by Kate Kisset
“ChiChi’s blown a gasket, and every little thing is setting her off lately.” Regan sighed. “She called this morning, thrilled about smoothing everything over with you. She thinks you’re on her side now.” Moaning, Regan put her face in her hands. “If you stay at your mother’s house, I will hear about it at every Sunday dinner and every family event for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic?”
“I’m not.” Regan leaned back in her chair and contemplated the ceiling. “ChiChi and Cha-Cha are in cahoots. They’ll gang up on me, blow this out of proportion, and blame it on me if you don’t stay, since I’m the one who invited you.”
“Who cares where I stay?” Scarlett’s lighthearted mood soured. “What the hell is going on in this town?”
Regan guardedly grabbed her wrist and leaned in. “Something major happened to ChiChi right around Christmas. She refuses to discuss it, and still hasn’t gotten over it, and it’s all very hush-hush.” Regan lowered her voice. “But since then, the town’s become divided. ChiChi wants you in her camp.”
Still not entirely understanding whatever the hell was going on, Scarlett sighed. “Well, I guess, if it means so mu—”
“The cottage is beautiful.” Regan’s eyes lit up. “You like Jake, and when was the last time you had a vacation? Everything you could possibly need or want is there. All you have to do is stay and be pampered.”
Regan did have a point. The guest room at her mom’s house, with the treadmill and sewing machine crowded in, lacked a certain something in comparison to the DeLucas’ place. And her mom was only a quick drive away…
“Will you please stay, for me? Regan bumped her shoulder. “I know you don’t like to change plans at the last minute. But please, could you do this for me?”
“Of course I will.” Regan never asked for anything. Far be it from Scarlett to disappoint her best friend.
“Thank you. I won’t forget it.” Regan narrowed her eyes and pointed her chin toward the pastry counter. “That woman over there started the whole thing.”
Scarlett leaned over the table for a better look.
“No.” Regan jabbed her arm. “Don’t stare. She’ll see you. Now she’s stuffing a cream puff in her mouth.”
Scarlett nonchalantly stole a peek. “You mean the lady in the blue sailor suit with the cleavage?”
“Yes,” Regan said under her breath with her eyes on the target. “That’s her.”
Scarlett shrugged. There wasn’t a soul in the Sweet and Savory she hadn’t seen a thousand times before. “You’re staring down Deidre Potter? From Petal Pusher: Buds and Vines?”
Regan seemed annoyed. “I keep forgetting you grew up here.”
“She used to dress up as Mother Goose and read stories to us in elementary school. She’s harmless.”
“Oh, no she isn’t.” Regan shook her head adamantly. “Not according to ChiChi.” Regan leaned close to her ear. “Whatever happened at Christmas had to do with something Deidre did to Charles Baudouin, ChiChi’s boyfriend. And it threw a monkey wrench smack into the middle of the Winter Garden Gala.” Regan narrowed her eyes with a glare level of DEFCON two.
Scarlett peered around a customer to get a better look at the perpetrator. Maybe Mother Goose has a multiple personality disorder?
“Now Deidre’s tied with ChiChi in the Winter Garden Gala standings. They’re both nineteen-time finalists and nine-time winners, and that’s because, get this… ChiChi forfeited the competition this year because she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with Deidre. She even banned all of us from going!”
Regan threw down the gauntlet with a death stare at Deidre, who popped another cream puff in her mouth. “The DeLucas are taking that woman down.”
CHAPTER THREE
Jake spent most of the morning listening to Cha-Cha and ChiChi deliberate the pros and cons of the Argentine tango. Then they argued whether an augmented Argentine tango would even count as a real dance. And because they’d spent so much time yammering, they ran out of time for practice.
His grandmother then proceeded to stuff him with so much pasta puttanesca he needed a nap. Instead, Jake drove to Napa and watched the Raiders practice for a few hours. On the ride home, he determined Scarlett’s eyes were the color of melted milk chocolate.
The moment Jake got home, he checked to see if Scarlett's fuzzy sweatshirt was still on the kitchen chair. It was. He supposed she’d either forgotten it or, if he was lucky, hadn’t left yet.
