by Jean Oram
“Don’t say they’re not good enough.”
“They weren’t good enough to get into a gallery.”
“You tried just one and gave up.”
“So?”
“So?” he retorted just as quickly.
“Are we fighting again?”
“Yup.”
“How are we going to make up?” she teased, a flicker of raw temptation coursing through her smoky amber eyes.
This was it. A test. A pop quiz. One he had to take, but wasn’t sure he could pass.
He allowed his gaze to trail over her bare legs, then up over her shorts, all the way to her smiling eyes. Her lips curved upward like those of the Cheshire cat.
“I have a few ideas,” he said, his voice husky.
“Do you?” Her eyebrows darted upward, giving him the go-ahead.
Fun and games. His wife was back to the Amy he knew and loved. No weirdness. No awkwardness. Just best friends who could dish the heat without anything but a few laughs ever coming from it.
Perfect.
Perfectly unsatisfying.
He pushed another unopened box against her chest. “Unpack, then we’ll make an appointment to get you knocked up.”
Her expression dropped into a fake pout. “That’s nowhere near as fun as I was imagining.”
“You’ll get used to it.” There was no need to press their luck. Not yet, anyway.
“I hope not.” She gave him a teasing, promising laugh that sent shivers of anticipation down his spine.
It was going to be a very long marriage.
Amy was relieved that things were heading back to normal, and that she and Moe could still manage a touch of heat in each other’s gaze without starting something that would lead to awkwardness.
They’d moved to the spare bedroom, which would serve as a small home office and guest room, and hopefully soon a nursery.
Moe had insisted on hanging her framed nursing degree and now stood back, making sure it was level. “I booked us a honeymoon.”
Amy’s heart picked up speed. “Honeymoon?”
“I mean a getaway,” he said quickly, looking so uncomfortable she had to laugh. “My cousin Dallas over in Indigo Bay, South Carolina, gave us a steep discount on one of his resort’s cottage rentals along the beach as a wedding gift. I booked us in for two days at the end of August.”
How could they afford that?
No, Moe would have planned ahead, saved up.
Which was really sweet. So sweet it tugged at her heart.
“Are you falling for everyone’s predictions about how our marriage is going to become real?” she asked.
Moe pursed his lips, but when he caught the mirth in her gaze, he let out a burst of laughter. “It is pretty nuts, isn’t it?”
“It’s like everyone has forgotten how every time we tried to make our friendship something more it fell flat.” She tried to rub away the sharp sting of loss that had taken up residence in her chest. Moe was so perfect, it would have been great if it had worked out.
But it hadn’t.
“What happened to us, anyway?” Moe asked, facing her more fully.
She shrugged. “We just sort of fizzled.”
“Fizzled.” He squinted into the distance, looking contemplative.
“We’re too different.”
“You like action and adventure.”
“And you like steady and reliable.” She squeezed his arm affectionately and he refocused his gaze on the shirts she’d used as padding around her framed items. He began folding them neatly.
“Anyway,” he said, “I can cancel the ‘honeymoon.’ It was just a thought. A getaway before the kids start coming and it becomes harder to slip away.”
“It’s so cute that you’re worried I’m going to think you’re trying to woo me with this trip.” She danced around him, letting her fingers trail across his shoulder blades. “Do you have a widdle crushy-wushy on your wifey?”
He dropped the shirt he was folding and reached for the phone in his back pocket. “I’m canceling.”
“No.” She laughed and placed her hands over his, blocking him from unlocking his phone. “I think we should go. It’s a sweet idea. Wasn’t Ginger there not too long ago? She said it was fabulous.”
“Yeah, she went back. It’s where she and Logan met, when she went for that workshop.”
“How do you remember that stuff?” She’d bet if she quizzed him, he’d know where most of the couples in town had met.
“People tell me things. I listen.” He spoke slowly and clearly, no doubt trying to annoy her. “I’m a good listener, in case you failed to notice.”
“Is that why you get good tips at the pub, when all you do is pour beer without too much head?”
“I’m also good-looking, and show them a bit of leg every now and again.”
Amy plunked herself on the guest bed, sitting cross-legged. “How did we meet?”
He frowned as though thinking. “I don’t remember.”
She grinned, knowing he would never forget the rather embarrassing incident. “Really? You don’t remember falling on the ice so badly that you bruised your prostate and came into the ER because your bladder was full, and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it?”
The incident had happened shortly after she’d taken the nursing job in Blueberry Springs—just one town over from where her parents had recently moved.
“I try to forget,” he said, his cheeks an endearing shade of fire engine red.
She stood, grasping his shirt to tug him closer as she whispered against his ear, “I don’t.”
He shivered. Or maybe it was a shudder. She wasn’t sure which.
He’d been such a good sport that she hadn’t been able to help but like him. Especially since he’d been out on the glassy lake trying to save a poor yearling doe slipping and sliding on the ice, unable to get away from a pack of coyotes intent on having her as a midwinter meal. Moe had rushed to chase them off, and had ended up taking a hard spill.
