Sweet Love

by Lauren Accardo

  “I’m really committed to winning,” she shouted. “Finding quality produce has been so challenging. I know if your grapes are as good as Jared says, it’ll make all the difference in my pie.”

  Patrick ran a veiny hand across his mouth, and she expected the “Sorry” to hit her any moment. Another three seconds passed, the twangy chords of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” covering any awkward silence. Mila prepared to make one last-ditch effort when Patrick said, “Okay.”

  A rush of serotonin flooded her brain. “Okay?”

  He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Sure. What’s two pints? In fact, you can have four if you like. We usually end up throwing a few of them away by the time the whole process is said and done.”

  Her sinuses pricked. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone when Aunt Georgie passed, and she wouldn’t cry now. But God, she wanted to. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Patrick.”

  “I’ve got ’em in the freezer here, actually. Before you head out, let me know and I’ll grab ’em.”

  “Will do.” Before her rational brain could stop her, she fell forward and squeezed his skeletal frame in a hug. His arms remained pinned at his sides as she stood upright. “Seriously, thank you. It means so much to me.”

  “I’m holding you to that promotion,” he said, raising a stern finger to her face. “Seems like you’ve got a lot of confidence in yourself and your skills, so maybe you just might get there.”

  Mila muttered one more thank-you before shaking Patrick’s hand and making her way back to the table. Jared turned his face toward her, matching her elated smile the second he saw it.

  “Shit yeah you did!” he said.

  “I haven’t even told you what happened yet,” she said with a laugh. But he’d already bounded to his feet, crushing her in a hug. His warm, clean scent flooded her nostrils, and she sank into his tight embrace as if they were the only two people in the room.

  He pulled back, guiding her back to her seat. She sat, not trusting her rubbery legs to hold her upright. When was the last time she’d stood up for herself? When was the last time she’d heard no and refused it? As a small child she fought back all the time, but the older she got, the more her parents drilled into her that submission was typically the easiest route through life. Until recently, she’d believed them.

  The food Mila and Jared had ordered appeared shortly thereafter, and they happily indulged, letting the music provide the conversation. Mila filled her belly with as much fried chicken and fries as she could handle. By the time the banana pudding arrived, bliss radiated through her like she’d been dipped in radioactive jelly.

  As the waitress cleared their dishes, the band slid from driving rock country into a slower number, and Jared stood up from the table. He extended a hand, a mischievous smile finding its way to his lips.

  “Care to dance, m’lady?”

  “My my,” she said. “How could I turn down such a gentlemanly offer?”

  A breath of hesitation passed between them, and Mila watched other couples take to the open space in front of the stage. They wouldn’t be alone or on display. Still, uneasiness stirred in her gut.

  She met his gaze as his face lifted in a hopeful grin. The same grin he employed at Bailey family dinners when Caryl asked who wanted the drumstick. His little boy grin. The grin that cracked her heart.

  She tucked her hand into his and let him lead her to the dance floor.

  As the band slipped into a sweet acoustic version of “Neon Moon,” Jared tucked his strong arm around her waist, drawing her into the warm cocoon of his chest. One hand cupped his shoulder while the other clutched his outstretched fingers. They found a steady, rocking rhythm, neither of them particularly adept at dancing but graceful all the same.

  His eyes bore into hers, the dim bar lights shimmering off his long lashes. Magical. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tugged him toward her, desperate to shield her face.

  What would he see there? A dopey girl developing an incredibly unhealthy crush on the guy she used to joke with about Family Guy and inconvenient boners. His small-town friend, the one who wanted to stay in Pine Ridge and have kids someday while he left this place in his rearview. Someone who wanted to hold him back.

  “You smell nice,” he murmured into her hair.

  Shit. If she didn’t want him to see every pie-eyed thought in her head, he’d have to stop saying stuff like that.

  “Thanks.”

  “Like vanilla.”

  God, Jared, shut up already. “Probably the pudding.”

