A Teaspoon of Trouble

by Shirley Jump

  “I know you pretty well, remember?” He gestured toward one of the benches.

  She nodded, and they took a seat. The bench was short, and their hips nearly touched. Carolyn wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. Harley and Emma ran circles around the grassy expanse before them, Emma’s laughter carrying on the slight breeze.

  “Remember the prom planning committee?” Matt said. “At the last minute, the DJ canceled and the hall shut its doors. Within twenty-four hours, you had found a new location, a new DJ, and managed to bring the cost down by ten bucks a ticket.”

  “That really wasn’t a big deal. A few phone calls.”

  “It was a big deal to the entire senior class.” He tore the end off a long blade of grass and tossed it at the ground. “You sure impressed me. I remember thinking: this girl is way out of my league.”

  “Me? I thought you were ten notches above me in the social stratosphere.” She braced her hands on the edge of the bench, pretending not to notice how the edge of her palm brushed his leg. “Captain of the football team, voted best smile, the one guy every girl in school wanted to date.”

  “Wait. Every girl in school? Was there some tweet about that I missed?”

  She gave him a light slug in the arm. “You were dating me, you big idiot. I wasn’t going to tell you about the other girls who were interested.”

  A smirk filled his face. “Are you saying you were jealous?”

  “It was high school. Everyone was immature then.”

  “You didn’t answer the question, Carolyn.”

  Because doing that would mean admitting she had cared. That it still bothered her a little bit. That a part of her wondered how a guy as good-looking as Matt was still single.

  Instead of saying any of that, she rolled her eyes and played it off as a joke. “I was what, seventeen, eighteen? All girls are insecure at that age.”

  “Not you,” he said. “Out of everyone I knew, you seemed like you really had yourself together. You knew what you wanted to be, how you were going to get there…and where you wanted to live.”

  She heard notes of hurt in the last few words. Ten years ago, she had stood with Matt in the high school parking lot, and told him she was leaving town and never coming back. He’d been slack-jawed, stunned. Angry.

  He hadn’t heard the fear in her voice, the part of her waffling about her decision. The part that secretly wanted Matt to beg her to stay, or beg her to take him with her. He’d done neither. He’d let her go with just a cold, Well, I guess that’s it. She’d hurried out of the parking lot before he could see her tears.

  But now she thought of what she’d just said. How everyone was a little immature in high school. Maybe Matt had been too, unable to voice the emotions he was feeling, or reacting from his gut instead of his heart. Would it really hurt to admit the truth now? After all, it had been ten years. Maybe telling him why she had left so abruptly would give him some closure. Give both of them a little.

  “If I told you while we were dating, we would have broken up,” she said softly. “And I didn’t want that.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I really liked you. Because I kept hoping we’d find a way to compromise. Because I was young and foolish and running around with stars in my eyes.

  “I should get Emma home,” Carolyn said as she got to her feet. “It’s past her bedtime.”

  “Yeah. I’ve stayed here too long, too.” Matt called Harley to his side, waved goodbye to Emma, then headed in the opposite direction. Just like ten years ago, he let the subject go. Let her go.

  For a moment, Carolyn watched him leave, then she turned away, focusing on her niece. Everything she needed to worry about right now was in this four-year-old bundle of energy. Dwelling in the past was the kind of foolish thing starry-eyed teenage girls did.

  Chapter Four

  Matt made it through his workday in record time. There were no emergencies, nothing beyond routine physicals and shots. He almost wished for something exciting, because his mind wandered during the mundane.

  Wandered to thoughts of Carolyn. To the past. To the day she’d broken his heart, and the day she’d walked back into his life.

  Like he had ten years ago, he’d reacted to her admission the same way—by steeling his heart and walking away. He’d already been hurt deeply by Carolyn once. He didn’t want to make it a second time.

  She was still beautiful, still had a way of smiling at him that made his heart race. And damn it all, he still wanted to kiss her. Even if that would be a colossal mistake.

