by Shirley Jump
“It’s just a party.”
He shook his head again. “I know you, Jenna. And I know there’s something you’re leaving out. I think half the reason you’re here is because you’re running away from something in New York.”
“No.” She whispered the denial and looked away fast. Her eyes shimmered, with the cold? Or unshed tears?
What was Jenna hiding? What was bothering her? Even now, anxiety knotted her shoulders, set in her jaw. He wanted to take it away, to find a way to coax that smile back to her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe I ran away from us all those years ago,” she said. “But I only did it because you let me go.”
“I asked you to go with me.”
“No, Stockton, you didn’t.” Her gaze met his. “You assumed I’d go with you. And when I didn’t, you assumed I’d wait for you. You never once realized that maybe I had my own dreams, and they didn’t match yours.” She looked off in the distance. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that was years ago. We can’t go back in time.”
“No, we can’t.” He let out a breath. “And maybe it’s a good idea if we don’t.”
In the center of the ice, a group of teenagers formed a line and held hands. The one closest to the center held his position, while the others skated around, creating a whip effect for those on the outside. It was a dangerous, but common, game among kids. Stockton had done it himself more than once. As the kids picked up speed, the farthest child at the end of the line lost his grip and spun off, arms windmilling, feet reaching for traction on the slippery surface.
Stockton glanced over at Jenna. Her gaze was off on the park, not on the ice action.
Just before the kid reached them, Stockton grabbed Jenna, hauled her to him and out of the way. She let out a surprised grunt when she hit his chest, and the skater slipped past them to skid to a stop at the edge.
“Sorry,” Stockton said. “Just trying to avoid a collision.”
“Thank you.” Her face was upturned to his, her cheeks and lips red from the cold. He could almost feel her heart beat against his, even through the thick wool of their coats.
He should let go, push her away, and even better, get off this ice and get back to work. But Jenna was warm in his arms, and all the reasons he kept coming up with for why he should stay away from her seemed a million miles away. He had missed her, and as much as he just said he didn’t want to revisit the past, a part of him really did. He reached up, brushed a tendril of hair off her forehead, and watched her eyes widen in surprise at the touch. “What are you running from now?” he asked softly.
She shook her head, and unshed tears shimmered in her emerald gaze. Damn it all. His heart softened, and he bent down, and brushed his lips against hers. A soft kiss, nothing more than one to tell her he was here, if she needed him, despite their past.
She let out a mew, and the soft kiss lingered, until Stockton forgot about being friendly, about keeping this light and casual, and he opened his mouth against hers. She tasted like she always had—sweet as cookies and milk, and yet also something dark and forbidden. Her arms went around his neck, and he crushed her to him, his mouth covering hers, taking all of her that he could get out here in public.
Stockton heard laughter. Conversation. The swish-swish of skates gliding past them. And he came to his senses.
“I’m sorry.” He pulled back, and released Jenna. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“It was insanity.” She brushed at her face, as if trying to erase his kiss. “We were both, uh, probably caught up in the past or something.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that was it.”
She hadn’t wanted him at all. She’d merely been reacting out of some long held memory. “I’ve had enough of the cold,” Stockton said. “Let’s get off the ice.”
He waited for her, but she didn’t even look at him as they skated across the pond and back to the rental shed. Neither of them said anything as they exchanged their skates for their shoes, and slid back into their winter boots.
“I’m sure you need to get back to work. I’ll stop by tonight after the dinner rush at Rustica is over,” Jenna said, “and we can go over the menu for Eunice’s party then.”
“It’ll be easier for us to talk somewhere quiet. How about I stop over at Aunt Mabel’s and come to you? If it’s not too late by then.”
“That’ll be fine. I’m a night owl.”
He remembered, and remembered all the late-night conversations they’d had, each of them sneaking a phone into their rooms, or, a few times, when they’d snuck out of their houses and taken a midnight walk. But he didn’t say that. “I’ll see you then.”
Jenna nodded, then strode across the park. They didn’t need to meet later; they could have handled their business now. Stockton had time before the restaurant needed him, but he sensed she needed time away from him as much as he needed time away from her. To regroup. To figure out what the hell had just happened.
And how he was going to deal with it the next time he saw her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JENNA WASHED THE dinner dishes, leaving them to dry in the strainer, then realized she had nothing else left to detract her from having a conversation with Aunt Mabel, who had waited patiently at the kitchen table, pretending to do a crossword puzzle. Jenna stretched her arms over her head, and stifled a yawn. Beneath the table, she flexed her legs. Every muscle in her body ached. Who knew ice skating could be such a workout?
And not just for her arms and legs. Her mind rocketed back to Stockton’s kiss, and she touched her lips, reliving the moment. Insanity, that’s what that had been. Some kind of rekindling of old feelings that were better left buried.
It wouldn’t happen again.
She had already made sure of that. She’d laid out her plans for Eunice’s party on the table, along with a notepad and pen, a clear signal when he arrived that they would be talking business and nothing else.
“Are you going to tell me what happened today?” Aunt Mabel said. “You’ve been awfully quiet ever since you got home.”
