Blackberry Cove

by Roxanne Snopek

  “Beautiful fiction,” she murmured.

  He lifted a finger. “No. I write nonfiction, remember? I seek the truth. It’s what I live for. Though I take beauty when I can get it. Right now, for instance.”

  She knew she should stop him, correct this rosy version he had of her, before he learned for himself how wrong it was. But she had no words. Jon had stolen them from her.

  “I’ve seen you work in the garden. You take something small and shriveled, hide it in the dirt and wait, believing that out of the manure and mud will come something beautiful. What is that, if not optimism and hope? Same thing when you’re baking. You take ingredients that are okay on their own, flour and buttermilk and whatnot, but then you add your magic, and this delicious miracle happens. Creativity is hope, Abby. I love that about you.”

  I love that about you.

  “Stop.” She sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “You’re seeing things the way you want to see them, rather than how they are. I’m not a good person, Jon. I’m selfish and . . . dishonest.”

  He was a man who valued truth above all else.

  “About what, Abby? About how you feel about me? There’s something starting here. Am I wrong?” His eyes were solemn and in their depths, she thought she saw a glimpse of the little boy he’d once been.

  “I don’t know.” She could hardly breathe. “I think so.”

  I love that about you.

  Tell him about Roman, a voice whispered in her head. Tell him now.

  But she couldn’t do it. It wasn’t her secret to tell.

  “You take good care of everyone, Abby.” His voice was like a caress, soft, sweet, irresistible. “But who takes care of you?”

  She didn’t need anyone. She’d never needed anyone.

  But the thought of letting down her guard, letting someone else in, letting Jon in, was becoming a temptation she couldn’t resist.

  When they walked out of the restaurant at the end of their meals, their hands brushed against each other. When Abby curled her fingers around his, it felt completely natural.

  It felt perfect.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning Roman was grouchy. He said he wanted a decent piece of toast and only Daphne’s bread would do. He sent Jon to Sanctuary Ranch to beg a loaf and Jon couldn’t get away fast enough.

  He couldn’t wait to see Abby again.

  He found her in the lodge sunroom, clicking through screens on her laptop. Bright light streamed in the window but the temperature outside was chilly and the heat from the fireplace felt great on his back.

  She directed him to the walk-in freezer, where Daphne in her prescience had already put aside a couple of loaves of her honey whole-wheat bread for Roman.

  That task accomplished, he asked, “What’s all this?”

  In addition to her laptop, she had several recipe books strewn around her and a clipboard of notes, lists, and doodles.

  Abby tucked the pen behind her ear. “Research. I told Daphne I’d find her more recipes for healthy baked goods. Olivia wants to accommodate people who want their treats to have more nutritional value.”

  “Don’t tell me that means the end of Daphne’s cinnamon buns?”

  Abby laughed. “There’d be riots in the street if that happened. No, we’ll always have those.” She shoved aside the books and moved over to make room for him. “How’s your dad?”

  The cushion was warm from her body and he stretched out so his leg touched hers. He wanted more than that, but for now it would have to do.

  “Grumpy as a bear with a sore head. I told him he could come along and visit the horse but he said he’d enjoy the peace and quiet with me out of the house.”

  “You don’t seem noisy to me,” Abby said. “But I probably only see you on your best behavior.”

  “Definitely. Though maybe that should change.” He shifted closer to her. “Maybe I ought to show you my bad behavior.”

  Abby wrinkled her nose. “Or maybe you should remember that there are people everywhere and that they could walk in on us at any moment. Do you want me to come visit Roman this afternoon? See if I can cheer him up? I’m more fun than you. You have to admit that.”

  “Fun and pretty. I’m no competition.” He smiled. He was glad his father enjoyed Abby’s company, and grateful that Abby was willing to spend time with him.

  He nodded toward the material spread out around her. She had made notes about the effects of various nutrients on diabetes and heart disease and had drawn a complicated diagram using scientific notation. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a schematic showing the biochemical process of sugar metabolism in the body.” She rolled her eyes. “I kind of fell down an Internet rabbit hole. I always loved biology.”

  “Were you a science major?” The question was out before he remembered that she’d put Quinn’s education before her own.

  “College wasn’t in the cards for me.” Abby closed her laptop and ran her palms over the smooth surface as if to wipe it clean. “But with all the open source material out there these days, if you’ve got access to a computer, you can learn almost anything. I like learning. Solving mysteries, researching how things work.”

  “You and I have a lot in common, then.”

  That made her turn and look at him. “I dabble, for fun. That’s all.”

  “Studying the Krebs cycle in your spare time is more than dabbling. Research is research.”

  “I don’t sleep a lot.” She shrugged off the compliment. “This makes the time pass productively.”

  She said it lightly, but he wondered if her insomnia was related to the perpetual air of watchfulness that surrounded her.

  “Classic first-born overachiever stuff,” Jon said. “I’m an only child so I get it.”

  “Did you always want to be a magazine writer?” she asked.

  The question stopped him cold. Is that what he was? A magazine writer? There was nothing wrong with that, but is that what he’d envisioned for his career, back when he was starting out?

