Sweet Kiss

by Judy Ann Davis

  Kate could hardly focus under his intense gaze as he measured her with a warm appraising look from the tips of her jeweled flip flops to her white tank top with a pink butterfly on her chest. Her heart slammed against her chest and she stuttered. “I—I wanted to thank you for helping the other day. The ring means a lot to me. I brought you some sweets from the bakery. Glazed donuts and summer apricot scones. Your favorite.” She thrust the bag toward him.

  “Thanks. I was planning to stop at your shop and grab something for breakfast, but I needed to be down here early today to help with a shrimp boat needing an engine tune-up.” His gaze zeroed in on hers, and a wave of heat passed between them that Kate was certain had nothing to do with the sweltering day.

  “I was really sorry to hear about your aunt’s death. I wasn’t in the States when she died, but Dad told me half the town turned out for her funeral.” His voice dropped in volume, and there was sorrow in his eyes. “Fay was always like a second mother to me. She’ll be sorely missed. I swear she fed me more meals during the summer than my mother.”

  Kate nodded and her bottom lip trembled. She avoided looking at him, blinking back tears and focusing past him to the backwaters stretching for miles and miles to the horizon. High above, the sun played hide and seek between bands of billowing white clouds. Her aunt had dedicated her entire life to raising Violet and her. And when Kate had indicated she wanted to get a degree in business, Fay had sold off parts of the two hundred acres belonging to the old homestead to make sure her education would be paid for.

  Finally, after she was composed enough, Kate straightened her shoulders and lifted her gaze, surprised to find the edgy current of warmth between them hadn’t waned. Nervous, she took a step backward. “Well, I—I guess I should get going. You have work to do, and I left Melanie to handle the noon crowd alone.”

  “Kate.” He reached for her, but she took another step back, stumbling and righting herself—and almost colliding with Eva May Poole.

  Eva May’s high-pitched voice broke their emotionally charged connection. “Since Kate has to run along, I guess it means you and I’ll have to polish off dessert before my lunch hour ends, huh?” Giggling, she boldly grabbed the bag from Tappe’s hand and shook it. “Oh, goody, goody!”

  “Well, enjoy.” Heart thumping, Kate spun around and retreated up the dock on shaking legs. She was almost to the corner of the marina building when Tappe called out to her, his voice low and husky.

  “I’d like to sit down and talk, Kate. Get caught up. When you have a few moments.”

  “Sure,” Kate called over her shoulder. With Eva May hovering, she was too embarrassed to try to explain herself and the misconception about the ring. She felt like kicking herself for being such a coward, but she also knew the last person she wanted involved in any conversation when setting a record straight was Eva May and her blabbering mouth.

  Minutes later, back at the coffee shop, while she watched Melanie move efficiently behind the counter making three large mocha mint lattes for a take-out order, Kate confessed her encounter with Tappe.

  “You didn’t tell him again?” Melanie’s red nails flashed as she snapped the lids on the steaming cups and placed them in a take-out container, tucking napkins in with the order.

  “I couldn’t.” Kate frowned, reached for some packages of sugar and sweetener, and began to refill the empty holders on the counter. “It was extremely awkward with Eva May having lunch with him and flapping around like a sand crane doing a mating dance.”

  “I can’t believe you let Eva May dictate what was happening.”

  “Eva May was the happening.” Kate’s lips thinned in irritation. “Discretion is a learned skill, you know.”

  “I don’t know whether discretion is the right way to roll when you’re around Eva May.” Melanie made two cups of iced coffee, set them on the counter, and returned the milk carton to the refrigerator. She shoved one cup toward Kate and rounded the counter to sit down beside her. “The girl has an I.Q. lower than a first class postage stamp. I’m surprised she landed a job in the post office. You have to read and count change, don’t you? Remember when she superglued her fingers to her hair in high school art class?”

  “And you were only too eager to cut them loose as I recall. She had holes in her hair for a year.”

  “Listen, it wasn’t my idea to let her use the good stuff. That girl should be supervised using glue sticks.” Melanie nudged her. “So spill. Is he still the hot stuff he was in high school?”