“You really don’t understand the concept of sexy talk, do you?” he said.
She still had his shirt bunched in her hand, keeping him close. He was warm and smelled heavenly—like good memories. She forced herself to release him instead of curling against him and kissing him, long and slow.
“So you’re taking me to Indigo Bay to revive the spark in our dying relationship?”
“Ha,” Moe deadpanned. “That spark died long ago. If there ever was one.”
He pulled a frying pan from a nearby box, tossing it onto the bed as he continued his excavation. He seemed intent on getting her unpacked in less than twenty-four hours.
“You’re no fun.”
He didn’t react, so she poked him in the ribs. Before she knew it he had gripped her around the waist and bent her backward, supporting her comfortably. “Oh, darling,” he said in a crisp accent, his lips inches from hers. “I miss the days of yore where we went at it like rabbits, sparks flying, lighting our world on fire.”
“Sounds dangerous, Mr. Days of Yore.” Her words were coming out all breathy. “And where was I when all this rabbit business was happening?”
He swept her upright again.
“It’s like driving down Main Street. You blink, you miss it.” He went back to the kitchen to continue unpacking her things, and she followed. “What’s this?” He held up a spray bottle half filled with liquid.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You lasted much longer than a second or two.” She took the container from his grip, trying to distract herself from the flood of intimate memories. “It’s for dampening my hair to make my curls behave.”
“Why was it in with all of this?” He was twisting the nozzle, testing the effect until the mist became a jet of spray. She’d have to remember to readjust it next time she did her hair or she’d shoot herself with a stream of water.
“Because it was in my kitchen.”
He nodded, as if her packing system made sense. It didn’t, bu
t in some crazy way he likely understood it better than she did.
She breathed deeply, taking in their new home. A cute bungalow built in the nineties, it had a powder-blue-tiled backsplash behind the sink, and pink floral wallpaper borders at waist level in each hallway, as well as a foot down from the ceiling in the kitchen. Other than those dated touches, it was perfect. It even had a big fenced backyard, so there’d be no worries about bears wandering through while the kids were out playing.
And despite the boxes everywhere, she already felt at home. She pulled Moe into a spontaneous hug, and after a slight hesitation, his hands landed on her waist again.
“You’re the best,” she said against his chest.
“In bed?”
She lightly batted him away. “What is it with men always thinking about sex?”
“You started the innuendos.”
She stuck out her tongue.
“Is that an offer?” He gave her a dark, hungry look. There was a flare of something that wasn’t usually present in their playful banter, and she wasn’t sure whether to hit the brakes or the gas pedal.
“What would you like it to be?” She twisted, rolling one shoulder and sending him a haughty, simmering look that drove most men a little bit wild.
Moe was after her in a second, and Amy squealed when he attacked her with the water bottle, the cold spray hitting her neck, then her bare legs.
Laughing, she tore through the house, seeking refuge as he continued to chase her. She ripped through the living room, stubbing her toe on the couch leg in the process. “Ouch!” she cried, lifting her foot and cradling it in her hands as she hopped on the other one. “Time-out! Time-out! I’m hurt.”
She fell backward onto the sofa, her hair tumbling around her face.
“Are you faking?” Moe narrowed his eyes, the spray bottle directed ruthlessly at her chin.
“No!” she insisted, still clutching her toe.
He squirted her anyway, the stream of cool water wetting her cheek.
“Hey! No fair! I called time-out.”
“That was in case you’re trying to pull a fast one on me.” He sat beside her. “Is this the poor widdle baby who got hurty-wurty?” He spared her toe the briefest glance.
“It hurts.”
“This’ll help.” He secured her foot between his strong hands and began tickling her sensitive arch. She squirmed and bucked, laughing.
Fearing she’d void her bladder before Moe ever relented, she summoned her strength for a counterattack. When her fingers slipped under his shirt he jolted upright, slamming his arms to his sides in an attempt to block her from reaching his ticklish ribs.
“Not fair!”
“Totally fair.” She pushed her fingers to the spots he was trying to protect, crawling over him to gain leverage. He tumbled against the arm of the couch as she continued her attack. He was clamping his mouth shut as though it was possible to keep the laughter inside, his breath coming out in deep huffs.
“I’m not ticklish!” he exclaimed, struggling to maintain a straight face. Then suddenly he was on the offense again, rolling her off him and onto the floor beside the couch, his long body pinning her to the rug with its delicious weight. She wrapped her legs around him, thinking she’d flip him over, but as he pressed closer to reduce her leverage, their hips meeting, their noses brushing as electricity arced between them, they both froze, the air stilling around them.
“Hi,” she breathed.
“Hi yourself.”
Was he going to kiss her?
Was she going to kiss him?
His solid body felt right pressed into her, and whatever it was that had appeared during their wedding kiss resurfaced, simmering between them, dark and dangerous, and entirely too tempting.
“You know we’re in the perfect position to make out right now,” Moe said.
She made a soft sound of agreement.
“And we’re married.” His tone was matter-of-fact, almost cavalier.