  “A guidance counselor once told me,” he said slowly, “that there are only two qualities necessary to become an investigative journalist. First of all, a need to ask, ‘Why?’ All the time. Which I had in spades.”

  Abby smiled. “A perpetual four-year-old. Your poor parents. What’s the second quality?”

  Jon hesitated, wishing now that he hadn’t brought it up. “A burning desire to change what’s wrong in society.”

  Had he ruined his one chance at fulfilling his life’s purpose? Would he forever be writing about the best places to eat chili fries and which soccer team won the regional championship?

  At Diversion, he’d been focused on making a name for himself, building his portfolio. The story about Richard Arondi had ticked all his boxes, made him feel alive, like he was doing what he was put on this earth to do.

  She didn’t respond. A loop of silky hair slipped across her face, hiding her expression.

  “Lofty goals,” she said quietly. “I admire you.”

  “Abby.” He captured her hand between his and patted it. “My copy ends up on the bottom of bird cages.”

  She didn’t pull away. “Maybe it’s not your time to change the world yet. That’s a lot of pressure to live under every single day. Jesus and Gandhi and Mother Teresa probably had weeks on end where they were just putting one step in front of the other. You have talent and skill. And you never know when the thing you’re writing will end up changing someone’s life.”

  “Pretty sure my restaurant reviews aren’t going to change anyone’s life.”

  “You don’t know that,” she insisted, squeezing his hand. “What if there’s a struggling diner owner out there, with four kids and a sick wife and he’s so broke he has to choose between buying her medicine or shoes for the baby . . . ?”

  “You listened to a lot of country music growing up, didn’t you?”

  Abby ignored him. “Business is going downhill and he doesn’t have money for advertising.
He’s just a great short order cook who makes the best grilled cheese sandwich in the world, no, the universe, but nobody comes into his place because there’s a brand-new fast food franchise down the block. Two dollar cheeseburgers are killing homemade sourdough bread and melted Gruyère and taking a man’s soul with it.”

  She leaned forward, looking at him earnestly. Her eyes shone. “Then one day, a tall handsome journalist comes in. He sits down and orders that grilled cheese sandwich. He’s kind of bored because he’s supertalented—”

  Jon couldn’t help but laugh.

  “—and this job is beneath him but he’s a good soldier and this is his assignment, so he’s going to do it to the best of his ability.”

  Abby lifted her palm through the air, as if painting the picture in her mind. “He sees the photos on the wall, asks the owner about his kids, the history of the place, why they chose this location, what’s special about their town. The owner, or maybe his teenage daughter, who works with him because it’s a family place, brings the meal out to the journalist. He takes a bite and oh my God. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.”

  Her expression was radiant with sensual delight.

  “He compliments the man, thanks the daughter, takes a couple of pictures, goes home, and writes his piece. He puts in the details about the family, their love of the town, and the food they make. He describes the sandwich, the crispy grilled crust, texture and tang of the bread, the way the cheese oozes out the side. He adds how, every year, when she’s well enough, the owner’s wife puts up jars and jars of the cranberry marmalade they serve with the sandwich.”

  Jon couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

  “Shh. I’m on a roll.” She tapped their clasped hands against his thigh. “The paper comes out, with a photo of the man and his daughter standing at the front door, grinning and pointing up at their sign. A day or two later, business is up. People have read the piece and they’re curious about this out-of-the-way diner they’ve driven past but never stopped at. Everyone wants to try this amazing grilled cheese sandwich they’ve heard so much about. He sells out that day. He stays up all night baking more sourdough so he’s ready for the next day. He has to send the daughter out for more cheese. His wife gets her medicine. The baby gets his shoes. The daughter who was waitressing gets a scholarship to medical school and, because they can afford to hire staff now, she becomes a doctor and finds the cure to her mother’s disease. That, my friend”—she poked him in the chest with her index finger—“is changing the world. And it happened because a tall, handsome, extremely talented journalist did his job even though it didn’t seem very important.”

  He’d never seen her like this. Her cheeks were flushed, her posture easy and eager. At this moment, there was nothing closed off or careful about her. He realized that for a few minutes, she’d been completely unselfconscious. But as he watched, she seemed to come back to reality. She pulled her hand out of his and shifted slightly away from him.

  She gave a little laugh. “Oops. I kind of went off on you, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” he said.

  “Sorry. I do that sometimes.” She started to get up but he recaptured her hand and pulled her toward him again.

  “Don’t apologize. That’s the best story I’ve heard in, maybe ever. Abby, I’ve listened to career counselors and motivational speakers, I’ve read self-help trade journals on how to avoid burnout. But nobody has ever told me anything like that.”

  The power of her speech, her own belief in him, made him think that maybe he could still achieve the dreams that had once driven him.

  “I never stopped asking why,” he said softly. “But somewhere along the way, I stopped believing that I could change the world.”

  Her eyes shimmered. “Little things really do make a difference, Jon. You’ll probably never know the many ways your words have impacted people. You’re so lucky to be able to influence people like you do.”

  She was so close, looking up at him with those luminous eyes that without thinking, he leaned over, let his eyes drift shut, and touched his lips to hers.

