by Nina Lane
“The bakery was not her favorite thing,” Hannah replied. “You were. And she’s gone, Polly. You don’t have to save the bakery for her anymore.”
“Yes, I do.” Polly’s heart cracked deeper. “Even though things are improving, I have such a long way to go. I still feel like a failure for not being able to do what Mom did.”
“Maybe you feel that way because it’s not what you really want to do,” Hannah said. “You don’t have to live the rest of your life on a promise. You can be free too.”
“Free to do what?” Polly wiped at a stray tear trickling down her cheek. “Wander the world aimlessly like you’ve been doing for the past ten years?”
“Do whatever you want.” Hannah shrugged. “Go work for Sugar Rush. Go back to college and finish your degree. Hell, go work on an Alaskan fishing boat, for all I care. Just don’t pigeonhole yourself into a life only because you think you can’t do or be anything else.”
“How am I supposed to do any of that and run the bakery at the same time?”
“Get rid of the bakery.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Hannah replied. “It’s not as if Wild Child is making all your dreams come true. Stop playing it safe.”
“I’m not playing it safe. I’m being responsible.”
“Really? When was the last time you took a chance?”
I’m taking one right now by letting myself feel too much for Luke Stone.
Polly couldn’t admit that to her sister, not after Hannah’s comment about “girls like us.” As she straightened, her gaze fell on Pierre Lacroix’s Art of French Pastry book on the coffee table.
“I applied for a French pastry-making course in Paris.” She gestured to the book. “Getting accepted would be like winning the lottery. But it’s still taking a chance.”
Hannah set down her mug and reached for the book. “Didn’t you and Mom used to watch this guy’s show all the time?”
Polly nodded. “That’s his latest book. I even sent in my own original recipe with my application.”
“Well, good for you.” Hannah leafed through the glossy pages. “I’m glad you realize Wild Child isn’t the only place in the world you can be.”
But what if it was the only place Polly wanted to be? Not the shabby place on the verge of bankruptcy, but the lively, vibrant haven of creativity and friendship that her mother had created? What was so wrong with wanting to nest and take care of people?
“I think your CEO is here.” Hannah nodded toward the window.
Polly glanced outside just as a sleek Porsche pulled to a stop in front of Wild Child.
Fun, she told herself firmly. This was all about having fun, getting herself back into the world again, and learning how to run her business so she could take control of her life.
And it was perfectly fine that her heart did a little jump at the sight of Luke’s tall figure getting out of the car and walking around the side of the building with that easy, long-legged stride of his.
It was okie-doke that anticipation filled her veins when the doorbell rang. And it was no problemo that she got all soft and mushy inside when she opened the door and saw him standing there, utterly beautiful and masculine in cargo shorts and a faded San Francisco Giants T-shirt that stretched over his shoulders and the expanse of his chest. Even the morning sun got in on the act, gleaming off his thick, dark hair and lighting it with strands of gold.
“Hey, Peach.” His gaze moved appreciatively over her Indian print, cotton skirt and purple tank top. “Ready to go?”
“Almost.” She leaned toward him, breathing in his scent of soap and shaving cream as he bent to kiss her cheek. “Come in.”
She closed the door behind him and gestured to Hannah. “Luke, this is my sister Hannah. Hannah, Luke Stone.”
Hannah uncurled herself from the sofa and extended a hand, though a faint gleam of suspicion lit in her eyes. “Good to meet you.”
“You too. Polly’s told me a lot about you.” After shaking her hand, Luke held out a green paper bag that Polly hadn’t even realized he was carrying. “I brought this for you.”
Hannah glanced at Polly before taking the bag. She peered inside and took out a clear cellophane package filled with multi-colored, round candies and tied with a red ribbon.
“What . . .”
“Polly told me the Sugar Rush Jelly Rolls were your favorite,” Luke explained. “I thought you might like some.”
An emotion rose in Polly that she couldn’t name, one that seemed both disproportional and a perfect reaction to the fact that Luke had brought her sister her favorite candy. It was like walking from a frigid day into a warm, cinnamon-scented house and feeling every part of her body thawing and melting. It was like making a perfect meringue or tasting a buttery madeleine for the first time.
It was like realizing she might be falling in love.
“Oh.” Hannah still appeared a bit baffled. “Well, thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Polly crossed the room and put her hand on Luke’s arm, her palm tingling at the sensation of his taut, hair-roughened skin and hard muscles.
“We should get going,” she said. “Hannah, are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“No, I told Clementine I’d help at Wild Child, if she needs me.” Hannah was already opening the bag of Jelly Rolls. “Have a good time.”
That was exactly what they had whenever they were together, Polly thought. Luke picked up her bags, and they went down to his car.
“Thank you,” she said, still feeling all warm and melty inside. “I can’t believe you even remember I’d told you the Jelly Rolls were her favorite.”
“I pay attention to you.” He unlocked the trunk and loaded her bags inside. “Has it been okay with her here?”
“More or less. It’s always a little tense just because I know she’s going to leave again. So there’s that.”
“How long is she staying?”
