Even so, surely in a town this size, it wasn’t lost on everyone that the place hadn’t opened in at least three days. Cassi said folks probably thought it had to do with George taking his first vacation in all the years he’d been running the place. Caleb thought that if the staff wasn’t getting fully paid and had already hightailed it out of there, surely there had to be some gossip floating around.
He let himself into the apartment and turned on the light over the small stove. Vestiges of a headache had been hovering for most of the day, so he didn’t turn on any of the other lamps. The place was small by any measure. The main room held a galley kitchen and small table that seated four on one side and a cozy living room on the other. A faded old couch and a single easy chair were arranged around a small coffee table, all three of which fronted a small brick fireplace. A stand holding an ancient television set had been positioned so that it could be seen from either the easy chair or the kitchen table. There were two doors on the far wall. One led to the bathroom, and the other to the single bedroom in the back of the place. It wasn’t much bigger than the living room and held just the basics. Double bed, nightstands, and a wardrobe in the corner that doubled as both dresser and closet.
Caleb wondered how his aunt and uncle had lived in such cramped quarters together when they first got married, but then he thought about what it would be like to be tucked up here with Abriana, and decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
He took his glasses off and shrugged out of the fleece pullover he’d put on earlier when he and Cassi had decided to keep the thermostat set as low as possible. George was behind on the electric bill, too. Caleb rubbed the bridge of his nose, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and not have to deal with things until morning. He took the time to stack logs in the narrow fireplace and get that started. The apartment was an icebox at the moment, but small enough that the fireplace warmed the place up quickly. He remained crouched in front of the open grate until the kindling caught and the underside of the logs began to glow. He slid one more log on the stack for good measure, then stood, arching his back as he did for a long stretch.
Maybe tonight he’d sleep, instead of tossing and turning, worrying about George. And wishing you weren’t going to bed alone. He was tired enough that he didn’t fight off thoughts of Abriana as he’d been doing since she’d slipped out the back door two days ago. Talking to Cassi about her earlier had both helped and . . . not.
He’d needed to say all the things that had been rolling around inside his head on repeat play, and hearing himself talk about her had brought him some clarity. That clarity being that he was an idiot for not even trying to figure out how they could have . . . something. Anything.
“Everything,” he muttered. But one life-changing crisis at a time.
He sank down in the worn, leather easy chair that fronted the fireplace so he could take his shoes off. Once done, he let the fire warm him some more. Propping his elbows on his knees, he lowered his forehead to his hands and raked his fingers through his hair. Now that they’d established a timeline, tomorrow would hopefully bring some answers regarding the restaurant. Cassi was going to look for George’s bank statements out at the house. Initially that had felt like a gross violation of their uncle’s privacy, but as the hours had crept by, and they’d slogged through mound after mound of paperwork, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and how to get the place up and running again, respect and concern had turned to annoyance and frustration.
There was also the question of how much Alethea knew. Was bringing Caleb up here also a show for his wife, so she wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong? And how on earth could George whisk her off on a honeymoon leaving such a catastrophe behind? Hopefully the bank statements or other records at their house would help to answer a lot of those questions.
If that didn’t happen, Caleb had already told Cassi he was sorely tempted to just turn off the lights, lock up the place, and head back to Philly, leaving George to clean up his own mess upon his return. At first, that hadn’t felt like the right thing to do. Family helped family. Now, Caleb wasn’t so sure. He didn’t have a magic wand, nor a deep bank account. Even if Cassi found the statements, or bills of some kind, and they did figure out where all the money went, then what?
Maybe George had thought Caleb would go back home once he realized what had happened. “Maybe that’s what I should do. This is George’s business, literally and figuratively.” Yes, they were family, but did that give Caleb the right to do what he was doing now? Dig when he hadn’t been asked to dig? He’d been asked to come run the place, not uncover the great mystery of what George had done with all his money.
Caleb leaned back in the chair and let his head tip back. He closed his eyes and groaned. “Why are you doing this, Uncle George?” What do you want from me? Am I supposed to fix this? Save Castellanos? Turn around? Go home?
The latter was starting to look like maybe it was the right thing after all. Maybe all George had wanted was to set things up so they looked kosher, then once he was overseas, the shit could hit the fan and he wouldn’t have to face it. At least not until he got back. Maybe he assumed Caleb would call in the troops and have things all fixed by the time he got back.
Maybe the best thing to do was send George a message saying that Castellanos was locked up tight and safe, and he was going to return to Philly. If George wanted things handled some other way, then he was going to have to come out and ask. Caleb would promise his uncle discretion.
A light knock at the back door startled Caleb’s eyes open. A glance at the clock on the mantel showed he must have dozed off. It was after one in the morning. Who would come around at one in the morning? Cassi.
Had she already gone digging and found something? It wouldn’t surprise Caleb in the least. “Who else would it be?” he said under his breath as he eased out of the chair and stood up again. Couldn’t she have just called him or texted? It wasn’t like they were going to be doing anything about whatever it was she’d found until morning, anyway. A good night’s sleep was the most important thing for both of them at the moment.
