by Skye Jordan
He lowered his head and whispered, “Kiss me, baby.”
Without hesitation, she turned her head and lifted her mouth, searching for the reassurance of his. His lips were warm and solid and, Lord, the man made her go soft. She relaxed against him, and he tightened his arms. She opened, stroking his lip with her tongue. Trace’s soft moan drifted into her mouth as he met her touch with the slow, gentle glide of his own tongue.
This, more than any words, conveyed his regret. Spoke to how much he’d missed her over their two days apart. Avery tried to rationalize her way through the situation, even as her heart stretched to open again after being cloistered. But she’d learned that rationale and emotion often lived in parallel universes, and trying to get them to mesh when they just wouldn’t was a losing battle. Like now.
When she let the resistance go, Avery lost herself in him. And her mind had drifted to thoughts of taking him upstairs for a quick reunion when Trace suddenly, almost violently, pulled away, stealing all his heat and support.
Stunned into confusion, Avery swayed. When she’d found her balance and turned toward him, she found Trace facing the front door. He pushed his hands into his pockets and leaned his butt against a table nearby. Before she could form a question, the squeak of the screen sounded and JT stepped in.
Trace looked as relaxed as if he were on a coffee break, but Avery wasn’t quite as masterful at pulling herself together. She rubbed a hand over one hot cheek, then over her beard-roughened mouth and looked at the floor.
“Uh . . . sorry to interrupt,” JT said in a hesitant voice that told Avery he’d clearly seen them kissing.
“You’re not,” Trace said, voice cold. “What do you need?”
“I’ve got that appointment with my PO today. You know how they tweak out if—”
“Go,” Trace cut him off. “And take the rest of the day.”
Avery glanced at Trace, trying to read him. She’d never seen him act this curt to anyone, and she’d seen him interact with a lot of people over the last two months. Including people he didn’t like. Unease spread through her stomach, killing all the heat he’d created.
“Sure,” JT said, but he was looking at Avery. And he was smiling in a way that made her feel dirty. “I get it. I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow.”
Silence filled the space as they watched JT stride to his old Toyota, try to start it up twice before the motor turned over, then drive away.
With a sick feeling in her stomach, Avery narrowed her eyes on Trace. “His PO? Is he talking about a parole officer?”
Trace’s jaw ticked, and he kept his gaze on the floor. “I only need him a few more days to get the roof done. The rain will be here soon. It would take me too long to find someone else. And as much as I want to do it myself, I can’t.”
Avery crossed her arms and paced to the window, anger doubling and tripling inside her. He’d brought a prison buddy into her café? That left a dark, icky feeling inside her—a little girl backed into a corner. A shadow on a dark street. Footsteps on the stairs in an empty house.
And when Trace had spent the last two months going above and beyond to make her comfortable throughout the process, she recognized that no matter how badly he needed this guy, bringing him here was out of character.
She took a breath and braced to dig into a part of his life they’d stayed well away from up until now. “What did he do for you?”
Trace’s gaze swung toward her, veiled, cool. He’d disappeared behind some kind of veneer, and Avery heard Delaney again, telling her that people with scars don’t always make the best decisions.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean I don’t believe you’d work with him, let alone bring him here just because you need help. You have other resources.”
“No, I don’t. Not if I want to keep you within your budget.”
She clenched her teeth, ready to lose her shit. “What did he do for you?”
Shame flashed through his eyes before he looked at the floor again. His jaw muscle jumped, and it took him what felt like forever to answer.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Got between me and another inmate.” His voice was low and so dark a chill rippled down her spine. “I’d be dead if he hadn’t.”
She pulled in a sharp breath. Her eyes stung. Emotions clashed and burned. Austin’s words tried to pry their way into her head, which royally pissed her off and sent her into rebellion mode.
She closed the distance between them. He didn’t move, so Avery lifted his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. The pain and guilt and shame turned his beautiful eyes navy blue and stabbed Avery in the heart.
“You stay off the roof,” she said. “He’s gone the minute it’s done. And you keep him away from me.”
Gratitude softened his gaze. “Baby, he can’t do it himself either. I promise to get rid of him the second it’s done, and I promise to keep him away from you, but I’ve got to get up on that roof if we’re going to stay on schedule and on budget.” He lifted his hand and ran it over her hair, then squeezed the back of her neck and pulled her forehead to his. “Trust me on this.”
Her heart clenched and all its walls slid into place. She wanted to believe, wanted to trust, but experience and common sense wouldn’t let her.
She pushed back, crossed her arms and stared at his chest. “Fine.” She couldn’t control him. Couldn’t change him. Pulling in a deep breath, she forced herself to let it go and just absorb the hurt and fear. “I’m here to paint. I’m going to start upstairs, and I don’t need any help.”
Avery dropped her arms and turned toward the stairs. He reached out, catching her with a gentle hand on her forearm. She met his eyes, and the look there was raw and real and so honest, it hurt her heart.
