Recipe for Kisses

by Michelle Major

  “In addition to you being a coward?” Sam cut another lime and placed a wedge in front of each woman.

  “Enough support from you,” Kendall said, giving Sam another poke.

  “I think I’ve had enough to drink,” Chloe said as she looked at another magazine. The bride on the cover seemed to wink at her. That was impossible, right?

  “One more,” Jenny told her. “Don’t make me say Cover Girl is a better friend than you.”

  Sam shook her head. “I did Maybelline, never CoverGirl.”

  “Would it offend you if I didn’t know the difference?” Jenny giggled, and the sound was so ridiculous coming from the tiny spitfire that it made Chloe giggle, too. Then Kendall started laughing and pretty soon all four of them were doubled over. Tequila and ice cream—a cure-all combination.

  As they tipped back the final shot, Chloe, who didn’t mind her reputation as a lightweight, thought the alcohol went down smoother the more she drank. “This one.” She pressed her finger against a page in the magazine and tapped it a few times. Funny, she couldn’t feel the tip.

  “That’s a tux,” Kendall said, squinting to focus on the photo.

  Chloe looked again then adjusted her finger to point to a woman wearing a cocktail-length, sage-green dress. It had thin straps, a fitted bodice, and an A-line waist that would flatter each woman’s figure. Chloe was pretty sure she had a winner.

  A loopy smile broke across Kendall’s face. “Oh,” she breathed. “I love it. I’m going to be jealous of my bridesmaids.”

  Jenny snatched the magazine and held it above her head, leaning back as she moved it closer then farther from her face. “It might work.” She seemed to try to wink at Chloe but couldn’t quite reopen her eye. “We won’t look like total dog meat next to Maybelline over there.”

  Sam burped in response, making all of them laugh again.

  “Unless,” Jenny suggested, “you reconsider eloping. I’ve heard Vegas can be quite romantic.”

  Kendall held out a hand. “Give me the photo so you don’t end up puking all over it.”

  “I’m not a puker.” Jenny sounded affronted.

  “Even if I really wanted to elope, I can’t disappoint my mother that way.” Kendall hiccupped then sniffed. “She’s been calling every week with ideas and is already working on my veil.”

  “You haven’t set a date,” Chloe said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Kendall said, although to Chloe it sounded like “cousin splatter.”

  “Speaking of Vegas,” Sam said, slamming her hand onto the table. “How’s Chef Hottie?”

  “Are you ’loping?” Jenny held out her fist. “Don’t leave me hangin’, sista.”

  Chloe gave the redhead a tentative fist bump. “I’m not eloping with Ben. Or anyone.” She shook her head. “Marriage and I did not agree.”

  “Because you were married to a jackass,” Sam interjected.

  “I thought Ben Haddox was a jackass.” Jenny held out her hands, wiggling her fingers as she gazed at them.

  “He’s not,” Chloe said.

  “We know he’s hot,” Jenny told her.

  “I said he’s not. A jackass.” Chloe picked up the lime, stuck out her tongue, and touched it to the tangy pulp. “But he’s different. Like you were saying with Owen. We come from different places and it can’t last.”

  “Ty and I are different, but that’s part of what I love about him.”

  “Not everyone is built for love,” Sam said, staring at the ceiling. “Some people don’t have it in them.” She lifted a finger in front of her face then turned it toward her own forehead. “Like me.”

  “And me.”

  “And maybe Ben,” Chloe whispered.

  “You three are the most maudlin bridal party I’ve ever met.” Kendall sighed. “I can’t wait for my bachelorette party.”

  That comment made them laugh again. “The new season of Downton Abbey is available On Demand,” Sam said. “Who’s with me?”

  Kendall and Chloe raised their hands while Jenny blinked. “What about Pawn Stars?” she asked.

  They made their way, with only a few detours into walls or doorways, into the family room. Within minutes of watching the period drama, Sam and Jenny were snoring. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, Jenny’s head propped against Sam’s shirtsleeve.

