Garrett leaped out of the car. “You coming in?” he asked as she sat, pensive, in the passenger’s seat.
“No, I’ll just wait here for you.”
Damn. “Are you sure? If you don’t want to browse, there’s a nice coffee bar and snack area inside. You could relax a little.”
She glared at him like he’d suggested a round of strip poker. “I’m fine here. Really. Get what you need. Take your time.”
“Okay.” What could he do? Garrett tossed her his car keys. “If you want music, feel free to pop something in. CDs are in a case under your seat.” At that she looked almost intrigued.
“Thank you.” Cait doled out one of her angelic smiles. It made him tense, uncomfortable and kind of…warm. Aw, hell.
He took a few brisk strides across the street toward the shop. He had a job to do, he reminded himself again. He didn’t need complications like, oh, lady swindlers.
But he hoped to heaven she was innocent and he could maintain a friendly distance from her. Something about this woman just got to him. A point underscored by the fact that, as he entered the bookstore, he found himself wondering what he might buy her to make her smile again.
At him.
Like that.
STEP 2:
Crack a couple of eggs into a stainless-steel bowl
and whisk them until they’re good and fluffy.
~From Mr. Koolemar’s Top Secret,
Kool Kreme Ice Kreamations Recipe Book, pg. 97
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cait watched Garrett disappear into the store, his body gliding athletically with every step. His lean thigh muscles teased the thin fabric of his slacks. His broad shoulders defined the white dress shirt. His tasteful silk tie embraced his neck. For a moment she almost envied the inanimate object. Then his long fingers brushed through the dark hair casually, leaving a feathered streak of hair-upon-hair in the back.
He was masculine beyond belief. How provoking. There shouldn’t be any impulse of attraction at all. She should despise him. She shouldn’t want to squeeze him like a double-roll of Charmin.
Darn it. It’d been so much easier to hate him before they’d met.
Yet every minute she spent with the guy raised her curiosity, and not always in a good way. He had to be hiding something. What influenced his decision to cancel the festival? How could she find out?
She pursed her lips and turned her attention to the dashboard. More gadgets than a flight simulator. An excessive, irritating display. But one thing seemed certain: From the look of his car and his clothes, the guy had money coming in from somewhere. School gossips told her he’d worked with companies out East in the past year, but she sensed there was more to the story.
She stared out the front windshield. A moth and a fly played tag on the other side of the glass. Hard to say who was winning. But after twenty seconds and sixteen glances at the door to Bookends, she no longer watched their chase. The coast was clear.
She set to work inspecting the back of the car. Twisted gum wrappers clung to the seats, an empty pizza box jutted out of one foot well and several unopened candy bars were lodged in the door pockets.
Conclusion? Garrett Ellis was a junk food addict.
She gingerly used his keys to unlock the glove compartment. She’d never done anything like this in her life and her heart pounded as she shuffled through the papers. The other teachers talked big, but were they here to help now? No.
She reminded herself of the festival and her mom, took a deep breath and then scanned the sheets before her. Nothing unusual. An insurance card made out to Garrett M. Ellis of New Haven, Connecticut. The address didn’t ring a bell. No elaboration on that middle name. Why didn’t he want to tell her what it was?
She relocked the box and reached below her seat, sliding the black fabric case out to a spot between her ankles. What kind of music did Budget Man listen to? She lifted out a couple of CDs.
Aretha Franklin. The Les Misèrables soundtrack. She replaced those, grabbed another handful. Big Band Hits of the 1940s. Elvis. The Beatles. Huh.
Garrett’s collection ranged from ‘60s classic rock to weird stuff by foreign groups with names she couldn’t pronounce. There were no patterns. Her head spun trying to assimilate the variety.
Devo alongside Def Leppard.
Michael W. Smith next to Moby.
Sinatra and Sting.
What did such diverse, almost frenetic musical preferences say about a man? Could his opinions be swayed easily?
