by Melody Grace
“No, he retired. Riley bought it a couple of years back. You’ll like him,” she said, ducking inside. “He’s fun. A charmer, like you.”
Jake didn’t know what to make of that comment, and when Mackenzie crossed the room to enthusiastically greet the bartender, he couldn’t help but tense up. The guy was tall and blonde, and Mackenzie hugged him without hesitation, laughing at something he said.
Just how friendly were they?
Jake slowly strolled over.
“This is Jake.” Mackenzie turned to introduce him. “He used to be a local, before he abandoned us all for fame and fortune.”
“Hey man, welcome back.” Riley shook his hand. “Wait a minute, you look familiar. Linebacker, Miami, right?”
Jake nodded, as Mackenzie hit Riley playfully on the arm. “Since when are you a football guy?”
“I keep up!” Riley protested. “I’m a man of hidden depths.”
“Sure you are,” Mackenzie snorted. Jake looked back and forth between them, still trying to figure their relationship—and why it mattered to him so much. “Is Brooke around?” she asked.
“Upstairs,” Riley said. “Want your usual?”
Mackenzie nodded. “Double portion, please. And whatever Jake’s having.”
“Hey, this is on me.” Jake reached for his wallet, but Mackenzie shook her head so fast her curls shivered.
“No way. You’ve more than paid in sweat today. And there’s more where that came from. You realize the Starbright Festival isn’t for another month?”
He hadn’t, but strangely, Jake didn’t mind at all. “So then I’ll get the next round,” he said, sliding onto a stool at the bar.
Mackenzie smiled. “I’m not going to argue with that. Be right back!”
She ducked behind the bar and headed upstairs. Riley gave him a weary look and slid a pint of beer across the bar. “Make that a good half hour. Once those two get talking . . .”
Jake quickly put it together. “Your other half?” he asked casually, taking a sip of beer.
Riley nodded, and Jake felt a swift rush of relief. So they were just friends.
“Are you in town long?” Riley asked, giving him a look that Jake couldn’t quite read.
“I’m not sure yet,” Jake said, thinking of his huge apartment back in Miami—with a mortgage to match. “I figure on hanging out here for the holidays, at least.”
“It’s a nice time of year,” Riley nodded, still giving him that inscrutable stare. “We have a poker night running, if you’d like to come by.”
“Thanks.” It wasn’t exactly the warmest invitation, but Jake didn’t have his phone ringing off the hook. “That sounds great.”
There was a pause, and Jake felt Riley’s eyes on him, sizing him up. Thankfully, they were interrupted by a newcomer, a tall, bearded man in a rumpled plaid shirt. Jake paused, double-taking.
“Cooper?” he asked in disbelief.
“Jake Sullivan!” Cooper broke out in a smile and slapped him on the back. “What the hell, man? It’s been, what, ten years?”
“Look at you,” Jake laughed. “Last time I saw you, you were a skinny kid, now you could give my QB1 a run for their money.”
“Don’t remind me,” Cooper groaned. He turned to Riley. “This guy was always keeping me out of trouble in high school.”
“I didn’t have much choice.” Jake grinned. “He would go wading into fights he didn’t have a chance in hell of winning.”
“At least not until you showed up.” Cooper grinned. “Man, it’s good to see you.” His smile slipped. “I was sorry to hear about the injury. Tough break.”
“Thanks.” Jake changed the subject quickly. “What about you? What have you been up to? Besides hitting the gym.”
Cooper snorted. “Try hauling timber. I do contractor work these days,” he explained.
“He’s being modest,” Riley interrupted. “He restores historical houses, he’s famous around here.”
Cooper shook his head. “Architectural Digest kind of famous. It’s not exactly TMZ,” he said, giving Jake an amused look.
Jake coughed. That incident—stumbling out of a club at five a.m. with a Hollywood starlet—wasn’t exactly his finest hour. His coach had made him run drills the next day until he was just about ready to collapse. “I don’t make a habit of it, believe me,” he said ruefully. “But it sounds like you’re doing great.”
