Love, Honor & Cherish: The On the Cape Trilogy: A Cape Van Buren Trilogy

by Meredith, MK

  “Are you kidding? I'm better than ever, ladies. That is one date I will not be late to.” He disappeared through the brush.

  Larkin and Blayne turned to Claire. She threw her hands up with a grin. “I know you both have questions, but I have too much work to do.”

  “You kissed Mitch?” Larkin asked her eyes wide with surprise.

  “I don’t know that I’d call it a kiss. More like a debacle if I’m honest, followed by a head dive driven by total desperation.” She paced, shoving her hands in her front jean pockets. “I was having a hard time getting past the fact that I haven't kissed anyone since Jimmy. It was supposed to be kind of like ripping the Band-Aid off.”

  Blayne rubbed her hands together. “The hell it was. That was nothing more than lifting the edge. If you wanna rip the real Band-Aid off, then Mitch is the man for the job. Word around town proves that he knows what he’s doing.”

  Claire's jaw dropped. “I am not going to have sex with Mitch.”

  She definitely wanted to have sex with Mitch.

  What the hell is wrong with me?!

  Larkin tapped her chin. “Why not? You’re single, he’s single. You two are friends. And he is sexy as hell. Sometimes that's the perfect person.”

  “The perfect person for what?” Claire asked.

  “Look, you're afraid to jump into a relationship that might hurt you, and you’ve always said that Mitch's not the kind of man you would ever date, so who would be safer than him?”

  Claire nodded, understanding her friend’s point, but unable to make her vocal chords work in the face of such an idea. She had said that, but the truth of the matter was she’d been seeing Mitch in a much different light lately.

  Her friends tucked an arm through each of hers at the elbow as they walked back towards the Cape house lawn. “I say go for it,” Larkin said. “Burn off some steam, clear your mind, then maybe you'll be ready to let go of Jimmy once and for all and open yourself up to a new relationship.”

  And there it was. The cold fingers of fear, sliding up her spine. Even the thought of loving and losing made her break out into a cold sweat. “You guys know if I start dating again it's just a date, just companionship. I'm not looking for anything long-term.”

  “But I don't understand.” Blayne slowed, turning to face her.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s pretty straightforward. I am not ever going to put myself through that again. A relationship? A commitment? They imply getting married and having a family. No way, no how.”

  Larkin rubbed her arm. “I always thought you’d be an amazing mother. I see you with Max, I see you with the children in town.”

  Claire stopped in her tracks. Memories floating at the edge of her conscience. “You both need to stop.” Their words hurt more than they'd ever know. Jimmy's smile, his laugh, the sound of her baby’s beating heart, all melded together in a cacophony of yesterdays in her head.

  She’d never move in the direction her friends had taken, but maybe she at least needed to distance herself from the shadow of the life she’d never had. At least where companionship was concerned.

  “Maybe you guys are right. Mitch would be a great distraction, a great way to jump back in.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and stretched her lips into a makeshift grin.

  Blayne laughed. “And we all know you're safe from falling in love with Mitch.”

  “Isn't that the truth,” she said lightly despite the thought of his grin when he’d handed her the cinnamon stick pastry, and his bewilderment when he’d found the vibrator in her kitchen, and the genuine look of purpose when he’d talked about wanting to help the community.

  Every moment made her question everything she thought she knew about Cape Van Buren’s playboy.

  Chapter 10

  Mitch knocked at Claire's door, holding two bags of groceries from Bellamy's in his arms and an earnest desire to see her smile without fear in his heart.

  He needed to go see Dr. Stanton and have his God damn head checked.

  She'd been avoiding him the past few days, ever since giving him the sweetest and hottest kiss of his life. The existence of the two wrapped in one kiss hadn’t seemed possible, but holy hell, she’d proven it to be true.

  He'd never thought something that started out so awkward could end with such force that he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his mind. But if he wasn’t awake, he dreamed about it, and if he wasn’t sleeping, he thought about it.

