All You Can Handle (Moments In Maplesville Book 5)

by Farrah Rochon

  “I’ll send him a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries as a thank you,” Sonny said.

  “Oh, I like your sass.” Kiera laughed. “Come on, I promised Trey I would deliver lunch for him and his workers at the shop.”

  As they made their way across town to where Kiera’s new husband, Trey Watson’s renovation shop was located, Kiera gave Sonny a tour of town.

  “Not even five years ago, all of this was sugarcane field,” Kiera said, pointing to a line of strip malls and standalone buildings along the main highway. “I don’t know what they’re building there,” she said as they passed a wooded area that was being cleared. “Some speculate that it’s a Target. Others say it’s a warehouse club.”

  “Maplesville doesn’t seem big enough for a warehouse club.”

  “It wasn’t big enough for an outlet mall,” Kiera said. “But if you build it, they will come.” She shrugged as she made a right turn onto a road that was in dire need of repair. “There are a lot of people who are uncomfortable with the massive growth, but it’s been good for business. The law firm we just came from is one of several new businesses that have come to Maplesville this past year. There’s a huge accounting firm, and further back, around the area where my brother Mason and his wife Jada lives, there’s a medical plaza being built in conjunction with the renovations being done at Maplesville General Hospital.”

  “It looks as if I picked the perfect time to show up,” Sonny said.

  Kiera peered over at her, an inquisitive lift to her brow. “We didn’t really discuss it during your interview, and believe me, it isn’t a big deal to me, but do you mind if I ask why you chose Maplesville? The town is growing, but it isn’t considered a destination for young, single women, especially those with your…” She hesitated. “Your unique style.”

  Sonny laughed. “I hope you don’t have a problem with it.”

  “Not at all. I love it,” Kiera said. “Still, it doesn’t scream Maplesville. I just wondered why you picked my hometown.”

  She knew her new boss must be curious. Why wouldn’t she be? Sonny had been vague about her background during her interview. It was by necessity. It wasn’t as if she had a ton of fancy baking credentials to her name. Sonny was certain that it was the chocolate torte she’d made for Kiera on the spot during Monday’s interview that won her this job. That and Kiera’s willingness to take a chance on her.

  Even though she’d dropped out of her residency program over a year ago this was her first official pastry chef job. Most of her business had come from word of mouth, baking cakes, pies and other desserts for friends and family, often having to use their kitchen in order to do so.

  That was the one knock against her new apartment; it only had a microwave and cooktop, no oven. But she’d already solved that problem. Because her new boss was the coolest person ever, she’d agreed to let Sonny use the oven at the catering company.

  “I moved here for the job,” Sonny finally answered. “When I ran across your job posting, it seemed like the perfect fit; somewhere that I could hone my skills and still have time to do some special occasion cakes on the side. You’re still okay with me taking side jobs, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Kiera said. “If someone wants just a cake, it’s all on you. I don’t want anyone mistaking Catering by Kiera for a bakery. I’m just surprised that you chose a small town instead of a bigger city to get your start.”

  “The bigger the city, the bigger the competition,” Sonny said. “I’ll make that move when I think I’m ready.”

  “All I ask is that you give me at least two weeks notice,” Kiera said. “I know we agreed that this is just a trial run, but if you pull off the kind of miracle you did this morning, I may not let you leave. That lemon curd was amazing.”

  She and Kiera arrived at a midsize corrugated building on the opposite side of Maplesville. A Bluebird school bus sat about fifty yards away. There was a picnic table in front of it and landscaping around the base.

  “Someone has taken good care of that old bus,” Sonny said.

  “Actually, that’s Trey’s house,” Kiera said as she handed Sonny a tray of sandwiches from the back of the van. “We mostly live at my condo downtown, but we spend a few nights a week here.”

  “You live in a school bus?”

  Kiera chuckled. “It’s not just any bus. Trey gutted it and remodeled it. The interior rivals a world-class hotel room. That’s what he does here at the shop. Actually, he remodeled my food truck. It’s how we reconnected after years of being apart.”

  “That sounds like a story worth hearing,” Sonny remarked.

  “Oh, it is.” Kiera’s dreamy sigh said a lot. “I’ll have to tell you about it one of these days. I’ll give you a tour of the Bluebird once we’ve brought the guys their lunch.”

  They entered the building, which was some sort of mechanics workshop. The moment Kiera’s husband came into view, Sonny discovered why her new boss didn’t have a problem with her tattoos. Trey’s arms were covered with them. The colorful serpent that wound up his forearm and disappeared underneath his snug t-shirt was a fantastic piece of artwork.

  Kiera introduced Sonny to Trey as her new pastry chef extraordinaire, and motioned for her to follow them to a small room just to the left of the entrance. The entire room was a cluttered mess. There was just enough room on the table to set out the po’boy sandwiches, cold pasta salad, and chips Kiera had brought for their lunch. Sonny took the left over sheet cake and constructed a three-layer dessert using the lemon curd, berries and whipped cream.

  “Damn, Slim, you trying to put us all in a food coma?” Trey said before giving Kiera a quick kiss on the lips. Then he stuck his head out of the door and called, “Lunch’s here.”

