by Meg Benjamin
He was, of course, absolutely right, but that didn’t mean she could get away with signing for an order. “Look, go down to the event center. Mabel’s got to be there—there’s a wedding going on. Just tell her to sign the invoice. She’ll want to get you out of there, believe me.” Considering Didrikson’s grass-stained jeans and work shirt, Mabel would probably sign anything he shoved her way if it meant she could shoo him out the door.
Didrikson shot her a surprisingly sharp glance. “Might work. Thanks.”
“Sure.” Kit blew out a breath and went back to answering the phone.
Every table in the restaurant was full for lunch. Elaine was practically in tears. So were her customers. Philip’s glares darkened to thunderous as the afternoon went on. The only thing that hadn’t gotten the highest rating in the last review had been service, and Kit could see why. She poured, soothed, cleared, and brought orders from the kitchen in between crossing off reservations and refusing the not-very-subtle bribes she was offered to move people up the waiting list.
She gritted her teeth as she surveyed the room. Somehow she had to get Mabel to hire more wait staff. And soon.
By three the room was clear again and Gabriel ran the vacuum sweeper to gather up the last crumbs. Kit collapsed into a booth. At least the reservation pressure should die down since the Rose was closed on Sundays. On the other hand, she’d already begun to pick up some reservations for Monday. At least the food was a rousing success. After a moment, Joe thumped down across from her.
“Here,” he said, extending a plate with a chicken Panini and a glass of tea, “eat.”
She shook her head. “I’m too tired. I’ll eat when I finish the reservations.”
He narrowed his eyes, studying her, then shook his head. “Nope. Sorry, too tired to eat doesn’t work for me.” He took hold of her hand, pulling her up from the booth as he picked up the sandwich. “Come on. Bring the tea.”
Kit didn’t have the strength to argue. She followed him out the French doors to the patio where Didrikson or somebody else had set up a group of umbrella tables. Joe pulled out a chair for her, then plopped down beside her. “Now, take a breath, look at the view.”
The green lawn that Didrikson had mowed into velvet rolled down to the white gravel road below. On the olive-colored hills across the valley she saw cattle grazing, moving slowly along the limestone outcroppings. Her shoulders seemed to loosen.
“Now—” Joe handed her the sandwich again, “—eat.”
She did. The chicken was still faintly warm from the press. Slices of Emmentaler were melted against sliced pears. Kit closed her eyes. “This is heavenly.”
“I don’t know that I’d go that far, but it worked. At least we got Allie’s bread today.” Joe leaned back in his chair, staring out across the valley.
“She’s got her kitchen back but nothing else is ready to open yet. The professionals are going to clean up this weekend. I think she said Tuesday for the reopening.”
“Don’t suppose they’ve figured out who the asshole was who did it?”
Kit shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard. And I would have heard—everybody would have.” She took another bite, then managed to stop herself from gobbling, but it wasn’t easy.
Joe grinned. “Take your time, darlin’. There’s more where that came from, believe me.”
“I didn’t have much breakfast, and there wasn’t time to grab anything during lunch today. It was a madhouse.”
“Yeah.” His face darkened. “You talk to Mabel about hiring more people?”
“I meant to, but I got sidetracked with the wedding and then the break-in. Plus she wasn’t around all morning.”
“Time to do it, then. I’ve seen the restaurant receipts. I’m pretty sure we can afford another waiter and a second busboy. Hell, we can afford more than that.” He glanced down at her almost-empty plate. “What else can I do for you, darlin’?”
A quick shiver moved down her spine. “You mean food?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Sure. Food’s a good start. Can’t go wrong there. At least I usually don’t.”
She frowned, trying to remember how this game was played. Maybe she needed some practice. Except that she didn’t feel like practicing with Joe. “Food is…fine. For now.”
The French door swung open behind them, and Darcy leaned through. “Hey, chef, Jorge is claiming those scallops we ordered are for appetizers. Is that right?”
“Hell,” Joe muttered. “Talk about your lousy timing. Okay, I’m coming.” He pushed himself to his feet, throwing Kit one of his slow smiles. “Rain check, darlin’?”
Kit nodded. “Sure.” She watched him head back toward the kitchen, wondering exactly what she’d just given him a rain check for.
Nando sat on his stool at the Faro wondering when his days off had become so monotonous. Laundry, grocery shopping, dry cleaners, hardware store. A regular social whirl.
He took another bite of Clem’s enchiladas verdes. At least he hadn’t had to cook tonight. He only hoped his mother didn’t find out he’d been eating somebody else’s enchiladas. She’d probably drag him home and stuff him full of home-cooked food. It had taken him and Esteban weeks to convince her not to come over and fill up the refrigerator with casseroles every Sunday.
He leaned back against the bar, watching Deirdre work the room. Apparently, Ames had relaxed his rules against her waiting tables, possibly because it was Saturday night and the Faro was swamped. A band was tuning up in the beer garden, and the patrons were beginning to drift out to the tables around the edge. From his seat, he could see some Toleffsons out there, Docia and her husband Cal, the vet, along with Janie and Pete. The chief might show up, but probably not. Nando thought he had night duty tonight.
