by Jacie Floyd
“Aren’t Mick and Marcus helping?”
She groaned. “They think they are, but they’re the worst. Didn’t you notice the hopeful way they look at me? Like they half expect me to discover some magic beans to keep the town going. You, on the other hand, know that’s not likely to happen, you run two businesses that are actually making money, and you’re aware of my financial woes in New York.” A healthy swallow of wine drained another glass. “Which I’m trying to keep under my hat, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s your business, not mine.”
“Thank you for the help in figuring out the legal ramifications—which were just as you predicted. I’m up the proverbial creek without a paddle.”
Concerned, he studied her as she filled her glass for the third time. “Will you be going back to New York to sort it out?”
“Not for a while. My roommate is taking over the rent for our apartment while I’m gone. One of my chef friends from San Francisco wanted to come to New York for a while, and he jumped at the chance to fill in for me at Belfontaine while he decides what he wants to do next.” She sighed and slumped her shoulders. “I keep thinking I should talk this whole mess out with Dad and get his opinion. And then it hits me again.”
His index finger trailed across her wrist. The subtle touch was all the comfort he would allow himself to offer. “It’s a lot to handle.”
“I’m sorry to be such a freak show. I’m not being much fun, and I feel like I’m using you to achieve a temporary a sense of normalcy.”
“I’ve been used for worse things.” Graft, fraud, illegal trading. In contrast to all of that, being used to create a sense of normalcy and brighten someone’s day didn’t seem like a bad thing. But if she didn’t lay off the wine soon, he wouldn’t be able to have the discussion with her he’d planned. “But so far, dinner is just a theory. Where is this meal I’ve been hearing about?”
“Dinner!” She jumped to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get it on the table.”
His mind buzzed at the suggestion. He was up for anything she wanted to do on the table.
Chapter Eleven
Jillian’s nerves had been short-circuiting all day. Not just because the holiday came on the heels of her father’s death. Not just because life as she knew it had dissolved like cotton candy and her dreams were melting along with it. It was her decision to have Liam over for dinner that had her on edge, and maybe she’d imbibed a bit too much.
As he’d made himself at home in her kitchen, at her table, and in front of her fire, memories had surfaced. Confusing thoughts ran on a continuous loop through her head.
He was her oldest friend. He’d been her first date, first kiss, first boyfriend, first everything. He had embarrassed and betrayed her. His business savvy might be the key to her financial stability. If she could salvage anything for Sunnyside and her NY restaurant, she’d have to find a way for them to work together. She’d have to convince him to work with her. But would he? Could she trust him in a business or personal sense? She and many others had been burned by him before.
His kindness, his thoughtfulness, his stability during this tumultuous time were all behaviors she recognized from their past. It was that one huge enormous embarrassing scene that had caused their split. An excruciating event she’d never been able to forgive or forget. Something he’d never apologized for. Although, to be fair, she hadn’t given him the chance. She was the one who had cut and run, severed their communication, and vanished into thin air.
Before the explosion that ripped apart their world, she would have said she wouldn’t judge someone based on one bad decision. She’d never forget the hundreds of things someone had done right because of one thing they’d done wrong. Had her she over-reacted due to extreme youth and teen angst?
They’d been apart a long time. And in all that time, she’d never forgotten him. And she’d never wanted anyone else like she wanted Liam. She’d thought their time had passed, but she found she still wanted his love. His comfort. His passion.
Not permanently.
They’d both moved on, evolved. But maybe they could share what they’d once had just one more time. Crawl back into that comfortable warmth and snuggle into it like one of grandma’s cozy quilts.
There would eventually have to be a reckoning. They’d have to straighten everything out between them, but did it need to be tonight? She didn’t think so.
She snapped on the lid to the plastic container he’d filled with leftovers to take home.
“Tomorrow and Saturday will be wall-to-wall wedding,” he said. “And I’m going to St. Louis on Sunday, but I’ll put them to good use after that.”
Feeding people was what she did best. It tickled her to see him pleased about something as simple as leftover turkey, mashed potatoes, and dressing. “Do you need to take off now, or can you stay a little longer?”
He checked his watch. “I can stay a little longer. The strip club and the fitness center are both closed tonight.”
“Good.” Just so he understood her intentions, she put her arms around him and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.
Desire and then caution flickered through his eyes. “What’s up?”
Settling her hips against his, she played for a light touch. “Another bad idea, I’m afraid.”
His hands settled around her waist “The one about dinner turned out pretty well.”
“I’ve been fighting my attraction for you ever since I returned to Sunnyside. This seems like a good time to do something about it.” She kissed him, and everything settled into place around her. The missing elements she’d been searching for. Love, warmth, acceptance. They all flooded back as she fit herself against him.
Instead of pulling her closer, he pushed her away. The kiss he placed on her temple was sweet and familiar but as dispassionate as a celibate monk. “I’m not saying I don’t want to, but is this because you’re lonely?” His second kiss landed on her cheek. “Because you’re sad?” The next one grazed the corner of her mouth. “Because your whole world has crashed around you?” His hot breath on the side of her neck sent spirals of heat straight to her tummy. “Because you figure I might be sad, lonely, and desperate enough to be grateful for whatever you offer?”