  The kiss was electric, with every nerve of his body trained on the small, sensitive point of contact. He heard her quick intake of breath, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips softened under his. So pliant, so warm. So delicious.

  She twisted her fingers, twining them around his, first stroking his palm with her thumb, then threading them through his and holding tightly again.

  He increased the pressure, touching his tongue to her bottom lip. She opened, tasting of fresh water and strawberries.

  He found the back of her head and cupped it lightly, pulling her nearer. Her hair was like silk, spilling over his wrist.

  He could have sat there for hours like that, holding her, kissing her, feeling the warmth of her body next to his, drinking in the delicacy of her scent.

  But the sound of footsteps intruded into his consciousness.

  “Abby?”

  Abby jerked away and put her hand to her mouth. “Quinn.”

  Jon blinked, unwilling to let the moment go.

  “Where’ve you been?” Quinn frowned, looking between the two of them. “Jamie’s waiting for us.”

  Abby leaped to her feet. “Sorry, I got carried away. With my work.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Hi, Quinn,” Jon said.

  “Hey.” The younger woman slouched, one thin hip jutting forward, her hair falling over the blades of her cheekbones.

  “I have to go.” Abby gathered her books and notes together without making eye contact with Jon. “Quinn and I are joining Jamie on a school visit tomorrow. She wants to tell us what to do and say, in case we have to take over for her one day. She and Gideon have plans to . . . Oh, never mind.”

  Her discomfiture was more than embarrassment at being caught necking.

  “You’re coming to see Dad later, right?”

  “Right, yes. Thanks for . . . um.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ll see you later.”

  After that kiss, he thought, you better believe it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Since that first meal at the diner, Abby had begun to loosen up around him. The hand-holding had been like lighting a match to dry paper. Jon had to clench his fists to keep from pulling her into his arms every time she got within range. Every time he helped her off with her jacket, he let his fingers graze her shoulders. When she preceded him through a door, he put his palm on the small of her back, aching to feel those firm curves without the barrier of clothing, breathing in the light fragrance of outdoors that he now associated with her.

  She’d unburdened herself to him in a way he hadn’t expected and he sensed that he needed to back off, to give her lightness and fun.

  And thanks to Ambrose Elliott and 101 Eats they were having that.

  “Look!” She gripped his arm and pointed. She was standing close enough that he could feel the outline of her breasts against his arm. Did she have any idea what that was doing to him?

  He forced his attention to follow hers. “Saltwater taffy?”

  She gave him a cheeky grin that made the apples of her cheeks rise. “You could use a dose, couldn’t you?”

  Sweet and decadent.

  Jon had a craving of his own but he was pretty sure he’d have to wait a while longer.

  She poked him and tried to duck away but he caught the back of her jacket and pulled her close, trapping her arms behind her.

  “You saying I’m not sweet enough?” Pressed against him, the length of her body felt so, so good. The fact that she wasn’t pulling away felt even better.

  She made a sound in the back of her throat, like a growl, or a purr. “I’d never say that.” Her voice rasped down his nerves and traveled straight to his groin.

  “What would you say?” he asked.

  Her playful smile faded but the color in her cheeks had become more pronounced. Her eyes were wide and he could feel her breathing against him. />
  He could kiss her right now, right here in the street, he thought. She was close enough that he could see the green and gold flecks in her eyes. They were in a small city where no one knew them. He started to lower his head, but she blinked and pulled free.

  “I’d say we better get there before they close.” She grabbed his hand again and they jay-walked across the street.

  Like all the stores on the main drag, it was cute in an offbeat, kitschy way. Wide, freshly painted pink and white boards in front with a rustic low-pitched shingle roof that extended to cover a narrow front porch where customers could sit with a cup of coffee while they enjoyed their goodies. A life-size wooden cutout of a man in a sailor suit stood next to the door, holding a welcome sign that also indicated the hours of business.

  “See?” she said, tugging on his hand. “We’ve only got a few minutes.”

  The walls were lined with shelves containing clear glass jars filled with paper-wrapped pastel-colored candies. In the display case behind the counter were other treats. Saltwater taffy kisses, caramel corn, succulent-looking peanut brittle, and homemade fudge.

  “Oh my!” Abby said. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Hello, I’m Labron.” A tall black man leaned over the counter, a pink-and-white-striped apron straining across his girth. His arms were like tree trunks. His head was shaved and glistening. His eyes twinkled like someone who was about to show off a new baby. “Welcome to memories of your childhood.”

  Abby introduced herself and Jon, then wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never had saltwater taffy.”

  “I’m speechless.” Labron’s jaw dropped and he put a hand to his chest.

  Jon had a feeling the man had never been speechless in his life and smiled when Labron proved him right.

  “This is a travesty,” the man continued, “a crime against nature and culture. I knew there was a reason I decided to close up myself tonight. Abby and Jon, we were meant to meet today. Your saltwater education is about to begin, young lady.”

  With a flourish, he brought out a plate full of tiny pieces of candy, each in its own individual paper cup, and set it in front of them. “Try before you buy. That’s my motto.”