Sweet Secrets

by Rhonda Sheree

  “I would tell him,” Viv is saying. “I’m sure he’s wondered about his mother and has a million questions for her. I’m not a big fan of secrets.”

  She makes good sense. Still, I have a nagging feeling in my gut. “She didn’t seem all that interested in meeting him. She didn’t reach out to me like that. I think she just wanted me to relay a message. That’s it.”

  “Are you going to relay the message?”

  “Will it make his life better or worse?” I counter.

  “You can’t know that.” She’s right, of course. I can’t. Not until I tell him. Viv says, “Callia, are you thinking about not telling him out of spite?”

  “Do you really think I’m that petty?” Viv doesn’t answer. “Viv, really!”

  “No, I don’t,” she says, somewhat reluctantly, I note. “Love can make people do strange things.”

  “I’m not in love. I’m in deep infatuation and I’m slowly recovering.”

  “Lie to yourself, sweet cakes, but don’t lie to me. Or to Grayson, for that matter. I’ve got to get off this phone.”

  “Wait. You think by not telling him I’m lying.”

  “I do. Lying by omission.”

  “No. If he asks me, I’ll tell him.”

  “And what are the odds he’s going to say, ‘Hey, Callia. Have you seen my mother hanging around lately? I haven’t seen her in twenty years!’”

  “Okay, fine,” I say, still unconvinced. “Some lies need to be told.”

  “Or not told, in your case.”

  “So you agree with me.”

  “Not at all. I’m just clarifying your point.”

  “Goodbye, Viv.”

  “Goodbye, sweet cakes.”

  Chapter 40

  I can’t find my grateful journal. It’s really starting to bug me that I can’t remember where I put it or the last time I wrote in it. Bummer, too, considering I have something for which to be thankful. My own business. Granted, it only exists on paper at the moment, but at least that’s something.

  The sheets are cool when I slip into them and I’m anxious as a child to wake up tomorrow. A job interview. Steady money while I work on my business endeavor is more than I could have hoped for. Just as I grab the remote to flip on the television, the doorbell rings. Instinctively, I look at the clock. It’s almost ten.

  I slip my house shoes on and tie a robe around my oversized T-shirt. By the door, I pick up a bat I’d found in the basement—an artifact from Carmen’s softball days—and look through the peephole.

  The devil herself.

  “Hey,” Carmen says when I open the door. I can barely see her face since she’s wearing a newsboy hat and her head’s down as she digs through her purse. “I lost my key. I need to come in.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is my house,” she says and zips her purse.

  Guilt pulls her eyes in every direction except directly to mine.

  “Correction. It’s our house and not for long. An offer could be coming in any minute.”

  Carmen slips past me and makes a beeline for the stairs. She goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I follow and talk to her through it.

  “What’s going on, Carmen? Did one of your many lovers make you flee your own apartment?”

  “I don’t have any lovers at the moment. I’m sure you’re happy to hear that.”

  “What about Grayson? You haven’t wrapped him around your finger yet?”

  “Ouch!” Carmen whispers faintly.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  “Girl, when are you going to learn that not everything is your business?”

  “When you stop knocking on my door,” I say. “You have a home, remember?”

  “And why are you so anxious for me to leave? Have you got a man hiding around here?”

  “Real men don’t hide. I’ll leave the hiding kind to you.”

  I say this without the slightest hint of irritation. Carmen and I have traded barbs since she could talk.

  I hear a muffled snort. “Then why is Grayson hiding? I guess he isn’t a real man.”

  “He’s working, not hiding.”

  “Damn it!” she says.

  Okay, that’s it—I’m going in. I go into my bedroom and find a bobby pin on the dresser. I bend it until it’s as straight as I can make it and push it inside the tiny hole of the door lock. The door opens easily.

  “What are you doing?” she asks and swings around to me.

  “What the hell happened to your face?” I ask. She’s taken off her lipstick and now I can see clearly that her bottom lip has a deep gash down the center. “Did Marcus do that to you?”

  Carmen puts a cotton ball doused with alcohol back on her lip and sits on the edge of the tub.

  “No,” she says. “His wife did.”

  “She found out.”

  “Sherlock solves another mystery.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass, Carmen. What happened?”

  “He told her everything. She found out where I lived, came over, and we argued. One thing led to another and here I am.”

  “We should go find her,” I say, my fists balled into a tight knot. “We should go find her and give her a bloody lip right back.”

  “Calm down, Rocky. We’re not in grade school anymore. Besides, I gave her as good as I got, trust me.”

  “Damn it, Carmen. You’ve got to stop messing around with other women’s men.”

  She looks up at me. “Especially yours, right?”

  “I can see how punching you in the mouth would be tempting.”

  “Grayson really likes you,” she says, then looks back down at the floor like a dejected kid who wasn’t picked for a soccer team. “He always has.”

  “You’re hiding out here because of that woman?” I ask, keeping the subject on her.