He got up and walked through the kitchen to the door that led to the exterior set of stairs. The light on the small third-story landing had come on automatically, but the blinds were drawn. He fumbled with the lock on the knob and the deadbolt. “Hold on,” he told his sister, “I can’t get this darn—” Then the dead bolt finally slid open. “Why didn’t you just call?” he said as he opened the door. “What we need right now is . . .” He trailed off, having gone completely still the moment he saw who was on his doorstep. He spent a moment wondering if he was still asleep and just dreaming this. If he was, he didn’t want to wake up. “Abriana?”
She was bundled up in a thick coat, stretchy black leggings, and big, furry boots. Her arms were crossed in front of her, her hands tucked underneath her elbows, hugging her sides. Her hair was down and flowed in waves around her face and shoulders. Her eyes looked both dark and luminous in the porchlight, her skin even more luminous with the dark, starry sky as a backdrop. “I—can’t explain this,” she said. “I know it’s crazy. Showing up like this. And this might sound even crazier, because you look just fine, though I’ve clearly woken you up and I’m very sorry for that, too. But the light was on and—”
“That’s okay,” he said, wide-awake now.
“I just needed to know if . . . are you okay?” She searched his face, concern clear on her own, maybe a little confusion as well, as if she couldn’t actually believe she was doing this.
It had been a couple of long, stressful days, filled with so many emotions, most of them pertaining to his family, his uncle in particular. Underlying all of that, however, was a feeling he couldn’t shake, that he was making the biggest mistake of his life by letting her just walk away.
Only right now, she was standing right in front of him, shivering, worried about him. And he’d never been so happy to see anyone in his life.
“I am now,” he
said, meaning every word. He opened his arms, and without hesitation she walked right into them.
Chapter 5
Bree buried her face in his shoulder, still shivering, still at an utter loss to explain, even to herself, what in the world she was doing. But at that moment, she couldn’t care. She was exactly where she wanted to be. Where I’m supposed to be. Finally.
She couldn’t shake that thought, any more than she could shake the very real and urgent concern she’d felt when she’d sat up in her bed less than an hour ago. She’d tried to make herself believe it had been something she’d been dreaming about and just couldn’t recall, certain the feeling would recede now that she was awake. Only it hadn’t. She’d felt like a crazy person when she’d finally gotten out of bed and gotten dressed, having made a deal with herself that she’d walk the two blocks over from her place to the restaurant and just look it over, make sure it was still standing, nothing was on fire or . . . whatever. Then surely the feeling of urgency would go away, and she could go back home to her nice warm bed, and no one would ever know she’d momentarily gone all looney tunes.
And the restaurant was fine. Caleb’s car was parked out back, as it had been when she’d come to the back door the other morning. Everything was fine. She could go back home. But, despite the late hour, the light was still on in the upstairs apartment. Just a little light, maybe the flickering glow of a fireplace. Did that mean he was still awake? Same as her? If so, okay then, the restaurant was fine; he was fine. She was good to go.
She’d even turned around to head home, but that sense of urgency just got stronger with every step she took. It was the strangest thing, and so she’d looked back. She walked back around to the rear of the building, spied the exterior stairs, and thought she’d just go up, peer in, make sure he wasn’t sprawled on the floor unconscious or something. Which was a completely insane thing to even consider—she knew that. But she just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in trouble . . . or something was in trouble. She’d never felt anything like it before.
So, she’d climbed the stairs, thinking it would serve her right if someone called the police, thinking she was a prowler, because. . . she kind of was. Then the blinds were closed and she couldn’t lean far enough over the railing to look in the small kitchen window. Maybe she’d just tap on the door, really quietly, so if he was asleep, it wouldn’t wake him.
Only he wasn’t asleep, or he wasn’t now, at any rate, and suddenly the door was open and he was standing right there. Right in front of her. Where she could reach out and touch him, be in immediate contact with him. Again. The urgency had died in that instant. In its place had come a longing so deep, so swift, so all-consuming that when he’d opened his arms to her, she’d all but fallen into them.
She felt his arms tighten around her, and she slid her arms around his waist and held on just as tightly. And oh, this felt so good. So, very, very good. Home. Contentment welled inside her, replacing the fear, the longing, the urgent sense that things weren’t as they were supposed to be, and she needed to fix them. Right away.
Now she had. She was where she was supposed to be. Finally. The word echoed again through her mind, through all of her, to be honest.
The knowledge that nothing else had changed, that she was now back to where she’d started, was pushed aside. No, shoved aside.
The chill night air rustled around them, and they finally let go long enough so she could move fully inside the small apartment and close the kitchen door behind her. He was undoing the buttons on the front of her coat before she could decide whether she was going to be staying long enough for that to be an issue. He was okay. The urgency was gone. She could go home now, back to bed.
He helped her off with her coat and turned her right back into his arms. And who was she kidding? She wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t sure whose lips met whose first. This time it wasn’t a slow, seductive kiss, one of exploration, or discovery. This kiss was pure, unadulterated need, and his matched hers, touch for touch, taste for taste.