“Thank you,” was all he said.
She didn’t know what he was thanking her for, but it didn’t matter. She slid her hand down to his, squeezed, then let go and continued upstairs.
TEN
Avery woke late for the second day in a row and drove to the café with bleary eyes and a headache. But she still loved this time of day. At 5:00 a.m. the sun was just cresting and the world seemed so quiet. This was the only time in her life when peace filled her heart and anything seemed possible.
But the pinch at the center of her head reminded her that everything came with a price. The stress was getting to her. She’d endured so much for so long her body was starting to show the symptoms.
Her mind swung toward Trace, and how much stress he’d endured. This situation was taking its toll on both of them. Hopefully that would be over soon. He and JT should be finished with the roof tomorrow. Once Mr. Smarmy was out of the picture, the tension should fade.
They were getting close. The appliances would be delivered right about the time the roof was finished. Those would take only a day or two to get in; then there would just be some finish work, some paint, some final landscaping, and Trace’s job would be done.
And Trace would move on.
Whatever was between them would be over.
She turned onto the café’s driveway with a heaviness in her chest. “Work, work, work.” She parked, shut off her headlights, and climbed from the car. “Focus, Avery.”
She’d dressed in jeans, sneakers, and an old T-shirt again, planning to continue painting this morning. But first she had to fill lunch orders and mail out Internet orders.
Soon Trace’s wage could go toward assistants to lighten Avery’s load. Then she could focus on looking forward. There would be a lot to think about with the holidays coming up.
But once Trace was gone . . .
Trace was gone.
She stretched her arms overhead and arched her back. Painting left her sore, and lack of sleep didn’t give her body time to fully heal.
“Someday . . .” Someday she could have a real life with time away from the café to do other things. Develop more friendships, spend time with family, maybe even pick up a hobby unrelated to baking.<
br />
She wandered onto the porch, wondering when that someday would come. She reached forward to push her key into the lock, but the door eased open, already unlocked and unlatched.
A sliver of alarm tingled through her belly. “Oh, criminy . . .”
She must not have pulled the door completely closed behind her last night. It had been late, and she’d been so tired.
Inside, she started toward the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She set her keys down and flipped on the lights. Beautiful canned lighting flooded her equally gorgeous kitchen with soft, bright illumination that reflected off the white tile and stainless steel counters.
Avery’s belly warmed, and she smiled. She couldn’t wait for her appliances to get here. She’d spent half of her entire divorce settlement on them. Commercial appliances distinguished the professional from the hobbyist. Those appliances would complete her dream.
She pulled her list from her back pocket, spread it on the counter, and wandered into the pantry to gather supplies for the lunch orders.
When she flipped on the light, she caught sight of movement through the opposite door, leading to the main kitchen and a cleaning area with more storage beyond.
Great. She was so tired she was seeing things. Well, it wasn’t the first time.
With bread and mayonnaise cradled in one arm, she stepped into the opening between the rooms and flipped on yet another light.
And found a man sneaking toward the back door.
Shock hit her first. Then a mix of alarm and confusion. Then she recognized him, and anger burst free. “JT?”
He spun and gave her that big, charming smile. “Hey there, Avery.”
“What are you doing in here?” A million other questions hit her at once. Where was his truck? Why was he here so early? How did he get in?
“I was just going to grab some water before I started work.”
“In the dark?”
He hesitated. His smile faded. And Avery got her first real chill of fear.
She backed off the confrontation but maintained control. “I’m sure Trace will appreciate you coming in early. Go ahead and get started. I’ll bring some cold water from the fridge outside for you.”
His smile flashed again. “Perfect. Thanks.”
He unlocked the back door and slipped out.
With her heart beating double time, Avery darted to the door and locked it. Then she rushed to the front door, shut it, and locked it.
Then pulled her phone from her back pocket and called Trace.
He answered on the third ring with a sleepy, “Avery?”
“JT is here,” she said in a half whisper, as if JT could hear her from outside. She hated the fear in her voice. She was competent, intelligent, independent, but she didn’t feel like any of those now. “He was in the café when I got here—”
“Are you all right?” Trace’s voice was suddenly alert and stern. “Are you safe?”
“I locked the doors, but—”
“I’m there. Two minutes.”
Click.
“Trace?” She lowered her phone and closed her eyes on a quiet, “Shit.”
She pressed her back to the wall and took a deep, steadying breath. She’d spent eight years in military life. She knew how to handle and shoot a variety of weapons—well. She knew self-defense—well.
She’d never panicked, virtually living alone for eight years, and she wouldn’t do it now.
Avery forced the panic to the background. She carried her bread to the counter and started pulling meat, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and more from the fridge. When she turned to put them on the butcher block, Trace’s truck flashed past the front door, dirt flying from beneath the tires.
Instead of the sight relieving her, Avery’s unease amped up. The idea of a confrontation between him and JT suddenly flooded her mind with every bad scenario.
