by Gina Ardito
I jerked my head up to glare at him with accusing, narrowed eyes. “What do you know about my parents?”
“The truth. Your aunt told me.”
The chip on my shoulder built into a mountain. “She shouldn’t have. My past is none of your business. My parents are none of your business. My meetings are none of your business. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is the tea shop business.”
Shifting his weight, Gary folded his arms over his chest. “Are you finished?”
The question steamed me, but I nodded and braced for his comeback.
“Okay, then. First of all, anything that concerns you affects me. You’re an alcoholic with two months sober under your belt. I’ve got no guarantees you won’t hit the sauce the minute your life gets hard.” I gasped, but he pointed a finger at me. “Don’t play ‘poor little victim’ with me. You’re not some delicate piece of china that’ll shatter like that cup in the front room. You were a nasty drunk, and you’re still trying to find out who you are sober. You’re gonna make mistakes, but because we’re in business together, those mistakes could have a direct bearing on me and my son. I don’t forget that, and I’m not about to let you forget it, either.”
“You knew who and what I was when you signed on for this, pal.”
“Yeah, I did,” he retorted. “And I ‘signed on’ anyway. You know why? Because I believe in second chances. More important, I believe in you.”
I blinked. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. You’re smart and tough and you had your share of tragedy at a time when most of us thought Mommy forgetting to put our favorite snack in with our lunch was a disaster of epic proportions. So I’m not surprised you sought solace in a bottle of booze or two. And maybe that worked for you when you were twelve, but it definitely wore thin by the time you were twenty-eight. Now, though, you’ve got a shiny new slate in front of you. A bright future just waiting. But first you have to realize what happened in the past doesn’t have to define you. Do you understand that? This tea shop is your opportunity to finally get your life right, to finally create something unique and all yours—not shadowed by your father’s mistakes or how you wound up here. A project you can be proud you built from the ground up. Don’t you want that? ‘Cuz I sure as hell do. I want it for me and for Christian, but I want it for you, too. Because you deserve it.”
Words fled, along with my anger. No one had ever spoken to me with so much passion. And the last person I expected to give me this speech was Gary the Scary Bartender. Touched by his caring, I flung my arms around him and hugged him. “Thank you!” I breathed out through pursed lips.
I’m still not a hundred percent sure how we went from an innocent hug to an all-out, love-of-a-lifetime kiss. One second, I was staring at his mouth coming closer to mine; the next, I was closing the gap between us before he could.
His lips were warm and firm, dusted with a sheen of sugar. Sweet. And tender. And ohmigod, delicious. Now, I’ve kissed a lot of guys in my time—usually when I was too blotto to feel anything but dizzy. No amount of alcohol ever got me so high so fast. His body heat enfolded me, but the shivers remained. Only now, they came from delight. He wholly claimed me, deepening the kiss, and I pretty much devoured him in response.
“Ahem!” Aunt Andrea’s sudden intrusion tore us apart.
I jerked back, shot a glare at him, then mumbled at my aunt, “I should get back.”
“Yes, you should,” she replied. “And Gary should be finishing up the fresh batch of eclairs. We’re down to the last two.”
She turned and headed back inside, leaving us alone again.
I immediately clutched my medallion in my fist before confronting Gary and his luscious lips. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You know what. Why’d you kiss me like that?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to.” As he strode past me to return to the kitchen, he added, “And I’ll want to do it again soon. That’s a promise.”
♥♥♥♥
Jayne
I opted to defrost some black bean soup and cornbread muffins I had in the freezer. With a quick salad tossed together, I created a perfect autumn dinner for two in twenty minutes flat. I even found some dry dog food in a zippered plastic bag in the back of the pantry for my four-legged guest. When everything was ready and the table was set, I opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. “Iggy. Come inside, please. Bring Lucky. I think I’m safe enough for the night.”
