Romancing the Rival

by Kris Fletcher

  Bree decided it was okay to let herself grin a bit at the memory. “He said something about shoving a Norfolk island pine up Dad’s ass.”

  Laughter filled the room.

  “Hell’s bells, who would have thought Spencer James had it in him to do the hero thing?” Margie said with an appreciative slap on her thigh.

  Bree joined in with the chortles before steering the conversation back to the safer territory of wedding plans. She could stay in the hot seat for only so long.

  But for the rest of the evening, Margie’s words kept echoing through her head.

  Who would have thought Spence had that in him?

  Chapter Six

  Perched on a barstool at his counter, Spence scratched absent-mindedly behind Furgus’s ears and stared at the aerial photos of the proposed forest once again, mentally replacing some of the mixed conifers and deciduous trees with fruit-bearing ones. Apples, obviously. At least three varieties that would ripen at different times, to ensure a longer period of visits from those wishing to pick. A few pear trees thrown in for good measure. Boscs? No. Bartletts were more popular around here. Walnuts. Sugar maples to tap in season. And was there a spot protected enough to try some peach trees?

  Peaches had been his dad’s favorite. Gord had spent years experimenting in their backyard, trying different varieties in different locations until he hit upon the right combination that could survive even the bitterest of central New York winters. Spence could still remember the hot August afternoon when his father picked his first ripe Reliance from their tree and ate it right there in the yard, juice running down his hands and dripping to the ground while he exclaimed over the flavor.

  Definitely a memory to hold close.

  As close as you held Bree the other day?

  He closed his eyes and breathed out, steadying his pulse, which had developed an annoying tendency to race whenever he remembered those moments. Or when he smelled mint. Brushing his teeth had become an exercise in torture for the past few days.

  Bree . . . he had never bought the whole Ice Maiden thing she had going, but yeah, a part of him had kind of thought, book worm, perpetual student, probably way more into theory than practice. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had told him that she was still a virgin. Now he would more likely be dismayed at the waste of all that hot potential.

  He was personally going to make sure nobody planted any mint in the food forest.

  “At least now I know she was worth all the wondering, right, Furg?”

  Furgus wagged his tail. In agreement, Spence hoped.

  He sighed and turned back to the photos.

  “Enough. I had my curiosity satisfied. Time to remember that she’s not for me and I’m sure as hell not for her, even if I don’t have to worry about her being on her dad’s side. Back to the things that matter, right, boy? Like drainage and sunlight. And where to put paved paths for wheelchairs.” He sketched lightly over the photo with a pencil, then frowned. “And what the hell is missing here?”

  Because there was no denying that something felt off. Like there was a big piece he’d overlooked.

  “It should be good,” he said to Furgus while running through his mental checklist. “Fruit trees. Paths. Berry bushes. The green and the fruit and all the things that will draw people in, and yet . . .”

  And yet.

  He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against the photo, searching, trying to see beyond the pixels to the real thing. He imagined walking from the entry through to the apple trees at the center, an empty bag slung over his shoulder, Livvy and the kids laughing at his side. They marched down the path toward the center. Max darted away and grabbed something—a pine cone?—to whip at Emma, who rolled her eyes like the teenager she was, then scooped the cone from the ground and threw it back at him.

  “Little shits,” he muttered, knowing that that was exactly what Livvy would say, repeating phrases he’d heard her utter a hundred times or more. Maybe if he channeled her words . . . “They have so much energy. I can’t keep up with them. They need to run. Better make sure they stay on the path. If they see the playground . . .”

  The playground.

  That was what was missing. Not that Max and Emma would be into it, not anymore, but there needed to be some fun, some goofiness, some whimsy. He’d been so caught up in making sure the forest would have a practical and aesthetic appeal that he’d completely forgotten to mention anything about it being fun.

  A vision of candy cane toenails swam in his memory.

  “Uh-uh. Not going there again.”

  Except he kind of already had.

  And he had a feeling that it was those totally unexpected toenails that had got him thinking about fun in the first place.

  “Damn it, Furg. It was half a dozen kisses. You’d think I was fifteen all over again.”

  Maybe that was the problem—the fact that he had known Bree for so long and still in some ways felt like an awkward teen when she was around. She knew him in ways other people didn’t, and it left him unsteady, not certain as to what he should do or say next. No matter how hard he tried to play it cool around her, his inner teenager kept popping up to remind him that he wasn’t nearly as badass as he wanted people to believe.

  “Yet another reason why I need to walk away and put her out of my mind,” he told Furgus, who promptly lifted his leg and began licking himself. Just the visual Spence needed to drive away the memory of a flushed and pliant Bree.

  For fuck’s sake. He needed to do something about this. He’d never been much for one-night stands, but he might have to try his luck, just so he wouldn’t have all this need building inside him. Nothing erased the memory of a woman like another woman, especially when the first woman was one that he shouldn’t be thinking about in the first place.

  There was the plan. Write up his thoughts about adding fun so he could present them at the next meeting, then have a shower and head downtown to see if he could get lucky.

