Rum and Notes

by Elise Faber

  “I—”

  “Then you nibbled on the corner of your mouth—like you’re doing now—and I wanted to kiss you as much then as I do now.”

  She released her bottom lip along with a shuddering breath. “Why didn’t you? Why don’t you?”

  “First,” I said, tracing my thumb over the oft-injured spot on her mouth, “I didn’t want to get arrested for assaulting a woman I’d shared less than twenty words with. And second . . . chemistry isn’t our issue, babe. But we jumped over a bunch of getting-to-know-you steps, and that means I need to make sure we don’t keep skipping over important stuff.”

  “What if I said it wasn’t important?”

  “An ex who left you three weeks after you lost your twin and who still makes you cry—”

  “Steven didn’t make me cry.”

  Steven. Figured. Biggest asshole growing up at my school was a Steven.

  I lifted a brow.

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “I’m going to say this once and then we’re done with it, okay?”

  Since I wasn’t going to agree with that bit of nonsense—we'd talk shit out as often as it was necessary—I just cupped her cheek. “Tell me.”

  “I got together with Steven after my parents died. Hay never liked him, said he treated me like shit instead of glass, but he was there and into me and . . .” A sigh. “I was a different person with him and not a good one. In fact, I actually had stopped writing because he didn’t like the time it took away from him. So in the end, it was a good thing that I got dumped. It gave me the strength to get back to myself.”

  “Still say he’s an asshole,” I muttered.

  She laughed. “I’m not going to argue with that.”

  “Tears.”

  “Dog to a bone, aren’t you?”

  “When it’s something I care about, then yes.”

  Her face softened, and I decided in my mental tally of great things that were Brooke, this was the best. Her looking at me like that, letting me in a little deeper, fucking nirvana.

  “I was crying because it was the first time I opened my mom’s cookbook since she died.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Fuck, this woman undid me

  “I don’t know what we have,” she said, voice soft. “But I’ve spent a lot of time over the last couple of days thinking about it. I obviously want to jump your bones, but it’s more than that. Maybe it’s the silent six months of dating”—her small smile made my heart skip a beat—“or maybe it’s just that this thing between us is special—”

  “It is.”

  “Regardless, I like you a lot, Kace. Probably more than is smart or prudent, but there it is.” A shrug. “I made my mom’s lasagna because I wanted to impress you and also because it’s incredible and people always go back for seconds, so I knew I’d keep you at the table to try and make up for a few of the, as you call them, getting-ahead-of-ourselves steps.”

  My pulse pounded because she got it, because she was right there with me.

  And because of that, I knew we’d had enough of the heavy.

  So I just met her eyes, gave her a soft, “Thank you,” and then stood so we could both find our feet.

  “I’ll set the table,” I told her. “You check on that delicious-smelling lasagna.”

  She nodded and started for the kitchen then paused, reaching down to pick up a blanket that had fallen to the floor during her struggles. “Kace?”

  “Hmm?”

  Brooke glanced back, totally caught me staring at her ass, but fuck, her butt looked amazing in those tight jeans.

  “Baby?”

  I got my shit together and forced my gaze up.

  She was smiling. “Dishes are in the cabinet next to the sink.”

  “On it.”

  I tugged the end of her ponytail as I strode by, rubbing the silken ruby strands between my fingers. “Pretty.”

  “Charmer.”

  “I try.”

  “Try is the operative word.”

  I burst out laughing. Then Brooke bent to check on the pan of lasagna in the oven, and I got busted staring at her ass again.

  But as I’d already established, it was a fantastic ass.

  So totally worth it.

  “Kace?”

  I forced my eyes up.

  “I don’t trust easily.” A brief hesitation. “Current company aside.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “I know, babe. Which is why we’re going to tread carefully moving forward. Okay?”

  Her smile was soft. “More than okay. That sounds perfect.”

  Sixteen

  Brooke

  I skipped into the bar two days later, having spent the last two evenings with Kace.

  The first, we’d devoured the lasagna, then hunkered down on the couch and binged watched Marvel movies. And this time, there was no fast-forwarding through the scary bits, mostly because there weren’t any scary bits. Perilous, exciting, funny, and sometimes tear-inducing, but not frightening. They didn’t completely fill my horror void, but sitting cuddled up next to Kace as he’d stroked his fingers through my ponytail over and over again had filled a different one.

  I felt lighter than I had in years, almost buoyant. I’d laid it all on him, and he hadn’t shied away, hadn’t blinked, hadn’t run.

  So, there were butterflies in my tummy, heat in my—cough—but most importantly, I didn’t feel as though I were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  The second night, Kace took me out to dinner.

  And not at three in the morning, though it was nice that he was as much of a night owl as I was.

  We’d gone into the city and hit Little Italy, devouring arancini and handmade pasta, gorging ourselves on rolls, then he’d walked me to my door, laid a kiss on me that had me seeing stars, and whispered, “I really like the dress,” before shutting me safely in my apartment.

  I’d been disappointed to say the least. I’d pulled out the one thing that wasn’t jeans and T-shirts in my closet. I’d even worn fancy shoes and makeup. But he hadn’t come in.