“‘Every Breath You Take’ is a great tune, huh?”
She jumped. Garrett peered at her through the open window as she looked between him and the Sting CD in her hand.
“It’s a little stalkerish, but I like the beat, and it’ll always be a favorite of mine, even though he was with The Police then,” he said, scrutinizing her every movement.
“Eclectic musical collection,” she admitted, wondering what to do with this new information about her adversary. She didn’t like how this knowledge personalized him. How she’d forever associate Sting with him. She liked Sting.
“I’ve got varied and unusual tastes. In all things.” He grinned at her.
Not just talking about pop culture now, was he? She felt the unfamiliar sizzle of sexual chemistry between them. The hairs on the back of her neck sprang to attention. The oxygen in the car ceased to be abundant enough to support human life forms.
Oh, God. No. Anything but an ambitious, power-hungry man. Anyone but someone who’ll lie to me again and break my heart. She forced her eyes shut and tried to block out the uninvited emotion. She’d fight it! But the knowledge of their heightened interest was already inside her, changing her perception of everything.
Garrett hopped in the car, a bag of books in his hand. “Toss these in the back for me, will you?” he said, dropping it onto her lap. “But before you do, look inside. I got you a gift.”
Weighted down by the mass of plastic, she blindly slid the CDs back into their case and eyed him from head to toe, not bothering to conceal her wariness. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
She rifled through the bag. There were two books on watercolor painting, something on art history, a map of the Midwest, a canister of hazelnut coffee and way too much other junk for a ten-minute store visit. She glanced at him. Uh-huh. He had the look of an impulse buyer.
He laughed. “Still haven’t found it?” His eyes scanned hers. “Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”
Trust him, he said. Yeah, right. She’d heard that one before and what did it get her? Fredric and his assembly line of ready-made fabrications. She fingered through a handful of bookmarks, a copy of Rolling Stone, a clip-on book light, a purple notebook with mini-cows emblazoned on the cover and—cows!
“Very, very funny, Mr. Ellis.” She pulled out the notebook and waved it in the air as he laughed.
“It reminded me of you,” he said, his voice way too sweet. He reached for the keys on her lap, sending a gush of shivers through her legs. Then he put the car into gear.
Whamp! She slugged him upside the head with the notebook, horrified and delighted by the sound it made. “And now I’ll know what to use it for.” She dared him with a glance to retaliate.
“Ah, I’d like to get even, Miss Walsh, but I’m a man who bides his time.” He rubbed the top of his head. “So, I take it you weren’t thrilled with your present?”
She lifted the notebook again, threatening him. Before she knew it, he reached up and grabbed her wrist. His touch was gentle, but the masculine firmness combined with the warm, slightly callused fingers against her softer flesh made her arm weak. The notebook fell, landing between them.
He let go of her and raised a cocky eyebrow. “Point taken,” he said. “I’ll use better judgment in my future gift-giving.”
“That would be wise.” But, in spite of herself, she smiled and discretely massaged her flesh where his fingers had touched her.
That was the problem with tryin
g to snoop. It put her in situations like this, and the novelty of it caused bizarre internal reactions. She felt faint, probably from lack of food. Hunger combined with unnatural sneakiness would reasonably explain the odd tremors beneath her skin and strange racing pulse. The uncharacteristic wooziness and peculiar inability to concentrate. Right?
“So…” She fought to keep the trembling from her voice. “Are you ready to go to the supplies store?”
He nodded, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
***
Thirty-five minutes later, Garrett’s back seat overflowed with tag board, drawing paper, brass fasteners, dry-erase markers, glitter, Scotch tape rolls, felt squares and skeins of yarn.
“I think we aced this list,” he said, and Cait had to admit they’d not only gotten everything she needed, but the time they’d spent together had gone well. Almost too well. If he were purposely trying to beguile her, it’d nearly worked.
