by Marina Adair
It had been a long day and Nick was ready to pack it up. He’d started to sweep a pile of sawdust when Syd came out to inspect his progress.
“The new window looks good.” She wandered around the room, looking at all the changes. “Where are the ovens going?”
He was pretty sure that was a veiled reminder that she wanted them installed yesterday. “Over here. That proofer thing over there.” He pointed to the location.
“A proofer is a warming chamber to help dough rise. It’s a staple for a professional bread baker.”
Nick cocked his head to one side. “You sure your grandmother wasn’t building you a bakery?”
“Gram was more logical than that. Moonbright isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis, and I need to make a living.”
He didn’t bother trying to persuade her otherwise. What was the point? “The ovens are coming at the end of the week. If you still insist that I install them, I could have them in by the weekend.”
“Excellent. I was thinking about talking to Nan over at the Corner Café to see if she’d like to carry some of my bread. I’d love to test some of my new recipes out on the townsfolk and get feedback on what’s working and what isn’t.”
“I can save you the trouble and act as your official taster.” He reached up and hung his hands from the top of the doorjamb, taking her in from head to toe. Sydney Byrne could sure fill out a pair of jeans and a sweater.
“Get my ovens in and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do you drive your bakery employees like this too?”
She thought about it for a few seconds. “Probably. But no complaints so far.”
He shoveled up his neat sawdust pile and dumped it in the trash. “Any chance you want to grab dinner?” He didn’t know what had possessed him to ask and tried to convince himself it was to discuss the rest of the work she wanted him to do.
“Uh . . . I guess. What did you have in mind?”
“We could hit a restaurant in Bangor.” Too many prying eyes and loose lips in town. “Or I’ve got a couple of steaks sitting in the fridge at home. I could fire up the grill and throw some potatoes in the oven. It’s up to you.”
He could see her deliberating and wondered if his suggestion to go to his place was a bit presumptuous. But, hell, they’d known each other since high school. It wasn’t like he was trying to put the moves on her. For all he knew, she had a significant other in California.
He started to say forget it, they’d go to Bangor. But she said, “Your place sounds good. That way I can make an early night of it. I have this annoying alarm clock that goes off at seven in the morning. It sounds a lot like an electric saw.”
He laughed, then made a point of saying, “You want the job done in five weeks?”
“You know I do.”
“Then quit complaining. Give me a head start to get in a quick shower.” He reached for the pencil behind his ear and scribbled his address on the back of an envelope he found in his truck, then raced home.
God only knew what shape his house was in. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned it. He’d gotten the Roomba in the breakup and used the app on his phone to start her up. At least the house would be vacuumed. He’d clean the bathroom while he showered and wipe down the kitchen afterward.
By the time Sydney showed up at his door, he’d shaved, changed into a clean pair of jeans and a Henley, and tidied up the front room enough to make it presentable.
“Here you go.” She handed him two foil-wrapped packages. “The leftover scones and yeast rolls. I just need to pop them in the oven. Lead the way.”
He waved his hand across the entryway threshold, inviting her into his tiny foyer.
When they got to the living room, she glanced around. “Cozy. How long have you lived here?”
“A little more than a year. I bought it after Jen and I sold our place on Sycamore.”
“Sycamore, huh? Fancy.”
The colonial had been more than they could afford, but Jen had convinced him it was a good investment. As it turned out, she was right. In only five years, they’d turned a tidy profit. Enough money to get her to Manhattan and hold her over until her first commission.
He, too, glanced around the room, trying to see it through Syd’s eyes. Though the wood floors were original, they were scuffed and scarred from many years of wear and tear. The fireplace surround had gotten a makeover in the eighties with fake stone that reminded him of The Flintstones. And the walls were a dirty beige. “I figured I could fix it up in my spare time. Maybe flip it. The problem is I don’t have any spare time.”
“I can relate to that. I bought my condo six years ago with all kinds of plans to renovate. Hasn’t happened yet. And I can still roll a marble down the hallway.”
“Foundation problems, huh?”
“I don’t even want to know. But it’s likely because it was built in the early 1900s.”
“You live alone?” It was a weird non sequitur and none of his business. But he was curious.
“I do now.” She left it at that and he didn’t press.
But it sounded as if Sydney Byrne was single, not that it mattered or that he cared.
“Come into the kitchen,” he said. “It’s the only room worse than the living room.”
She trailed behind him, stopping every few minutes to look at his family pictures on the wall. “How are your brothers?”
“Good. We’re all partners in Rossi Construction and they’re both married. Sal’s got two kids and Tino’s got a baby and one on the way.”
“Wow. That’s great.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I never would’ve pegged either one of those lugheads for fathers. But I guess it’s a Rossi tradition.”
“Your family must’ve been sad when you and Jennifer didn’t work out.”
“I’m pretty sure my folks saw it coming. We must’ve had the longest engagement in the history of the world. First, I wanted to build the business. Then, Jen wanted to wait until she got her real estate license. It was one excuse after another. I think it was a pretty big red flag; don’t you?”
