At Last

by Addison Fox

  She’d have had better luck battling a grizzly bear on High Street, she admitted to herself, as she waved the folder in her hands before her face. But whatever heat she’d managed to dissipate returned in full force when Nick strolled into the room. “Early start?”

  “Hmmm?”

  He extended a large cup of coffee, its twin in his other hand. “Are you a coffee-first person? If so I’ll shut up.”

  Emma took the proffered cup, still befuddled by the coincidence of his arrival in the midst of her erotic thoughts. “You’re early.”

  “I was up. Figured I’d get a head start on the day.”

  “Good for you.”

  He eyed her over the top of his cup, but ignored the surly remark. “What are you working on?”

  “Reviewing the wort in process. Working through my checklist. My father has been slacking off in his role as brewmaster.”

  “Who’s been doing it? Before you came back.”

  “We have backup on during every shift. And many of our employees have been here so long, they know what’s required to get the job done.”

  “Your father’s lucky to have them. I’d be lucky—” He broke off, his normally focused gaze drifting around the room.

  “You’d be lucky to what?”

  “I have no interest in displacing people from their jobs. The staff is secure.” Nick hesitated before pressing forward. “I was going to say I’d be lucky to have their knowledge.”

  The earlier confusion faded in the clear direction of his thoughts. “You’ve thought about this.”

  “Of course. Buying a company includes the people employed by it. I’d never enter into the deal without considering that.”

  “How noble.”

  He shoved his free hand into his pants pocket, the move drawing her attention to his trim waist and impressive thighs. He was a big man—she often forgot how big he really was until she was in his presence again—and his gray slacks and black T-shirt only highlighted that fact. For all his size, a deceptive elegance stamped itself into the long, powerful lines of his body. The lingering desire that still coursed in languid waves through her system amped up once more—pure, female appreciation filling her as she took in those lines.

  “It’s hardly noble. It’s business.”

  “Oh, but it is. Nick Kelley, the hometown hero on a steady march to conquer the neighborhood. I can hear the gossips now, dripping with awe as they speak of your goodness and benevolence to the Unity’s longtime staff.”

  “Emma?”

  “It’s damn near poetic. The hometown hero swooping in to save the crumbling local business.”

  The spiteful sentiments weren’t her. Even at her worst with Cole, she’d rarely turned to cheap shots or hits below the belt. So why had she started now? She knew Nick didn’t want to be revered for his football days. The “hometown hero” mantle seemed to sit uncomfortably on his shoulders. Yet she couldn’t quite stop the words or their underlying vitriol, especially since it was turned in toward herself even more than Nick.

  Once again, she’d traded her own personal power for a man, and that stung.

  “If this place is crumbling so bad, maybe I should give Tommy a call and revise my bid?”

  Emma had nothing to say to that, her verbal torrent suddenly going dry. But in his taunt she saw the true vulnerability in her situation. In making her deal, she’d thrown open the doors of her family’s dysfunction, and her father’s emotional decline.

  Would Nick use that against her?

  “Tell you what,” he continued. “Once you cool off, come find me in the conference room and we can get back to today’s lesson. In the meantime, I’ve got a stack of sales reports to study.”

  She said nothing as he departed, even as her conscience screamed at her to call him back, to make amends.

  To fix yet one more problem she’d managed to create.

  “The Yard Goats can suck it!”

  Landon swatted at Mrs. W.’s youngest grandson, flattening his ball cap over his nose. “Real sportsmanlike, Trevor.”

  “I want the Kings to win.”

  “Then they need to do the work and win.”

  Trevor’s seven-year-old enthusiasm was nonplussed by Landon’s wisdom. “But it’s not fair if the Kings don’t win.”

  Fender came up behind them and hoisted the boy on his shoulders. “Life’s not fair.”

  “Why not?”

  Fender shifted midstep and veered the boy back to his parents. “Ask your father.”

  Emma took a bite of her hot dog, enjoying the sideshow. She’d been on the fence about coming, the fight with Nick the previous morning still fresh in her mind, a dull embarrassment dogging her ever since. They’d found their way to a truce—which consisted of ignoring the entire discussion they’d had in the wort room—but she’d still spent the past day on shaky ground.

  To his credit, Nick had given her space during the past two days. He’d joined her in the morning for more brewery lessons, then moved on to spend his afternoons at the End Zone. She’d taken the Nick-free moments as a break from her lingering embarrassment over her wildly radical behavior, only to chafe at the realization she’d missed him.

  The time apart had also provided some fresh perspective. If she were honest with herself—and looked past the confusion of her attraction to Nick—she had to admit that he wasn’t the root of her problems. Nick Kelley didn’t stand in the way of her taking over the Unity. Her father did.

  Peter Vandenburg was the real problem she needed to fix.

  He hadn’t been home when she’d dropped the cookies off that morning, nor had he come into the Unity’s offices. She’d left a voice mail on his cell, and when she still hadn’t heard by midday, sent a text as well. The tart response that winged back—that he’d headed to Atlantic City for a few days—at least gave her the reassurance he was okay, if nothing else.

