by Aria Ford
Des and I had both started laughing. “Not exactly,” I said between laughs.
“Oh. Well, I'd love to find out more,” he said hopefully.
I looked at Des and she looked at me. “Um...” I began.
“Of course, we could always just go to the hotel bar,” he said.
“Much better idea,” Des said quickly. I looked at her, dismayed. She was really suggesting that I go into the Forrey Hotel with torn jeans and a slightly grayed-out gauze tunic?
“Well, then,” our hero smiled. “Let's go. I'm Drew, by the way,” he said with an embarrassed grin. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Des,” Des said. “It's short for Desrae.”
“Alexandra,” I said. He looked into my eyes and smiled.
“It's lovely to meet you, Alexandra.”
That was it. Our first meeting. We has a few drinks, me drinking just some sweet lemonade and chatted. Des had soon ended up talking to another group, leaving us alone together. We'd exchanged numbers. I hadn't expected him to call me the next day, but he had.
We'd dated for a year. Then, after that party at the Gracewell Hotel, when his uncle had met me, everything changed. He had walked out of my life then and now, suddenly, he had walked back into it. Unexpectedly, like when he'd first entered.
Just like then, I had no idea how to make sense of it at all.
“Sorry to disturb,” a voice said timidly from behind me, shattering my reverie.
“What, Kelsey?” I asked, turning around quickly, a spoon with batter on it still in my hand.
“Um...I was just wondering if you could show me how the filling thingy works? For the croissants? I have two orders, and...”
“Oh! Hell. So sorry, Kelsey. I was miles away. I'll come now...”
I dropped the spoon back into the mixture and hurried to the front to fill the croissants. Kelsey watched me and by the end of the first one she was filling like a pro. I grinned into her innocent young face. Her eyes shone.
“That's great,” I praised. “A few more like that and you're the Croissant Filling Champion.”
She giggled. “Thanks, Ms. H.”
“No problem.”
I returned to the back of the kitchen where I was stirring my mixture. I sighed to myself. If only all problems were that easy to solve. But this matter of Drew, and what I was supposed to think now he was back in my life, was just so much more complicated than that.
CHAPTER FIVE
Drew
I spent a restless afternoon at the charity tea. I had come because it seemed like a good way to get to know people in the town and my uncle would have said that getting to know the people was like an investment. Then again, he said that about a lot of things.
I think he doesn't think about anything without framing it in terms of commerce and cash.
“Mr. Liston?”
“Yes?” I turned to face the polite inquiry behind me.
“You gave an interesting speech on Wednesday. I wanted to ask you about...”
As the man detailed what he wanted to know from me – a fairly straightforward question about out policy for the Safetrans initiative – I found myself feeling restless.
I want to get to the table and try one of those scones.
There was something compelling – and yes, sexy – about sampling her baking. I couldn't quite believe that I never had. Somehow, the thought of sinking my teeth into those sweet fragrant morsels made me wish I was sinking my teeth into something else. Like somewhere between her soft, pale thighs.
I shivered and tried to blank out the memories of Allie. Especially the ones of her without clothes. Especially the ones of her without clothes on my bed. I choked. Arousal tends to do that to me; close my throat up.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I managed to wheeze. The town mayor was giving me an odd look. “Sorry,” I added. “Didn't mean to alarm. Throat just closed up. Does that,” I added, coughing and accepting a glass of water from an usher who gave me a worried frown.
“Good,” the mayor looked relieved. “I mean, good that it's not serious,” he added gravely.
“Not at all,” I murmured. I cleared my throat, my voice coming back to me.
“It's a good tea, yes?” he commented. “A great turnout.”
“It is,” I nodded. “Very good indeed.”
We stood exchanging pleasantries while my mind was completely elsewhere. I was fighting to think of something – anything – other than Allie. We were progressing up to the counter now and I reached for a cupcake, unable to resist.
“These look good,” the mayor said approvingly.
“They do,” I nodded. I had an idea. As my mouth opened and consumed a vast bite of the delicious, sweet creation, I realized something. Someone here would know the name of the business.
“These are good,” he nodded.
“Mm,” I commented. I was still chewing, my eyes closed. The sweetness and chocolate flavoring were making me think, in the best way, of Allie. The way it felt to lie on her. The way her body pressed up into mine. The sweet softness of her ass-cheeks, plump and firm, in my hands.
“I should find out who ordered these,” the mayor nodded.
“You should,” I said stiffly, swallowing hard, my throat closing with the sugary sweetness.
“I'll ask the usher. Hello?”
“Yes, sir?” the usher said with a deferential inclining of the head.
“I wonder if you could tell me...where do these come from?” he asked, indicating the tray with the peach-and-white cupcakes on.
“Dunno, sir.” The usher scratched his head, frankly. “I'll ask Carla for you, sir.” He indicated a woman in the corner by the amplifiers, whom I recognized as the woman Allie had spoken with earlier.
“Don't worry about it,” the mayor said grandly. “It's not important. Just that they're very good.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “They are.”
