by Wendy Warren
Confused as heck and growing more alarmed, Willa clicked the lock. Immediately, Derek opened the door and reached for her arm to help her out. “Let’s move quickly,” he said.
“We’re not even in Thunder Ridge,” Willa grumbled. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m a county employee. You’re in my county. Now, do you need anything besides your purse?”
“I just went to the grocery store.”
“Okay, get in the squad car, please. I’ll grab the groceries.”
She did as he asked, realizing as she slid onto the front seat of the police car that she was asking him to risk his safety for her pancetta. She watched him, big and strong and sure, and was going to call out to him to forget the groceries when he returned, three bags in his hands. He stowed everything in the backseat then slid into the driver’s spot. The car filled with his presence. She felt sure she could smell his pheromones.
With supreme effort, she returned her attention to the car. “Where are the sparks?” she asked.
“They were visible while you were driving. It’s a good sign that it stopped when you cut the engine. So.” He glanced her way. “Got any plans for the weekend?”
“Is it okay to leave the car there if it could catch on fire?” She craned her neck to look back.
“Like I said, it stopped sparking. And I’m sure a fire truck will be there soon. Weekend plans?” he asked again.
The night was starting to feel truly surreal. Derek hadn’t spoken to her this much in weeks. These days, she saw him mostly in passing or through the window of the bakery if he dropped by to pick up Gilberto. He didn’t come in. She’d come to accept that whatever attraction he’d felt for her had ended, and she tried not to think about why.
“I’m working on Sunday,” she said. “I thought I’d do some cooking tomorrow. Freeze a few dinners.” Wow. That ought to make his head spin with excitement. “Maybe I’ll take a drive into Portland.” The urban area was a good ninety minutes away by car. And, actually, it seemed even further removed with regard to lifestyle. The uber-popular, quirky city couldn’t be more different from the charming western vibe of Thunder Ridge.
“What are you going to do in Portland?”
Uh, nothing. Because I just made it up. “I might go to Powell’s.” She mentioned the multistory independent bookstore that was on every visitor’s must-see list. “And I love Northwest 23rd.” That much, at least, was true. Northwest 23rd boasted some of the city’s best shops and eateries. Maybe she really ought to drive over. Get out of her rut.
“Have you ever eaten at El Gaucho?”
Willa shook her head.
“It’s downtown in the Benson Hotel. Best steaks this side of Texas.”
“You’ve been to Texas?”
“I’m from Texas,” he confirmed.
“I assumed you grew up in the Pacific Northwest.”
“I did.” In the lights from the dashboard, she saw him smile wryly. “I ‘grew up’ here. Became a man instead of a would-be felon. But I was born in Lubbock, Texas, and lived there until I was almost seventeen. That’s when the uncle I was living with told me to straighten up or get out. I chose to get out. Started hitchhiking and ended up here, thank God.”
He kept surprising her. “You really did have a hard childhood.”
Derek shrugged. “I had challenges.” They drove in silence for a good quarter mile before he spoke again. “Gilberto is confused, because the only people he feels he belongs with are the ones he can’t relate to. They’re people he doesn’t want to become, and they’re not what I’d call attentive. Not belonging to them, though, makes him feel panicked. Like a boat bobbing alone in the middle of the ocean. He wants mooring, and he’ll take it where he can get it. Even if that means looking for it in all the wrong places.”
Everything he said made sense, but somehow his words left her with a burning discomfort in the pit of her stomach. “You’re offering him the chance to belong somewhere,” she observed. “You’re doing everything you can to help.”
He cut a glance at her. “You’re giving him the opportunity to belong, too. Every time you work with him.”
“But my help is temporary.” Suddenly, she felt sick with worry. “Maybe the last thing he needs is someone transient in his life. What if that makes things worse?”
“What you’re giving him isn’t temporary, Willa. The time you spend with Gilberto is something he’ll take with him wherever he goes, from now on.” He paused. “And how do you know when your relationship with him is going to end? It doesn’t have an expiration date.”
