by Mia Malone
Marie sat in a corner, drawing on her sketchpad and smiling in a way he knew meant it would be something fucking spectacular once she was done. She was wearing one of his old hoodies, and her hair was still wet, so she had probably been jogging with Shelly that morning. He had wanted to run with her, so he'd grumbled some about his cousin's surprising interest in physical exercise, but then he'd passed them as he was coming back home from his own run. Their pace had been… When he thought about it, he couldn't even call it a pace. Both women had made movements as if they were actually running, but they hadn't seemed to move forward much. Their giggles could be heard from a mile away, though, and they had both looked so goddamned happy. It hit him that he hadn't seen Shelly laugh like that in a long while.
He hadn't renewed his offer to go running with Marie, and when she asked if he still was upset about her choice of jogging-buddy, he merely informed her that since they both seemed to talk faster than they ran, they were probably better off without him.
“Here you go, babe,” he murmured and put the plate down in front of her. “Tried something new.”
Having his own and very laid-back café was fantastic. He'd decided that he'd rather do a few dishes and do them well, so he would take his time changing the menu and try things out as daily specials, or even custom dishes when he felt like giving someone a special treat. The younger of the Misses Clark was well-known in Bakersville for her fantastic brownies, so he'd added some of those, and when she told him she'd experimented with truffles, he added those too. Licorice and raspberry had been a hit, and they disappeared quickly, so he'd had to get some small paper bags for customers who wanted to buy a few extras. After a couple of weeks, he'd put a sign up which stated that anyone who was allergic or just picky in general could talk to the chef and they'd see what they could do, and based on the requests he got, he'd started planning a few vegetarian options.
“What is this?” Marie asked. “Roll? Pizza?”
“Babe. Lobster Thermidor with a gruyere crust on a trimmed down roll, and a side of either steamed asparagus, marinated green beans or spaetzle.”
“Wow.”
He grinned and leaned down to push her chin up.
“I'll only do one of the side dishes, and I'm not sure about either of them.” He kissed her gently and straightened. “Let me know what you like.”
“Brody,” she murmured, still leaning her head back to look up at him.
The way her eyes were suddenly dancing made him suspect that something ridiculous would pop out of her mouth. The shit she said, he thought with a grin. Sometimes it was deliberate, like now, but most of the time it was completely unintentional. It was as if she was so busy enjoying life, she didn’t take the time to think about what she said. Either way, it shot right through the core of him and settled there, like a warm ball of happy. He also had to fight his dick getting hard, which really wasn’t something he wanted to happen in the middle of the day with customers in the café and his son in the kitchen. His goddamned crotch had a will of its own, apparently, but he figured the apron he was wearing would hide what he wanted to do instead of handing people fish tacos.
“Babe?” he asked when she kept smiling sweetly at him.
“I'll be at your mother's this afternoon. Dottie is cleaning out her closet and promised me first pick of whatever she decides to throw away.”
He blinked slowly, not getting the connection to her lunch.
“What?”
“If I’m going to eat a whole roll and what looks like fantastic pasta, I think I’ll need to grab all her tie-dye-tunics. That’s the only thing that’ll fit.”
Ah. She had a point because, on the one hand, he really liked the idea of Marie in a wide tunic. It would look sweet on her and would come with the added perk that he easily could slide his hands up her thighs. On the other hand; he got what she meant. Both bread and spaetzle, which actually wasn't goddamned pasta, would be too much.
“Excellent,” he murmured and picked the small bowl up. Jag seemed to have a tapeworm so he could eat it. “Only two options to pick from then.”
Marie
When I moaned the third time, the woman at the next table turned and raised a brow.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled around a mouthful of the best roll-ish thing I’d had in my life. “Orgasmic.”
“What are you having?”
“Brody is trying something out, and if he decides to not put it on the menu, I will put salt in his morning coffee until he does.”
“That good, huh?”
I moaned again, and her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized my plate.
“Would you like a piece?” I asked, but added, “A small piece.”
She smiled which I interpreted as confirmation that she indeed wanted to try the divine creation I had in front of me, so I cut off a corner. Then I cut off another piece and held it out toward the girl next to her.
Their eyes widened as they chewed, and I tried to not look smug because that would be pretty ridiculous when I hadn’t cooked the food.
We ended up talking for a while about the remodel of the café, although I refused to give them more of my food and told them to come back in a few weeks or so and see if it was on the menu. The woman was friendly but nosy, and the girl stared at Jag in a way I feared would make her eyes pop right out of her head.
I left them by the wooden wall and told Jag to walk them through the pictures. When I had confirmed that the girl only leaned down to pull out her phone, and not fainted as I initially thought, I walked over to share with Brody that the asparaguses were nice, but the beans were extraordinary. Then I reached for a small bag with truffles waiting for me on the counter.
“A minute, babe,” Brody said calmly and opened the door to the storage behind the kitchen.
He was hard-faced and pushed me into the small room in a way that made me wonder if he was angry. Then I was pushed up against the door, and his tongue was in my mouth.
