Sugar Creek

by Toni Blake

  “No,” she said softly. Just that, nothing more.

  Of course, this was romance now. But if she still didn’t want to acknowledge that, he’d let her have her way.

  Pulling the truck up beside her 325i, he said, “Well then, I’m invited to a big bonfire Friday night at the Schusters’ pumpkin farm. If you want to go with me. Bob and Mary Schuster were friends with Logan’s family when we were growing up, and I know them pretty well, too. There’ll be a hayride, marshmallow roasting, that sort of thing. It’s usually a nice night.” He turned to peer down at her, his next words half teasing, half serious. “Unless it sounds too boring for a big city girl like you.”

  Rachel shook her head and smiled. “I’d love to go. And I’m never bored with you, Romeo.”

  As Rachel pulled up outside Under the Covers, her arms ached. And as she got out of the car, the arches of her feet hurt and she suddenly regretted wearing her carmel-colored Prada boots. It was Wednesday night and the last few days had been busy—she’d picked so many apples she was seeing them in her sleep. And when she wasn’t picking them, she was wrapping them in newspaper and stacking them in the root cellar.

  First thing Monday morning, Edna had informed her it was officially crunch time, so when Amy had called about getting together, Rachel had explained she couldn’t take time away for any more lunches—they’d have to do dinner instead. Now, as she pushed through the bookstore’s door, making the overhead bell jingle, the muscles in her back complained, too, and she felt happy to get away from apples for a while—but the truth was, despite her aches and pains, she was gratified by the work. By helping Edna. By just being with Edna.

  “Is that you, Rach? I’m in the back,” Amy called.

  “Yep, it’s me.”

  “Can you lock the door and turn the Closed sign around in the window?”

  “Sure,” Rachel said, flipping both the lock and the cheerful sign, decorated with flowers done in felt tip pen. She couldn’t help smiling—only Amy would find a way to make being closed look so merry.

  “I’m just shelving some new arrivals in the romance section, but I’ll be right out. Tessa is meeting us at Dolly’s. Sit down and play with Shakespeare or something,” she suggested.

  As if on cue, that’s when her old buddy, Shakespeare, silently appeared from between two bookshelves. The fat cat looked up at her and said, “Meow.”

  “Hi,” she whispered down to him, not particularly wanting Amy to hear her greet the cat. And the second Rachel took a seat in one of the easy chairs near the door, he hopped up into her lap as easily as if he belonged there, as if they did this together all the time. It was sort of becoming a habit, though, she supposed. He plopped his wide body down across her denim-covered thighs, paying no attention to the fact that he knocked her purse to the floor.

  She simply shook her head at him, stuck somewhere between annoyance and affection, and said, softly, “You’re a pushy guy, but I like you.”

  So…maybe that means I like pushy guys, since I like Mike, too.

  Or maybe I like you because I’m kind of pushy.

  Whatever. She stopped analyzing it and scratched behind the tabby’s ears. She and Mike had pushed each other all the wrong ways at first, but now they were definitely pushing each other in the right ways.

  Four days after her admission that she cared for him, she still felt that way, so strongly that sometimes her chest tightened and her stomach churned. And she was no longer in denial or upset about it, despite it being the first time in her life she’d felt this way. She’d just always been so single-minded about her career that romance hadn’t been on her personal radar screen—she’d dated, even had boyfriends, but she’d never fallen for them like her girlfriends had. Until now.

  But she’d decided she’d die before admitting this to anyone—like Edna, or the girls. Give them that little piece of info and they’d latch onto it and never let go, like a bunch of rabid dogs.

  Just then, Amy appeared, pretty and perky in a pumpkin-colored sweater. She instantly bit her lip, looking impatient. “Okay, I know I should wait for Tessa, but I can’t. What happened to you and Mike after the softball tournament?”

  Rachel just smiled—she couldn’t not smile. “He didn’t want to go to the Whippy Dip.”

  “Where did he want to go?”

  “His place.”

  Amy’s eyebrows lifted. “Where I guess you engaged in wild sex all night long?”