  Chloe knew she should be tired, but energy revved through her. She shifted on the leather chair where she sat, pulled her phone out of her back pocket, and automatically checked the store’s Facebook page. Ever since Abby had made herself the moderator, she’d been posting content to boost engagement on the social media fan page. Two customers had made positive comments about a picture from the most recent story-time event. Chloe started to post a status update herself but thought better of it. At least she wasn’t that drunk. Next she typed Ben’s name into the Internet search bar and pressed the “images” tab.

  “Let me see.” Kendall, who was sitting on the floor, her back against the leather chair, reached up a hand.

  “See what?”

  “You must be Googling Ben because you whimpered.”

  “I didn’t whimper,” Chloe protested but handed over the phone, almost dropping it on Kendall’s head before making contact with her open palm.

  Kendall made a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan. “I don’t blame you. He looks like he knows how to turn up the heat, and not just in the kitchen.”

  “Mmm . . . hmmm.” The sound left Chloe’s mouth before she realized it. Her gaze flicked to the other two women who were still sleeping soundly. In fact, it looked like Jenny might be drooling on Sam’s arm.

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” Kendall tilted up her chin to look at Chloe upside down but immediately dropped her head between her legs. “Is the room spinning?”

  “I don’t think so, but I know you guys are the best friends I’ve ever had.”

  “That’s true even though it’s the alcohol talking right now.” Kendall massaged her temples for a minute then slowly turned. “Two words of advice.”

  A few months ago, Chloe would have laughed at Kendall giving anyone man advice, but now she was the only one of them who’d managed to have a healthy relationship. “Lay it on me.”

  “Booty call.”

  Chloe stared at her. “Seriously?”

  “You’re drunk, he’s hot. That equals a booty call.” She cocked her head to one side. “Or maybe now it’s called drunk texting.” She grabbed at the phone. “Want me to send it?”

  “No!” Chloe clutched the phone to her chest. “I can’t. I shouldn’t.”

  “You want to.” Kendall wiggled her eyebrows.

  “What would I say?”

  Kendall was quiet for a moment then whispered, “Do me, big guy.”

  Chloe felt her eyes widen. “Is that what you say to Ty?”

  “Um . . . not exactly. It’s more—”

  “Hush.” Chloe tapped Kendall’s shoulder with her foot. “I don’t want to know. Ok, I’m texting.” She punched in two letters.

  Hi.

  “What if he ignores me?” She glanced at the time on her phone. “It’s late. What if he’s sleeping? I can’t stand this.” She felt dizzy, all the alcohol she’d consumed churning in her belly. “I need to take it back.”

  Kendall laughed and Chloe kicked at her, none too gently by the way Kendall fell over.

  “How do I delete—” Her phone chimed and her hand jerked. The phone flipped to the floor.

  “I’ll get it,” Kendall said with a devious laugh, but Chloe dove for it, grunting when her chin connected with the hardwood first.

  She rolled onto her back, pushing Kendall away.

  How was your night?

  Her thumbs raced across the keyboard, and she pressed Send before she could think better of it.

  I want to have sex.

  “No beating around the bush for you.” Kendall scooted closer, her head tilted so she could read the screen.

  The reply was
almost instantaneous.

  Can you be more specific?

  Kendall giggled. “I like him.”

  “Me too,” Chloe said, smiling as she typed.

  With you.

  “That’s the problem.” She hit Send again and waited.

  You should do girls’ nights more often. Text me the address.

  She glanced at Kendall, who nodded. “You go, honey. I’ll watch over Thelma and Louise.”

  “I’m going to grab my purse, and I’ll come by tomorrow for the car.” With some effort, Chloe managed to get to her feet. “Need a hand up?”

  Kendall’s eyes drifted shut. “How about a pillow?”