  Sheryl poked her head into his office. “All done for the day. Do you need me for anything else?”

  “Nope, I’m good.”

  “Don’t forget the Bake-Off is this weekend. Have you figured out what you’re going to fake-bake?”

  He chuckled. “I’m going to really bake. I have a baking tutor.” Which sent his mind down all kinds of Hot for Teacher paths.

  And put him, he realized, right back in the middle of the same quandary. Stay away from the woman who had broken his heart and surely would again if he did something about the desire he still felt for her—or try to keep it all business, a little dog training for a little baking?

  Yeah, considering how close he’d come to kissing her the other day, that all-business thing was already a lost cause.

  Sheryl laughed. “A baking tutor? Oh, I am totally buying a ticket to the Bake-Off. I have got to see this. I’ll sit in the back, in case you need a heckler.”

  “Hey, this is for a good cause.” He wagged his pen at her. “Not an opportunity to harass the guy who signs your paycheck.”

  “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.” Sheryl laughed, then waved goodbye. A few minutes later, Matt finished typing up the last of his notes, and closed up the office for the day. He drove through Marietta, marveling at how the town had maintained its quaint setting, even as new businesses came and went, setting up shop beside places that had been there for generations. He’d always loved this town, the warm people who had become good friends over the years. He couldn’t imagine leaving it for the hustle and anonymity of a place like New York City.

  What about that had appealed to Carolyn? He’d always wondered why she’d chosen Manhattan over Marietta. What had she found there—

  And who had she found there?

  That was the one question he had yet to ask her—was she dating anyone? She didn’t have a ring on her finger, so if she was, the relationship wasn’t serious.

  Was he considering dating her again? That would be insane—she had told him she was only here for one more week, before she went back to New York. He already knew how this story would end. Only a fool read the same unhappy book twice.

  Except a part of him was still anticipating seeing her tonight, even if it wasn’t a date.

  He went home, let Harley out, showered and changed. A little after six, his doorbell rang. He made a visual sweep of his kitchen, straightened his shirt, smoothed his hair, as nervous as he’d been the first time he’d asked Carolyn out. His hair had been longer then, his body thinner, and his voice a pitch higher. He’d stood beside her table at the end of art class, screwed up his courage, and asked if she wanted to go see the latest Harry Potter movie.

  He didn’t remember a single line from the movie, couldn’t recall one frame of the picture. But he did remember how he had put his arm around Carolyn a few minutes in, and she had curled against him in the darkened theater, and sealed his heart to hers.

  He’d loved how smart she was, how efficient. How the things she created in art were always a bit to the left of everyone else’s. When they had to draw a shoe, she drew the tattered sole and open toe of a lost boot while everyone else was drawing Nike sneakers. For a still life, she had drawn melting ice cubes in a stack. They’d looked so real, Matt half expected them to puddle on the floor. His own sketch of a couple bananas and a pineapple paled in comparison.

  And he’d loved the way she loved him—or at least he’d thought she’d loved
him. She would sneak notes into his books when he wasn’t looking, or bake him brownies or snuggle into his sweatshirt, leaving the fresh scent of her perfume behind when he put it over his head later. Even though he had dated since, and even married Wendy, he’d never felt quite the same as he had in high school—like he lived somewhere up in the clouds.

  Infatuation, his mind reminded him. The silly infatuation of a teenager. He was a grown-up now and those crazy days were behind him.

  He pulled open the door. “Hey, Carolyn.” Aiming for nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just been thinking about her.

  “Hey, Matt.” She placed a heavy white and silver machine in his hands, then picked up a grocery bag by her feet. “Bring that in please, and we’ll get started.”

  All business, no flirting. He told himself that was what he wanted. She was leaving soon, and this was simply a temporary alliance. Dog training for baking training. And definitely no kissing in the middle of either.

  He set the machine on his kitchen counter. “That thing weighs a ton. What is it?”

  “A mixer. The best one ever, if you ask me.”