The old wooden chair let out a creaking protest when Jenna sat down and leaned back. She thought about not telling her aunt anything, then realized half the town had probably seen her skating with Stockton today. If she didn’t already know, she’d know before the sun rose tomorrow. “I went ice skating with Stockton.”
Aunt Mabel smiled. “Ice skating? You two used to love doing that when you were kids.”
“It was his idea, to give us both a little break in the day. He was right. It was really fun until…”
Her aunt waited.
Jenna let out a breath. “Until he kissed me.”
“And did you kiss him back?”
“Aunt Mabel!”
“It’s a legitimate question, my dear. And don’t think I got to be this age without kissing a few boys myself.”
Jenna ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what happened. You know me, I like to have everything under control, all the time, and this whole thing with Stockton is so far out of my control now, I’m not even sure what I’m doing from one minute to the next. I should never have agreed to use him as the caterer.”
“Well, perhaps, dear, it’s not just Stockton that has you out of sorts. You haven’t been yourself in a long time.”
“I’ll be back at it soon. I’ve got a plan and everything.”
“I know you will be. But I wonder if that’s what you really want.”
“What do you mean? Of course it is.”
Her aunt’s gaze softened. “This last year, when we’ve talked on the phone, you’ve seemed like…” She paused. “Well, like you’re not as happy as you once were.”
“I’m fine.” Jenna’s gaze went to the quartet of cow-shaped canisters on Aunt Mabel’s kitchen counter. The containers had been Jenna’s mother’s—a bridal shower gift ages ago—and one of the many things that had made the journey from the farmhouse in the country to Aunt Mabel’s house in Riverbend.
After her parents died, Aunt Mabel had wanted to get her niece out of the isolated country farmhouse and into the city so she could have friends and community to help her deal with the tragic loss of both her parents. To make the transition easier, Aunt Mabel had brought along as many of Jenna’s childhood home’s furnishings and décor as she could, so the new home would feel something like the one she’d had to leave. And, Jenna was sure, so that Mabel could still feel close to the sister she had lost. For that and many other reasons, Jenna loved her Aunt Mabel dearly.
“Okay, maybe not so fine,” Jenna admitted, not just to her aunt, but to herself, as well. “I don’t know why I’m making all these mistakes. It’s like I’m sabotaging my own career.”
She thought of all the appointments she’d missed, the dates she’d mis-scheduled, the meetings she’d forgotten. It seemed like her brain had become a sieve, and she hadn’t been able to find a way to plug the holes before her business slipped through, too.
“Maybe it’s your mind’s way of sending a message.”
“What message is that?”
“That you made a wrong choice.”
Jenna got to her feet, the chair screeching in protest. “I’ll be fine. A few good parties and things will go back to normal.”
Aunt Mabel heaved a sigh, and got to her feet, too. “Maybe yes, maybe no. And maybe you just need to get quiet and listen to your heart.” She placed a hand on her niece’s shoulder. “All the answers you need are there, Jenna. You just have to listen for them.”
Aunt Mabel headed out of the room and up to bed, leaving behind the truth Jenna had been trying to avoid. She’d heard the same message twice in one day from two different people—when things got tough, or scary, or she just plain didn’t like the situation, Jenna Pearson ran.
A soft rapping sounded on the glass of the back door. Stockton, here as promised. The man had terrible timing. He seemed to arrive when she was at her most vulnerable. She should have told him she’d meet him tomorrow, in the light of day, but truly, they were running out of time to plan this party and a professional businesswoman would get her work in order as early as possible.
She opened the door and Stockton came in, stomping snow onto the mat. “I think winter is never leaving,” he said, offering her a grin.
He hadn’t worn a hat and a fine dusting of snow coated his dark hair. Her hand reached out, fingers flexing, half ready to brush it away, but then she pulled back and reminded herself that she wasn’t the woman who did that for him anymore.
“Do you want some coffee?” she said instead.
“That would be great. Decaf if you have it, or I’ll never get to sleep.”
“No problem.” Jenna busied herself filling the coffeepot, avoiding Stockton’s gaze. She’d thought time and distance would ease the heat simmering between them, but if anything, the attraction seemed to be building, as if now that her body had had a taste of him, the only thing it could do was want more.
She would serve him coffee, talk about the menu and keep her distance. Even if being near him again had stirred up a hornet’s nest in her gut, swarming through her veins. Making her question her resolve before she even fully put it into place.
A moment later, she laid a steaming cup of coffee before him and sat down opposite his seat.
He grinned. “This is familiar.”
“What?”
“Sitting at this table.” He smoothed a hand over the maple surface, his fingers skipping over the decades of scuffs and scratches. “Late at night. Talking.”
“Knowing Aunt Mabel was in the living room, listening for a break in conversation so she could yell at us to stop kissing.” As soon as she said the words, she thought about that kiss on the ice, the heat against the cold, and how much she had missed kissing Stockton Grisham, whether it was right or wrong. And yes, she had missed talking to him, having his quiet, calming presence nearby.
Stockton chuckled. “Your aunt was quite the watch-dog.”
