by Tawny Weber
“They changed.” Changed, were changed. Whatever.
“Not hanging with Xander?”
“Nah.” Not for lack of trying, but his brother wasn’t answering his phone. Odd.
Xander would be the perfect person to hang with right now. The man had insights. He had the skills to dig beyond the surface of an issue and find the core problem. Not that Zane needed anyone to point out where he’d screwed up. He was pretty clear on that. But how to fix it? That part was a little murky.
Zane pulled out his phone to scowl at the blank display.
Where the hell was Xander when he needed him?
Zane looked across the table at his brother’s stand-in. The lanky, freckled boy next door whose greatest ambition was to own the gas station where he worked. As far as Zane could remember, the guy had dated two women, so his expertise was nothing to brag about. And the one he’d married had kicked his butt to the curb months ago.
That didn’t mean he didn’t have anything to offer.
“Do you think I’m incapable of refusing a challenge?”
“Why would you bother? That’s how you prove you’ve still got it, my friend.”
Zane blinked. What the hell? He was a SEAL. He disposed of live bombs for a living. He jumped out of planes, dived into oceans and, dammit, pounded sixty-four-ounce slushies in a single gulp.
Why did he have to prove anything?
“Dude, you and Xander, you’re like our heroes. You guys live the dream. Kicking ass, saving the world.”
“If you think that ass-kicking and world-saving are so great, why the idiotic dares when we come home?”
“How else would we get you back here?” Twisting off the cap of another beer, Lenny laughed. “Like you’re gonna come back to hang out with your boring old buddies?”
“We come back all the time,” Zane said, dismissively. “Our family lives here. We’re not going to stop visiting.”
“Visiting Little Creek, sure. But us? Most of the guys are married. Joe has a kid on the way. Sure, I’m holding down the fort as the hottest bachelor in town, but let’s get real, you’re not coming back to play my wingman.” Lenny laughed so hard he snorted beer. “As if.”
Huh.
Good point.
Ten minutes later, Lenny had gone to his room to pass out, leaving Zane to contemplate his friend’s buck-toothed brilliance. Well, that and leave another message for Xander.
Where the hell was his brother?
Zane stepped out to sit on the narrow excuse for a patio that ran between Lenny’s apartment and Vivian’s and contemplated one of the biggest challenges he’d ever faced.
Figuring out what to do about this situation with Vivian.
On one hand, his career as a SEAL was based on challenges. Every training session, every op, every mission was a new challenge to be faced. And damned if he didn’t rock them, every one. Because that was what he did.
Which brought him to his other hand.
Was he so incapable of refusing a challenge that he’d let that blow his shot with a woman as great as Vivian? Was his ego more important than her feelings?
Which brought him to her feelings.
She’d said she might be falling.
Zane’s spine twitched as something that resembled panic started climbing up his back again.
Falling?
Wasn’t that his signal to start running?
Sure, he’d wanted her to move to San Diego, to live near him. He’d pictured them continuing the fun and games. Great sex, lots of laughs, more sex, good times and, yeah, more sex. And sure, they had a lot more going on than that. Other than the challenge thing, which she clearly didn’t understand the importance of, she totally got him. She made him feel great. And he’d thought he did the same for her.
But falling?
That was serious.
What if it didn’t work? What is she moved there and wasn’t happy? What if they failed as a couple?
Talk about challenges.
It was better this way, he decided. Her brother had said to get out. She’d said to get out. He’d gotten out.
Mike would see that as honoring the bro code.
Vivian would see it as doing exactly as she’d asked.
And he could finish out the challenge and, yeah, even though he’d pretty much ignored it until now, he could pull off a win.
All he had to do was accept that it was over with Vivian.
* * *
“YO, VIV?”
Vivian bit her lip against the urge to scream, but didn’t bother looking up from the cake she was decorating. She’d come in early to finish this cake hoping she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Was this Mike’s challenge? To ruin every one of her plans?
“This is a bad time,” she said quietly. “I’m working.”
“So? You can work and talk at the same time.”
Because it took no focus or talent to slap frosting on a cake? Vivian whipped her whisk through melted sugar then flicked it over the rack, where it hardened instantly in slender, misty strands of gold.
“About this deal with Zane.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Moving around the table, she spun sugar over two more racks. “Was there anything else? Because I have to finish this cake.”
“I didn’t realize you and Zane were a thing.”
“Is that the new term for consolation prize?”
“C’mon, Viv. You should give Zane a chance. He’s really upset about what happened.”
He was? Vivian’s hand froze midflick. Maybe she should talk to him. Apologize and explain why she’d been so over-the-top the night before.
She set the bowl aside and turned to stare at her brother.
“Just, you know, let him finish the challenge first.”
“Finish the challenge?” Vivian bit back a scream. “You are saying you want me to get together with your friend, but he has to win this little bet first? The bet that involves him dating another woman?”
