by Jill Shalvis
She loved both cities, but…there was no place like home.
She bussed her way to her apartment in the Pacific Pier Building of the Cow Hollow District. Not coincidentally, the same building that housed The Canvas Shop, the tattoo parlor that Rocco had taken over from his and Diego’s father.
Diego… Seeing him today had thrown her. She’d known he would be there, of course, but nothing could have prepared her for coming face-to-face with him ten years after he’d broken her heart and then stomped on it for good measure.
So why the hell he’d implied that it’d been her to destroy them was beyond her. Just thinking about it had her stewing all over again. She rubbed her aching chest, giving her heart a stern talking to. Stop getting involved, your job is to pump blood, and that’s it.
It would have helped if Diego hadn’t looked so good. Say maybe having lost some of that thick, sinfully wavy dark hair of his so her fingers hadn’t itched to sink into it. Or even better, if he’d grown love handles.
But neither of those things had happened. What had happened was that Diego had grown into all his long, lean, lanky inches and then some. The boy she’d once known and loved was long gone, not a trace of him left except for those whiskey-colored eyes. The man he’d become—tall, strong, and attitude-riddled—was a stranger to her.
He would stay that way.
And maybe if she repeated it enough to herself, she’d actually believe it.
Getting off the bus, she walked through the cobblestoned courtyard of her building. Usually, she took her time here, enjoying the glorious old architecture, the corbeled brick and exposed iron trusses, the big windows. But the evening was chilly, and her feet hurt.
She passed The Canvas Shop. Just inside the big picture window, she could see Rocco working on a client, as well as Sadie and Mini Moe, two of his best tattoo artists, as they did the same. Sadie’s better half, Caleb, was there too, making everyone laugh.
Sadie had become a dear friend, and Daisy often stopped in at this time of night so they could all order in takeout and share.
But tonight, she needed to be alone.
She took the elevator to the fourth floor because her poor toes were screaming at her. It’d been a case of beauty versus comfort with her heels that morning, and she’d stupidly chosen style.
Letting herself into her apartment, she immediately stripped, put on PJs, and…ate everything in her fridge. Then she put on Netflix and grabbed the ice cream from the freezer.
Some days required more self-care than others.
She’d just gotten comfy when a knock came at her door. Damn. Setting aside the carton of rocky road, she got up, leaned into the peephole and stilled. Oh shit.
Diego.
She stepped back and had a pep-talk with herself. Okay, remember…you are not the sweet, innocent little thing you once were. The one who fell head over heels for that crooked smile. You’re a grownup, a professional, and you don’t need no stinkin’ man—
He knocked again, and she jumped a little. What is he doing here? He’d made it clear earlier what she’d already known, that he hadn’t missed her, probably hadn’t given her a single thought in all these years.
It rankled that she couldn’t say the same, though it wasn’t from lack of trying. She’d done her best to get over him, but he’d been soul-deep. And that was hard to exhume.
His voice came again, surprisingly low, but she could hear him clearly enough. “Daisy, I know you’re in there. I can smell the wheels burning.”
Rolling her eyes at both of them, she opened the door to find him standing there, hands resting above him on the doorjamb, filling the space with that big, tough body that had once upon a time made hers sing the hallelujah chorus.
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “Yeah, trust me, I’m not thrilled either,” he said. “What was that crack about me putting you second?”
“Why do you care?”
Looking surprised, he opened his mouth but then shut it again with a small shake of his head as if he couldn’t process her question. Instead of answering, he brushed past her to enter.
“Gee,” she said dryly. “Come on in.”
He looked around the small but cozy apartment she loved because it was home in a way no other place had ever been. She could tell that he didn’t miss anything, including the fact that her TV was paused on Netflix, there was a gallon of ice cream sitting open on the coffee table with a wooden spoon sticking out of it, and a slightly embarrassingly large glass of wine sat nearby. He turned to face her.
Yes, she knew what he’d been up to. Her stalking skills were even better than her event planning skills, and she prided herself on being the best at that. He had an Instagram account that he was annoyingly stingy about posting on, but she’d managed to learn some things. Such as when she left for New York to take her scholarship, he’d stayed here in San Francisco, taking care of his dad after his debilitating stroke and running The Canvas Shop. After his dad’s death, Diego had left for San Diego, and as far as she could tell, he’d not been back since.
Until now.
“I care,” Diego said, startling her.
“Huh.” She nodded. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
He stood still, watching her, his energy deceptively relaxed. Because he wasn’t. Relaxed. It’d been nearly a decade since she’d been wrapped around that gorgeous body, but she still knew it almost better than she knew her own.
“I thought we should talk,” he said.
“Okay, and here’s what I think,” she said carefully. “One, you’re the best man of your brother’s wedding. Two, I’m the wedding planner. Three, we’re doing this for Rocco. And none of those things are going to change, correct?”
He nodded curtly.
“So then, we have no choice,” she said. “We have to get through this. I suggest we make a pact.”
“A pact.”
