by A. J. Pine
The face that stared into the mirror looked the same to Kimmy. She was the woman behind Emory’s lunch counter. The woman who’d stood in the crowd in the town square when Hay had proposed to Ariana.
Kimmy stared at her reflection and nodded. Bangs made no difference whether blunt cut or fluffed to one side. Same woman.
She’d best remember that.
Chapter Eight
See you tomorrow, Emory.” Kimmy shut off the lights behind the deli counter. She had to hurry home and get ready for another wedding-related event.
She hadn’t seen Booker since the dinner at Haywood’s house two nights ago. She wouldn’t be surprised if he texted and gave her an out for the evening, regardless of whether he’d noticed chemistry between them for years or not.
Emory walked into her path, blocking her exit. His bow tie today was a solid blue. “I hear they’re testing their new menu at the Burger Shack this Friday at lunch.” His tone had the quality of Eeyore’s doom and gloom. “I don’t expect much business that day. And you shouldn’t either.”
Kimmy resisted the urge to check the time on her cell phone. “We’ll be fine.” Of course, she experienced a niggle of doubt as she said it. She was just the lunch-counter clerk, not the store manager. “People are loyal to us.”
Emory considered her words, pursing his lips until he came to a judgment. “You and Booker…”
Oh, not Emory too. Customers in her line today had asked Kimmy about her relationship with Booker.
“Booker is loyal to you,” Emory was saying. “He’d show you their new menu if you asked. And if you saw it, you could design something better for us.”
“That seems kind of low, doesn’t it?” Besides, she’d declined to review it twice. How would it look if she asked now?
“It’s called survival.” Emory shook his head. “You know, Kimmy, there’s a push to turn that abandoned mill down by the interstate into a distribution center. If that happens, everything’s going to change. New homes will go up out there. New businesses too. And we’ll be left here to wither away.”
“No.” Regardless of her short-term-employee mentality, Kimmy refused to believe Emory’s prediction.
“Mark my words.” Her boss eyed her. “Unless you come up with something new and slam-bang, something that keeps customers here, the Burger Shack will ruin things for this store.”
Then Emory was paged to the front of the store, leaving Kimmy to ponder his opinion and whether they applied to food trucks too.
“I was just about to call you.” Kimmy stood in the open doorway of her apartment, trapped between the hot late-afternoon air and Booker climbing her stairs and the cool air-conditioning and the safety of her normal life inside.
Should she kiss his cheek hello? Drag him inside for a lip-lock? Or ask about his menu?
Booker hurried toward the door in a dark suit and tie, checking his cell phone and looking like a businessman from Denver, not her childhood friend.
“I thought you might cancel.” She’d give him an out. After all, Booker still hadn’t looked at her. That kiss. Every second that passed made it more awkward to bring up.
He drew his brows together, released them, and then pocketed his phone. “I’m late, that’s all. Dante was out at the old mill with some friends and somehow got left behind.” He stopped on her welcome mat and looked at her. A slow smile built on his face. “Now that”—he gestured toward her from head to toe—“all works together, bangs included.”
Booker’s attention was building her confidence. Her dress this evening was a sapphire-blue sheath. Kimmy was getting used to the new haircut and dressing like an adult. She could get used to Booker’s compliments too. And yet she felt deflated. The fact that they hadn’t talked about that kiss had to mean something.
“What’s wrong?” His smile fell, and he hustled her inside, closing the door behind them.
“This.” Why beat around the bush? She gestured from him to her. “Us pretending. Me holding your hand. Being in your space. Kissing you.”
Booker tilted his head and studied her face, saying nothing as the heat built in her cheeks.
“Say something,” she whispered.
“I’m just putting everything in context.” He came forward slowly until he was close enough to brush the bangs from her eyes, although he didn’t touch her. “You’re taking responsibility for a deal we both agreed to. It isn’t you deciding to hold my hand. As far as I recall, I’ve always reached for your hand first.”
