by Denise Carbo
“Luce, I was thirteen. How old were you when you got your first kiss?”
“It depends. Exactly what kind of kiss are we talking about?”
We’d been sitting on the end of my dock dipping our toes in the water after spending the day together as usual. No one had been home. My father was still working then, and my mother was off doing whatever she did all day. Lucinda had gone away with a friend so I had felt safe bringing him home to have a snack. Afterwards, we’d wandered outside and ended up on the dock. I’d smiled at him after splashing his leg with water and he’d leaned over and kissed me. It lasted only a second.
“The kiss was entirely innocent, just a quick peck on the lips really, but it meant the world to me.”
It was the only kiss he gave me that summer, but my heart had already fallen for him even before he gave me my first kiss.
He’d left the following week.
“Well, that’s okay then.”
A soft snort of laughter rattles in my chest. “And how old were you when you received your first kiss?”
“Never you mind. Tell me more about your relationship with Mitch.”
“There’s not much more to tell. He left at the end of the summer and I never saw him again until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t even sure he would remember me.”
“Obviously he did.”
“Yes, but as his buddy, not someone he could be interested in romantically.”
“Are you sure about that? He seemed inordinately concerned over you at dinner and he rushed you away from Bobby the first chance he got. What happened when you got to his apartment? I mean you are wearing what I assume are his T-shirt and shorts.”
Heat steals over my face.
“That blush is certainly telling. What happened Franny?”
“Not what you think. I mean he gave me his clothes to change into because my dress was a mess. We didn’t—you know.”
“What? You didn’t have sex?”
“No, we didn’t.”
Lucinda rolls onto her stomach and crosses her feet in the air behind her. “Franny, have you had sex before?”
My face burns. I close my eyes and count to ten hoping to cool my cheeks.
“No, but if you launch into a lecture about the birds and the bees, I will be justified in killing you.”
“Duly noted, but if you ever need to talk—I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
“So, have you made any overtures towards Mitch to let him know how you feel?”
“Not exactly.”
“Define not exactly.”
Operation fake girlfriend and fake crush come spilling out in a torrent of words. Her eyes get wider and wider as the story unfolds.
When I am done, I cross my arms over my eyes and wait for the shock to wear off and my sister to respond.
“He’s been teaching you how to kiss?”
I nod without dropping my arms.
“With tongue, hands and full body contact?”
“Yes, what’s your point?”
“My point is unless he’s a real son of a bitch and taking advantage of you, then I can’t see any other plausible reason to take it so far unless he is interested in you. Back to the full body contact part, you are aware guys can’t exactly hide when they’re aroused?”
I drop my arms and stare at her.
“Yes, I mean he was not unaffected.”
“Okay, and I haven’t gotten the impression that Mitch is the type of guy to take advantage.”
“No, of course not.”
“Then the evidence speaks for itself.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Operation Mitch’s Seduction is underway. Now that I have Lucinda’s assurance she isn’t attracted to him and doesn’t think he is in to her, my conscience is clear. I barely got any sleep last night after she had left to go to her own room. I couldn’t stop thinking over what she said about him acting interested in me.
She urged me to be upfront and tell him how I felt. My confidence level has not risen quite that high. I envy people born with a natural self-confidence which flows from them in everything they say and do. Or maybe it’s how they were raised? Were they praised constantly as a child? Where does it come from and more importantly where can I get my dose?
Instead I’ve come up with a plan to seduce him and get him to see we can be more than friends.
Arriving at the bakery bright and early this morning despite it being Monday and the bakery is closed, I whipped up decadent chocolate truffles. I’m usually here on Mondays working anyway catching up on paperwork or planning the week, but this morning I’m taking the chocolates to Mitch on the pretense I need him as a tester and to thank him for his rescue last night.
I’ve poured myself into a pair of white short shorts and a snug green tank top. The new bra I bought while shopping with Olivia lifts and smooshes my breasts together giving the illusion I have decent cleavage. I applied a fair amount of makeup this morning after watching several online videos and battled my hair into submission with a ton of product. The results don’t look half bad.
Sounds started filtering from his apartment over an hour ago. That should be enough time for him to wake up. I don’t want to wait too long and have him disappear for the day. Picking up the plate of truffles, I take a deep breath, throw my shoulders back, and head for the door.
My steps slow while I traverse the steps wearing the three-inch heel sandals I squeezed my feet into. My ankles wobble, my heels throb, but damn they look good.
Holding the plate in one hand, I smooth my clothes with the other and wiggle to straighten my new cleavage and then knock on the door before I lose my courage.
Mitch opens the door and I get an inner thrill when his gaze wanders from my head to my toes and back up again. I watch his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallows.
“Good morning. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but I need a taste tester.” I hold out the plate of chocolates. “And I wanted to thank you for rescuing me again last night.”
He steps back and holds the door open. His white T-shirt stretches taut across his chest. “I’m always happy to taste anything you have to offer.”
