by Sabrina York
She tried not to notice. The chin. The stroking. The peep of his tongue as it dabbed out to wet his lips.
“Yeah. I would like one of these.” He pointed to a cream puff.
“Uh huh.” She picked up a pastry box and folded it.
“And one of these.” A chocolate chunk cookie. “And one of these.” A caramel pecan puff pastry.
Tara nodded and picked up the tongs, snagging a cream cheese cinnamon muffin, a rice flour raisin cookie and a mini loaf of almond flour swirl, all of which she nested in wax paper. “Anything else?”
Devlin viewed the contents of the box askance. “Um… Those aren’t the things I asked for.”
Tara affected a vivacious smile. “I know.”
He glanced back at the cream puff case. “But I really wanted one of those.”
“Aw.” Tara sighed heavily as she closed the box and taped it with a Stud Muffin sticker. “Too bad.” She set the box on the countertop and rang up the items.
“No. Really… I wanted a cream puff.” How could a grown man appear so woebegone? “And a cookie.”
She waggled a finger at him and leaned closer, whispering, “Sorry. Those all have gluten in them.” She patted the box. “These are all gluten-free.”
He stared at her and then, as he realized what she was up to, a tiny smile tweaked his lips. “You, ah, aren’t going to give me what I ordered?”
She pointed to the sign by the register that stated, We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to Anyone. She’d never had to use it before, but was damn glad it was there. There was no way Devlin Fox was getting anything from her that wasn’t strictly gluten-free.
No. Freaking. Way.
“Okay.” He tucked the box under his arm. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nine dollars and seventy five cents.”
He whistled as he peeled a ten from his wallet. “Pretty stiff for pastries.”
“They are specialty items.”
He dropped a ten on the counter. “Keep the change.”
She rang up the till and pulled out a quarter and dropped it purposefully into the tip jar. It hit with a clang. “Thank you sir. And…” Another saccharine smile, “Come again.”
His response was so wicked it made her knees knock, and not only because of the double entendre, but because of the tone with which he infused them. “Oh, I will.” A wink. “I’m counting on it.”
With that he whirled to leave the shop. But Tara couldn’t let him go, couldn’t let him leave without the last word.
It was too bad she couldn’t think of anything clever.
Devlin made it a point to visit his baker the next day and the next. Each day she had a new sign up by the register. First it was, We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to Devlin Fox. And then, We Reserve the Right to Serve only Gluten-free to Devlin Fox. And each day, she gave him the damn gluten-free pastries.
Oh, they were good. They were damn good. But that was hardly the point. What he really wanted was that cream puff.
Strike that.
What he really wanted was her.
She had become something of a challenge to him. He would wear her down.
He would.
He wasn’t sure how, but he would.
On Tuesday, when Devlin came to the shop, he brought reinforcements. Reinforcements in the form of a small boy. He was an adorable boy, with a gap-toothed smile. He was dressed just like Devlin in jeans and a Mariner’s jacket. Even their spiky hair matched.
The sight tugged at Tara’s heartstrings. Because they looked so much alike, it was clear they were father and son.
It had never occurred to her that he might have a child. Never occurred to her that he probably had a woman in his life. If not many.
He was far too attractive to be unencumbered.
Damn. She hadn’t thought to ask if he was married. Or divorced. Or involved.
No wonder he’d said no.
The thought made acid boil in her belly. She didn’t know why. She had no claim to him. She wanted no claim.
But still, it rankled.
“Can I help you?” She didn’t even bother with the fake smile.
The boy stepped up to the counter and gazed at her with wide eyes, a puppy dog expression. “I would like a cream puff, please miss.”
“A cream puff?”
“Yes, please, miss. That one.” He pointed to the refrigerated case.
She glared at Devlin, who didn’t bother to hide his smirk.
“How about one of these?” She said through her teeth, pointing at the gluten-free pastries.
The boy shook his head. “No, miss. That one. Please?” He folded his hands and raised them to her as though in prayer.
Good lord, the boy was a drama queen.
“He can’t stand gluten-free.” Devlin nudged the boy. “Tell her.”
A sad, rumpled pout. “I can’t stand gluten-free. Please miss. Please may I have a pastry?”
Tara sighed. “And why do you hate gluten-free, little boy?”
“Because my mom can’t eat wheat…so there’s never anything fun in the house. I never get anything good.”
One would think he was dying, the way he wailed. Tara’s gaze flicked from the boy to Devlin and back again. “Okay. I will give you a cream puff, but only if you promise not to give him,” she thrust a thumb in Devlin’s direction, “so much as a bite. Do you promise?”
The boy licked his lips as he nodded. Tara handed over the treasure and nearly laughed out loud at Devlin’s dismay as the boy took the treat and scampered over to the tables by the window. He didn’t follow, as Tara had expected he would. Instead, he leaned against the pastry case. “So…are you going to the island this weekend?”
“Is that your son?”
It was comical, the way he blanched. “My…no. He’s my nephew. My sister is his mom.”
“Do you…have any children?”
His grin was crooked. “Don’t you think I would have brought my own children in a pathetic ploy to get a cream puff from you, if I had them?”