  He laughed, the rumbling sound deep in his chest, forcing her ribs to constrict. The most beautiful sound and so much better up close.

  “Maybe.” His long, powerful fingers closed around her hand, and suddenly he drew her closer, tucking her arm in like a swaddled baby and pressing their intertwined hands against his heart.

  She wanted to look at him, every muscle in her body screaming, This is a sign, you idiot! But she stayed frozen, paralyzed with uncertainty, her eyes squeezed shut and her face turned over his shoulder.

  It wasn’t a sign. It was the way Jared operated. He’d surely danced this way with a hundred women, leading them all to the same conclusion.

  She wouldn’t be just another girl. Let him pull out every first-date move, make her feel special in ways he hadn’t even intended, but he wouldn’t force her to go there. Jared wasn’t the fall-in-love-and-stay-there kind of guy. And so he’d never be the guy for her.

  The last chord of the song echoed through the room, and the couples on the dance floor awoke from their dreamy haze. Some clapped. Some kissed. Some hooted and hollered as the next upbeat jam rattled pint glasses on the tables.

  Mila stepped backward and let her hands fall from Jared’s. She wanted to look up. She could feel his eyes on her. Instead, she tucked her desires away, turned over her shoulder, and walked back to the table. Asking for grapes was one thing. Asking her best friend to love her was another.

  chapter six

  Jared leaned back in his ergonomic office chair and placed his hands behind his head with a sigh. He loved real estate because it connected him with people, got him outside, challenged him to use his voice and make the sale. On the days he had to catch up on emails and paper pushing, he nearly crawled out of his skin.

  This week, his blazer had been gripping him like a straitjacket.

  He’d spent a thousand nights with Mila, drinking and talking and even, on a handful of occasions, dancing. He’d stolen her for a song at their senior prom, spun her around the dance floor at Jorie and Matt’s wedding, bounced around to pop hits on late-night radio in her parents’ house.

  But a few nights ago at Eat at Jam’s, the tiny kernel deep in his chest that he’d been trying to ignore for five years had popped open with aplomb. The way her soft, curvy body nestled against his chest, the vanilla-lilac scent rising up at him as if she’d baked it into her skin. He wanted more.

  And then she’d refused to look at him.

  To make matters even more confusing, she’d gone out last night to meet Vin for a drink. Their first official date. His gut felt like the bottom of a dredged-up lake. Disturbed.

  “Hey, Kirkland.” His boss, Steven, called out from behind his glass-walled office. “Come in here, will ya?”

  A slow, deliberate shiver crept up his spine. Steven didn’t usually hassle him. Jared loved that quality in a boss but also wondered if the lack of needling left him complacent. Unmotivated. Uninspired.

  But that day, Steven summoned him. Had he seen Jared’s Web browser open to job postings in LA? He’d only been casually perusing. Nothing serious.

  Yet.

  He shoved back from his desk, swallowed down all thoughts of Mila, and entered Steven’s office, lowering himself into the chair opposite the sleek, minimalist desk his boss preferred. The office lived somewhere between Manhattan chic and Ad
irondack rustic, appealing to anyone who might wander in from out of town, as well as locals who preferred the homey vibe.

  “How’s it going with the Silver Lake property?” Steven asked. His bald head reflected the lamplight, and he ran a hand over the few wisps of hair he had left.

  Steven knew North Country as well as anyone Jared had ever met. He could recite market trends as far back as the 1940s and accurately predict which towns were due for a boom, where to mine potential clients, and which listings were doomed to fail.

  When he’d given Jared the Silver Lake listing, his eyes glinted with knowledge. “This is a big one, son,” he’d said with a crooked smile. “A real challenge. This house has already been listed three times with not a single nibble. Good luck.”

  “Eh.” Jared ran a hand over his jaw, trying to summon up an optimistic response. “It’s all right. There are only so many interested buyers for a property like that.”

  Steven nodded. “That’s the bitch of this job, though, son.”

  Jared grimaced. Son sounded as positive coming out of Steven’s mouth as it had coming out of his mother’s.