And this from a man who thought she was too risqué because she decorated penis cakes?
“No, of course not. He doesn’t have to win a bet. It’s not like there’s money riding on it. And Xander has just as good a shot. But they have to finish it. It’s a tradition.”
A tradition.
Vivian drew in a deep breath through her nose, hoping the air would cool the fire in her gut. When it didn’t, she grabbed her bottle of water and guzzled. That, and another breath were enough for her to be able to look her brother in the face and say, calmly, “Some traditions are stupid.”
Needing to finish the cake, so ready to be done with everything—especially the confusion—she grabbed a sugar burst.
“Sometimes tradition is just another word for limiting. For staying in a rut. Some traditions are excuses to never take risks, never change, never try.” Vivian bit her lip, all of her attention on placing the final explosion of sugar on the top of the cake so it poured like fireworks out of the panther’s paws. “This bakery is all about traditions, isn’t it?”
“Of course. Three generations of bakers. That’s something to be proud of. Something to respected, even.”
“It is.” And it was something she’d forgotten in her determination to pursue her own dreams. “You’re right. Sometimes traditions matter.”
Clearly traditions mattered to Zane.
And obviously traditions mattered to her family. And, she could now see, they mattered to her. So much so that she’d never follow her dreams if she stayed here in Little Creek. She’d keep glomming on to excuses. She’d keep sabotaging herself.
This thing with Zane had made her realize one thing. She couldn’t face her own challenge if she kept hiding behind traditions.
“You’re right,�
� she said again. “And my designs go against that tradition, don’t they? I’ll talk to Mom and Dad when they get home tomorrow.”
“Excellent. You’re going to tell them you’re done with that crazy baking stuff?”
She thought of the acceptance letter from the culinary institute.
“No. I’m going to tell them that they need to find a baker to replace me. I’m moving to California to intern with one of the great dessert chefs in the culinary field.”
“What? No,” Mike protested. “You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can.” Vivian toured the cake, walking around to check it from all sides before deeming it finished. That gave her enough time to gauge the nerves dancing in her belly and decide if they were good and happy or bad and freaked out.
A little bit of each, she decided, whipping off her apron and exchanging it for her purse.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I don’t think, I know.” She picked up a pink cardboard box sporting The Sweet Spot’s sticker. “I’m going to talk with Zane.”
“No.” Mike shoved to his feet, scurried across the room and stood in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re not interfering.”
“Yes. I am.” Vivian angled sideways, heading for the back door instead. She had it open before he managed to uncross his arms. “Oh, and before I talk with Zane? I’m going to fill Quinn in on your little challenge. Just so it’s fair.”
She left to the sound of her brother’s scream of protest.
Ten minutes later, she’d tracked down Quinn’s place and knocked on the door. When the brunette answered, Vivian choked back the automatic surge of envy at how gorgeous the woman was.
“Hi, I’m Vivian. I was hoping we could chat.” She lifted the box and smiled. “I brought cupcakes.”
“Hi, Vivian,” Quinn greeted with a hesitant smile. “Why?”
“First, because I love your boots and figure any woman who has such great taste in footwear is one I’d like to know. Second, I know you grew up here, but you haven’t been back long so I thought maybe you could use a friend. And third—” she lifted the lid to show off the variety pack of cupcakes “—some things are better discussed with sugar.”
11
ZANE HAD NEVER felt less like partying than he did right at that moment. But obligations were like duty. You reported whether you wanted to or not.
So, wearing slacks and a black shirt, no tie—because, dammit, he refused to wear his uniform—Zane strode into the country club to the blast of “Fergalicious.” It was like stepping back in time to the prom. The gilt and marble ballroom was filled with balloons, streamers, paper panthers and overdressed people fighting to impress each other.
Thankfully, this was the final reunion event. The luncheons and ceremonies and parades were over. After tonight’s reunion dance, it was all finished.
Once, he’d have seen this as his duty to liven the party up, to make an impression. Now? He glanced at his watch, gauging how much time he had to put in before he could try to reach Vivian again.
He’d gone by her apartment, he’d stopped in at the bakery, he’d even checked with Mike. Unless a bizarre lecture on the importance of traditions counted for anything, it’d been a total bust.
Zane made his way through the dancing crowd, a handful of chatting groups, a few people passing a flask and the half-dozen couples making out in the corners.
It really was like prom.
Which, if he remembered correctly, had included a group skinny-dipping dare that had gotten half the graduating class put into detention.
Who’d have thought that he’d be here, ten years older and a decorated Navy SEAL, and just as stupid. More than ready to have this evening and the reminder of his mistakes finished, Zane looked around for his buddies.
He spotted his brother first, standing by the piano watching the entrance.
“Yo,” he greeted when he reached Xander. “Great party, right?”