“Babe,” he rasped out. “You gotta stop fucking doing that.”
“Doing what?” I squeaked.
“Smile.”
I stared at him and wondered if he was serious.
“Are you angry?” I asked.
“Horny.”
I reared back which was stupid because there was a door behind me and my head hit it with a soft thud. He moved his crotch against me, which confirmed his state of mind with absolutely no uncertainty.
“We did it this morning,” I breathed against his lips.
“This morning was hours ago, and it was just a quickie,” he countered.
It had indeed been that, but he’d still managed to make me come twice.
“You have got to be the horniest man alive,” I murmured. His tongue made a trail down my neck, and I shuddered. “Jesus, Brody. We can't do it here with Jag just outside the door.”
“Fucking know that,” he growled. “You have three hours to do whatever you and mom have planned. I'm closing early today.” He kissed me again, and I felt a hand cup me between my legs. “Want you naked in my bed when I come home.”
“Okay,” I agreed instantly. “I can do that.”
I got another kiss, and then he sighed.
“We’d better get out there.”
I tried to look like we'd discussed stock levels, but the way Jag's eyes lit up when we walked out told me he hadn't been fooled. The only customers still in the café were sitting at the other end, though, and they were busy stealing food from each other's plates.
“Dad –”
“Not a word,” Brody ordered.
They glared at each other in a way I'd learned meant an argument was brewing so I walked over to pick the small brown bag up, and chirped happily, “I'm leaving. Go with the beans, Brody. They were amazing.”
“Tell Mom I'll be over tomorrow to fix her damned back door,” Brody said, and added, “Three hours.”
***
I carried three bags of clothe
s when I walked up to Brody's house. Dorothea Baker had probably not thrown away a single item in her life and most of what she'd bought over the years were of good quality, so it was in perfect condition. I had tunics and dresses, and skirts in various pale colors which Dottie insisted didn't go well with her gray hair. She'd dyed some of the items herself, and all of it looked great. She was taller than me so there had been a lot of things I just couldn't wear, but Shelly had joined us, and she grabbed most of what I didn't want. We had coffee and truffles, and then we put the clothes in bags, or back in Dottie's closets.
I almost told them what I was doing to the mermaid outside my front door. Since I'd added tiny bits to it every now and then, the eyes looked like real eyes, the scales were glittering softly, and the girl's long brown hair swung playfully around her. Then I felt stupid because Dottie had walked past the house many times and hadn't noticed the changes I'd made, and neither had Shelly.
Instead, I asked Dottie if she would mind if I added some waves beneath the girl, and she looked so happy about my suggestion, I felt even more guilty.
“I would love that,” she squealed. “I like the thought of us making her together. Me starting it and you finishing it. Just like Brody.”
“Ok – What?” I squeaked.
“I like the way you look together,” she said and squeezed my shoulder gently. “You've been good for him. Did he talk about how he was when he moved back here?”
“He's been good for me too, and yes, he's talked about it,” I said. “Or, some of it, I guess. Thea said he was frozen, and he said he was, and that the world seemed gray.”
Brody had told me more, but it didn’t feel right to share it with his mother and cousin.
“He stopped laughing first,” Dottie said. “He’s always been... Patrick laughed all the time. Brody was always so serious. I call him Broody sometimes. And then he stopped smiling.”
“He stopped smiling?” I echoed. “But –”
“He smiled,” Shelly cut in. “But it wasn’t for real. And then you showed up. I thought I’d fall off my chair at the Bar when he started laughing.”
I needed to think about what they said, and didn't want to gossip about him, so I grinned cheekily and said, “Okay, but that was because of Tallahassee and my kind of ex.”
Their stunned looks made me tell them about Pete and everything that had happened, and then I told them about my children and what they had said and how we had grown apart.
“Marie,” Shelly said gently. “I actually don't talk to my kids every week. They come home for vacations and Christmas. They're grownups, and they don't want to live here. I can't imagine living anywhere else. It isn't so different from how you are with your kids. Stop worrying so much.”
I swallowed and decided to tell them what hurt the most.
“I was so lonely,” I whispered. “Feeling like you’re all alone when you're sharing a life with someone is awful.” I swallowed and went on, “Then Joey moved out, Pete left, and a few months later, Amelia. It took me a while, but I finally figured out that I couldn't depend on them anymore, and that I needed a change. I guess it hurts that my kids don't support me when I expected them to be happy for me.”
“They’ll come around.”
“I hope so,” I said. “That's all I can do, isn't it? Keep calling them to make sure we still talk and hope that they'll accept that this is me. It might not be exactly the mom they grew up with, but it is who I am, and I like who I am now.”
I suddenly realized that I did. I hadn’t thought about being a hippie or moving to stupid Tallahassee or something equally strange, not since I arrived in Bakersville.
“I like who you are too,” Shelly said quietly, but added cheekily, “And so does Brody.”
“That he does,” Dottie said with a smile.
I wasn't sure what to say, but a loud knock on the door saved me from having to figure it out.
“Sheets,” Jools said and marched into the house. “And towels.”