  “It’s your job to find the buyer,” Steven said. “You’ve exhausted every network?”

  “Three times over,” Jared said. His chest burned. Impotence reigned over every facet of his life lately. And what was this newfound pressure on selling Silver Lake? When Steven had assigned it to him, Jared thought they’d shared an understanding. Sell it if you can, but nobody will blame you if you can’t. A fun challenge, not a yoke around his neck.

  Steven worked his thin lips and crossed his arms over his blue flannel shirt. Jared had long since refused to succumb to the company “dress code” of jeans and flannel. He wanted to sell million-dollar property, not rent out tents in the backyard.

  “We need this one,” Steven said. “You need this one.”

  “I’ll do another round and then try some unconventional avenues. I’ve got a few friends who might have leads. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “We have to unload this property, Kirkland. We’re coming up on the end of the contract.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Jared said, “what’s with the pressure all of a sudden? I thought we both knew there was a good chance the contract would run out and that would be that. I’ve made some good commissions in the meantime.”

  “The truth is,” Steven said, “I’m not sure I’ve got the overhead to keep everybody on.”

  All feeling vacated Jared’s body from the waist down. “Sorry?”

  “I’ve already reduced Gabby’s hours, and we’re doing without an intern this year. But I’m not sure how much more fat I can trim without a boost in sales.”

  North Country Realty boasted only four full-time employees, Steven excluded. How could the company survive without Jared’s revenue? Or had he not generated enough of it to make himself indispensable?

  “Now, don’t panic,” Steven said. Though the deep lines in his face told Jared to do something like it. “Nothing’s been decided yet. We’ve just eh . . . We’ve been having a tough year. I know I told you there was a good shot this property might not sell, but I really thought you’d do it. When I hired you, I hired the flashy, town pretty boy. The kid who could sell sand in a desert. I thought Silver Lake would be easy as pie.”

  Easy as pie. Mila hated that saying. Pie is not easy.

  “I still believe in you,” Steven said. “And I’m not saying if you don’t make it happen, I’ll let you go. But it’d make it a hell of a lot easier to keep you on if you did.”

  Jared liked the guy well enough, but in moments like these, he wanted to stand up, flip his chair, and scream out I quit! His legs ached to carry him across the country, where million-dollar properties sat like low-hanging fruit, instead of the volatile boom-or-bust area he grew up in.

  His mother never wasted a moment reminding Jared that Pine Ridge was a small town, oppressive as summer heat, and if he wanted more for himself, to stretch out and grow and change, he’d have to leave town. Pine Ridge suited her eldest son just fine, but her youngest required more. Jared had spent most of his life torn between the idea of a hometown he loved and a big world he knew very little about.

  “Listen,” Steven said. “I know Pine Ridge isn’t Aspen or Vail or, hell, even Lake George. I know full well you may move on from here if the deals aren’t challenging or lucrative enough for you. I know it’s not your dream to make $30,000 a year selling one-bedroom cabins to retirees. But I’ll tell you right now, there’s money to be made here. This won’t be the last challenging million-dollar property that lands on your plate if you stay in Pine Ridge. You’ve got to get creative. It’s the only way to close this type of deal.”

  Frustration tickled Jared’s fingertips. Steven knew better than most how difficult a property like Silver Lake could be. North Country had good years and bad, feasts and famines. Even the most talented real estate agent couldn’t make leads materialize out of nowhere.

  “I know, sir.” Jared’s voice tightened. “I want to sell this property more than anything, and I want to get more just like it.”

  “I hope you do.” Steven shot him a weak smile. “Let me know if you need help on this, son. I can loop in somebody else if you’re not up to it on your own.”

  The frustration turned to simmering anger, and Jared’s cheeks flushed. Help? No way. He’d sell this place on his own or not at all. “No way, Steven. I don’t need help on this. I’ll get it done.”

  Steven nodded once. “Good. Very good, Kirkland. And keep that bit about belt-tightening around here to yourself, okay? The threat of downsizing is never good for morale.”