It was always entertaining to watch the tourists’ slack-jawed wonder when they caught sight of Deirdre. The locals had adjusted to having her around, although he figured nobody ever got entirely used to that kind of beauty. He wondered if Ames had, if waking up with Deirdre in the morning had taken some of the awesomeness away. He’d guess not. It never had with him.
Asleep, Kit’s face always relaxed into the kind of smooth elegance that reminded him of fairytales. Sleeping beauty. Snow White in the forest. He used to lie awake on purpose sometimes just to look at her.
When her eyes opened, they’d still be shadowed by the thickness of her lashes. A sudden memory hit him like a flashback.
She raised one hand, running a finger slowly along the line of his jaw. “What are you looking at?”
“You.”
“What do you see?”
“You. Just you.”
He took her lips slowly, running one hand down to cup her breast, warm and soft in his palm. Her body trembled slightly beneath his fingers as she turned to press herself against him, then wound one long leg around his waist.
“You can do better than that,” she whispered. “No more watching.”
Nando took a long swallow of his beer. He needed to stop doing that, getting caught up in those memories. He’d managed not to be hung up on Kit Maldonado for two or three months now, and it had been a lot less painful than the year or so that had gone before. But as soon as she’d shown up in town again, he’d been thrown right back into it—all that pain he’d sworn he wouldn’t feel again.
He blew out a breath. Time to move on. Maybe he’d find somebody tonight out on the dance floor, have a few beers, a little dirty dancing in the beer garden. If the woman was interested, maybe more than that. Of course, he’d supposedly sworn off that particular remedy for memories of Kit Maldonado. But what the hell—desperate times called for desperate measures. She was seeing other people. He should too. He grabbed his beer and pushed off the stool.
Deirdre stepped up beside him, gathering up his plate from the bar. “You heading to the beer garden?”
Nando shrugged. “Sure, why not? Who’s the band tonight?”
“Somebody new, but they sound good. Save me a dance, okay?”
Tom appeared at his other elbow. “You’re alpha now? I was guessing beta. Possibly delta.”
Nando pressed a hand to his heart. “Any time you want to exchange this omega here for the real thing, just say the word, sugar.”
Deirdre cocked an eyebrow at both of them. “I’d be annoyed at the amount of crap the two of you are throwing around, but I’m too busy being impressed that you actually know the Greek alphabet.”
“Between Jeopardy and Trivial Pursuit, I’m a regular font of knowledge.” Nando gave her a quick smile as he headed toward the beer garden. Too bad he’d been knee-deep in post-Kit depression when Deirdre had first shown up in Konigsburg. Now, of course, it was too late for anybody to make a play for her, given that Ames would turn them into throw rugs if they did. And given that Ames was his best friend, he wouldn’t have tried that anyway.
He stepped into the crowded beer garden as the band launched into a spirited if not particularly inspired version of “Bar Light.” Seats appeared to be at a premium, and he wedged himself against the fence at the side, watching couples swirl by. He searched the crowd for familiar faces, hoping he could find a table where he could pull up a chair.
Halfway around the garden, he found a very familiar face.
Kit was talking to Docia, her dark head leaning close to Docia’s flaming red hair. Whatever they were discussing seemed to make them oblivious to everyone else in the garden, including him. His chest clenched so tight it was almost painful, and he considered heading back to the bar again. A year. He’d spent a year getting over her. He’d be damned if he’d dive back into it again, even if she’d let him.
He tried to make his feet move back to the door, then gave up. Apparently, she gave off some kind of magnetic attraction that kept him rooted to the spot.
He watched her, his heart heading for his shoes, unable to tear his gaze away from that fall of dark hair, her slender arm, her slim tapering fingers stretched across the table. If he got out of here now, if he pushed himself off the wall and headed back inside… Better yet if he went out the gate that led from the beer garden to the street before she saw him. He could be back in his car driving home in five minutes.
Where he could do what? Sort through the mail? Watch a game on ESPN? Play a hand of cribbage with Esteban? Scratch Guinevere’s ears?
Where you could avoid having those hooks sunk in your gut again.
Yeah, well, that much was true. Or anyway, it was what he wanted to believe. But the truth was those hooks were already in place. They’d sunk deep the first time he’d seen her on the street. Now he could try to ignore the pain. Or he could do something about it.
He pushed himself off from the wall, dropping his empty beer glass on the outdoor bar as he went by.
Kit was aware that he was near before she saw him. Something about the way the people around her shifted, the way Docia glanced at her, the way the air moved.
The way the air moved? Get a grip.
She looked up then to see him standing in front of the table. Suddenly her throat felt so tight it was hard to breathe. He wore his jeans low on his hips, just the way he always had, with the same tooled leather belt with the silver buckle. His thumbs were hooked into the belt loops, a nervous habit, he’d told her once. The sleeves of his chambray shirt were rolled up below his elbows. A lock of dark hair strayed across his forehead, as if he’d run his fingers through it not long before he’d walked up to her.
She’d done that herself sometimes when they were together, coaxing those stray locks at the front down to his eyebrows, making him look less like a cop and more like an outlaw. An outlaw with the best moves in Konigsburg.