  “Something like that,” Rachel said, trying to look more turned-on than melty inside. Given that she was currently both, it was just a matter of getting rid of the melty.

  “And you’re still trying to tell me it’s completely meaningless?”

  Hmm—she wasn’t pulling it off? Could Amy see through her façade? “Of course,” she said anyway.

  Amy crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you. You took too long to answer.”

  Crap.

  But then Rachel remembered who she was. Not this mushy girl who got all gooey over a guy. “Well, believe it. Mike Romo is great in bed and it’s the one place where we completely get along. So that’s all there is to it, Ames.”

  Yeah, sure, that was all a lie now—but she really needed to start putting this back in perspective. Not just in her words, but even in her mind. It was a temporary affair—his life was here, and hers wasn’t. And besides the fact that she didn’t believe in long-distance relationships, it was a leap to even assume he’d be interested in more anyway. Because Mike was like her—he didn’t fall in love.

  Sex and some really great talks—that’s what they’d shared and it was good stuff. Very good stuff. And maybe, when it was all over, it would be good to have finally fallen for a guy. She was thirty-two, after all. And this was…a life experience, one perhaps every woman should have.

  But even as nice as this was becoming, she’d be leaving soon, and then all this caring business would be behind her, and that would also be good. Since the truth was, she wasn’t quite sure how to be the Rachel Farris she’d always been and care about Mike Romo at the same time.

  So she would let herself have this right now, but she’d also be careful not to let herself get sucked in too deep. And the way she felt for Mike would remain her little secret. It would make their time together more special. And it would make the sex even more spectacular. But then she’d put it away, like an old letter or a favorite book, and it would be done. That simple.

  When Friday night rolled around, ushering in the last weekend of September, Mike showed up at the orchard in Giovanni’s convertible again. As Edna’s eyes lit up at the sight of it, Rachel reminded her, “You’ve got a story to finish, you know.” They’d been working so hard, Edna hadn’t given her any new installments lately.

  “Shush, girl,” Edna told her, still spying the car out the window. “I’m busy relivin’ my youth.”

  The warm evening allowed them to leave the top down on the long ride out to the Schusters’ place; orange and gold leaves covered the road in spots, swirling around the car as Mike drove through them.

  The bonfire was everything Mike had promised. Logan was there, with a girl from Crestview, and Rachel was reintroduced to a few other people she hadn’t seen since leaving Destiny. They all asked about her parents, or commented on always getting apples from Edna, and it reminded her how kind people here could be, and how instantly accepting of you when you came back.

  Friendly pumpkins sat in large stacks alongside the road and barn at the Schuster farm, so even though they weren’t officially open for business during the party, Rachel bought a few for Edna’s front porch, stowing them in Mike’s trunk. The irony struck her that, fifty years later, she was carrying pumpkins to Edna in Giovanni’s car.

  The hayride around the farm came with rich autumn colors, even in the dusk, and the crisp smell of fall scented the air. Then hamburgers and hot dogs were grilled, and after dark, late-season fireflies lit up the night. Kids ran around playing, screaming, trying to catch them, as the grown-ups set
tled in a circle around the large fire Mr. Schuster built.

  Rachel hadn’t done anything like this since her youth, and yet, for her, the odd part was…that it didn’t seem odd. Maybe she was getting used to small town life again. She’d even worn gym shoes without anyone telling her to. Although she topped her jeans with a cute short-sleeved sweater, convinced she could be casual and stylish at the same time.

  After Mike fashioned marshmallow roasting sticks from branches, they debated the best method for cooking them.

  “Oh God, you’re one of those people who lets them catch on fire?” Rachel asked, aghast.

  “Dude, that’s against the fire code,” Logan said, straight-faced, then cracked a grin. After which he challenged them to each eat a marshmallow cooked by the other.

  So while Mike ate the gooey, lightly browned marshmallow from the end of her stick, she was forced to eat the burnt, blackened one he’d prepared. Fearing for her taste buds, she waited for it to cool, then held the ruined marshmallow carefully between her fingers and took a small bite. And was horrified to have to admit, “Wow—that’s not awful.”

