Accidental Sweetheart

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Accidental Sweetheart Page 5

by Elana Johnson


  Chet entered, carrying a brown paper bag as big as his torso. “I brought dinner,” he said by way of hello, and Olympia simply marveled at him.

  “Dinner?” she repeated.

  “Yes,” he said, setting the bag on the edge of her desk. “I knew you wouldn’t stop to eat tonight, and I just got off the tour, which was amazing, by the way. Have you ever taken the dolphin tours here?”

  “A couple of times,” she said, feeling homesick for some reason. It didn’t make sense either, as she still lived where she’d grown up. “My parents took us girls when we were kids, and I went for one of my dates in high school too.” She smiled and stood up. “Johnny Carlilse. He was a good date.”

  Chet watched her, and then started pulling food out of the bag. “I brought chicken parmesan with spaghetti,” he said. “You seem like you’d like Italian food.”

  “Oh, you went to Lombardo’s.” She did like the entire menu a Lombardo’s, but she didn’t need to tell Chet that. Her curves and extra love handles told everyone.

  “Nice guy, that Lombardo,” Chet said.

  “You talked to him?’

  “His son.” Chet set the plastic tray of food on the desk. “I got pasta carbonara, too, tons of that garlic cheese bread, because how can you go wrong with garlic and cheese and bread all in one?” He grinned as he continued pulling out trays. “And they have a chocolate mousse cake that Vince said I had to have. So I got two pieces.”

  “No ice cream, I see,” she said, though she’d fight him for that carbonara. How had he known what she liked?

  “Oh, we can still do that later,” he said, a promise in the words with that sexy drawl.

  She couldn’t help smiling at him. Her heart fluttered in her chest as if it had grown wings, and she mentally commanded it to stop. Like it listened.

  “What did you and Vince talk about?” she asked.

  “He was out on the street handing out samples,” he said. “Meatballs and marinara. Easy to eat on a stick. It was delicious, and I told him he was a smart businessman.” Chet shrugged and pulled his chair closer to her desk. “So what did you want? Chicken parm or carbonara?”

  “Carbonara.”

  He handed it to her, and she narrowed her eyes. “These happen to be the two things I always order from Lombardo’s.” There was a question there, but she didn’t want to ask it so blatantly.

  “I know,” he said, his green eyes hooking right into hers. “I asked Vince, and he told me what you like.” He opened the chicken parmesan and took a big breath. “I’ll eat anything, so I figured I’d go for what you liked, and you’d be in the mood for one of them.”

  Oh, she was in the mood for something, but it didn’t have anything to do with food. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him talking about her to a third party, though she supposed she’d done the same thing to him.

  He hadn’t reacted badly yesterday at lunch when she’d shown up and said she’d been looking for information about him on the Internet.

  “What was it like growing up on the island?” he asked.

  Olympia stirred her carbonara together, the scent of cream and bacon and peas making a moan gather in the back of her throat. “It was amazing,” she said. “Not going to lie.”

  He smiled at her and remained silent, encouraging her to continue.

  “I’m the oldest of five girls,” she said. “So my dad was always taking us fishing or biking or whatever.”

  “Not a big outdoorsy person,” he said.

  “Oh, I am,” she said. “But I want to wear a bikini and sit in a chair. Have someone bring me fruity drinks and fried cheese.” She grinned and shook her head. “Thankfully, my dad got a couple of girls who liked the things he did. My sister Alissa catches all of our fish each day for the restaurant, and Sheryl does all of our groundskeeping.”

  “Fascinating,” he said. “And you’re all in the family business.”

  “All of us,” she said, feeling the pride move through her. None of her sisters were married yet, though Alissa had recently—very recently—started dating Shawn Newman. Olympia didn’t think about what would happen to The Heartwood Inn in the future. In her mind, her future was filled with love, happiness, a husband, children….

  You’re forty, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, and she tried to silence it with a big bite of pasta.

  “What about you?” she asked after she’d swallowed her food. “Who’s running the plantation now?”

