Wild Kisses (Wildwood)

by Skye Jordan

“Guess I probably shouldn’t be.” He glanced at the café, wishing he could turn back the clock and pick up the phone to call the cops instead of going after JT himself. “I just . . .”

  “Love her.”

  Trace was nodding before he processed the words. “What?”

  “Love her,” Delaney repeated as if he were dense. “You just love her. I know.”

  His mouth formed words, but all that came out was “I . . . uh . . . that’s . . . well . . .”

  Delaney laughed, the sound filled with true amusement. “You’re an even bigger idiot than Ethan was. He’ll be glad to hear he’s been taken off the top of that list.” She pushed off the truck. “I’ve gotta get down to the brewpub.” She rounded the front of the truck calling, “Don’t torture yourself anymore—Avery’s not here.”

  Everything inside Trace slid two inches lower.

  When Delaney reached the driver’s side, she paused and met Trace’s gaze. “And don’t bother coming back for a while. She’s postponing the opening. She took a mental health trip to the coast.”

  “Ah, fuck.” He dropped his head back against the seat. He felt like he’d swallowed a rock. “Everything I did last night was so she could open on time.”

  “No,” she said with you-dumb-fuck attitude. “Everything you did last night was because you’re in love with her. Jesus Christ,” she muttered, “why do such smart men act like such morons when it comes to women?”

  She asked the last more of herself as she climbed into the truck. The passenger’s window was open, and she continued speaking to Trace as she pushed the key into the ignition and started the engine. “You had such potential, you know?”

  Trace lifted a brow. “Potential?”

  She turned and met his gaze. “Yeah, potential. You know, that thing that happens when you drag yourself from the trenches and keep going. You had yourself on a great track. You’d suffered and sacrificed and worked your ass off. You took this job for next to nothing for the mere possibility of gaining work from it.”

  Delaney looked through the windshield at the café and gestured to it. “That place is potential personified. You took it from an eyesore that everyone in town wanted to rip apart to a gorgeous place where they can gather together.”

  Trace sat there, speechless. He’d been so focused on getting the building done, he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate how far it had come. How far he’d come.

  How far he and Avery had come. Together.

  “Or, well,” Delaney said, “you almost got it there.” She tipped her head, turning her gaze on Trace again. “The way you almost reached your own potential.”

  The knife in his gut twisted.

  Delaney put the truck into gear and laid her arm over the seat to back out. “It’s a shame, Trace.” Her gaze was sad but sincere. “Because you made Avery really happy. Like cheek-cramping, four-year-old-on-a-playground happy.”

  Delaney backed out and continued down the drive, leaving Trace swimming in turmoil.

  Avery stared out at the moonlight on the ocean from the cozy corner of the breakfast nook in her cottage and lifted the hot chocolate to her lips.

  Warmth and rich chocolate coated her mouth and drenched her tongue, and Avery let her eyes slide closed so she could savor the beauty of it. The only thing that could make this better was a hit of Bailey’s Irish Cream.

  And Trace.

  Her phone vibrated against the table, pulling Avery from that impossible fantasy with a painful jerk. She ignored the message, but her mind drifted to all the texts, voice mails, and e-mails she’d gotten from people not just all over Wildwood but from all over the county and beyond, fussing over the fact that she’d put her website and her space at Wildly Artisan on holiday status.

  As for rumors that she was giving up on Wild Harts, those she quashed immediately, explaining she was taking time away to finalize details and recharge for the opening.

  Which was true.

  Sort of.

  She’d done a lot of work in that direction, but she hadn’t tackled the most important task—replacing Trace. That still felt too . . . too permanent? Too disloyal? She only knew she hadn’t been able to deal with the thought of having someone else go in and finish what Trace started.

  He chose to leave.

  Her cell vibrated with another e-mail. Avery groaned and rubbed her eyes.

  The outpouring of interest created a strange mix of gratitude and anxiety—gratitude for the interest and the business, anxiety that she wasn’t fulfilling every order. But it was good to know that even after everything that had happened, there was still an overwhelming interest in her bakery and café. She wished she could share that with Trace.

  With a focused, deep breath, Avery forced the anxiety to quiet, reminding herself like she had every five minutes during the last three days that her mission in life was not to make everyone else happy, but to make herself happy first.

  If she were to truly make herself happy first, she’d already have hunted down Trace and hashed out what still felt like an ugly knot between them until she could fall into his arms and he would catch her.

  “You can’t make him stay,” she reminded herself. “You can’t make him love you.”

  And she shouldn’t even want him to.

  She’d been doing this round-and-round game for three days, and she was ready to trade heads with anyone who had more control over their thoughts than she did.

  Her computer chimed with her scheduled Skype call from Delaney.

  Avery breathed a sigh of relief, hoping her sister could break this cycle, and clicked into the software. Her sister appeared on the screen with a tired smile. “Hey there. Before we start, I do not want to know how amazing the beach is. I do not want to know how beautiful the weather is. And I do not want to know how relaxed you are. Deal?”

  Avery frowned. “Trouble with the pub?”

  “No, I just want a vacation. Want my boy all to myself for a few days.”

