by Whitley Cox
Doneen had called her selfish, wicked and an attention-seeking brat. And yet, all over Doneen’s social media were posts about her support for Lowenna and how devastating it was for her to watch her baby sister go through something so wretched.
A shiny red apple, ripe for the picking on the outside, only when you took a bite, she was nothing but bitter and filled with worms and rot.
Even though they lived in the same city, the two were not close. They never had been. Since they were children, Doneen had always treated Lowenna as an inconvenience, as an intruder. She took sibling rivalry to the Nth degree.
When Doneen was old enough to stay home and babysit Lowenna, she used to lock her younger sister beneath the mattress of Doneen’s daybed, sit on it and not let Lowenna up until their parents got home. Then she’d threaten to beat Lowenna up if she ever told their parents what she did to her.
Lowenna put up with a lot from Doneen as they grew up because she believed that eventually, maybe her sister would change. That they could one day be friends, allies, instead of the enemies or the rivals Doneen saw them as. And then Doneen stole Lowenna’s husband, and that pipe dream exploded like a pipe bomb.
There would never be love between them now. Not ever.
“’Lo?”
His hand was still on her elbow, and he gave it a gentle squeeze and tug, shaking her from her thoughts and plots of vengeance.
She blinked up at him and smiled. “Yeah?”
“You okay? You went a little spacey there for a sec.” Concern filled his rugged features in the way of narrowed brows and a pensive frown. “You need to sit down?”
She shook her head again and let her smile grow. “Nope. Just had an idea about a new kind of chocolate is all. I tend to space out when new concoctions pop into my head.”
She didn’t like lying to him, but she also didn’t want to darken the mood with tales from her tortured childhood. He already knew her sister was a monster, that was enough.
His frown faded away, replaced with another panty-soaking smile. “Ah, well, in that case, get back to work. I can’t wait to try whatever it was that made you zone out like that.” He released her elbow, and she immediately missed his touch, wishing he’d put his hand back and then wrap it around her waist. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She nodded and swallowed. “Tonight. Right. I look forward to it.”
“Me too.” Then he was gone. With his baby strapped to his chest and the wind at his back, the sexiest man she’d ever met headed off into the Seattle drizzle.
“You seeing him or something?” Tricia asked.
Lowenna pulled her recipe book out from the pocket of her dark green apron and tossed it onto the stainless-steel table. “Uh … something.”
“Well, if he has a brother or a cousin or something, let me know, because that man is fine with a capital F.”
“He certainly is,” she said absentmindedly, thumbing through her recipe book. “Want to grab the food-grade alcohol and polish those molds for me?” she asked, pointing to the tray of round chocolate molds. She was going to mix up a batch of her dark chocolate habanero truffles—another customer favorite.
“Will do,” Tricia said with a nod. “What new chocolate were you thinking about just a moment ago? You know I always love to hear your new ideas and what inspired them.”
Lowenna rolled her eyes and smiled a lopsided grin at her co-worker. “No freaking clue, but now I’ve got to come up with something.”
Tricia clucked her tongue. “I could watch that man eat chocolate and wear a baby all day long.”
Lowenna’s exasperated breath lifted the rogue strand of hair that fell over her forehead. Her shoulders slumped, and her mind raced.
I could watch him eat my chocolate while wearing a baby all day long every day for the rest of my life.
6
Mason turned off his SUV and opened the door. He knew she’d seen him. His headlights were tough to miss, but he could already tell, simply by the way she moved inside the shop, that something was wrong.
Leaving the takeout on the passenger seat, he locked his vehicle and briskly headed toward the front door of the shop. It would be locked, no doubt, but he tried the door anyway, and to his surprise, it swung open.
“Ready to go?” he asked, the slam of cupboards and her irritated panting and huffing the only sounds in the now quiet and dark chocolate shop.
Her eyes flicked up to his from where she’d been scribbling something in a notebook, and her angry gaze sliced his face. “Just gimme me a minute.”