  Which should have sounded a lot more exciting than it did.

  “Forest,” he told himself firmly. “Fun. Playground. Badass.”

  Was there such a thing as a badass playground?

  He was pretty sure there was no such thing for kids.

  He was also pretty sure that the adult version would look a whole lot like Bree Elias when she had just been thoroughly kissed.

  * * *

  Bree sat at her information table the day before the task force meeting, smiling and chatting up students and doing her perky damnedest to get them interested in the thought of the food forest. But while many expressed initial interest, most of them took a quick look at the brochures, started shuffling their feet, and then realized they were horribly late for something. In thirty minutes Bree had gained only three signatures. Two of them were from students in her classes who undoubtedly hoped that a signature on her form would translate into a higher final grade.

  That wasn’t going to happen. But she was almost ready to start offering homework passes like in high school. Or maybe gold stars would be more appropriate?

  It didn’t help that she was here alone, feeling her smile slip as time dragged on. It really didn’t help that Spence had sent out an e-mail yesterday letting the entire task force know that he alone had gathered a good quarter of the signatures they would need.

  Funny. She hadn’t cared—much—that she hadn’t heard from him since the day of the greenhouse. Fine by her, she told herself. She wasn’t racing to contact him, either, and anyway, this gave her time to make some sense of what had happened. Though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to make sense of it or pretend that nothing had happened . . .

  Kisses that had left her needy for days, followed by total radio silence? No problem. But flaunting his signature number in front of the entire task force? All of a sudden the mere thought of his name had her back in high school, busting as
s to beat him once more.

  It seemed some habits died harder than others.

  Damn it. If she had to resort to homework passes, she would. It was bad enough that she had to face Spence with the memory of . . . that . . . still so fresh. But to face him with a blank page instead of student signatures?

  Thank God a cute young thing chose that moment to wander up to the table.

  “Hi there!” Bree had to remind herself to slow down and not overwhelm the kid as she launched into her talk. She shuffled papers and handed over the drawings and discussed university-town relationships and shared resources and bridge building.

  The girl’s polite interest soon faded.

  “It’s a good idea,” she said when Bree had to stop to breathe. “But, you know, what’s in it for us? You know, the students who are here right now? By the time this is done, we’ll all be gone.”

  Which was exactly what Bree didn’t want to hear.

  “How about the satisfaction of knowing you helped make things better for future students?”

  The girl smiled awkwardly. “Yeah, that’s important and all, but it seems like an awful lot of mess and trouble before it happens. I mean, I live off campus now with my fiancé”—her stress on the word and the enthusiastic wiggle of a shiny ring on her left hand told Bree how new this situation was—“but when I was a freshman, I lived over here, in Dalton. And I had to walk right through this area to get to most of my classes.” She traced a line across the northern tip of the proposed layout. “I don’t think I would have been too excited to have to make a giant detour around this while it’s being built, you know? Especially at this time of year.”

  Bree glanced from the window overlooking the snowy quad to the girl’s boots that had definitely been chosen for fashion, not functionality, and completely understood.

  Altruism wasn’t going to work with this crowd. She needed something that would appeal on a different level.

  “Okay. So help me out here. You say you like the idea.”

  “In theory.”

  “Right. But you don’t see any personal payoff for all the inconvenience and mess and hassle.”

  “Not to mention the noise,” the girl added with a tap on her ear. “I mean, dorms are loud enough already. Add in all that construction equipment, and boom, it’s a nightmare, you know?”

  “Understood. But how would it feel if, say, you came back for reunions and you got to walk through here and . . .”

  She knew she had lost the girl even before the telltale shuffling began. Long-term wasn’t working, either.

  Bree had a sudden appreciation for the challenges faced by the alumni office.

  “I don’t know.” The girl placed the drawing back on the table. “I think it’s good, yeah, but maybe someplace else would be better. Someplace that wouldn’t cause so much trouble for students.”

  As she pulled her hand back from the papers, sunlight broke through the window and bounced off the tiny rock on her hand. Bree squinted.

  And inspiration hit.

  “What if there was a place to hold weddings there?”

  The girl, who had been shifting her backpack higher on her right shoulder in preparation for flight, stopped and looked at Bree.

  “You mean like a chapel?”

  “Not necessarily. There’s already a chapel on campus—”

  “And it’s a pit,” the girl said. “No offense, but I know I wouldn’t want to get married there. It’s like, I know they have to keep it simple so it works for everybody, but it’s just a step above a doctor’s office. Nobody I know ever talks about getting married here. Too bad, because I know so many couples who met here and would love to come back for the ceremony.” She pulled the drawing closer. “But if you put something out there . . . in the middle of all those trees, maybe with lots of flowers all around . . .”

  “Maybe a pavilion,” Bree said, warming to the idea. “Or a gazebo.”

  “With plenty of room for people to mingle. And you’d need, I don’t know, someplace for chairs and stuff. Probably electricity.” The girl’s lips curved into the beginnings of a dreamy smile. “And twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling. Lots and lots of twinkle lights.”

