The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance)

by Laura Drake

  “My treat.” When he stepped to the chocolate display case, she didn’t move. “You want some fudge?”

  “I’m good, thank you.”

  She’s embarrassed. She’s not rejecting you. He turned to her. “Priss, this is not a big deal.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Her lips pursed, except the center of the bottom one. It jutted in a pooch of cuteness.

  “Then you can pay me back.” He scanned the jars arrayed on the wall. “What do you think Nacho would like?”

  “He doesn’t deserve it. He’s grounded.” She still frowned, but some of the stubbornness relaxed from her lips. She took a step toward the case.

  Gotcha.

  He pointed to a display atop the case beside them. “How about a sucker?” Rainbow colors swirled, twisting into a nine-inch-diameter week-long sugar rush.

  Priss lifted a smaller one, a telephone-cord spiral of yellow, red and green. “I’m paying you back, as soon as we get home.”

  “Fair enough.” He turned to the case and addressed the clerk. “Hi, Gretta. How’s your mom doing?”

  He continued his small talk with the girl as he picked out a small bag of Rocha for his mother, a small square of fudge for himself, and when Priss closed her eyes in bliss over a peanut-butter cup sample, several of those for her.

  By the time they left the candy store, the breeze blowing in their faces had turned cold. Adam shivered in his light shirt.

  “You’ve got to be freezing.” She rolled the top of the bag in her fist. “Race you!” She took off.

  He stood flat-footed a nanosecond, then ran after her, candy bags rattling with every step.

  She must be a great base runner. She was fast. It took him blocks to catch her. Not that he minded watching her fluid grace from behind. Finally, when she slowed in front of the drugstore, he snagged her around the waist from behind and reeled her in. Breathing hard, she laughed up at him as she turned around, an imp’s glint in her dark eyes.

  His hand tightened across her taut stomach as want boiled from his chest, surging down in a flash point of blazing heat.

  Lips open in a pant, she watched him with startled eyes.

  They hung suspended in the moment, breathing the rarefied air of between what they were before to whatever they could be, after.

  She was so small that he had to bend to reach her lips. Still, he hovered there, waiting. It had to be her choice, too. So close that her breath brushed his lips. She closed the tiny gap with a butterfly kiss, fragile as a sigh.

  “I have to go.” Her words tumbled out, “I’ll get you the money—”

  “Don’t you ever let someone just do something nice for you?”

  “Not if I can’t pay it back.”

  His hands came up to cradle her face, to touch the skin he’d known would be satin. It was softer. He brought his head back down to hers and lingered above her lips before tasting the sweetness of chocolate.

  Her lips opened, and her tongue touched his in a tentative greeting.

  A fizz of desire shot from his chest, making him almost dizzy with the knowing that he hadn’t been wrong—she shared the tug he’d felt for weeks. He deepened the kiss, and being Priss, she gave as good as she got. The innocent scent of Ivory soap and chocolate washed over him, combining to create something sexier than exotic perfume.

  He wanted to explore her. He wanted to open all her cubbies and drawers to discover clues to the intricate puzzle that was Priss Hart.

  By the time she broke the kiss they were both breathing hard. She backed up, fingers over her lips, the look of a startled deer in her eyes.

  Then she whirled and was gone, leaving nothing but the slap of her tennis shoes echoing from the alley.

  Wow. He stood catching his breath, feeling as surprised as she’d looked. So much for a cozy, controlled fire.

  Sparks, hell. That girl is a firestorm.

  * * *

  PRISS FLEW UP the stairs, trying to leave behind what had just happened. She stood at the top holding the railing, catching her breath, her composure, her equilibrium.

  Damn, that man kisses like Clapton plays the guitar—natural, easy, pure.

  And she, the one who always kept herself strong and apart, had simply fallen into him. When had the uptight, judgmental landlord morphed into a nice guy who looked like Superman and seemed to really care?

  And when did that kind of guy become something she couldn’t resist?

  She’d always flown with her own kind. If not out-and-out bad boys, then the dudes on the fringes of bad—like Ryan. Fun-loving transients, flying into her life, staying awhile, then flying out. Guys like that were safe; she understood them, and they her—nothing deep, nothing lasting. No hooks.

  Adam was the polar opposite of transient. And so not bad. She was the one who chose the truth first and always; after that kiss, she could no longer deny the attraction. She felt betrayed by her own curiosity, and her traitorous libido. But why a good boy all of a sudden? And why hadn’t she recognized it sooner?

  Trying to leave her thoughts behind, she strode down the hall. Hand on the knob of her apartment door, hearing laughter from inside, she threw it open.

  Forearms on the table, Nacho leaned over the puzzle, laughing. “That doesn’t belong there! It’s not even the right color!”

  “Oh, I thought because of the green...” Olivia looked up at Priss and winked.

  Nacho said, “Priss, you have to come help. Olivia stinks at this.”

  “That is rude, and she’s Mrs. Preston to you, bud.” Amazed by the happy-go-lucky kid in her kitchen, Priss stepped inside and closed the door. He looked as wholesome and normal as a milk-commercial kid. Well, except for the tats.