  Fuck and double fuck.

  One part of his brain had warned him of the danger, but his logical self brushed it away. It was lust, pure and simple. Claire was a gorgeous woman with a quick mind, a sweet heart, and an ass that wouldn’t quit who'd been putting him in his place since they'd met. It was a combination he'd found intoxicating.

  Commitment meant expectations, and expectations meant that emotions and feelings were involved. Such delicate things. Hurting someone would be inevitable. There was no way around it.

  And he just couldn’t risk hurting Claire.

  The door swung open to reveal the object of his distraction in a pair of gray shorts that hugged her round, delicious ass and a lighter gray knit sweater that clung to her breasts as if knitted just for them. And he found another combination he couldn’t resist.

  She looked up-and-down the street in confusion then glanced at the bags in his hands. “What’re you doing here?” she asked.

  “I've been thinking. You just need practice. So I'm here to make you dinner. We’ll enjoy conversation; we’ll flirt, we’ll drink...all in the safety of your home. There’ll be no reason to run because you're already here.”

  “Your observation skills are amazing.”

  He ignored her sarcasm, forcing himself to keep a distance. “And if during the evening, anything I say is one of the triggers that worries you, we can identify it and work through it.”

  He could hear the idiocy fall from his lips, helpless to shut the fuck up.

  She raised a brow. “This is very clinical of you.”

  He gave a strained chuckle. “Shut up. I promised to help.”

  She stepped aside for him to enter. “I know you did. If you give me a second, I can go change.”

  He moved into her space, loving the scent of her all around him. His body tightened in awareness. “You don't need to change. That's the beauty of having dinner in your own home.”

  But she waved her hand up-and-down his frame. “And sit across from you looking as if you just stepped out of GQ magazine? I don't think so.”

  “Oh? You like this look then?” Pleasure rushed through his chest. He hadn't dressed in anything fancy, just a pair of dark-wash jeans and a dark gray button-up shirt. But if she thought he looked good, then who was he to argue?

  “If it would make you more comfortable I can always take my shirt off,” he teased, and her cheeks blushed.

  Good start.

  “Shut up before I change my mind.”

  He laughed as he followed her into the kitchen, enjoying the sight of her long legs pouring out from her shorts.

  “About that kiss,” he began.

  She swung toward him. “Can we please never speak of that moment again? Please? I have never been so mortified in my life.”

  Disappointment lodged in his throat as big as a boulder, but he forced himself to swallow it down so he could manage an answer. “Of course. I won't bring it up again.”

  Claire disappeared into her room, giving him a few minutes to compose himself. He opened a bottle of wine and poured a large glass, downing half of it in one swallow. He needed to get ahold of himself and his emotions. His feelings for Claire were fucking with his whole purpose for being there.

  Which was to help her break back out into the world, nothing more nothing less.

  He straightened his shoulders and gave himself a quick nod. Time to keep his head in the game.

  Starting with dinner.

  She returned in a mid-thigh, off-the-shoulder, sweater dress and every good intention he�
�d had slid down his throat with his next sip of wine. He pushed a glass toward her to keep from checking to see if the sweater was as soft as it looked.

  “Here.”

  “What is it?”

  “A Pinot from a winery up in the hills. Small batch, organic. It's one of my favorites.”

  She gave it a twirl and a sniff then a taste, closing her eyes in enjoyment. “This is good.” Hopping up onto the counter, she nodded toward the bag, lifting her chin as if trying to peek inside. “So what's for dinner? And don't think that I don't know you’re avoiding working on my program. We were supposed to meet at the Center.”

  “I'm not avoiding anything, Miss Bossypants. We will. But I feel like we need to turn around your experience on Wednesday as quickly as possible.”

