Bee’s eyes darted around the restaurant. People seemed to have returned to their coffee and conversation, but her heart still hammered in her chest. Put her in an arena full of city folks dressed up in drag and high on molly, and she could handle herself no problem. But a small town full of conservative people who would judge her based on her tattoos and the rainbow-flag pin on her purse? She clutched her menu like a life raft.
“Everything okay?” he asked. His gaze narrowed in concern.
“Fine.” She shrugged. “I’m just . . . cautious. Around new people. I don’t exactly fit in around here.”
The tiny smile returned to his face. She wanted to touch that face, trail her fingers over his smooth brown cheek. He had the closest shave she’d ever seen.
“What’s different about you?” he said. “Your tats? I can barely see them. Except for these.”
He ran a gentle finger along the base of her thumb where the word go was written in curvy black script. With the same cool, deft finger, he traced the index finger of her other hand where the word be was written in the same script.
Goose bumps rose up on her neck as his gaze deepened. She swallowed her discomfort, but the feeling of exposure remained. She may as well have been naked, the way his dark eyes narrowed in on hers and stripped away her armor.
“What do they mean?” he asked. His finger still connected with hers, and the contact left her brain as thick as tomato soup.
She licked her lips, digging for an answer.
“Hey guys!” Mila barreled into their little bubble, and Bee looked up, startled. “Coffee?”
“Please.” Bee held up her chipped white mug like a disciple waiting for the blood of Christ.
“Bee, it’s so cool you’re helping Denny decorate his house,” Mila said as she poured hot, dark coffee into Bee’s waiting mug. “Only took him a year to give in and admit he needs more than a mattress.”
“I’m still not convinced,” Denny said. He stretched to his full, impressively wide arm span and leaned back in the booth. “But Bee’s got great taste, so I’m letting her try.”
“Can’t wait to see it.” Mila placed her free hand on her hip. “Bee, if you need a break from this guy, let me know. I’m not sure if Sydney told you, but I work part-time as an assistant pastry chef at Indigo Hotels Adirondack Park, and we have a killer bar. I’d be happy to entertain you sometime.”
Bee bit back a smile. Maybe people around here really were kinder than she’d given them credit for. She’d always thought small town equaled small-minded, but the warm, welcoming vibe at the Black Bear Diner and from Mila Bailey felt anything but.
“That’s really sweet of you,” Bee said. “I’m totally taking you up on that.”
After Mila took their food order, she scribbled her phone number on Bee’s napkin and then disappeared. Denny’s eyes returned to Bee’s, all warm and probing.
“So,” he said. “What do they mean? The tattoos.”
Damn it. She thought maybe he’d forgotten. “They’re reminders.”
“Be?” he asked. “You need a reminder to . . . be?”
“In a way.” She grinned. “As in, don’t hold back. Whoever you are, do that. Go forward. Be.”
He nodded slowly. “I like that.”
“Also, I got them when I was eighteen as a little bit of a ‘screw you’ to my parents.” Her mother had physically gagged, as if instead of a tattoo, Bee had shown her a dead mouse. Bee went out the next day and got another one.
Denny nodded again. “I like that, too.”
“What does yours mean?”
He ran a big, strong hand over his shoulder, a nostalgic grin settling on his mouth. “Honu. The turtle. It symbolizes a long and prosperous life in Hawaiian culture.”
“Ah, you’re Hawaiian.”
“Mostly Filipino Hawaiian, but my mom can trace her lineage on one side all the way back to native Hawaiian royalty.”
She nodded, waiting for more. He scratched his nose, breathed deep, gazed out the window. When he looked back at her, something in his eyes shifted. Whatever vulnerability he’d approached in explaining his heritage disappeared in one flick of his gaze.
“So these are reminders,” he said, touching her fingers again and melting her insides in one go. “What are the rest?”
“The rest?”
“The rest of your tattoos. I saw the roses in New York.”
She suppressed a laugh. Most men who asked about her ink loved it because it turned her soft, feminine form into something bangable. It made her more dangerous, more complicated. In all the years she’d had them, not one sexual partner had ever bothered to study them. Or her.
“They’ve all got different meanings,” she said. “Different stages in my life, different things that are important to me. And then there are the reminders.”
Mila returned with steaming plates of eggs, pancakes, and bacon, and Bee’s mouth watered. The restaurant patrons might have been different, but a diner was the same in Manhattan, in Pine Ridge, and everywhere in between. Bacon smelled the same wherever it sizzled.
The conversation stalled as they tucked into their breakfasts, and after a few bites, Bee looked up to find Denny’s plate nearly empty. He shoveled huge forkfuls of eggs and potatoes into his mouth, and only after a few moments of her staring did he look up.
“What?” he asked, mouth full of breakfast food.
“Sorry.” She bit her lip to tamp down the shock. “You just . . . Wow, you eat fast.”
His cheeks filled with color, and he wiped his mouth and set his fork down. “Yeah. I always have. I come from a huge family, most of them athletes growing up, and if you wanted a full plate, you had to eat before somebody else came along to take it from you.”