Not bothering to obey the “employees only” sign, he wandered behind the counter until he was standing right next to her. Heat and fury radiated off her petite frame in waves that would have sunk a luxury yacht. Her fingers clenched the ballpoint pen so tightly, her knuckles were white, and the way she raked the pen across the paper, it was only a matter of minutes until she gouged a hole right through.
Without really thinking, he reached out and grabbed the pen, prying it from her death grip and setting it down on the stainless-steel table. A quick glance at the notebook said she was sketching something, but he couldn’t quite tell what. He brought her fingers into his and began to massage her knuckles, watching as the circulation returned and they went from white to pink once again. Her eyes had remained fixed on the notebook, but she seemed to mentally shake herself and slowly lifted her head to focus on him.
“Care to share?” he whispered, now massaging her palms with the pads of his thumbs.
When her shoulders slumped and her bottom lip wobbled, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and hug her as tight as he could. But when that lone tear finally bubbled over and slipped down her cheek, he could no longer stop himself, and she was in his arms, his nose in her sweet cocoa-scented hair, her cheek against his chest, her body trembling with each devastating sob.
They stood there for a moment as he absorbed her hurt, absorbed her pain and whatever had caused her emotions to become so strong they had damn near destroyed her. Once he could tell she had finally relaxed, her breathing slower, her shoulders no longer iron-tight, he pulled her free from his embrace and held her biceps. “What happened?”
Pink, tear-stained cheeks burned bright, and tired, watery gray eyes stared up at him. But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she simply reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out her phone. Her thumb flew across the screen, then she turned it around so he could read. It was a text message.
Change of plans. Instead of just our profiles kissing, can we have our hands clasped as well and a big heart arcing over up, like framing our kissing heads? Also, Brody wants to know if you can do chocolate-covered strawberries tuxedo style for the dessert table. We’re thinking like maybe three hundred, enough for at least one per person, but with a few extras. Our caterer said she can do them, but that it’ll cost extra and we’re already paying like ten grand for the food so … thanks!!!
Just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, and because he needed to keep his own emotions in check, he re-read it a couple more times before nodding and sliding his gaze back to her.
Her face was like stone, but her cheeks still held the color of fury, and the tremble of her lips said she was not far off from losing it once again. So angry all she could do was cry.
He’d been there.
It was a deep well to crawl out of.
“Tell her no,” he finally said, his own breath coming out shakily. “You’re already doing so much for that wedding. A wedding that shouldn’t even be.” He grabbed her notebook and held it up. “Is this a sketch of what she wants?”
Lowenna nodded. “Yeah. I don’t even know if I can do what she’s asking. It’s tedious, and that heart frame could crack so easily in transportation, unless I assembled it there. But I don’t really want to be assembling things on the wedding day.”
Understandable.
“This is her fourth text message in the last two weeks. And every message involves a change
or an addition. Something else for free.”
“Don’t do the strawberries,” he said plainly. “Tell her no. Tell her you won’t have time to get everything done. That she needs to make a choice, just like she made a choice about you being her maid of honor.”
The memory of that hurt flashed behind her eyes. He could tell that wound hadn’t yet healed over, and he could understand why. Lowenna’s sister sounded like a complete bitch. Bridezilla didn’t even begin to describe her.
She lifted her phone up once again to search for something with her thumb. Then she turned it to face him. “This one came in about an hour before that last one.”
Hey! We’re asking people ahead of time to say a little something at the wedding. That way you have time to prepare a speech and don’t drink too much beforehand. We don’t want any slurred toasts—how tacky. So could you please write up a speech about Brody and me and send it a week before the wedding so I can approve it and make any necessary changes? Thanks!
Mason’s lips parted, but his fingers on her biceps tightened. “She wants to pre-approve your speech?”
