Romancing the Rival

by Kris Fletcher

  She pulled her phone from her pocket, ready to call Jenna. But just as she was about to put in the number, she hesitated.

  Jenna was no big fan of Rob, but she had moved away from the outright hostility that had dominated her feelings about him before he came back to Calypso Falls. Bree didn’t want anything to do with the man herself, but the thing was, Jenna seemed to be—well—finding some kind of equilibrium in the relationship.

  If Bree told Jenna what had happened, Jenna would be furious with Rob. Much as Bree wanted a little sisterly solidarity, she didn’t want to come between her siblings and whatever they chose to do about their father.

  Paige was in Scotland. Kyrie was in Philly with her fiancé. Annie was helping in Margie’s store today, and Neenee—

  No. Bree was not going to drag her mother into this.

  Instead, she did a quick search, found the number for the grocery store, and called to tell them she’d left her coat, and could they please hold it at the customer service desk?

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she said. “Thanks so much.”

  As soon as the phone was back in her pocket, Spence grinned.

  “Decided to take the easy way for once?”

  “Not at all.” She crossed her arms against the chill seeping in through the window. “But I have a plan.”

  “Does it involve having a bowl of beef stew with me?”

  Now where had that come from?

  Not that it didn’t appeal. But she’d relied on Spence—and let him see—too much already. Feeding her was out of the question.

  Even though beef stew sounded like the ultimate indulgence on this frigid day.

  “Kind of you to offer,” she said. “But I figure I’ll wait until you’re busy eating, then steal your keys and drive myself back.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You gonna bring the keys back when you’re done?”

  “Where would be the fun in that?”

  At that, he burst out laughing. It filled the truck cab and smoothed some of the jagged edges left by seeing Rob.

  Huh. Who would have thought that Spence, of all people, would have come through for her that way?

  “Thanks again,” she said, before she could talk herself out of it. “I never expected that my father would . . . anyway. I appreciate you having my back.”

  “Not a problem.” He hesitated, then said, more slowly, “Is it okay to say I was a little surprised? Not that he showed up. I mean—your reaction.”

  She wasn’t about to get into a long emotional discussion over this. Not with him. Her sisters, maybe, but someone else? No. “It was the first time I’ve seen him face-to-face in years.” It didn’t address his comment, really, but it said enough.

  “So I take it there’s no love lost between you.” He hit his turn signal. “At least, not on your side.”

  She was about to tell him that while she appreciated his help, she was pretty sure that it didn’t entitle him to go all probing counselor on her. Then she remembered the expression on his face when she caught him staring at Rob. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who didn’t carry a lot of warm fuzzies in her heart for her father.

  She had no idea what Rob might have done to Spence, though given how many people Rob had hurt, she wouldn’t be surprised if there was cause. She’d been young enough when the worst of his crimes were revealed that she hadn’t wanted to know the details or the magnitude. It was one thing to know your father wasn’t dead after all. It was quite another to learn that he was a lying slimeball who screwed over everyone and everything he could.

  “I was a teenager when he was on trial,” she said. “In a way, it was the worst possible time. I mean, what could be more embarrassing than seeing your father’s arrest photo splashed across every newspaper in the country?” She shook away the memory. “But on the other hand, hey. I was a teenager. Which means I was pretty self-absorbed. Sure, my father was on trial, but oh my God, did you hear what happened in bio after Sarah Nelson passed out during dissection?”

  Her lapse into high school speak did the job—he laughed again. He had a good laugh, rich and warm, the kind that made a person want to pull up a chair and share in the fun.

  It was definitely a laugh that was worth hearing again.

  “Okay,” he said as he turned the corner. “I can see you’re not broken up over this. You’re gonna live.”

  Interesting response from someone who was known far and wide for not giving a hoot about what other people thought.

  “I’m a pretty loyal person,” she said. “It takes a lot to make me turn away, but when I do . . .” She clasped her hands. “I can forgive a lot. But for someone to knowingly and deliberately squander everything they’ve been given? Yeah. That doesn’t sit so well with me.”

  He frowned. Like she had said something far more meaningful than she had realized. But before she could follow up on it, he slowed in front of his place.

  “Here we are,” he said, and killed the engine with a jerky movement. “Let’s eat.”

  Chapter Five

  For someone to knowingly and deliberately squander everything they’ve been given.

  The words bounced around Spence’s brain as he led Bree into the house, shooed Furgus the Canine Dumpster out of the kitchen, and ladled up piping bowls of stew from the slow cooker. He set out bread and sat across from her and carried on some kind of superficial conversation, waving away her stream of compliments on his cooking, and meanwhile, those damned words kept haunting him.

  Deliberately squander . . .

  That was it, he realized. That was why she had gone off the deep end when she took him down at the diner all those years ago. It wasn’t what he had—supposedly—done that had lit that fuse. It was because of her father. She thought he had done essentially the same thing as Rob the Slime.

  The irony was laughable. If she only knew that Rob was the reason for Spence’s supposed failure . . .