“She always liked you, though.”
“There was a time when she didn’t.” He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, but didn’t sip. His face sobered, and after a moment, he looked up and met her gaze. “Back when we were in high school, she once told me she thought we would end up together.”
“We did. For a while.”
“I think your aunt meant something a little more permanent. And when I went one way and you went another, your aunt crossed me off her favorite people list.”
Jenna shifted in her seat, wishing she’d opted to have coffee, too, just to have something to do. She glanced at Stockton’s hands—long, defined fingers, strong, broad palms, and her mind traveled back to the afternoon, to his touch against her face when he’d brushed her hair back. Why had he touched her, kissed her, if he was as sure as she was that there was no chance of them getting back together?
And why did everything inside her want him to do it again?
Didn’t matter. After this, she was returning to New York, and Stockton was staying here. Each of them was going back to the lives they’d had before Eunice’s party dropped into their laps.
Jenna reached out, hauled the pile of papers and the notepad across the table and clicked on a pen. “Let’s, ah, let’s discuss the menu.”
If Stockton was surprised by the change in topic, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pushed his half-empty mug to the side and pulled a slip of paper out of his back pocket. “Eunice and Betsy are simple people,” he said, unwittingly echoing Betsy’s words from a few days ago. “And if you ask me, the best meals are those they know well.” He unfolded the paper, revealing a copy of the restaurant’s menu. As he talked, he pointed to items in the entrée listings, dishes that Jenna recognized from her night working the kitchen. “If you want my suggestions, I’d go for the sausage lasagna with a béchamel sauce, the house salad with a balsamic vinaigrette on the side and lots and lots of garlic bread.” He grinned. “Eunice orders a basket of bread every Saturday to go with her supper, and makes Betsy trot on down to the restaurant to get it for her.”
She pretended his smile didn’t still affect her. That when that grin had broken across his features, she hadn’t felt a quiver deep in her gut. That she didn’t stare at his mouth and wonder if he would kiss her again.
“That all sounds, uh, wonderful,” Jenna said, writing down his suggestions on the paper. Not because she might forget but because it gave her something to focus on besides him.
They finalized the rest of the menu, a process that took just a few minutes. Stockton had clearly done this before, and moreover, knew Eunice’s favorite meals at Rustica. He proposed a selection of two desserts besides the birthday cake, “because Eunice has a bit of a sweet tooth,” and the fried ravioli appetizer, because it was the one meal Eunice ordered without fail, every time she came into Rustica. Already, Jenna could see the tables, the settings, the colors in the room. She’d echo the hues used by Stockton’s restaurant and make Eunice feel even more at home.
“I’m not surprised your business is doing so well,” Jenna said. “A chef who knows his customers that well can’t help but succeed.”
“I’ve lived here so long, everyone in town is almost like family.” Stockton leaned forward, and the table that had seemed like a big enough gulf between them five seconds ago suddenly shrank into nothing. “You know, this town isn’t so bad. Sure, there are a few bad apples, just as there are anywhere, but if you gave Riverbend a chance, you might find it grows on you.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Jenna said quietly. “It isn’t you, or your family, that they talk about. And no matter what other things people might have done, it was their words that spoke the truth.”
He waited until she’d lifted her gaze to his, until he had her full attention. “How long are you going to let those few idiotic people dictate your life?”
She shook her head. The back of her eyes burned but she refused to cry. She didn’t want to think about those days again, but it seemed they were determined
to push themselves to the surface.
“They blame me,” she said quietly. “I was only seven years old, Stockton.”
“I know, Jenna, I know.”
She could still hear the whispers. She’d been so little, people probably thought she wouldn’t know what they were talking about, or understand that she was the topic. “Do you know what someone said to me once in the grocery store? That it was a blessing my mother had died. A blessing. Because she’d caused so much turmoil in everyone’s lives.”
“There are some people who are too ignorant to have mouths,” Stockton said.
“Those people,” she said, her voice hoarse, “God, all they did was talk about it every time they saw me. About how tragic it was that the little Pearson girl had lost everything. How her mother had been running around with another man. How her parents would still be alive if they hadn’t had that argument. How—” Her voice caught on a sob and she shook her head.
Stockton reached out, his hand covering hers. His touch held the comfort of a longtime friend, someone who had been there through the good days and the bad, who knew her as well as she knew herself. Holding his hand was like falling into home.
Why had they ever let their friendship go? Had the end really been that bad, that neither of them wanted to hold on as friends?
“Nothing was ever your fault, Jenna,” Stockton said. “And the few people who thought that were just stupid.”
She shook her head, keeping the tears in check. Barely.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Stockton repeated. “You must know that.”
“I do, but…” She bit her lip. “But other people think differently. They think if my mother had never met that man, never had me, then maybe she wouldn’t have been in that accident. And they blame her for my father’s death. If she hadn’t been hurt, he wouldn’t have been rushing to the hospital.” She shook her head. “People loved Joe Pearson. Thought he was the salt of the earth, and when he died, it was like they took out their grief on me, because my mother wasn’t there to blame anymore.”