  “Oh, my mother has a manager,” Chet said breezily.

  “You don’t want it?”

  “Who says it would be mine?”

  “You have siblings?” she asked.

  He nodded, but he didn’t jump to tell her about them.

  “You don’t get along with them,” she said.

  “I do,” he said. “When we’re together, which doesn’t happen very often. We’re not what you’d call a close family.”

  “One of my sisters might walk through the door at any moment,” she said, actually glancing at it.

  “Eli will take over the plantation one day,” he said. “My older brother. He’s a lawyer, off building his practice in Savannah so he can retire when he’s forty-five and live the life of luxury on the plantation.”

  “Does he really need the money?” Olympia wasn’t sure how plantations worked, but most of the ones she’d heard of had old, old money that never seemed to run out.

  “No,” Chet said quietly. “But he’s a lot like me. Needs something to do all day.” Their eyes met, and Olympia felt herself slipping in her resolve not to take him up on his invitation to go on the dolphin cruise. Have him over tonight but skip the ice cream and talking and go right to the kissing.

  “I have a younger sister too,” he said, exhaling heavily. “Her name’s Lynn, and she married a man high in Southern society. It was a smart match, and most of the time I think she actually likes him.” Chet gave her another smile, but this one strained around the edges.

  He leaned forward. “I’m the black sheep, in case you haven’t figured that out.” His stage whisper struck joy in Olympia, and she laughed.

  When he joined her, she felt everything inside her soften again. Chet was easy to be with, fun to talk to, and he was real in a way Hunter had never been. Of course, Hunter couldn’t be the person he really was, because he’d been living a triple life. Maybe quadruple.

  Olympia didn’t want to know.

  But Chet wasn’t fake. Chet didn’t always say the right thing. Chet was gorgeous, and funny, and smart, and real—everything Olympia wanted.

  But she also wanted to keep her heart whole, and she knew a man like Chet could shred it bit by bit and not even know it. Heck, she wouldn’t even know it until it lay from here back to Savannah, or Atlanta, or wherever he went when summer ended.

  The scent of popcorn filled her nose, and Chet actually turned toward the door. “Doing the popcorn tonight?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I managed to find a machine from the local theater company that isn’t using it. I’ve got one of my kitchen guys on it, and we’ll see how it goes.”

  “Great.” Chet smiled, standing as he buttoned the lid back on his plastic container. “What kind of ice cream do you want tonight?”

  “Surprise me,” Olympia said, smiling up at him.

  “Oh, I will,” he said, coming around the desk. Her heart started twittering in her chest as he leaned down, closer and closer. His lips brushed her forehead, and slid over to her ear, where he whispered, “See you at ten.”

  With that, he was gone, his long legs moving him quickly around the desk and out of her office. She stared at the closed door, trembling at the heat of his touch, the way his lips had felt against her earlobe.

  Her eyes drifted closed, and she had the insane fantasy of kissing him that night, tasting whatever flavor of ice cream he brought right from that mouth.

  She’d just put the mousse cake in the paper bag to stick in her mini-fridge in the corner when someone else banged on th
e door. This knock sounded panicked, and she said, “Yes, come in.”

  Steven appeared, and he said, “Olympia, you better come down to the movie.”

  “Right now?” It had barely started, and she hadn’t been planning to go until later.

  “Yes,” he said. “Right now.”

  Chapter Eight

  Chet wandered up and down the aisles at the Pierpont grocery store, which he’d realized the locals called The Pier. They had everything regular folks could want, but their island specialty aisle was something out of a magazine.

  In fact, Chet had seen editions of Carter’s Cove magazines, and he felt certain a place like The Pier would have a double-page spread.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a man asked, a cheerful smile on his fact. He wasn’t the first to try to help Chet, and he liked and disliked the personal touch.

  “I’m wondering what the very best kind of store-specific ice cream is.” He gazed at the rows of containers before him. “I had the marshmallow yesterday, but I was able to sample it first.”