Not going there again. So not going there again.
She licked her lips. “Hi.”
He nodded. “Hi.” The line of his jaw looked tight. His hands flexed against his thighs. Nervous?
“Sit down with us,” Docia said quickly. “Find a chair. Come on, Cal, slide over.”
“That’s all right.” He looked back at Kit. “I just wanted to ask you to dance.”
Kit licked her lips again. The band was playing something fast and safe. Something that wouldn’t require them to get too close. “Sure.”
She stood as he reached for her hand. For a moment she froze. They hadn’t touched in over a year. Nando waited, hand extended, and she told herself to get it together. Just a dance.
She moved with him to the floor, sliding into a two-step around the outer edge. His hand rested, large and warm, against the middle of her back, leaving enough space between them for the steps. She let him move her around among the dancers, listening to the music behind her. After a few moments, her lips began to edge up into a smile.
She’d forgotten how good he was, how much fun it was to dance with him. They moved with the stream of people, her feet falling back into the familiar rhythm, quick quick, slow slow. The music buoyed underneath them, twirling them around the room. Quick quick… He looked down at her, his dark eyes alight with something that wasn’t exactly mischief but was close.
She almost stumbled, but caught herself. Nando slowed slightly, letting her find her footing then pushing forward again.
Stupid, stupid. Never relax, never let your guard down. The minute she did, he’d slip inside, close to her, and then she’d have all that pain to go through again.
She was so busy berating herself she almost missed the way the music slowed, then stopped. She took a quick breath, letting her shoulders relax. Time to go back to the table and hide. She started to pull away, when the band began to play again.
Oh god, she recognized this one.
It wasn’t their song. They didn’t have a song, really. But she’d heard it enough when they were together. And they’d danced to it. All around them, couples moved in close, arms around each other. Nando stood poised, watching her. Then he moved slowly toward her, sliding his arm around her waist.
Her own arm went around his neck almost automatically, and their bodies were pressed together, shoulder to knee. He took her hand in his, folding their arms against his chest, then started to move forward slowly, his thighs pushing against her legs. She found herself moving with him, staring up into his face. His beautiful face.
“And anyone can tell, you think you know me well.” The voice echoed over the PA system. “But you don't know me.”
Oh god, oh god, oh god. But she did know him well, better than she knew a lot of the people in her own family. That’s why she was here again in his arms, not that there had ever really been any question it would come to this eventually. Not with all there had once been between them. Not when she’d never really gotten over him.
Had he gotten over her? Would he be here if he had?
Part of her wanted to move back, put some space between them again, but somehow she couldn’t manage it. Instead, his arm coaxed her closer still until she felt the hard muscles of his chest against her breasts, the silver belt buckle brushing against her stomach, the swell of his arousal pressing hard against her own aching flesh. She took a deep breath, smelling his familiar scent again, that mixture of soap and sweat and Nando, and she was lost.
“And anyone can tell, you think you know me well. But you don't know me.” Well, at least that proved the music gods had a sense of humor. He knew every inch of her, on one level anyway. On the other level, the most important level, he probably didn’t know her at all. He sure didn’t seem to know the Kit he held in his arms right now. She wasn’t the same exactly, but she wasn’t that different either.
What was he doing here anyway?
He could think of a dozen reasons not to do this. Hell, he’d already thought of them. He’d been thinking of them as he’d sat in the bar. But here he was again. Moth to the flame. Lemming to the cliff. Preying mantis waiting for that final blow.
Which was a hell of an image to have when he held her, all soft
flesh and swirling hair. When he smelled that intoxicating scent again, spice and honey and faint tuberose.
The singer’s voice followed them across the floor. “You don’t know me.”
He wanted to say something to her, something light and casual that would put this back in focus again, but his throat felt too dry for words all of a sudden.
The music began to swell toward the end, the final line, that final bit of heartbreak. “You'll never, ever know, the one who loves you so, cause you don't know me.”
The dancers around them came to a stop, the buzz of conversation rising. Say something. Say anything! He stared down into her velvet eyes, his mind suddenly blank. His arms were still around her, her body still pressed against him.
Her eyes widened in something that might have been shock as she took a quick breath. “I should go.”
After another moment he loosened his hold slightly. He couldn’t stand there holding her forever, no matter how much he might want to. “Okay. Did you drive?”
She nodded silently, her gaze never leaving his face.
“Then I’ll walk you to your car.” He turned slightly, letting his arm rest across her shoulders as he took her back to her table.
Docia flashed them a quick speculative look as Kit grabbed her purse. “Done for the night?”
“Yeah.” Kit gave her a slightly strained grin, then turned back toward the street entrance.
He followed her through the gate, wondering if he could risk putting his hand on her arm. She looked fragile all of a sudden, as if she might shatter with too much pressure.
At her car, she turned to face him. “Well…” she began.
He’d never know what she might have said—whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Instead he slid his index finger under her chin, tipping it up slightly, so that he could bring his lips to hers.
The shock of it almost sent him to his knees. The taste, the feel, months stripped away, memories swamping him. And yet not the same exactly.