  “Mrs. W.’s grandson is just a bit excited.” Nick had a hot dog in one hand and a beer in the other as he came to stand beside her. His familiar heat singed her nerve endings from head to toe.

  How did he do it? It was like some effortless telegraph of his life essence every time he got within view.

  Shaking off the electric response, Emma worked to maintain a casual air as she turned toward him. He wore a dark gray Kings T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts—the epitome of casual male—and she nearly bobbled her soda as she took in the broad width of his shoulders.

  It simply wasn’t fair. How was a woman supposed to keep her head with a man who looked that lethal?

  Since he’d offered up Trevor as a conversation starter, she grabbed at it with both hands and hung on. “He seems sad at the prospect the Kings might lose.”

  “The teams are well matched. Hartford’s team is young and so are the Kings. They’ll meet each other a few times this season. Winning or losing is likely a crapshoot for both of them at this point.”

  “How’d they get a name like Yard Goats?”

  Nick waved his phone. “Thanks to the handy-dandy Internet in my pocket, it seems that Yard Goat is an old name for an engine that switches trains.”

  “Well, obviously.”

  He just grinned at that and pocketed his phone. “I think Trevor just likes saying it.”

  “Probably so.” Emma caught sight of the logo emblazoned on the scoreboard. “Although I see they avoided the train reference and went straight for the goat with the logo.”

  “Score one for marketing.” Nick’s gaze roamed over the assembled crowd, from his brothers and mother to Mrs. Weston and her family. “You didn’t invite anyone tonight? We sort of just assumed all the tickets.”

  “Landon called it the Borg at dinner.”

  Nick looked momentarily stunned until that easy smile returned. “He’s right.”

  “Scarlett didn’t seem fazed, and there’s plenty of room here. I did invite Becky, but she was busy tonight. And Seth from sales is still feeling bad. It seems what he thought was bad sushi is the flu, and h
e didn’t want to risk getting anyone else sick.”

  “Which is appreciated, going into a long weekend.” Nick hesitated. “I’m glad you came. After the last few days, I wasn’t sure you would.”

  The conversation she’d dreaded faded in the face of Nick’s genuine concern and kindness. That same humor she’d already seen in the depths of his gaze mellowed, even as his smile stayed firmly in place. “Tonight sounded like fun and I wanted to be here.”

  “Your father didn’t want to come?”

  “He’s out of town,” she said, adding, “Atlantic City,” as if that explained everything.

  The warmth never faded from his smile, yet she sensed something hovering beneath the surface. Disappointment? Anger? Relief? Or was she projecting her own feelings onto Nick?

  “I hope he gets lucky.”

  “Does anyone get lucky in Atlantic City?”

  “A rare few.” Nick glanced through the end of the box and over the field. “The Kings are up. Want to watch a bit?”

  “Sure.”

  The box was full of faces that grew more familiar by the day. Emma passed each of them, a smile and warm greeting to them as easy as breathing: Nick’s mother and Mrs. W., ensconced on high, cushioned stools that looked out over the park; Dave, their neighbor she’d met over the fried-chicken dinner, hovering nearby, a beer in hand as he talked to Mrs. W.’s son-in-law; Emily’s daughter, May, who wrangled her two other children, who were not nearly as focused on the game as the excited Trevor; and Landon and Fender.

  They’d all showed. All come out to enjoy the evening, watch a bit of baseball, and kick off summer.

  As Emma took the seat next to Nick, she understood one simple truth. It’d be a shame to let the moment go to waste.

  Nick hollered along with his brothers at the call that favored the Goats before realizing Emma was shouting as loudly as he was. It was the bottom of the eighth and the teams were tied, so every decision counted.

  “Bloodthirsty much?”

  She glanced up from where she shucked peanuts into a small bowl. “It was a bad call. The runner was clearly out.”

  His eyes narrowed as their jaunt to the stadium for the meeting with Scarlett came back to mind in vivid detail. “I thought you hated baseball?”

  “What gave you that impression?”

  “I—” The prim, stoic woman from their prior visit was nowhere in sight as something bright and airy lit up the depths of her dark gaze. “You seemed entirely unimpressed the last time we were here.”

  “That was then. We had a business deal to make. Tonight’s a game, and I want the home team to win.”

  “You are full of surprises.”

  “Oh?”

  He saw the curiosity in her eyes followed quickly by disappointment before she dropped her gaze to the growing pile of peanut shells in her lap.

  “I meant it as a compliment.”

  “Thanks then.”

  The game resumed postcall, yet Nick sensed he’d misstepped. “Surprises are good.”

  “Okay.”

  Her attention remained on the field, and he couldn’t shake the awkward silence at his offhanded compliment. God, why did he keep fucking up with her? Hell, he had more finesse at fifteen in their freaking chemistry class.

  Can I run this equation by you?

  Will we really blow up the lab if we mix those two things together?

  I’ll wash the beakers today.

  It hadn’t been poetry, but he’d gotten by. Even better, that was the first science class he’d ever managed a B in.

  “How do you know baseball so well? Your eye was better than the ump’s. And here I got the impression the other day you didn’t like baseball.”

  She finally pulled her gaze from the field. “I never said I didn’t like baseball. You assumed.”

