A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2)

by Natalie Charles

"I'm probably going to make you blush," she said, and eyed him sidelong. "Look at that. I didn't even say it yet!"

  "Am I blushing?" Probably. He could only imagine what was about to come out of her mouth.

  "Yes, you are. But I was going to say that you've made a difference in my life. Have you ever thought about opening your own place? Because if you ever decided to go that route, I'd invest in your business."

  Nate focused on his breath and the pounding of his heart as he digested her words. "You'd invest in a gym?"

  "Is that what you'd do, open up a gym?" She bobbed her head. "I think it would be fantastic, knowing what I know about you. Then clients could visit, and you wouldn't spend all of your time driving around to meet them. Look at you! Your face is all red."

  "I'm trying to keep up with you," he joked, but she was right, his face was burning. He struggled to process the compliment and the possibilities. "That means a lot. Thank you."

  Not that he could ever take her money. He had some saved up, and he figured if the time was ever right, he could apply for a loan.

  "I'm offering you money here, sweetheart. Money from the sky! Low-interest loan. We'll work something out. You say the word and I'll have my attorney draw up some papers. I'm looking to diversify my investments, and I'd like to put something back into the community. Local businesses, you see what I mean?" She waved a hand. "I'm getting winded. You think about it. Promise me."

  Nate's heart was pounding harder than it should have been, but he nodded. "Yeah. Okay. I promise."

  He doubted he could ever take Claire's money. If he was going to open a gym, he alone had to take responsibility for its success or failure.

  She turned her head to stare and made a show of looking him up and down. "You still single? Look at those leg muscles. Someone needs to snatch you up."

  He groaned and shook his head. "All right. Let's turn around and head back at that rock up ahead."

  Jessie woke ahead of the alarm. Or maybe she hadn't slept at all. She couldn't be sure. All she knew was that when she slumped to the bathroom and peered into the mirror, her eyes were puffy and red from crying. When she thought about the last words that Quinn had said to her, the shame burned in her chest.

  Different social skills. What did that mean? She thought of all of the beautiful E&P wives and how elegant they were. Was she some sort of clumsy Neanderthal to him? She showered quickly and pulled her long hair back into a braid. By the time she was dressed, Jessie decided she was in a very foul mood.

  She poured a bowl of cereal and milk and stood at the counter, watching Prince Travis. He looked like he was scowling. "I understand, Travis," she said. "Bad moods are contagious, though, so you may want to turn that frown upside down."

  Well, so she was sounding like her father, who had the gene that predisposed people to be perpetually optimistic salesmen. Had he been born twenty years earlier, he would have gone door-to-door selling vacuums, she had no doubt. His particular talents had landed him in computer sales and taken him literally around the world. But whatever gene Dad had, Jessie lacked completely. Or so she would have thought, and yet here she was, pitching Dad-isms to her stuffed fox. "Never mind, Travis. You can be pissed off if you want to. Go ahead and let it eat you up on the inside."

  Her ego was bruised, no denying it. To Quinn, she was some nobody who worked in a bakery and played with chocolate recipes in her spare time. She didn't know why she kept turning that thought over, because it sure stung, and she was hurting enough as it was.

  She went through the workday mechanically and didn't mention anything to Uncle Hank or Emily. She was grateful that the bakery was busy. The normalcy of the routine helped. Then, as she left work for the night, she hit a wall of feelings.

  Humiliation at not being good enough.

  The shame that she had been judged based on growing up in a bakery.

  Anger at the injustice.

  Fear that she was unlovable.

  She needed to snap herself out of it. There were things to look forward to, and plenty of distractions. That's when she remembered the dress that Wren had given her. She'd forgotten to try it on.

  Jessie walked into her bedroom and opened the closet. She'd hung the dress in the center, and she slipped her fingers greedily across the fabric, feeling them glide. Now that she turned the fabric, she saw that it wasn't true sapphire, but that the color was translucent, shifting and changing with the direction of the light. She held it up to admire the plunge of the neckline and the elegant drape of the material. It was simple, but exquisite. "Beautiful," she breathed.

