick him out of here if he keeps that up much longer,” he said gruffly with what Aimee thought was an admirable attempt on his part at humor.

  “Not a chance. He’s got them wrapped around his finger.”

  He grunted. “That I can believe.”

  They stood in silence for a long moment, just listening to the twosome on the other side of the door.

  “I almost cost him this, didn’t I?” Doyle said abruptly, and he slumped back against the wall with a sigh. “If I’d had my way, he’d be shut up at home alone today instead of…” He trailed off.

  “Wooing?”

  That drew a faint smile from him, and he gave her an appreciative look.

  “Might be time to cut the apron strings,” she said, softening her voice as if to soften the reality of the facts. “Hard as that might be.”

  He nodded, but his expression turned troubled again.

  “You know,” Aimee said after a moment, “you’re not at all who I thought you were. Well, you are a little, but not for the reasons I expected.”

  Doyle gave her a questioning look.

  “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time before. About being wound too tightly, I mean.”

  “Ah.”

  “And for implying you were allergic to fun.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “And for saying we could shove a lump of coal up inside you and find a diamond there the next day.”

  Her words drew a startled huff of laughter from him, which was what she’d intended. “When did you say that?”

  She grinned. “I might have just thought that one in my head.”

  “I see.” The unexpected laugh had faded into a smile, but she thought a little more of his guard had faded away with it. “Well, you aren’t quite what I expected, either.”

  “That is a compliment, right?”

  He pretended to consider. “Mostly.”

  Had he just made another attempt at humor? That was encouraging. But there was one more thing to address if she hoped to clear the air completely. “You know, your uncle thinks I scare you a little. Because I remind you of somebody,” she added, watching him for a reaction.

  Doyle froze.

  “Is that true? Do I remind you of her?”

  “Sometimes,” he said finally.

  She took another step toward him. “But you know I’m not her, right?”

  He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “Sometimes,” he said again, more quietly this time.

  “What she said—she was wrong, Doyle. No man could do what you did for Gram and be unfeeling. Not even close.”

  He stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. And maybe something else. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, and she had the impression that he spoke the words with difficulty, and with feeling.

  Pouncing on him might have been her original plan, but instinct told her to use a gentler approach with him, especially at this particular moment. She took another step closer to him so they were mere inches away from each other, and she reached to take one of his hands in hers.

  “Sweaty palms,” she observed, and she felt again the urge to take his face between her hands. “I really do make you nervous, don’t I?”

  “Miss Beasley, you have no idea,” he said with a tight smile.

  “Aimee.” She wrapped her fingers around his and looked up at him.

  His eyes were the furthest thing away from ice just now as they settled on her, more like grey skies right before a thunderstorm. Whatever it was that was brewing in them, it looked promising. “Aimee,” he agreed after a moment, and then he slowly curled his fingers around hers, too.

  “Well, that’s a start,” she said, and smiled. “You know what?” she added after a moment.

  “What?”

  “I have
the feeling that things are about to get very interesting, Doyle.”

  “Do you?” he returned wryly, but there was a certain something in his gaze when he said it that made her tingle in a very pleasant way, particularly when his eyes settled on her mouth.

  “I do.” She reached up to put her free hand around his neck and stood on her tiptoes as she drew his face down toward hers. “Come closer, and I’ll tell you all about it…”

  Epilogue

  The rain that was pouring so steadily outside the window of Doyle’s apartment had been falling virtually nonstop for days, but February always had been a soggy month. It was a cold, gray, and miserably wet day, and yet Aimee was discovering just how wrong she had been all her life to think a day like that was a lost cause. Particularly when it was spent curled up on a leather couch with the right person.

  “You read that part already,” Aimee said, shifting position slightly so that her head rested comfortably under Doyle’s chin.

  “Did I?” He lazily leafed back a page or two in the book from which he’d been reading aloud.

  “Pretty sure. They were just about to go into battle with the English, weren’t they?”

  “I’m impressed. You were actually listening.”

  She raised her head up from where it rested on his chest. “Testing me, were you? That’ll teach you to doubt me.”

  Doyle gave her an unrepentant smile and began to read again. Settling her head back down, Aimee let his deep, rich voice wash over her and allowed her hands to meander a bit under his sweater.

  He faltered for a moment, and she grinned a wicked grin to herself.

  “You know, I can’t really read when you’re doing that,” he pointed out, his voice taking on a slightly hoarse note that hadn’t been there before.

  “You noticed that, too, did you?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Well, then, why don’t you put the book down and let me show you how I’d reenact the battle of Azengoth.”

  “Agincourt,” he corrected her, clearly trying not to laugh.

  “Right. Which side wins?”

  “The English.”

  “All right, then you’ll be the French. Don’t worry—I think you’ll like my terms of surrender.” She tugged the book from his hands and dropped it onto the floor.

  “You’re going to mess up the pages that way,” Doyle told her, his eyes fixed on her mouth and not on the book at all, and she was pleased to see that the shadows that had been there so long were barely visible anymore. Since his hands were no longer occupied with the book, he found another good use for them by sliding them down her back until they found a good resting place on her hips.

  “I’m going to mess you up even more in a minute,” she informed him, swinging one leg over his waist and pulling herself upright so she could lower her lips to his as she pleased. “Brace yourself.”

  “I’m doomed, aren’t I?” he confirmed, not looking the least bit troubled by that fact.

  “Afraid so.” She grinned, her lips inches from his. “But what a way to go…”

  The End

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading my Heavenly Bites trilogy! I hope you enjoyed spending time with the folks who work at the Heavenly Bites Bakery and will stop by and “visit” them again soon. Now that you’ve read the novellas, I hope you’ll consider leaving a review because reviews are a great way for readers to discover new books. I would sincerely appreciate it!

  About the Author

  Christine S. Feldman writes both novels and feature-length screenplays, and, to her great delight, she has placed in screenwriting competitions on both coasts—and has even won a couple of them. When she is not writing, she is teaching kindergarten, puttering around in her garden, ballroom dancing with her husband, or doing research for her next project. Please visit her at her website http://christinesfeldman.com or stop by and say hi on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ChristineSFeldman.

  Other books by Christine:

  Coming Home

  The Bargain