The spirals fizzled as the unflattering words clicked into place. “Not when you put it like that.”
“He took a step back. “I’ll admit I’ve been thinking about putting the past behind us all night, forgetting all our troubles, removing everything but those freaking hot boots, and making love to you in front of the fire. But what good would one night do? You still wouldn’t trust me. I still wouldn’t have anything to offer you. Your life would still be one big mess made messier by sleeping with me.”
What he said made sense, but… “Not even for one night?”
“There were times in the past twelve years when I would have sold my soul for that offer. In fact, I frequently sold it for much less.” The fire in his eyes flickered as he studied her. “With the resilience and stupidity of youth, I survived when you left me, but I never recovered. I can’t risk that heartache again on a night when you’re sad, lonely, and you’ve had too much to drink. I’m too familiar with the extremes people will go to in order to escape their pain. If we ever sleep together again, you should at least want me as least as much as you need me.”
Damn it. He knew her too well. She dashed tears from the corner of her eyes. “There’s such a fine line between want and need.” With Liam, she wasn’t sure she’d ever been able to determine the difference.
“Tell me about it, sweetheart.” He hooked her in a neck lock and dropped another kiss on her forehead. “This night isn’t turning out like I expected either.”
In appreciation of his honesty, she shrugged off the rejection, and dreaded the thought of him leaving. “Even if sex is off the table, will you stay a little longer? I saw my old Nintendo in the cupboard. I could probably still beat you at Zelda.”
“When did you ever
beat me at Zelda?”
“That one day.” She smirked at him over her shoulder as she turned toward the family room. “We’d been swimming, and my t-shirt was wet.”
“Visible nipples are always an unfair advantage in the gender wars.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her around. “And just so you know. Sex is only off the table for tonight. We’ll revisit the subject another day. After we’ve straightened out some things between us.”
Ah, yes. The conversation she’d avoided for twelve years. If it were up to her, she’d avoid it for another twelve. “But not tonight, right?” She doubted if she could stand it tonight.
“Right. You’ve had too much wine, and you’re dealing with enough already. Just don’t slip out of town for another decade without telling me.”
With so many walls closing in on her, she’d like nothing better than to ditch Sunnyside for all eternity. Hesitating to agree to his terms, she tried to turn away.
He retained a firm grip. “Promise me.”
Tension crackled between them, but his gaze bored into her until she nodded. “I promise I’ll tell you before I leave town for good.”
The pounding in Jillian’s head kept tempo with the ringtone blasting on her bedside table. She covered her eyes with one hand and groped for her phone with the other. Good Lord, how much wine had she drank last night? What time had Liam left? And who in the hell was calling her this early?
“What?” she mumbled with a throat dryer than croutons.
“You up?” Liam. His voice would always register on her recognition scale, no matter how out of it she was.
“No.” She may never be up again.
“Get dressed if you don’t want Zach to see you in whatever you’re wearing.” His ironic tone indicated he knew what that was. “We’re on our way over.”
“Why?”
“He needs your help. Do you need coffee?’
“More than life itself.”
The low chuckle that normally set off delicious waves of desire low in her tummy set off a tsunami of pain in her temples instead. “Be there in a few, Princess.”
From between her fingers, she peeked at the time. Eleven o’clock. How had that happened? She never slept this late. Of course, she never drank full bottles of chardonnay, cabernet, and prosecco all in one sitting either. But she’d been so sad. And then so turned-on when Liam had looked and smelled so irresistible. And then sad again when he rejected her advances for the first time in their lives.
But then he’d been a good sport about keeping her company, even after she’d insisted on playing strip pool. She ended up nearly naked pretty quickly since she took off a piece of clothing every time she lost her turn. Which was pretty often since the table kept tilting and the room kept spinning.
Things went fuzzy after that. She might have passed out, coming to when he helped her upstairs, removed her remaining clothing, and assisted her into the high school baseball jersey he found hanging on a hook in her closet— his baseball jersey.
He’d laughed at that, and she tried to explain. It was what she’d slept in the night of their high school graduation, but he’d known that—since he’d climbed in the window and took it off of her, sneaking out again before dawn. That was the night before she left town, the last night she’d slept in this room before her father’s funeral, and the jersey had hung there ever since. But the explanation came out all jumbled along with other stuff she remembered about that day. How much he’d hurt her, and how much she’d loved him. How she could never forgive him, but she’d never forgotten him either. She wasn’t sure how much of it he grasped.
He’d just shushed her and soothed her while smoothing the jersey over her body. If she wasn’t mistaken, dark melancholy shadows deepened the brown of his eyes and a black aura surrounded him. The aura might have been prompted by her alcohol haze. Or her imagination. But the melancholy sadness switched to heat and regret when he shifted his attention to her legs and unzipped her boots. That much she knew for sure.
“I had such plans for these.” He dropped one and then the other to the floor with distinct thumps and placed a fleeting kiss on her left ankle.
