Love Built to Last

by Lisa Ricard Claro

  Now that he knew Brenna Kinkaid was Maddie’s…what had she called her? BFF?…and Dante’s dream woman, he had hoped to see her behind the counter. Maybe chat her up a little, see if he could get some insight on Maddie. He had instead been served by Greta, the four-foot-nothing, undisputed pastry queen of Bright Hills, who looked like the stereotypical grandma but ran the L&G kitchen like General MacArthur in support hose and sensible shoes.

  He was a regular at L&G, so how had he missed Brenna Kinkaid? As far as he knew, he’d never seen her, and if Dante was to be believed, he’d know it if he had.

  He pulled the plastic lid off the coffee cup and downed what was left of the brew. He liked coffee, enjoyed the morning push, but how the hell did Maddie keep at this stuff all day long? And if she was going to drink so much of it she ought to have a cappuccino or espresso machine. Could you buy one machine that did both? It would have to be for home use and not industrial. He’d have to look into it, maybe get her one.

  Cal looked up when the outside door to the outer office opened and closed. A moment later, Rebecca strode through the doorway, her mass of red curls wrestled into a messy pile on top of her head. A series of silver hoops, decreasing in size, decorated the outer edges of her ears, punctuated on the lobes with the peacock-feather thingy Cal had noticed last week at TJ’s game. What looked to him like a thousand bangle bracelets jangled when she moved her arms.

  How did that clanging not drive her nuts?

  “Hey. I saw your car in the parking lot.” She dropped her hobo bag next to the visitor chair, sat, and crossed her ankles on the desk. She adjusted her calf-length skirt for modesty and then regarded her brother through eyes as green as his own. “I’m surprised you weren’t struck by lightning when you walked in here. All that ‘over my dead body’ talk and all.”

  “Relax. I’m not moving in, just helping out till Dad’s back on his feet.”

  “Not if Mom has her way.”

  “It won’t be up to Mom.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Who are you kidding? Of course it will. She’s not going to let him work himself to death.”

  “You’re here every day. Is that what you think he’s doing?”

  Rebecca shrugged. “You know Daddy. He lives and breathes Walker and Son. I can’t see him sitting at home hooking rugs.”

  “I told Mom I’d keep things running while Dad’s recuperating. I’ll tag Howard today, make sure he’s got things covered in the morning, and then I’ll meet up with him tomorrow afternoon, and with you, when I’m done at my morning job.”

  “Which job is that?”

  “One of many.

  Rebecca raised a brow and smirked. “That’s why you never got away with anything when you were a kid, you know. That’s your tell. The second you start evading is when something’s up. So?”

  “So I’m not evading. I’ve got the kitchen rehab. I can’t request to delay the work because I already started the demo. Cabinets are due to come out and I’m down to the subfloor.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that. But I can tell you’re hiding something.”

  He regarded his sister through narrowed eyes. How the hell did she read him like that? What was she, a witch? Or maybe those gypsy outfits she liked to wear came with some sort of fortune telling juju.

  “Well, I’m not,” he lied, and knew by her smirk that she knew it. Which somehow made it okay and gave him a pass. He glanced at his phone, read the time and stood up. “I have to go. Shelley’s taking Henry to his grandmother’s this afternoon. I need to get TJ.”

  “Okay.” Rebecca dropped her feet and grabbed her purse. “I’m coming in here first thing in the morning and then going to the hospital to see Daddy. I’ll be back here after lunch. Guess I’ll see you then.”

  “Have you been to the hospital yet today?”

  “Just came from there. You haven’t been?”

  Cal shook his head and followed her into the outer office. “No, but I called and talked to Mom. Dad was up to multitasking, flirting with the nurse, and bitching about breakfast.” He punched the alarm code into the keypad, waited for the rhythmic beep that registered engagement, and followed Rebecca into the parking lot. He pulled the door closed and locked it.

  “I’ll bring TJ to see him later this afternoon. Are you going back?”

  “Later. And I’ll make a deal with you.” Her lips curved and she poked him in the chest. “If you taxi Grampa Boone back and forth, then I promise not to tell Mom that you’re hiding something.”