He glanced around the front yard, eyes never stopping their motion, as if a bunch of sniper reporters hid in my bushes. To be honest, it wouldn’t be the first time. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. They’ll be able to assemble on the sidewalk outside, but no one can get inside without my express permission. And I’m only inviting you and Lucky. So, come on.”
“Okay. If you say so.” He tugged Lucky’s leash, and they strolled up to my porch in tandem. Amazing how well they suited each other, beast and man.
This was why I loved veterinary medicine: seeing a pet and owner in sync and happy together, thanks to some small act on my part, always delighted me. I opened the door wider to allow them past me, and my pride surged even higher when I watched Iggy take in the simple table I’d set.
“Wow. Is this a date?”
I blushed and reconsidered my handiwork with a more jaundiced eye. It did look a little too intimate with the lighting on dim and gleaming place settings laid out for two. Could I be more clueless? Well, there was no help for it now. All I could do was assure him a date was the farthest thing from my mind. And maybe up the wattage on the lighting. Surreptitiously, I slid the dimmer option higher, bathing the room in brilliant white light. “Let’s start with getting to know each other better, okay?”
“I can do that.” He sat at the table, unhooked Lucky’s leash, and the dog happily trotted to the food dish I’d placed in the walk-in pantry.
As predicted, Midnight, who’d been underfoot while I cooked, had disappeared.
I took the seat opposite Iggy and dug into my salad before attempting to come up with some kind of banal subject for small talk. “Ummm…Iggy. I’m guessing that’s short for Ignatius?”
“Close.” He pointed his fork at me. “Ignatz. It’s a family name.”
“I like it. It suits you.”
“It doesn’t suit anyone that isn’t a cartoon mouse or a German artist,” he replied. “Now, Jayne with a Y. That’s different.”
“My mom didn’t want me going through life as ‘Plain Jane.’ She added the Y because she thought it made my name look and sound more sophisticated.”
“Nothing plain about you, with or without the Y.”
I dipped my head. “Thank you.” His compliment pleased me more than it should have. I had to constantly remind myself this man had a reputation as a player. How many other women had fallen under his suave spell over the years?
“Easy, Jayne,” he said. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can go back outside.”
I squirmed in the chair. “You’re not making me uncomfortable.”
“Then sit back and relax. Your body’s wound up tighter than a trip wire.”
“No, I’m fine. Really.” I made a conscious effort to ease the tension in my bones and slide back from the edge of my chair. “There. See?”
“Uh-huh.”
Okay, he had a point. I picked at my salad, spearing a piece of romaine and cucumber slice on my fork. A fond memory floated in my head and I mentioned it out loud. “When I was little, my parents took me to the aquarium. After that, I thought all cucumbers grew in the ocean.”
He grinned. “Like sea cucumbers?”
I nodded. “I was only five or six at the time. What did I know?”
“I used to call radishes ‘bitter tomatoes,’” he confessed.
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-two.”
We both laughed. With the ice broken, we ate and chatted. Over the cour
se of the meal, I truly relaxed. We shared childhood memories, favorite movies, and other banal topics—just like a date. Along the way, I discovered a complex man wearing the guise of simple soldier. Iggy was charming, witty, intelligent, and easy to talk to. I hated to admit that, maybe I had seen him as just a dumb Jarhead. But Iggy was so much more.
After dinner, he cleared the table while I washed the dishes. He dried and I put away. It was an easy hour, comfortable. When the last piece of silverware was placed in the drawer, I gazed up at him. “Thank you.”
“Hey. You made the meal. The least I could do was help clean up.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, yes, thanks for the help but…” I bit my lip. I should probably stop here.
“Tell me.”
“I haven’t done anything as ‘normal’ as this dinner in…I can’t remember when.”
“Anytime,” he replied, replacing the folded dishtowel on my oven handle. “I’m a fairly normal guy, you know. From a totally normal family. Regular mom, regular dad who died when I was still a kid. One normal sister. She’s married to a normal guy and they have two normal kids—”
“I get it, I get it. But you don’t. It’s me who’s strayed from normal. Once David died, normal fled, and I haven’t seen it since.”