She grabbed several water bottles from the fridge and rushed outside. She found Trace faced off with JT, hands on hips, shoulders back.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Trace demanded from JT in a voice Avery had never heard him use before. It was cold and harsh. Threatening. And it stopped Avery’s feet from moving forward. “I was very clear about the rules. You don’t push them out here like you did inside. That’s not the way this works. This is my turf. You follow my rules or you get off this job.”
JT held on to that affable disposition with a lazy shrug. “I don’t know what you mean. Jeez, why are you making a federal case out of this? A guy can’t come in early to show some initiative? I’m just trying to do a good job for you here.”
Trace took one giant step and grabbed JT by the shirtfront. The move was so fast, so menacing, Avery sucked a breath and held it. Her stomach went cold, and the hair on her arms prickled to attention.
“I know what you’re about,” Trace said, voice lowered but no less frightening. “So don’t try to sell me your shit. If you want this job, then you stay out of that café and away from Avery.”
Those damn seeds Austin had planted in Avery’s head tried to take root again. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a ticking time bomb, building urgency inside her like a pressure cooker. She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know whether she should walk away and let them settle this however men settled things, or step in before a fight broke out. She thought she knew Trace, but she didn’t know this side of him, and she didn’t know what he’d do if she interfered.
“You’d better back the fuck off.” JT’s voice suddenly matched Trace’s, his facade gone. And when Avery refocused on the men’s faces, she saw a war was about to break out. “Because you don’t begin to know what I’m about. You might be the boss on this job, but that don’t mean you can—”
Avery started forward out of sheer fear. She shuffled her feet on the loose asphalt so they’d hear her coming. Trace released JT, but when Avery approached the look he turned on her was completely foreign. His features were dark and tight, his mouth thin and rigid. And that cold space in her belly deepened.
Unfortunately, that look wasn’t new to her. She’d seen it countless times on David’s face during their many arguments over the state of their marriage.
She offered the water to JT. “Here’s that water.” She turned to Trace. “Would you mind looking at the fridge? Things don’t seem to be as cold as they should.”
Before he could tell her no, she slipped her hand around his forearm and pulled him toward the café.
He walked fifty feet with her before he yanked from her grasp but kept pace beside her. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because confronting him like that probably isn’t the best idea.” All those that-only-happens-to-other-people crazy ideas filled her mind. “He could decide to take a crowbar to your head when you weren’t looking. Or push you off the roof. Hell, how do you know he doesn’t have a weapon? He’s an ex-con. No one knows what he might do.”
Trace’s feet ground to a stop. “I’m an ex-con.” In that instant, Avery realized how all the inferences she’d just made about JT also applied to Trace.
She shook her head. “That’s not—”
He put a hand out in a stop gesture, but he didn’t look mean and dangerous anymore. He just looked frustrated and, yeah, hurt.
Regret swamped her. “Trace—”
“You just deal with your work, okay? I’ll deal with mine.”
With that, he turned and walked back toward JT.
Avery felt like shit all day. Not only did her guilt and shame grow over the hours following the incident with JT, but Trace’s I’ve-had-it-with-you dismissal had cut Avery deep.
She sat on a stool at the café’s bar, scrolling through menu examples online, with residual hurt throbbing in her gut like a physical wound.
She’d finished all her daily baking, painted until her arms felt like they’d fall off, sorted through employment applications for waitstaff and kitchen staff, and was now trying to find a few menus she liked to run past Delaney for her opinion.
He hadn’t waited for her response before closing the door and walking away.
Avery exhaled and dropped her chin in her hand. Disappointment tugged at her chest. They were either hot or cold now. All that fun, comfortable middle ground they’d shared before the sex had vanished. Now she felt like she’d lost a friend, a lover, and something more. Something indescribable and intangible. Something she hadn’t realized filled her heart until it was gone.
Avery chose three different menu finalists and e-mailed them to Delaney.
Her cell rang, and Avery pulled it from her back pocket, checking the time before she answered. Already 7:00 p.m.
She didn’t recognize the number but rubbed her eyes and answered, “Hello.”
“I’m lookin’ for my boys.” An older man’s voice rumbled over the phone, clearly angry. “Did Zane drag Trace by the bar again? You know if you serve those boys, you’re serving minors. You can go to jail for that. Get one of those boys on the phone.”
Avery’s mouth dropped open. Her mind slipped gears. “Mr. Hutton? This is Avery Hart. Do you remember me? I make those apple turnovers you like.” When she got silence, she went on. “Trace went into Santa Rosa to pick up some roof shingles. I haven’t seen Zane, but I think he’s working.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about, girl? If you’re in cahoots with those boys, you can bet I’ll be telling your parents all about it. I’m having a hard enough time keeping Zane out of trouble as it is, even with his brother running shotgun. Now send them home.”
He yelled the last and hung up with a click so loud, Avery jerked her phone away from her ear. That was an awesome benefit to old-style phones. You could still really hang up on someone.