  Since he had taken her lack of interest as limited knowledge of the game, he had nothing to say. But even with her conversational checkmate, something niggled at him, pushing him forward. “You wear pretty summer dresses at night, but ugly ones during the day. You know more about beer than any ten guys I’ve ever met, and no matter how sexist that sounds, it’s a serious compliment. And you have a weird attachment to your dining room that, for reasons I can’t explain, I totally understand.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Nick caught sight of his brothers’ surreptitious glances and lowered his voice. “And you’re a surprise is all. That’s all I meant.”

  “Okay then.”

  It might have been another “okay,” but Nick felt the change. Saw it in the relaxing of her stiff posture, and the gentle smile that tilted the corners of her lips. The heavy crack of a bat filled the air. A line drive by one of the Goats headed straight for center field, and the Kings’ center fielder practically climbed the outfield wall to catch it. A hard cheer went up in the box at the third out, and in the melee he felt something small and tentative against his hand. Emma’s fingers stole over his, tightening in a hard grip. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  They sat like that long after the action on the field quieted and the Kings came to bat. Nick watched the action on the field, cheering at every hit, but his gaze kept drifting to their joined hands. And how surprising—and good—it felt to sit with her hand in his.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emma took a bite of her ice-cream cone, the rich chocolate bright on her tongue. The game had been a raging success, with an obligatory ice-cream stop after. “I do know how to walk home. Been doing it for years.”

  Nick took a bite of his own cone, the lightest spot of green mint ice cream on his upper lip. “A gentleman always sees a lady home.”

  She shook her head, unable to hide the smile. “You know, you’re the surprise. You’re like a man from another age. Last time I checked, the world was sadly in short supply of gentlemen.”

  “There are more than you realize. Good mothers have a way of instilling the right lessons.”

  “Trevor did hold the suite door for me.”

  “My point exactly. May runs a tight ship, and it shows.”

  “You really love your mom. Landon, Fender, you—it shows in the way you all treat her, and it also shows in the way you talk about her.” When two small spots appeared on his cheeks, she smiled. “It’s nice.”

  “She changed my life. All our lives.”

  Her conversation with Louisa over fried chicken, and the interactions she’d observed between Nick and his family framed her thoughts. “I suspect you changed her life even more. And what I see when I look at the four of you isn’t gratitude, although it’s there.”

  “What do you see?”

  “Love.” Unable to resist any longer, she reached up and pressed her thumb over his lip, wiping away the small spot of ice cream. “Respect. Admiration. Appreciation. And love.”

  His eyes went a molten blue before he took her hand, drawing her fingers to his lips. With infinite sweetness he sucked the ice cream from the tip of her finger, his tongue swirling over the pad. Raw, desperate hunger transformed the moment, without her even being fully aware of it. Their mellow conversation, full of the observations neither could seem to stop making about the other, transformed.

  Electrified.

  And suddenly all thoughts of baseball and ice cream and raising children vanished in the face of something else.

  Something more.

  “Ask me up, Emma.”

  She thought to argue or protest. Knew it was the far better choice than the clamoring, clanging need that filled her with the sweetest, most desperate hunger. Her life was still a confusing mess, and Nick played a role in that. Was inexorably entwined in the life she was desperately trying to rebuild for herself.

  But she had no choice.

  Maybe it had been taken from her long ago, or perhaps it was truly of the moment. Either way, there was only one answer to his question.

  “Yes.”

  Louisa stared up at the house, the small lamp
she kept on in the front window emitting a warm light. It had been a fun evening, and she’d enjoyed getting out and forgetting her problems for a while. Everyone was so focused on the game, there was little time to discuss the borough presidency.

  Her family meant well, and she loved their belief in her, but there was no way she could move forward. Not with Gretchen’s threats hanging over her head.

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  Dave’s voice drifted toward her, pulling her from the funk that continued to creep in at odd times. Emily had gone to her daughter’s for the night—a move Louisa wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t planned—and left her and Dave alone for the walk home.

  “It was a fun night. I love it when unexpected plans come together.”

  “Nick seems to be picking up the brewery business. I heard him talking to the manager as well as a few of her associates about the fall line.”

  Louisa had heard it, too, the mix of pride at his knowledge and concern over his pursuit of the brewery making for strange bedfellows. “Even if it does put him at odds with Emma.”

  She worked hard to stay out of her boys’ personal lives, but the chemistry between Nick and Emma was palpable. When she had observed her son’s relationships through the years, they were pleasant and sweet, but she never sensed that elusive spark that indicated something deeper.

  “They’ll figure it out.”

  “Or they won’t.”

  Dave’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think the two of them is a good idea?”

  “I’m worried it’s not a good idea. They’re on opposite sides of a large decision. And Emma’s coming off a recent divorce, which will do a number on anyone.”

  “I suppose.” Dave grew quiet, his mouth drawn down in a serious line. “For the record, what does make a good time to get into a relationship?”

  “When it’s right, I suppose. I know I have no say in Nick’s choices, but I—” The words simply dried up in her throat as Dave moved forward and pressed his lips to hers. She desperately tried to catch up, even as pleasure swamped her.