After letting Brady out to do his business, and then changing into comfy clothes, Jake settled himself on the couch. With Brady snoring on top of his legs on the couch, Jake hit play on his tablet and started from the top. Under ChiChi’s strict orders to memorize the steps, he’d watched the same Dancing with the Stars segment fifteen times on YouTube. The main takeaway so far was to avoid wearing anything remotely like the tight pants and goofy satin shirts the guys wore on the show.
The sound of a key rattling the lock made his chest tighten. Brady launched from the couch.
“Hey.” Scarlett breezed into the house, looking stunning in a white skirt. His gaze ran down her smooth, silky legs.
Even though he tried to hide his excitement, Jake found himself grinning. “You’re back.” By the time, Jake closed his tablet and got up, Brady was already begging her for kisses. Great minds.
“How’d your meeting go?” he asked, taking the Picker’s Produce, Meats, and More bags from her arms and following her into the kitchen.
Her pretty face lit up. “Fingers crossed.”
He placed the bags on the island, and she began to put the groceries away.
“So, Doc H. is selling you the practice?” He calculated how many times he took Brady to the vet in San Francisco and threw out the equation. “That’s it. I’m changing vets.”
She laughed, shoving Rocky Road into the freezer. “It’s not a done deal.” She closed the freezer door and shocked him by inching close enough that he smelled the sun in her hair. “I’d tell you all about it, but I don’t want to jinx it.” She looked a little torn.
“No worries, I get it,” he said, contented she felt close enough to him to share, and jazzed she dug him enough to stand so close. “You didn’t have to do this, by the way.” He snooped inside a bag. “Larry comes twice a week to stock the place.”
“About that, if it’s still okay with you”—she grabbed a head of lettuce—“I’d like to stay a little longer, and I want to chip in.” She shrugged and hit him below the belt with the cutest smile.
And his smile turned into a grin. Yes. Yes. Yes. “Of course, you can stay...as long as you want.” His voice ratcheted up another octave, blowing his cool factor even more. “Here, let me help.” Jake took the milk carton from her, and his fingers brushed over hers.
She blinked up, as if suddenly aware of his proximity. Taken off guard again by her legs in that skirt, and her gorgeous lips, Jake held back an overwhelming urge to back her up against the refrigerator and kiss the hell out of her. Why didn’t I ask her out years ago? Obviously not on the same page, Scarlett moved to the other side of the kitchen island.
“Want to go out tonight? Get some dinner?” Jake made sure he sounded casual, trying to gauge her reaction. She merely raised her brows. He tried another tactic. “Or we could take Brady for a walk…”
At the sound of his name and the word “walk” in the same sentence, Brady’s tail became jet propelled, forcing his butt into a wiggle as he sprang across the room. Brady jumped, shouting in doggy language, “Oh, please, let’s go!” Boing. “Let’s go!” Boing.
With her hand on her hip, apparently considering, Scarlett finally smiled. She snagged her sweatshirt from the chair. “Give me a sec to change, and I’ll join you guys.’’
***
Who knew shacking up without sex could be so much fun, even if it was a little frustrating? Jake chuckled under his breath. After four days of living together, he’d finally managed to talk Scar
lett into going out with him, without Brady.
Scarlett’s hair looked different in the sunlight. Several strands peeked out from under her hat and caught the light, adding an amber hue to her dark tresses. Side by side they strolled through the park, which was crowded with locals enjoying St. Helena’s first late afternoon Farmers’ Market.
“Strawberry?” Scarlett held the berry by the stem in front of his nose. Her eyes sparkled under the brim of her floppy hat.
“Only if you feed it to me,” he teased, making a move with his mouth open, but she pulled her hand back.
“Got you!” she laughed, popping the fruit into her mouth and sauntering away.
An acoustic band started up in the distance. Jake purposely slowed his pace, enjoying the view from behind her. Scarlett’s jeans hugged her swaying hips, and her little white T-shirt exposed tan, toned arms and curves that made his stomach tighten. And the hat looked sexy on her.