  She never would, of course. He wasn’t about to take any chance that the truth could get back to her father. Because even though she had looked as if she could happily shove a pineapple up Rob’s ass when they were in the store, the man was her father. At some level she probably felt something like loyalty to him.

  It might not be much. But any amount was more than Spence could chance. Which meant he had to make sure he kept Bree at arm’s length.

  Pity, that. She was kind of a fun companion when she wasn’t biting off his head. Especially in that sweater.

  They finished eating quickly. Bree seemed to have been as hungry as he had been. But when the dishes had been cleared and he knew he should drive her back to her car, he hesitated.

  He had to keep her at arm’s length, yeah. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a couple more minutes of companionship.

  “Let me show you something before I take you back.”

  Her eyebrows rose so high they looked like rainbows above the frame of her glasses. Too late, he realized how that had sounded.

  “Oh, get over yourself,” he said. “I’m going to drive you back. Right now, if you want. But since you’re the one who said we should do the clean slate thing, I thought I’d do my part and show you my greenhouse.”

  “Fine.” She turned as pink as a springtime peony but didn’t back down. “But you know, word choice is important.”

  “Trust me, Bree. If I ever decide to jump you, you won’t be in any doubt, okay?”

  “Ditto. But now that we’ve got that out of the way, yes. I would love to see the greenhouse, thank you.”

  He led her down the hall lined with pictures of family, past Furgus napping in the sun porch, and into the vestibule that led to the addition. He could tell the instant she spotted the greenhouse by the sudden catch in her breath.

  Huh. Who would have thought that a simple hitch cou
ld send his thoughts scrambling? One minute he was getting ready to open the door, the next he was imagining how that little sound would feel against his ear. And what it would take to make her do it again. And what other kinds of sounds she might make—

  Shit. He was not getting the hots for Bree Elias, fuzzy sweater be damned. No way, no how, not in this or any other lifetime.

  He gathered his wayward thoughts together and shoved them in a corner of his mind marked Do Not Open Until Dead.

  “Shoes off,” he ordered.

  “Why?”

  He would have griped, but since she was pulling off her sneakers, he figured it was a case of curiosity, not rebellion.

  “Controlled environment,” he said.

  “Oh. Socks, too?” she added, no doubt inspired by his now-bare feet.

  “Not necessary. But feel free.”

  “Not often I can go barefoot in Winter,” she said, peeling off her socks and tucking them into her sneakers. He watched her actions, lingering over the way she wiggled her toes, curling and stretching them against the carpet. There was some kind of design on them—it was like they were—candy canes?

  Yeah. That was it. Her toes were painted in red and white stripes and swirls, exactly reminiscent of a candy cane.

  He swallowed. Never in a million years would he have said he had a foot fetish, never before had he ever entertained thoughts of toe-sucking, but hot damn, those were the most enticing toes he had ever seen in his life. And not just because he had a thing for peppermint.

  “Uh . . . that’s some pretty impressive nail polish. Work. Designs.” He swallowed again. “On your toes.”

  She followed the direction of his gaze and pinked up once again.

  “Right. I forgot . . . you know my aunt Margie. She took us all for a group mani-pedi thing. You know, as a Christmas present.” Her laugh sounded a little forced, the tiniest bit self-conscious. “She’s more the type for war paint than nail polish, but she’s a good sport, and she thought it would be a fun time for us to do together. And she was right. We had a lot of fun.” She wiggled her toes again. Her expression softened. “I know they’re kind of gaudy, and they’re getting horribly chipped, but every time I look at them, I remember that day, and laughing with my sisters, and it makes me grin all over.”

  He could understand that. They were doing some damned interesting things to him, and he hadn’t even been part of the party.

  This probably wasn’t good. He really shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts—these feelings—around Bree Elias. For one thing, he’d known her since they were both in diapers. For another, there was her father.

  And then there was the fact that most of the time, he was pretty sure she didn’t even like him. Or, come to think of it, vice versa.

  “So, tell me about the greenhouse,” she said, and those candy cane toes inched forward, as if she couldn’t wait to get inside. As if she really wanted to see the place that meant so much to him. As if she was moving closer, even though the only thing that shifted was one foot. And even though his rational brain said, Diapers, Dad, disapproval, other parts were saying, Long ago, far away, feelings change.

  “Right. Here we go. Watch your head, there’s a bar above the door.”

  He stepped inside, into the little green cave he’d created, breathing in the familiar scents of soil and new growth and fertilizer, grounding himself in this alcove he’d brought to life. She glanced from place to place—not dismissively, but as though she was so fascinated that she didn’t know where to begin.

  “Wow,” she breathed, and his gut tightened. “This is . . . I mean . . . I always thought, greenhouse, hot and sticky and smelling like George of the Jungle’s armpit. But this . . . isn’t.”

  “It’s a deep winter greenhouse,” he said. This was good. This was practical. Something he could talk about without being distracted by the red and white stripes padding up to a gutter filled with baby kale. “It’s designed for cold temperatures. Definitely warmer than outside, but not heated to the max like the ones you’re used to.”