  My cell had buzzed two seconds after the lock engaged.

  You deserve someone who treads carefully with you.

  The exhale slipping through my lips was shaky. And that was before the next text.

  I’ll be dreaming about that glimpse of black lace I saw when the wind lifted your skirt.

  I’d slipped off my shoes, headed into my bedroom to change into my pajamas, and then my phone had vibrated again.

  But not as much as you in those thin ass shorts you’re probably slipping into right now.

  Fire.

  The man was fire, and I was going up in flames while I was trying to remind myself that he was being sweet at slowing the physical stuff down, as well as smart because we should get to know each other more.

  But I didn’t want to.

  I wanted my shorts on the floor and his mouth on me again.

  Then I wanted the hard length that I’d been lucky enough to feel a few times to slip inside and show me everything I’d been imagining he could do with it. And considering the way he’d used his tongue on me, I’d expanded on my imaginings a whole hell of a lot.

  I decided to ponder on that.

  Not so much the imaginings, as where I saw things going with Kace and if I needed to tread carefully or if, for the first time in my life, I was ready to leap in with both feet and figure out the rest later.

  I had been leaning toward the latter after that second night, but the text from Kace that morning—well, more early afternoon since I’d managed to squeeze in a few words before my chainsawing neighbor had messed with my mojo and the words had stopped flowing.

  I’d sent Kace a text forgetting the time, just before I’d gone to bed, telling him goodnight.

  Then I’d woken up to:

  Hope your characters treated you right, babe. But if you’re going to write me into more books, then you have to do it with that sweet ass on a stool in my bar.

  Curious, I’d re
plied.

  Why?

  A buzz.

  Because then I get your smiles for refilling drinks you don’t actually drink.

  I’d laughed, stretched, and sent back a response.

  Lies. But anyway, I need to change out of these shorts and do a few errands. Before I go, I have a very serious question for you.

  My cell went off.

  Scary shit, babe. But shoot.

  I wrinkled my nose, strangely bummed that he hadn’t commented on my mention of shorts, but dutifully went on with my line of questioning.

  Pumpkin or chocolate?

  Silence then,

  Might as well break out the cat of nine making me choose between those.

  I would have been lying if I’d said my heart wasn’t fluttering.

  Then how about pumpkin AND chocolate?

  His reply came in seconds.

  I’d say you’re the perfect woman for me.

  I was still catching my breath from that particular comment (dangerous, charming, and fucking the best ever) when my cell vibrated again.

  Also, no fair about the shorts if I can’t be there to see you in them.

  I grinned.

  Goodbye, Kace. See you tonight.

  The next buzzes came in rapid succession.

  Fuck. You’re still wearing them.

  Maybe.

  Killing me.

  See you tonight.

  Bye, babe.

  Bye.

  I’d flopped back on my bed, lips curved, still buoyant, still fluttering, but . . . no longer nervous. I was all in. Kace and I might end with heartbreak, but I knew I couldn’t miss the glorious ride along the way.

  So I’d gotten up, showered, and hit the grocery store. I’d made him awesome pumpkin bread with chocolate chunks and a caramel crumble (from my mom’s cookbook, and this time I didn’t cry) and did my weekly duty with the laundry pile in the hallway. Then because I’d started my chores in the early afternoon and now it was early evening and Kace would be at the bar, I gathered my stuff and hoofed it the few blocks over.

  I’d also worn the black lace.

  It was just under my mom jeans and Baby Yoda T-shirt.

  Because I was plying him with pumpkin and chocolate and tempting him (hopefully) with the lace.

  Now it was smack dab in the middle of dinnertime, and the bar was packed. I hesitated at the door, suddenly nervous because so much had changed since the last time I’d been in. But the changes were good, so I lifted my chin and waded my way through the throngs of people. Brent wasn’t on, which I thought was a good thing since I was still finding my footing with this taking chances and diving headfirst thing and didn’t need my brother’s friend keeping an eye on me.

  I also didn’t need him antagonizing Kace.

  I did need to take him out to dinner as I’d previously promised and catch up.

  Tonight, however, was about Kace and me and pumpkin bread and black lace. I slipped between a gabbing group of women and a shit-shooting cluster of men then was nearly plowed over when some guy carrying three pints turned without warning.

  But then there was an arm around my shoulders, a chest against my back, and Kace’s scent in my nose.

  “Babe,” he murmured in my ear.

  “Kace,” I murmured back.

  “Missed you.”

  Warm fuzzies filled me as he led me through the bar and over to my stool. As in, it was officially my stool. A little sign that said reserved on the bar top, and a cover printed with For Brooke on the seat.

  “Brent,” he said and helped me up. “Wish I’d thought of it.”

  The last was a grumble that made me smile. Not here, but still stirring shit. “Thanks for the save,” I murmured and reached into my backpack to unearth the foil-wrapped package of pumpkin bread. “Chocolate and pumpkin.”

  His eyes lit up then dimmed. “You made this?”

  Oh fuck.