  Chloe grabbed one of the decorative pillows from the couch and tucked it under her friend’s head then draped a blanket over her, having a hard time resisting the urge to sink back down to the floor. It was sleepy in the quiet living room, so after retrieving her purse from the kitchen, she let herself out the front door. Maybe the cooler night air would help her wake up. Otherwise, she was going to be the worst booty call in the history of mankind.

  Ben smiled as he knocked on the door of the address Chloe had texted him. He’d made record time getting to Kendall’s house, although things seemed weirdly quiet compared to the drunken revelry he’d imagined from four intoxicated women. When no one answered his second knock, he checked his phone, wondering if he was at the wrong address.

  Then he heard a soft snuffling and turned to see Chloe sleeping on a wooden swing at the far side of the porch. Her legs were curled up in a fetal position, her curls covering most of her face as she slept. So much for the suggestive text, he thought, but it didn’t matter. She’d wanted him and whether it was for bedroom adventures or holding her hair back when she got sick, he was uncharacteristically happy to be that man.

  He brushed away her hair from her cheek then sucked in a breath. “Chloe,” he said, lifting her to a sitting position as he knelt in front of her. “Are you ok? What happened?”

  She blinked several times. “Hey, Chef Hottie,” she slurred. “Come to have your wicked way wif me?”

  “You’re bleeding,” he told her, pressing his thumb to a cut on the inside of her bottom lip. There was dried blood all over her chin and her already-full mouth was swollen.

  Her eyes crossed as she tried to look down her nose. “I fell.”

  “On your face?”

  She lifted her hand and after several tries, pointed to her jaw. “Here.”

  He dipped his head and in the dim light could see a faint bruise forming. “Were you ladies wrestling?”

  She smiled then winced as the cut on her lip split again. “Ouch. Must have bit my lip. I didn’t notice the cut before. Too busy propositioning you.”

  “I’m a sure thing,” he told her, leaning in to drop a kiss on her forehead. He scooped her into his arms and stood. “But we need to get ice on that cut.”

  “Then we gonna have the sex?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “I think you need a strong cup of coffee more than you need the sex.” He strode toward the car and opened the passenger door.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she said with a pout, wriggling in his arms.

  “Don’t I know it.” He dropped her to her feet but kept his hands on her upper arms, afraid she might tip over if he let her go.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, listing away from him. It was more like she was shrinking away, and a bad feeling curled around his stomach when she asked in a smaller voice, “Did I make you mad? I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  Her eyes had clouded over and he wasn’t sure if she even realized what she was saying or who she was talking to. She seemed far away, almost as if she was reliving another time. One that held bad memories. One he didn’t want associated with him.

  “Chloe, look at me.” She continued to stare at a space over his shoulder, and he felt a tremble course through her. “Damn it,” he muttered and she twitched. His heart twisted in response. “It’s ok, sweetheart.” He opened the passenger-side door and maneuvered her in as gently as he could.

  She was stiff but didn’t resist him. Still, he was afraid she might actually bolt, so as soon as he was in the car he hit the automatic locks and started for her house.

  “How much did you have to drink?” he asked as he stopped at a red light.

  She shook her head, a tiny movement. “Too much.”

  “No doubt. Take some breaths, Chloe. I’m not mad. No one is mad. Everything is good.”

  At this she rolled her head across the back of the seat, her anxious gaze meeting his. “I’m not good,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” he shouted then immediately regretted it. She jumped several inches and he heard her head knock into the window. Shit. He hadn’t meant to yell at her. It was the frustration of feeling so helpless, of having to watch her deal with the repercussions of what that asshole ex-husband had done to her. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he said in a gentler tone.

  “I want to go home,” she said, her voice miserable.

  “Almost there.” He wanted to reach for her but was afraid he’d freak her out more than she already was. A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of her duplex. He was out of the car in a heartbeat, sliding across the hood to land on the sidewalk as she scrambled from the passenger’s side.

  “Chloe.”

  She slammed the door then turned and held onto the edge of it. “This isn’t about you,” she muttered. “I know that. I just . . . it reminded me . . .”

