French Roast

by Ava Miles

  “Can I hit the siren when we pass the newspaper?” Jill asked, dancing in her winter boots. The fire truck sparkled in the Cut and Curl’s front window like Dorothy’s ruby red slippers as they passed.

  Meredith raised an eyebrow. “We’re on Main Street with no fire in sight. It’s against the rules.”

  “I like breaking rules.” She gave a pout. Her older sister could be such a party-pooper. Why not have a little fun?

  Ernie chortled. “Okay, but only because your grandpa bluffed me out of fifty bucks last night at poker.”

  Jill put her hand near the button as they closed in on the headquarters of the family newspaper.

  Putting her hands over her ears, her sister said, “As a current employee of The Western Independent, I should note you’re going to have at least four reporters—my husband and our grandpa included—scurrying out of the front door like ants to see what all the commotion is about.”

  Jill pressed the button, and the siren’s circular, ear-piercing wheeze rolled out. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

  Her sister stuck her tongue out. She reciprocated and hit the horn, punching the air with a cronk.

  Brian parked his car on Main Street in front of a row of brightly painted shops. Her heart rate escalated. He was coming to see her!

  “Ernie, can you swing around the back? I need to do something at Don’t Soy with Me.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo.”

  She ducked down as they passed Brian’s car, curling her tall frame into a ball.

  Her sister crouched next to her. “I’m only hiding with you because I love you. Everyone—and I mean everyone—is going to know we rode the fire engine today since you blasted The Independent. ”

  A black fireman’s mask banged into her head when she wobbled. “Shit. You’re right. I don’t always think things through.”

  “You can say that again. It’s like your spontaneity card gets jammed, overriding all logic.”

  What was so great about logic anyway? “I didn’t have to bring you along on my ride.”

  “Girls, girls,” Ernie shouted, making her smile. How many times had he said that to them while they were growing up?

  The brakes whooshed when he pulled to a stop. He spun in his seat. “Guess I should be grateful Brian wasn’t heading to Denver. I don’t have enough gas to make the two hour trip.”

  Jill leaned forward and kissed his bearded cheek. “You old buzzard. You know you would have done it for me.”

  He held up a hand. “You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since you were a kid, wearing those red pigtails like Pippi Longstocking.” He pointed to Meredith. “You too, missy. Now git on out of my fire truck.” The radio crackled. “Calls are starting to come in about the siren. Can’t wait to talk to your grandpa. Hope he’s aggravated enough to take Maalox.”

  The sisters hopped down from the truck, narrowly missing a puddle of snow melt. “Thanks, Ernie!” they chimed.

  The thick burn scar around his mouth shifted when he smiled. “Oh, go on with you.”

  Meredith grabbed Jill’s hand and—in unspoken agreement—they ran to the back of the shop together. “You know you’ve lost your mind, right?”

  “I wasn’t in my right mind anyway.”

  They hurried through the back door and down the hallway past Jill’s office, skidding to a halt when they reached the main part of the shop. Don’t Soy with Me had exceeded everyone’s expectations—hers, her family’s, and the town’s. Though the Hales were a big name in the newspaper world, it had been a while since a Hale had found success in something other than paper and ink. And the shop showcased Jill’s unique style to a tee. The bold color scheme of fire engine red—so appropriate after today—and sunshine yellow was eye opening, and the walls were lined with local artists’ paintings, most of them modern, with splashes of bold, primal color.

  Her patrons ran the gamut: students from the local university studied here, while their professors graded papers; locals talked about the weather; and the California transplants ordered soy lattes and tofu-stuffed croissants.

  She’d found a way to draw everyone in, making Don’t Soy with Me more than just a coffee shop. It was the local meeting place. She’d expanded her menu to sandwiches, pizza, and light plates, and now they served food and drinks from 6:00 a.m. until midnight. Not too shabby for a business that had started as a class project.

  “Compose yourself and stop wheezing,” she told her sister, smoothing down her hair.