  The clang of metal tools being put away rang throughout the building. Two of Trey’s workers entered the room and headed straight for the sandwiches. Sonny’s hands halted when the third walked through the door.

  “Ian?”

  “Sonny?” Ian stared at her, complete surprise on his face. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong at the house?” He stopped short. “Wait. How did you know to find me here?”

  “I didn’t,” Sonny said.

  “You two know each other?” Kiera asked.

  Sonny turned to her. “Ian is my new landlord.”

  “Seriously?” Kiera laughed. “Talk about a small world.”

  “You work here?” Sonny asked, even though the answer was obvious. She took in his dusty blue jeans and oil-stained t-shirt. The well-worn cotton clung to his trim, but muscular frame.

  She’d found him attractive enough in a suit and tie Monday night, but seeing him like this? She could not handle this much sexy.

  She’d spent her life with guys who were brought up in wealthy homes and attended private schools. This raw, gritty thing Ian had going on right now made her belly tingle with all kinds of naughty sensations.

  “I work here part-time,” Ian answered. “Only when Trey needs an extra set of hands.”

  “This man knows his way around an engine,” Trey said, clamping Ian on the shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” Ian asked again.

  “Sonny’s my new pastry chef,” Kiera said, mimicking her husband by clamping her hand over Sonny’s shoulder. “This woman knows her way around triple-layer tiramisu.” She looked between Sonny and Ian. “I guess Maplesville isn’t so big after all, is it?”

  “No, it’s not,” Sonny said.

  How was it possible that the one person she’d chosen to have a one-night stand with could be so integrated into her new life? This had to be some big practical joke.

  “We should let you guys get to your lunch,” Kiera said. “I’m going to show Sonny the Bluebird before we head back. Oh!” Kiera walked up to Trey with a coy grin. “Guess who just picked up a new long-term catering contract with that new law firm in town?”

  “That’s my Slim,” Trey said as he slapped her on the ass. “Make that money, baby.”

 
; Kiera sent him a look that was probably supposed to be chastising, but was anything but.

  “You’re going to pay for that tonight,” she said.

  He winked. “That’s why I did it.”

  Okay, so maybe she was a little jealous of Kiera and Trey right now. Sonny had never had that kind of sexy, frisky relationship. Probably because Douglas’s definition of fun was a lecture on intestinal dissection. She wanted that kind of playfulness in her life.

  Would Ian…?

  No, she would not go there. She was not looking for a relationship, not even a casual one. It was bad enough that they had yet another connection tying them together.

  Sonny couldn’t even make eye contact with Ian as she followed Kiera out of the room. She could feel his stare on her, burning into her skin.

  Goodness! Was it really so unreasonable to think that she could have a one-night stand and not encounter him everywhere she turned?

  Apparently so.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ian made an effort to ignore the sensations churning in his stomach as his thumbs drummed on the steering wheel to Wu Tang’s “C.R.E.A.M.”, but as he turned from Dogwood Lane onto Red Maple Drive, that intoxicating feeling only intensified. Just knowing she would be there made him hard.

  “Dammit,” he cursed through clenched teeth.

  How could he ever think he could survive living just steps away from Sonny? It had only been a couple of days and he was already going insane with the need to have her again.

  Ian was still two houses away when he noticed her car parked on the curb a few feet from his mailbox. The passenger side door was open. A firm, denim-covered ass poked out of it.

  He slammed on his breaks.

  “Christ,” he whispered, thankful there was no one behind him.

  Causing an accident was the last thing he needed to do right now. He drove past her car and pulled into the driveway. Glancing down at his filthy clothes, Ian cursed himself for not asking to use Trey’s shower before coming home.

  He shook his head at the ridiculousness of that thought. What was he going to do, shower everyday before coming home? He liked his own shower. Sometimes, he liked to soak in the tub with soft music and candles and shit. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he liked bubble baths every now and then.

  But how much better would his bubble baths be if he had some company?

  “Don’t go there,” Ian warned himself.

  Sonny backed out of her car holding a cardboard box. She looked over at him and just stood there, staring. Ian realized how much of an idiot he must look like sitting behind the wheel of his pickup in his own driveway.

  He climbed out of the truck and walked over to her car, lifting the box from her arms.

  “Let me help you,” he said. His fingers skimmed over the silken skin of her forearm as she transferred the box, and Ian nearly groaned.

  No doubt about it, he would go insane within a week.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That’ll save me a trip.”

  “How much more do you have?” Ian asked.

  “Just a bag and one more box. My old college roommate had been holding some stuff for me at her house in Baton Rouge. We met each other halfway in Hammond this afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t you park in the driveway?” he asked.

  “I didn’t want to block you out.”

  “It’s your driveway, too, Sonny. You pay rent here, remember?”

  “Well, it’s a moot point. This is the last of it,” she said, gesturing to the car.

  Ian hadn’t prepared himself for the wave of erotic memories that pummeled him when he peered inside the VW Bug. He would never be able to look at this car without his mind immediately recalling the intense pleasure he’d experienced while crammed into its tiny space. He looked over at Sonny and knew she was thinking about last time they had been in the car together, too. Recalling the things they’d done to each other in the passenger seat.

