A Charmed Little Lie

by Sharla Lovelace

  “Oh, I think we need to,” I responded, holding up a finger.

  “Yeah, I pushed back on that one too,” he said. “It’s a town built on honey, why not make the best butter in the world?”

  “Two points for the new guy.”

  “So how was your day?” he asked. “Dear. Did your redneck ex-lover stay long?”

  I cringed. “He’s not my ex-lover.”

  “You never did the deed?

  “No,” I said. “Not completely. I was actually still a virgin when I left for college.”

  “Wow,” he said. “One of the few and the proud.”

  I saluted him.

  “And that phone call today?” he asked. “When you lied about being in the car?”

  I took a deep breath and went back to watching Ralph.

  Nick held up a palm. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s none of my business.”

  I let my gaze fall back on him. That wasn’t true anymore. He’d signed up for three months with me, and therefore anything I said or did or planned to do affected him.

  “No, it is your business now,” I said, raking my hair back. “That was a job I applied for another lifetime ago. A dream job that would have been perfect a year ago, even a month ago. And they want an interview.”

  “What makes it not perfect now?” he asked.

  “It’s in California.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Ah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what are you gonna do?”

  I shook my head. What could I do now? “I don’t know yet. Stew about it some more, probably.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  He nodded. “Got it. So you do know that your—our new neighbor wants to make up for lost time, right?”

  I chuckled, even though an involuntary shiver ran through me. “He’s married.”

  “Just saying,” Nick said with a shake of his head. “He was awfully grabby on another man’s wife.” I bit back a laugh. Was he actually jealous? He held up a hand. “He doesn’t know if we’ve been married ten years or ten minutes. You just don’t do that.”

  Okay, maybe not jealous, just disrespected. Not as sexy, but still kind of cute.

  “Alan’s the kind of person who needs to know that everyone wants him, married or not,” I said. “It’s part of his persona.”

  Nick evidently let that pass, blowing out a breath as he twisted the new presence on his finger randomly and then looked down at it as if surprised.

  It made me look down at mine too. At the sparkly cubic zirconia that pretended to be something it wasn’t. Very fitting.

  “Odd, seeing that there, isn’t it?” I said, spreading my fingers so it caught the light.

  “More than you know,” he said.

  I looked up at him.

  “So tell me, then,” I said.

  He rubbed at his eyes. “You don’t want that whole sordid story.”

  “Kinda do.”

  He raised an eyebrow as he dropped his hand and slid lower in the chair.

  “You first.”

  “Me?” I laughed. “I have no story.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re a gorgeous, sexy woman,” he said. “There’s no logical reason you aren’t married already, or at least in a relationship. Yet you’ve chosen to create that illusion instead of living it. There’s a story.”

  Of course I heard gorgeous, sexy woman, and stopped there. My own boyfriend hadn’t even thought that about me, but this guy did. Or he at least was savvy enough to say it.

  But there was more. Story, blah, blah.

  “I was in a relationship, but it wasn’t going anywhere,” I said.

  “So you made up the husband?”

  “No—I—sort of did that before him,” I said. “And it just took off. It was easier after a while to just go with that.”

  “Easier than falling in love for real,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  I fanned my hair out, feeling the heat start to lay thick on my skin.

  “Let’s talk about your love life now.”

  “You don’t like to talk about that,” he said calmly. Amusement pulled at his eyes.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I said.

  “You’ve never been there, have you?”

  I pulled my hair completely up, piling it on top of my head. No, I’d never been there, and never planned to. It made people stupid.

  “God, you’re annoying.”

  Nick laughed. “Okay, I’ll back off.”

  “And talk,” I said. “I haven’t forgotten it’s your turn.”

  His laugh fizzled out on a tired sigh.

  “You saw pictures of my daughter,” he said. “She wants to go to this fancy art school up north. And she deserves to, she’s amazing. She got a scholarship for part of it, but I could never afford to pay for the rest so she’s pretending not to want it and settling.”

  “For what?”

  “For a business degree,” he said. “For a mediocre school, a mediocre life. A life where her dreams can’t be realized.” His jaw tightened and his eyes went hard. “Because of me.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?” He shook his head. “Nick.”

  He fixed me with an impatient glare. Probably not unlike mine a few minutes ago.

  “Let’s just say that’s why I took this gig,” he said. “Because as much as she tries to be like me, I don’t want that for her. I never want to see her settle for a lesser life.”

  The intensity in his tone gave me goose bumps, and I ran my hands up my bare arms.

  “What about her mom?”

  He looked away. “Addison’s too stubborn to take money from her mom, and I’m too proud to ask for it.”

  “But if it’s for your daughter?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing is free with her mother. Everything has a string, a price, a fix I have to learn to let go of all over again.” He shook his head. “Tara knows she can get under my skin. She always does.” He looked at me. “So it’s best to leave her out of things.”

  His eyes went to full shut down mode and he pushed his chair back to stand.

  “Enough true confessions for one day,” he said. “Let’s save something for the next eighty-nine days.”