Smiling, I sashay past him putting an extra sway to my hips. So far so good.
I slide the plate onto the narrow counter in the kitchen and pick up a chocolate and hold it up to his mouth. He stares at me over my hand and obediently opens his mouth. I place the chocolate on his tongue trailing my thumb against his full lower lip.
He closes his lips and chews the chocolate while keeping his gaze on mine.
“Delicious.”
Of course they are, I perfected the recipe years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Then they’re ready for me to sell in the bakery?”
“I should try another one to be sure.”
I expect him to take another one from the plate, but he continues staring at me, so I pick up a truffle and hold it up to his mouth. He opens his lips and takes the chocolate from me dragging his lips over my fingers the entire way.
I swallow hard when my womb clenches.
A tingling starts in my core and radiates out.
That is beyond the friend zone, right?
The sound of birds singing suddenly fills the room. For a second, I think my imagination is overloading and dipping into cartoon mode like when the princess falls in love with the prince and animals sing to rejoice.
“That’s my mom.” Mitch strides across the room to answer his cell phone resting on the coffee table in front of the couch.
His ringtone for his mother sounds like something out of a fairy tale? How sweet is that? Mine is the theme to Jaws.
“Hi Mom.”
While he talks to his mother, I maneuver around the peninsula of the counter to lean my hip against the edge in what I hope is a sexy pose. Briefly, I try to paste a come-hither look on my face, but thankfully his face is momentarily pointed away and doesn’t see the expression I am certain comes across looking li
ke a choking victim.
I shimmy to expose a little more cleavage and cock my hip out a little more planting my hand on my waist.
My ankle wobbles and then collapses.
Making a mad grab for the counter while my body careens towards the floor, my hands slap against the edge.
A rip of material echoes around me.
I’m frozen in place while gripping the edge of the counter as if I’m attempting to do a squatting pull up.
Hastily I leverage my arms up onto the counter and try to stand. A shot of pain seizes my ankle and I wince. Resting as much weight as possible on my opposite foot and holding on to the counter, I stand.
That isn’t what concerns me the most, however.
The cool draft of air against my backside is priority number one.
I swivel my head in Mitch’s direction and almost sob in relief when his back is still turned towards me. He is busy describing the renovations on the house to his mother.
Swatting at my ass with one hand while the other supports my weight against the counter, I find the split material and the cool skin of my lower cheeks exposed.
Why had I let Olivia talk me into buying a thong? She said panty lines would show with these shorts and a thong wouldn’t. Yeah well, clearly, she hadn’t anticipated this.
I inch my way around the counter using it as a crutch and keep my front towards Mitch in case he turns around. If I can just make it to the door and down the stairs, I have a sweatshirt in the bakery I can wrap around my waist.
Thank God I drove this morning instead of walking. I didn’t want to perspire and smudge my makeup and my feet aren’t prepared for a long hike in heels. Looks like my ankles and shorts weren’t prepared either.
The cold metal of the door handle is in my grasp behind my back when he spots me at the door.
I smile and grip the handle tighter.
“I just remembered I left the oven on downstairs.” Hopefully he will believe the blatant lie and not know that making truffles does not require an oven.
Mitch frowns and raises a finger signaling for me to wait a minute. I shake my head and scoot backwards out the door.
Pain stabs at my ankle and I grab for the railing to gain my balance. I consider plopping on my butt and scooting down the stairs but then the image of splinters on my ass nixes the idea.
Bending over, I unstrap the sandals, tuck them against my side, and limp down the stairs into the bakery.
The door opens just as I finish tying the arms of my sweatshirt around my waist. Whirling around while holding onto the back of the stool I am using for balance, I expect Mitch to be standing in the doorway, but it’s Bobby.
“Hey, I saw your car and wanted to stop in and check on you after last night.”
“Oh, hi Bobby. Come in. I’m fine, just clumsy.”
Straightening the sweatshirt to make sure my backside is adequately covered I smile in his direction.
“The way he rushed you out of there I was afraid you had gotten burned.”
“No, no, I’m fine, really. I’m sorry about that. I ruined the dinner.”
“We can have another go at it sometime.”
He wanted another date? Why wasn’t he running in the opposite direction? He really is a sweet guy. My pulse doesn’t jump at the sight of him though. My breath doesn’t hitch in my chest, and his smile doesn’t make me melt. It would be so much easier if I felt that way about him.
“Um…”
He pushes his hair off his forehead and adjusts his baseball cap. “Yeah, I kind of thought that was the way the wind blew. It was obvious there’s something going on between you two.”
“It was? I mean, I’m sorry, I was having a nice time with you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Make sure he treats you right.”
“I will. Thanks, Bobby.”
Perhaps I should have said there is nothing definite between Mitch and I, but that might have sounded like there might be a chance for Bobby and I and there isn’t. There’s no spark. Certainly not the raging inferno I feel with Mitch.