  “It’s ok.” He placed a hand, the lightest touch he could manage, on her shoulder. “Let me walk you inside.”

  She didn’t move. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “No need for that in front of me.” He drew his fingers down her arm and wrapped them around her elbow. “Let’s go.”

  He thought she might wrench away from him again, but after a few weighted moments, she took a step onto the sidewalk and started up the path toward her front porch.

  Ben didn’t say anything, simply grateful that she let him stay. Christ, this night had gone to hell. When she’d texted, he’d been asleep on the couch with his dad snoring in the recliner next to him as reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond played on the TV in the background. There’d been a moment of half-asleep bliss at the thought of holding her in his arms again. And while he hadn’t factored in how much she’d drunk tonight, he was still grateful to be the man at her side right now.

  Although he’d never been one for messy scenes or alcohol-fueled emotional meltdowns, he would have no sooner left Chloe’s side than cut off his right hand. He wanted to be the one to get her through whatever long-buried issues were brought to the surface by the booze.

  He wanted to be a man she could depend on even in her darkest moments.

  As they approached the door, she fumbled in her purse, taking out a set of keys then dropping them to the concrete. Before he could stop her, she reached for them and fell forward, almost face-planting again before he caught her around the waist.

  “I’m going to carry you again,” he said, holding her tightly to him as he unlocked the door and opened it. “Is that ok?”

  It was a ridiculous question since her balance was precarious at best. Still, he knew it was essential to have her permission on this.

  “Ok,” she murmured and once again, he lifted her into his arms. She weighed next to nothing and it felt exactly right when she buried her face in his shoulder.

  He moved into the darkened house, where Mr. Rogers waited to curl around his legs as he fumbled for the light switch. After depositing Chloe onto the sofa, he took ice from the freezer, dumped it in a plastic bag, then wet a paper towel. He found her coffeemaker and started a fresh pot before returning to the living room.

  Chloe remained where he’d left her, eyes closed and head tipped back against the couch cushions.

  “I’m not passed out,” she said, blinking at him as he drew closer.
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  “How do you feel?” He smoothed the hair away from her face and pressed the ice to her lip.

  “Like I’ll never do tequila shots again.” She grimaced. “I may not be able to stomach a margarita either.”

  “A crying shame,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  He shook his head. “No need. We’ve all had nights like this.”

  She frowned. “I don’t have nights like this.”

  “You were right earlier, Chloe. I’m not the boss of you and I’d never try to be.”

  She gave him a long look.

  “Ok,” he admitted, “I’m overbearing by nature. But not like that. Do you want to tell me what happened back there?”

  “No.”

  “Will you tell me anyway?”

  She covered his hand with hers, moved it away from her mouth, and touched her tongue to the cut on her lip. “The first time Jonathan hit me was a shock. We weren’t even having a big fight. It was inconsequential. He wanted me to wear a certain dress to the hospital Christmas party.”

  He felt his hand curl into a fist and forced himself to relax, handing her the wet paper towel.

  She dabbed at the blood crusting her chin. “I thought it was too short, and I’d bought something new, a sparkly sweater that went with a pair of pants I loved. He kept pushing, holding the dress up to me like he could change my mind. I told him he wasn’t the boss of me . . .”

  “And . . .”

  “He backhanded me.”

  It killed him that her voice was matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing traffic patterns instead of domestic abuse.

  “He seemed as upset as I was. It came out of nowhere. He’d never even raised his voice.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. He apologized right away, talked about the stress at work and making a good impression on his colleagues. He brought me ice . . .” She trailed off and they both looked at the freezer bag Ben still held. “I put on extra concealer and we went to the party.”

  “What did you wear?”

  Her wary gaze caught on his, as if she hadn’t expected the question. “The dress he wanted.”

  “I’m going to get you a cup of coffee,” he said, knowing his voice sounded tight. He was furious at everything that had happened to her, but his anger wouldn’t help her now.