  * * *

  Speaking of settling for mediocre. Every day was a new exercise in it. I got the bank teller job, if you could call it that. It was as an assistant teller. An assistant teller. I stress that twice because I kept saying it in my head and it still refused to make sense.

  Not that I was dogging the teller positions. They worked hard. They dealt with the public all day, counted money, handled account issues. But assistant teller? It was like giving a secretary a secretary. I did nothing. Unless you call running bundles of cash back and forth, and doing a midday drawer count at each booth something. Evidently I had the opportunity to move up to a teller position after sixty days, but I might staple my wrists before then.

  Oh for the boring days of ad copy.

  And on that note—I still hadn’t called Kristina back at Cali Dynamics. I wasn’t sure why. I needed to call her and either one, tell her yes, let’s Skype, and I’d figure it out later, or two, no, I’m stuck for three months. But something was holding me back. Something that told me leaving that dangling out there kept the dream alive, and facing it head on might kill it once and for all. In other words, I was being a big chicken shit baby.

  Nick loved his new world, however. Chef Benny had finally left and Nick was running the kitchen his way, tutoring the fry cook to help him. He came home every night tired but happy, smelling of French fries and walking around the house in just a low-slung towel after a shower.

  It wasn’t fair.

  For one, the towel thing was driving me mad. Yes, it had been awhile. Yes, Nick was incredibly hot. And yes, the constant towel-trolling
was a tease. Also, his shower worked better than mine, and that kind of rubbed it in.

  And did I mention he had a better job?

  No, I wasn’t feeling petty at all.

  Carmen suggested we be seen together all over town, so we went to the grocery store every few days. Argued over the merits of fresh tomatoes versus canned tomato sauce until my brain started to melt, and I pelted him with grapes. He returned the favor by plucking a piece of ice from the meat market and dropping it down my shirt.

  Basically, reasonable married adult activity.

  We went out to eat a few times, being sure to reach for each other randomly, give a hand squeeze, a cheek kiss, laugh and smile at each other a lot. Nick became an expert at knowing just when to pull me to him affectionately when key people were around, and I learned not to react like it was something new.

  Actually, that had become a weird kind of normal. Touching him, reaching for a hand, feeling his arms around me or his fingers on the back of my neck was beginning to feel natural. Even our evening TV schedule had become very domestic. My sitcoms merged with his reality shows. My need for popcorn slathered in movie butter sat happily next to his bowl of the sad natural un-buttered version. Because we both had a weakness for sour cream and onion chips, and that bonded the universe together. He even stopped rolling his eyes at my morning three-cups-of-coffee-and-veg-in-my-pajamas ritual, and I stopped rolling mine at his insanely vigorous morning run.

  Saturdays were half days at the bank, so I decided to treat myself one Saturday to lunch at the Blue Banana. My first thought as I pulled into the parking lot was that it looked like a wait. My second, when I made it to the door, was that there was an oddly off base ratio of women to men. As in there were maybe five guys in the whole place, while females flocked every table and booth.

  And then I saw why.

  When my husband came out for a stroll through the diner, a smile on his face as he checked on each table as if it were a five-star restaurant. The black leather apron he wore over the black pullover shirt didn’t hurt a thing, either. Holy hell.

  All I could think of as I watched these ladies fall all over themselves as he spoke to them, was that they’d pass out cold if they saw the towel-trolling.

  I stood there and watched a very buxom red-head with shorts too short for her age get up from her booth and hug him in thanks and appreciation for her delicious meal.

  Seriously?

  And then a hand to the chest as he patted her shoulder and she let go. And then a laugh and that same hand on his bicep.

  Okay, for real? I mean, he did have a wedding band on. Usually that meant the man wasn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  “He is bringing in the business,” said Allie from behind me. “Daily sales have almost doubled since word got out about the new chef.”

  “Oh, I can see that,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest as he caught my eye and smiled.

  “Well, I won’t lie, he’s not hard on the eyes,” Allie said with a poke to my arm and a chuckle. “But that wouldn’t last him a day here without cooking good food. He’s already added daily specials that aren’t on the menu, and he’s so damn fast.”

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, walking up to me. I expected a hand squeeze or something, but instead I got his hand sliding to the back of my neck under my hair and a soft kiss pressed to my lips. My lips. My knees nearly caved; I was so unprepared for that.

  And it must have shown, because he whispered, “Your cousin’s at the bar,” as he backed up.

  Ah. The game. That’s why.

  Still. Holy mother of wiggly knees.

  In every scenario, we had both avoided the meeting of the mouths. Every time. Now that, coupled with the intimacy of his fingers under my hair, had my toes awake and curling. And my stupid inner teenage girl memorizing how he’d kissed me.

  “Working your fan base?” I asked, feeling every stroke of his thumb against my skin, and every envious eye on me.

  “Jealous?” he asked, eyes dancing.

  Oh no. No he didn’t.

  I tilted my head and slid a hand behind his neck, letting my fingers play with the hair at the nape as I laid my other hand against his chest and brought my face within inches from his. The quick inhale and darkening of his eyes sent a little rush to my belly.