He disappeared from the foot of her bed, and her eyes slid closed for just a second. When he returned, he placed her phone and a bottle of water beside her bed, pulled the covers up to her shoulders, and kissed her on the forehead, mumbling something profound as the door clicked shut behind him. Something meaningful. Something touching. Something that hovered just beyond her consciousness.
And now it was morning. The page had turned. There secrets were still intact. There were other issues at hand.
She rolled over and groaned. Only a request from Zach was stimulus enough to get her on her feet. She owed him more than she could ever repay, but why had he decided this was the day to collect?
Once on her feet, she tripped over her discarded boots and turned her thoughts toward the basics. What was the least she could do to make herself presentable?
Brush teeth. Rinse face with cold water without drowning. Struggle into flannel pajama pants without toppling over. Don sweatshirt without strangling neck or tangling arms. Comb hair. Ouch, ouch, ouch. No. Stuff tangled hair into ponytail holder instead. Stick feet into fluffy Miss Piggy slippers that were hilarious in high school, but now looked ridiculous.
Stumble down the stairs to unlock the backdoor and wait with eyes closed. Vow to never mix wines in copious amounts again. Pray that fairies had finished cleaning her kitchen during the night and that two handsome princes would arrive post haste with a magical hangover elixir.
The door swung open, and two princes did indeed sweep inside. Opening her eyes, she discovered that all her prayers had been answered. Her kitchen had been cleaned during the night, and a cup of steaming black coffee was thrust into her hands. Bless you, Liam, on both counts.
“It’s hot,” he warned. “Don’t drink too fast.”
“Come sit down.” Before you fall down, was the implication, but Zach took her arm and led her to a barstool at the island.
Liam handed her an egg sandwich he’d unwrapped and plated. Fluffy scrambled egg and thinly shaved ham on a tender biscuit. The answer to a prayer she hadn’t even gotten to yet. She wanted to kiss him in gratitude as much as she wanted to eat.
A bottle of Gatorade and a couple of aspirin appeared next to the plate. Her eyes lifted to Zach whose expression revealed both excitement and stress. Oh, right. Tomorrow was his wedding day which accounted for the excitement. And he needed help which accounted for the stress.
“Give me a minute to decide if my head’s going to explode or if I’m going to throw up. Then we’ll talk.”
“Take your time.” He hopped onto the stool next to hers. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
Liam shuffled his feet behind her and massaged her shoulders. “We don’t have all day.”
“We have a few minutes.” Zach always showed that kind of patience and empathy. “She needs time to get it together.”
She took a few gulps of the ice-cold Gatorade and then swallowed the headache tablets, then ate the sandwich in slow careful bites. When everything settled in her stomach without too much objection, she uncapped the water, took a sip, and looked at Zach. “Has someone died?”
“No.”
“Do you need a car?” That would be easy. Her dad had a whole dealership full of them.
He shook his head.
“Money?” She was a little short on money these days, but this was Zach. If that’s what he needed, she’d get it for him.
Thankfully, he shook his head again.
“A new kidney?” She had two. Supposedly, she only needed one to live. Maybe she wouldn’t be a match, but she would at least offer.
His eyes squenched up in a smile as he shook his head again. “No, silly.”
Relief washed over her, but the guessing game was over. The pounding in her head threatened to resume. “Then tell me. What do you need from me today when all I want to do is climb back into be
d and pull the covers over my head?”
He opened his mouth to tell her, but Liam jumped in. “He needs you to cook.”
“What? Why? When?” She was a little slow on the uptake, but Harper and Rachel had described at length the sumptuous wedding feast being prepared by a fancy catering company out of Chicago. Jillian would never step on someone else’s contract.
“The catering crew arrived with the food truck and all the supplies,” Zach said, “but the chef was driving down separately.”
“Was there bad weather?” Her imagination ran wild. “A wreck? Was the chef hurt?”
Liam slid his hand over her mouth. “Let him tell you what happened.”
For a moment she wavered between biting his hand and licking it, but she set those thoughts aside. Her hangover was overwhelming her reasoning power. She nodded, and Liam removed his hand. She reached for her coffee. “Proceed.”
“Apparently, the temperamental chef from Chicago enjoyed a rowdy Thanksgiving with his Polish friends and relatives. Alcohol was consumed. The chef and his girlfriend had a huge blowup involving yelling and screaming and dishes being thrown along with accusations and declarations. Just when everyone thought the relationship was shattered beyond repair, the couple made up and hopped a redeye to Vegas to get married.”
“That’s crazy. He couldn’t wait to get married until after he fulfilled this brief and lucrative contract? That impromptu decision will ruin not just your wedding, but his reputation, too. I don’t get it.”
“It won’t ruin the wedding,” Zach said. “Wex’s personal chef has agreed to come and cook for the reception, but he was in Milan with his family and won’t get back in time for tonight’s rehearsal dinner. I wouldn’t trust just anyone, but I hope we can find someone local to take that in hand.” His gaze darted about the kitchen as if looking all over for this mysterious person. “If only we knew someone.”