  “You can sample any of our flavors over at the cookie counter,” the man said. “But my personal favorite is the espresso.” He gazed at the case. “Or the peach pecan, if you’re not from Georgia. That’s a must-have. And the…let’s see if we have it…yep, right here. Lemon custard.” He selected a pint from the freezer case. “I love this stuff.”

  Chet could tell he loved it, and he took the pint from him. “Okay, I’ll try them all.” He loaded up his cart with a few flavors, then he wouldn’t have to come back here every day. Of course, he didn’t have much else to do, so it didn’t matter if he came every day or not.

  Cooking was his nemesis, but he’d decided he didn’t have to eat out for every meal. His stomach hadn’t been happy with his dietary choices, and he reverted to his childhood and picked up his favorite sugared cereal and a gallon of milk, a bunch of bananas, some deli meat, and a loaf of bread.

  Making sandwiches required condiments, and Chet had a real weakness for those, so by the time he finished his shopping, he had more bottles of sauces than one man needed.

  The smell of popcorn reached him from outside the inn, and he thought he’d run upstairs real quick and then come finish watching the movie. Olympia wouldn’t be done until well after that anyway, and Chet literally didn’t have anything else to do.

  As he stood in front of the elevator, he remembered he couldn’t just jaunt upstairs “real quick,” and the grocery bags laden with bottles and pints of ice cream grew heavier and heavier by the moment.

  Finally, the ding sounded and he moved forward before the doors started opening.

  “Oh,” Olympia said as they nearly crashed into one another.

  “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t step out of her way. His pulse bobbed in the back of his throat, and he wanted to crowd her right back into the car, drop his groceries, and kiss her.

  Until he looked into her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “The popcorn was a disaster,” she said. “So thanks for that tip.” She pushed past him, exiting the elevator and clicking away in those sexy heels.

  “Hey, wait,” he said, but she rounded the corner without looking back. “How could popcorn be a disaster?” he wondered to himself. The elevator doors started to close, and he was not waiting for them to open again, so he ducked inside. He needed to get rid of these groceries anyway, and Olympia obviously needed a few minutes to cool down.

  She honestly couldn’t be blaming him for whatever had happened. Could she?

  Chet didn’t know the woman very well, but he’d learned that she had deep roots on this island, and at this inn. She was a workaholic, like him, and a perfectionist to boot. He knew what a dangerous combination that was, and he hoped she wasn’t headed for the same fall he’d taken.

  “That’s why you guys butt heads too,” he muttered to himself as he finally arrived on the twentieth floor.

  He cast a glance at her door, though he knew perfectly well she wasn’t there. The door hadn’t latched all the way, though, and he had a devilish thought to go in and see what the penthouse felt like without Olympia there.

  No way he’d do that to her, though, so he pulled her door closed and then keycarded his way into his penthouse. He put his perishable items in the fridge or freezer and went out on the balcony.

  Olympia’s questions about his siblings from the night before filtered through his head, but he didn’t call Eli or Lynn. They’d be surprised to hear from him, and he wouldn’t have anything to talk about with them anyway.

  As the middle child, he wasn’t expected to do anything. Eli wasn’t married yet, but he knew the type of woman he’d need to bring home to the plantation. Chet didn’t have any expectations, other than the woman he finally brought home should be able to endure his mother, any stuffy family parties, and the high expectations of Southern royalty. With a smile.

  No big deal.

  He thought about Olympia, and how effortlessly she seemed to run this place. She was professional and polite—to guests—and he couldn’t believe he was even considering starting a relationship with her.

  He’d kissed her earlobe mere hours ago, and she hadn’t slapped him. So maybe something had already started.

  Darkness lingered at least another hour away, but Chet stepped back inside, not in the mood for a beach sunset tonight for a reason he couldn’t name. He got out the peach pecan ice cream and had resigned himself to some time on the couch.