So true. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but we do.” His hands came to rest on her shoulders, sliding slowly down her arms until his fingers closed around hers. “You haven’t been moving into my space. I’ve been dragging you into it. And that kiss the other night? I kissed you, not the other way around.”
“I didn’t just stand there,” Kimmy mumbled.
“No.” He broke out that infectious smile. “You didn’t.”
“But…” How to say this? “Everyone’s been telling me this…” She held on tight to his hands and shook them. “That this was bound to happen. That all the signs were there.”
Booker stared at her tenderly. “And you didn’t see these signs?”
“No.”
“Does that mean you want to call things off?” There was a wary note to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Like you suggested the other night?”
“And go back on my word?” Yes. No. She didn’t know which would be worse.
“I know you’d never break a promise.” He leaned closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I can tough it out,” Kimmy said, unsteady in her heels. She risked looking at Booker, so close she could have leaned forward and kissed him again. “If you can.”
His trademark smile returned as his arms came around her. “Like it’s a hardship.” Before she could ask him what he meant, he’d released her, grabbed her purse and her keys, and ushered her out the door.
The dinner for the wedding party was being hosted by Ariana’s parents. Another home Kimmy used to help her mother clean.
“We need a set of tongs.” Ariana’s mother glanced around.
“I’ll get them.” Kimmy hurried from the patio into the kitchen.
Booker followed her, although not as quickly. “I thought you might need help rifling through Camilla’s drawers.” He slowed to a stop at the large kitchen island, where Kimmy stood holding the tongs she’d dug out of a drawer. “How did you…”
“Mom and I used to clean this house.” She’d never told him that. Back in the day, it’d been too embarrassing. “Come on.” Kimmy retraced her steps. “Don’t look at me like that. This is my Cinderella moment. As soon as the wedding reception is over, I’m turning into a pumpkin.”
He fell into line behind her. “Besides the fact that Cindy doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, you were never Cindy. You were Sleeping Beauty, and I’m sorry it took me so long to show up and give you a kiss.”
Kimmy’s breath caught. That was without a doubt the most romantic thing a man had ever said to her. And he’d spoken the words when she was wearing a beautiful dress, standing in a beautiful home, and having a good hair day. Could life get any better?
Booker caught Kimmy’s arm, bringing her around to face him. “In fact, I’d like to give you another.”
Kimmy stared at him through her lashes. If he was going to kiss her, she wasn’t going to object. “Camilla needs her tongs.”
“Camilla can wait.” Booker’s arms came around Kimmy. He tilted her chin up and gathered her close, hesitating, lips practically touching hers. “You want another kiss, don’t you, Sleeping Beauty?”
Kimmy’s heart pounded out an answer he couldn’t hear so she had to say, “Sometimes the magic takes more than once to work.”
His eyes sparkled, and he was smiling when his mouth came down on hers.
Their last kiss had been soft and surprising. A first-date kiss stolen o
n a whim.
There was nothing soft or whimsical about this kiss. There were heat and hunger, demand and declaration.
This. Him.
Her heart pounded harder, emboldening her to kiss deeper, to hold on tighter.
The floodgates opened in her head, and she put together pieces of memories she hadn’t allowed herself to previously. The flutter in her chest when Booker’s shoulder brushed hers in the school library as they worked through a complex equation. The weakness in her knees when his smile connected with hers in the school hallway. The tremble in her fingers when he asked her to scratch his nose while he was elbow-deep in dirty dishwater.
Yes, she’d been attracted to Booker as a girl. But he was going places, and everyone knew it. Kimmy was the daughter of an auto worker and a maid. She might have talked big dreams about going to college with Booker but she’d known the truth. She wasn’t going anywhere. Haywood came from her side of town. He was the more logical choice.
But now…
But this…
She was falling in love.
“Wow,” Booker whispered.
“Ditto.” Dizzy, Kimmy had to lean against the wall.