  Mike gave a triumphant nod, then ate her marshmallow—which produced a big sneer on his face. “And that was nothing but a glob of goo. A waste of a perfectly good marshmallow, Farris.”

  She widened her eyes on him. “Marshmallows are globs of goo, Romo.”

  Soon enough, the air turned brisk and people broke out chocolate and graham crackers for s’mores. A friend of the Schusters played a guitar and sang. And when Mike returned from talking with Mr. Schuster, whom he’d seen admiring the Cadillac, he sat down and wrapped his arms around Rachel from behind.

  She bit her lip in response—mmm, cozy. She couldn’t help turning to look at his handsome face, so close to hers, and in return, he gave her a little kiss.

  “You’re freezing,” he said, rubbing his hands along her lower arms.

  She shrugged it off. “Freezing is a strong word. Chilly would be more accurate.”

  He just gave his head a dubious shake. “What is it with you and clothes, Farris? Why are you never dressed for the weather?”

  “I was dressed for the weather, last weekend and tonight, too. But then the weather changed. And I almost brought my pashmina, but it didn’t seem…bonfire-ish.”

  He simply cast an indulgent smile, then leaned back to begin unzipping the navy blue hoody he wore.

  It was a sweet, gentlemanly gesture, but Rachel said, “Don’t give me your hoody—then you’ll be cold.”

  “So?”

  “Well, who’ll keep me warm then?”

  Mike ignored her and draped the hoody around her shoulders. “Put this on and zip up,” he said. “I wore a warm enough shirt underneath.”

  True, he had on something made of waffle weave that looked pretty snuggly. “Thanks,” she whispered, figuring there was no use in arguing. Then reclined back against him again, happy when his arms folded around her once more.

  Although when had she started getting into things that were cozy? And how did Mike make hoodies and waffle weave look so completely sexy?

  She didn’t know the answers—but she forgot about the questions when he pulled her closer, resting his head against hers as they listened to the guitar player sing a romantic old James Taylor song, “Something in the Way She Moves.”

  As she listened to the lyrics, however, something strange began to happen inside her. She began to feel…out of sorts, emotional, and like…well, like she could cry.

  Again? With the crying? Oh God—what was that about?

  Since she didn’t cry, she pushed the unidentified emotions back. But…did she want that? Did she want a man to feel about her the way the guy in the song felt? Another question that had no answer.

  So she leaned her head back into Mike’s shoulder and found herself gazing up at the dark sky—clear tonight, filled with countless twinkling stars. It reminded her once more of her youth here, of being able to look up and see the heavens, since in the city…well, she wasn’t sure she’d seen many stars in the years since she’d left Destiny. She’d never before appreciated the night sky so much, and maybe she suddenly had some idea why Jenny was so caught up in it.

  When the song ended, Mike gently kissed her cheek and she turned to meet his sexy eyes.

  “Wanna head home?” he whispered.

  “Home?” she asked for clarification.

  “My home.”

  She just nodded, feeling strangely dreamy inside and very ready to be with him—in a way she couldn’t be in public.

  As they got in the car a few minutes later, Mike started to put the top up, but Rachel stopped him. “Wait. Can we leave it down?”

  “We’ll freeze to death.”

  And yes, it was cold now, but…“The stars are so bright tonight. Couldn’t we just drive slow and look at the sky?”

  Mike appeared hesitant, like he thought it was impractical, but finally said, “Okay, honey—if that’s what you want.”

  So they meandered along the twisting, turning roads, and Rachel tipped her head back and took in all the points of light shimmering above them like diamonds. Mike’s iPod played Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon,” and though she’d been wondering for years now what it was about, what the pink moon in the song represented, suddenly she thought she might know. She could scarcely give it a word in her mind, though. It was too scary that she was even thinking about that word right now. It was another four-letter one, and it started with L, and, for Rachel, was far worse than Romo.