  Yeah, Avery could relate. She may not have a boy anymore, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still covet the one who’d been hers for such a short time.

  “So, you’ve had three days to relax, get your mind headed down the right path again,” Delaney said. “How’s it going?”

  “Good.” Avery looked at the charts and lists she had laid out around the table. “I’ve nailed down two cooks, a part-time baking assistant, four waitresses, four kitchen staff, and a commercial cleaning service. I just need to get them start dates. I also signed on with Shannon’s bookkeeper. But I’m still looking for an assistant for me and a manager for the café. Lots of applications, but I haven’t found those perfect fits yet.”

  “Holy shit.” Delaney gave her a shocked-but-irritated look. “What happened to the decompressing part?”

  “It’s called boredom.”

  “It’s going to be called burnout if you don’t let yourself relax.”

  “How can I not relax on this gorgeous beach with this perfect weather—”

  Delaney stuck her fingers in her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “La-la-la-la-la . . .”

  Avery grinned and took another sip of her chocolate.

  When Delaney stopped acting like a two-year-old, she said, “That is not the kind of vacation I had in mind. How’d you do all that from a little cottage by the sea?”

  She rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and her chin in her hand. “Same way I’m doing it now.”

  Delaney shook her head. “Well, when you get back you can turn in that tin can rental car. Kevin at Dent Pros pounded out the Jeep’s hatch and repaired the latch. It’s not exactly pretty, but it’s functional. It should tide you over until you can spare some cash for something nicer.”

  Avery thought of Trace again. Wondered what other side effects he might be suffering from the trauma. Thought about asking, then pushed it aside. “That’s great. I’m so glad the insurance is going to come through for you.”

  “I sent you the completed police report. I think
you’ll find it . . . enlightening.”

  Avery made a face. “I’m not quite ready to read that.”

  Delaney nodded. “Did you get my e-mail about your menus?”

  “I did,” she said, thankful for the change of subject, “and I’ve streamlined the website offerings to coordinate with Wildly Artisan, which will cut back on the number of products and create a rotating schedule of items so there’s always something new available.”

  “Sweet.”

  Avery bit her lip against the urge to ask Delaney if she’d seen Trace. If he was okay. If he’d left town. If she knew where he’d gone . . .

  Instead, she cleared her throat and tackled the hulking elephant clinging to her back like a chimpanzee. “I guess I should get someone to finish up the construction.”

  “I walked through with the building inspector yesterday,” Delaney said. “He’s ready to sign off as soon as that corner of the roof is finished and the appliances are in. I have to tell you, he’s impressed as hell at the work Trace has done. Said he’s never had inspections go as easily as they have with Trace at the helm.”

  Avery’s heart swelled and grew heavy. Her ribs felt small and achy. “Yeah, well, you know your contractors. I guess it’s time to toss me a few more referrals.”

  “I’ll ask around, get numbers of people who might be available on short notice, and e-mail them tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” Avery said, suddenly tired and sad. “I miss you. How’s Phoebe?”

  “We both miss you, too. She’s fine. Busy as usual.”

  A moment of silence stretched, and Avery stared out at the strip of ocean illuminated in cool white light. The depression that had been circling for days now settled in, making her feel melancholy and lost.

  “Do you want to talk about Trace, Avery?”

  His name sent a shock wave through her chest. She looked at the screen. “I’m just still really . . . I don’t know, confused, I guess.” So many thoughts and feelings crowded her; she felt too small for her body. She shook her head, overwhelmed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him.”

  Avery disconnected with her sister, feeling anxious and unsettled. She pulled on a hoodie with plans to venture out onto the sand for a long walk when the phone rang.

  She groaned and checked the display. Vince Brady’s name came up.

  Avery answered. “Hey there, Vince.”

  “Hi, Avery. Hey, I’m sorry to bother you while you’re taking a few days off, but I just wanted to touch base with you to let you know that with the drought and all we’re coming into the end of the season a little early. I know you like all your produce fresh and we’re doing our final harvest on pecans, almonds, and walnuts this week. Thought I ought to tell you.”

  “Oh . . .” That news spun Avery when she wasn’t expecting it. She knew what day it was, knew how many days she had to each holiday. But somehow the end of harvest gave Avery a whole different perspective. It signaled a sharp sales peak over the holidays, then several long, quiet months before summer.

  Suddenly, Avery’s mind tripped into gear with this hit of urgency, and her mind churned over recipes, cash flow, and storage space.

  “I need to do a little planning,” she told him. “Can I call you back in a few?”

  After a quick look over her finances, she saw what she feared: she was going to have to choose between landscaping for the café and grabbing the nuts fresh at a bulk price, which would save her money in the long run, but . . .

  But if she didn’t get over herself and find a contractor to finish the damn café, she risked getting such a late start on the holiday season that it wouldn’t be worth opening the café until summer. If that happened, she would be both putting her life on hold again and falling backward financially.

  Her stubborn streak flared. No. She’d come way too far for that.

  She picked up her phone and texted Delaney.

  Can you get the information on the guy Trace suggested? A contractor friend who had a job fall through? I’m coming home tomorrow.