Still, she had plenty of unanswered questions. Despite his generosity, the guy was as slippery as she’d feared. Every time she mentioned the budget or festival he managed to deflect her.
She looked out the windshield, planning her next strategy and taking in the surroundings. He wasn’t driving the usual way back to school, but she knew they’d get there sooner rather than later. Ridgewood Grove was a town the size of a TV sitcom’s soundstage.
The sun inched toward the horizon. She could smell the distinctive scent of charcoal and late-summer barbeques in progress through the open car window. Her stomach rumbled softly.
“We’re heading back to school now, aren’t we?” she asked.
“Not quite.” He motioned with his chin to the Giuseppe’s Pizza Parlor at their right, then pulled into the parking lot and looked at her expectantly. “What do you like on your pizza? Meat lover’s, vegetarian, double cheese, Hawaiian—you name it. You waited to get your supplies until after I’d picked up the other stuff I needed. I owe you some dinner, or at least a snack.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said, panic rising at the prospect of dining with someone who looked like a film icon. “I’m not at all hungry. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Sure, I do. I learned a valuable lesson in budgeting for school-district supplies. The same mistakes won’t be made again next year.” His lips twitched. The devil with the squeezable shoulders and the even more squeezable derriere was trying to derail her. This was bad. She couldn’t let him win. If only she weren’t starving…
“Well, I really can’t. I’ve got more work to finish before the kids come tomorrow and—” But her stomach rumbled again, louder this time, quashing the debate.
He smiled in victory, the way Cary Grant sometimes looked at Katharine Hepburn. Cait often wished she were as spunky as that Kate. Wished she could come up with just the right one-liner on command. There was no script of perfect lines to say around men like Garrett Ellis.
She conceded her loss of this round. “Okay, thanks. Just one of their vegetarian slices.”
“That’s it?”
She nodded.
“Hmm. Well, in that case I’ll run in and grab them to go.” He jumped out of the car. “Don’t leave.”
She didn’t. Where would she leave to? There was nowhere besides school, her closet-sized apartment and her mother’s house. And, if truth be told, all three could wait another ten minutes.
In record time, he was back. Warm brown paper Giuseppe’s carryout bag in one hand, white untitled plastic bag in the other.
“Decided we needed dessert, too, where we’re headed,” he said, driving into the street with a surprising sense of purpose.
Alarm and curiosity battled it out inside her. “We’re going somewhere else?” She stared at her watch and felt her blood pressure spike to unhealthy levels even as she admitted her growing excitement to herself. “But it’s nearly six.”
“Yep,” he said smoothly. “Warned you, didn’t I? I’m a man who bides his time. You have to pay for your misbehavior now.” He grinned big, looking pleased with his skewed sense of justice. “Caitlin Livie Walsh, consider yourself mine for the evening.”
***
Garrett took stock of Cait’s stunned expression and prepared to give her the fuller explanation he knew she deserved after such a line, but he wanted to watch her every reaction while he did it.
“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to project reassurance from the driver’s seat. “It’s just to the beach for an hour or so. To talk. To relax.” And to gather information, sweetheart.
He knew she hadn’t anticipated this much of a time commitment—that much was clear from her rabbit-quick glances at her wristwatch. But, hell, who was he to let an opportunity like this slide by? The superintendent declared he should go to any legal length necessary to investigate potential thieves and, by God, he was going to take his duty seriously. What was Little Miss Walsh like on a personal level?
Oddly, any lingering distress drained from her eyes. “Sure, Mr. Ellis.” She twisted her lips. Looked at him in a curious, calculating way. Made him wonder just who was setting up whom.
“I think we passed the formal stage a while ago. Please, call me Garrett.”
“Okay, Garrett.” She arched one delicately curved eyebrow. Way too pretty. He fixed his gaze back on the pavement.
He turned down the gravel road heading to the beach. Other than a few stragglers in the distance, they had a good chunk of sand and surf to themselves. He eyed a picnic table on the higher ground and pointed to it as they hopped out of the car.
