by Elle Casey
I try not to fidget. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Greg says. “Ask away.”
“When we go to the bar tonight, are we going there to be together, or are we going there to look for other people?”
His eyebrows draw together in confusion. “What?”
I feel my face going red hot. This is so embarrassing, but I have to know. I can’t walk into that bar thinking he’s going to kiss me and then watch him pick up another woman and kiss her.
“You said that you wait for the universe to put someone in your path. Are we going to the bar so that the universe can put someone in your path?”
He gives me a goofy grin. “Ah. I see. Actually . . . I was thinking the universe already did.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
We never get to the bar. The dessert starts innocently enough, each of us trying a bite of pecan pie and then the blueberry pie. But then there’s the whipped cream . . .
He holds up a forkful of it and examines it closely. “I really love this stuff,” he says.
“Really?” I reach out in a flash and swipe at it with my finger, successfully grabbing some of the whipped cream and sticking it in my mouth.
His jaw drops open and he inhales sharply, feigning shock. “How dare you.”
I grin. “I love whipped cream too.”
He reaches over with his fork and steals some off my pie and quickly eats it before I can stop him.
“Hey! Thief!”
He takes his Tupperware container and twists away from me so I can’t reach it. He gives me a fake mean look over his hunched shoulder. “This is my pie. Grrrr . . .” He reminds me of Oscar Mayer claiming rights to his favorite dog toy.
“You got more than I did,” I say, reaching around him with my fork. “Gimme some.”
He continues to evade me. “I’m bigger than you are. I need more calories. Get back.” He pretends he’s going to poke me with his fork in self-defense.
“No fair.” I lean back in my chair, pretending to pout.
“It’s perfectly fair.” He turns toward me a little bit. “But I may be open to some negotiation on this whipped cream issue.”
I reach out to him with my fork. “Give me some of it and we’ll talk . . .”
He holds the pie just out of my reach. “I might be willing to share . . . but you’ll have to give me something in return.”
My heart is at it again, racing away from me. “I might say yes. Depends on what it is.” I stare at my fork first and then at him.
He moves his pie closer. “What’s it worth to you?”
We lock eyes. I try to read what’s going on behind his, but it’s impossible. He’s flirting, but he’s a mystery. Is he just goofing around, or does he mean it?
“I’m not sure,” I say, chickening out.
“How about a kiss?” he suggests, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.
I pull my fork back a little. “A kiss? I don’t know . . . I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
His eyes go wide in exaggerated disbelief. “Are you telling me your kisses are better than whipped cream?”
I give him a haughty look. “Absolutely.”
He moves his pie closer to me. “All right then . . . How about all of my whipped cream for one kiss. Just one.”
“Are we talking tongue or no tongue here?” I’m feeling bold, now that I know he wants the same thing from me that I want from him. My heart is hammering away in my chest as I wait for his answer.
“How about we see where the mood takes us?”
I sigh as if this whole kissing thing is a big chore. “Okay, fine. I’m a slave to the whipped cream. Take your kiss and hand over the goods.”
He extends his Tupperware toward me and shoves all of his whipped cream onto my pie and then puts the container down on the desk. He wheels his chair closer.
“Not so fast,” I say, putting off the inevitable because I’m suddenly embarrassed and feeling shy. “I haven’t even eaten my whipped cream yet.”
“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
He sits there staring at me, watching the fork move from the pie to my mouth. I know what he’s thinking now, and it’s making me hot all over. I take another bite, hoping I’m looking sexy placing the whipped cream on my tongue . . . but then I accidentally stab myself in the lip with one of the tines and grimace.
“Ow.”
He laughs and backs up a little. “Too much pressure?”
I shove the fork between my lips and pull the cream off. “Yesh,” I say. Or try to say. Some of the whipped cream flies out of my mouth, and a big blob of it lands on his pant leg. Oh, God! What is wrong with me?
He looks down and uses his finger to squeegee it off. He holds it up between us and says in an accusatory tone, “What is this?”
I shake my head, trying to appear innocent. “It wasn’t me.”
“I know your game, but it’s not going to work,” he says, licking the whipped cream off his finger.
“What game?”
“Don’t try to claim later that you didn’t get the full benefit of our bargain just because you’re flinging cream all over the room.” He moves closer again. “A deal is a deal; I gave you what you wanted, and now you have to give me what I want. It’s time for you to pay the piper.”
I feel myself growing warm down there, between my legs. Maybe he didn’t mean to be sexy, but damn . . .
“Pay the piper?” I say in a near-whisper. I’m mesmerized by his mouth. There’s just the tiniest bit of whipped cream on it. I reach over to wipe it away. I contemplate cleaning my finger off on my pants, but instead I stick my tongue out and lick it instead.
“You are causing me all kinds of trouble,” he says in a low voice, watching my every move.
“I am?” His statement makes me feel powerful. “How’s that?”
“Do you know how far Manhattan is from central Maine?”
I shake my head silently. I do know, but I don’t want him to stop talking. Every sentence that comes out of his mouth is turning my insides to goo.
“It’s far.”
“What’s that got to do with the price of whipped cream in China?” I ask, feeling light-headed over all this delightful flirting.