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes darkened, and just like that, she was thrown back in time to the way they’d been. Young. Sweet. Ridiculously in love. And competitive as hell. They’d made a lot of pacts in those days. Actually, more like dares. Who could outrun the other to the pier and back. Who could get their homework done the fastest. Who could make better cinnamon and sugar toast… Each bet had come with a prize—winner’s choice, of course. And since neither ever had a cent to their name, the bounty had almost always been sexual.
She’d often counted on it.
The memories in his gaze had her swallowing hard. “The pact is we avoid each other whenever possible,” she said.
Now, he looked amused. “How do you suggest we do that when we’re going to be in the same room more often than not?”
“We both know there are ways to avoid someone even if they’re standing right next to you.”
This got her another long look from him, and she lifted her chin. “I suggest we start right now.”
When he didn’t respond to that, she picked up her glass of wine and drank it all. Liquid courage and all that. “I’m going to take your silence as agreement.” She set down the now-empty glass. “So, let’s call this happy reunion over and done so you can let me get back to my life.”
“It’s seven o’clock, and you’re in your PJs drinking wine and eating ice cream by the gallon. And your Netflix screen is flashing ‘do you want to keep watching’ messages.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe my social life is so full that this is the first night I’ve been alone in forever. Maybe I just want to Netflix and chill without talking.”
He just looked at her for a long beat, not saying a word, but she could once again see a tiny smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. This time, the expression was devoid of sarcasm and far more genuine. Warm, even. Which led to other thoughts about that sexy mouth of his.
Wait. Stop. Dammit. Note to self: no more wine while Diego’s in town!
Instead of leaving, he took the few steps to close the space between them, making her suck
in a breath because there’d always been something about being this close to him, something that constantly had her body humming just beneath her skin with anticipation and hunger and need.
She’d told herself it was because he’d been her first love, and a girl never forgot that guy. But why in the world did she still feel it? Managing to not take a step back—or let’s be honest, a step into him—she kept herself still except to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “What?”
“We’ll play this your way,” he said quietly. “We’ll do our best to avoid each other.”
“Good.”
He nodded once. “But—”
“No buts,” she said quickly.
“But…” he went on, undeterred, “if you ever want to Netflix and chill without talking with a warm body next to yours, let me know.”
She was still staring at him in utter shock when he gave a quick shake of his head like he was amused and also annoyed by both of them, before walking out and quietly closing the door behind him.
Chapter 3
Diego might have lived in San Diego for the past few years, but he still had friends in San Francisco. He’d grown up here, in more ways than one, and sometimes it was the early connections one made that stuck more than others.
Wes had been Diego’s childhood best friend. He now ran a mechanic shop in the Castro district, and it was he who’d lent Diego the Harley. After coercing Diego into buying him a late dinner, Diego had taken the Harley on a long drive throughout the city. Because, for some reason, he’d thought that going down Memory Lane would be a good idea.
Newsflash, it wasn’t.
He went to North Beach and idled on a quiet street in front of a small Victorian home. He and Rocco had grown up in that house. Their mom had died when Diego was a baby, and he didn’t remember anything about her, which he’d long ago convinced himself was for the best. His earliest memory was of being five years old and climbing the tree in the front yard after his dad had told him not to. Not ten minutes later, he’d fallen out of the tree and broken his arm.
But even remembering the sickening pain of having the bones reset hadn’t taught him to listen to his dad.
He’d been twelve when he snuck out with some pilfered booze and ended up in the garage with the fifteen-year-old, much wiser twin girls from next door. His dad had beaten the shit out of him for that one, but even that couldn’t take away the smile and experience that garage visit had given him.
By fifteen, Diego had pretty much run wild and free. He’d landed in trouble at school with grades and other things, and he’d been given a choice—be expelled, or straighten up and turn his shit around. Fast.
So, he’d tried to turn his shit around.
His dad had arranged for tutoring, and his life had been forever changed by the sweetest, kindest girl he’d ever met.
Daisy.
As it happened, she’d had it just as rough growing up as he had, only she wasn’t constantly toeing the line—or worse, trying to obliterate it. She just quietly and unassumingly took in everything she could to make sure that she had the tools she needed to make it out.
And she’d done just that, leaving him behind. And with some dubious maturity, he couldn’t even be mad. He was proud of her. Proud as hell.
But, damn. He still missed her.
* * * *
The next morning, Diego parked Wes’s bike in the bakery lot. Bracing himself for another battle, he strode inside for the dreaded cake tasting. He was right on time, which was why he was surprised to find the place empty.
The door opened behind him, and he knew without even turning around who the clicking heels belonged to.
Daisy came up to his side and eyed the empty place. “Huh,” she said and pulled out her phone to check the time. “Huh,” she said again.
“Maybe Rocco and Tyler eloped,” he said hopefully.
She snorted and muttered something beneath her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I couldn’t possibly have gotten that lucky.”
“Hey,” he said, turning to her. “I’m a delight.”
She managed to keep a straight face for a full second before she laughed.
