by Brenda Novak
But in order to salvage his self-respect, she had to come to him, he told himself. And she had to convince him that the encounter wouldn’t leave her disillusioned or jaded. She’d insisted he didn’t have to worry about breaking her heart, but he hadn’t been joking when he’d said she seemed particularly vulnerable. Despite what her ex-husband and her father had done—or not done—she still believed in love, acceptance and change. She’d told him she wanted to provide those things along with her chocolate, hadn’t she?
God, she was idealistic. But he wouldn’t destroy that. His grudging admiration of her resilience wouldn’t allow him to. Why make her cynical, too?
THE ALCOHOL MADE HER light-headed. Liz didn’t drink very often. Usually, when Keith had the kids, she spent her time experimenting with different chocolates or making new candies—her latest achievement was the best chocolate-covered cinnamon bears she’d ever tasted—and not hanging out at the town’s most popular bar. She had so much to do that she didn’t see much point in wasting the time. But she was having fun tonight. Especially now that she’d spotted Carter. Although meeting up with him was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid by coming here, she couldn’t leave. Not when the evening was finally becoming interesting.
She liked the way he watched her while he played pool. Sexual energy radiated from him in waves, lapping around her like warm water, trickling down the front of her shirt and swelling up her bare legs.
“Having fun?” Pat, her dance partner, wanted to know.
She nodded and closed her eyes, losing herself in the moment and refusing to let anything else intrude. Her father was asleep at her house. She’d have to face him again in the morning. She’d also have to bear the burden of everything happening at the shop, call the plumber a second time to get him back to fix her sink, start on Mica’s costume for the end-of-year school play, buy some groceries so she could make healthier meals this week than she had the week before—to ease her guilt over working too much—and pay the bills. The list was overwhelming. But she had a few hours before she had to go back to her life. It could wait that long.
Heather Parkinson waved from the table where Liz had been sitting. Liz smiled and waved back at her and her twin sister, Rachelle. Heather and Rachelle were five years younger than Liz. They had red hair and freckles, and they worked at the Running Y. Heather wanted to get married and have babies, but she didn’t have a boyfriend. Rachelle had a boyfriend, but she wasn’t ready to settle down. Liz had little in common with either one of them, but they rented a house down the street from her and came over quite often to borrow eggs or a cup of sugar. In recent months, they’d become fairly good friends.
The song ended and Pat escorted Liz to her seat. She glanced over at Carter as she reclaimed her drink, hoping he’d ask her to dance. She wanted to feel his arms around her, his body undulating against hers. But he had his back to her as he took his turn at the pool table.
“I think Pat really likes you,” Heather said as he made his way to the bar.
“I like him, too,” she said.
“That sounded pretty neutral. I don’t get the feeling we’re talking about the same kind of like,” Rachelle said with a laugh.
“He wants to hook up with you,” Heather clarified.
“No he doesn’t,” Liz replied. In any case, Pat was Dave’s age, maybe even younger, and there weren’t any sparks between them.
“Sure you’re not interested?” Rachelle asked, peering at her more closely.
“You’re flushed,” Heather accused.
“I’m overheated,” Liz said.
“Where’re the kids tonight?” Rachelle wanted to know.
“At Keith’s.”
Heather toyed with her wineglass. “That’s convenient.”
Liz grimaced. “Not really. I miss them when they’re gone.”
“Tonight you might be glad of the break,” she said with a suggestive smile. “There’s a man in the corner who’s been watching you. Do you know him?”
Liz met Carter’s gaze. When he didn’t glance away but continued to stare, she curved her lips in a slow smile. She’d been married for more than eight years and divorced for eighteen months, and yet she’d never felt anything quite so erotic as the way he looked at her.
He didn’t return her smile or come toward her, but he seemed to register every detail of her face and body before he went on with his game.
“He’s Senator Holbrook’s new aide,” Liz said shortly, her pulse still racing.
“Oh.” Rachelle shivered. “He makes me sort of uncomfortable, you know? I mean, he’d be handsome if he wasn’t so…intense. Would it hurt him to smile once in a while?”
Rachelle was right. Carter needed to lighten up. A smile could transform him from simply “rugged” or “masculine” to darn near perfect. But there was that chip on his shoulder….
“Something’s made him angry,” she said, feeling the need to defend him.
“I don’t think so,” Heather said. “I’ve seen him in here before. He always looks that way.”
“I think he always feels that way.”
“What could be wrong?” Rachelle wanted to know. “We’re out dancing and drinking, for heaven’s sake. Why not let go and have some fun for a change?”
“Like me.” Liz took a bolstering sip of her margarita. This definitely wasn’t her usual behavior.
“Exactly,” Heather agreed.
Liz wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Whatever’s bothering him must be pretty bad.”
“How do you know?” Rachelle asked.
“From what I’ve seen, he can handle almost anything.”
She watched Carter bum a cigarette off Jon and head out the back door, and stood as though it was some sort of cue to follow him.