She nodded slowly. Her own family meals growing up were mostly silent. Her grouchy, overworked father—when he could be bothered to attend dinner at all—was usually too exhausted from a day on Wall Street to put effort into family conversation. Her mother picked at her sparse plate in an endless effort at achieving her goal weight, and Isaac texted his way through meals. Sometimes Bee brought a book.
“You know you’re an adult now, right?” Bee teased. “You can order ten more plates if you’re still hungry. And aside from me snagging a potato, no one’s taking your food from you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his sparkly eyes lighting on her once again. “No way in hell am I giving you a potato.”
“Who said anything about giving?” In one quick movement, she speared a crispy potato with her fork and popped it into her mouth.
His grin curled further, revealing the edges of his straight, white teeth. “Well, that’s it. You forfeit these.”
He grabbed the nearly full plate of pancakes in front of her and set it down on his side of the table. “That’s the rule. You take from me, I take from you.”
“Unless you want a fork in your arm, I suggest you give that back.”
They stared goofily at each other, their smiles belying their threats. He locked eyes with her as he dug into her stack of pancakes, cutting off a huge triangle and shoving it into his mouth.
If you kissed him now, he’d taste like butter and syrup. She exhaled, admonishing herself. She couldn’t keep the lusty thoughts at bay.
This boy might ruin you.
After breakfast they drove a few miles north to Donnerville, where Adirondack Home Furnishings promised a wealth of mountain-themed decor. The sprawling store looked more like Bass Pro Shop than the quaint little place she’d anticipated, but when they entered, Denny’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Holy shit.” He bounded over to an eight-foot taxidermied black bear positioned next to the entrance in a frozen but ominous pose and ran his long fingers through the fur. “We gotta get this.”
“Hi there!” A tiny salesman approached, a
perma-grin pressed onto his round face. The top of his head gleamed like a cue ball, and he ran a hand over it before extending his reach to Denny. “Welcome to Adirondack Home Furnishings. I see you’ve got great taste.”
“We definitely want this,” Denny said.
“No,” Bee said, stepping in between the men. “I mean, possibly. For now, we’re going to keep looking.”
Denny shot her a confused glare. “We can look for other stuff, but I know I want this.”
She gritted her teeth. The last thing she needed was for the salesman to think they were impulse buyers with a lot of money. Worst case scenario, he recognized the wealthy football player standing in front of him.
“We just walked in,” she said. “Let’s see what else is available, all right?”
“Whoa-ho-ho,” the salesman laughed. “I see who wears the pants in this marriage.”
“You see who wears the what now?” she snapped.
“All right, just chill out.” Denny put his big paws on her shoulders and steered her away from the entrance. “Thanks, man. We’ll let you know if we need anything.”
Bee’s face flushed with anger as Denny led her into a secluded aisle featuring racks of scented candles.
“Take it easy, yeah?” he said. “I’ve got money. And that was cool as hell.”
“We’re here for inspiration,” she reminded him. “I can get all this stuff at swap meets, garage sales, wholesalers. This place is tourist central, and everything is marked up like crazy. Plus, anybody who tosses out a misogynist line like ‘Who wears the pants’ does not deserve a dollar of our business.”
“Was it that?” he said, grinning. “Or did it piss you off that he thought we were married?”
Her stomach fluttered as she looked up into his amused face. The guy must’ve been a terrible poker player.
“I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I’m not some badass, anticommitment city chick. Marriage doesn’t scare me. And some random dude in Hicksville, USA, assuming I’m your wife scares me even less.”
Or maybe it made me super turned on.
“Hicksville?” His grin morphed from amused to disappointed. “Don’t discount the people here. They might not know the difference between types of caviar, but they’ll help you out when you need it. You of all people should know how valuable that can be.”
He moved down the aisle, and she stood in her embarrassment. Of course she knew how valuable generosity could be. She’d essentially dedicated her whole life to taking care of other people, no matter if they thanked her or not.
The truth was, she was a fish out of water in North Country. Her defenses rose sky-high the minute Sydney’s pickup truck pulled off the highway and onto the single lane road leading into Pine Ridge. What if instead of being embraced by the town, she was shunned? Mocked and held at arm’s length because she came from someplace else? She’d been treated as an outcast in her family by everyone but her brother throughout her entire adolescence, and she’d sooner cut off her own arm than be made to feel that way again.
She’d settled into a comfortable existence in Manhattan, surrounded and supported by a community she’d never experienced or expected. Now that she found herself submerged in so-called normalcy, she’d never felt so exposed.
With her heart in her stomach, she wandered the store and found Denny in the bedroom furniture department. He stood stone-faced next to a four-poster bed made out of logs and covered with a buffalo plaid duvet.
“This is . . . something.” She touched the smooth lacquered wood and tried to find a redeeming quality. “Fits the theme.”
“I like it,” he said. “Is it cheesy?”
She studied his face before proceeding. He seemed strangely affected by the bed, and she didn’t want to insult him. “Maybe? But that’s fine. Today I just want you to tell me what you’re drawn to, and then I’ll come up with some renderings and swatches and mood boards to show you. We don’t have to make any decisions today.”