“Hey,” Camilla called, “do you need help finding those tongs?”
“Found them.” Kimmy drew a deep breath and pushed Booker back, gaining much-needed space.
Booker followed her out to the patio. “I think we found more than tongs.”
“Kimmy looks happy.” Haywood nudged Booker and gestured with his beer to the cluster of women sitting on the enclosed patio.
“She makes me happy.” But for how long? Once Kimmy knew the whole truth…The grilled oyster appetizers he’d eaten squirmed in his stomach. Booker should have told her the rest of the truth at Shaw’s or in her food truck or tonight before he kissed her.
The two men stood at the outdoor bar. Haywood was opening beer bottles. Booker was mixing another pitcher of margaritas.
“You told her though, right?” Hay asked, counting beers and then comparing his number to a head count. “About the menu?”
“Not yet.” Booker doled out ice cubes in tall bar glasses. “But she’ll understand.” He held on to a sliver of hope.
Hay stopped double-checking his beer order and began giving Booker the stink eye. “She won’t. I wouldn’t. It’s one thing to use her sammies to work your way through college.” He lowered his voice. “It’s another thing entirely to use her to make your fortune.”
Booker kept his voice just as low. “You know how Kimmy is. She’d give you the shoes off her feet if she thought you needed it.” Those oysters banked and rolled in his gut.
“And what would you give her if she needed it? A share of the profits? Part ownership in the Burger Shack?” Hay waited for an answer. When he got none, he gathered beer necks between his fingers. “You know, I showed her a lot of empty buildings to buy or rent when she was considering opening her own sandwich shop here in town. She couldn’t afford any of them. And yet you…”
“I’m going to give her a fair offer, Hay.” Booker sucked down some water, hoping to drown the oysters who’d taken on the role of his conscience. “She’ll get paid. I promise.”
“I understand you wanting to protect the family business but…” Haywood nudged Booker’s chest with a handful of beer bottles. “But Dante…” He bit back whatever he’d been about to say.
“Dante what?” Booker pushed the beer aside.
“Dante doesn’t deserve a free ride.” Hay’s voice was hard and unforgiving. “Yeah, I know he had cancer back in the day. But what has he done with his life since then besides being a mama’s boy?”
“Don’t you remember what he went through?” Outrage shook Booker’s voice. “Pale. Sunken eyes. Tubes coming out of him.” Half-dead before he was even four.
“I remember what he looked like when he was a toddler.” Hay blew out a breath. “Has it ever occurred to you that we turned out so well because it was either sink or swim? Adversity builds character. Let it build Dante’s.”
“So you’d have me stop everything? Change the menu back to burgers only?”
“Yes. And do you know why?” Haywood leaned closer. “Because you love Kimmy.”
The oysters hardened. Booker rubbed his chest, trying to relieve the heartburn, unable to deny Hay’s statement.
He loved Kimmy. He’d always loved Kimmy.
But he didn’t deserve her.
Chapter Nine
After that hot kiss in the kitchen, Kimmy had expected a hot good-night kiss.
She’d received a very chaste peck on the cheek at her door.
But she was nothing if not optimistic and fully expected Booker to call or text or swing by Thursday after work.
That was a big nada.
She made excuses for Booker: he was busy preparing for a relaunch; he was busy with ownership responsibilities for two businesses. But it wasn’t until she remembered that Haywood’s bachelor party was tonight that she stopped making excuses and relaxed.
He’d call. He’d call tomorrow.
Friday dawned clear and bright, belying the forecast of overcast skies and afternoon thunderstorms.
Kimmy went to work and prepped the lunch counter for the day’s special sandwich—bacon, zucchini, and spicy mozzarella paninis. Her sauce was divine. The grill was hot. And she had a date with Booker tonight. Who cared if a storm was on the horizon?
At eleven thirty, Emory came up to the counter, wearing a dark expression and a black bow tie. “I haven’t seen any of our regulars. Today’s the Burger Shack test run with their new menu. All proceeds go to charity. If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d appreciate how brilliant Booker’s strategy is.”