“Hmm. Probably.”
“So, are you going to the island this weekend?”
She meticulously folded a towel. Then fluffed it open and folded it again. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’d…like to see you.”
Her heart thundered. Through stiff lips, she said the only thing her brain could conjure. “You said no.” He had. He’d refused her offer for meaningless sex outright.
He winced. “I know. Still… I’d like to see you. Maybe drinks at Darby’s?”
“A game of pool?” Why her tone was acidic, she had no clue.
“I…” His throat worked. “Sure.”
“Well, I won’t be there. I have…plans.”
“Plans?” There was no need for him to bristle like that, surely. The lilt in his tone made it clear he thought her plans involved another man. Why her heart lifted at that, she had no clue. She’d always hated jealousy in men.
“Yes. Plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“None of your beeswax kind of plans.”
He opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted when the boy rushed back to the counter, his face smeared with Chantilly cream, and lifted enormous eyes at her and gusted, “That was magnificent! Please miss. May I have another?”
She frowned at him, though it was difficult. He was rather adorable. And far too mischievous to be as polite as he pretended. That Devlin looked terribly put out made her want to grin as well. But she did frown. Because this was an important point. “If I give you another, will you share with this man?”
“No ma’am.”
“Not one bite?”
“No way.”
“And will you tell him, over and over and over again, how wonderful it was when you’re done?”
A nod.
“So good, in fact, it clearly deserves five burps?”
“Um, sure.”
“Well okay then. You may have anoth
er.” She fetched another cream puff and gave it to the boy. “Make sure he realizes what he’s missing,” she whispered, loudly enough for Devlin to hear.
“Oh, he realizes,” he muttered, shooting her a glower. “He realizes just fine.”
And somehow, they both knew they weren’t talking about the cream puff.
She met her sister the next day at the airport. They saw each other across the booming baggage claim and ran, squealing into each others’ arms. It had been so long. Too long.
Stationed overseas for five years, in Germany and Saudi Arabia and finally Kabul, Tina rarely made the trip home. It had been difficult being apart for so long. Growing up—in a military household—they’d done everything together. Moving from pillar to post, Tina had been the only thing in her life that had remained constant.
But now she’d changed.
Tara held her back and studied her from tip to toe. They’d always been nearly identical—except now Tina had a close-cropped haircut and shadows in her eyes. And she wore fatigues. Her cheeks were hollow, her figure gaunt. “You’ve lost weight. Don’t they feed you in the Army?”
Tina forced a laugh and copied her perusal. “You’ve gained weight,” she quipped. “See what owning a bakery will do to you?”
“Yeah. Go ahead and mock me. But wait until you taste my cinnamon rolls.”
Tina laughed and grabbed her bag as it came around on the carousel. Tara took it from her and nearly dropped it.
“What do you have in here?”
“Bricks.”
Their gazes met and they both threw back their heads and laughed.
Damn, it was good having her home.
With Louisa covering the shop, Tara took her sister on a tour of Seattle. Tina hadn’t been to the Pacific Northwest since their dad had been stationed at Ft. Lewis when they were in high school, and she’d never really seen the town. It was fun experiencing her city through a newbie’s eyes. They grazed their way along the bustling corridors of the Pike Place Market, spent a couple hours at the Pacific Science Center, then went down to the wharf to stroll along peering in the shop windows. They ate clam chowder from a bread bowl at a famous restaurant on the pier. It was late when they got home, but still, they stayed up all night, talking.
Three am was not her friend the next morning. But Tara dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. She was just toweling off when a shrill, piercing scream, followed by a series of growls and grunts echoed through her apartment.
She yanked on her long nightshirt and sprinted for the guest room, flicking on the lights.
Tina rolled around on the bed in a tangle of sheets, bathed in sweat. “No. No. No,” she muttered, raising her hand in her sleep to ward off some unseen threat.
“Tina!” When Tara’s cry didn’t wake her, she approached the bed and shook her sister’s shoulder.
Tina sprang up, her expression haunted.
“Tina. It’s okay. You had a nightmare.”
It took a moment for her sister to find herself, recover. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept.
Tara sat next to her on the bed, wrapped her arm around and held her. “It’s okay,” she repeated, over and over again. “It’s okay.”
At long last, Tina stirred. “I’m… I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No. I was up.”
“I thought they’d gone away.”
“Gone away?”
Tina sucked in a deep breath and scrubbed at her eyes. “I have nightmares…sometimes.”
“About what?”
She tipped her head. “I-I haven’t had one for a while. I thought they’d gone away.”
“Tina—”
“It’s okay, Tara. I’m okay. I need…” She untangled herself from the sheets, padded to her suitcase and pulled out an orange bottle. She cracked it open and measured out two pills, which she tossed back.
“Do you want some water?”
“No. I’m fine. Go back to bed.”
Tara barked a humorless laugh. “I’m up for the day.”
Tina glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s three am.”
“I know.” Tara grinned. “I’m a baker.”
“Oh God, that sucks.”
Yeah. It kind of did. “You go back to bed. Do you think you can sleep? Do you want some warm milk?”
A snort. “I’m not a baby. Besides, these will help.” She shook the bottle like a maraca.