He ran a hand up one of the four posters, and she admired the tendons popping out of his thumb and wrist and trailing up into his forearm. Her brain made the short leap to imagining him on the football field. She’d never lusted after athletes, but the strength in one of this man’s appendages distracted her in an alarming way.
“Maybe something like this in the guest room,” he said. His eyes remained trained on the bed, the blank stare frozen on his face.
“You could also tell me if you’re looking for something specific, with your parents in mind.”
Finally, his eyes flickered away from the bed and over to her. “Yeah? Is that weird? They’ll probably be the ones to stay in the guest room most often.”
“Not weird at all. It’s your house. I want to turn it into something you’ll love. Every room of it.”
He stared at her for another moment before licking his lips and letting his hand fall from the bed frame. “My parents have really high standards.”
Over the years, Bee had honed her ability to pick up on the tiny threads people tossed out in conversation. Threads they wanted you to tug on.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He looked back at the bed. “I mean, disgustingly high. My younger siblings are all really successful. I’ve got a brother who’s a doctor, a sister who owns a tech startup she’s in talks about selling to Google, and another brother premed. I’m the delinquent child.”
Her heart seized up. “You are not.”
He tossed her another glance, his lip quirked in a half sneer. “You don’t have to say that. I am definitely the black sheep of my family. I basically gave up a career in professional sports. I gave up a lot of money.”
She waited patiently for him to continue, giving him the space to open up in his own time.
“It just never seemed that important,” he said. “I worked really hard at football, but I also happened to be good at it. I loved hanging with my teammates and running plays and practice. But the struggle never really seemed worth the payoff, you know? The money was nice, I guess. When you’re in the NFL for long enough, though, you see the really ugly side, and after a while I didn’t know what I was working so hard for anymore. What I was putting up with all of it for.”
She nodded slowly. His story was textbook. A kid who’d had to earn every inch of his parents’ affection and spent his whole life working at the one thing he thought they loved about him. No matter what he did next in life, it would always be subpar.
“You never had fun playing?” she asked.
“Eh. Sometimes. They make you do charity work in the city you play for, and I always liked doing that. Working with little kids or serving people in shelters.” His sharp cheekbones shifted, the tiniest hint of a dimple appearing in his cheek. “But that’s such a small part of it. I hated the pressure. The way they could make you feel like cattle. I hated seeing guys get cut or traded. As I got older, I couldn’t figure out the reason for putting myself through all that.”
He ran a hand through his silky dark hair and then pasted on an easy smile. “Sorry. You didn’t realize I hired you to be my therapist, too, huh?”
“I’ve been told I’m easy to talk to,” she said. “So I don’t mind.”
His face softened, his eyes zeroing in on hers. “You are. Easy to talk to, I mean.”
A fluttering between her legs made her clear her throat and take a step backward. A dangerous thought wiggled its way into her brain. What if they slept together—no strings attached? People did it all the time. They’d never end up together in a serious way, but what harm could come from helping each other out every once in a while?
The vibe between them flowed like ocean waves: powerful and undeniable. He must have felt it, too. She pressed her lips together, watching him, studying his angular face, and wondering if he’d considered the same scenario.
He flashed his teeth
at her, breaking the reverie. “Wanna take a look at the couches and stuff?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. They wandered slowly through lanes of plaid couches, patchwork leather armchairs, and deerskin lamps. Everything screamed “mountain kitsch,” while Bee wanted “mountain chic.” His place would look so much better filled with minimal pieces with rustic appeal.
She pulled out her phone to tap a note to herself while he sidled up next to her.
“Let’s go out for dinner tonight,” he said. “You haven’t seen the town yet, and on Wednesday nights Taylor’s has trivia. It sounds lame, but it’s really fun. Everybody goes. Mila, Jared, Sam, Sydney. A bunch of their other friends.”
Dinner. She breathed deep, imagining that handsome, chiseled face lit by candlelight. Then she imagined a room full of people who all knew each other, friends who had already achieved a natural ebb and flow in their relationships. Without Johnny and Abe to lean on, she’d be on the outside. Again.
She gnawed her lip. “Well . . .”
Disappointment lined his eyes. She’d already caused that sad puppy face three times in the twenty-four hours she’d been in Pine Ridge. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so bad with Denny accompanying her.
“Okay,” she said. But no candles. “But someplace casual.”
“Really?” His whole face lit up and something small and quiet eased, down deep in her soul.
“Really.” She sucked on her cheeks to contain her smile. “I mean, you don’t even have Wi-Fi in the guesthouse. What else am I gonna do, read a book?”
“Oh shit.” He smacked a palm to his head and tugged at his wild hair. “There’s no Wi-Fi in the guesthouse. I didn’t even think of that. Whenever you need it, come to the house. There’s a key on that set I gave you, and I’ll write the alarm code down for you. You’re totally welcome. Any time.”
“Thank you.”
“All right.” He crossed his arms over his chest, settling into a satisfied stance. “Dinner tonight. And then trivia after. It’s not club hopping in Manhattan, but it’s gonna be fun. I promise.”
Sweet Love Page 29
