The Candy Bar Complete - 4 book box set: Candy Bar Series

by Patrice Wilton

  “I don’t know what you’d do.” He shook his head. “Seems to me you don’t have your head on straight as it is.”

  “Really?” My eyes narrowed. “And why would you say that?”

  “I’m just saying.” He glanced at Milo struggling to get out of my arms. “Cat seems pissed at you. I wonder why?”

  “Naw. He loves me. Don’t you, Milo?” I buried my nose in his furry coat, so John wouldn’t see the laughter on my face.

  “Well, I’m glad you have him back safe,” John said in his best chief-like voice. “I’ll be on my way.” He gave me a funny look. “And keep your screen door closed so he can’t escape again.”

  “I’ll do that.” I started walking away, and then stopped and turned as if I’d just had an idea. “Why don’t you come over after work? I’ll cook you dinner.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “That’s not necessary. I’m trying to lose weight.” He put his hand over his girth, indicating that he had some to lose.

  “You look pretty good to me.” I grinned. “Besides, if it’s exercise you’re after, I might be able to help you with that.”

  His face reddened. “Are you propositioning me? I thought you’d had enough.”

  “I’d had enough for one night. Not forever.”

  He didn’t say anything, so I tried again. “I’d like to do it again, if you’re not too busy.”

  “It’s not a good time for me.”

  “That time of the month?” I inquired a little snappishly.

  He laughed, surprised. “I just mean that I don’t really date. I was married for a long time and now I’m enjoying my solitude. You should set your sights on someone else.”

  “Is that right?” I tossed Milo into my screened porch and shut the door firmly. Then I turned back to John. “I can certainly do that. As a matter of fact, Susie mentioned that I should meet one of the other firefighters. He’ll be at the wedding, I believe.”

  “Who?” John demanded.

  “I’m not giving you that information, but I certainly will keep my eyes open, that’s for sure.” My hands were on my hips, and I jutted my chin forward. I could feel that stubborn, feisty spirit of mine rearing its ugly head.

  “And so you should. I’m a lousy conversationalist and set in my ways. Besides, I snore.” He took two steps, then stopped. “What were you thinking of serving for dinner?”

  “Me—on a platter.” I marched inside and scooped up Milo without bothering to look back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JOHN

  I haven’t eaten Subway or pizza in days, and the thought of whatever the hell Fran might be cooking sounded pretty darn good. Not that I wanted to go to bed with her, but I had an appetite for something other than salads, chicken, and tuna fish sandwiches. That kind of diet got stale, real fast.

  Still, I needed to exercise control. I’d become sloppy looking since the divorce, and I didn’t want to end up a three hundred pound of lard. Looking good wasn’t my main concern—it was a health issue.

  Therefore, when I got home, instead of flopping into my favorite chair, I put on a pair of baggy mesh basketball shorts and a stained sweatshirt and headed out the door. The sweat pored off my forehead and dripped down my cheeks, so I swiped it with the sleeve of my shirt and kept running.

  I got a stitch in my side but didn’t stop, pushed myself for about a mile then limped back home. I was a puddle of sweat when I entered the house through the garage and stepped into my laundry room. Without going any further, I stripped right there and marched toward the bathroom, naked as the day I was born.

  Someone knocked on my door. I grabbed a bathrobe, belted it around my middle, and glanced out the peephole before I opened it.

  “We have a delivery for John Hanley,” the young woman said, handing over a large, cellophane-wrapped, metal beer bucket with six bottles of Heineken. “There’s a gift card inside. Enjoy.”

  “Wait.” The young woman was halfway down the driveway, when I called out, “I’ll get my wallet and give you a tip.”

  “No need.” She waved and climbed into her van. I didn’t blame her for not sticking around since I was mostly naked and sweating like a hog.

  I glanced at the bucket and tried to read the card. Who the hell would send me a gift, especially one so dear to my heart? Only one way to find out.