  Mm-hmm, take that.

  “Only if you’re cooking better for them than you do for me,” I said softly.

  His gaze got heavier as it fell to my lips.

  Shiiitttttttt.

  “Well played, Mrs. McKane,” he said under his breath.

  Jesus.

  “Back atcha, Mr. McKane,” I said just above a whisper as I watched him watch my mouth.

  He wouldn’t kiss me.

  Dangerous.

  Real.

  And that made me want it a million times more.

  “Gotta have the last word, don’t you?”

  I nodded, smiling. “Mm-hmm.”

  I backed up a step and let my hands slide down his chest as he blinked rapidly. As if pulling himself out of the moment too.

  “Hi,” said a squeaky female voice to my right.

  I cleared my throat and looked to see fuzzy-haired Alicia smiling back at me.

  “Hi,” I responded.

  “I have to get back to work,” Nick said, his tone more polite now than playful. “Are you eating?”

  “Yeah, but I still need to decide,” I said.

  “I recommend the chicken fried steak,” Alicia said, to which Nick just shook his head and walked away.

  At least six other pairs of eyes followed his ass, in addition to mine. It was a very nice ass.

  “I wanted to apologize for my brother,” Alicia said. “Bryce can be kind of overbearing.”

  Bryce could be a full-fledged prick.

  “Bryce can do whatever he wants,” I said. “As long as he stays out of my business.”

  “He’s just very driven,” she said. “He really wants that property.”

  “For what?” I said. “It’s off the beaten path, next to nothing but an old ranch that Alan Bowman is using for hives. What good would it do him?”

  She shrugged and grabbed her purse off a stool. “I don’t know the details,” she said, twisting a frizzled lock of hair.

  I called bullshit.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s my home and I’m having to turn my life and my career upside down to hold on to it. I can promise you, it’s staying right where it is.”

  There was a pause before she pasted on a smile.

  “Well, have a good lunch,” she said. “I have to get going. Oh—” She stopped and laid a finger on my arm. “Will we see you tomorrow?”

  I went blank. “Tomorrow?”

  “The Bowman’s party,” she said. “I thought Katrina said y’all were coming.”

  Okay, color me confused.

  “Katrina?”

  “Bowman?” Alicia said, as if that cleared it up. “She and Alan are having a party—”

  “Oh, that’s Alan’s wife?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And—you know them?”

  “Bryce and Treena do,” Alicia said in her goofy, self-deprecating way. “I met Katrina the other day. I think Bryce worked with Alan somewhere. They’re always talking. Anyway, she mentioned that Alan invited you.”

  Oh, balls on a stick. I’d forgotten about that.

  “Great,” I said. “Well, we’ll see. Depends on Nick’s schedule.”

  She left, her cell phone out of her bag and to her ear before she was even all the way out the door.

  Yeah. Don’t-know-the-details, my ass.

  * * *

  “In a deer stand. She scared the deer away.”

  We were talking about “first times” after work, while I divulged my favorite secret place. An old rocky path that twisted into the woods on the edge of the property. You had to know it was there to find it,
and as a kid I spent a lot of time exploring it. It went down to a trickling little creek by an old outdoor stone fireplace that was halfway gone now but still stood about six feet tall. Most of a stone bench was still attached to it.

  I used to think it was where the magic came from. Aunt Ruby’s magic. Before I got older and realized her skills were more intuition than Abracadabra.

  “A deer stand?” I said, laughing. “How did that come about?”

  Nick shrugged. “I was fourteen, I think. At our hunting cabin with my older brother.”

  “You were hunting?”

  He laughed. “No. He brought a girl and she brought a friend.” He grinned endearingly. “The friend didn’t mind teaching me.”

  “Oh wow,” I said. “So which question does this answer again?” I asked as we made it down to the fireplace. I sat down sideways on the bench and leaned against the cool stone. “First sex or first orgasm—with another person?”

  “Same day.” He grinned. “All day.” He sat and pulled my feet onto his lap. “And you?”

  “Oh, sex was nothing special,” I said. “My first week of college, I think. I was away from home and drunk off my ass at a freshman party. I barely remember it.”

  “And the other?”

  “That I remember,” I said, chuckling. “At a movie theater.”

  His eyes sparked with interest. “Do tell.”

  “I was on a date with a cute nerdy guy named Wally,” I said. “We’d been out a couple of times and kept passing dirty notes kind of as a joke to start, but then we got hold of some of his dad’s liquor and got a little snockered before the movie.”

  “I see a trend,” Nick said.

  I laughed. “You could be right. So anyway, his hand was on my knee and when it started moving, I lost interest in the movie and my whole world became that hand.”

  Nick’s fingers started making little circles on my ankles and the déjà vu of that was crazy.

  “Pants or skirt?” he asked.

  “Skirt.”

  “Nice,” he said, one corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Proceed.”

  “So this took like an hour,” I said. “I swear it was like a centimeter at a time, and he’d do—” I pointed at his fingers. “Like what you’re doing right now. These slow little circles up my thigh. Until—” I stopped.