Xander nodded in greeting, a troubled expression in his eyes. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks, man. Glad to know you’ve always got my back.”
“Always.”
They stood there in silence for a few minutes, watching their past dancing around to Beyoncé’s “Irreplaceable.” Which was fine until Mrs. Marshall, their old algebra teacher, started gyrating against the gym teacher, Mr. Bridges.
“Oh, man,” Zane breathed in horror.
“So wrong,” Xander agreed.
“We’re supposed to find Kyle,” Zane said when they tore their eyes away.
“Right.” Xander sighed. “Challenge time, and all that.”
“Yeah. All that.” Zane frowned as he studied his brother. He hadn’t seen much of him the last few days, but it didn’t take that mythical twin thing to know there was something wrong. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Zane could think of dozens of reasons, none of which Xander seemed open to hearing. Since he recognized that closed look on his brother’s face, he went the opposite direction.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You want advice? Did you bump your head?”
Before Zane could respond, they were descended upon by a loud, rowdy group of locusts better known as their buddies. Only Mike appeared less than jubilant. Instead, he stood off to the side with a closed expression on his face.
“Challenge time,” Kyle called out again, raising his hand in the air for a high five. Zane exchanged looks with Xander, and taking comfort from knowing someone else was hating this as much as he was, let someone else step up to return the hand slap.
“So which one of you are here with Quinn?” Lenny asked. “I’ve got twenty riding on this. If I can collect before the next song, I can snag a date for the rest of the party.”
“Who scored?” Kyle demanded.
“Not me.” Zane lifted one hand, fingers curved to reflect that zero.
“I’m here alone,” Xander said with a shrug.
You’d think they’d told the gang they’d decided to leave the Navy to join an all-male pink-tutu-wearing burlesque troupe. All of their faces drooped, their jaws dropped, their collective gasp blew through the room like a hurricane.
Kyle grabbed a chair.
Lenny grabbed a beer.
Mike glared while Joe started babbling about failure, bubbles bursting and panther pride.
“Okay, so neither of you could bring in the win,” Kyle finally managed. “But we have to declare a winner. So who was closest to a date tonight?”
“Cupcake,” Lenny burst out. “Zane scored a cupcake.”
Cupcake and coffee, actually.
A challenge was on the line. His honor. His rep.
A movement across the room caught his eye. A flash of red satin, black leather and a very tall cake shaped like a panther.
Vivian.
“Gotta go,” he said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I’ve got a lady to see about a cake.”
* * *
VIVIAN SKIMMED ONE hand down her hip, smoothing the satin. She was slightly overdressed for a class reunion, but she was okay with that.
Because she was a woman on a mission.
And her mission was standing over there with his crew, looking about as hot as hot could get.
Vivian took one second to revel in the awe and admiration of the crowd as they gathered around the cake, everyone blown away by the awesomeness that was a four-foot-tall glittering black panther wearing a Pikes Peak High letterman’s jacket.
“It’s perfect.”
“It’s too perfect.”
Zane caught her eye, his expression intense enough to give her shivers all the way across the room. But when he started walking her way, a par
t of her wanted to run in the other direction. Maybe she shouldn’t be here.
“We can’t cut unto that.”
“Of course you can cut into it.” Vivian grabbed the cake knife, whapping off the foot. “There, see.”
Ignoring the shocked faces, she scooted out from behind the dessert table. She was tempted to wipe her damp palms on her dress, but it was satin. Which, she reminded herself, was why she’d worn it. Well, that and because it did a great job of highlighting her figure.
Something she was pleased to see Zane was taking note of.
Still, not even the heated appreciation in his eyes was enough to assuage her nerves.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Vivian said, just a little breathless. Not out of desire this time, although she was trembling a little being this close to him.
Or was it her dream, standing right there in front of her looking so damned fine?
“Do you mind?” Zane asked, one second before he slid his arms around her waist. Before Vivian could ask, “Mind what,” he leaned down to take her mouth in a kiss that made her toes curl. Her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance, but just as she was sinking into the kiss, he pulled away.
“Hi,” she murmured again, making him smile.
“Yo, everyone,” Zane called out to the room in general. He gave it long enough for a handful of people to look over. “Have you met Vivian? My date for the evening?”
“What?”
“Dammit.”
“But, dude, the challenge?”
Ignoring the complaints and comments of his friends, Zane led Vivian out to the relative privacy of outdoors. Hands entwined, they walked along a rose-scented balcony gleaming with fairy lights.
Now that she had him alone, though, Vivian wasn’t sure what to say. She’d planned the evening so carefully. The dress, the shoes, her hair and makeup. She’d rehearsed her hello, she’d practiced the walk across the room a half-dozen times.
But now? Standing there staring at the man of her dreams? She realized that she had no clue what to do next.
Should she say she’d overreacted to a simple cupcake situation, blowing it all out of proportion because she was scared of her own feelings?