“Not much,” he says, reaching out and putting his hand behind my head. He slowly pulls me toward him, and I go without fighting. I lower my pie to keep it out of the way as our lips come together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
His lips are soft, and he smells of blueberries and cooked sugar. At first, our kiss is innocent and sweet, but then his tongue is there, warm and wet. His hand slides down to my shoulder as his mouth moves against mine, his gentle touch making me break out in goose bumps. We fit together so perfectly. His tongue is in synch with mine as it slides around, going in and out, making me think of other things that we could do together that involve sliding and wetness. Excitement builds inside me. I can’t believe we’re doing this.
The sounds of growling and barking off in the distance pull me out of my mesmerized state. Greg and I pull apart instantly and stand. I realize as I come back to reality that the noises I’m hearing aren’t far away; they’re right here in the lobby. Banana is going nuts, staring at the door.
I drop my pie on the desk, watching my sweet little Banana turn into some kind of crazy were-hound. He’s acting like he wants to kill whatever is on the other side of the front door. During the entire time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him do this.
Greg looks at me. “Were you expecting someone?”
I shake my head. “No.” My entire body has gone cold. The memory of Greg’s kisses fades quickly, my happy emotions replaced by stark fear.
“Why don’t you wait right here while I go see who it is?” Greg suggests. “Maybe you’re getting a late-night visitor.”
“It’s possible, but I’ve never seen Banana act like this toward somebody with an injured animal.” His sense of smell is so sharp, he can tell who’s outside before they’ve even
left their vehicle. “Banana, come.”
Banana obeys, but I can tell he’s not happy about it. He keeps looking back as he runs to my side. Oscar Mayer follows him, confused about what’s happening. I hold Banana’s collar to make sure he doesn’t take off once the door is opened. His body is quaking with anger or worry, I can’t tell which. A growl rumbles low in his throat.
Greg strides over to the door and unlocks it, pulling it open.
For a few seconds, my breath catches in my throat. What if there’s someone dangerous out there? Maybe the person who stole my laptop has come back to cause more trouble. I don’t want Greg to be injured. Banana growls louder.
“Who’s out there?” Greg demands. Gone is the sweet, flirty man I was just fooling around with, and in his place is a man who could command a courtroom, using the voice of an avenging angel. It’s pretty impressive, actually. I don’t feel nearly as frightened as I did five seconds ago.
I hear feet on gravel and then a voice. “Hey, yeah. It’s me. Who’s that? Is that Greg?”
It’s Smitty. I let out all my breath as my body deflates. Stupid Smitty. Banana starts barking like mad, acting like he’s going to tear our neighbor a new one. I walk the dogs into one of the exam rooms and shut them inside. Banana is obviously reading my emotions toward Smitty and is acting out against him as a protective gesture. I sure do love that dog, but right now his devotion is a little too much to handle. Smitty does a lot around our farm for not much in return; I can’t afford to let my silly, overreactive canine scare him away.
I go back to the front room and see Smitty in the glow cast by the entrance light over the door. He pulls his hat off and shakes Greg’s hand. “Thought I’d come by and see if you guys needed any help in here. I’m headed home after this.”
Greg looks over his shoulder at me and moves his hand off the door so Smitty can enter. “Do you need any help?” He closes the door.
I shake my head vigorously. “No. We’re all done here. I was just getting ready to go back to the house.”
“You need a lift?” Smitty asks. He looks hopeful.
“No, I think Greg is going to walk me back, right, Greg?”
He nods. “Yes. I’m staying up at the house too, so it’s no problem.”
I wave at Smitty, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Have a great night. Thanks for helping with the bees and everything.”
Smitty smiles as he opens the door and steps out, waving his hat at me before slapping it onto his head. “Sure, sure, no problem. And thanks for the dinner. It was delicious, as usual.” He lifts his hand in farewell. “Later.”
Banana is still growling in the back room, punctuating his distress with sharp barks every few seconds. Greg glances down the hallway as he shuts and locks the door. “I don’t think Banana likes that guy very much.”
“I don’t know what’s going on with him. He normally likes him a lot.” I shake my head, going to the exam room to open the door. “Banana, come out here.” When he hears me, it switches off the growl button in his brain. His tail wags and he trots over, happy to see me. He and Oscar follow me back to my desk. I scratch his neck and give him a blueberry from my pie when he sits at my feet. “You’re a good boy, Banana Bread. Thanks for looking out for us.”
Oscar Mayer sits down next to his buddy and looks up at me expectantly. I give him a blueberry too because he’s doing such a good job of mimicking Banana’s good behavior. “That’s the only one you’re getting, so don’t look at me like that.”
Greg comes over and leans on the counter, looking down at the dogs. “You know, I said that adoption thing at the table tonight just to move things along.”
“I know. I’m not holding you to that statement, don’t worry.”
“I didn’t mean it when I said it, but the more time I spend with him, the more I start to like him. He’s kind of adorable.” He’s staring at the pudgy puppy, who’s trying to capture Banana’s wagging tail and failing very comically.