A whole new kind of urgency filled her. She sank her fingers into all those curls and held him right there, so he could take her mouth, and take it again, then let her in as she took his right back.
His hands cupped her shoulders, then slid down her torso, framing her hips, and pulling her in snugly against his own. She moaned at the contact, or maybe that was him. His fingers flexed into her hips and she thought she felt him tremble. Or . . . maybe that was her. He slid his hands under the hem of her sweater, and the warmth of his skin on hers made her shudder with pleasure. That moan had definitely been hers.
She began unbuttoning his shirt as he nudged her chin to the side and kissed along her jaw. He nipped her earlobe, then worked his way down the curve of her neck, much as he had in his uncle’s kitchen . . . and at the same time, nothing at all like in his uncle’s kitchen. She worked faster at the buttons, and he lifted his head long enough to slide her sweater up and over her head. He peeled off his shirt, and she helped him pull up the white T-shirt he wore underneath.
Then they were back in each other’s arms an instant later, and she reveled in the feel of his bare, warm skin against hers. His hands were every bit as confident as his kisses, as he slid one arm around her waist to pull her in, while sliding his other hand under the thick fall of her hair so he could cup the nape of her neck and tilt her face back up to his. He slanted his mouth across hers and she opened to him, wanting him inside of her however she could get him.
She raked her fingertips down his back, the resulting growl at the base of his throat thrilling her. Thrill went to shock, and back to thrill, as he lifted her to her toes, then off her feet, urging her to wrap her legs around him. No one had ever done that, and if she’d had the chance, she’d have told him not to try. A dainty feather she was not. But he hadn’t given her that option, and she would be grateful for the rest of her days. She felt wanton and female and maybe not dainty, but quite literally swept off her feet. It was exhilarating, and new, as were all the emotions he was roiling up inside of her.
One thought shoved its way to the front of the line: This was Caleb. This was not some mindless mating of tongues with someone looking to assuage a mutual need. This mattered.
He’d been carrying her to what she assumed was the bedroom, knocking over a lamp and clearing a side table full of books as they crossed the small, cramped space. At the exact same moment that thought entered her mind, he paused beside the bed. Then, rather than lower them both to it, his body on top of hers, he instead turned and sat on the edge of the mattress, keeping her wrapped around him, now sitting on his lap, her now-bare feet crossed and resting on the bed behind him.
She held on to his shoulders as he framed her face with both of his hands and looked into her eyes. “Abriana . . . I—”
“Want to wait,” she finished for him.
He nodded but didn’t say anything else. His eyes, so dark blue, all filled with want and need a moment ago, now held all of that but with an apology and a flicker of hope as well. She understood.
“This is important,” he added, still searching her eyes. “To me. And I don’t . . . I don’t want this first time to be—”
“Mindless,” she said, then nodded. “This matters.” She smiled then. “That’s what I was thinking right at the exact same moment you stopped.” At any other time she would have wondered whether their connection was purely organic . . . or helped along by Bellaluna magic. But he was smiling now, too, and she decided that whatever it was linking them together didn’t really matter.
“I want you,” he said.
She didn’t need more proof of that, she’d felt it, all of it, from the rigid length of him pressing into her, to the urgency in his touch, and, most of all, the honest, open look right there on his handsome face, for all to see.
“But I want more than this, Abriana,” he told her. “I want to know you, spend time with you, let all the other parts of us catch up to this part that seems to have figured
things out already.” His smile turned sweet then, and impossibly tender. “I want to do this right.”
“Yes,” she said, unbearably touched. “I want that, too.”
“I know nothing else has changed,” he said.
“I know,” she said, not wanting to think about that, knowing they had to think about that. “Well,” she said, striving for a lighter tone, “who knows, maybe we’ll figure out this is just pent-up lust.” She smiled. “A case of two people spending way too much time in their respective kitchens and the moment they find each other, boom, things happen.”
“Boom?” he said with a chuckle.
“It felt like a boom,” she replied matter-of-factly, and they both grinned.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, still smiling. “It would explain a lot. The thing is,” he went on, more serious now, “I haven’t been able to shake the feeling I’ve had since you walked out of the kitchen the other day.”
“Regret?” she said, and smiled when he looked surprised. “Me too.”
“I don’t have any new answers.”
She nodded, and they sat like that for a while, him toying with the ends of her hair, her toying with his curls, each deep in their own thoughts, but content because they were together, wrapped up in each other. “Maybe we have to work at this first, get to where we know enough to make informed choices,” she said at length. When he shifted his gaze to hers, she said, “It’s something my mother said to me when I was debating on whether or not to go to Italy to study for a year after I graduated from culinary school. All I wanted was to come back here, back home, and bring everything I’d learned with me. At the same time, I didn’t want to miss the chance to discover things I could only learn over there. Mom made the point that if I got over there and, after giving it an honest go, it wasn’t where I wanted to be, I could always pack up and come home. But that I couldn’t really make the choice between there, or here, until I knew something of both places.”
The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice Page 7