  Knocking sounded on his door, and he turned toward it, his heartbeat jumping over itself. It could only be Olympia, but he hadn’t been expecting her for a couple more hours.

  “Just a sec,” he said, getting up and setting the ice cream on the counter before answering the door.

  Sure enough, Olympia stood there, a simmering anger in her ocean-colored eyes.

  “What happened with the popcorn?” he asked.

  “It’s literally everywhere,” she said. “I had to call in two ladies from housekeeping.”

  He didn’t see how that was even possible, though popcorn could get spilled, he supposed. Ground into carpet.

  “Did people seem to like it?” he asked. “Come in. Are you done for tonight?”

  “Yes.” She sighed as she stepped past him, so she couldn’t be that angry with him. “I don’t think we’ll do the popcorn again. Steven was right; there were fingerprints everywhere, and it was all over the carpet, the bean bags. It was a mess.”

  “I’m sorry.” He closed the door and followed her into the kitchen. “I was just settling down with some peach pecan ice cream.”

  “Without me?”

  “I thought you’d be a couple more hours,” he said. “I have more in the freezer.” He opened it and took out the other two containers. “Lemon custard. The guy at the store seemed very fond of that one. And espresso.”

  “That’s the one I want,” she said, sitting at the little table in the kitchen. “Chet, you’re not giving me bogus tips, are you? Laughing at me behind my back?”

  Hurt zinged through him. “I can’t believe you even have to ask me that.”

  “It’s just that….”

  “It was popcorn,” he said. “There were probably a lot of kids there, and their parents didn’t watch them. That doesn’t mean the tip is bad.” Chet stood in the kitchen, trying to get his blood to stop buzzing through his veins.

  He hated this feeling, and he’d had it way too often in the last few weeks. He felt like he was falling, like someone was playing some practical joke on him. His memories flowed through him to the time when his boss had come into his office and said, “We need to talk.”

  Things had spiraled wildly out of control after that, and Chet had felt like someone had turned him upside down against his will and tied him to a giant spinning wheel. Then they just kept spinning and spinning and spinning.

  He wanted to get off the wheel. He thought he had, and landing here had been the first time he’d felt settled since eve
rything had gone down with The Grand America.

  Olympia sighed, bringing him back to this kitchen, with this woman. “I just…I want to compete with the big hotels. Harbor Honors. The Grand America.”

  He flinched, but she dug her spoon into the espresso ice cream and didn’t see him.

  “I don’t know why,” she said. “Their hotels are so cold. They’re almost clinical when you go there. Have you been?”

  “Once or twice,” he said, his words ghosts as they left his mouth.

  “I’ve had people from their hotels come stay here,” she said. “I hate the spying, and I have no idea if they liked it or not.”

  “It’s a great hotel,” he said. “You shouldn’t worry about what those other places are doing.” He could tell her what they were doing that she wasn’t, and what she did here at The Heartwood Inn that the bigger, chain hotels couldn’t touch.

  “Harbor Honors barely has a beachfront,” he added. “You can do what you’ve been doing and be fine. You asked me for suggestions.” In fact, that was all she seemed to want. His knowledge. And the ice cream.

  A pinch started behind his lungs. Had he misread her? He had the time and money to get the ice cream. That wasn’t the issue. But he didn’t want to be used. No one wanted that.

  “I know,” she said. “I’m just…frustrated. I know it’s not really your fault.”

  “Do you?” he asked, his own anger rising now. And he hated being angry more than anything. “Look, I think I’ve been fairly transparent with you.” Minus a few details about his former employer, which had no bearing on this. “But I’m not on your payroll, and you can’t blame things on me that don’t work, and then expect to show up at my house and eat my ice cream.”

  Olympia glared at him and put another bite of ice cream in her mouth. “Fine,” she said.

  “Oh, things aren’t fine,” he said. “I mean, I may not have tons of experience with women, but even I know when a woman says something’s fine, it’s not.” He took a spoon out of the drawer and joined her at the table, his peach pecan pint in front of him.

 

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