“I’ve no complaints.” Cooper gave a satisfied smile. “Hey, if you’re looking for something in the area, just let me know. I need to put my old place on the market, or get a renter in, at least.”
Jake didn’t think he’d be sticking around long enough for that, but he nodded politely. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“And what about you?” Cooper took a seat beside him. “I hear you’re already roped into this Starbright Festival affair.”
“How did you—” Jake stopped and shook his head. “I forgot that gossip in this town puts the tabloids to shame.”
“Poppy heard it from Aunt June who got it from Hank at the hardware store.” Cooper grinned. “Welcome back.”
“Some things never change.”
“Sure they do.”
Mackenzie’s voice made him look up. She appeared back down the stairs, and danced out to the main bar, pausing to ruffle Cooper’s hair and steal a French fry from the bowl he hadn’t even noticed Riley set down. “I mean, I’m guessing your karaoke song has changed.” Mackenzie gave him a cheeky smile.
Jake tried to look serious. “We swore never to speak of that again,” he said, mock-stern.
Mackenzie just grinned back, totally unapologetic. “Statute of limitations, baby. Leave town for too long, and all your dirty secrets come spilling out.”
“Is that a threat?” he arched an eyebrow at her.
“Think of it as incentive not to go forgetting us all over again.” Mackenzie was still teasing, but he saw a flash of something else in her eyes, and Jake was reminded again that he was the one who had done the leaving. She was right. He’d stayed away too long.
“I won’t,” he said quietly. “And besides, something tells me you won’t let me.”
She smiled like him, and for a moment, it felt like the old days. The two of them against the world. But that wasn’t right—because back then, he hadn’t felt the hot flare of desire burning at the edges of every conversation, clouding his mind—and his body—until it was difficult to think straight.
Jake looked away and found Cooper and Riley watching them with matching expressions of curiosity on their faces.
He cleared his throat.
“How about we change things up?” Mackenzie said, thankfully changing the subject. “Who wants to play some pool?”
She was met with groans from the other guys.
“She hustled you, too?” Jake asked, grinning. They nodded.
“Took me for a hundred bucks the first night we met,” Riley said, looking rueful.
“I should know better,” Cooper agreed. “But somehow, she always makes me forget my last crushing defeat.”
“Aww, you’re no fun!” Mackenzie exclaimed. “Don’t believe them,” she added to Jake. “I’m not that good. I’ve gone rusty in my old age.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and Jake snorted.
“You’re not fooling me. But sure, why not? Winner buys me a Mighty Monster.”
“Good luck,” Cooper said, as Jake followed Mackenzie over to the pool table. He’d be needing it—but not for the game. He already knew there was no beating her, not once she got on a streak. Back in high school, he’d played the straight man to her pool shark routine, hustling unsuspecting tourists all over town.
No, it wasn’t losing he was worried about. Because when Mackenzie racked the balls and leaned over to take her first shot—hair spilling over her shoulders, the V-neck of her sweater falling dangerously low, and a familiar look of total focus on her face—the game was the last thing on his mind.
She broke fast and clean, s
ending the balls scattering and two stripes into the far pockets. “So, game over, then?” Jake asked, only half joking.
Mackenzie pouted.
“Fine,” he sighed, still teasing. “I’ll stand here and watch you win. You know, I’m surprised they still let you play,” he added, leaning back against the wall to watch her sink another ball with a swift, perfect shot. “Your mug shot should be pinned in every bar between here and Boston. Wanted: hustler.”
“It’s not hustling to be good,” she countered, circling the table and leaning over to eye the angle of her next shot. Jake caught a glimpse of creamy skin swelling beneath her sweater, and a hint of purple lace. His pulse kicked, and he forced himself to look away.
“It’s hustling to pretend to be terrible so you can raise the stakes before you take the sucker for everything he has,” he said instead, and Mackenzie laughed.
“Want to put your money where your mouth is?”
“Ha!” He chuckled. “I’m not about to fall for that.”