  “What are we, five?” Cal slapped at her hand and laughed when she hit back.

  “Promise me. You’ve got Grampa.”

  “Fine, fine.” Cal held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m on Grampa duty. And you promise to leave me alone.”

  “Well, yeah. This afternoon.” She flashed an impish smile. “But you’re my brother, and tomorrow’s another day.”

  ***

  Monday morning brought rain with the sunrise. The worst of it caught Caleb on his way into the Lump & Grind. He’d been an idiot to stop there, knowing from the ceiling of gray clouds and rumbling thunder that he’d be caught in a downpour. But he wanted coffee, wanted to bring Maddie coffee and a cinnamon bun and, okay, he admitted, planned to use both as props to ease what he expected to be an awkward moment. So sue him.

  He parked his truck, jogged to the Lump & Grind, and got stuck holding the door open for a woman who stood fumbling with her umbrella. She stayed dry standing in the doorway while Cal’s body buffered her from the driving rain.

  “Ma’am, do you need some help with that?” His polite tone belied his annoyance. Rain plastered his cotton T-shirt to his back and dripped from his nose and chin.

  “What? Oh, sorry.” She looked up from the umbrella mechanism to see him standing there, protecting her from the elements, and had the good graces to offer him a sheepish look and a smile. The umbrella popped open and she rushed on her way with a distracted wave of her hand.

  “Shoulda told her to move her big ass!”

  Caleb recognized Greta’s guttural voice and smiled in spite of his dripping discomfort.

  “Where are you, Greta? I can’t see you.”

  “The old troll is hiding under the counter,” said a man in a suit, his voice a low growl. “I’ve been waiting forever for my cheese Danish.”

  “Ha!” Her exclamation was accompanied by a hand wave and her gray-haired head poked out from behind the coffee bean hopper. “Lucky you’re so pretty,” she said to Cal, “or I’d withhold all cinnamon buns from you. Troll. Huh.” She sniffed. “You shoulda seen me forty years ago, liebchen.”

  “I didn’t call you a troll, he did.” Cal glanced at the guilty party. “And I bet you were too hot to handle.”

  “You think you like my buns now? You’d a liked ’em better in ’71.” She cackled at her own joke. “How many of Greta’s buns you want today?”

  “Uh, excuse me,” said the guy in the suit. “I was here first.”

  “You sure were, sunshine.” Greta shot the man a look and then smiled at Cal. “What you want, my big strapping darling?”

  “Uh, four buns and two café Americanos with room, please.”

  “Oh, two is it? Again? Who’s the lady what’s got you bringing her my coffee and buns?” She rested her arms on the counter and leaned toward him, but had to stand on her tiptoes to do it. “Tell this old troll who it is you’re sweet on, before I give him the evil eye.” She inclined her head to the guy waiting for his cheese Danish. The man had the good sense to shrink back from the old woman’s steely-eyed stare.

  “Just a client. Here.” Cal pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed it over to Greta. “I’ve got his cheese Danish, too, Greta, and his coffee.”

  “Liebchen,” she cooed, and snatched the money from his hand like a hawk going after a bunny.

  “So where’s the owner of this place? I’m in here every morning and I’ve never seen her,” Caleb said.

  Greta barked orders at the two twen
ty-something baristas working with her. To Caleb she said, “Don’t tell me you’re sniffing around her, too.” She shook her head. “That little girl’s got something, that’s for sure.”

  “She’s friends with one of my clients,” Cal said. “I’ve heard a lot about her and I’m curious, that’s all.”

  Greta snorted. “You and every other man breathing. She’s a force of nature that one. She don’t work mornings. I been opening these doors forever and when she bought the place she told me she don’t want to fix what ain’t broke, so I get to do what I like. You want to see her pretty face you’ll have to buy your coffee after two. She comes in the afternoon, works hard, and closes the place up.” Greta nodded and her voice held respect. “Does a good job, too. Place is clean as a whistle for me in the morning. You got an army standing behind you, my liebchen, all wanting coffee and Greta’s buns. Get outta the way and go sit your fine ass down. I’m working.”