“I don’t know. I never know. I don’t think she does either, honestly. That’s just one of the things that have always made her both brave and irresponsible.” Polly shook off a twinge of sadness, reminding herself of the reason she’d planned this weekend. “So we’re ready?”
“I’m always ready, baby.” Luke let his gaze slide over her body again. “And you look edible.”
She eyed him in a pleasurable return assessment. “So do you.”
“Then we could just stay here and . . .” he raised an eyebrow, “ . . . eat each other.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Stone.” Tempting as the idea was, Polly shook her finger at him. “You don’t get off that easy.”
“Actually with you, I do.” He winked at her and opened the passenger side door. “Are you going to tell me yet where we’re going?”
“Still a surprise.” She eyed him with mild suspicion. “Are there any electronic devices on your person?”
“No, but you’re welcome to give me a pat-down to be sure.” Luke turned toward her, extending his arms to the sides.
Not about to deny herself the opportunity of touching him, Polly patted her hands all over his chest and back, down the length of his legs, and—just to make extra certain—over his groin and incredibly firm rear.
“Okay,” she said, rather breathless after having discovered nothing but warm, solid muscles. “You’re clean.”
“I can be dirty too.”
“Oh, I know.”
They exchanged smiles as Luke gestured her into the car. After Polly had given him the address, which he inputted into his GPS, they started south away from Indigo Bay. He drove along the Pacific Coast Highway, the Porsche handling the winding roads with ease. Cliffs swept majestically down to the ocean, and the water splashed and sprayed against the rocky shoreline.
They drove for an hour, having easy conversations about movies, Luke’s extensive travels, and Polly’s life at Twelve Oaks. Eventually he turned away from the coast toward the flat, dry landscape of the Central
Valley, where miles of farmland stretched out in all directions. As they exited Interstate 5 and headed east, parked cars began appearing along a two-lane road, and the faint sound of music filled the air.
Luke peered out the front windshield as they neared their destination. A banner proclaiming Codswallop Festival hung between two trees, beyond which was a vast field dotted with cars, tents, and RVs. People wearing heavy-looking backpacks and carrying bags and camping gear streamed toward the entrance gates.
A man wearing an orange safety vest waved them to the right, where a sea of cars sat in another field. Luke pulled into the lot, maneuvering the Porsche over the rutted dirt to an empty space at the edge of a ditch.
“Have you ever been to a music festival before?” Polly asked.
“Back when I was younger, yeah. But it’s been awhile.”
“Have you ever been to a hippie music festival?”
“Not that I can recall.”
She smiled. “Then welcome to Codswallop.”
It was the most beatnik scene Luke had ever experienced, including those of his wilder college days. The field was awash in tents, shacks, teepees, and stages where bluegrass, jazz, and rock bands played, and the throb of music resounded for miles. Enough pot smoke hung in the air to give non-users—meaning no one—a contact high. There was henna painting, hard liquor, fortune tellers, tattoos, hula-hooping, body odor, dreadlocks, porta-johns, bikinis, drum circles, food tents, fire-eaters, and more tie-dye than was needed to outfit everyone during the Summer of Love.
Polly seemed right at home here, pausing to greet or hug someone every now and then, always introducing him as “my friend Luke.” Because his cooperation would make her happy—and because he increasingly wanted nothing but happiness for her—Luke told himself that no one here had any idea who he was and that it would be fine if he just rolled with it.
So he did. Polly insisted he buy—and wear—a rainbow Grateful Dead T-shirt. They ate burritos and drank cider in the hot sun while listening to a bluegrass band, beat the bongos in a drum circle, signed petitions to protect the environment, people-watched, danced, played hacky sack and ping-pong, socialized with a motley crew of friendly folk, and tried as many foods as they could, including blueberry lemonade and chili-flavored cotton candy.
The only activity Luke declined was hula-hooping, but only because he wanted to watch his girl without any distractions. The decision yielded amazing results, as he sat in the shade with a cold beer, listening to the beat of reggae steel drums and watching Polly’s curvy body shaking and shimmying with such gusto that he eventually had to look away or risk a hard-on. Though he suspected this crowd would probably approve.
After she’d gotten him worked up with the hula-hooping, Polly grabbed his hand and tugged him over to a grove behind a camping site. Latched between two trees in the shade was a wide cloth hammock layered with Indian-print pillows.
“As much as I love your bed,” Polly climbed into it, “hammocks have their own special qualities that you won’t find anywhere else. They’re known for great health benefits.”
She reclined and tugged him down beside her. Luke settled in, and she tucked herself against his side. Their combined weight rocked the hammock, the motion pressing their bodies closer together.
Ahh . . .
He closed his eyes as the breeze cooled his hot skin and the oranges-and-cloves scent of Polly filled his nose. As he sank into a light doze, he had the vague thought that he could quite happily lie here with her for the rest of the weekend, rocking gently as music played in the distance and the sun filtered through the trees . . .
“Wake up.” Polly’s lips pressed against his cheek. “We’ve been asleep for an hour, and we’ll miss the blues concert if we don’t head over there now.”
As Luke pulled himself reluctantly out of sleep, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a nap. And waking from one in a hammock . . . he was beginning to think this hippie lifestyle had a lot going for it.