  “Do you mind? I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “No, but there’s no linen on your bed. I’ve packed up a lot of stuff.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find some and make the bed.” The doorbell rings and we both freeze. “Do you think she followed me here?”

  Honest fear clouds her eyes. It ticks me off to see my sister this way and I am ready for a good fight.

  “Stay here,” I say and go back downstairs. I don’t even pick up the bat. I want to get my hands on that woman’s neck. Sinclair. What a pretentious name! I swing the door open and look directly into startled hazel eyes.

  “Hey,” Grayson says. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “You look like you’re ready to tear my head off.”

  “Would you blame me if I did?” He shook his head. I sighed. “It’s not you—I had something else on my mind.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I stand aside and let him pass. When he sees Carmen standing at the top of the stairs, he turns back to me.

  “Bad time. I’ll come back some other time.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I say. I look up at Carmen and give her a look that communicates my message perfectly: Stay. Carmen disappears back into the bathroom without so much as a greeting to Grayson.

  Inside the family room we stand and look at each other. Grayson wears all black and has never looked sexier. The smell of his leather jacket is intoxicating. I bite my bottom lip and remind myself that this man booted me out of his house.

  “I wanted to apologize for the things I said to you,” he says. “I had no right.”

  “You had every right to tell me how you really feel. And to kick me out of your house. After all, they’re your feelings and it’s your home.”

  “How did I know you weren’t going to make this easy for me?”

  “I’m not trying to make it hard.”

  He looks down at his loafers. One seems to be snubbing out an invisible cigarette. Suddenly, those eyes are back on me.

  “I’ve missed you, okay? I’ve missed you.”

  A smile threatens to burst from my lips, but I don’t want to give him the
impression that I’m easy.

  “What exactly have you missed?” I ask.

  “Your company,” he says, playing along. “Your mouth. Your kiss.”

  “Aha, so this is a booty call? I’m sorry my sister has ruined things for you.”

  “Why is she here?”

  I shrug. “She missed me, too.”

  Now that Grayson’s here, I can tell him what I know about his mother. But the timing doesn’t feel right. This moment is about us.

  “Will you come back over to my place?”

  “No.”

  “What are you going to do if a sale goes through?”

  I take a seat on the sofa. “I’ll get a cheap apartment. I have an interview tomorrow so I hope to be employed soon.”

  Grayson nods. “Bakery?”

  “Accounting firm.”

  He nods and sits next to me on the sofa. He begins to remove his jacket and I swear his biceps have never looked quite that thick before. I swallow my desire.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” I say. “You’re not—”

  Grayson quiets me with a kiss. I’m so surprised by the move it takes a second to process it. But only a second. After that, I am breathing hard and falling back on the sofa while I run my hands through his soft curls. I slip my hands beneath his T-shirt and let them feast on every ripple and hard surface.

  “Come over to my place,” he whispers in my ear.

  “No,” I say. I sit up on the sofa and he releases me. I smooth my hair. “No. Nothing has been resolved.”

  “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “Good,” I say, feeling triumphant and overheated all at once.

  “But there’s a lot, and I don’t know if now is the right time.”

  I could certainly understand that logic.

  “You have a time limit, Grayson. How about that?”

  “Okay.” He stretches the word out. “When’s the deadline?”

  “The reunion.”

  “You’re still coming with me?” he says.

  “Do you still want me to?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Okay, then,” I say, looking back at his mouth and wanting it on mine again. “I want to know everything by then or don’t even bother coming over here until you’re ready to tell me. You got that?”

  “I got it.” Grayson drops his head toward his chest as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Surely nothing he tells me can be all that bad. He slept with Carmen? Is that it? Bad as that would be, it isn’t the worst thing he could’ve done. She’s sporting a busted lip for her poor choices, but Grayson looks like he’s the one who’s really suffering.

  “So, maybe I should go now,” he says, looking at me.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Or…” Grayson leans over and trails small kisses down my neck that send vibrations through my body. “I could stay.”

  “Do you think that would be a good idea?” I whisper.

  His tongue finds its way around my earlobe. Grayson nibbles the lobe. “I think it would be the best idea I’ve had all day,” he says. His hand touches my thighs, slides up my T-shirt, and strokes my panties, which are already moist from the kiss he gave me. He moans as he strokes me.

  “This is probably a very bad idea,” I say.

  “Some of the best moments in life have started out as very bad ideas.” Then he scoops me off the sofa and takes me up to my room. His lips devour my own, giving me no chance to protest.

  Not that I’d want to.

  Chapter 41

  “I have something for you,” Grayson says. His chin rests on the top of my head as I let my tongue play with his hairless nipple. We’ve made love twice now and I still can’t get enough of tasting him.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll see soon enough. It’s not a big deal or anything, but I forgot to bring it in with me.”

  “Am I bothering you?” I ask, kissing his chest.

  “Not even a little bit,” he says. “I want to take you out on a date. There’s a great five-star restaurant in Manhattan I think you’d like.”

  A silly idea forms in my head. “What are you doing the day after tomorrow?”

  “Working. Nothing I can’t get out of, though. Why?”

