by K. A. Tucker
He’s not one to gossip idly, either. If he’s saying something, it’s more than likely accurate.
I duck my head and focus on refilling paper napkins in their dispenser, pretending that I’m not listening to people talk about Scott Philips being back in Balsam. But I’ve heard every word, and it sounds like he’s not getting the warm reception his mother may have expected.
He came back on his own, apparently, staying at his parents’ palatial house, no sign of his wife or children. Some speculate it’s because the school year hasn’t wrapped up yet, but others have pointed out that the school year ends earlier down south. That leads some people to believe that Linda Stovers decided she’d had enough. And of course others to insist that she was stupid enough to marry him in the first place, so she must not be bothered.
It’s a swirling pot of gossip.
But, for once, I’m not a key ingredient.
Misty’s phone chirps nearby—a deranged clown laugh that she downloaded for her incoming texts—and she rushes to check it. Her face lights up and I know that it’s DJ. I don’t ask, though. Despite what she said about not wanting to fight, things have been strained between us. And I’m just so horrified that I may be showing signs of Hildy Wright’s influence, I don’t want to risk saying anything to solidify that fear.
“I don’t pay you to be on your phone. Lunch rush is starting soon.” Lou’s face is less than impressed as she strolls past, glaring at Misty.
“Why do I feel like she’s giving me more grief than usual?” Misty moans, more to herself.
Because she is. I open my mouth to lie and tell Misty it’s no big deal, that Lou’s just having a bad day.
“So, have you thought more about that job offer, Cathy?” Gord’s voice booms, startling me. The napkins in my hand scatter over the counter.
Gord showed up about an hour ago, asking to sit in my section. I caught the look Leroy fired through the kitchen window, along with the warning glare Lou threw back. One that said Leroy was not allowed to burn Gord’s eggs.
But by the third time Gord waved me over, not to give me his order but to try and strike up conversations about my Escape, about Brenna, about quitting Diamonds and becoming his personal assistant, I was ready to pay Leroy out of my own pocket to char Gord’s entire meal.
And since Lou won’t bill family, and he’s already mentioned with a chuckle that my tip was worked into the deal on my SUV, I stopped making eye contact after collecting his dirty plate.
“Thanks, but I’m not interested in being an assistant.”
His face splits into a wide grin, but it’s his condescending one. “Now come on, Cathy.” He’s still smiling as he drops his voice and whispers, “I think it’s time you step back and face reality.”
I offer him a tight-lipped smile, trying not to crumple the napkins in my hand too much. “Did you need a coffee for the road?”
Misty’s high-pitched squeal drowns whatever answer Gord gives, startling me. I drop the stack of napkins. Again.
As soon as I see that her wide eyes are locked on the door, I know why, without even needing to look.
Brett just walked into Diamonds.
My heart begins hammering in my chest.
He simply nods at the truckers sitting on their stools up at the counter, their heads tilted to watch him as he leaves Donovan with the hostess and moves toward me.
Gord is saying something, but I ignore him and close the distance toward Brett, my urge to reach out and touch him stifled by all the eyes on us. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, stealing a glance at his good leg, bared in shorts and ridged with muscle. Trying not to focus on his injured leg, which is visibly slender by comparison.
“Sid’s lending me his place for the weekend and I thought I’d grab a quick bite on my way. I heard the food is good here. And the staff is hot.” He does a quick but overt head-to-toe scan of my uniform, making me flush.
His face breaks out in a wide grin.
“People are going to be talking.” At least we’re near a server station, away from prying ears as long as we keep our voices down.
“About what? Me, saying hello to you and then eating?” He mocks me, his face transforming with an innocent mask. I can only shake my head at him. And try not to let everyone see how enamored I am.
“What time does your shift end?”
“Two-ish. I have to get home in time to pick up Brenna from school. And then I’m back for a dinner shift.”
He frowns. “Any chance you can get out of it?”