“Pity.” Mackenzie glanced up and winked. “I bet we could wager more than quarters these days.”
She made her shot, but the ball bounced out of the corner pocket. “Whoops,” she said. “Your shot. Still want to make that bet?” she asked, all innocence.
Jake shook his head, still smiling. “You did that on purpose,” he said, selecting his cue. He chalked it up and gave the table an assessing glance. Mackenzie had a head start, but there were plenty of open shots for the taking. He lined up his cue, and quickly sank a couple of solids in quick succession.
Mackenzie whistled. “Someone’s been practicing.”
He smiled and leaned over to take another shot, but just as he was drawing back his cue, Mackenzie started to gather her hair up into a messy bun. Her arms lifted, and her back arched with the motion, her sweater lifting to graze her ribcage, revealing a pale band of bare skin—
He mis-struck, sending the ball ricocheting across the table. “Damn.”
Mackenzie looked over. “Your winning streak over already?”
“Guess I’m out of practice, after all.” Jake cleared his throat. What was he playing at, panting all over her? She was wearing a wool sweater, for crying out loud. A sweater, and jeans that hugged her curves in all the right ways . . .
“Oh crap.” Mackenzie suddenly ducked back, peeking around the corner to the main bar.
“What is it?” Jake was glad for the interruption.
“This guy I went on a terrible date with.” Mackenzie peered out again, and Jake had to go see who she was talking about. There was a man at the bar with a ponytail and a brown leather jacket. Jake laughed in surprise.
“You went on a date with Moose Conway?”
Mackenzie looked surprised, then she sighed. “Oh, right, you guys were on the team together.”
“While he wasn’t cutting practice to go do wheelies on his dirt bike.” Jake didn’t know whether to be amused or jealous. “Since when is he your type?”
“Since I’m twenty-nine, single, and get fixed up with every available man between here and Connecticut.” Jake thought he heard a note of tension in her voice. “Anyway, the date was a bust, obviously. But he keeps calling and— He’s seen me! Crap, he’s coming over!” Mackenzie ducked back and looked wildly around, but there were no nearby exits. She grabbed Jake’s arm. “Pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“What?” Jake blinked.
“For five minutes, otherwise he’ll—Pete, hi!” Mackenzie’s voice changed, and she was suddenly all smiles as the guy approached. “How’s it going? Everything good at the track?”
Jake was confused, until he remembered that was Moose’s real name.
“Mac, babe, look at you.” Moose grinned at her. “Got some sugar for your neighbor?” He held out his arms for a hug, but Mackenzie nimbly stepped back and placed one hand firmly on Jake’s chest.
“Sorry, I’m all out. You remember Jake, don’t you?”
“Sullivan, my man!” Moose lit up, and slapped Jake on the back. “What’s up? Should’ve known you’d grab the prettiest girl in town.”
“Oh, stop,” Mackenzie said, still trying to escape Moose’s hands. “Really, stop.”
Jake planted himself firmly between them. “Well, you know Mackenzie. Who can resist her charms?” he said, turning to her with a grin. “She’s so sweet, and agreeable . . .”
Mackenzie fixed him with a look, but she played along. “What can I say?” she shrugged, slipping an arm around Jake’s waist. “I’m just a doll when it comes to my Jakie-poo.”
“Is that right?” Jake couldn’t resist pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body. He caught a breath of her shampoo, something light and coconut-y, and just like that, he was back in the gazebo again, holding her tightly and claiming that tempting mouth for his own.
“You’re a lucky man,” Moose said, looking enviously at Jake.
“Yes, yes I am.” Jake squeezed Mackenzie’s waist. “My pumpkin doesn’t give me any complaints.”
“Well, see you around, I guess.” Moose didn’t look too crushed. “And Sullivan, anytime you want to pound a brewski, you holler. Peace.” He gave Jake a fist-bump and strolled away.
“Pumpkin?” Mackenzie fixed him with a look. “My dad calls me that!”