  “I want you to take me on a date. Pick me up at nine and wear very casual clothing. Not one of your fancy hundred-dollar T-shirts.”

  “Can I wear those perfectly awesome jeans you bought me?”

  I prop myself on my elbow. “Have you worn them?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve tried them on. I love them. I wanted to wear them out with you so you can admire my ass in them.”

  “I’d much rather admire your ass out of them.”

  “You and your fetishes,” he says and kisses me.

  I wonder what my sister is up to and if she heard my vocal performance moments ago. I added a couple of high notes in there just for her benefit.

  “When you say nine o’clock,” Grayson says, “you do mean at night, right? What do you have in mind, bowling?”

  “Nine in the morning and I don’t mean bowling. Can’t handle a surprise?”

  “Am I paying for the surprise?”

  “Of course you are. What kind of girl do you take me for?”

  “A contemporary feminist who insists on paying her own way?”

  “Not on your life,” I say.

  Grayson chuckles into my hair. “There’s nothing I’d enjoy more than taking you on a day trip, wherever we go. And if you let me, I’d like to help you with your business.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Ah, the contemporary feminist has reared her head. Will you at least tell me what you plan on calling your business? I can’t believe you went ahead and started incorporating it without talking to my attorney first.”

  “Callia’s Cupcakes.”

  “Callia’s Cupcakes,” Grayson repeats, rolling the words around his tongue several times.

  “Too cutesy?” I ask. I hadn’t run the name by anyone, not even Viv. It just felt right. But now that Grayson isn’t cheering the name, I wonder if I should change it.

  “Do you think it’s too cutesy?”

  I lay my head on the pillow and stare at the ceiling. “I think it is, but I like it. I’m the owner and in a small town like this I think people will feel like they’re walking into my kitchen, getting a homemade dessert that I hope they fall in love with. It’s homey and warm and familiar. I like it.”

  “Then that’s all that matters, Business Woman. By the way, I like it, too.”

  “Now that I’ve made the decision to do this, I’m starting to feel more confident.”

  “Yeah,” Grayson says and swings his legs off of the bed. “You seem to be having that kind of effect on me as well. I’ll run to the car.”

  Grayson slips a pair of jeans on and I put on my robe. His hand is on the door when he notices I’m on his heels.

  “You’re walking me out?” he asks.

  “No,” I say.

  Grayson gives me a confused look, then heads out. He opens the door and I walk out behind him. He walks halfway down the stairs and turns back and looks at me.

  “You sure you aren’t walking me out?”

  “I’m sure. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  He chuckles, shakes his head, then walks out the front door.

  Not three seconds later I hear the creak of her bedroom door open.

  “You are such a faker,” Carmen says from her doorway.

  “What in the world are you talking about?” I ask, although I know damned well what she’s talking about. I savor the moment.

  “You were making a hell of a racket in there. Fake, fake, fake. He isn’t nearly that good.”

  “Do you know that for sure?”

  “I’ve been with enough men to know that none of them can do anything good enough to warrant what was coming out of your mouth.”

  I shrug. “If that’s the belief that gets you through the ni
ght…” I turn around so that she can’t see the huge smile on my face.

  “I’m gonna try to get some sleep. You mind keeping it down?”

  “I’ll do the best I can, Carmen. But if he does his patented move again, then it’ll really be out of my control.”

  “Patented move? What does he do?” she asks and I can practically see the drool forming in her mouth.

  “He’s on his way back in and I’m sure you don’t want him to see you like that. Is your eye turning black?”

  Carmen gasps, then disappears back into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

  “Still there,” Grayson says when he walks back through the door. He’s carrying a messenger bag in his hand.

  “As promised.”

  He takes the steps two at a time, grabs my hand, and leads me back into my room. We sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the bed.

  “You want me to be more transparent,” Grayson says, “so this is the first step.”

  “Okay,” I say. Now it’s my turn to be completely confused.

  “One of the bonds your dad and I shared was writing. He made me write about my feelings, about how I felt about my mom leaving and so on.”

  Now is the time. Easily I can slip it into conversation.

  “How do you feel about your mother being gone?”

  Grayson shakes his head. “That’s not the point. The point is your dad had me write about it. He never needed to see it; he was okay knowing that I’d done it whether I talked about it or not. Then I started writing fictionalized versions of my life, all the different reasons why she’d gone. Maybe she’d died, maybe she’d been kidnapped, maybe she just wanted to get away from my dad…or me.” Grayson takes a deep breath and continues. “Then I started to write about other things. And that led me here.”

  This revelation was a bit anticlimactic since I’d already read Grayson’s work. That’s when he dug into his messenger bag and laid four soft-cover books on my lap.

  “Ta-da,” he says and smiles at me expectantly.

  “Romance novels?” I say. “I don’t get the connection.”

  “Not just any romance novel,” he says and turns the books over so I can see the front of each of them. “I am Georgia Kinsey.”

  “Nice try,” I say, “I’ve seen this writer before. They put her photo on the back of her books.”