  Then she dialed Vince’s line at Brady Farms and started toward the bedroom to pack.

  NINETEEN

  Avery’s short drive home was filled with angst and second-guessing, but her renewed mission to retake control over her life won out.

  She had a list as long as she was tall, filled with action items, and the very top was graced with Trace’s name in all caps. Clearing the air with Trace was her very first “to-do.” He’d acted out of complex and powerful emotions that night he’d pushed her away, and she was going to confront him to make sure that was what he still wanted. If it was, she would accept it, let go, and move on. But she couldn’t live with a lingering sense of loose ends and bad feelings between them.

  Driving back into town with all its quaint cottage bungalows, wide streets, and mature trees swamped Avery with the comfort of home. But when she got to the intersection of Chapel and Kingston and glanced toward the house on the corner, Trace’s truck was gone from the driveway.

  Avery’s stomach dropped. An edge of panic snuck in. She parked in front of the house and approached the door where she rubbed sweaty palms against the denim at her hips. She knocked, crossed her arms, and waited, shifting from foot to foot. When no one answered, she rang the bell and waited, her stomach knotting even tighter.

  Still no answer.

  Her panic turned to dread. If he’d already up and left town, then she had her answer, didn’t she?

  With her stomach in a knot, Avery walked around to the back of the house and peered through the French door leading to the kitchen. She knocked again and tried the handle but found it locked. Avery cupped her hands around her face to peer through the glass where she could see the kitchen, dining area, and into the small living room. All the home’s original furnishings were still in place but nothing more. The rooms were spotless, neat, and completely depersonalized, reminding Avery of a hotel room after it had been cleaned by housekeeping.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the glass.

  Hurt and disappointment broke through her barriers and flooded her body, sagging her shoulders and pushing tears to her eyes. Avery turned, slid to the concrete stoop, and wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her head there.

  She thought she’d run out of tears during the last few days, but she’d been wrong. They rolled from beneath her lashes, leaving dark-blue puddles on her jeans, but her eyes dried quickly, and her pain deepened from the acute slash across her heart to a more chronic ache in her chest.

  He’d moved on.

  Now she’d have to find a way to move on, too.

  Again.

  She fought to keep herself from thinking on the short drive through the quaint streets of Wildwood toward Main. Avery kept pushing thoughts out of her mind as they popped in, unable to fathom coming to grips with Trace’s loss. With David, the end had been drawn out and unsettled for years. This was far more traumatic and hurt much more deeply. Trace had been there one day, loving her, making her world full and happy and right, then gone the next.

  When she turned onto Wild Harts’ driveway, her thoughts were in the past, remembering men she’d known in the military who’d died overseas. Filled with memories of her efforts to comfort their young wives and help with the couples’ young children. And by the time she pulled the car to a stop near the front of the building, she felt so numb she wondered whether she had a pulse.

  Then she focused out the window, saw the state of the café, and her heart thumped hard, reassuring her she was indeed still very much alive.

  Her gaze scanned the front of the building, where rows of bright-green shrubs lined the landscaping boxes and clusters of pansies and petunias flanked the entrance. The stair banister was in, completing the stairs and finishing off the quaint, wide, covered porch with a real zing of style.

  “Oh my God.” Her heart surged again. She pushed the car door open and stood. Dragging her phone from her back pocket, she speed-dialed Delaney.

/>   “Hey there,” Delaney answered, upbeat and chipper. “Are you still coming home today?”

  “I’m home. Did you do all this?”

  “You’re at the café?”

  “Yes, how did this all happen?”

  “Look around. If you still have questions, call me back.”

  Her sister disconnected and Avery frowned at her phone. “What the . . . ?”

  She pocketed her cell, climbed the stairs, and tried the door. It was unlocked, and she stepped in. The café’s familiarity immediately wrapped her in comfort and a renewed excitement. The break had been good for her. No doubt about that.

  Avery crossed her arms and scanned the space. Her gaze paused on the range-oven combination that had been installed directly in front of her, behind the counter. The stainless steel gleamed against all the white cabinetry and tile, and the sight stole Avery’s breath.

  “Oh God . . .” She pressed a hand to her racing heart and moved farther into the space, looking everywhere.

  All the crown molding had been installed and painted. The finishing touches on the floor and the cabinets were in. The stainless overhead pan rack had been installed above the butcher block and stocked with all her new pots. Not only were the tables and chairs set up throughout the main eating area, but the tables were stocked with condiments. There was even a new podium set up near the door with a laminated seating chart, neither of which Avery had planned.

  “Oh my God . . .” She just couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was overwhelmed.

  Only when she started into the back and the main kitchen did Avery realize she hadn’t seen the moving truck holding her appliances outside. And when she stepped inside, she knew why—every one of her appliances was installed. Her refrigerators, her ovens, her massive stovetop, her industrial blender, her sinks. Supplies that must have come during the last few days had been unpacked and organized on shiny chrome shelves. All her handheld appliances were lined up and stored on another, her dishware on another, her packaging supplies on yet another.

  There wasn’t one thing out of place.