  Ten minutes later, juggling two coffees and a bag of cinnamon buns, Caleb received his second drenching of the day. Resigned, he settled into his truck and took a long swig of black coffee. The hot brew warmed him and turned his thoughts back to Maddie Kinkaid.

  First and foremost she was a client. A client he was attracted to, a client he had kissed, but still a client. She had kissed him too—had she ever—but then made it obvious by her retreat that she regretted it. All of which added up to what he knew already, which was his number 1 Rule: Don’t mess with clients.

  When he parked his truck in Maddie’s yard and walked to her porch, his hair and clothes continued to drip. He sniffed, decided the rain brought out the scent of the dryer sheets he used for laundry, something he considered now to be a little too citrusy, and resigned himself to being uncomfortable for the rest of the day.

  With the summer humidity at its worst and no sun in sight, dry clothes didn’t appear to be on his horizon any time soon.

  He rapped on the screen door and waited for Maddie to appear.

  The dog barked from the deep interior of the house and then, a moment later, just on the other side of the door, and in a frenzy.

  Okay, Walker. Just give her the coffee and bun, joke about being soaked, and get to work. Remember, she’s a client. This can’t be a thing.

  The door swung open. Maddie shushed the dog and greeted Cal with a guarded smile.

  Crap. It was a thing.

  Chapter 9

  “Hi.” Maddie opened the door. Pirate went out and Cal came in.

  “He won’t run off?” Cal watched Pirate trot down the stairs and make a beeline for the first bush. “And how the hell does he—oh. Interesting.”

  Pirate stood on his three good legs and leaned, lifting the little stump where his fourth leg should be. He finished his business and proceeded to sniff and investigate every square inch of the yard.

  “How’s your dad?”

  “Better, thanks. They’re sending him home today, with restrictions and meds.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  They blinked at each other.

  “I, uh, brought you a cinnamon bun and coffee.” He set both on the table.

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

  “I know. I just thought—I was stopping at the L&G anyway. You’re welcome.”

  Maddie bit her lip and looked away. She didn’t want this to be awkward.

  Why was it awkward?

  Pirate trotted up the stairs and barked to come in. Maddie grabbed an old towel she had set on the table, opened the door for Pirate, and bought herself time to think by drying the dog’s fur and then wiping his feet clean of mud.

  She should ask if Cal needed dry clothes. The poor man was soaked; dripping, in fact. But nothing of Jack’s would fit him, he’d probably say no anyway and, sweet Lord, she couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth and the way he’d used it the other night. The last thing she needed, in light of that, was to invite him to strip naked in her house.

  With the mental image of a naked Cal taking root in her brain, a strangled sound bubbled up her throat. She covered it with a cough, made a show of filling a glass and taking a drink of water.

  This was not how she’d imagined this morning would go. So much for fantasizing about a replay of the other night. What was she thinking? She couldn’t kiss Caleb Walker, not here in the kitchen right down the hall from Jack.

  “You okay? Need me to pat your back or something?” He took a step toward her.

  “No!” The word flew out, she stumbled back a step, and the water she’d swallowed rolled down her throat like a stone. She set the water glass on the counter, held up a hand, and rasped, “I’m fine. I just swallowed wrong.”

  Cal stared at her for a moment, took a step toward her, hesitated, and stepped back. “Maddie, this is ridiculous. Look at you. You’ve literally backed yourself into a corner.”

  It was true. She stood with her back wedged into the corner counter slated for the cabinet with the lazy Susan.

  “I don’t think I can talk about this right now,” she said, her voice scraping against her throat like sandpaper.

  “You don’t have to, sweetheart. Your body language is pretty clear.”

  Maddie imagined how ridiculous she must look, backed, as Cal had pointed out, into the corner, arms barricaded over her heart, the edges of the counter cradling her hips.

  But her heart skipped a few beats because he called her sweetheart.