Lowenna nodded. “She wants me to write one, first of all. Then send it to her for approval before I’m supposed to get up in front of all the guests like I am completely okay with my sister marrying my ex-husband and toast them into the next chapter of their lives with a big, fat smile on my face.”
“What are you going to do?”
She blinked a few times before she glanced his way. “I’ll come up with something. I always do.” She shook herself free of his grasp and grabbed her notebook. “I’ll come up with something for the chocolate centerpiece too. It’s what I do, and I’ll get the strawberries done. We have a machine that does a bunch at once, so it’s not like we’re doing three hundred strawberries one at a time.”
He rubbed her back, the tension between her shoulders tight enough he feared she might spontaneously snap. “You sure you’re okay?”
She nodded, closed the book and smiled an even faker smile at him. “Yep. Just needed to get that out. Her text messages always make me see red at first, then I calm down. Or I cry. Or I go to The Rage Room and Luna lets me channel my anger there.”
“Love The Rage Room,” he said softly.
A gurgle from her belly made both their eyes drift down to her abdomen.
Mason turned around and headed toward the front door. “Dinner is waiting for us. Figured we could just eat in the dance studio parking lot.”
She nodded, then shut off the last remaining light and set the alarm. “Sounds good.”
He held the door open for her and she walked out, instantly pulling her hood up over her head, as it had once again started to rain. She locked the door then followed him to his Volvo.
He hit the fob for the SUV, and it beeped open. They both hopped in and were on the road. It was only about seven or so blocks to the dance studio, but he certainly didn’t want her walking there in this weather. The wind had picked up as well, and he could feel it hit the side of his vehicle, rocking it to and fro like a ship at sea.
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the strip mall that housed not only Benson School of Dance, but also Mitch Benson Photography, The Lilac and Lavender Bistro and The Rage Room. He turned off the ignition but left the radio on.
Lowenna seemed to have calmed down even more on their short drive. They hadn’t said anything, but he was okay with that. The woman beside him confused the hell out of him. How could she continue to allow a horrible person like her sister be a part of her life? Not to mention dictate and demand Lowenna do up a bunch of free chocolate for the wedding. Did Lowenna not have a spine?
No, she did. She’d been very upfront and confident when she told him what she was after with all her interviewing and then making sure he knew that she was nobody’s charity case. The woman definitely had a spine.
So then why was she putting up with her sister? Why wasn’t she simply walking away and truly living her best life? After everything Doneen had done to Lowenna, had Mason been in her shoes, he’d consider himself an only child and go to great lengths to avoid the fuck out of a toxic person like Doneen.
“You going to just stare out the window and count the raindrops, or are we going to eat?” she asked, her voice shaking him from his thoughts.
He cracked his neck side to side, then nodded. “Sorry, lots on my mind. Hand me that paper bag down there.” He pointed toward her feet.
She grabbed the bag and handed it to him, then unbuckled her seatbelt. “Care to share?” she asked, a glint of amusement in her eyes and a more playful smile now tilting one corner of her lips.
He shook his head. “Naw, it’s nothing serious.”
“Everything okay with Willow?”
Grunting and nodding his reply, he opened the bag and passed her a cardboard container of Gai Pad Med Ma Muang, or cashew chicken. His heart warmed at her affection for his daughter. She really did love Willow, and Willow lit right up whenever Lowenna held her or played with her.
“This smells amazing,” she said, thanking him when he passed her a fork. “I’m absolutely starving. I’m glad you convinced me not to wait until after dance class. I probably would have gnawed my own arm off once I got home, or even worse, run next door from my building and bought a slice of pizza from that horrible convenience store.”
“Tim’s on Tenth?” he asked, opening up his box of extra spicy drunken noodles. “That place has given everyone I know food poisoning with either their hotdogs, pizza or sub sandwiches.”