  And avoid any more tasks that might expose him, but he’d keep that to himself. It was uncomfortable, feeling that she could see something about him, something in him, from a simple drawing. But there was no mistaking that she must have seen something if her reaction of slamming the drawer closed was any indication the other night. He’d caught a glimpse of his drawing as the drawer had slid shut.

  Clearing his throat, he pulled out baby spinach and an avocado along with chicken breasts, basil, tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella. “Chicken caprese and spinach avocado salad.”

  She clapped her hands together, and his lips quirked up on their own accord.

  “That sounds amazing. When did you learn to cook? This is just another of the many things I find surprising about you.”

  The only other person who knew he cooked besides his mother and his sister, Mae, was Ryker. He and his sister had learned to cook when they were young in order to help their mom out. There were plenty of evenings when she’d work late, and they’d be making dinner themselves. But along with his mother's teachings to fill their lives with passion were the practical lessons of cooking and housekeeping. Though even then, she reinforced the idea of creating moments. There was no reason to eat boxed macaroni and cheese when you could make homemade Gorgonzola pasta, she'd say.

  “Mom always told Mae and me that life is about experiences, making memories. So that's what we do.”

  “So it's once again about decadence?”

  “And why not? You know Janice. When have you ever known her to do anything the generic way if she could help it?”

  He opened the container of spinach and dumped it in the colander that she'd had resting next to the sink. “I'm assuming it's OK to use?” he asked.

  “You're cooking me dinner. What's mine is yours.” She raised her glass in a toast.

  “Alright. I like the sound of that.” He winked, loving the light flush that deepened on her cheeks the longer he stared.

  “Let's put on some music and really do this right.” She said, breaking the spell and, if he was a betting man, keeping her face hidden on purpose.

  Lumineers floated out from her sound system. “Not what I was expecting. But I like it. Casual and provides a nice atmosphere. You’re getting the idea.” He rolled the avocado her way. “Here, why don't you cube this.”

  She tossed it from one hand to the other. “I thought you were supposed to make me dinner. Already trying to shirk your duties?”

  “Not in the least.” He grabbed the avocado out of mid-air before she could catch it with her other one. “I am a man of my word and live by my duty.”

  “Sure,” she snorted. “Until something shiny and pretty comes along, then bye-bye.”

  She waved her fingers in a small, mocking wave.

  Her words were like a slap in the face as an image came, unbidden, of his mom staring out the window at their father while he walked away, suitcase in hand, so many years ago. “You think that’s how I operate? You think that if I decided to make a commitment that I’d end up just hurting the woman. Walk out on her?”

  “Honestly?” she replied. “I don’t see you ever committing to anyone. Whatever your reasons, you seem happiest with new experiences, not old ones. But I can say this. If you ever did, I think you’d ruin her for anybody who’d ever ask her out again.”

  He placed the tomatoes and mozzarella inside the chicken then layered on the basil leaves. The pressure in his chest made it difficult to breathe.

  “All of you think you know me so well.” There was a rough edge to his tone, and he didn’t care.

  “No.” She stepped in front of him. “No, you misunderstand.” She took the towel out of his hands, setting it on the counter. Grabbing his hands, she said softly, “I think that if you ever decided to commit to a woman, you would love her in a way that another man would never match. And when something took you away, she’d never be the same again.”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of?” His voice was almost unrecognizable to his own ears. The emotion in his chest went from hurt to humble. It was an extraordinary feeling to have someone see something in him that was both beautiful and bittersweet.

  “Claire, is that why you’re having such a hard time? You’re afraid to care for someone because you think no matter what, it won’t work out? That they’ll leave or die?”

  She dropped his hands and moved back to her wine. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “The wine’s going to my head.”

  “Claire.”

  With a shrug, she sipped more wine. “That and the fact that the more days that pass and the more distance I put between myself and my past, the further I feel from the little toddler I should be chasing around my apartment.”

  The anguish in her eyes and the tremble in her lower lip was his undoing, and he stepped toward her. “Claire,” he rasped.