  “Listen, I’ve got a lot to do, so I’m going to get started. I’ve got family commitments due to my dad’s illness. None that will impact the timing of your project, but, just so you’re aware, there may be days I have to cut out early or start later.

  “Also, I’ve got a couple guys who work with me from time to time, brothers, Luis and Ray. I won’t ever send them out here without you knowing ahead of time. I’ll be here the first time they come, to introduce you, make sure you feel comfortable having them here. If you don’t, just say so. I won’t do anything you’re not on board with.”

  Maddie said nothing, just blinked at him like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs of a twenty-two. He blew out a sigh and raked his hands through his hair. Droplets of water hit the floor, but she ignored those and focused instead on how the rain had drawn his waves into dark curls.

  His voice softened and he added. “Are we clear, Maddie? Nothing happens that you aren’t comfortable with.” His gaze locked onto hers from across the kitchen. “All you ever have to say is no.”

  Maddie worked to control her breathing. Her throat constricted and barricaded her voice. Since he stood awaiting some acknowledgement she nodded, and regretted it in an instant. The series of head bounces she offered no doubt resembled the bobble-head Snoopy attached to the dashboard of Edie’s VW Bug. An involuntary groan bullied past the vocal blockade. She was sure it began as a groan, but it came out as more of a squeak. How many more ways could she humiliate herself this morning?

  Cal opened the screen door and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. Maddie detected a hint of amusement when he said, “Don’t forget your coffee and cinnamon bun. I’d hate to think I got drenched for nothing.”

  Maddie’s stomach clenched. She stood where she was, arms crossed, chest aching, staring at the door. Long minutes ticked by before she walked on stiff legs to the screen and peeked out. Cal strode from the barn to the rear of his truck, hoisted a sawhorse and tromped back to the barn.

  She watched him for a few minutes and cursed herself for being so ridiculous. There were a hundred other things she might have done this morning rather than treat him like a serial killer on the prowl. He’d done nothing wrong and had taken his cues from her.

  True to form, she retreated again. There was no other word for it. She clutched the coffee and the bag with the bun in a white-knuckled grip, and hightailed it to Jack’s study. Pirate padded in behind her, and she shut the door after him.

  She dropped into Jack’s chair and sipped the coffee, mused that Brenna’s new espresso machine must have spit it out, but it
s origin didn’t impress her palate. Not this morning. It tasted bitter on her tongue. She wrinkled her nose and set the cup on Jack’s big coaster. The cinnamon bun remained untouched inside the bag. She set her glasses next to the coffee on the credenza and rubbed her eyes.

  “What’s wrong with me, Jack? One minute, I’m afraid to make any changes in my life, and the next I’m remodeling the kitchen and kissing a man I barely know on the front porch. And then on top of it all, I’m acting like an idiot.”

  She perused the photos on the credenza, her focus straying to the photo of herself on her wedding day. She didn’t know who that woman was anymore. She sighed, twisted the chair around, and stared at the mountain of papers on Jack’s desk. She had abandoned communicating with Jack the day before because every paper she pulled from the stack pertained in some way to utilities. Why? There was nothing wrong with the utilities. Every bill was up to date. She spent half of her Sunday afternoon, the day before, double-checking payments and receipts. She found nothing out of order.

  “A simple question, Jack. For the hundredth time, what do you want me to do?”

  Frustration oozed through her. If she pulled one more utility bill from the stack she’d scream. The eeriness that assailed her on Saturday night when the water bill performed its encore performance had not revisited her. Whatever Jack went to such great lengths to tell her would need to be relayed another way.

  “Why do you give me advice about stupid things like where to order my pizza and whether or not I should go to your mother’s for dinner? Where are you when I need you for real, Jack? Where are you now? I’m tired of this game of cosmic charades. Why can’t you just talk to me?”

  She thrust her hands into the papers, closed her eyes, and checked her breathing. She fingered one paper, abandoned it for another, and another, and yet another. She waited, held her breath. Which one?

  At last she pulled her hands free and sat back in the chair, emitting a frustrated huff. She came up empty. Jack wasn’t talking to her. Not today.