  There wasn’t a twinkle light in the world that could shine as bright as Bree’s revived hopes when she saw the girl scribble her name on the sign-up sheet.

  * * *

  Bree arrived early the next day for the task force meeting. She told herself she wanted to watch the other members as they arrived, to get a feel for how their work had gone over the past month, but she didn’t even try to pretend that she believed herself. The truth was, she wanted to watch Spence walk in. She wanted to be seated and alert when he caught sight of her so she could both gauge his reaction and be braced for her own. She wanted to know if the extra care she’d taken with her makeup that morning might have any impact on him, and whether she’d been wise or foolish to reject the top Jenna had once given her as a Get Lucky charm: a demure white see-through chiffon blouse, worn over a lacy camisole when she was in public, or over just a bra—or nothing at all—in private. It was all very proper with the cami in place, but at the last second Bree had opted against it. For one thing, it would be just her luck to have the department chair catch her wandering the halls in a top that was a barely disguised invitation.

  For another, she really wasn’t sure if she wanted to be issuing an invitation at all. It didn’t seem like the smartest thing to do. And if Bree clung to anything, it was the knowledge that she was the smart one.

  So, no chiffon. Today was all about business and making a good impression and focusing on the future. Since Spencer James played absolutely no part in that future, she needed to make sure the only signals she sent were of the buttoned-up variety. So she purposefully topped her sensible gray wool skirt with a soft pink twin set that practically screamed 1950. Between that and her glasses and the throwback little pearl brooch she pinned in the middle of the cardigan, she couldn’t look less inviting.

  Unless, of course, he had a librarian fetish, in which case, she might well be screwed.

  Which really shouldn’t have sounded so appealing.

  Hands folded primly in front of her, she sat in her chair across from the door and greeted the other members as they arrived, sparing an extra few minutes to talk to Alice, because, hey. Not only did she like the woman, but chairs could be valuable references.

  Future, she reminded herself. Focus on the future.

  It was a great motto that went flying out the open door when Spence walked in. Wearing, of all things, a suit. Not just a sport jacket with coordinating pants, which was about as formal as everyone but the administrators got here at DeMotte, but the real-deal navy blue pinstripe. With a vest. And a baby blue tie that she was pretty sure would match his eyes if she allowed herself to look, which she wasn’t doing, nope, no way.

  She couldn’t recall ever seeing him in formal wear before. It looked good on him.

  Too good.

  She kept her face as bland as her poker-loving aunt had drilled into her as he surveyed the table and then—oh crap—ignored the abundance of empty chairs to take the seat across from her. Because that was exactly what would make it easier for her to concentrate, of course. And it was guaranteed to make her forget the feel of him pressed against her, sinking his fingers into her shoulders and his hips against hers and his mouth deeper into her kiss.

  Not.

  Alice called the meeting to order. Pleasantries were exchanged. Updates were given. The good news was that between them all, they had garnered enough signatures to prove support from the general community.

  “The university, though.” Alice shook her head. “Faculty and administration are well represented, but if we want to be sure we can lock in funding, we need to have a better response from the students.”

  As if being directed by an unseen hand, a
ll eyes turned to Bree.

  Okay. She was ready for this.

  “It’s interesting that you should mention that, Alice,” she said, and launched into a retelling of her interaction with the sweet young thing who had given her a clue. She never even glanced in Spence’s direction while she spoke, but she was more than aware of his laser-like focus while she talked. It was as if someone was sprinkling itching powder over her. Except it was more of a tingle than an itch, making all her receptors light up and spark and undoubtedly send out some replies of their own. Which really wasn’t a good idea.

  Though she wasn’t exactly certain she wanted it to stop.

  She finished up with her recommendation that plans be amended to include some kind of gathering place that could be used for community events as well as student or alumni weddings. Heads nodded. Approving murmurs rippled up and down the table.

  She risked a glance at Spence. His poker face was even more impressive than Annie’s, and she was the undisputed Elias Poker Queen, the only one to ever bluff Margie to the ground. Bree wasn’t sure what might be behind that blank slate, but she knew one thing: only some serious emotions could require that kind of cover-up.

  The question was, in which direction did they lie?

  Spence cleared his throat and tapped his pen against the table. All heads swiveled in his direction.

  “That’s interesting, Miss Elias.” He unbent enough to nod in her direction. “I had a similar thought the other day, but my inclination was to go in a different direction.”

  With that, he pulled pictures from his briefcase and started talking about playgrounds and funky bridges and sculptures, items of whimsy that Bree had to admit would add a lightness to the plan. Part of her wanted to agree with him immediately.

  The rest of her zipped straight down memory lane to English class and debates over the symbolism of the conch shell in Lord of the Flies. Debates that she had always been determined to win.

  “That does sound appealing,” she said as soon as he finished. “But the issue is that we need to get more signatures from the students. Interesting as it would be to have frog sculptures scattered around the grounds, I don’t see how that’s going to encourage students to offer their support.”