He leaned one hand on the counter, his body so close to mine I could see the pulse pounding in his neck. “Well, then, this is the perfect time and place to rediscover it.”
A halo of white light burst through the kitchen window and shone a spotlight on us. Shielding my eyes, I strode to the blinds and yanked them closed. “Something tells me it’s going to take a lot more than my move here before I can get close to normal ever again.”
He pushed off the counter. “I’ll take care of them.”
“No!” I clutched his arm before he could reach the door. “That’ll only encourage them.”
“Encourage them to do what? They’re already trespassing, and you’re letting them get away with it.” He shook off my grasp and swept his arm wide to encompass the window overlooking my front yard. “What could possibly make all this worse?”
I didn’t dare explain my fear. He’d never understand how underestimating the power of the press had nearly ruined me once. I couldn’t take the chance a second time. I was already paying a heavy price for the mistake I’d made. Another mistake could destroy me. “Just leave them be. Okay? Please?” To my shame, tears pricked my eyes, and I looked away in the hope he wouldn’t notice.
No such luck. He took my chin in his hand and turned me around to face him. “I’m going to say this only once. Whatever you’re afraid of can’t be so horrible it can’t be fixed. I can help. I’ve seen a lot of horrors in my day, Jayne. I doubt the secret you’re trying so desperately to hide measures up. When you’re ready, you tell me.” His thumb traced my lower jaw. “I’ll still back you up, I promise.”
And there was my dilemma. By relying on him to stay by my side, I was playing right into Cole Abrams’s hands. My dinner roiled in my stomach.
“You should go,” I murmured, my eyes closed tight to keep from seeing the look of surprise on his face.
“Okay.” I didn’t have to look. The tone in that one word told me all I needed to know. I’d just baffled the crap out of him. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“No, I think you should go home. I’ll be fine here without you.”
Belying my statement, the light invaded through the blinds, creating a starburst across my face, highlighting me as if I starred in some old jailbreak fifties movie.
“Okay,” he repeated with that same hint of disbelief. He didn’t argue, and I was fool enough to believe that meant I’d won. He leaned closer and brushed his lips against my cheek. I stiffened. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I gave a curt nod and opened the back door for him.
“Lucky!” he called toward my pantry. “Come on, boy.”
With a jingle of collar IDs, the dog loped forward, and Iggy reclipped the leash. Man and beast strode from the house.
An hour later, after I’d readied myself for bed, I peeked out my bedroom window. His car still sat in the driveway, and his brights flicked on once, illuminating my front yard and the several people milling nearby. The reporters and cameramen raised their hands in front of their faces, and the headlights clicked off.
The crazy man planned to spend the night in his car in my driveway.
Chapter 11
Terri
Aunt Andrea gave me the full stink-eye when I slinked back inside, Gary on my heels. There are all kinds of stink-eye, by the way. There’s the side stink-eye, which, I guess, these days, is called “throwing shade,” followed by a hundred different versions increasing in intensity and suckitude, but ending at the full stink-eye. The full stink-eye is a flat-out, in-your-face-and-I-don’t-care-who-notices glare that communicates disgust, disappointment, dismay, and every other dis- word in the dictionary.
I skittered past my aunt at her station in the kitchen and headed into the dining area. Time enough later for her to share all her dis- words with me.
“There you are!” a woman shouted from the front counter and pointed at me. “That’s her!” she said to Rachel.
For a moment, panic sped up my heartrate. I didn’t recognize this lady who apparently knew me, which meant I was probably blotto when I met her. She wore a tailored jacket and wool skirt with a pair of killer boots, their heels perfect for impaling a traitorous heart. Her hair was a subtle mixture of a dozen different blonds. Her makeup was impeccable. Nothing struck me as the slightest bit familiar about her. It was obvious we didn’t swim in the same social pool. Please, God, don’t let me have plowed into her Mercedes or vomited in her prize-winning rose garden.