They stared at each other for a weighted moment, considering their options.
“You’re a good kisser,” Amy replied, unsure why she was nudging them toward the forbidden, slightly fraught territory of more-than-friends.
“It could make things complicated and awkward.”
“It would be risky,” she agreed.
His body had settled against hers and she wanted to keep him there forever. He tenderly brushed a lock of hair off her cheek as her body hummed a familiar tune. She had a feeling that when it came to the lyrics, Moe’s soul knew every word.
“Are we ready for risk-taking?” he whispered. His mouth had drifted closer to hers and her eyelids fluttered. He lightly dragged a finger over her lower lip and she parted the tingling flesh.
“It would be foolish,” she whispered back. She wanted to kiss him, but knew she had to hold back, though she was unsure she could.
“Utterly foolish.”
She breathed her reply. “Completely.”
“Entirely.”
“Wholly.”
“I can’t think of another synonym,” he said.
“Satisfyingly complex and erroneous?” she suggested, her eyes opening.
“That’s more than one word.”
They were coming back around, their brains reengaging and putting them back into the safety zone of friends, not lovers. She swallowed her disappointment, trying to find relief, so she could focus on it instead.
She was having trouble.
Moe blinked, then cleared his throat as he slid off her, the mood that had been building between them dissolving like it had never existed.
They were back in the friend zone. Right where they belonged.
But she found that it was the one place she didn’t want to be. Not with Moe.
Amy fanned herself as she trailed after Moe, heading back to the kitchen. She’d almost kissed him. Almost let things go way too far. Deliciously far.
What was wrong with her? They were supposed to be normal. Not act like hormone-crazed lovers. If she gave in, what would she do if this time things didn’t settle back into an amicable friendship? There was so much more than just their friendship at stake.
Was it the idea of making babies sending her brain into a tizzy? Because they didn’t need to do that to create offspring. Nope. It was walk into the fertility clinic, have the qualified staff take care of a few things, then walk out pregnant.
She needed to put her head back on straight so this little attraction problem she seemed to be facing could fade away. Just like it always did.
No spouses with benefits. Nope. Not for them.
“It’s hot in here,” she said, when Moe caught her fanning herself.
“Nah, it’s just you.” He gave her a wink and she brushed his arm with a hand, a gesture meant to show that she was still cool with things, able to take their flirting in stride without it messing with her mind. But the touch electrified her flesh, sending tingles zinging all the way up her body, then back down again.
She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders, trying to work away the attraction. Every time she thought she had it licked, it was there again like an addiction to cigarettes. Just one whiff of the sweet smoke and she was twitching for a drag even though she hadn’t touched cigarettes in nearly fifteen years, having quickly outgrown the need to use the stinky things as a way to get under her parents’ skin, and finding boyfriends a much healthier avenue.
Spying a stack of envelopes sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, she attacked them, scooping one up, her gaze catching the mailing address. In surprise, she asked, “You’re already getting your mail here?”
“I do live here.”
Leaving her forwarding address with the postal service was still on her to-do list. That, among many other things. She was more behind than she’d thought, thanks to putting on that wedding.
She went to set the letter down, but the return address had her pulling the folded paper out of the envelope. She caught herself and asked, �
�May I?”
It was from Cesar Phipps’s daughter, Kimi.
“Is this a bonus for all the work you’ve been doing at the pub?” she asked. She knew it was some sort of trial period set up by Cesar’s estate, but did he really want to be a manager? She didn’t think so. The new, extra work was making him cranky. But she could tell the lure of being in charge appealed to a part of him he usually tried to ignore, as it was too much like his father’s way of thinking. She wasn’t sure what would happen if he said no to managing the pub in September, but it probably wasn’t much worse than having him run ragged taking care of everything.
Talking to him about the pub was just one more thing she hadn’t had time to do over the past few weeks.
Moe shifted, opening the fridge and taking out a beer. “Want one?”
Amy shook her head. Then realizing her drinking days were likely numbered once they started trying to make a baby, she changed her mind and snatched Moe’s after he took the inaugural sip.
She checked the label. “It still surprises me you don’t stock beer brewed in the pub you manage.”
“I’m not the manager.”
“You have been for years. And will be officially until September—you’ve just never had the pay or the title. Cesar took advantage of you and still is.” Amy flattened the letter and skimmed it.
“He didn’t,” Moe said sharply.
“He did.”
“He was like a father.” He pulled another beer from the fridge to replace the one she had commandeered, his expression unreadable. “He taught me a lot, as well as gave me a lot of responsibility and freedom. You can’t put a price on that.”
“I can.” She dropped the letter onto the counter. “He took advantage of you and now Kimi wants to, as well.”
Moe shot Amy a sour look that she ignored because she knew she was right.
“Kimi’s proposing a managerial partnership where you help her and she helps you,” she stated.
Moe didn’t say anything, his gaze locked on the ceiling as he took a long swallow of beer.
“She’s been running Brew, Too—the city’s pub—into the ground. She wants to use you as a life raft.”