“Where are you going?” Heather called after her.
“Just to talk,” Liz said. “Nobody should be that alone.”
Heather snorted disbelievingly behind her, but Liz didn’t turn around. She didn’t want Carter to be alone. She didn’t want to be alone anymore, either.
CARTER LEANED AGAINST the gritty bricks of the building and took a deep drag on the first cigarette he’d had in ten years. The night overhead was cool and dark and boasted a blanket of stars he’d scarcely noticed until he’d moved away from the bright lights of the city.
It was beautiful, he thought, not wanting to think about anything other than the night sky. Not the noise or heat of the bar. Not Jon Small, who irritated him with his stupid, sexist comments and pointless pretenses. Not the past, and not the future.
Especially not the future. One day at a time. That was his motto.
The door beside him opened and Liz stepped out.
“Ready to go?” he asked as if he’d been expecting her. Part of him still wanted to offend her—whether to keep her from taking a risk or to deny himself, he didn’t know.
She didn’t fall for the line, though. She simply stared at the sky, as he’d been doing a moment earlier.
He took another long drag on his cigarette, hoping the tobacco’s bite would clear his head.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said.
“I don’t.”
“Right. I can see that.” She fell silent again as Carter flicked his ashes to one side.
“You’re up late, considering you wanted us to start work at six in the morning,” he said.
She shrugged off the comment. “No need to sound petulant. I let you talk me into eight.”
He chuckled at the fact that she still seemed disappointed to have lost that battle. “The shop means a lot to you.”
“My future is riding on it.”
He didn’t want to contemplate the likelihood of seeing her fail. Fortunately, if that happened, he’d probably be long gone. “Tell me about chocolate.”
She took her time answering. “What do you want to know?”
“Why this particular kind of shop? It can’t all stem from a movie, can it?”
“Chocolat was als
o a book, but you’re right. My mother had her own special fudge recipe, and she used to sell her candy in order to make a little money on the side. She dreamed of opening a shop one day, and I’ve wanted to do the same thing ever since I inherited that recipe. When I saw Chocolat I decided to get busy.”
Carter was stalling for time, trying to be certain there was no way to avoid taking what he wanted. He was fairly sure there wasn’t, but he wanted to give Liz plenty of time to decide. “How’d you choose which chocolate to use?”
“Research. Chocolate is an acquired taste, which comes as a surprise to most people. It’s like wine. Some wineries produce a better-tasting product than others, and those outstanding wines are direct reflections of the areas in which the grapes were grown, right?”
It was a rhetorical question, so he merely nodded.
“It’s the same with cacao beans. They’re grown in tropical climates. West Africa. Indonesia. Brazil. Malaysia. Each region produces its own flavor, according to the variety of bean, the soil and the climate.”
“Are you enough of a connoisseur to tell the difference?”
“Not yet, but I’m learning. West African beans typically have a slight coffee flavor. Ecuadorian Arriba beans are floral. Cacao beans from Venezuela and Trinidad have a fruity flavor.”
Carter took another drag from his cigarette. “What’s the best?”
“The Madagascar Criollo. These beans are difficult to cultivate, but they’re considered the nobility of all cacao beans.”
He let the smoke curl through his lips. “You seem to know your stuff.”
“Like I said, I’m learning.”
“Who were those women you were sitting with inside?”
“Heather and Rachelle Parkinson. They live down the street from me. We go out occasionally.”
“You didn’t come with them tonight.”
“No. I got a late start.”
“Your father hold you up?”
“Not really. I wasn’t planning on coming in the first place.”
Once again, Carter filled his lungs with smoke. “What made you change your mind?”
“It beat sitting by the phone, thinking about calling you,” she said. “But now I see I would’ve been better off if I’d done that instead.”
He smiled. “Better off? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not accustomed to this kind of encounter. I was hoping to keep my head.”
“Then drinking might not be the ideal solution.”
“I haven’t had much,” she said. “Coming here was merely a distraction. And it would’ve worked, except…”
“I was here, too,” he finished. “Interesting how fate steps in.”
She kicked a small rock, which skittered across the pavement toward the garbage cans. “That’s what you’d call this? Fate?”
“No, I’d call it basic animal attraction.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “How long do you expect to be in town?”
He tossed his cigarette onto the blacktop and ground it out with his foot. “Six, seven months.”
The shadow of the building obscured her expression. But he could make out the gleam in her eyes. And he could sense the conflict inside her. He had his reservations, too. Only he knew when he was beat.
“If I go home with you, will you still help me finish the shop?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t leave you hanging with all that high-quality chocolate.” He grinned devilishly.
“Relations won’t be awkward between us afterward, will they?”
His eyebrows went up. “Relations?”
“You know what I mean. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable around you.”