  So she had to change her thoughts, quick.

  Smiling up at Mike, she cuddled a little closer. “For a Romo, you have good taste in music.” Her own choices had always been just a little left of current pop trends—one more rebellion against small town life, she supposed—and she’d noticed Mike’s musical selections were often similar to hers.

  “For a Farris,” he said, “you have good taste in men.”

  She cast a playful smirk in reply, but when she saw again how damn sexy he looked and how close he was to her, when she drank in that scent of his that was like a mating call to her, she couldn’t help leaning over to kiss him.

  He returned it warmly—before grousing, “Are you trying to make me wreck the car?”

  “No, I’m trying to make you hurry,” she explained, placing a hand on his thigh. Because just that one kiss had lifted the level of her desire from smoldering to blazing.

  He sucked in his breath. “What happened to driving slow so we won’t freeze?”

  Reaching down, she found the heat controls and turned them on high. “There—it won’t matter now.”

  He simply cast her a firm look of warning. “I won’t speed, honey—even for sex.”

  Oh, for crying out loud. Rachel wanted him, suddenly, badly—and he was concerned about a little speeding?

  She held in her growl of protest, though, and went straight to the heart of the matter—she moved her touch upward, pressing her palm to the bulge between his legs. Mmm, he was half hard already, and as usual, got harder the second her hand molded to him through his blue jeans.

  “Shit,” Mike muttered—then pressed down on the gas, gunning the car forward. “Damn it, woman, you’re a bad influence on me.”

  “That’s what you get for hanging out with a Farris,” she said, then couldn’t hold back a victorious little grin. Because she was making Mike Romo break laws again.

  By the time they got home, Rachel was nearly feverish with want. Mike had sped, but not by much, and now he was actually taking the time to pull the car slowly into a garage to one side of the house. “Are you kidding me?” she asked, massaging him through his jeans.

  His breath came heavy, but he still remained practical Mike Romo. “It’s a vintage Cadillac, Rachel. You don’t just leave a car like this out in the elements.”

  “What elements?” She motioned skyward with her free hand. “It’s a beautiful night!”

  “I’ll show you a beautiful night in a minute—if you’ll
be quiet and let me pull the damn car in.”

  She bit her lip—both in impatience and to try to shut up. She never liked letting Mike or anyone else boss her around, but she was dying to get him naked, so it inspired her silence.

  Within moments, Mike was jabbing the key in the lock and they were nearly falling through the front door. “Finally,” she breathed.

  And he said, “Shut up and kiss me.”

  As Mike’s arms came around her, Rachel lifted her hands to his stubbled cheeks and met his mouth with hers. They exchanged frantic tongue kisses and she nearly melted to the floor just from having that one small part of him inside her.

  They inched their way toward the bedroom as they made out with wild abandon, and the next thing Rachel knew, Mike was shoving his hoody from her shoulders and grabbing at the bottom of her sweater. She lifted her arms, then stopped kissing him just long enough to let him rip it off over her head. He let out a low groan at the sight of her bra—a lacy lavender confection she’d selected with him in mind—then he yanked the straps from her shoulders.

  That’s when it hit her—a weird, shocking urge. “Wait,” she said, pressing her palms to his chest and taking a step back.

  “What is it?” he asked, obviously frustrated. “I thought you wanted me to hurry. Now I want to hurry, too.”

  Breathless from the heat between them, Rachel tried to explain herself—even as she attempted to dissect her own feelings. “I just…” She shook her head. “I was in a hurry to get started, but now that we’re here…”

  “What?” he asked, exasperated.

  What it came down to was—a lot of the sex she’d experienced had borne similarities to this. Rushing through the door for a frantic coupling that was over too fast. And sure, that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a round two, but…“I like it most when we go slow, when we take our time.” She bit her lip, knowing that the best sex of her life had been slow, steamy sex with Mike. “You do slow good,” she said, her voice dropping.

  In response, Mike let out a breath, but didn’t argue. In fact, he said, “You’re right. With us, slow is good. With us, slow is…amazing.”