Rachel looked over at me, her face expressing confusion, followed by a quick flash of fear. She probably thought she was the next to feel my burn. Lucky Rachel. I was more afraid of what the stranger might tell me I’d done to her a few months back and how much it might cost me to make amends.
“Remember me?” the woman asked as I approached with trepidation. “I was considering a tea party for my Halston’s birthday?”
Thank gawd! Relief coursed through me. “Oh, right,” I replied, my smile becoming brighter and more genuine. I did remember her. “Does this mean you’re ready to book now?”
“Yes.”
That one syllable converted my day from a dismal disaster (two more dis- words, by the way) to celebratory.
“I showed Halston the brochure and let her sample one of the pastries—just a tiny taste, mind you, since she has a competition next month—and she loved it. She danced around the kitchen, all excited and happy. That was enough to convince me.”
I thought about some poor little girl, rationed to one bite of a sweet because Mama demanded perfection since her birth. I bet this Halston never got dirty, never had a hair out of place, and probably stuck to a twelve-hundred-calorie-a-day diet. Sympathy poked at old wounds. Some people shouldn’t become parents—not without passing a battery of tests and a full psychiatric profile.
On the other hand, what did I know? I was just a reformed drunk projecting my own pain onto a faceless child. Maybe precious Halston led a charmed life and didn’t mind her mother pulling her strings.
“Terrific,” I said. “Let me get my appointment book, and we’ll put something on the calendar for Halston and her friends.” Thank God I’d spent enough time with Paige, learning all she’d organized for me. Unlike when I didn’t even know I had business cards, I could now put my hands on ledgers, the appointment book, order forms, and new hire paperwork at a moment’s notice. Who said you couldn’t teach an old sot new tricks? I turned to Rachel. “Would you please seat Mrs.…?” I looked blankly at the woman. Had we ever been on a name basis? I couldn’t remember.
“Beaumont,” she provided.
I didn’t recognize the name, but I knew one of the Hamptons elite when I saw her. This woman and her little girl’s
tea party could make or break my business by word of mouth. Whatever she and her princess wanted, I’d make sure they got. “Rachel, please seat Mrs. Beaumont in the east corner.” A good spot, in front of the window that faced the street, lots of light, cozy chairs, and a spacious table perfect for spreading out paperwork. “Feel free to order anything you’d like to try off the menu while you’re waiting.”
While Rachel grabbed a menu and escorted Mrs. Beaumont to the east corner, I pulled out the appointment book and ripped off the cellophane. I opened the book and bent it back and forth half a dozen times to crack the binding. The last thing I wanted was for Mrs. Beaumont to know she was my first.
I stole a quick glance in her direction, noticed her studying the menu as Rachel hovered nearby with her pad and pen. I swiped a pile of rainbow pastel sticky notes off the counter and scribbled names, dates, and times on a dozen of the suckers. I stuck them to various edges in the book. For good measure, I folded up several menus and wedged them between random pages. There. Now it looked like we had a ton of stuff going on.
I placed the book under my arm and strolled toward where Mrs. Beaumont waited. Whoops! Almost forgot. Veering to the right, I made a quick detour into the kitchen. As usual, Gary worked on some decadent creation that looked too beautiful to eat. This one was shaped like an open rose, golden and flaky with a high gloss on top he applied with a razor-thin pastry brush.
“Umm…Gary?”
He didn’t look up from his delicate work. Thank God, ‘cuz that kiss of his still sizzled in the air between us. “Yeah?”
“Remember I told you about the woman who wanted to book a tea party for her daughter?”
He frowned. I couldn’t tell if the expression was directed at me or the pastry rose. “No.”
“Come on,” I said with a nervous laugh. I couldn’t stop staring at his lips. The man had a sensual mouth—full and multi-talented. Stop! I mentally shook myself. Focus, Terri. The tea party. I’d told him about it. Hadn’t I? “You must remember. The woman who came in a week ago with her friends. Wanted us to cater her daughter, Halston’s seventh birthday party?”