  I carried the bucket into the kitchen, grabbed a pair of scissors, and cut off the plastic wrap. I opened the card and saw it was from Fran. I shouldn’t have been surprised but I was. She thanked me for rescuing her cat and told me she wouldn’t bother me anymore.

  That made me feel kind of crummy. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and disappoint her if she had a crush on me, and yet, I wanted to steer her in the right direction—away from me.

  Still feeling lousy, I put the beer in the fridge and headed for the bathroom. I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water melt my aches and pains, wishing it could also relieve my guilt.

  Without asking Brett, he’d told me about Fran’s past. He said her real name was Fran Sherman and she’d lost her husband in Maui. It had been their fifth anniversary and he’d been killed in a helicopter crash. Fran lost their baby and had to spend months in and out of hospitals. Then, about a year or two ago, she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer.

  I couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for her to face that hell alone. She might be whacky, but she was one hellova courageous lady. That was damn certain, and she deserved one hellova guy. Someone who’d cherish her and enjoy the same things she did.

  Not a washed-up, old firefighter like me. Someone who still had some life left in him and wanted to show her a good time.

  Looking for some dinner, I scrounged around the fridge, and popped open one of those beers. I sucked half of it down then put it aside. I couldn’t enjoy the Heinekens and not call her. I had to thank her properly. Anything else would just be rude.

  I’d tucked her number in the side of my wallet, and it only took me a minute to find the damn thing. I quickly placed the call before I chickened out.

  She answered on the first ring. Sounded out of breath, as if she’d run to answer it. Darn woman. Didn’t she know she should play hard to get?

  “Hi Fran. Just wanted to say thanks for the brewskis. It was nice of you to do that.”

  “Least I could do,” she tinkered softly. “You saved poor Milo’s life.”

  “Well, I’d hardly go that far.”

  “He was scared half to death.”

  I thought about telling her she should have thought about that before shoving him up the tree, but the beer mellowed me. “Have you eaten?” I heard myself say.

  “No, not yet. I was just going to make something.”

  “Save it. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go get a meal somewhere. You like seafood?”

  “Love it. But you don’t have to do that. I know you don’t want to see me anymore.”

  “Sure I do. We can be friends, can’t we?”

  “Friends? Yes, I suppose so.” Her voice sounded disappointed and I got a little pang. No good feeling sorry for the woman, but I’ll be darned if I want her to get all romantic with me. I’m not the hearts and flowers kind of guy, and if she thinks I am, I need to set her straight. “I’ll pick you up in an hour. Don’t get all fancy on me. Jeans are fine.”

  “I’ve got them on now. See you soon,” she said and hung up before I had a chance to change my mind.

  I dressed quickly then sat down to watch the evening news. When Brian Williams said goodnight, I picked up my keys, turned on the hallway light, and headed out the door.

  It was kind of clever of me to ask her out, since truth be known, I’m boring as hell. Once she gets to know the real me, she’ll lose interest fast. By the end of the evening, she’ll beg me never to call again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FRAN

  John had said jeans, but I decided to change into a pair of cropped, beige pants and a loose-fitting, scooped neck top. After my chemo treatme
nts, I’d lost my hair, and when it grew back, my hairstylist suggested a change. She lightened my dark, curly hair to a soft honey blonde and feathered it around my face. It was a softer look, and the girls at work told me I looked ten years younger.

  Checking my appearance in the mirror, I smiled at my reflection. I’m not all glammed-up, but I look nice.

  I poured myself a short glass of wine and plopped onto the couch to wait for John’s arrival. I couldn’t believe that a bucket of beer changed his mind. But then, he was like the wind-blowing in every direction. Poor guy didn’t know his head from his ass, but I may be able to help him with that. He pretends not to like the company of women, but the John who made love to me the other night told a different story. Once he got the hang of it and relaxed, his kisses were soul deep. I felt a stirring in the very core of me, a reawakening of my senses, a magnetic pull. It wasn’t something a person could fake. He’d felt that sexual energy too.