  To Matt, the white appliance looked sturdy enough to blend cement. Of course, this was coming from the guy who only owned a couple of pans and mostly ate off of paper plates. “Because I need all the help I can get?”

  She laughed. He’d always liked her laugh, the way it sounded like wind chimes in a light breeze. “From what I remember about your culinary skills, you’re going to need a miracle.”

  “I’d take offense, but I have a sneaking suspicion you’re right.” He leaned against the counter and watched while Carolyn unloaded the groceries, setting them up in order, labels facing front. “You’re still a little OCD.”

  “I just like things neat and tidy. And in a busy kitchen, having everything where you expect it is essential.” She stepped back, assessed the ingredients, then gestured toward Matt. “Okay, let’s get baking. Today, we’re making peanut butter cookies. They’re simple, and similar to what we’ll be making for the Bake-Off, but a little easier. Later this week, we’ll tackle our actual Bake-Off recipe. So this will give you a good taste—”

  “No pun intended.”

  She laughed. “Okay, maybe that was the wrong term. But this will let you get a sample of the cookie-making process. We’re not doing anything too complicated, but hopefully something tasty. First things first—start with the recipe.”

  Later this week. That meant they’d have another one of these tutoring sessions. Was it wrong to be glad for that? To already be anticipating it?

  Maybe not wrong, but not smart. Focus, he told himself. Focus.

  He glanced over at the handwritten sheet she’d laid beside the mixer. Like the ingredients, Carolyn’s recipe was neatly printed, with bulleted instructions. First step, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. “Uh…how do I preheat?”

  Laughter burst from her and she shook her head. “Okay, I take it back. I don’t know if a miracle is going to be enough. All right, let’s go back a few steps to the basics.” She leaned over the oven and pointed at the keypad. Her shirt edged up above her waist, exposing a thin strip of peach skin.

  He wanted to put his hands on her waist, to feel her warmth beneath him. To hear her whisper his name—

  Okay, not productive. At all. He was supposed to be preheating the oven, not his libido.

  “So just set this at 350,” Carolyn was saying, “and when the oven is ready, it will beep. In the meantime, we’ll start mixing the ingredients.”

  “Preheat. Got it.” He pressed the button she indicated, then stepped back. “What’s next?”

  “Hold up, cowboy.” She picked up the handwritten sheet and gave it to him.

  Cowboy. The word sent Matt’s attention down a path that involved a late night, a big bed, and a whole lot of time with Carolyn.

  Grade for focusing—a D, and only if he was grading himself on a bell curve.

  “Read the recipe,” she said, and his attention swiveled back to what they were doing. “Read it all the way to the end, so you aren’t taken by surprise halfway through. Make sure you have all the ingredients, and then you can start baking.”

  Matt scanned the recipe for peanut butter cookies. It seemed pretty easy, and clear-cut. Even for someone like him with limited kitchen skills. “Okay, it says to first mix the butter, brown sugar, and white sugar until creamy and smooth.”

  When he reached for the butter, Carolyn put a hand on his arm. The light touch sent a shiver of electricity through his veins. “First, make sure you have all the things you need. Then start measuring.”

  He reread the recipe, then glanced at the items on the countertop. “Wait, there’s no peanut butter.” He shot her a grin. “Was that a test?”

  “Yup.” She laughed.

  He shifted closer to her. He loved to make her smile, loved to hear her laugh. The sound added a brightness to his kitchen, to his home. “And did I pass?”

  “Depends…” she said, her gaze dropping to his mouth for a second, “on how the cookies turn out.”

  He watched the words form on her lips, and realized it had been a long, long time since he’d wanted to kiss someone as much as he wanted to kiss Carolyn right now. She had her hair up in a clip, exposing that long, graceful neck he loved so much. Desire thudded in his veins, urging him to close the gap between them to inches. “I bet they’re going to be sweet and warm and once you have one, you’re going to want another.”

  She arched a brow. “Pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I have experience.”