He didn’t mind other men checking her out too much, but several were making moves in her direction, so he quickly caught up to her at the honey stand. He wouldn’t dare make a comment about how he’d like to dab a little behind her ear and lick it off. Yet.
“I bought a stick for you.” A shy smile illuminated her beautiful face. “Here,” she said handing it to him. “It’s on me.”
“Thanks.” He stuck it in his mouth, captivated by the way the sunlight played in her eyes. “I’ve decided you’re contagious.”
“Huh?” The way she narrowed her eyes and scrunched her nose made him want to kiss her then and there.
“How happy you are. I think it’s contagious.” He grinned, feeling as vulnerable as Brady begging for a treat. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”
“It’s too hot to stay inside. Thanks for dragging me away from the computer.” Scarlett placed the honey stick between her pink lips and sucked. The move mesmerized him. So soft. So natural. So effin’ hot.
He usually dated newscasters, reporters, or blow-dried socialite-wannabes. Women who were happy to hang on his arm for an event or two, but didn't expect anything long-term. He hadn’t dated someone like Scarlett in a long time. At least he hoped they were on a date. She acted so casual around him, he couldn’t be sure.
Together they strolled past displays of summer squashes, peaches, and veggies he’d never heard of. They paused next to about fifty baskets filled with herbs.
“Jake! Oh, Jake, darling!” A familiar voice warbled over the crowd. His stomach hit the ground, and he turned. Thick as thieves, wearing matching sparkly visors and shiny white track suits, Cha-Cha and ChiChi wedged their way through the shoppers.
“Look at the size of this!” Cha-Cha whipped a zucchini out of her pocket like a gunslinger and pointed it at him.
He shot his hands up. “You’re going to hurt someone with that thing.” She stuck it back in her pocket.
“We’re making pasta primavera tonight,” ChiChi explained, with a devilish grin. “Have you been practicing those steps from this morning?” ChiChi did a little toe flick, showing off thick white shoes transformed by a Bedazzler. “Back with the right, four…” She twirled. Her visor caught the light, making a rainbow of sparkles. “Cross left over right, and five.” She beamed.
“Of course,” he said, depositing a kiss on her cheek before greeting his grandmother with the same.
“Well, you ladies look like you’re having fun.” Scarlett sniffed a bundle of rosemary and put it back on the table.
“Oh, we are, dear.” ChiChi smiled brightly. “It’s not often I have my sister with me for the whole summer.”
“The Martelli side of the family is based in Los Gatos now,” Cha-Cha nodded, making her curly gray ponytail bounce. “Jake’s parents used to live here, but since they sold the place, I don’t get back often enough.” Surprisingly, she reached over and gave Scarlett a warm hug.
“Don’t I get one too?” ChiChi’s eyes twinkled.
Scarlett wrapped her arms around her and squeezed.
ChiChi and Cha-Cha then stepped back and overtly examined Scarlett like they were buying a car. Jake wrapped a protective arm around her waist and hoped she didn’t mind.
“Yes, she’s a beauty and just the right height.” ChiChi titled her head.
“Homegrown, too.” Cha-Cha giggled, and then whispered something to make ChiChi chortle. “Now go ahead, don't let us stop you.” She gestured with her hands, pushing him and Scarlett away. “You two are looking awfully chummy, Jake.” She winked. “Have fun, and don’t forget to practice those steps.” The two grannies waved and paraded in the opposite direction.
“On to the kettle corn?” Scarlett asked, as if he might possibly consider saying no. “What was that all about?”
“To be honest, I’m afraid to imagine what those two are up to.” Jake rubbed the tension in the back of his neck. “They haven’t given me the full story, but I’ve been dreading this dance, and whatever event they’ve masterminded, since Christmas.”
The smell of baked sugar and cooked oil thickened the air, and they joined a line about ten deep.
Scarlett propped her hands on her hips and raised a brow. “Aren’t you going to fill me in?” The sound of rapid-fire popcorn mixed with the music and the hum of the crowd.