“Jakie-poo?” he countered, grinning. He was still holding her, and he had no desire for that to change anytime soon.
“Would you prefer ‘snookums’?” Mackenzie laughed. “You look like a snookums.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Jake said. Mackenzie seemed to realize she had her arms around him, and took a step back, about to let him go.
“He’s still watching,” Jake quickly lied. And then he did what any pretend-boyfriend would do.
He kissed her.
It was just a brief brush of his lips against hers, swift and light, but it felt like finding gravity: drawn by some power beyond his control. Mackenzie tensed against him in surprise, but then she softened, pressing one palm to his cheek, which blazed with heat as he slowly tasted her, savoring every moment.
His blood surged. What he wouldn’t give to yank her closer and claim her lips the way he’d been dreaming: hard and hot, until she was begging for more. But he hadn’t lost his mind completely, and that would turn every damn head in town.
Reluctantly, he set her down and stepped back. “He’s gone,” he said, heart pounding.
And so was he.
Mackenzie blinked, looking flushed. “Uh, thanks,” she said, tugging on her sleeve. “For, you know, playing along.”
Jake would have happily kept the performance up all the way back to his bedroom, but that wasn’t an option, not tonight.
Not with her.
“Sure. Anytime.” He cleared his throat. “I should get going.”
“Oh.” Mackenzie’s face fell. “What about the game?”
Jake had totally forgotten about the pool table, abandoned behind them. “Let’s take a raincheck,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll need a good night’s sleep to prepare for whatever festival heavy lifting you need tomorrow,” he added, and she seemed to relax.
“Sure thing, errand boy.”
Jake left her to it before he said or did anything else to make a fool of himself. What was it about her lips that turned him into a stammering idiot?
Her lips, and body, and smile—
Nope.
Jake stopped himself before his imagination could get him into trouble all over again. She’d needed a favor—a platonic favor—and he’d pushed his luck, as usual.
Some friend he was turning out to be.
He took in a breath of crisp night air, and looked around at the dark town square. This was all temporary, he reminded himself. He was just passing through. He’d help Mackenzie with this festival of hers, give his injury time to heal, and be back to his old life before the New Year. Getting tangled up in anything else was just a recipe for disaster—however good it might feel at the time.
His
head knew all of that, he just had to make his body get with the program.
And as for his heart?
It needed to play by the rules.
7
For someone determined to keep a safe distance from Jake Sullivan, she sure was doing a terrible job of it. Mackenzie woke after another night of fitful, restless sleep and sighed. Two kisses and counting. It was either a spectacular failure . . . or just plain spectacular.
The problem was, she didn’t know which anymore.
She swung her legs out of bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold floorboards. She tried to leave the heat off for as long as possible in winter, to keep her heating bills down and give her an excuse to bundle up in snug flannel bedclothes. She hurried quickly to the bathroom and turned on the shower, the pipes shuddering in protest before releasing a rush of hot water, quickly filling the blue-tiled room in steam. “That’s right,” Mackenzie cooed, patting the faucet. “Don’t you go freezing on me yet.”
She stripped off and stepped under the flow. For all its quirks, she loved her old cottage. It was nestled back from the main town, down a winding country road, surrounded by wildflowers and willow trees. It was just one bedroom, with a cozy living area, kitchen, and wrap-around porch, but Mackenzie had filled it with brightly-colored paintings, pottery, and other art pieces until it overflowed with color and life. The dirt-cheap rent helped, thanks to a forgetful landlord who had long since moved out of town, and Mackenzie was slowly putting savings aside, hoping to one day convince him to let her buy it from him outright.
For now though, she was content to bide her time, building up business at the gallery and securing placements for her pottery in high-end design stores up and down the coast. It had taken years, but she was developing a name for herself, with most of her trade coming via Sweetbriar’s tourists, flocking to the many festivals they hosted in town. Which was why the Starbright Festival was so important. It wasn’t just Mackenzie who depended on it for her winter trade; vendors all over town were counting on the visitors to see them through the icy winter months, before the summer beach-goers returned.