Locking the back door, I limp my way to the front of the bakery using every counter and chair for support. I want to get to my car and get home before Mitch ends his call and comes looking for me.
Operation Mitch’s Seduction will have to be put on hold until I put ice on this ankle and buy sturdier shorts.
Chapter Twenty-six
There’s a soft knock on my door and then Lucinda pokes her head in. “You busy?”
I glance down at the mound I make in the middle of my bed with my foot propped up on a pillow and the new book I received in the mail open in my hands and shrug. I’m reading because I need to rest my ankle so I can work Wednesday, and I hope I can discern romance or seduction tips from the book. Tips I can actually implement and are plausible for an average woman to employ.
“Not particularly.”
Lucinda scoots in the door and over to my bed holding a wooden cane.
“Is that Grandmother Laurel’s?” She always had an umbrella stand full of various canes when you walked into her house. I never saw her use a single one. She broke her foot once and refused to leave the house until it healed enough for her to manage it without support. We took turns staying with her and helping her.
“Yes, I took it from the closet. I thought you could use it.”
“Thanks, although I’m not planning on going anywhere until tomorrow. I have a small business meeting tomorrow night.”
Sitting on the edge of my bed, she plucks at the bedspread. “I was hoping you would come downstairs and be there when I tell Mom and Dad about quitting my job.”
“Oh, they’re both home?”
“Yes, Dad came home a little while ago from the club and Mom is in the living room planning the Fourth of July party. She’s in a good mood.”
Mother in a good mood is crucial when delivering unwelcome news.
I scoot myself up more and place the book on the nightstand. “Okay, but I’m only there for moral support. A silent supporter.”
“Understood.” She grins and yanks back the comforter covering the rest of me to help me slide out of bed. “Thanks Franny.”
“Mm hmm.” Standing, I snatch the cane from where she leaned it against my nightstand and lean my weight on it while testing the strength of my ankle. It’s sore, but better than yesterday.
Lucinda wraps an arm around my waist. “Here, you can lean on me.”
We manage about four feet then our out of sync steps send me grasping for the wall and my sister hopping around on one foot when I squish her toes with the cane.
Wincing, I lean against the wall.
“Are you okay?”
She nods and rests her hands on her knees for a moment before straightening. “Okay, that isn’t going to work. Can you manage all right with the cane?”
“I think so. Are you sure you don’t need one too?”
Chuckling, she shakes her head. “No, I’m good.”
We amble down the hall with me using the wall for additional support and Lucinda slowing her steps to walk beside me.
“Have you talked to Mark since you left?”
“He’s called a few times and left messages. I’m letting my lawyer handle it all. I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Is he still trying to get you to come back?”
“Oh yes, he emailed me an article on the benefits of an open marriage.”
“You’re joking.”
“Sadly, no I’m not.”
“Sorry Luce.”
She shrugs. “Do you remember that time we spent a couple of weeks on Cape Cod when we were kids?”
I grasp the railing and take one step at a time.
“Sure, I was ten or eleven.”
“I’ve been thinking it would be nice to take a trip there again. Would you like to go with me?”
Pausing on the bottom step, I glance at her. “I could probably go for a Monday and Tuesday, but I can’t close the bakery.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, I wasn’t thinking. You have to be there every day to do all the baking, don’t you? You haven’t taken a vacation since you opened The Sweet Spot, have you?”
“No, I can’t. Someday I can train someone enough so I’ll be able to. Actually, Olivia has expressed interest.”
“That would be helpful to you. You should be able to have time off.”
It’s never bothered me because I didn’t have anywhere to go or someone to go with. A couple days with Luce might be fun.
“We could still try a couple days. I could come down and meet you there.”
She nods. “It’s something to think about. Let’s get this over with.”
We hobble into the living room. Mother looks over from the secretariat where she has a few stacks of paper on the open flip down desk. “What are you girls up to? Is that a cane? What have you done now Francine?”
I lower myself to the couch and send a meaningful look my sister’s way. She’d better get this over with.
“I twisted my ankle.”
Mother shakes her head and glances back to her papers.
“I will get Dad. He’s in the kitchen.”
Lucinda strides off to the kitchen and I glance at my mother’s profile and then out to the lake. I lean the cane against the arm of the couch and clasp my hands in my lap.
Mother removes her reading glasses and stares at me. “Why is your sister getting your father?”
“That’s for her to tell you.”
Her eyes narrow and she drops her glasses on top of the papers and stands. I swivel my head around looking for Lucinda. Where is she? My mother lowers herself to the couch which sits in an L shape to mine and crosses her legs.
The weight of her stare is like a laser targeting system pointed straight at me.
“Francine.”
I keep my gaze pinned to the closed kitchen door willing it to open. “Yes, Mother?”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
I swing my head around. She sits with her hands folded over her knee. Navy slacks and an ivory silk blouse flow over her body. How does she manage to look like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine? Her clothes are wrinkle free and perfectly in place.