  “In baking? I thought you said—”

  “I wasn’t talking about cookies, Carolyn.” The words hung in the heated air between them for a long moment before she spoke.

  “Oh.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth again and when she spoke, her voice was softer, darker. “Oh.”

  She didn’t move away. She didn’t back up. Her gaze locked with his, and a slight smile flickered on her face. He leaned in closer, drawn by those eyes, that perfume, and all the history that told him how sweet kissing Carolyn would be.

  His lips met hers, slow, tentative at first, tasting and teasing. Her palm pressed against his chest. Heat surged inside him. He deepened the kiss when she opened against him, his tongue sweeping in against hers. He put his hands on her waist, fingers sliding against that bare expanse of skin. Carolyn let out a soft mew, and arched toward him.

  Good Lord, he had missed her. Missed the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the way her skin felt beneath his. A part of him wanted to take her into his bedroom, and make love to her until the sun began to peek above the horizon. Instead, he drew back, releasing her, while the rest of his body protested.

  Where was he going to go with this? Better to end the kiss now, while he still had a leash on the desire inside him.

  “What…what are we doing?” she asked, the words a bit breathless.

  “Taking a short stroll down memory lane.” No more. No dating her or sleeping with her or getting his heart wrapped up in her again. Uh-huh. And so far his record for not getting involved with Carolyn was worse than the batting average of the Mets.

  She cleared her throat and turned away. “The, uh, butter is already softened, so all you, uh, have to do is measure the sugars and add them with the sticks of butter.”

  Changing the subject to something neutral. Back to business as usual, as if the kiss had never happened. He should have been glad. Instead, he was disappointed. He dragged his mind back to the recipe. “I thought I still needed peanut butter.”

  “Oh, yeah, I uh, put it in my purse. To see if you’d notice it was missing.” She crossed to the table, dug in her bag, and pulled out the jar. “So, we have everything and we can get to work.”

  Still not a word about the kiss. About whether she wanted to stroll down memory lane with him. Matt told himself to be relieved. Getting involved with Carolyn—especially when he knew how this would end—was insane.

  The kind o
f crazy thing he would have done when he was younger, brasher, less aware of what the future held. Ten years later, he knew the only thing he should be anticipating was the fresh-baked cookies.

  *

  Carolyn hoped to God that Matt wouldn’t notice she was trembling when she handed him the measuring cups. That kiss…

  Had been spectacular. It was as if they’d never been apart. His lips had moved across hers with the knowledge of a man who knew his history. When he’d told her he remembered more than just the way she took her iced tea or her favorite ice cream flavor, he wasn’t kidding.

  Her body still simmered from his touch, and she could swear where he’d held her waist was ten degrees warmer than the rest of her. She kept glancing over at him as he turned on the mixer, waited for the butter and sugars to cream together, then followed her instructions for adding the eggs one at a time.

  Baking with him also put her attention on his hands, which left her distracted and flustered and thinking about how it felt when he touched her. Damn.

  “Do I really have to break them into this bowl first?” Matt asked, and it took her a second to realize he was talking about the eggs. “Seems like an extra step and extra dishes.”

  “Considering you’re not exactly an egg-breaking pro—” she fished out a piece of shell “—this is better than getting shells in your cookie dough.”

  He finished breaking the eggs into the small bowl, tipped them into the mixture, then watched as they disappeared with the mixer’s revolutions. “Okay, what’s next? Wait. Don’t tell me.” He thought for a second. “One cup of peanut butter.”

  “Exactly.” She picked up a skinny spatula and used it to scoop the gooey peanut butter into the measuring cup. She shifted closer to Matt, acutely aware of the heat from his body, the close proximity of his chest, his hips, his hands. She slid the peanut butter into the mixer and went to reach for the flour when Matt stopped her.

  “You have peanut butter on the back of your hand.” He caught her hand with his, and held it up. “Wouldn’t want that getting into the flour. It could mess everything up.”