“Only you can know that. Is that what she’s doing, selling real estate?”
“Yeah. She’s good at it, super successful. Million-dollar places in Manhattan.”
“Whoa, that’s great.”
There was a long, awkward silence, both cognizant of what was going unsaid.
“Don’t hate her, Syd. She was just a kid back then. She grew up to be a good person.”
Syd nodded, poker-faced. “I’m sure she did. It was high school, Nick. I’m over it.”
He felt stupid for even bringing it up. Of course she was over it. Sydney was a beautiful, successful adult with a thriving business. The truth was she and Jennifer were a lot alike. Both had left Moonbright in their rearview mirrors, seeking fame and fortune. Neither had been satisfied with the simplicity of small-town life. Not like him.
“This is it,” he said as they entered the kitchen.
“Nice wallpaper.” She ran her hand over the kitschy yellowed pattern of teapots that covered the walls.
“The plan was to strip that. As you can see, I never got to it.”
Syd stepped back to view the room in its entirety. “It’s a big space. There’s even room for a center island.”
“Yep and a total gut job. Someday.”
“You’ll get it done.” She turned the oven dial to Bake. “Do you have a cookie sheet?”
He searched through the cupboard, but the best he could come up with was a roasting pan. “Will this work?”
“Sure.” She unwrapped her yeast rolls and spaced them a couple of inches apart on the pan.
“I’m just waiting for the grill to get hot before throwing on the steaks. I probably should get the potatoes in first.” He wasn’t much of a cook. Most of the time, he ate out or reheated one of the dishes his mother stuffed in his freezer.
“I’ll help you.” She took over. And in no time had the potatoes and her rolls i
n the oven.
“You want a glass of wine?” He was a beer guy, but he kept a couple of bottles of Chardonnay in the fridge for his sisters-in-law.
“I’d love one.”
He got down two goblets and poured them each a glass. “I don’t know if it’s any good.”
“I’m not that picky.”
“Let’s take them into the living room.” It was too chilly to drink their wine outside.
He cleared his paperwork off the coffee table to make room for their glasses. They both sat on the couch, close enough that his leg brushed hers as he reached for his wine. She had changed from her earlier jeans into a red knit dress that hugged her curves. Every time the hem of the dress rode up on her thighs, he lost his train of thought.
“Your friends seemed like good people,” he said. “Tell me about this cookbook you’re putting together.”
“It’s been in the works for a while. Emily is helping me scale down my bread recipes for a home cook, because everything I do is on an industrial scale. We’re including the history and tradition of each recipe and how it came to be part of my repertoire. I have a wonderful photographer doing all the pictures. It’s scheduled to be in bookstores before next Christmas.”
“Not this Christmas?”
“Nope. Once it goes to the publisher it takes about a year to go through production.”
He had no idea how these things worked. “Pretty exciting. Is this your first book?”
“Uh-huh. I’ve been included in other books but have never had one of my own until now.”
“So are you one of those celebrity chefs?” He used to give Jen crap for watching all those food and home and garden shows. Half the people on them were now household names.
The musical sound of Syd’s laugh made his groin tighten.
“I’m well known in food circles but nothing close to a celebrity.”
He suspected she was downplaying her importance. She had to be pretty well known to have a book deal; otherwise no one would buy it.
“Enough about me. What about you? What are your plans for Rossi Construction?”
Nothing as lofty as hers, that was for sure. “To build on my father’s reputation, do quality work, make decent money, and live a good life. Nothing too complicated.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“You think so?” He was skeptical. For people like her and Jen, ambition was everything. His basic ideals were hokey in comparison.
“They’re words I live by.”
Yeah, right. He nodded just to go along. “I should probably put those steaks on.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No need. It’ll only take me a couple of minutes. No sense in your standing out in the cold.”
“It’s not so bad.” She stood up. “Everyone thinks California is a perpetual summer day. You ever been to San Francisco?”
The side of his mouth hitched up as he remembered his one visit and how he’d had to buy a sweatshirt from a street vendor because he hadn’t expected July to be so cold.
She helped him season the steaks and followed him to the small patio off the kitchen where he kept a gas grill. There was a breeze, and a couple of times Syd had to hold her dress down to keep it from flying up. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of panties she had on. Her bra was red and lacy. He knew because he’d caught a peek of it as she was bending over the oven to check on her rolls.
Here he was, a grown man acting like a high school kid, fascinated with a woman’s damn underwear. Yet when they sat down to eat, he could think of little else, making it difficult to focus on the meal and their dinner conversation.
This had been a bad idea. Sydney Byrne was strictly off-limits because A) he didn’t sleep with clients, B) they barely got along, and C) there was too much bad history between them.
Still, his thoughts continued to wander to the bedroom and how he’d like to take off that red dress of hers.
After dinner, she unwrapped the rest of the morning’s scones and put them on one of the platters he didn’t know he owned. “If I’d had more time, I would’ve made a real dessert.”
“These work for me.” He could’ve eaten them all day long. They were the best scones he’d ever tasted.
