by Susan Crosby
“They’re our clue about the content. The PB&J has a star drizzled out of chocolate as its identifier because when my sisters and I were kids and my mom packed our school lunches, she used to cut our PB&Js with a star cookie cutter. It’s a wonderful memory for me. I do that for myself now. I’ll eat the outside first, then the star part last. It just tastes better.”
“I don’t think I ever had a mom-made lunch. We always bought our lunches.” Even so, his mother probably wouldn’t have made PB&J. As children, they were exposed to exotic food from all over the world and were never allowed to be fussy about it. It wasn’t until college that he’d discovered boxed mac and cheese, and ramen noodles.
Now those were great memories.
“My mother made the best lunches,” Felicity said with longing in her eyes. “I never traded anything. She made her own trail mix. She even scored the skin of our oranges so they were easy to peel. To this day I cut mine like that. We all do, even my dad.”
“My childhood is a blur,” he said. “My father never had time to vacation, so my mom would take us places, but with six kids, it wasn’t easy for her. Mostly we visited relatives. I pretty much only saw my father on Sunday, when Mom put her foot down about not going to the office. He generally just worked at home.”
She picked up another bottle but didn’t open it. “Are you a workaholic?”
“Not like him. I get up at five, head to the condo’s gym at five-fifteen, and am behind my desk at seven. I like to go in before anyone else—except Dad, of course. I can accomplish a lot more in that hour than the rest of the day. Otherwise, it’s meetings or conference calls. Home by 7:00 p.m. I usually call in a dinner order timed to arrive when I do. I eat, pore over reports, watch some sports, then go to bed.”
“Sounds like a workaholic to me.”
“Well, I rarely work on Saturday.”
She flashed him a grin, then held a bottle to his nose.
“Roses?” he guessed.
“Very good. My aunt’s favorite rose vanilla.” She’d reached the end of the line, everything tasted and recorded on her chart. “Do you clean your condo?” she asked.
He laughed at the out-of-the-blue question. “Of course I clean it.”
“I mean you, yourself.”
Ah. He saw what she was getting at. “No. I don’t even buy my own groceries. I call in an order and it’s delivered and put away for me by an employee in the building.”
“You let someone else pick out your peaches? You don’t hold them in your hand and smell their wonderfulness?”
“I’m pretty much home for breakfast and that’s all.”
“I would get very tired of eating out all the time.”
“The price I pay for doing a job I love. How about you? What do you like most about your job?”
She held her clipboard against her chest and smiled. “The wide-eyed kids. On my Saturday tasting days, I make cotton candy for the kids. You’d think they’d won the lottery. If you’re here the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, you can have some. I make it for all the children who come in that day.”
He could see how important his response would be, but he wasn’t going to lead her on. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, Felicity.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” she said in a sweet, tempting voice.
“We’ll see. What’s the hardest part of your job?” he asked.
“It’s more physically demanding than you might think. There are time constraints in candy making, so I often can’t stop and give my body a rest as frequently as I should.”
Morgana returned, and orders were put together. Boxes were stacked on a push cart and wheeled to where her preordered products awaited her. Michael drove the truck to the loading area and helped stow the boxes, as Felicity pored over the invoices, double checking, a frown of concentration on her face.
She was like a vacation, he decided. He forgot about work while he was with her, and she was both restful and exciting...and new. Fresh. Entirely different from any other woman he knew. Was it the small-town way of life or just her? Plus, her business acumen intrigued him. She was smart. Competent. He admired that.
She looked up and caught him watching her. Her smile came slow and brilliant. He felt like the only man in the world, and she the only woman.
He wondered then if long-distance relationships really could work.
Chapter Four
The scent of chocolate filled the truck as Felicity and Michael made the trip home from the Sweets Market, boxes filling the bed, a couple of special ones at Felicity’s feet. Full from all the sampling, they decided to wait to eat the lunch from Estelle’s.
Felicity leaned back, her hands on her stomach. “I am stuffed.”
“Could it be because you ate about ten pounds of chocolate at the warehouse?”
“Possibly. And it wasn’t ten pounds. Eight, tops.”
He laughed. She loved the sound of his laugh. He’d been fun to shop with, had asked tons of questions and been a good sport about trying various samples, even those he couldn’t imagine her using in a truffle, like jalapeño and black licorice. She hadn’t bought those flavorings. Not because he didn’t care for them, but because she couldn’t afford to produce something that wouldn’t sell.
“How long will those supplies last?” he asked.
“Beyond Valentine’s Day, unless my predictions are off. People won’t start placing advance orders for another week. At least, that’s been the pattern. The day before is the worst. The day of is just mad selling.”
She wanted to ask him to stay until then, so that they could have some real time together, not the snippets they would get. They needed time because Michael wasn’t anything like Wyatt had depicted him. Nothing. He was attentive, generous and thoughtful. Where did that fit with “no soft core” and “hard-hearted corporate raider”?
She eyed him. “Why hasn’t your cell phone rung this whole time?”
“I turned it off.”
That gave her pause. Again, it didn’t jibe with the all-about-business she’d been told he was. “You’ll have a ton of messages, I imagine.”