  I bit my lip, released it. “Um . . . yeah? When I made the lasagna, I saw this recipe and remembered how good it was, and you said you liked chocolate and pumpkin so”—I shrugged—“I went to the store. I mean, you don’t have to eat it. I just thought that you might like—”

  Suddenly, I wasn’t on the stool any longer. I was on my feet, and Kace was hauling me toward the exit.

  Was he kicking me out? Maybe he’d been joking about the pumpkin/chocolate combo?

  But then I had bigger problems because my bag was on the bar and unattended, and I think I already established how my whole life was inside it.

  “My backpack!” I said, digging my heels in. “I can’t leave it.”

  He froze, released me, and blue eyes filled with ice, ordered me to, “Stay.”

  I frowned, opening my mouth to tell him to cool it with the orders, but he was already gone, the foil-wrapped bread still in one hand. He reached my bag in a few strides, picked it up, and tucked it behind the counter, and while his movements were jerky, as though he were riding the edge of his control, he was still gentle with my precious cargo.

  Then he was back, taking my hand, dragging me out of the bar and down the hallway into his office.

  Or, at least, I hoped it was his office, since he kept taking me back there and he knew the combination to the safe. This time he didn’t slam the door and pin me to it, but he did close it softly before setting the bread down on the desk like it was either the most fragile object in the world or a dangerous, ticking time bomb.

  I couldn’t get a read on his mood.

  Quiet, but not cold like I’d thought.

  Withdrawn.

  With an edge of panic?

  He faced me, leaning back on the desk, and closed his eyes. Then he sucked in a breath. Every instinct was telling me that he was riding the edge, that he might blow and lash out—thanks, Steven for that, for teaching me that a man in pain would hurt me. I was trained to keep my distance, out of fear and safety, and because I was scared of this thing between us.

  But I was also jumping in.

  And I knew that Kace was different.

  So, I pushed off the door and went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding on tight. “What happened?”

  He’d jumped at the contact, and I expected a barb. Instead, I got sweet. His chin rested on top of my head. “I mentioned that I grew up in the system,” he said softly. “I didn’t mention that I was in there from the time I was two. Bounced from house to house, my mom’s and into foster care, a family member’s and back into foster care, then the family part stopped, and it was just foster parent to foster parent. Eventually, I landed in a group home, and that was its own special kind of hell.”

  “Baby,” I murmured.

  It was a recitation on the surface, withdrawn facts, but listening to him, I realized what I’d heard in the bar, what I’d seen below the superficial words. Old pain. Aching hurts that never fully healed, no matter how hard you tried to get on with life.

  Kace had that, and I realized that was part of why I was so comfortable with him. He understood what I’d gone through, and even though his pain was different than mine, the outcome was the same, and it wasn’t something we would ever fully recover from. It wouldn’t stop us from living our lives, but it would creep into it at odd moments, try to steal the good times and happiness.

  And sometimes it would win.

  Not every time.

  But sometimes.

  “Never,” he said. “Never has someone done this, made something for me, given me something because they thought I’d like it. Not my mom or dad, not my foster parents, not the women I dated. But you”—he leaned back slightly and cupped my cheek—“three days with you and you did that, you gave that. No strings, just because I might like it.”

  “Baby.”

  He shuddered. “I knew you were good when you walked through the door. I fucking knew it. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you, switched the sides of the bar I worked at so I could be close and none of the other fuckers working here could.” I jerked in his hold, lips twi
tching at the admission. “But, babe . . . I didn’t have it in me to hope that you might give me good without strings or games or fucking with my head.” His eyes slipped closed again, and I felt mine get wet. “I sure as fuck never dared to dream that I could have something that pure.”

  That was the most incredible thing someone had ever said to me, and I didn’t know how to respond, I just knew I was going to try. “Kace—”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” came a male voice, “but I’m losing control out here.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “One minute and I'll be out.”

  I sighed.

  He took one look at my face. “I’m sorry to dump this on you and leave, but—”

  “It’s your job.”

  “Babe.” Kace’s palm convulsed, and I couldn’t read the expression that crossed his face, not withdrawn any longer, not in the least, but it was gone so quickly I couldn’t process it.

  “Go.”

  I stepped back and opened the door. “I’ll—”

  I was going to say that I would meet him in there, but before I could finish my sentence, he snagged my hand and tugged me along behind him. Which gave me way too many dog-on-a-leash vibes.

  “I can walk on my own, you know.”

  “Know it,” Kace muttered. “Like to hold your hand.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  I shut up, trailed him into the bar.

  And I did it, letting him hold my hand.

  Seventeen

  Kace

  Brooke and I were alone in the bar, the lights were dimmed, and the front door was locked.

  But she was still typing.

  So I’d left her to it, pressing a soft kiss to her head on the way to my office and my desk full of paperwork, trying to sneak out quietly as I’d gone.

  She’d still noticed, glancing up at me with slightly hazy eyes and saying, “I’m almost done, baby.”

  “Take your time,” I’d murmured, giving her that kiss and slipping out.

  That had been an hour ago.

  Now my paperwork was done, she was still typing away, and I’d broken out the pumpkin chocolate bread. Just peeling back that foil was like opening the best Christmas present of my life.