They were nearing Thunder Ridge. The twinkle lights that had decorated every building since the weekend after Thanksgiving were becoming visible, a sweet beacon to guide them down an otherwise dark road. Derek had stopped talking, the silence in the car unexpectedly welcome as Willa tried to make sense of her feelings.
All her life, she’d had a place and people to whom she’d belonged. Why did talking about belonging, even thinking about it, make her feel so nettled? Being hesitant to put down roots in Thunder Ridge did not mean she didn’t belong...somewhere. And if it turned out that all she was doing here was helping a young preteen set down roots that would allow him to grow tall, that ought to be enough.
As they reached the downtown area, Derek turned up Warm Springs Road. After 6:00 p.m., even on a Friday night, most of the businesses were dark, though a couple of diehards, notably the General Store and the pet shop that had opened last year, remained well lit and open for business. As Derek approached Fourth Street, Willa alerted, “You can turn here for me.” His cell phone rang, and he answered it, passing the street. “Or not,” she murmured.
“Hey, Izz,” he said, using his Bluetooth. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m close to the deli... Sure, I can check it for you... Right-o. Bye.” He looked at Willa. “Octavio thinks he forgot to turn off the burners this afternoon. Izzy’s at some function with Nate and asked me to stop by and take a look. Do you mind coming along?”
“No, I don’t mind. That’s really weird. Octavio crosses every T. If anything, he’s a tad obsessive.”
“We all have an off day occasionally.”
“I guess so.”
Derek drove around the corner and into the alley behind The Pickle Jar. “Come with me,” he said to Willa. “You can show me how to turn off the burners.”
As they stood at the back door, she asked, “How long have you had keys to Izzy’s restaurant?”
“Pretty much forever. Henry and Sam gave them to me years ago.” Henry and Sam Bernstein had owned and operated the deli for decades before giving 60 percent of the business to Izzy, who’d started out as a waitress and manager before becoming their partner. The two men had happily semiretired and were currently at a cousin’s home on Kaua’i, where, according to Izzy, Sam had fallen in love with shave ice and was trying to convince Henry to open a stand in Thunder Ridge upon their return.
Unlocking the door that opened to a storage area, Derek said, “Here we are,” his voice sounding overly loud in the empty restaurant. He stepped back, allowing Willa to enter first. Knowing exactly where to find the light, she clicked it on, then led the way into the kitchen. The aromas of deli fare—potato and fried-onion knishes, corned beef, all the yummy comfort food—teased her nose as if the deli was open and ready for business, and she realized how hungry she was. “Octavio must have been cooking ahead for next week,” she surmised. Why else would a restaurant that had been closed for a couple of hours smell like it was in the middle of a dinner rush? “I wonder if they’re catering something?” Usually when the Pickle Jar catered, Izzy tapped Willa for cakes and cookies, but no one had mentioned an upcoming event.
“I don’t know,” Derek said, “but it’s making me hungry. I haven’t had dinner.”
“Me, either.” She glanced over. A smile (truly
adorable, let’s be honest), played at the corners of his mouth. She began to imagine a private picnic in the closed restaurant. Raiding the walk-in refrigerator and the adjacent bakery, lighting a candle and setting it on one of the tables or at the counter. Maybe she would say something like, “You’ve never had a cheese blintze with marmalade? You have to taste it” and use her fingers to pop a bite into his mouth.
Why not? Do it. Don’t think. Just—
“You know,” she ventured, interrupting her own thoughts before they talked her out of it, “if we’re both hungry, we’re in the right place.” Her heart pounded with every word. “I bet we could find something to—”
“Surprise!”
Willa squealed as dozens of familiar people popped out from behind booths and tables in The Pickle Jar’s dining room.
A hand reached out to steady her. A big, warm, supportive hand. Derek leaned close. “Happy birthday, Willa.”