  Since then, I’ve come to the conclusion that good sex makes good sense. I like the new churning, yearning, stirred up emotions inside me. I haven’t felt this alive in years.

  John may or may not like it, but something happened at the Candy Bar. Whether it be magic or some kind of kinetic energy source, we were connected at some level, for better or for worse.

  I was musing on all this, when I heard a knock at my door. I jumped up to answer it and there he stood.

  “Come in. I’m just finishing a glass or wine. Would you like one?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll wait until we get there.” He followed me inside and stood near the door.

  Pepe started squawking at once. “Prick, prick,” he said clearly. “Pecker head, pecker, pecker, pecker.”

  “Pepe, behave yourself. Why do you say such bad words?” I shook my head. “He’s never talked like this before.”

  When I turned around, I saw John flip the bird off.

  I pretended not to see. “Just let me turn on the TV and a light. Pepe likes the TV for company.”

  “What does he watch? Adult movies?”

  I blushed. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? He has quite a vulgar mouth all of a sudden. Don’t know where it came from.”

  “Really? I thought you taught him these things.”

  “John. I would never…”

  “Just kidding. You ever tried soap?”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Pepe cried and fluttered his colorful wings.

  “Come on, let’s go before he gives us any ideas,” I said with a wicked smile.

  “Frances Sherman. Shame on you.” He held the door open for me, and I squeezed past, brushing against him. “You changed,” he muttered. “I said jeans.”

  My chest lightly brushed his arm, and made me buttery and warm inside. I wondered if it affected him at all. I looked into his face and suddenly my nerve wires were flashing warning signs, just like my car when it needed servicing.

  Smiling, I responded to his comment. “First real date in twenty years. I figured I could step it up a notch.” I walked off with a spring in my step.

  He opened the passenger side of the Jeep and I slid in. He was already half way around the car, so I closed the door myself. He might not be a perfect gentleman but he was taking me to dinner.

  We were off on a date. A real date.

  He shot me a glance. “I made a reservation at the Crab house. Is that all right?”

  “I love crab, and anything else that moves. Just keep me away from salad and vegetables, please.” I grinned at him. “I’m not a rabbit and I sure don’t eat like one.”

  He laughed, a rich, hearty laugh. “So, you’re a meat eater too?”

  “The more the better.” Unfortunately, the jeep had two seats and I couldn’t snuggle up to him, but I figured that if I played my cards right, I’d get to do that later.

  It was about a fifteen-minute drive, and we listened to music and talked along the way. He’d put on a country music station. “You like country?” I asked, because I really wanted to know.

  “As much as anything. I like songs where I can understand the lyrics—not that rap crap.”

  I laughed. “I’m with you there but it’s not geared to our generation. Most of the modern music isn’t.”

  “Guess that means we’re getting old.”

  “Not that old. There’s still a little life in these bones. If you remember from last Saturday night.”

  His cheeks flushed, which I found extremely endearing.

  “Have I embarrassed you?”

  “No, but don’t you think we kind of jumped the gun when we went to bed together?”

  I considered the question. “It was certainly spontaneous. I’ve never done anything that rash before.”

  “Neither have I. What got into us? We were like a couple of randy kids.”

  “Maybe it really was magic. Who knows? Something happened that night. I felt like an electrical charge zinging right through me.”

  John nodded. “Me too.”

  “Well, I for one don’t regret it. Do you?”

  He took his eyes off the road to look at me then glanced back at the road. I couldn’t read his expressions at all.

  “I enjoyed it, if that’s what you’re asking.” He looked angry, as if admitting it was somehow wrong.

  “It is. I enjoyed it too.”

  “I don’t think we should do it anymore.” His mouth was firm, and he kept his eyes on the road. A small twitch in his cheek was the only indication that he felt anything at all.