  “Even better.”

  “Spark is still there, huh?”

  It was, but Kate would never admit it until she had time to explore her feelings. She gestured to the open books lined up along the counter. “Have you found any recipes we can use?”

  “Nice diversion tactic.” Melanie slid off the stool and leaned against the counter. “Yes. Did you know there are vintage recipes for strawberry bread, muffins, scones, and cake? I thought since February is strawberry month, we’d use them as our specialty dessert for the Valentine’s Day Festival. They are sweet, red, and fit the theme. In fact, there are a multitude of recipe ideas in these books.” Melanie ripped a napkin into pieces and inserted them into the open pages, bookmarking the places, and stacking the books into a pile. “We can come up with some tasty bakery goods for the entire week. They are unique, but not difficult to make.”

  “Great idea.” Kate let herself get caught up in the excitement. “We could dip a few strawberries in white, milk and dark chocolate and give one away to each customer who buys one of the special strawberry desserts. And we’ll use some of the jam I’m planning to make for door prizes during the week’s celebration.”

  She remembered when she and Tappe used to go down to Plant City and pick strawberries with his parents. She had started going with them when she was in first grade. They would haul shallow containers to keep the picked berries from bruising, take ice chests to keep them cold, and use lots and lots of baby wipes to clean their messy hands. On a warm day with a slight breeze, the smell was delicious and heavenly. Later, when they had their drivers’ licenses, she and Tappe would go alone and spend the entire day. After the berries were picked, they would go to Edward Medard Regional Park to watch the birds, canoe or fish…or exchange a whole lot of kisses under the live oaks in the park.

  Melanie’s snapping fingers brought Kate out of her daydreaming trance. “Time to wake up, partner. Looks like the after-school teenage and collegiate groups are arriving. They’ve been hounding us for brownies, so I made a double batch. They’re in the kitchen cooling. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You get to ice them.”

  ****

  Tappe Vanderberg wanted to strangle Eva May Poole. She was the last person he thought would ever show up on his dock with a lunch bag in her hand. Since she was a teenager, Eva May hated the water, disliked sailing and boating, and abhorred fishing; and she had never been the take-out-lunch type, or content to eat on a dock smelling of freshly delivered seafood. His father had told him she usually ate at the local restaurants in town, calling ahead with her order to be sure she could spend her entire lunch hour eating, relaxing, or painting her nails before she resumed her shift at the post office. She was also the last person on earth, he—or any man for that matter—would get involved with after her two failed marriages.

  Seeing Kate again had brought back a flood of memories. She was like a warm breeze over the ocean. She was still as beautiful as ever, but there was a new sense of seriousness and maturity in her looks and demeanor. Tappe figured losing the last connection to family would be a sobering thought for anyone.

  After coiling tie-down ropes and putting away the hose, he ducked inside to see if his dad would mind the marina for the rest of the afternoon. He grabbed a towel and wiped water and sweat from his face, arms, and the backs of his hands. “Going to be a warm one.” He sauntered over to where his dad was rearranging fishing poles on a rack.

  Bjorn glanced up an
d chuckled. “I see Eva May Poole brought you lunch and Kate Clark arrived with dessert. Not bad for a morning’s work, son.”

  “Don’t start.” Tappe grunted a derisive noise. “Or I’ll tell Mom you have a cigar out on the docks before you leave.” He went to the water cooler and filled a glass, finishing half of it before he walked back to his father. “Who’s Kate Clark engaged to?”

  “I’m as clueless as you.” Bjorn shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t seen her with anyone in particular. Why didn’t you ask her when she dropped off dessert?”

  “She didn’t just drop off dessert. She was repaying me for retrieving her diamond the other day when it slipped into the trap at her aunt’s house. With Eva May honing in on us like a crazed gnat, I couldn’t talk.”

  “Is Kate’s old house still the same?”

  “Yeah. But it’s painted yellow now with white shutters and trim. Looks good. Real good.”