“For me it was the sushi,” she said before shoving a forkful of dinner into her mouth. “I’d just moved into the building and was getting the chocolate shop up and running. I was run off my feet and starving, so I ducked downstairs and grabbed a box of California rolls. Then I was praying to the porcelain gods for the next forty-eight hours.”
He winced. “Ouch. Yeah, I avoid that place like it’s a leper colony. It’s so weird that he’s still in business. And that’s a decent part of town too.”
She nodded, her mouth full.
“Years ago, like I’m talking when I was still in high school, I bought a hotdog from him. I still have nightmares from those two days stuck in the bathroom. Even now, when I drive past, I have flashbacks. Pretty sure I have PTSD.”
She chuckled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand so that food didn’t fly out. “Yep, I hear you.” She swallowed. “So thank you for saving me from a most likely untimely demise by tainted pizza. I really do appreciate it.”
He reached back into the paper bag and pulled out a couple of juice boxes. “My pleasure. Grape or fruit punch?”
Her smile was sweet. “Fruit punch, please,” she said, taking it from him. “I haven’t had a juice box in years.”
He shrugged. “Me either, but I found them in my fridge at home so I just grabbed them. I usually try to have some on hand for when some of my buddies come over with their kids.”
“That’s kind of you. I take it a lot of your friends have kids then?”
He nodded. “Most.” A country song came on the radio, and he quickly shoveled a forkful of noodles into his mouth before reaching over and turning the dial so the music flooded the small space.
Lowenna’s nose wrinkled. “You like country?”
He grinned and continued chewing. “Love it.” Then he quickly swallowed and began to sing the words to Tim McGraw’s “I Like It, I Love It” until she was giggling at him.
“Well,” she started, her smile nearly touching her ears, “at least you have a nice voice.”
He tipped an invisible Stetson at her. “Why, thank you, ma’am. Got a nice horse, nice dog and a nice truck too.”
She rolled her eyes.
He offered her his takeout box. “You wanna swap? I got extra spicy drunken noodles, and you said earlier that you like spicy.”
Nodding, she went to take the box from him and pass her his, but instead, he twirled a bunch of rice noodles around on his fork and told her to open
up.
With curiosity and amusement in her eyes, she obliged, and he slipped the fork past her lips. She closed her mouth around the fork and tugged it off with her teeth. Their eyes locked in a way that made all the blood leave his brain and pool between his legs.
He pulled the fork free and watched as her pink tongue darted out and slid across her plump bottom lip.
“Mmm,” she hummed before beginning to chew. “That’s delicious.”
Swallowing, he nodded. “More?” He could feed her and watch her eat like that all night long.
“Please.”
In his mind, this was the absolute best kind of date. Two people hanging out, enjoying good food, great music and getting to know each other.
Too bad it wasn’t a date. At least not in her eyes. Not yet.
He fed her again, and this time she closed her eyes as she rolled the flavors around on her tongue. Now this was a woman who knew how to enjoy food properly.
He loved it when he found a woman who knew how to eat. How to take pleasure in the simple things in life.
She opened her eyes and grinned at him. “Sorry, I kind of get caught up in my food sometimes. I love food, and there was a time when I couldn’t really eat anything because it made me nauseous or I couldn’t even keep it down at all, so now that I can eat again—I eat a lot. And I enjoy every minute of it.”
He laughed. “Nothing wrong with loving food. Besides, I could watch you eat all day. It’s sexy as hell.”
Her cheeks pinked up in a really pretty way, and before he could stop himself, he reached forward and cleaned a speck of sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.
Her lips parted, and he felt the warm puffs of her breath against his knuckles, her chest suddenly lifting and falling in a way that made her breasts strain against the buttons of her shirt.
He brought his thumb to his mouth and licked off the sauce.
Lowenna cleared her throat and averted her gaze from his, her cheeks now an even brighter pink. Fuck, she was sexy when she blushed. She was sexy no matter what, but the flush of color in her cheeks just ramped that sexiness up to eleven. He needed to figure out a way to keep her flushed.