“Why would you feel uncomfortable? We both understand what’s going on,” he said, even though he wasn’t completely sure he understood anything. He’d dated occasionally since Laurel had taken her life. After the first few months, he’d even tried to find someone to grab onto, to keep the world as he’d once known it from slipping away. But no one had been able to rouse him from the indifference that had descended the day he’d found Laurel dead in their bed. These days, if a woman showed interest in him, he felt mild annoyance and nothing more.
What made Liz so different?
He suspected it was partly how much she reminded him of his late wife—in looks, in manner. But that wasn’t any reason to feel guilty, was it? They could each have their own reasons for what they were about to do. They were only asking for one night’s reprieve from the emptiness that had swallowed them whole. One night wouldn’t hurt anybody.
“We’re adults,” she agreed. “We’ll be fine in the morning. Friends, right?”
He made no reply. He couldn’t say how they’d come out of this, whether or not they’d maintain any type of relationship.
“You could help me out with a few assurances here,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m not going to talk you into anything.”
Moonlight hit the side of her face as she stepped forward, lining the curve of her cheek in silver. “This is my decision?”
“Completely.”
She lowered her voice. “Okay, but I want you to make me one promise.”
He wished he had another cigarette. He didn’t feel half as calm or in control as he wanted to. “What’s that?”
“When it’s over, it’s over.”
He considered her request and couldn’t see any problem with it. “I promise.”
“Pick me up around the block,” she said and ducked back inside.
CARTER’S CAR SMELLED like he did—mostly of leather and good cologne. But the inside wasn’t as immaculate as Liz had imagined it would be. Books, filing folders, newspapers and several bags from a sporting goods store filled the back seat. Old coffee cups sat in the cup holders, the ashtray was open and full of change, and Carter was still trying to move his camera and some empty packaging out of the passenger seat when she opened the door and peered inside. “Maybe it’d be smarter for me to follow you, so you won’t have to bring me back later,” she said.
He reached out to hold the door. “Don’t worry about that.”
Being whisked away in his expensive sports car was much more in keeping with the fantasy she’d been spinning in her mind, so she didn’t argue. Sliding into the passenger seat, she stretched her seat belt across her lap. “Where do you live?” she asked, expecting Carter to give her a location in town.
Instead he said, “I have a small cabin twenty minutes into the mountains.”
The setting sounded private, which was a relief. She didn’t want anyone to see them and guess what they were doing. But twenty minutes would be a long drive at three or four in the morning. Liz had moved her car so that Heather and Rachelle would assume she’d gone home as she’d told them, but she didn’t see any need to make Carter come out again, later, when she was capable of driving herself. Especially if she didn’t have to worry about her car being spotted in front of his house.
“Wait,” she said as he pulled away from the curb.
He put on the brake. “What?”
“If it’s that far, maybe I should get my own car.”
“There’s no need. It’s dark and the roads are narrow and windy,” he said, speeding up again.
She leaned forward to catch his eye. “Do you think I’m too drunk to drive?”
“If I thought you were drunk, I wouldn’t be taking you home with me.”
Had he been any other man, she might have doubted the truth of that statement. But Carter was so blunt she couldn’t imagine him lying. “That doesn’t explain why I shouldn’t bring my own car.”
“I’d rather not have you get out of my bed to drive home alone, okay?” he said in exasperation.
Evidently, he was more of a gentleman than she’d expected. “Okay.”
She settled back in her seat as he selected a CD tucked behind his sun visor, and a few seconds later the voice of Bob Marley filled the car. The traffic light turned green and the buildings tha
t had become so familiar to Liz over the past eighteen months began to fly past her window.
“Do you do this type of thing very often?” she asked.
“No.”
“How long has it been?”
“Since I’ve made love?”
“Yes—providing it’s not a national secret, like some other parts of your past.”
“Two years.” Now that they were in the car together, he seemed less guarded, less remote.
“Really?” she said in amazement. “That’s even longer than it’s been for me.”
A pair of headlights coming from the opposite direction painted a yellow stripe across his face. “You haven’t slept with Keith since your divorce?”
“We were together once, right after I came here. But too much had changed. I couldn’t go back, couldn’t access what I’d felt before. I didn’t like it.”
He made no comment.
“Anyway, my love life hasn’t been completely dismal.” She knew she and Dave had no commitments between them, but she felt as if she should at least mention him. “There’s this guy from California named Dave. He calls me a lot.”
“Calls you?”
“Would like to pursue a relationship.”
“You think you’ll ever get together?”
“He’s been talking about coming out here, but I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“He’s only twenty-five.” She pictured Dave at a typical L.A. hangout and wondered if he was going home with someone, too.
“How’d you meet him?” Carter asked.
“He was my tennis coach. He used to flirt with me quite a bit, but I didn’t pay much attention to him until I got divorced.”
Herb Bertleson’s new real-estate office sat at the edge of town, a final outpost. Liz glanced at the squat building with its wide gravel parking lot, feeling as if it marked her last chance to change her mind. They’d be into the mountains next, and Carter would be well on his way home and not simply cruising down Main Street.