He and Polly returned to the festival activities with renewed energy. By the time the sun began to sink on the other side of the sky, they were both sun-burned, sweaty, tired, and dirty. Campfires began to light up around the tents, though most people streamed toward the main stage where the headliners were playing. Polly’s friend Tom, along with his wife and another fellow who went by the name Wolf, lounged beside a campfire.
Luke looked to where Polly sat on the other side of the fire. Her hair was falling out of its knot, loose tendrils drifting around her face, and a warm contentment filled her brown eyes. With the firelight glowing on her skin, she looked almost otherworldly, like she really was a pagan witch who’d cast a spell on him.
She met his gaze across the flames. Her lovely mouth curved with a smile.
He didn’t return her smile, only kept staring at her. An emotion flickered inside him that he didn’t recognize. If Polly really had bewitched him, what would it take to be free of her? He didn’t know if he wanted to be.
The thought unsettled him, like a crack in his armor. Not once since he’d picked Polly up at Wild Child sixteen hours ago had he reached for his non-existent phone. Not once had he wondered if anyone in his family or at Sugar Rush was trying to contact him. Not once had he thought about market shares or net sales. And that alone was a measure of the power Polly had secured over him in only a few short weeks.
What would happen if he let this affair go on for another week? Or a month? Or two months?
“Hey.” Her soft voice filtered into his ears, and he felt the movement of her body as she sat beside him. “There’s no scowling at Codswallop.”
He pulled himself from the morass of his thoughts and turned toward her. “There’s a lot of fun, though.”
Polly smiled again. He wished he could be responsible for keeping that smile on her face forever.
“My parents used to come here every year,” she said. “Though my mom didn’t bring me along until I was a teenager. She missed a couple of years when she got sick, but last year she insisted on coming even though she was still right in the middle of chemo. So Clementine and Tom loaded up a van, and we went along with them. Stayed all three days, visiting old friends, listening to music, eating and drinking. I think my mother knew the end was getting close and she wanted to have one last really good time with her friends.”
A shadow of sorrow passed across her face as she looked at the fire. Luke settled his hand on her knee.
“Sounds like she did,” he said.
She nodded. The band on a nearby stage started playing an acoustic cover of the Stones’ “Wild Horses,” the strains of the guitar accompanied by the crackle and pop of the campfire.
Luke stood and took Polly’s hand, tugging her to her feet. He pulled her to him and slid one arm around her waist before starting to move to the music. She eased closer, her body pressing against his as she rested her cheek against his chest.
He let go of her hand and wrapped both arms around her. Something always settled inside him when she was tucked in his arms like this, her curves fitting perfectly against the planes of his body like she was made for him alone.
They danced slowly for another few minutes. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and lowered his mouth closer to her ear.
“By the way,” he murmured, “where are we sleeping?”
She grinned, turning her face toward his. “You mean you’re not going to ask me if we can go home yet?”
“Actually I’m starting to wish you’d wanted to get me alone for longer than a weekend.”
She eased away from him, twining her fingers with his before leading him toward a small blue tent that was set up a short distance away.
“Tom and Anne bring an extra one in case someone needs a place to sleep.” She unzipped the flap. “Tonight, that’s us.”
As she bent over to enter the tent, her skirt stretched across her round ass. They were about to do a hell of a lot more than sleep.
Luke followed her inside, crouc
hing to zip the flap closed behind him. Firelight and passing shadows flashed over the thin nylon walls, which did nothing to block out the sound of music and voices drifting over the field.
Their bags were already inside, and Polly switched on a flashlight attached to the edge of the tent. She unzipped her large bag and pulled out a tightly rolled cotton blanket.
“I figured we wouldn’t need much because it’s so warm.” She unfastened the blanket. “I brought pillows too.”
Luke sat back on his haunches since the tent was too small to even sit up comfortably and watched her work. She knelt by the air mattress, reaching over it to spread the blanket, her bent position giving him a tempting display of her cleavage. Even though he’d been sneaking looks at her breasts all day—and what a sight they were when she was hula-hooping—now he could stare at them all he wanted.
“I brought extra water too, so we don’t have to trek to the water station in the dark.” Polly pulled water bottles out of her bag. “And if you . . . oh.”
Luke had crawled forward and crouched on his hands and knees, his face only inches from hers. She looked up, her eyes widening. The scent of her—sweat, sun, smoke—fired him with a bolt of lust.
In less than a second, he grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her toward him, his mouth crashing down on hers. Her lips parted on a soft moan, and then he was inside her, his tongue seeking hers, his lust burning hotter.
“Come on,” he whispered, moving them both to sitting positions without breaking the contact of their mouths. “Let’s fuck.”
She drew in a breath and lifted her head. Shock darkened her eyes.
“Really?” she breathed. “You want to . . . here?”
“Hell, yeah.” Luke grabbed her hand and pressed it to the front of his shorts, forcing her to feel the hard ridge of his cock. “I’ve wanted it all goddamned day.”
“But . . . I mean, there are people right outside.” Polly gestured to the tent flap even as her hand closed around his erection. “I didn’t think you’d want . . .”