“Dignified picnic table or casual coastal rocks? Your choice. Comfort versus excitement.” He nodded toward the flat, increasingly wet rocks along the shoreline.
She glanced at him then at the beach. From the firm set of her jaw, he figured she knew a dare when she heard one. “Rocks,” she said.
He watched her well-rounded calves and ankles fight the resistance of the sand while he followed her tracks to the shore. He forced his pulse to slow down. Damn. He must be getting out of shape. There was no other explanation for his jumpy heart rate.
He gave her a hand up onto a massive shale block and climbed after her, clutching the food bags.
“A veggie lover’s for you, pepperoni for me.” He pulled the still-hot slice boxes out of the brown paper bag and handed over napkins. “But put those aside for now—they’ll stay warm—and try these first.” He fished two cold tubs out of the plastic bag, pausing a moment to build suspense. Then he turned the containers around so she could read the labels.
“Kool Kreme Ice Kreamations! But how did you get—”
“A Mr. Alan KOOLemar, according to his nametag, must’ve talked the Giuseppe’s staff into letting him sell samples at a side table. Seems he’s got a homegrown business and was hoping to expand. Everybody in the place was eating it up. Literally.”
“Oh, Mr. Koolemar’s a darling. Everyone in town likes him. He’s a regular Harvest Hoopla vendor,” she added with a pointed look. “He was once a chemist by trade, but now he has his own ice cream workshop.” She touched one of the pints reverently. “He’s much appreciated in this corner of the state. We consider our town ‘The Creamery’ of America’s Dairyland, you know.”
He laughed at her saucy expression. “I didn’t know, but I guess I do now.”
“Yes, indeed. And Mr. Koolemar makes the most original flavors I’ve had anywhere, and I’ve sampled a lot of cones.”
The lady took her ice cream seriously.
“Ah,” he said. “Well, you’re right about Koolemar’s original flavors. I’ve never heard of Tangy Citrus-Pumpkin Mélange before.” He squinted to read the fine print on the white-and-pink tub. “‘A blend of cool pineapple, orange, grapefruit and lemon flavors with the warmth of sweet roasted pumpkin.’”
“I haven’t tried it yet. Sounds unique. What’s the other?”
“So-ho-ho Supreme. ‘New York cherry melded with wintergreen and peppermint.’” He brandished his plastic spoon. “I’m starting with this one.
”
He plunged his spoon into the creamy concoction and brought it to his mouth. Chewy and crunchy textures teased his tongue while the flavor of mint-infused-cherry overwhelmed his senses. His sinuses tingled, clearing more than they had in months. Better even than a York Peppermint Patty, it was like breathing December air in August. He stared at the container then looked up at Cait. “This is amazing.”
“I know. His Bananarama Cream Pie is incredible, too, and don’t get me started on his classic Orange-Cranberry-Walnut Fiesta. It’s impossible to forget one of Mr. Koolemar’s Kreamations.”
He shoved the pint over and motioned for her to dig in. “Give this one a try.” He watched as she dipped her spoon into the container and tasted it. Still watched as the irresistible sensation overtook her. Her eyes fluttered closed, her full lips curved with pleasure. He noted with acute discomfort his powerful desire to kiss the smudges of white, red and green ice cream off those delectable lips. She opened her eyes, catching him staring.
“What?” she said.
Garrett shook his head and breathed in. He had to get a grip. “It got to you, too, didn’t it? You looked ecstatic for a second there, like—” like a climax, “—uh, like skiing down a black diamond slope in the Rockies.” Let me take you there.
She nodded. “Well, I’ve never skied anything more challenging than the bunny hill at Devil’s Head, but I think you’ve got a point. The flavor makes me want to dig out my parka from the back of the closet. Mr. Koolemar knows ice cream.” She hijacked his breath with a radiant smile, and he knew this was at least one gift for her he’d gotten right.
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