His calm murmur tickled the hair by her ear and sent shivers all the way through her. It took several seconds to find her voice. “This is for me?”
His smile gentled. “All for you.”
Willa turned toward the crowd of people who were calling out, “Happy birthday!” and asking Derek, “Is she surprised?”
As her gaze roved around the crowd, she noted Izzy, along with Nate and their son, Eli; Holliday Bailey, the librarian; Kim, her coworker from the bakery, who was holding hands with her husband; and a good thirty other people. Standing in front of them all, holding a hand-lettered poster that shouted Happy Birthday, Willa/Teacher! was Gilberto. His grin held none of the shyness it had when they’d first met, the afternoon he’d decided to take the donation jar. Instead, he looked excited, full of importance in a really good way.
Derek placed a hand on the small of her back, gently urging her forward.
As she moved from the kitchen to the dining counter, around which most of the guests were crowded, Willa became aware that the chattering and greetings were becoming more subdued until they quieted altogether. Dozens of faces looked at her expectantly, making her acutely conscious that of all the folks here to celebrate her birthday, to celebrate her, she didn’t know any of them very well, and they knew her...hardly at all. Not a one of them would be able to name the most important events of her life; that’s how she had wanted it. Now her reluctance to let these people into her world made her feel awkward and kind of small as they waited for her to say something.
“Thank you,” she started off breathlessly. “This is such a surprise.” Duh. “I mean, I truly, truly had no idea. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble.” She shook her head, shocked when tears began to prick her eyes. “I’m speechless,” she concluded lamely.
Her relief was great when Derek took over. “Somebody said there’d be food at this shindig,” he called out. “The birthday girl hasn’t had dinner. Let’s eat!” Enthusiastic applause traveled around the restaurant.
Izzy and Octavio—it looked as if the entire staff had given up their night off for her—sprang into action. Out came the platters of food whose aromas had enticed her as soon as she’d opened the door. A line formed at the counter, and plates were filled. Several people greeted Willa personally and urged her to eat. She promised to join everyone in a moment, but she wanted to talk to Gilberto first.
“You made that sign?” She pointed to the large electric-yellow poster board he held.
Nodding, he boasted, “I spelled everything right, too. Do you like it?”
“I love it. Thank you. And thank you for spending your Friday with me. I know you usually watch a movie with your cousins on Fridays.”
His gaze shifted. “We don’t do that so much anymore.”
She frowned. He’d only told her about his busy Friday nights two weeks ago. “Me and my cousins do a lot of fun stuff,” he’d said.
“Well, people have busy seasons sometimes,” she reasoned. “Schedules can change temporarily.”
Gilberto shrugged, but some of his joy seemed to evaporate.
“If you’re free tomorrow,” she said spontaneously, “there’s a theater in Portland that plays reruns. They’re showing Hotel Transylvania, one and two. I love those movies. And there’s an ice cream store nearby that’s serving Vampire Blood ice cream and another flavor called Creepy Cake Batter, which has actual bug brittle in it. That’s a crunchy candy with pieces of real bugs. I dare you to taste it.”
Gilberto screwed up his face. “Gross! I’ll taste it if you will.”
Willa laughed. “I’ll decide after the movie.”
“Did I hear someone mention ice cream?” Derek appeared beside them, making Willa’s skin tingle from the nearness.
“Bug ice cream,” Gilberto crowed, socking Derek on the arm. “Willa dared me to eat some.”
As he chattered on about the kinds of bugs he imagined would be in the ice cream, Willa realized she envied Gilberto’s easy way with Derek.
“Mi abuela grew up eating a dish called sompopos in Guatemala,” Derek said when Gilberto dared him to eat an insect. “Sompopos are ants. She cooked them in butter.”
“No way!” Gilberto found this fascinating.
Actually, so did Willa. “You’re Guatemalan?”