And while he wanted to be annoyed as hell, he couldn’t. Because…her laugh. It was like fresh grass after the rain. A wide-open road late at night with a full tank of gas and a full moon. It was both Heaven and Hell. Because, damn. He didn’t want to be moved by her laugh. He didn’t want to be moved by her at all.
A young woman came out from the back of the shop and smiled at them from behind the front counter. “How can I help you?”
“We’re here for a cake tasting appointment,” Daisy said. “For Rocco Stone and Tyler Houston.”
The woman nodded and opened a laptop to check her schedule. “Yes, I’ve got everything set up for the two of you.” She smiled at them. “You’re going to make a gorgeous wedding couple.”
“Oh, no, we’re not the couple,” Daisy said quickly with a laugh as if it was the most ridiculous, asinine thing that they might be a couple. Even though, once upon a time, she’d promised Diego forever.
She’d either forgotten, or she was enjoying twisting the knife.
“I’m the wedding planner,” Daisy went on, then made a vague gesture at Diego. “And he’s the best man.” Her phone buzzed from inside her purse. “Excuse me a minute,” she said, fishing out her cell. She looked at the screen and then at Diego before answering. “Rocco. You and Tyler running late?” She paused, head tilted as she listened, her eyes slowly narrowed. “Uh-huh… Traffic on Divisadero…okay, sure, hold on.” She held out her phone to Diego. “He wants to talk to you.”
Diego put the cell to his ear and let his silence speak for him.
“Listen,” Rocco said quietly as if trying to keep Tyler from overhearing him. “So, we’re stuck in traffic. We’re not going to make it.”
Diego responded to the bullshit story with more silence.
“So…here’s the thing,” Rocco went on when he clearly got that Diego wasn’t going to make it easy. “Daisy is one of my dearest friends. I love her madly, but she’s going to side with Tyler on everything. I need your opinion in there. So, can you hang out and make sure I don’t get some sort of mango filling with a green tea cake or something like that? Oh, and no flowers on the cake, okay? Nothing frou-frou. And we don’t need any fancy, high-tiered cake with a figurine on the top either. None of that gay shit. And, yeah, I know, I heard it as I spoke, but I like what I like.”
“You really think you should trust me with all that?” Diego asked, feeling a twinge of amusement.
“Please,” Rocco said, sounding sincerely worried. “Nothing frou-frou.”
Diego took great satisfaction out of disconnecting without making any promises. He looked up at the baker. “All right, let’s get this over with.”
Daisy slid him a dirty look, which he returned with an innocent what look of his own.
“Be nice,” she mouthed.
The baker smiled nervously and turned to lead them to a table decked out with champagne and testing-size cakes galore. “We’ve got all sorts of different things to try,” she said. “But is there anything you’d like to start with?”
“Let’s just go with the basics,” Diego said. “No reason to make this a whole big drawn-out thing and keep you from…baking.”
“Oh, no worries,” she said with a smile. “We set aside an hour and a half for each couple’s cake tasting.”
Diego blinked in disbelief. An hour and a half? “Are you serious?”
Daisy shot him another look. “This is serious, you can’t just blow through this like you do everything else.” She turned to the baker. “Tyler, one of the grooms, was hoping for mango filling. And he was very interested in green tea-flavored cake. He said you had cupcakes like that, and they were the most delicious things he’d ever tasted.”
The baker nodded enthusiastically and looked over at Diego. “And the other groom…?”
Diego smiled, suddenly feeli
ng a whole lot better about the day. “He’d want to make Tyler happy.”
Daisy took in his smile and blinked before biting her lower lip.
The way she used to when she wanted to be kissed.
And, just like that, he went from smug as hell to…damn. Something else entirely.
The baker took in the strained silence between them and jumped up. “Let me get us some samples!”
When she was gone, Daisy leaned across the table. “You’re up to something.”
Most definitely, babe. Not that he could remember what at the moment. She was probably completely unaware that her blouse gaped, revealing swells of creamy breasts and a strip of cream-colored lace that matched her skin and made his mouth water.
“Diego,” she whispered warningly, her eyes suspicious.
He just smiled, and then the baker was back with samples of green tea cake with mango filling. They both dove in, taking their first bite at the same time. Diego nearly choked on his, having to fight to not visibly recoil.
But not Daisy. She moaned in pleasure and then licked her fork. And then her lips… “This is the one,” she said.
“I’ll make a note,” the baker said with a nod. “But you still have a lot of time left and a bunch of other options to try.”
“Great!” Daisy said happily, and Diego couldn’t help but smile at her.
Back when they’d been together, they’d eaten cheaply. Ramen. Apples and peanut butter. Whatever they had to do. She’d loved saving a penny, loved free shit. Apparently, she still did.
It was way too fucking cute.
But that wore off quickly. A painfully long hour—and way too much sugar—later, the baker was finally writing up the order for green tea cake with mango filling. “How many tiers?”
“Oh,” Daisy said, lighting up. “Tyler loves tiers. Maybe three?”
They both looked at Diego, who was still fighting his physical responses to Daisy enjoying her cake.
“No tiers,” Rocco had said.
“Three sounds good,” Diego said. “Maybe even four. So, we’re done here, right?”