“Of working? No, I can’t do that to Lou.” Even though all I want is to toss aside my apron and steal away with him right this moment.
“Do what to me?” Lou appears out of nowhere.
“Nothing. Lou, this is Brett Madden. Brett, this is my boss, Lou.”
She gives him a simple nod, as if he’s just another customer passing through, but I don’t miss the appraising look in her eyes. She has a tendency to dissect people on first impression and make a decision about them then and there. She’s rarely wrong.
“Hello, Lou. I was just asking if Cath had to work tonight.” Brett smiles.
“Well, funny thing. You wouldn’t believe it, but I messed up with the schedule and overstaffed tonight. Tomorrow morning, too.”
“What?”
“So you can take off for the day when your shift is done.”
“But, I need to make—”
Her glare makes my complaint drop off. With a nod Brett’s way, she marches off.
Leaving me with a grinning Brett. “Well, that worked out well. Now you and Brenna can come up to Sid’s place for the night. You’ll love it there.”
My stomach flutters with the thought of another night with Brett, even as my heart swells with the fact that he automatically included my daughter in our plans. I shake my head. “You sure about wanting her there?”
Those dimples appear. “I’ve fully accepted the reality of a lot of cold showers in my future, if that’s what you mean, yes.” His gaze flickers over the diner before coming back to me, dropping to my lips for just a second. “I’m starving. What do you think about letting me grab a table?”
I think that maybe it’s time I take advantage of my parents’ offer to take Brenna for a night.
“Of course.” I lead him to Wendy, the newest hostess—because Lou had to fire yet another one for missing too many shifts.
“Hey, Donovan. Wendy, can you put them at Table Ten.”
She frowns a little. “But I thought you were covering—”
“Table Ten.” I give her a knowing look.
She shrugs. “Okay!” Her starry eyes flash to Brett before smoothly divertin. “Follow me.”
I smile sweetly to him. “Enjoy your lunch.” I smile sweetly to him and then head for the swinging door into the kitchen.
“The rush comin’ in yet?” Leroy stands at the counter, peeling potatoes—menial work that his staff should be doing, but he finds it therapeutic.
“Not yet.”
He watches me pass him and peek out over the food service counter. “What’re you up to?”
“A peace offering.” I grin, watching Wendy lead Brett and Donovan to their table. “And cheap entertainment.”
Misty sees them sit down in her section—because her eyes haven’t left Brett since he walked through the door—and her face lights up. Scanning the restaurant, she finally catches my eye.
“Thank you!” she mouths.
Brett is still getting settled when Misty rushes over to greet them and her hands start flapping in that excited way that makes me think of a baby bird trying to fly. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her voice is at least five octaves higher than normal borderline squealing.
Donovan, who hides his emotions better than anyone I’ve ever met, is struggling to maintain his composure.
I can’t keep my snort down.
“You are a cruel person, subjecting him to that,” Lou mutters, standing next to me to take in the show, h
er arms folded over her ample chest.
“He loves the attention.”
“About as much as a cattle prod up his behind, from the looks of it.”
Leroy takes my other side to find out what we’re gawking at. His deep chuckle warms my heart. “I don’t know many women who would willingly throw Misty at their man. The girl’ll be talking about him for the next week.”
“He’s not my man,” I correct him. And oddly, it never even fazed me for a second, the idea of a woman all over him. Perhaps it’s because it’s Misty, who I don’t feel threatened by. Or maybe it’s because somewhere along the line, I’ve decided that I can trust Brett not to hurt me like that.
“Uh-huh.” Leroy lets out a loud bark of laughter as Misty bends over to force Brett into a picture. Donovan is busy scanning their surroundings, pretending his client isn’t being half mauled by a big-breasted blonde waitress.
“Go on and save him before I have to fire Misty for harassing my customers,” Lou scolds, struggling to smother her own smile.
“Well, that would free up your overbooked schedule.” I don’t hide the sarcasm from my tone as I move away from the view of the kitchen window.