  Ian caught her gaze and held it, refusing to look away.

  He deserved just this much, didn’t he? To stand here and remember it. Every sound, every smell, every sensual slide of his body inside of hers. If all he’d ever have from that night were the memories, let him have them standing there next to the car where those memories were made. Standing there with the woman who’d provided his body with such bone-deep pleasure.

  Sonny was the first to look away, but Ian didn’t miss the way her chest expanded with the deep breath she inhaled. Yeah, thinking about that night left him breathless, too.

  “We should get these inside,” she said.

  She grabbed a backpack from the backseat and hoisted it over her shoulder. Then she lifted a plastic milk crate filled with honest-to-goodness vinyl albums from the floor of the passenger side.

  Ian motioned for her to go ahead of him up the driveway. He realized his folly once they started up the garage’s wooden steps. By the time they reached the landing he was uncomfortably hard behind his zipper, the effects of staring at her perfectly round ass as she climbed the stairs ahead of him.

  There would be no hot, soothing bath in his immediate future. Tonight he was taking the coldest shower ever.

  As he set the box on the end table where she directed him, Ian looked around the apartment, shocked at how different it looked in just the two days since she’d been there. The normal sea of browns and beiges were now awash in a brilliant display of warm reds, cool blues and bright yellows. Curtains covered the windows that looked out over the backyard and at least a half-dozen African print pillows cluttered the sofa. Equally colorful throw rugs littered the tiled floors.

  He walked over to the far wall that was now decorated with three framed posters from the Brooklyn AfroPunk Music Festival. Ian had no idea what AfroPunk was but based on the images on the posters, it suited Sonny.

  “It looks…different in here,” he said.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I needed to be comfortable so I added a little bit of me.”

  “I don’t mind.” He peered over his shoulder and caught her gaze. “I like little bits of you.”

  Once again, she was the first to look away. She picked up the carton of albums and moved them over to the small table in the corner where she’d set up a record player. A real one, with a needle and everything.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of these,” Ian said, walking over to the table.

  “I collect old albums—another of those things I find in thrift shops. This turntable only looks old school, though. It’s equipped with a USB port so that I can transfer the albums to my laptop or even to my phone.”

  Ian leaned forward, pretending to be interested in the record player when in reality he just wanted to be closer to her. He could smell that hint of spice from whatever scent she wore. He’d noticed it from the moment she walked up to him at The Corral Monday night, and it had haunted him ever since.

  “What is that?” Ian asked.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “What?”

  “That scent? Your scent.”

  Her eyes dropped to his lips. “It’s, uh, amber. Amber and cloves. It’s a mix of essential oils.” She eased out of the cove he’d created with his body and the turntable, and walked over to the sofa.

  “So,” she said, needlessly straightening pillows. “It was a shock to see you at Trey Watson’s place today. With that suit you were wearing Monday night, I assumed you were a businessman of some sort. How long have you been working there?”

  “I started with him about six months ago, right before Thanksgiving.”

  She nodded and folded her arms across her chest. “It must be a nice gig,” she said. “I mean, it has to be for you to be able to afford a house of this size at your age, right. You can’t be more than what? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-six,” he said.

  Her brows rose. “Hmm…”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed as he sensed her discomfort building. She picked up a throw pillow and ran the tasseled edges through her finger
s. Then she tossed it back onto the sofa.

  “Okay, I was trying to be subtle about this, but you suck at taking hints.”

  “Sonny, what are you getting at?”

  She released a deep sigh. “Just tell me that I won’t get kidnapped in the middle of the night by some drug cartel looking for their money,” she said.

  Ian’s eyes widened before he burst out laughing. He clutched his stomach, sucking in several breaths before he could speak. “You think I’m a drug dealer?”

  “Well, how do you afford a house like this working as a part-time mechanic?”

  “Maybe I’m drowning in debt.”

  “Are you?”

  He laughed again, his shoulders shaking with it. “No, I’m not drowning in debt and I don’t sell drugs. In fact, I have never in my life so much as taken a single puff on a cigarette. Do you think I would really put my little sister in that kind of danger?”

  “No,” she said, looking chagrinned. “But it still begs the question—”

  “It’s a family home,” Ian said, cutting her off. “Technically, it’s still my mother’s. It’s in her name. It’ll eventually go to Kimmie.”

  Her shoulders sank in visible relief. “Thank God. You have no idea how much this has been driving me crazy since you walked into that break room at Trey Watson’s shop,” she said. “Every crazy scenario you could think of has crossed my mind.”

  “You may want to lay off the Law & Order marathon-watching.”

  She poked out her tongue. “Shows how much you know. I’m a NCIS kind of girl.”

  “Same thing.” Ian moved to where she stood. “As I mentioned at the shop earlier today, I work at Trey’s part time. My real job is building scaffolding at the oil refinery over in St. Pierre, about a half hour east of here. I work shiftwork, so when I’m on nights—which I am right now—I’ll put in a few hours over at Trey’s. I switch back to the day shift tomorrow.”