I waited until we'd finished chatting about trivial things and then I headed over to Carla. I had to know about Allie's business. If nothing else, I thought mischievously, I could sample more baking she'd done while I was there.
“Uh, excuse me?” I said to Carla.
“Um. Hi, sir,” she said cautiously. “Can I help?”
“I hope so,” I said with my most ingratiating smile. “The bakery that made those...um...the cupcakes. What's the name of it?”
“Sugarlips,” she said, then blushed. “I mean, that's the name of the bakery. The Sugarlips bakery.”
Sugarlips.
Just the name made my loins struggle. I thought of Allie and those sweet red lips, the ones I wanted to push my tongue into and plunge into her mouth... As my mind took flight I abruptly remembered where I was.
“Thanks,” I said, coughing awkwardly. “It's very good.”
“Yes,” she nodded, giving me an odd look. “I know. I found them earlier this month and decided I had to order something... even in a town like this, they're good.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “They are.”
I chatted a bit and headed off to the refreshments table again, tempted to take another pass at the cupcakes. I chuckled to myself. I looked down at my watch. It was five P.M. I wondered if there was any chance of her being at work now.
The party was starting to thin out and I considered excusing myself early. I went to look for the mayor and checked my phone as I did so.
By the time I'd excused myself and was heading out to my car I'd found the bakery on Google and was ready to head down there.
“A friendly and stylish bakery just at the edge of the business district,” I read aloud from the description on her small website. I smiled to myself. Friendly and stylish. Sounded about right.
I put my foot on the gas and headed onto the main road. The traffic was getting heavy and I started to worry that I wouldn't get there on time. The closing-time was six, but would she still be at the business when I arrived?
Even if she wasn't, at least I'd have seen
it. Somehow, I couldn't help the fact that I was curious. If the things she brought for the tea were anything to go on she was really, very good. And I wanted to know what she'd done with her life.
I don't even know if she's married now.
The thought struck me as hard as a blow might have done. I hadn't actually considered it. Which was ridiculous, thinking about it. I mean, I'm thirty-five. If she's not married now I'll really be surprised.
Who wouldn't marry her, after all? She was a great person, a stunning woman and resourceful and talented and...
Who wouldn't marry her, except you? You numbskull. You could have had everything... coward.
I was so busy berating myself that I only noticed the lights had changed when the driver behind me honked impatiently.
“Okay, okay... I'm just going,” I said under my breath. I put my foot on the gas and headed off, following my instructions from my GPS.
“Destination will be on your right. Like hell it will. My right?”
I was swearing at the GPS, a sure sign I was nervous. I looked out of the right-most window, drawing in a deep breath to compose myself. My eyes fell on a peach sign with black and white letters, decorated with black and white polka-dots. A big stylized pair of lips with little flecks of white adorned the sign on the left: the logo.
Sugarlips Cafe and Pastry Shop.
“Here we are.”
I drove round the block to find parking and then hastened up the street. It had started to rain during the drive and the sidewalks were slippery with damp. I almost slipped once and straightened myself, heading round the corner.
I stopped at the vast glass window. It was closed.
I felt a sudden stab of sadness. I don't know what I had expected – maybe they would just by some weird off-chance be open late today? It was twenty-five minutes past six and they were shut.
“Oh. Well.”
I looked around. I could see tables and chairs through the window, a pretty sign with a nice quote on it in retro-style lettering, pink and white curtains. It was all pretty and stylish, just like the description on the web expressed.
I just wish it was open.
I looked on the outside for a phone-number, but there was only a web address and an email for reservations. I took note of it anyway, not sure what I could do to get in touch with her with the limited information I had.
I can't exactly make a reservation for tea. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow.
The thought made my heart stop. If I was going to make amends with Allie, I would have to do it soon.
I had one chance left. That was tomorrow.
I turned and walked off. As I turned to the corner to head up to the parking, I had a sudden urge to turn left instead. I don't usually ignore these things when they happen – one thing uncle taught me that was actually useful was to obey any hunch – and I headed down the alley on my left.
I was just wondering why my instincts would have led me into a fairly unpleasant and smelly alley round the back of all the hotels, when I heard something. A gate had just opened and someone had walked out. I stared at them.
With her somber black shirt and slacks, I almost missed her in the growing dark of the alleyway. She was wearing high-heels that clicked on the road-surface and alerted me to her presence, and she had an apron over one arm. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders and shone with a soft gloss in the lamplight
It was Allie.
End of Sneak Peek, click here to read the full story: Sweet Tooth: A Second Chance Romance
He’s back
A Second Chance Romance
PROLOGUE
I kissed him. His tongue pushed into my mouth, probing and plundering and sweet all at once. I pressed my body against his, loving the way it felt when my soft body pushed against his hard, muscular chest. He wrapped me in those strong arms and gripped me close. He kissed me then drew back, gasping.
“Ainsley,” he growled. “You make me crazy.”
I laughed. He had such a sweet way with words.
“You too, Drake.”