  Jared shuffled back to his desk and clicked into his contacts. He’d made Steven a guarantee he didn’t know if he could pull through on. But he knew he had to try.

  * * *

  * * *

  The crowd at Utz’s swelled around Jared, and he took another sip of bourbon. Either the alcohol or the people would drown out the thoughts in his head. Something had to.

  “Hey.”

  He breathed in. Lilac perfume. Traces of sweet vanilla. Mila invaded his space. She sat on the barstool next to him, grinning with those perfect lips, her lashes curled and lengthened to frame the deep dark depths of her glowing amber eyes.

  “Are you sitting here drinking alone?” she asked.

  His gaze trailed down and back up her body, taking in the ripped-up jeans, biker boots, and loose white T-shirt that made up her uniform. The thin gold chain at her throat sparkled against her soft skin, while a tiny aqua gemstone dangled over the chasm of her breasts.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “And now you’re staring at my tits?”

  Laughter burbled up from the depths of his soul, a long-awaited release of tension he’d been carrying all day. “Sorry.”

  “And you’re drunk.” She waved at the bartender. “Can I get a water for this drunk asshole here, and a Mueller Homebrew Kölsch for me, please?”

  Jared licked his dry lips and raised the smooth, syrupy bourbon to his mouth. “I’m not drunk.”

  He was drunk.

  “Here, Kirkland, drink this.” The bartender slid a pint glass full of water toward him, but Jared sneered.

  “I’m not drunk, man.”

  Mila exhaled, a single breath of disdain. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything is great.” Only because of the damned bourbon it came out like Effer-sing great.

  Her lip curled in disgust. “What was that?”

  “How was your date?” That one came out clear as day.

  Her eyebrows bounced as if to say, Eh.

  “Wow, that good, huh? Who could’ve seen that coming?”

  “If you’re gonna sit here and be a jerk and not tell me what’s wrong, then I’m gonna go back to Nicole and Calvin and leave you to wallow in your toddler tant
rum. Okay?”

  “So go.”

  He really was being a jerk, and she didn’t deserve it. Spending time with her last week had confused the shit out of him, tugging at his emotions in a way he didn’t much care for. Add to it the showdown at work, and the lack of control weighing him down had to release somehow.

  Cue the booze. And the snark.

  Mila pressed her lips together and grabbed her beer before turning away toward the back of the bar.

  Damn it. He didn’t deserve her anyway. She was talent and sparkle, and he was an afterthought, fighting for any scrap of attention or success anyone wanted to give him. Things that came so easily to her were held at arm’s length from him.

  “Does she know you’re in love with her?”

  Jared looked to his left where the voice originated. Next to him, straddling the barstool like doll furniture, sat a tall, lanky dude with floppy black hair and a lopsided grin. The beer he sipped looked like a child’s cup in his big paw.

  “What’d you say?” Jared asked.

  The guy grinned wider and swallowed half the pint glass in one go. “I asked if that girl knows you’re in love with her. Kinda seems like maybe she doesn’t.”

  Honesty threatened his lips and the bourbon gave it a nudge. “No. She doesn’t know.”

  The guy smiled triumphantly. “What’s the problem?”

  Jared laughed, a slow, steady stream of ironic laughter whistling through his teeth. “Where do I begin, dude?”

  The story flowed out of Jared like lava. His parents’ tense marriage, his father’s alcoholism, Mila’s steadfast place in his life, the newly discovered lust he harbored for his best friend, and the sudden arrival of a new guy who wanted to take her out. The floppy-haired dude nodded along, adding in an appreciative laugh or a sympathetic sigh where necessary. By the end of the diatribe, the guy had downed two more pints of Coors Light.

  “Hey, bro,” Jared said. “You better slow down.”

  The guy laughed, a deep, booming sound that caught the attention of a few women in the bar. Jared sized him up. Handsome-ish. If you were into big, hunky dudes who took up a lot of space and drank shitty beer.