“The bell hasn’t tolled on us yet.” But Kimmy smoothed her clean, already smooth apron. “You’ll see.”
By noon, she’d served five customers instead of ten and was getting nervous.
Emory walked past slowly, raising his brows at her one customer.
By one thirty, Kimmy was ready for an early lunch break. With Janet behind the counter and no line, Kimmy removed her apron and walked the two blocks to the Burger Shack under gathering clouds.
Thunder rumbled over Saddle Horn Mountain. Trepidation rumbled inside her.
Kimmy went around to the back.
“Kimmy!” Mrs. Belmonte sat at the outdoor employee table, the same one where Booker, Haywood, and Kimmy had taken breaks on summer days. She closed a travel magazine and scurried over to give her a hug. “Seems like I haven’t seen you in ages.” She held Kimmy a little too long. And her smile was a little too big. “I’m so glad you and Booker are finally dating.”
Kimmy made a noncommittal noise and entered the Burger Shack, looking for Booker.
She’d worked at the Shack on some popular burger holidays—Memorial Day weekend, Fourth of July, Labor Day. It had never been this chaotic before. What kind of menu change had Booker made that had created such a feeding frenzy?
The chill hand of suspicion grazed the back of her neck.
Seven people were working in the kitchen. They had the fryer crackling and the grill sizzling. There was a crew working the assembly row, nervously checking the posted ingredient lists as they put together sandwiches and then placed them on a panini press.
Sandwiches.
She moved deeper into the kitchen, peering over Agnes Hempstead’s shoulder to see what she was making.
Monte Cristo Waffle Sammy.
The bottom dropped out of Kimmy’s world. It was one of the first few sandwiches she’d created in this very kitchen. For Booker and Hay.
She stepped to the left, looking over Joyce Jamison’s shoulder.
Mac and Cheese and Pepper Panini.
Again, it was a sandwich she’d created for Booker and Hay. Her heart flattened as if someone had put it in a hot panini maker.
She circled around the assembly stations, finding more familiar recipes. Somewhere along the way, she found her anger. It flamed hot, burning romantic hopes to a
sh.
“Hey.” Booker, standing tall but maybe not so proud. A man who knew he had some explaining to do.
Thunder rolled across the valley—boom boom boom boom.
A voice in her head echoed its cadence—fool fool fool fool.
“Outside,” Kimmy told Booker. “Now.” She didn’t look to see whether he’d follow. She was too busy trying to make sure her legs didn’t give out.
She pushed through the back door and stomped out from under the cover of the portico.
“Is something wrong, honey?” Mrs. Belmonte asked from her place at the table.
“You need to go inside, Mrs. B.” Kimmy worked hard to keep from shouting. “There’s a storm coming.”
On cue, thunder cracked overhead. Lightning sparked through her.
Mrs. Belmonte went through the door, passing Booker on his way out.
They stared at each other. Kimmy, feeling empty and betrayed, standing unprotected from the elements. Booker, looking handsome and unreadable, standing beneath the portico.
“You said you used my recipes while you were in college.” Her words were as jagged as the lightning flashing overhead.
“Yes.” His answer was disappointing.
She’d expected him to apologize, maybe grovel a little. It might have been a fantasy but hearing him beg would’ve been good for her heartbroken soul. But no. He’d gone for taciturn. He was going to make her dig out every transgression.
Kimmy wasn’t going to play that game. “I need to hire a lawyer.”
His eyes widened. He probably hadn’t counted on her cutting right to the chase.
Thunder shook the buildings around them. It shook the legs beneath her.
“I…” He faltered then, gaze sliding toward the Burger Shack.
She knew the family business had always been his top priority, overriding everything. Apparently even what little honor she’d ascribed to his character.
Booker swallowed. “I drew up a contract to pay for your recipes. I was waiting for the right time to show it to you.”