“You know where I have them,” Dottie answered what hadn’t been a question to begin with.
“What?” Shelly asked when Jools had disappeared further into the house.
“Jag is moving in with Jools,” Dottie informed us, and my jaw dropped. “Guess his ratty old sheets aren’t good enough for the boy.”
I tried to find something to say to this, but all I could come up with was a hoarse, “Huh.”
Shelly echoed my sentiments, although slightly less hoarsely.
We both knew that Jools and Jag had connected, and it had surprised everyone including Jools, I suspected. It was heartwarming, though, how they somehow understood each other from the start and Jools who was grumpy and rude to absolutely everyone, including his older sister, was patient and seemed almost relaxed around Jag.
Then Jools had invited the much younger man to one of his famous, or rather infamous but very select poker games, and I thought both Brody and Patrick would fall over when they heard. Jag showed up at the Café the next day with a smug grin and shared that he’d won more than two hundred dollars from the old geezers. Since the geezers in question weren’t rookies and went to Vegas once a year to play with some highly skilled players, this was apparently quite a feat.
“It'll be good for my brother,” Dottie said quietly. “He's lonely, and I know you mostly see how grouchy he is, but it'll be good for him to have someone to care about.”
Jools shouted something about not wanting pink fucking sheets, and Dottie grinned as she got up to save Jag from sleeping in what Jools loudly labeled, “A sea of fucking feminine awkwardness.”
Shelly and I called out our goodbyes to Jools, got an unintelligible grunt in return and were walking toward our cars when my phone buzzed. Since I was carrying three bags, I answered without looking who it was.
“Jag's closing so I'll head home,” Brody said. “Know my mother, so I'm gonna guess you're still there, but you should know that if I get to my bedroom and find it empty, I will not be happy.”
I could hear a door close in the background, and a shiver of anticipation swept through me.
“On my way home,” I said, trying to sound casual and keeping my eyes firmly away from Shelly.
“You'd better hurry, or else I might have to spank you,” he said, and it was mostly a low rumble, but I heard the humor in his voice too.
“Okay,” I said and wished it hadn’t come out in such an unfortunate squeal.
Then I quickly closed the call and tried not to blush.
“I heard that,” Shelly said. “Go home and jump your man, Marie.”
“You go home and jump your own,” I countered.
“Business trip,” she said. “Me, myself and I will share a frozen low-carb meal tonight.”
I opened my mouth to invite her over for dinner, but she started laughing.
“Don’t,” she said, reading my intentions accurately. “Brody would kill me.”
I closed my mouth because he probably wouldn’t kill her.
But he’d definitely spank me.
Chapter Thirteen
Review
Marie
There was no way I'd get home before Brody when he only had a short distance to walk, but as I circled the small town, I convinced myself that he wouldn't spank me. That was on the kinky side of unusual, and we'd done some pretty wild things since we started sleeping together, but it had all been regular sex. Or, not regular perhaps because I didn't think most women got smeared with frosting and then licked all over. Or maybe they did? I had never discussed that kind of details with my friends in Minneapolis and giggled at the thought of how embarrassed they would have been if I tried.
Brody was a whole other matter. He was not shy about what he wanted and made me say and do things I'd only read about. And I had read Fifty shades like everyone else, but couldn't for the life of me see Brody Baker tie me up on weird contraptions and bring out dildos, whips and other paraphernalia.
&
nbsp; If he did, I’d run for the hills, screaming wildly, I decided.
“Hey!” I called out as I put the bags down and looked around.
When I was met with silence, I figured he’d walked Boone for a while or met someone. I’d have time to go over to the Mermaid House and unpack the things I got from Do –
“I told you I would punish you,” he murmured and put a black piece of fabric around my head to cover my eyes.
“Brody,” I squealed.
“Let’s go,” he said and moved me in front of him toward what I assumed was the bedroom. “Stand there,” he ordered when we stopped.
He walked away, and I heard the click from the lock on the front door. Then I heard a soft rustle behind me.
“Don’t move.”
Brody’s arms circled me, and I felt how he unbuttoned my shirt and opened it to slide his hands up my sides until they cupped my breasts. I tilted my head to the side when his mouth slid over the side of my neck, which sent shivers down to between my legs, to my pussy, where a slow, hot warmth had settled. Slowly, he pulled the shirt off, and then my bra. He undid my pants and then his hands moved lazily over me as he pushed the rest of my clothes off. All I could see was the dark bandana, and I felt his jeans scrape against my behind when he held me close to his chest.
“Brody,” I breathed.
“That's right, baby,” he murmured and moved us forward. “Trust me to make this good for you.”
I knew he would, so when he pushed me down on the bed, I acquiesced and let him raise my arms to place the hands on the slats in the headboard.
“Hold on,” he murmured and started touching me, tenderly sliding his fingertips over my collarbone and down over my breasts.
Then his mouth was on me, and I gasped.
“You like?” he asked softly.
“Yes. I thought you were punishing me?”
“Do you want to come?” he asked back, moved a hand down to between my legs, and I felt a long finger slide over my clit.