  “No, please.” She put her hand out to stop him. “If you comfort me, if you wrap your arms around me right now, I will break. And I don’t want to.”

  He stopped in his tracks, warring with his urgency to make her feel better and the necessity to put her needs above his.

  “Please.” She drained her glass with a trembling hand.

  “She’ll always be with you, Claire. Time. Distance. They don’t have a say in a mother’s love.”

  She stared at him, holding his intense gaze as if afraid to look anywhere else. “Do you really believe that?”

  “More than anything.”

  With a slight dip of her chin, she drew in a breath and released it in a drawn-out sigh that ended in a slight shudder. Setting down her wine glass, she grabbed a light pink apron off a hook next to the stove. “Hey, while the chicken is baking, I can teach you how to make Evette’s cupcakes.”

  She wanted to move on to another topic, and he let her.

  The pain and confusion and self-doubt that flashed across her face left him feeling powerless. And it was a feeling he fucking hated. So, he focused on the self-doubt. She needed to experience a moment where she was in charge and successful. An experience of mastery. He was always telling her to make moments...so he’d give her this one to do with what she’d like.

  An image of her naked breasts covered in flour popped into his mind, and his body tightened. “I’ve never been much of a baker, but I think with the right teacher, I’d be up to just about anything.”

  She grinned. “I love how you’re ready to try something new at the drop of a hat. I love how easy you are.”

  Her words were innocent, but the effect of those words and the images of just how easy he wanted to be were anything but.

  “You have no idea.”

  * * *

  Claire wished Mitch was easy with her.

  Ever since he'd stepped through her front door, all she could concentrate on was how the fabric of his shirt was stretched tautly across his chest and biceps, and how he smelled so good, arousing a hunger in her that superseded everything else.

  And that realization shook her to her core.

  He was so easy to talk to. The time they'd spent together had enabled them to form a friendship of sorts. It was her friendships that had not only kept her afloat after losing Jimmy and the baby but had pushed her back into a rich and full l
ife. Maybe this was the friendship that would allow her to feel the pleasure of being a woman.

  And as Blayne had said, if word around town could be trusted, Mitch Brennan was the man to show her.

  The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that Blayne was right. Mitch was a friend, and neither of them wanted a commitment, so who would be more perfect to finally break her dry spell?

  Mr. Seduction didn't know it yet, but he was about to be seduced.

  With her heart pounding in her chest, she pulled out the flour, raw sugar, and eggs, placing them on the counter. She eyed Mitch up-and-down, taking the scenic route from the tip of his sock-covered toes up along his thickly muscled thighs, to a waist she wanted to explore and a chest she wanted to conquer, all the way to the thick strands of hair on top his head.

  Finally, she said, “That’ll never do.” She wiggled her fingers at his torso.

  He crossed his arms and looked down with concern. “I don't understand.” And the look on his face proved it to be true. She could only imagine what he was thinking at her bait and switch.

  This was going to be fun.

  “Even the smallest amount of flour is going to show up on that shirt of yours. Go ahead and take it off. No reason to make it dirty, and I don’t have another apron.” She answered with an innocent lilt in her voice, forcing herself to look for a whisk when what she really wanted to do was watch him squirm.

  He hesitated, looking at her as if she may have gone mad. And maybe she had.

  “I think I'll be okay.”

  “Oh, no.” She wagged her pointer finger at him. “I'm not going give you another thing to tease me about. I bet that shirt costs a couple hundred dollars alone. Off with it, mister.” She tugged it from the waistband of his jeans, her mouth going dry and his eyes going dark.

  A shiver of excitement shot straight to her center, and she almost wept with the sensation. She’d long ago thought she might never feel it again when someone else was in the room.

  “I don't think a bare chest is necessarily hygienic.”

  “I won't tell if you won't.” She gave him a coy wink. He held her gaze as if trying to read her mind, then finally gave one slow dip of his chin.