  Jessie quickly disrobed. The dress fell easily down her body. Custom-made, she thought as she admired it in the full-length mirror. She'd never worn anything like it before. She began to zip up the back. Then the zipper resisted. She froze.

  The dress was too tight.

  "No," she whispered, and tried again. Sure enough, the zipper wouldn't budge.

  She held her breath and sucked in her gut. She tried pressing the layer of fat on her back down and sliding the zipper over it. Nothing. Nada. Her gorgeous, custom-made dress didn't fit. "Damn it."

  Jessie considered her shape in the mirror. Custom-made. The dressmaker had taken her measurements, what? Three months ago? And since then, she'd enlarged to the point she no longer fit in the dress. It was enough to make her want to stuff a truffle in her face.

  Which may have been the reason she was in that mess to begin with.

  She carefully peeled the dress off her form and told herself not to cry. This was not something to cry over. She could return it for a larger size. But then, oh right — it had been custom-made to fit her perfectly. Just...damn it.

  She pulled on the pair of gray sweatpants she'd been favoring lately, realizing with a sinking feeling that she'd been wearing them because they were so roomy and forgiving. Then she ran to the bathroom. Her scale was lodged behind the toilet, the space issue being what it was. She could practically sit on the toilet and shower at the same time, and it wasn't like she needed to weigh herself daily. Though perhaps more often...

  She stepped onto the scale and frowned at the number. No, the dial must be off. She stepped down again and checked. The dial wasn't off. By the pastry-loving lips of Saint Elizabeth. She'd gained fifteen pounds.

  All right. No problem. This was not a problem. Still, Jessie bit her lower lip to keep from crying as she walked back into the kitchen and retrieved the magnetic calendar from her refrigerator. Desperate times called for plans, that was all. She traced the dry-erase marker across the weeks. It was mid-May and the wedding wasn't until the middle of August, so if she lost three pounds a week on average, then she would be fitting into that dress by July. Perfect.

  Jessie set the calendar back on the refrigerator, but it didn't take long for the sense of victory to wear off. Three pounds a week. Her job was to create chocolates. She experimented with recipes. She basically made a living eating chocolate. Though perhaps she could take smaller bites.

  Her heart was heavy as she slumped into the chair before the fireplace. Then it hit her. This could be the change she was looking for: she could slim down, but why stop there? If Jessie wanted to actually feel good about her life, then major changes were in order.

  She grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and went to work, furiously detailing all of her faults. She was a little flighty, that was for sure. She still blushed as she remembered her speech at the baby shower on Sunday. How could she expect herself to be the kind of person Quinn would love if she acted so irresponsibly? Must think more before speaking. Or acting.

  And what else? She tapped her pen against her lips. She worked hard at the bakery, and enjoyed what she did, and frankly she didn't see the need to strike out on her own. Perhaps, though, this was unambitious of her? Jessie frowned at the paper as she wrote, Be more ambitious. The thought of leaving Hedda's sent her pulse racing. Being out on her own, without Uncle Hank? What would she do without him?

  She swallowed and set down her hand
again to write, Be fearless. Underlined it twice.

  By the end of the evening, Jessie had carefully considered all of her flaws. Fortunately, she had also decided how to fix them. Satisfied, she pulled a blanket over herself and settled back against the couch, where she soon fell asleep.

  The text from Jessie read, "Emergency. Pizza. Meme's." Like he was some kind of mind reader.

  Except Nate knew exactly what she'd meant, and he'd dropped everything, gotten in his car, and driven to the spot.

  Meme's Pizza was located in an old chapel in the center of the downtown, and the owners had kept a lot of the original touches and architecture when they'd converted the space to a pizza restaurant. The windows were still stained glass, and a large brick oven sat in the spot where the altar used to be. The pizza itself was great, but the building's history was a large part of the draw. Since Jessie had started dating Quinn, the three of them had met there a few times.