Tara frowned. She didn’t like the idea of her sister relying on pills to sleep. “You—”
“I’m fine.” Tina’s tone was resolute. “I’ll be fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. She had a nightmare the next night and the night after that as well, bellowing loud enough to wake the neighborhood.
Tara didn’t understand her sister’s night terrors. Her life had been easy and fun, filled with Chantilly cream and puff pastries. Tina had taken another path, enlisting in the military and serving in three overseas tours. Tara couldn’t bear to think what had happened over there to cause this reaction. She did what she could to soothe away the panic, and distract her sister from painful memories.
A tour of the town and a birthday celebration wasn’t much—but it was all she had to offer.
For the first time in her life, Tara felt helpless. Utterly helpless.
Chapter Thirteen
“What do you mean we have to wait two hours? We have a reservation.”
Devlin froze at the familiar voice, one that sent prickles along his spine as he wove through the crowded restaurant back to his table. Through the chattering throng, the laughter, the clink of silverware, her voice called to him like a beacon. He scanned the room with a sharp gaze…and saw her. There at the podium, talking to the pompous Maitre ’D.
His knees locked. Damn, she was gorgeous. She wore a short flippy skirt and make up and—his breath seized at this—her hair was down. It flowed over her shoulders like a silky river.
He looked at the man next to her, a hipster with thick rimmed glasses and a shaggy cut. Wearing jeans with a suit jacket. Displeasure snarled in his belly. She was with him?
He had no call to be annoyed. He’d said no to her proposition. He’d walked away. She could fuck anybody she wanted.
The fact that he hadn’t been able to swallow the regret was his own problem.
Still, it burned to see her with another man…
But then a woman in tight leather pants and matching glasses sidled up to hipster and gave him a kiss. And Devlin’s gut unclenched.
As the couple shifted to the side, Devlin noticed Tara’s companion. He did a double take. His lips hitched up.
Shit. She had a twin.
“But it’s our birthday!” Ponytail’s voice rose in a warble above the crowd. “We made a reservation.”
“I am sorry ma’am,” the Maitre ’D said, not sounding sorry at all. “We are very busy tonight.”
“It’s okay, Tara.” The woman next to her crossed her arms and sighed, “We can go somewhere else.”
Tara. Her name was Tara.
Resolution rose. He edged closer. So close he could smell her perfume. It clouded his sanity, but he managed to murmur, “You are welcome to sit with us.” Tara whipped around and gaped at him. When her eyes met his, he felt like someone had punched him in the gut.
He’d forgotten. Completely forgotten how damn gorgeous she was.
Or maybe he hadn’t.
Time hung as their gazes clung. His pulse thudded into the silence as he waited for her to respond.
When she shook her head, his heart plummeted. “We couldn’t.”
“Don’t be silly. We were just seated.” He motioned to the Maitre ’D who leapt into action, grabbing two menus.
“Of course Mr. Fox. Right away Mr. Fox.”
Being a heartless bastard reviewer had its perks at times.
Devlin took Tara’s arm to guide her to his table but she hesitated. He sent her an inquisitive look.
She glanced around the din
ing room. Her perusal landed on a woman sitting alone at a table by the fireplace. “We wouldn’t want to intrude…”
He nearly laughed out loud. She thought he was on a date. Good. “It’s no intrusion. Really.”
She blew out a sigh and frowned at her sister, who shrugged and whispered, “I am kind of hungry.” When she added, sotto voce, “And he is kind of cute,” Devlin couldn’t hold back his grin.
“Come along…Tara.”
Ooh. That earned him a glare. He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all.
It was about time her name passed his lips.
The Maitre ’D swept up to their table and laid down the menus with a flourish, then snapped his fingers, and a company of servers brought over two extra chairs and place settings. Devlin allowed the Maitre ’D to seat Tara’s sister, but he made it a point to hold Tara’s chair. It was a chance to be close to her. And he needed to be close to her.
Naturally, she scowled at him.
He leaned in as she sat and whispered into her hair, “It’s good to see you again.” She frowned at that too.
And it was good to see her again. He hadn’t realized how gloomy his mood had been until he’d heard her voice…and the shadows had lifted.
He settled into his seat at her side and nodded to his brother. “This is Charlie. Charlie, meet Tara and…”
“Tina.” Tina reached out a hand. Charlie stared at it for a moment, as though he’d forgotten what he was supposed to do, but then slowly lifted his own. He froze as their palms touched. It appeared he did not want to let her go. His lips worked.
“I… ah…” Odd. Charlie usually had a silver tongue when it came to women.
When it appeared Charlie was not going to let her go, Tina pulled her hand away and settled her napkin in her lap, shooting a smile at Devlin. “And who are you? Since Tara doesn’t seem inclined to introduce us?”
“I’m—”
“He’s Devlin Fox.” Tara crossed her arms over her chest and put out a lip. “He gave my bakery a bad review.”
“It was not a—”
Tina snorted. “Well, that was stupid.”
“It was not a bad review.”
Tina shot him a toothy smile. “Tara holds a grudge.” She snagged a dinner roll, broke it open and slathered it with butter.