“My grandmother was mestiza, half Indian and half Spanish. Her daughter, my mother, married an Irish lad.”
“Guatemalan,” Willa mused. “Is that the reason for your year-round tan?” She touched his wrist—a purely unconscious gesture that, paradoxically, made her hyperconscious of, oh boy, everything about him. Conscious of the hair on his arm and the smoothness of the skin beneath. Conscious of the scent beneath his clean-soap smell and the subtle aftershave he wore. The scent she most often associated with Derek was just him. Warm, comforting, enticing, stirring... Derek.
He glanced to her fingers, resting light as butterflies on his wrist. His gaze seemed to electrify their touch, but when his brow lowered, she pulled away self-consciously.
Derek’s big hand clamped onto Gilberto’s shoulder. “Grab some food and a booth. We’ll be right behind you.”
Gilberto didn’t require a second invitation to eat. Presenting the Happy Birthday sign to Willa, he jumped into the buffet line, where several people pushed him on ahead of them, making sure his plate was piled.
“He really is becoming part of the community,” Willa observed softly, looking up at Derek to find him watching her steadily. He relieved her of the large cardboard sign, tucking it behind a stool at the counter, then returned to her. Derek stood a good ten inches taller than she, and she felt at a slight disadvantage. “I’m guessing my car is actually okay?”
“It’s fine. I’ll take you back to get it in the morning. Or tonight, if you need it.”
More time alone with him sounded good to her, or it would if she didn’t sense the distance between them.
“It was incredibly good of you to go to all the trouble you did to get me here.” She surveyed the scene around them. Someone had added music to complete the party atmosphere, and for the first time she noticed the balloons. “I still can’t believe Izzy organized this, as busy as she is.”
“She’s capable of it, but it wasn’t Izzy,” Derek said. “It was Gilberto’s idea. Izzy was all for it.” He stopped, shaking his head. “Actually, she was a little concerned you might feel uncomfortable with the attention, but Gilberto insisted.”
“Gilberto did?”
“He heard Izzy mention your birthday and came to me so fired up to throw you a party, I couldn’t have talked him out of it if I’d tried.”
“He came to you.” She frowned. “That means you planned this?”
“Gilberto planned. I facilitated.” Derek crossed his arms in the classic sheriff stance she was starting to find more endearing than intimidating. “I’m not big on parties, but he’s right. You deserve one.”
>
The word “deserve” deepened her frown. “I haven’t done anything to deserve all this—”
He silenced her by pressing his index finger to her lips, and if touching his wrist was electrifying, that was nothing compared to the pad of his finger on her lips.
“You’re important.” His voice was husky, heavy. “To this town. To Gilberto.” His eyes, deep and dark and burning like the core of a volcano, told her what he didn’t say out loud. To me. You’re important to me.
“I thought you didn’t like me anymore.” Though she attempted to say it ironically, Willa heard the faint pleading tone that turned her statement into a question. She cringed inwardly, wanting to take the words back, but Derek’s lips curved in the most mesmerizing quarter smile.
“That would be way, way too easy.” He wagged his head. “And so far nothing with you has been easy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” After a moment of what appeared to be an internal battle, he announced, “I’m driving you home tonight after the party. Could your car use an oil change?”
She nodded.
“Dan Bowman will take care of it and bring your car over in the morning.”
Done. His tone said not to argue. A thrill shivered up her arms.
“Okay, you two, time to hit the buffet.” Izzy slapped Derek on the shoulder—rather hard, Willa thought. “You’re monopolizing the birthday girl. Let her eat and mingle.”
Derek glowered at Izzy. Willa smiled at the knowledge that he really did want to spend more time with her. Even as she slipped into the buffet line ahead of Derek, she imagined inviting him into her home later that night. Anticipation rose, and she felt like one of the sparkling cider bottles Jax Stewart was opening at the beverage table. Any more internal pressure, and she’d bubble up all over the place.