  “Wheezing? I swim four miles—”

  “Blah-di-blah-blah,” she interrupted. “Margie, our favorites, please,” she called out to the barista—one of the perks of being the boss—and they darted over to a table that had opened up near the front window. Jill scanned the street with laser focus, immediately catching sight of Brian’s green Spyder jacket. He was heading away from them. Darn it! She’d interrupted a ride in a fire truck so she could sit like a wallflower in her own coffee shop.

  “You’re right. I’m pathetic.”

  Her traitorous eyes couldn’t stop following his progress toward the drug store. Even though he was wearing a coat, her mind conjured up those rigid back muscles. Those broad shoulders. The way he filled out a T-shirt at the gym, all sweaty and ripped. He’d been handsome in high school, but eight years in New York City had only honed his appearance. He had the whole casual sophistication thing going for him now, and he was all man.

  “Do you even have a clue where this is leading?” Meredith asked, a hint of older sis in her voice as Margie set their drinks down.

  Brian turned to greet an old lady in the street, his bow-shaped lips tilting into a smile as he laughed at something she said. His easy gait hinted he wasn’t in a hurry. No, he was never in a hurry, not with her or anyone.

  “Hey!” Meredith punched her lightly. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes! Well, I know where I want it to go, anyway. Us together. Finally!” She’d decided he was The One in second grade after he socked Timmy Caren for calling her carrot top and pulling her ponytail. She’d drawn pictures in colored pencils of the two of them holding hands, and all her notebooks had been scrawled with “Jill McConnell” in hesitant cursive.

  She’d waited for him to make a move. And waited.

  In the history of courtship, two turtles could have come together faster.

  Then he’d changed the rules, and everything had gone to hell. Before leaving for the Culinary Institute of America, he’d promised to keep calling until she relented, but after six months, he had finally given up. Until his return to town, that was.

  Meredith neatly placed her napkin in her lap. “You think he plans on staying? New York can be hard to get out of your system. Dare’s not exactly a hot restaurant scene.”

  She bit her lip. “I know. That’s why I’ve been trying to persuade him that we should open a restaurant together. He’ll cook the food. I’ll handle the biz. I need a new project now that Don’t Soy with Me is a huge success, and this will be a great way to reconnect with him. Plus, it fits in with my plan to be a big-time businesswoman someday.”

  “Give it time.” Meredith hugged her. “I know you want this to work out, but have you thought about setting the whole restaurant idea aside? If things don’t work—”

  “It’ll screw everything up.” She tugged on a red curl.

  “Jill, seriously, why don’t you give your relationship some time to develop before pushing ahead with this?”

  Rolling her eyes seemed appropriate. “Meredith, seriously,” she mimicked, “why don’t you stop raining on my parade?”

  “You darn well know what I mean. It just doesn’t seem smart to me.”

  “Well, it does to me,” she said, lifting her chin, telling herself it would be fine.

  “Promise me you’re going to be reasonable.”

  “When have I ever been reasonable? Drop it, Mere.”

  Her sister held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, but take it slow.”

  Big sisters. �
��I’ve only been trying to talk Brian into it. It’s not like I’ve drawn up plans yet or taken out a loan. Jeez.”

  “I’m only trying to gently say you’ve been through a lot with Jemma dying. Heck, we all have.”

  “Easy for you to say. All your ‘stuff’ ended up turning out great.”

  Meredith and Tanner had just gotten married on New Year’s Eve after a whirlwind courtship and were living in their own Nora Roberts Land—just like in the sisters’ favorite novels.

  “Don’t worry, Jill. Yours will too.”

  “I miss Jemma, Mere.”

  “I know. That was so sweet of Ernie, trying to cheer you up like that.” She scooted her chair closer and leaned in toward her. “Are you still visiting her grave?”

  Jill straightened. “I know you don’t like it, but I need to talk to her. She was my best friend!”

  “The family’s worried,” her sister said with a sigh.

  “I’ll stop going when the time is right.” If only she could shut the grief off like it was a porch light. “It helps that Brian and I are hanging out so much.” It was true, even if it wasn’t as hot and steamy as she’d like it to be.