He made a pot of decaf and they ate dessert in the living room. Again, he wished he’d had the chimney cleaned. A fire would’ve capped off a perfect evening.
“I should get going soon,” she said after a second cup of decaf, but lingered.
They wound up doing the dishes together, which probably made him a bad host for not insisting that he handle KP duty on his own. But he didn’t want her to leave.
“I guess I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow,” she said.
“I’ll try to lay off the power tools until eight. After that no guarantees.”
“No worries, I’ll be up by then.” She folded the dish towel and went to the living room to get her purse.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said.
“Last I looked, Moonbright was still crime-free.”
That wasn’t exactly true. They had the occasional burglary, and last year Jonesy Taylor’s ten-speed got stolen. In the days after Halloween, it wasn’t uncommon to see an uptick in vandalism. Small things, like spray-painted mailboxes and toilet-papered trees.
He accompanied her to her car, where they continued to linger.
“Thanks for having me. The steak was delicious.”
“Thanks for coming. It was nice to have company.”
“Even if it was me?” She slid him a teasing smile.
He waggled his hand from side to side. “Yeah, even if it was you. At least tonight, you weren’t your usual pain-in-the-ass self.” He winked.
She snapped back something smart-alecky, but he was too focused on her lips to pay attention. And that’s when he couldn’t help himself.
He leaned in and covered her mouth with his. Nick went slow at first to make sure she was on board. When she went up on tiptoes and twined her arms around his neck, he took the kiss deeper, reveling in the hot pull of her mouth.
She clung to him and he could feel her nipples pebble against the soft fabric of her dress. It was all he could do not to take her on the hood of her car. Instead, he cupped the back of her head, tasting the inside of her mouth with his tongue. She whimpered and ground into his arousal, which pressed so hard against his fly he thought the buttons would burst.
Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed and the purr of a car engine rent the night air. Shit. He had to shut this down before they reached the point of no return, his mind said. But his body was having trouble hearing the words.
He summoned every drop of willpower and pulled away. “Ah, jeez.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “That shouldn’t have happened. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Her lips, bruised and puffy, quivered. “Really? We’re doing this again?” Her blue eyes sparked with anger. “I can’t freaking believe it.” She got in her car, closed the door with a thud, and squealed off in a huff.
He watched her taillights disappear as he called himself twenty kinds of stupid. It was their junior year of high school all over again.
Chapter 6
Syd made sure to avoid Nick the next day by being gone before he arrived that morning. She went to the Corner Café for breakfast and asked for a table in the back of the dining room. Hannah Allan, her server, was happy to oblige.
Sydney wasn’t in the mood to socialize. No, she was in the mood to stew. What was that saying? “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”
She was so busy feeding on her mad that she didn’t notice Hannah waiting to take her order until Hannah cleared her throat.
“Sorry. I’m somewhere else this morning.” Like an empty classroom in Moonbright High. “I’ll have a cup of coffee and whatever the special is.” Syd wasn’t even hungry.
Hannah returned with the coffee and left Syd to reminisce about all the reasons she’d once despised Nick Rossi
.
In her heart, she knew it was silly. She’d been a sensitive sixteen-year-old, grieving the loss of her parents, feeling uprooted and lost. And there was Nick, the best-looking boy she’d ever laid eyes on, who’d come to her for tutoring. He was failing Algebra II and she was killing it. One more bad grade and Nick risked being benched from the varsity baseball team.
For the next four months, she routinely met with him in one of the vacant math classrooms after school. She’d lived for those afternoons like a starving person for a morsel of bread. He’d been so appreciative of her help that he’d begun paying attention to her even while school was in session, waving to her from across the crowded quad or inviting her to join the cool kids’ table at lunch in the cafeteria. She was almost starting to feel like she belonged.
And then one day he kissed her.
He had just aced his algebra final and had met her at their usual tutoring spot. Caught up in the moment, he’d swept her off her feet and planted his lips on hers. And before they knew it, they were engaged in a full-blown kiss.
And like any good teen drama, that’s when Jennifer walked in and caught them in the act. Her revenge was swift. Jen told anyone who would listen that Syd had misconstrued a friendly gesture and, in her desperation to be liked by the most popular boy in school, had thrown herself at Nick.
Going from being ignored by the other kids to being a social pariah wasn’t even the worst part of the fallout. It was that Nick had never manned up. Not once did he correct Jen’s story of what had happened that afternoon.
Over the years, Syd questioned whether she had indeed imagined Nick’s attraction. As much as she hated to admit it, the whole episode had left a long-standing mark. The repercussions of that stupid kiss even made her second-guess Gage’s cheating. Had she been delusional about his feelings for her in the first place?
And then last night . . . She didn’t want to think about it.
Her breakfast came, an egg pie (otherwise known as quiche). The restaurant was famous for its mouthwatering pies. There was even a wooden sign on the wall that proclaimed: Your Favorite Food Comes in a Pie—Lobster, Chicken, or Fruit. Or in the case of today’s special, mushroom and leeks.