  “And this?” She waved, her gesture encompassing the rows of hanging gutters filled with a hundred shades of green. “Is this— I mean, this looks like food to me. But you’re a landscaper. So is this part of that?”

  “Nope.” He nodded toward the kale, which she was touching with one light finger. “This is just because I wanted to do it.”

  “Did you build this yourself?”

  “Mostly. Some parts, I had to hire folks who knew what they’re doing. But mostly, yeah.”

  “And this is all edible stuff, right? Lettuce and—”

  “Kale. Lettuces. Spinach and thyme and mint.” He pointed them out in turn. “I eat a lot of it. Some I sell at the farmer’s market. The rest goes to—other folks. My sister and her family, mostly.” Not entirely true. But she didn’t need to know about his quiet arrangement with the local food bank.

  “So what’s ready?” Bree walked slowly down the rows, peering into every gutter. “Was any of this in that stew? Which, by the way, totally delicious.”

  Since she’d already said that three times, he didn’t feel compelled to reply beyond a nod. “Not in the stew, no. But the herb butter we had with the bread—that had some of my parsley. A handful of basil, too,” he added, pointing to a particularly leafy sample by his side.

  “Basil.” She inhaled deeply, which did delightful things to the sweater, which did serious things to his imagination. “That’s what I smell. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Agreed.” Though if she knew that he, for one, wasn’t thinking about the plant when he said that, she would probably be furious.

  She rocked back, arms crossed, and stared up and around, drinking in the sights before her. Her gaze landed on the parsley, the butter lettuce, the bag of potting soil. He had the feeling she was memorizing it all. Or, at least, like she fully expected to be interrogated about everything she had seen once she left.

  Not that she looked unhappy. God no. On the contrary, she looked more relaxed than he could recall seeing her in—well—forever. Her face was softer and her shoulders were lower, and between the sweater and the toes, all he could think was that this was not the Bree he had known all these years.

  This Bree had him wondering things he had no business wondering. But he’d be damned if he could stop.

  She turned in a slow circle, her face tipped up to the weak sun shining in through the glazed polycarbonate windows, her lips lifted in a small smile of wonder while her toes gripped and pushed against the floor, and he was pretty sure that he was on the verge of doing something really stupid. Like kissing her.

  The hell of it was that it felt a lot more positive than stupid, which meant he had officially lost touch with reason and probably shouldn’t rely on his own judgment while she was around.

  Where the hell was snarky, uptight Bree when he needed her?

  “This,” she said in a low, breathy voice that went straight to his core, “this is like walking into a little slice of awesome. Except better, because it’s real.”

  Which was exactly the way he felt when he imagined walking over there and putting his hands on her arms and feeling that sweater beneath his palms. And turning her toward him. And rubbing his foot over those toes, feeling that stripy softness against his skin while he leaned in closer and tasted her—

  And she slapped his face. Because that was what would happen next, he knew. Bree might be grateful to him for helping with her father, and she might be blown away by the greenhouse, but she didn’t approve of him. And she would undoubtedly make that really clear really fast.

  “What made you want to do this?” she asked, and even though he knew she was talking about the greenhouse, his hijacked mind kept heading down the highway to hell. Because he’d had the most ridiculous thought.

  He should kiss her. Now. Because not only would it satis
fy this idiotic curiosity, but it would bring back regular Bree within about two seconds. He would get to taste her, she would get pissed off, the lines would be drawn, and he would probably be cured faster than from the strongest wonder drug. A slap across the face would leave a strong reminder, he was pretty sure. And the ice princess that would undoubtedly emerge would be enough to freeze any further inclinations on his part from here to eternity.

  “Spence?” She had turned away from him and now peeked back over her shoulder, twisting at the waist with a half smile that he knew wasn’t for him but for her surroundings, but damn it, the basil or kale must be giving off some kind of pheromone along with oxygen, because his brain was completely scrambled.

  He was going to go to hell. He knew it. But he had to kiss her.

  “What made me want to do it?” He echoed her words as he moved in closer. Half of him wanted her to move away. Instead, she swiveled to face him, head tipped, lips parted. In—a question? Wonder?

  He felt a fleeting pang that he would probably never know. Not if she ended up furious. It was so sharp and unanticipated that he almost stopped.

  Almost.

  “I wish I had a good answer,” he said as he reached out to touch her cheek. He wasn’t going to race into this. He’d said that she would have no doubt if he intended to jump her, and strange as it would seem to some, he was a man of his word. She was going to know what was coming and have ample time to back away if she wasn’t interested.

  In fact, that might be the best outcome of all.

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She glanced in the direction of his finger, now tracing a line down her cheekbone, then looked at him. Direct. Wondering.

  But he couldn’t help but notice that there was no panic or rebuke or any indication in her eyes that she wanted him to stop. Instead, she seemed to be assessing him. Or was she daring him?

  Even someone who had only sisters should know that issuing a dare to a guy was like waving a cape in front of a bull.