  I swallowed my disappointment and pretended indifference. No way would I let him see I was hurt. If he didn’t want me, fine. I’m a big girl. I can handle one little rejection. Ha! I can laugh away all sorts of pain.

  “So what else do you do, John, besides rescue cats from trees? As fire chief, do you still go into burning buildings or do you leave that for the younger men?”

  “I’m not too old to get my hands dirty. Yes, I still fight fires.”

  “That’s dangerous work. Look what happened to Brett. His scars are almost invisible now, but he had half his face burned off.”

  “I know. He’s a good firefighter, and it was just bad luck. Not his fault. Not anybody’s.”

  “I know. I wasn’t trying to insinuate that it was.” I decided it was safer to shift the conversation. “Is this the place we get to use the knockers?”

  “Sure is. Not exactly a classy place, but the crab is as fresh as it comes.” He darted a quick glance at me. “Think you can handle it?”

  “Are you kidding? Making an idiot of myself is what I do best.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. I have a habit of doing things that make me look silly. I’ll try not to embarrass you tonight.”

  “You won’t embarrass me. Just be yourself. You’re a good person, Fran. Even I know that.” The twitch in his cheek danced double-time. Something was causing him stress, and I guessed it was me. Perhaps he liked me better than he thought.

  “That’s nice of you to say.” I gave him a small smile, not wanting to appear too grateful at his simple statement, which I took as a compliment.

  We remained silent for the rest of the ride, which wasn’t long. I sang along to Taylor Swift and Carrie Underwood, not to impress him but I didn’t mind if it did.

  When we arrived, there was a line to get inside, but John ushered me in, gave his name, and we were seated right away. I smiled over my shoulder at him as he followed me to the table.

  He wore his jeans and a nice, blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up, which made him look younger and cool. He was a handsome man. He had bushy brows, a big mustache, and a broad face. A man’s man. Masculine, rugged, sexy.

  I sat down across from him and tried to subdue my libido. This guy definitely got my juices going and they’d been dry for a long, long time.

  “You come here a lot?” I inquired, glancing around the room. The walls filled with nautical memorabilia, lifebuoys, wooden boats, sailfish, that kind of thing. Big booths lined the si
des and tables were in the middle. We had a table for two, dead center.

  The cute, young waitress brought our menus and dropped off two glasses of iced water with lemon wedges. I sipped the water and perused the menu, although I knew I’d have whatever John ordered.

  He didn’t look at his. “I’m going for the crab, but you have anything you want. The fish is supposed to be very good here.”

  “Nope. I’m with you. And I might have a beer, if you will too.”

  He folded both menus and put them at the side of the table. “Sounds good.”

  The beers arrived soon after, and the crab followed quickly. Although I hadn’t used the knockers in a great many years, I found I could still crack the suckers like a pro.

  Using my fingers as he did, I pulled the succulent meat from the shell and dipped it in the butter sauce, then popped it in my mouth. It tasted divine.

  “Oooh, this is wonderful.” I sucked on another piece and watched him prying away with his fork.

  “How did you get the shell off so fast?” he asked.

  “Easy. Want me to do yours?”

  He frowned. “Course not. I’ve been around this stuff most of my life, but I’ve never known a woman who could get her own meat out.”

  I smiled. “Maybe you’ve been hanging with the wrong women.”

  “Maybe I have.” He tipped his beer at me. “Glad you came out tonight.”

  “Me too.” His words thrilled me. This evening was going better than I’d expected. Maybe John and I would become a couple and I wouldn’t be alone with my pets. The thought lifted my spirits, and made we realize that I wanted more, and after so many empty years, I deserved it too.

  We ate and drank our beers, and I noticed butter running down John’s chin, and smiled happily. If we’d been alone, I would have wanted to lick it clean. Instead, I had to be content watching him use his napkin.

  We’d just pushed our plates away, when something or someone caught John’s eye.