  “I still don’t understand why he came back to Dare Valley.” Meredith licked the foam off her chocolate mocha.

  “Me either,” Jill replied. Brian didn’t say much about his time in New York or why he’d returned to town. In some ways, it was mysterious and a bit sexy, but in others, it made her realize they were no longer the best friends who could finish each other’s sentences.

  He came out of the drug store with a small bag in his hand. Had he bought shaving cream to slowly scrape off the day’s growth of beard darkening his face? She hoped not.

  As if sensing her speculation, he looked straight through the window, then lifted a hand and waved. Great. She’d become a stalker. First the fire truck and now this. The movie could run on Lifetime. She waved back as if to say ta-ta, not watching you like some lovesick chick. He entered another store. Her frown just about cracked her lip, so she reached for the bubblegum lip gloss in her tiger-print purse.

  The punch on her arm interrupted her speculation.

  “Hey!”

  “You’re in Lust Land, lil’ sis.”

  “Spoken like a happily married woman.”

  “Yep, but I remember feeling all itchy before Tanner and I got together. The same thing’s going on with you, except you’ve known Brian forever.”

  “I know. Makes it…weird sometimes.”

  “You’ll get there. Your whole getting-to-know-you phase has been short-circuited since you grew up together. You just need to catch up on all the years he was gone.”

  “Sometimes he seems so familiar,” Jill said. “And then others… Well, it’s like there are these new layers of caution, quiet, and…confusion.” Like he didn’t always know what to say or how to act around her.

  Of course, the freaking lust shooting through them both might have something to do with that. She knew he was attracted to her, and he darn well knew how she felt. And yet they hadn’t touched each other recently. Okay, except for a couple of weeks ago when she’d slipped on the ice as they were walking to the movies. And that so didn’t count.

  The new-customer bell chimed. Her head swiveled. Brian strolled into the coffee shop—all tousled and rugged like he’d just rolled out of bed. His maple-syrup hair curled at the nap of his neck, and his blue eyes never failed to pack a punch.

  “Hey!” He stuffed his hands in his jeans, drawing her gaze.

  “Hey, back,” she answered, trying not to sigh at his bulge like some groupie. She was a Bulge Watcher. Her mother would be so proud.

  “Hey, Brian.” Meredith stood and gave him a quick hug.

  “You hear where the fire was?”

  Jill bit her lip. “Nope.”

  “They have a lot of false alarms,” Meredith said. “Cats in trees. Morons who—”

  “I’m sure he’s not interested in fire statistics, Mere.”

  His mouth curved, unfurling a ribbon of lust in her abdomen.

  “Jill and I were just talking about you, Brian. You’ve never told us why you left New York. The city’s a hot food scene. You must miss it.”

  The muscles around his mouth tightened. Even though Jill wanted to know—was dying to know, really—it was mean of her sister to ambush him.

  “Give him a break, Mere. Guys don’t blab their life stories.”

  Or they only do to the women in their lives. Brian definitely had a story. Like I met someone in New York, but it didn’t work out or I saw a dead homeless man in an alley during winter, and it changed me.

  Meredith glared at her. “Reporter’s prerogative. Okay, I’ve gotta get back to work. See about that fire.” She gave Jill a kiss and sailed out.

  Without Meredith there to take off the heat, Jill felt her bones dissolve into tissue paper. Sliding out of her chair would be ridiculous, but she suddenly understood the reason for those Victorian reclining couches.

  “So,” Brian drawled. He turned those blue eyes away for a moment, allowing her to take a deep breath. “Business is good.”

  When he turned back, the hummingbird pace of her heart increased again. “Yes. Ah, do you want me to make you your favorite?”

  Jill realized she’d do pretty much anything for this man. Hike the Continental Divide in the snow. Darn holes in socks. Cripes, she needed to get a clue. Or a life.

  “No…I thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted to come to dinner tonight. I’ll cook.”