Her eyes flash to me once before shifting away.
“I’ve been here for six and a half years and you’ve never messed up a schedule.”
“What can I say? I guess I’m getting old and forgetful. Right, Leroy?”
“Yes, ma’am. She can’t remember my name half the time. Keeps callin’ me ‘fool.’ ”
“Fool is your name half the time, dear.”
Clanks sound as the dishwasher, Carl, sets a rack of freshly washed glasses on the table for me to take out front, throwing a wink before ambling back to his station.
“Tell me the truth, did Brett call here and make you give me tonight off?” Because it all seemed to work too smoothly, otherwise.
“When has anyone ever made me do anything?” She scoffs.
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” I head for the front with my arms loaded.
“Looks like I messed up tomorrow afternoon’s schedule, too, so you may as well take the whole weekend off.”
I sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing with her.
And the heady rush of anticipation begins to flow through my veins.
Chapter 27
I’m pleasantly surprised to find that Sid Durrand’s chalet in the Poconos is a rustic cabin trimmed in maroon detail, rather than the opulent mansion I had prepared myself for on the half-hour drive up. It’s also massive—two stories and sprawling—and surrounded by lush trees on a private property that must be several acres in size.
I pull up next to Donovan’s SUV, noting that it’s the only other vehicle parked here. Brett didn’t specify who else was coming tonight, but given he was okay with Brenna tagging along, I’m guessing there aren’t plans for a raging hockey team reunion.
The front door creaks open and Brett is filling the doorway, looking oddly comfortable for a guy on crutches. “No problems finding it?”
“None.” The dead-end road made it easy not to miss. “This place is . . .” My eyes spy the sparkle of sun catching ripples in water and I let them drift beyond the cabin, to the lake that lies behind. “Thank you for inviting me.” I hoist my small duffel bag over my shoulder.
Brett frowns, his gaze searching. “Where’s Brenna?”
“Oh.” I pick my way up the stone path, admiring the chartreuse-colored creepers weaving through the cracks, until I’m standing before him. “I dropped her off with my parents for the night.”
Brett’s face flashes with surprise and understanding. “Okay. Well . . .” Minty breath skates across my face with his steady sigh, his gaze drifting over my mouth. But he doesn’t lean forward to kiss me. “Come in. Let me show you around.”
Inside, thick cedar beams run along the high ceiling, and logs form the walls, making the space feel dark in comparison to the late-afternoon outside. Directly ahead of us is a double-story living room, with a staircase made of cedar climbing to a second story. Everywhere I look is wood, right down to the plank floors.
“Sid wanted to keep this place low-key and relaxed,” Brett explains, following my eyes as I take in the worn burgundy leather couches, the old tube TV in the corner, the circa 1980s curtains that drape the windows.
“I think it’s great.”
“I haven’t been up here in over a year. I obviously didn’t make it when he had the team last month.” Sadness fills his face.
The night of the accident.
“Don took me down the road today, to where it happened. That was my first time being back.” There’s a long pause. “The flowers are still there. And someone put up a nice cross on the tree.” He clears his throat. “Though I don’t know how long that tree is going to last.”
“Yeah, I heard some townies talking about maybe having to cut it down.” I’ve avoided that stretch of Old Cannery for the most part, taking a busier road that adds five minutes to my commute to work. The one time I did take it—more out of habit than intention—I was left uneasy the entire rest of the day.
Silence hangs for a long moment as Brett gets lost in his thoughts, until finally I reach out and squeeze his hand. “Show me the rest of the place.”
He leads me through a similarly rustic dining room and den, and into the kitchen. “This is the only room he actually had renovated.”
My eyes take in the cream-colored cupboards and matching cream subway tile, an industrial-size stove like the one Leroy cooks over, and finally land on Donovan, sitting at the island, coffee in hand.
“Why don’t you drop your bag.” Brett points to a hallway on the other side. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
I make my way into the all-wood bedroom, smiling with delight at the drab chocolate-brown curtains that line the three windows, a complete contrast to the dusty rose floral bedspread covering a king-size bed.