“Sure, but I don’t want to bore you.” He ran a hand over his hair, surprised by how hot it was all of a sudden, and walked forward to catch up with the people ahead of him in line.
“Try me,” Scarlett dared.
Their turn came up, and Jake stalled. He took an extra-long time reaching into his wallet and paying the kettle corn vendor. By the time he handed the bag of glazed popcorn to Scarlett, he hoped she’d forgotten the topic.
They ambled in the opposite direction of the band, heading to the jewelry and art tents. “You’re not going to go all strong and silent on me now, are you?” Scarlett stopped and tipped the bag toward him.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, grabbing a handful. They continued walking.
“Everything.” She sniggered, popping a few puffs into her mouth.
One thing was sure. Scarlett hadn’t Googled him the way he had her, or she would’ve already known about the San Francisco Sweetheart’s auction debacle. “It's a stupid story.”
She leaned into his arm. “It’ll keep my mind off worrying about my next meeting with Dr. Huntington.”
“You have to promise to keep this a secret.”
She put her hand to her heart. “Scout’s honor. Promise.”
“Okay.” Jake sighed. “Bottom line. ChiChi bought me at a charity auction in February. I’m in St. Helena because she now owns me for one date, and she wants it to be in August.”
She waggled a brow at him from under her hat. “You sure this is a true story?”
He nodded, realizing the faster he told Scarlett the truth, the sooner they could move on to more pleasurable activities. Like kissing. “As far as I can tell—and of course I haven't gotten a straight answer from anyone—apparently ChiChi is planning a covert dance competition to get back at some poor woman who sells petunias here in town.”
“Uh-huh, Deidre Potter. Petal Pusher: Buds and Vines.” Scarlett wandered toward an earring booth. “Yeah, I can confirm. ChiChi and your grandma are taking her down.”
Jake whipped his head around. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Regan told me at lunch.”
Jesus, it was worse than he thought. Why am I the last to know?
“Now, I wanted nothing to do with this dance,” he explained, feeling the tension twist the knots in his neck. “But, because all ChiChi’s grandsons managed to finagle their way out of being her partner, my nonna gave ChiChi permission to dip into her gene pool. They launched their plan in December, by the way, so you can imagine what they’ve put me through.”
“You have two sisters, right?” Scarlett nodded, taking a pair of earrings off the display rack.
“Right, so, of course there were zero options for me.”
> Scarlett didn’t seem to be concerned about the holy hell he’d been going through for eight months. She held some dangly, sparkly earrings to the fading sun and then put them back on the rack. “And?”
“As you’ve experienced, when the grannies have their minds set on something, they win. Period. End of story. I put them off, and it worked for awhile. But then they upped their game—”
“They got tired of making biscotti and knitting sweaters, huh?” Scarlett giggled and checked the price tag on a bracelet.
“You have no idea.” He held back a laugh, thinking about how crazy he sounded.
Scarlett stepped away from the jewelry and stared at him. Then, shockingly, slid her hand into his. Her skin felt so unbelievably soft against his rough fingers. He forgot what he was saying. She tugged his hand. “Let’s walk.”
After getting his blood pressure under control, and getting used to the incredible feeling of walking hand-in-hand with Scarlett, he continued. “So, because I refused to dance, they launched a coordinated and premeditated attack on me.” He rubbed his throat. “The first time I said no, back in December, my grandmother called to inform me my aunt was having heart palpitations because of the stress I caused by not dancing with her.” He squeezed her hand. “Can you believe it?”
She peered up from under her brim, tilting her head back. “I think they’ve got your number.”
“Then my aunt called, pretending to be in the hospital because of—I can’t even remember…I called Gabe—from work, mind you—to get the details, and found out she’d been lying about the whole thing. My own relatives deceived me about being sick! Now, that in itself is sick. Is that not sick?” Jake blew out a long sigh. “Things settled down in January. I didn’t hear a peep from either of them. Then the shit blew in San Francisco.”
Scarlett tugged his arm. “Let’s sit on this bench,” she suggested in a soothing voice, so smooth and sexy he’d follow her anywhere. They sat side by side, still holding hands.