  “You miss the place, don’t you?” Bjorn moved to a rod with a tangled spinning reel and started to strip the line off. Tappe knew he was really referring to Kate’s homestead as well as the property they used to own next to it. Of Dutch descent, Bjorn had moved his family from Amsterdam to Little Heron Shores when Tappe was four years old. The houses were separated by old live oak trees with swaying Spanish moss, sometimes so thick it almost touched the ground. Tappe and Kate wore a path between them and built a tree house in one of the gnarled old trees. They had been childhood playmates, best of friends, and finally high school sweethearts.

  “I heard Violet wants to sell it,” Bjorn said.

  Startled by the revelation, Tappe moved behind the counter. Sell the house? Could he be so lucky? The old place was a piece of history. The land would be perfect for adding another storage unit where he could house new boats to sell. And it had an entrance to the land from the backwaters. He found his boat shoes and slipped his feet into them, then tore off his tank top and pulled a new, navy T-shirt with his new logo from a shelf beneath the counter. It had a sketch of the main marina building, done in white, with two seagulls sitting on the roof. It merely said, Vanderberg’s Marina—Where everything lands. He snatched up another one in his fist.

  “While you keep the lid on the place, I think I’ll take a quick trip to town, return Jim’s toolbox and buckets, and see if I can get a word with Kate. We need to find a corner to display these T-shirts, don’t you think?”

  “Go. I can take care of it.”

  “Lock the place up if I’m not back. Oh, there’s a fishing boat supposedly dropping off fresh grouper for Wilson’s Seafood market in an hour.”

  “Oh, for Pete sake’s, stop worrying about the marina. Your mom has a women’s book club meeting this evening. I can stay here until closing.” Bjorn winked at Tappe. “I just might smoke two cigars today.”

  “Pushing your luck, aren’t you?” Tappe asked, smiling. He slapped his dad affectionately on the back and headed for the door.

  Minutes later, as Tappe strolled down Canal Street, he mentally rehashed the earlier conversation with his dad. If Kate and Violet were serious about selling, he was serious about making an offer. He loved the area just outside town, and he needed a larger place where he could store boats, both new and old. With a few acres of land, he could erect a pole building to function as a boat hotel, install a lift, and enlarge his business at the marina. He had a pile of requests lying on his desk asking whether he had available boat storage space and asking for details and monthly rates. Earlier in the month he had spoken with a boat dealer, and it looked like all their negotiations would soon be finalized for a franchise. Once he sold boats, storing them was the next logical step.

  Things were looking up. Or so he hoped.

  ****

  Foster’s Hardware and Plumbing was always like stepping back into a time warp. The old cement floor had dips and worn spots in it where millions of people strolled through, looking for everything from a washer to fix a hose to a piece of pipe to fix an entire water line. The smells of new rubber and plastic and the tinny scent of metals and fresh polyurethane paint mixed and mingled, filling the air with a unique but familiar odor. Jim Foster was restocking shelves with plastic pipe fittings in the far back. He turned when he heard Tappe come up behind him.

  “How is it that I’m always working, and you’re always roaming around town?”

  “Dad’s watching the marina. I thought I would drop off the toolbox and buckets. Here’s a T-shirt. Wear it or die. I need all the publicity for the marina I can get.”

  “You do know I own a business, too?” Jim held up the T-shirt and read the logo. He chuckled. “You got the ring out without any problems?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard Eva May and you had lunch.”

  It had only been a few hours and the gossip had already reached the other end of town? Tappe blew out a sharp, irritated breath. “Doesn’t this town ever get tired of minding everyone else’s business?”

  “Eva May works the post office, pal. She’s probably filling everyone’s ear who stops in to get his mail.”

  Tappe sighed. “She’s been clinging to me like a starved blood sucker. By the way, who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Kate’s? Dunno.” Jim threw the T-shirt over his shoulder and tossed the last couple of pipe elbows and caps into the correct bins. “I haven’t seen anyone around here with her. Must be some guy from out of town. Why don’t you ask her?” He cocked his head and studied Tappe with a keen perceptive gaze. “Hey, pal, you’re interested. Aren’t you?”