  A piece of him was relieved she'd reached out first, because for the past two days, he'd been trying to come up with a plan to contact Jessie, just to check in on her, without being too obvious about it. He didn't want her to know that he knew about the breakup. He didn't want her to think they'd been talking about her. Much better that she should tell him herself.

  Jessie was already seated at Meme's Pizza when he arrived. She was sitting at a small round table covered in a white-and-red checked tablecloth, frowning with impressive concentration at a large laminated menu. Her blonde hair was down for a change, and she wore it in loose curls. She looked so pretty it hurt.

  He'd dressed up more than usual. Not that this was a date. Just two friends meeting for Tuesday-night pizza. They'd order a pitcher of beer and complain, and they'd leave feeling better, aside from the indigestion. But he'd changed into khakis and a light sweater, and he'd even put on some cologne. He stepped forward then, and she looked up when he was a few strides from the table. Jessie smiled brightly and said, "You look nice."

  His pulse kicked a few beats in response, but he pulled out his chair, the picture of calm. "You do, too."

  She picked up the end of a curl and flicked it behind her shoulder. "Thanks. Want to split an IPA? I'm feeling bitter."

  Uh oh. "Sure. Sounds good." He took a seat just as a waiter came over with a pitcher of beer and two pint glasses.

  "Great, because that's what I ordered." She poured a glass for each of them and raised hers. "Cheers."

  "What are we drinking to tonight?"

  "Shoot, I don't know. How about if we drink to the adoption of orphaned kittens?"

  "To kittens." He raised his glass.

  She took a generous gulp and set the glass down with a sigh. "So, I'm thinking about making a change. A big one."

  Nate was half-listening, half-scanning the appetizers. "You're going to drop this on me now? We haven't even ordered."

  She pulled the menu from his hands and set it to the side, on top of her own. "You already know what you're getting. You get the same thing every time. We're going to split a large pizza, half Hawaiian and half sausage and peppers. You'll say that my half is disgusting and that pineapple doesn't belong on pizza, but you'll eat it anyway after you've finished your half." She wrapped her fingers around the bottom of her glass and pouted her lower lip. "It's always the same. Every day. Everything here. It never changes."

  Nate sat back in his chair, feeling like he was under attack. "Is there somewhere else you want to be?"

  "No. Don't take it personally." She unfolded her napkin and a metal knife and fork clattered against the table. "I'm just saying...you know how it is. You grew up here too. Everyone knows everyone else. Their business. It's always the same."

  Something about that statement scratched at him. "You love the Archer Cove community."

  Damn, he didn't mean to sound so injured. But wasn't he one of those things that was always around, cluttering up her day with the familiar? He took a breath. "So where's Quinn? I take it he couldn't make it?"

  She picked up her beer, but then her face crumpled and she just sat there, holding her drink in midair and crying. Good lord.

  "I'm sorry." Nate kicked himself. What a jackass he was! He wrested the pint glass from her fist and set it carefully down on the table. "We'll talk about something else."

  "He..." Her face turned red, and the tears streamed freely. "We're taking a break."

  "No, we don't have to talk about it. Let's talk about how boring everything is here." Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Damn it!

  Nate had heard some women talk about "ugly crying," which he guessed was what women got self-conscious about these days, looking too emotional or something. Not Jessie. She sat there in the middle of the restaurant and bawled her eyes out. Nate stared at his hands, unsure where he should be directing his gaze. Not at her face. He wasn't supposed to look at how splotchy her cheeks were getting, because that was rude...right? Damn, he didn't know enough about women and all of their unspoken rules.

  He swallowed and then handed her a napkin, avoiding eye contact. "Do you...want to use mine?" he muttered.

  She accepted the napkin, but just gripped it in one hand and used the other to swipe at her cheeks. "What did I do, Nate?"

  "Nothing." Now he thought he could safely look at her. He leaned over and set his hand over hers. "Listen to me: Jess, you didn't do anything."

  Quinn was his best friend. Had been his best friend since the first day of kindergarten, and nothing had ever come between them. Not school, or sports, or girls. But seeing Jessie cry like this made him want to pummel him right then.