He had been my brother's best friend and now he was my post-teenage dream. Of all the places I wanted to be, the Miami International Airport departure lounge was not one of them right now.
I stood back and studied him through tear-blurred eyes. He was so handsome I sometimes couldn't quite believe he was real. High forehead, long, straight nose, thick curling dark hair. I always thought he looked something like the Disney Prince of my little girl dreams, only even better with a muscled body and a smooth voice that drizzled through me like maple syrup on pancakes.
It all seemed a bit surreal now that I was at Miami International Airport with my hand on his suitcase and his goodbyes in my ears.
“It won't be long, will it?” I asked. I frowned up at him. All the joy in my heart was suddenly giving way to sadness.
“I don't know,” he sighed.
I swallowed hard. “I don't want it to be too long.”
He chuckled. “We're still young, Ainsley.” It was true. We were young. He was twenty-six, a freshly-graduated lawyer. I was a twenty-two-year-old Languages graduate. We had our whole lives ahead of us, but it seemed like a weird thing to say now.
He smiled fondly and traced his thumb down my cheek in the way he always did, a comfort for my tears.
“I just want you to be safe,” I whispered.
He kissed his thumb where it had touched my tears. The gesture moved me – so intimate, it lit a fire in my belly that his kisses had fostered already. I felt a sudden thrill of need for him.
“I will be safe,” he said.
I nodded. I turned away, my vision of the Miami International Airport blurred with flowing tears. I could dimly see others – families, couples, air-hostesses with their trimly-cut uniforms – standing in the hall around us. But none of it made sense. All that made sense was that I was here, with him, saying goodbye.
“I love you, Drake,” I murmured.
He closed his eyes. His handsome face took on an expression of pain, suddenly. I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard.
“I love you too, Ainsley.”
My heart thawed. It felt as if the fresh spring sun visited it, filling me with wonder.
“Drake.” I really was crying now. I reached and clung to him and our lips met with passionate urgency. My whole body shivered with my need of him.
“Ainsley.”
He stroked my hair when we parted and I pushed my forehead into his palm like a small puppy, seeking comfort. He smiled at me the way he always did, with that tenderness and care.
Then he walked away to join the queue across the barrier of airport tape.
My eyes blurred with tears, I watched his head move in the crowd until he passed the gate and I lost sight of him again.
Then I walked out to find my way home.
As I drove home, numbed with my sorrow, I thought about how crazy it was, what he was doing. Just through with college, Drake was heading off to Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He was working for Amnesty International, documenting human rights abuses in prisons and on the mines.
Principled, upstanding Drake.
I shook my head, eyes blurring with tears as I looked through the windscreen. We had been together since my second year in college and I felt a little betrayed. I guessed the child laborers in the DRC needed him more than I did. But I loved him. I wanted him here, with me. It is selfish, but that’s what love does.
Drake was Drake. The needs of ten-year-old kids forced to work in mines were more important than his own needs, never mind those of someone else. Like mine, for instance. He had a big heart and a sense of justice. Unusual for a lawyer, my mom had joked. I'd scowled at her.
If Drake was anything but Drake, I wouldn't love him as much as I did.
And I did love him for an amount indescribable to put in words.
Now, looking out through my window in my apartment at the top of a massive high-rise building, I felt tear
s prick my eyes again.
It had been over eight years since Drake disappeared. That was the last time I saw him.
His sister, Halley, had told me he was back, but she'd been cagey. He only spent six months in Africa, she told me. He didn't tell me anything.
At least thanks to her I knew he was alive. That was a seven and a half years before now. Since then, I really thought I had moved on.
I sometimes wondered what had happened. Why he'd never contacted me.
I guess he didn't love me that much, really.
I blinked away my tears. If Keith hadn't just walked out on me too, I guess I wouldn't be so sad right now. But I was. Sniffing back my tears I stood and headed outside. No point, I told myself harshly, in thinking about the past.
I wasn't going to get a second chance.
CHAPTER ONE
Ainsley
“Oh, for...” I sighed and put my head on my desk. It was one of those days – a Wednesday, but really an undercover Monday. My office-mate, Emmy, frowned at me across the space between us.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I sighed. “Really. Nothing.”
“Okay.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder and got back to work.
I ran a hand through my unruly honey-brown hair and made myself focus on the email in front of me. It was from an irritated French author. That might need some explaining.
I work for Edge Enterprises, a multicultural publishing company. To put it more precisely, I translate books from French and into English all day. Sometimes, authors who don't like the way I've translated something. Like today in this very e-mail in front of me.
Evelyn Roche – a gaunt and extremely elegant lady, to judge from the author photo – had just told me, more or less, that my translation of the first six chapters of her work were rubbish.
If it was her weekend she'd just spent on that translating, I bet she wouldn't think so, I thought resentfully.
“Having a hard day?” a voice spoke from behind my shoulder. My friend Lacey from admin was responsible. I turned to face her. I knew my brown eyes were probably displaying some major heavy under-eye bags, so there was no hiding the truth.