He shrugged. “One of the perks of being the COO is that people wait for me rather than vice versa.”
Felicity just stared at him. She’d rarely had a date that was more than pizza and a movie. Michael had changed that last night, given her a memory. And today was more like a date than business. Plus he’d put his business on hold for her.
They were coming into Red Rock, back to reality. Even though she’d been working, it had been fun, too, nothing like her everyday tasks. Having a partner did make things better—
“I want to see you tonight,” he said, giving her a quick glance.
“It’ll have to be late. I have so much that still needs to be done.”
“I’ll bring dinner to your shop after closing. You have to eat sometime.”
“Something light, please, like a salad. We still have your lunch to eat.”
Michael pulled the truck around back so that they could unload directly into the kitchen.
“Did you wipe out their inventory?” Liz asked as they carried boxes inside.
“Just about. They had that rose-flavored vanilla you love so much,” Felicity said. “Milk chocolate? A dozen?”
“You know me well.” She patted her hips. “It’ll be worth the calories.”
Liz left to help a customer. Michael opened the cooler and divided the lunch, leaving her share on the counter, then he moved Felicity out of viewing range from the front window. “When I got back to my hotel last night one of your chocolate-covered mint patties was on my pillow. I would’ve known it was yours even without the True Confections wrapper.” He nuzzled her neck. “It’s how you always smell.”
She smiled at that. It meant that tonight he would remember her, too, right as he went to bed.
He tugged her close, slipping way out of the businessman mode, holding on as if for dear life. He was obviously a man of deep emot
ion. He was so different from—
He backed away. “I’ll see you later,” he said, then he quickly left, not kissing her, and yet she had the sensation of being thoroughly kissed. How did he manage that?
Liz slipped in as Felicity stared at the back door, wondering what had just happened.
He’d been interesting to her before, but now he’d become fascinating. There were so many layers to him—the cool executive, the attentive date, the man who probably rarely heard the word no. And the lover. Oh, yes, the lover. A man so practiced and skilled she’d felt kissed when she hadn’t been.
“I’ve never seen that look on your face before,” Liz said.
“I’ve never felt like this before. Um.” She tried to organize her thoughts. “Would you mind staying a few more minutes? I need to talk to Sarah-Jane.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll start putting away the supplies.”
Felicity hugged her aunt, hard, then took herself to The Stocking Stitch, where Sarah-Jane worked as assistant manager, a title which hardly described what she did. She’d taken her MBA, combined it with a passion for knitting, then turned Maria Mendoza’s little shop into a booming yarn business, both in the store itself and on the web.
Even when The Stocking Stitch didn’t have customers, Sarah-Jane was busy, but because Felicity wouldn’t be home tonight until late, she had to talk to her friend now.
“I’ll see you at Tuesday night’s class, Glenda,” Sarah-Jane said to a departing customer. “I promise you’re going to love it.”
“Hello, Felicity,” Glenda said. “I was just fixin’ to head to your shop. Will you be back soon?”
“Yes, but Liz is there, Glenda.”
“Have you got any turtles? They’re Tommy’s favorite.”
“Last I looked, I had a couple dozen.”
“’Kay. Bye.” The overhead bell chimed as the door shut.
“Your eyes look funny,” Sarah-Jane said, rounding the counter. “What happened? I heard he brought a limo for you and you rejected it. Good for you!” She didn’t slow down. “Did he lay hands on you? Did he—”
“He was an absolute gentleman.” She gave Sarah-Jane an abridged version of the day, hitting the highlights, but not relating how he’d hugged her so hard in the kitchen a few minutes ago. Sarah-Jane would’ve thought Felicity was hooked too deep, too fast.
Uncharacteristically quiet, Sarah-Jane waited for Felicity to stop talking, then she said, “Sweetie, don’t get ahead of yourself, okay? The way you’ve described Michael isn’t anything like Wyatt said, and Wyatt’s known him all his life.”
Felicity was tired of having her judgment called into question. “You’re not the one who’s been spending time with him. I don’t get it. Don’t you want me to have the same happiness that you have with Wyatt?”
“Of course I do! I’m just concerned, and I don’t want you to rush into anything you’re not ready for. If Michael starts pressuring you for more than you want to give, can you resist?”
No, because I don’t want to resist. There. She’d admitted it, at least to herself. For the first time, she didn’t want to resist. “As I said, he’s been a gentleman. He’ll probably be leaving soon anyway. Maybe tomorrow. Who knows?” The thought cut into her, piercing and painful. Sarah-Jane was right to worry a little, Felicity thought. It had happened with lightning speed.
Sarah-Jane put an arm around her. “I know you’ve got it bad, and I know how that feels. If he invites you to his hotel tonight, don’t go. Make sure it’s right, not just physically but emotionally.”
“I know.” Felicity sighed. “I know you’re right.” She smiled weakly. “Time to get back to work. What are you and Wyatt doing on this fine Saturday night?”
“He’s surprising me. I’m supposed to wear jeans, though, so it can’t be anything fancy.”