A small desk sits against one of the windows. I set my duffel bag down next to it as I admire the view of the lake, slightly below us. A long, narrow dock stretches out, where a boat and two kayaks are moored.
A thump sounds. Brett’s crutch hitting the doorway on his way into the room.
And my heart skips a beat when I turn around to take him in, as if I hadn’t just left him in the kitchen minutes ago, as if I’m only just seeing him now.
Will I ever get used to this?
I hope not.
I hope I feel this same awe every time he walks into a room.
“What’s that look for?” A sly smile touches his mouth as he hobbles over to my side of the room to sit down.
“No reason. I love this room. It’s cozy and . . .” My words drift as he grasps the hem of my lemon-yellow sundress—a summer staple in my wardrobe—and gently tugs to guide me over to him. The open back of this dress doesn’t allow for a bra, and his aqua-blue eyes seem to have picked up on that, lingering on my chest before rising to meet my gaze.
“Where’s Donovan?” I whisper, acutely aware of the open door.
Brett’s hands settle on the backs of my thighs. “Gone. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Is anyone else coming, tonight?”
“Nope.” His hands tighten their grip but remain where they are, still at a semi-appropriate spot. “What do you wanna do? We can go down to the lake, or sit on the screened-in porch out . . . back.” His voice cracks over the last word when I crawl onto the bed. I carefully ease myself onto his lap, curling an arm around his shoulder. Leaning in, I press my lips against his.
One strong arm coils around my body to hold me firm, his skin warming my bare back, his hand settling on the nape of my neck. “Good, I hate nature anyway.”
A throaty laugh escapes me, but he silences it a moment later, kissing me deeply, a low, guttural moan rumbling in his chest. “Or we could just do this all night,” he suggests, his free hand sliding to the backs of my knees to pull my legs closer, until I’m practically cradled within his arms and he’s har
dening against my hip.
I’ve sensed a clock ticking since I pulled into the driveway, counting down these fleeting hours of uninterrupted privacy with Brett. It’s oddly liberating not having to worry about a child, not having to consider my responsibilities, and I suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to let go completely.
To find that wild, careless spark that must still be there somewhere.
“I guess we could do just this all night.” I tease the seam of his lips with my tongue.
His eyes are piercing as they search mine for my meaning. Or, perhaps, to make sure he understood.
I tug at his shirt and he lifts his arms in answer, letting me peel it off him, my fingers sliding over his corded muscles with admiration. He chuckles at my heavy sigh as I stare unabashedly at his chest, my palm memorizing the curves. “I can’t help it,” I purr, feeling my cheeks heat. “You’re just unreal.”
“You think so?” His tongue slides over the crook of my neck and I gasp lightly. “I’ve lost about ten pounds of muscle in the last month. Wait until I’m back to full circuit training.”
It’s nice to hear him talking positively about his future, but I don’t mention it now, happy to soak in the feel of his mouth as it travels along my collarbone, leaving a trail of moisture.
With a deep sigh, he pushes the straps of my dress down over my shoulders to fall and expose my chest for his mouth, leaning my body back enough that he can suck in a peaked nipple.
A low, steady throb grows in the pit of my belly as I let my head hang back. His hand roams my bare legs, sliding in between my thighs, his thumb rubbing against my cotton panties. A soft curse slides against my breast like a caress, sending shivers down to my core, and then his fist is bunching, gathering my dress and sliding it down my legs, off my body. My panties quickly follow, stripping me bare.
Suddenly he stops, and with a sigh, he pulls the bed free of the bedspread, uncovering crisp white sheets beneath. “Can you help me?” He whispers, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.
My breath catches with my nod. This is really happening.
Lifting me off his lap with seemingly little effort, he hoists himself up to balance on his good leg. His hands fumble with his zipper, unfastening his shorts. They tumble to the ground.