  She pulled closer and set her face against his shoulder. Her hair smelled like soap and flowers. It tickled his cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and held her while she cried, smoothing his hand down her back. She was so soft. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His chest hurt.

  A waiter who looked to be fresh out of high school came over then and gave them a shy smile, pencil and pad in hand. "Are you ready to order?"

  "No," Nate said. Was this kid serious?

  Jessie pulled back then and covered her face with her napkin. "Just give us a minute, please?"

  The waiter stuck the pencil behind his ear and stuffed the pad into his apron. When he was out of earshot, Nate mumbled, "You want to get something to go instead?"

  "No. I don't want to be alone."

  Jeez, was he invisible or something? Not worth arguing about. Call it guilt over his friend's insensitivity, but he'd close down the restaurant with her if that was what she wanted. "Suits me fine," he said. "I don't have any client appointments tomorrow morning, anyway."

  The tears were over, at least. She sniffed and eyed the menu. "I feel like eating popcorn shrimp. You should stop me."

  "No ma'am. I'm not making that mistake again. You get what you want."

  She blew some hair off her face and pouted at the menu, looking defeated. "I should eat a salad."

  "Jess." He pulled the menu out of her hands. "Talk to me."

  She set the menu aside with exaggerated patience and folded her hands on the table, but she refused to meet his eyes, instead setting her gaze somewhere off toward the restrooms. "Jess?" he tried again. This time he watched her return to him, slow as molasses, but eventually getting to where he needed her to be. "What's going on?"

  She didn't cry. She pulled her hands into her lap and said, "I knew that things weren't going well. I've known for a long time. And then last night was just horrible." She shuddered.

  Nate recoiled as he thought of how badly things had actually gone, and how unlikely it was that Jessie knew the first thing about it, but he recovered quickly. He was supposed to be offering support, not making it worse. "So the party was...stuffy?"

  Her eyes widened as if to ask him how clueless he was. Then she said, "No, the party was amazing. Everything was so perfect and...luxurious, and the E&P wives are all gorgeous, of course. Then I was wearing this chartreuse dress. That's green, by the way," she added. "I don't know. It wasn't super high qu
ality, but I wouldn't say it was cheap, either, but I felt cheap in it. I felt like I didn't belong at all, like maybe they were all laughing at me."

  The statement struck him somewhere square in the chest. He winced. "That's a terrible way to feel."

  "Yes. It is." She took a sip of her beer and sat back in her seat, appearing to mull over the statement." And then Quinn told me that he needed someone different by his side. Someone who had a more sophisticated business sense and not — how did he put it? Bakery social skills."

  Nate blinked. "Wait. Is that what he said? Those words came out of his mouth?"

  "Close." She said it calmly, almost as if she were resigned. "I've spent so much of my life being the outsider. In high school, I was the kid whose parents had moved to Europe and left her to live with her uncle and cousin in a cramped apartment. Now I look around and see that everyone else is advancing in interesting careers, getting married, and having babies. I kind of want to be like everyone else for a change." She looked at him. "Do you think that's wrong?"

  The way she was watching him right then, like she was looking for something, anything, to hold onto, well. It tore him up inside. "Hell no, it's not wrong," he said quietly. "There's nothing wrong with what you've said. It's just that..." He paused, not knowing what should follow. "I think you're great the way you are, and if Quinn can't see that, it's his problem. That's all."

  She smiled sadly and tipped her glass to tap against his. "Cheers. Thanks for that."

  He eyed her over the rim of his glass. "What else? There's something you're not telling me."

  She pulled her chair closer to his — so close that their legs touched, and a thrill shot up his side. Jessie didn't seem to notice as she pulled a slip of paper out of her handbag. "I've made a list of my faults. I'm going to fix them. All of them."

  He blinked twice at her. "Wait. You did — you wrote —"

  "I made a list of my faults," she said, more slowly. "And I'm going to fix them. Quinn will make partner in August, and then he'll be ready for a relationship again. By that time, I will be a whole new person." She smiled. "The woman of his dreams. And I want you to help me."