“He is, that’s for sure. But I’m honestly not sure if I can adopt him out now. Look at him and Mr. B. They’re like brothers.”
The two of them are playing a game I call Bite Club, where they pretend to be biting each other like two giant killer beasts, but they never actually make serious contact or do any harm.
“If you change your mind, let me know. Tink might like to have some company since I work so late sometimes. But if you’re going to keep him, that’s cool too. Maybe we can visit.”
I look up at him, the memory of our kisses coming back. “You should . . . visit, I mean. And you could bring Tinkerbell next time so she can hang with the boys.”
His smile is slow and sexy. “I think I might just do that.”
I’d really like to do more of that kissing stuff, but two seconds after the thought crosses my mind, a raccoon in the back starts banging on her kennel door and I have to go take care of her. Once I get her settled, I come out and Greg has packed up the rest of our pie and is getting the dogs on leashes.
“You ready to head out?” he asks.
“Yeah. Are you too tired to go to the bar?” Personally, I could go either way. I’m exhausted, but I wouldn’t mind doing some more flirting and kissing.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I have an early flight out. I’m sorry about that. I wish I’d booked a later one.”
“That’s fine.” One of us has to be a responsible adult; I’m glad it’s not me. “I’m sure you have work you need to get back to.” I slide into my jacket and hold the leashes as he gets into his.
“I had a really great time out here this trip,” he says, moving closer. He adjusts the collar of my jacket for me.
“I did too.” I can’t stop smiling about how happy he makes me. “I’m glad the universe put you on my path.”
“Me too.” He draws me to him using the lapels of my coat and leans down to give me a tender kiss. It lasts just a few seconds and then he’s pulling away. “You taste like blueberries,” he says.
“So do you.”
“To be continued?” he asks, letting go of my jacket and brushing a stray bit of hair off my face.
I nod, not capable of words. I’m overwhelmed by the idea that this is a version of Greg that my sisters and his employers have never seen. He’s sharing his secret self with me, and I know that’s a big deal for him. I’m very, very lucky.
He takes my hand and opens the door. “After you.”
We walk out into the night with the two dogs, and he shuts the door behind us. I make sure the clinic is locked up tight before we head back to the house, hand in hand, the dogs trotting out in front of us. I wish I could let them off the leads to run free, but I’m feeling a little paranoid about the break-in and worry they’ll take off on me and get hurt. They don’t seem to mind, staying close to our feet and not pulling much.
The stars are bright and the air is crisp. I’m holding hands with a gorgeous guy who makes my heart feel as full as the moon looks tonight. I wonder when Greg will come back to the farm again, but I’m not going to ask him about it. I don’t want to put pressure on this thing, whatever it is. He’ll be back here when he can be, and I can only hope that we’ll pick up where we left off.
I know one thing for sure; his being gone for extended periods is going to make the days drag. But for the first time in weeks, the doom and gloom of that lawsuit and my uncertain future has lifted, and in its place is this feeling of warmth and light. I’m so glad the universe is on my side, taking care of me and sending this guy my way. I don’t know that this thing between us is a forever situation, but I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A week passes, and I hear nothing from Greg. I’m a little disappointed, but not too surprised. After mulling it over, I’ve determined that when he goes to New York he becomes this other person—lawyer-Greg. Lawyer-Greg is focused, putting all his energy into his work and his dog. Maybe he even temporarily forgets about me and the kisses we shared. But I believe he’ll come back t
o the farm, and when he gets here, he’ll remember how well we get along and how much fun we have hanging out, and then we’ll pick up where we left off.
There’s a connection between us, no doubt about it. I just have to be patient and let things work out the way they will. Besides, I have plenty here to keep me busy. I’m in the back room feeding three baby birds who fell out of their nest, when the phone rings. Emerald just left, so there’s nobody out front to answer it, and I’m waiting on a call from the insurance company, who may or may not be paying for a replacement laptop. I quickly drop a blob of food into a baby’s mouth before I run to the desk to grab the phone before it stops ringing.
“Hello, animal clinic, this is Rose.”
I’m waiting impatiently, hoping whoever it is will hurry up and speak so that I can get back to the birds. I hate leaving them in the middle of a meal.
No answer. There’s nothing but a dead line.
“Hello? I can’t hear you. Are you there? Hello?”
Then the heavy breathing starts. Again.
My heart stops beating for a couple seconds, and I feel sick to my stomach. The panic that instantly takes over makes me angry; I’m furious that this person—whoever the sick bastard is—can get me so worked up by doing absolutely nothing but dialing and breathing. He has way too much power over me.
“Are you kidding me?!” I yell into the phone. And then I hang up and run back to be with the birds. I fill the eyedropper and start with the first baby. As I feed the next and the next, my mind calms with the monotonous task, and I can think clearly again without anger or fear.
There must be a reason someone would crank call me over and over. To scare me? Make me angry? To get his rocks off? This is the fourth anonymous call I’ve gotten in the last week. Every single time, it’s the same thing. He—I’m almost positive it’s a man—stays on the line for a few seconds being totally silent, and then he starts breathing like a weirdo until I hang up. You’d think he’d be bored with this game by now. I know I certainly am.