Felicity floated on air the rest of the day. Liz stayed on. Between them they got the stock organized and made a big batch of white and dark chocolate-covered pretzels.
She’d looked at the clock every few minutes, waiting for closing, waiting for when she would see Michael again.
And when she opened the back door to his knock, she went right into his arms, as if she’d done so forever.
* * *
Michael gave Felicity a one-arm hug while holding their bagged dinner with the other hand. He’d been working most of the afternoon, but she was never far from his thoughts. The feel of her now almost destroyed his control as she leaned back, waiting for a kiss, her eyes the brightest blue he’d ever seen, and filled with anticipation. He didn’t kiss her even though he wanted to—desperately. He was trying to keep things slow and uncomplicated. He could see the potential to hurt her.
Even though he didn’t just want but craved her.
A pleasant distraction. That’s what he’d called her. He’d been so cocky about that with Wyatt. Now that he’d gotten to know her better, he knew that even if she begged, he wouldn’t give in. She wasn’t a one-night—or ten-night—stand. She was someone’s lifetime. He’d been told that, but now he could see it for himself.
“How was your afternoon?” he asked, sliding out of reach and carrying the food to the counter, not wanting to see her expression if she was disappointed.
“Busy.” She came up beside him but didn’t touch. “Liz and I dipped enough pretzels to last through Valentine’s. It’s one of our biggest sellers.”
“What are you making tonight?”
“Turtles. I sold out this afternoon.”
He pulled containers out of a bag with the restaurant Red’s logo. “Chicken tacos and chile relleno,” he said, the fragrance of the food making his mouth water.
“That’s what you call light?”
“You worked hard all day. I don’t eat only salad for dinner.” He saw her jaw clench. “What?”
“You really do whatever you want, don’t you?”
She was so independent. He respected that—to a point. “I did bring you a salad. You just have choices.”
“Oh.” She looked sheepish. “I’ll get plates.”
He’d figured out a way to stay in town awhile, but it meant her involvement and agreement, and he knew it would be pushing her personal boundaries.
“Were you serious when you said you wanted to grow your business?” he asked as she set paper plates and plastic silverware on the counter.
“It’s a decision that’s hanging over me, yes. Do I pass up the opportunities that have been coming my way or do I stay with the status quo?”
“You’re good at your work, Felicity. You know how to run your business.”
She smiled and shrugged. “Failure isn’t an option, as they say.”
He’d heard those words so many times from his father that they were emblazoned in his mind, too. Consequently, Michael hadn’t failed, not at anything that mattered.
“Why?” she asked. “Do you have ideas for me?”
“If you’d like to brainstorm about the possibilities, I could help. If you’d like me to take a close look at your business and give you my opinion, I could do that. It would mean letting me in on all the financial details of your shop.” It would mean I would have a reason to stay.
“My life is an open book,” she said, her back to him.
He wondered how many people could say that and truly mean it.
She turned around. “But if I decide to expand, I’ll do it myself. I made a business plan when I bought this business. I know how.”
“I wasn’t implying otherwise, Felicity. I happen to be good at that sort of thing.”
“I imagine you are.”
Her tone indicated the discussion was over. He knew he’d been pushing it, considering they barely knew each other. He’d only been trying to find reasons to stay on—or come back anyway. But maybe he should get as far away from her as possible—for her sake, he told himself.
And maybe for his own. She’d roped him in with her innocence and joy for life.
Michael couldn’t remember a mo
re pleasurable—or less stressful—evening, except for the previous night perhaps. Felicity moved around the kitchen, making turtles, answering his questions about the process but also enlisting him to help press pecans into the caramel.
“Finally,” Felicity said with a sigh of relief. “I’m done. No more.”
The building was quiet, the coffee shop having closed an hour earlier. She looked tired, yet she still smiled.
“C’mere,” he said, pulling up a chair next to his, indicating she should sit. Then he took one of her hands and began massaging it. He’d seen her stop several times to stretch her hands. Her sighing groans told him he’d done the right thing. That and her closed eyes, and the way she sank into the chair.
He worked one hand for a long time, then the other, finding pleasure in giving her relief. He thought about the number of times a woman had given him a massage, and he hadn’t returned the favor.
Frankly, he wondered why any woman had gone out with him twice, he paid them so little attention. A few women had even said, “It’s all about you, isn’t it, Michael?”
He wanted to give more than he took this time.
“Are you keeping to your schedule?” he asked.
She didn’t open her eyes. “Check.”
“What’s on tap for tomorrow? You’re not open on Sunday you said. Or Monday.”
“I’m going to make you dinner.” She finally opened her eyes. “Is there anything you don’t like?”
“I can’t think of anything.” He’d stopped massaging her hands but was holding them. “What’s your specialty?”
“Fried chicken.”
His mouth watered. “With mashed potatoes?”
“And gravy.” Felicity smiled with satisfaction, knowing she’d hooked him. The way to a man’s heart...
“Then that’s what I’d like,” he said. “You won’t be working otherwise?”
“Not on Sunday, ever. I’ll work Monday, though, because of the holiday.” She stood when he did.
“I’ll plan something for tomorrow. We’ll be back in time for dinner.”