  Tappe glowered at him. He’d eat a plateful of sand before admitting it. Of course, he was interested. And he didn’t want to think about how she might be attracting men for miles around. Not the girl who used to be his Kate. Correction. Woman. She was definitely a woman now with a dazzling, drop-dead body, huge, caramel-colored eyes, and soft kissable lips.

  He pushed his hands deep in his pockets and studied the floor, pondering whether he should rekindle their relationship. No, not whether he should rekindle it, but how he should. His best traits had always been patience and persistence. If she was only engaged, he still had time to make a few moves. Maybe he’d just stick around town and run a few more errands, then stop at the coffee shop and catch her just before it closed for the day. Maybe they could have dinner together—just for old time’s sake?

  He turned to go, then turned back. “By the way, do you know why Kate never married?”

  Jim Foster shook his head. “She graduated at the top of her class with a degree in business and went to work as an executive assistant for some big shot in Dallas who sold parts for cellphones around the world. I figure she was always on the move and never had time for a lengthy relationship with anyone. Then Fay got sick, and she raced home to help her, buying the building downtown, renovating it, and setting up the business with Melanie Houston. Fay could never have depended on Violet for help. We all know how dysfunctional she is coping with life’s complications.”

  Kate’s Coffee Shop was crowded and teeming with customers when Tappe arrived later that afternoon and parked his pickup along Main Street. A long pink and white awning with a maroon logo shaded the front of the shop and a bank of large sparkling windows stretching out to envelop the entire front of the façade. Below the awning, light pink and white petunias cascaded out of hanging baskets and gave off a delicate scent in the breeze. He noticed Kate’s car was parked on a side street, but she was nowhere to be seen when he entered the shop. Only Melanie was working the counter, selling drinks, donuts, and baked goods to noisy groups of college and high school students gathered at tables with books, laptops, and cellphones. The shop smelled heavenly of a mixture of cinnamon, coffee, chocolate, vanilla, and fresh baked bread all rolled into one mouth-watering and homey scent.

  “Hi, Tappe.” Melanie gave him a wan, exasperated smile and waved her hand around the room crowded with students. “Since we got free Wi-Fi in here, this place fills up like a stadium during the World Series once classes are finished
for the day at school and the university.”

  “You need more help.”

  “Tell me about it. Kate’s in back right now interviewing a couple of high school gals who put in applications to work after school and weekends to help take up some slack.”

  Tappe watched a table of teenage girls, heads bent over their phones, text a message to a table of boys across the room. When the message reached the boys, they’d elbow each other, snort, and snicker. Likewise, when one of the boys answered the text, a series of high-pitched giggles would erupt from the girls’ table.

  He gestured at the young people. “Life used to be so uncomplicated back when we were kids.”

  “You’re telling me? Secretly passing notes is a thing of the past.” She gestured at the bakery case loaded with everything from fancy iced bear claws to plain croissants. “Hungry? Or thirsty? What can I help you with?”

  “Just a cup of coffee.” Tappe glanced at the partially opened office door. Head bent, Kate was scrutinizing paperwork in front of her. Her dark blonde hair fell in luscious waves down her back and half-obscured her face. She looked his way for a brief moment and the memory of their very first kiss came back slamming him in his chest. There was nothing more he wanted at this moment than to see her, touch her, and hear her voice…taste her lips and enjoy their first sweet kisses all over again. But he’d have to wait. He’d have to convince her he was worthy of her. After all, he knew her better than anyone else, didn’t he? And he also knew that, when riled, Kate Clark had a stubborn streak to outmatch a nest of angry bees. He needed a quiet place where they could sit and talk, away from prying eyes, attentive ears and interruptions. Where they could catch up on the last ten years. Where he could convince her to give him a chance. Maybe, just maybe, he’d go out, buy a bag of candy hearts, and start wooing her again—just like old times.

  “What time do you close?” he asked.

  “Seven on weekdays.” Melanie handed him the coffee. When he removed his wallet to pay, she waved him away. “Our new customer rule. First cup of coffee is always on the house.”