  Her head darted back. They’d been spending time together over the past few months, but cooking…from scratch. This was new.

  “Like a real date?” she asked. Dammit, maybe the whole fire truck ride had infused her with life-and-death energy, but she wanted to be clear.

  “Ah, sure. If you want to call it that.” He jiggled change in his pocket, ducking his head, hitching his shoulder up like he did when he was nervous. “I want to cook for you.”

  He did? Her heart warmed like she was holding a puppy. “That’d be awesome! I’d love that. I mean…” Overdone, she realized. “Great, simply great.” Shut up, Jill.

  “Why don’t you pop by at seven?”

  “Can I bring something?”

  “Just yourself.”

  And the way he said it made her knees quiver, actually quiver.

  “Great!” she breathed out and ground her teeth. Maybe she should study the dictionary so she could learn to form cohesive sentences.

  “Okay.” He edged back. Then, he rushed forward to kiss her cheek. “See ya then.” He turned, bumped into the table, and cruised out, not looking back.

  Jill righted the paper cup he’d knocked over, fighting the urge to touch her cheek. The patrons’ muffled chuckles only made her lovesick grin grow wider.

  She wasn’t the only one off her rocker. Brian was making a real move.

  It was about damn time.

  Chapter 2

  Brian zoomed toward his car. Man, what had happened to his mojo?

  Jill was putting him on edge. He felt like a high school teenager around her again. The boy had wanted her. The man craved her.

  But knowing her, it would be the deep end or nothing.

  Brian needed to find himself again. He didn’t want to rush into things with Jill before he knew if they could find a balance between their friendship and the hot-as-a-kitchen-blow-torch attraction they felt for each other. He was terrified of screwing things up with her. Losing her eight years ago had been like losing a part of himself. It would be unconscionable for it to happen again.

  He yanked on the wool scarf around his neck. Managed to smile at the people he passed on the sidewalk. Inside, his mind was a mess, like one of those splatter paintings in Jill’s coffee shop. How much longer could he keep this up? How much longer could he spend time with Jill without telling her his reasons for returning to town? If she could learn to fully trust him, maybe she’d understand. But how could she when even he didn’t
?

  Cooking for her had seemed like a nice gesture to kick their relationship to the next level. Hell, he was a chef and the only person he’d cooked for since returning to town was his buddy Pete, also Jemma’s ex, and the current subject of Jill’s hatred.

  He changed course and headed to the Food Pantry for ingredients. When he entered the produce aisle, there were seven women selecting everything from bananas to onions. The gossipy old guard hadn’t changed their ways. Their conversations swirled around him.

  “Did you see Kerry Jenkins sitting next to Mitch Miller at the basketball game the other night? People are starting to talk. Something’s brewing there.”

  Another trio talked about the mystery car in their neighbor’s driveway that morning. “You know what that means,” a woman wearing a severe ponytail whispered, her voice projecting loudly.

  His gut tightened. Some things about Dare made him happy—the close-knit community, the outdoors, the familiarity. Then there was this.

  New York had its pros and cons, too, but there he’d had the ability to do what he wanted, when he wanted. The problem was he had taken things too far.

  There were always consequences, no matter where you lived.

  The small organic produce shelf called to him. It was a positive addition, probably added to cater to the Californians who’d moved into town. He picked up an avocado and looked at the mottled emerald color.

  “My goodness, Brian McConnell.”

  His hand automatically clenched at the sound of the shrill voice.

  Vivian Thomilson still wore all black and had a chin hair that was about two inches long. “It almost made me do a double take, seeing you selecting produce.”

  He picked up on the censure in her comment. God, he’d hoped the old talk about him cooking had gone away.

  Brian made his lips form a smile. “Well, I don’t have a nice woman like you to buy what I need for me, Mrs. Thomilson.”

  She laughed in a high, staccato tone, her cameo clasp earrings dancing dangerously on her sagging lobes. “Well, I used to tell your mother she was so lucky you turned out to be a chef. We were worried you were gay when you started baking those quiches in high school.”