  Olivia smiled. “No, he’s right. I’m better with word games.” She patted Nacho’s hand. “Next time, I’ll bring my Scrabble game, and wipe the floor with you, young man.”

  “Thank you so much for staying, Olivia. You didn’t need to.”

  She managed to make climbing out of a chair and onto a walker look graceful. “I’d much rather be with Nacho than ‘hang’ by myself.” She glanced to him to be sure she got it right.

  He gave her two thumbs up.

  “Good night, Ignacio.”

  “’Night, Mrs. Preston.”

  Priss followed Olivia out and waited until they both were in the hall. “Did you put him under some kind of spell? And when will it wear off?”

  Olivia’s wheels squeaked to her door. She chuckled. “He’s a good boy.”

  Priss looked back at the open door of their apartment. “He can play that part.”

  “He’s scared to death, you know.”

  Priss snorted.

  “He’s testing you to be sure you won’t throw him away.” Olivia opened her door, then stopped. Priss squirmed inside. Outside, she made sure to hold the woman’s stare.

  “I didn’t think you would.” A small, smug smile turned up the corners of Olivia’s lips. “You’re a good girl. You’re going to be good for Adam. Good night.” She stepped into her apartment and closed the door, leaving Priss slipping over consonants and vowels that refused to congeal into words.

  * * *

  ADAM HAD EVERY intention of going home. He even made it to his car. But once there, he stood, hand on the door handle. The evening had left him antsy. Unsettled. He could jog home. Maybe that would calm the riot that was raging in his chest. Or—he glanced up and saw the light flip on in his mother’s kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea and some innocuous conversation would distract him. Besides, he should tell his mother good-night, and thank her for watching Nacho. It was the least he could do.

  At his knock, his mother called, “The door’s open, Adam.”

  She sat in her favorite chair, two steaming cups of tea on the table beside her. “How did you kn
ow it was me?”

  She patted the chair beside her. “Mother’s intuition.”

  He crossed the room and sat.

  “Are you all right?” His mother eyed him like a robin does a particularly juicy worm.

  He now knew why worms squirmed. “Yeah, fine, why?” He scooched back in the seat.

  “Because you look uncomfortable.” She tried to hide a smile behind her teacup.

  “I’m not.” He should have known this was a bad idea. He set down the teacup and stood. “Okay, so maybe I am.” He strode the length of the living room. “I don’t know why, but I am.”

  “Talk to me, Adam.”

  He stood before the wall of family photos he’d put up at his mother’s direction. His parents, on their wedding day. His father, out in front of the store, back when it was still a five-and-dime. He and Roger in Little League uniforms, arms around each other’s shoulders.

  “Mom, do you think it’s possible for a person to change?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I don’t mean small changes. I’m talking a one-eighty.” He turned. “My life used to fit me so well. But it’s like I woke up one morning and realized it doesn’t anymore. It just seems bland and...” He walked back and plopped into the chair. “Boring.”

  “I’m so glad, son.”

  “Glad? This is awful. I had it nailed. Life was good. Now I can’t count on anything.” He stood. “Do you know how unsettling it is to wake up a different person than you thought you were?”

  “Change is frightening for everyone, Adam, but even more so for you.” She set down her cup. “But it may comfort you to know, you’re not becoming a different person. You’re becoming Adam again.”

  “Huh?” He sat down and ran his hand through his hair.

  She looked over his head, remembering. “You were such an inquisitive child. Rushing here and there, as if afraid you’d miss some adventure happening while you were in the midst of another.” Her hand stole over to touch his knee. “After the accident, you became this Adam—incurious, cautious and quiet.” Her hand warmed the cold skin of his knee. “I like that old Adam a lot. Welcome back, son.”

  “You may remember that Adam, Mom, but he’s a stranger to me. It’s disconcerting.”

  “Disconcerting never hurt anyone.” Her lips curled to smugness. “I told you Priss was the one.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE NEXT MORNING Priss sat at a table in the soda fountain before the pharmacy opened, scanning the paper. “Sin, do you know anything about the YMCA?” She took a sip of coffee.

  Behind the soda counter, Sin put her hand on her hip and shot off three gum snaps. “Village People hit in the late seventies.”

  Priss chuckled, then choked, grabbing a napkin so she wouldn’t spray coffee all over the newspaper. When she could talk again, she said, “Oh, God, I needed that. Thanks.”

  Sin shot her a “humor the crazy lady” look. “Anytime.”

  Adam walked in.

  “Mornin’, boss.” Sin poured him a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning.” He glanced at Priss then took the mug from Sin. “Thanks. What’s so funny?”

  “Got me.” Snap. Snap. “I gotta restock.” She walked to the storeroom at the back of the store.

  When Adam crossed the floor and sat, Priss’s levity winked out like the New York skyline in a blackout.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hi.” Her throat locked in a stranglehold and she coughed to clear it. She couldn’t claim to be surprised to see him; after all, she’d come here to talk to him. But now that he sat across from her with the memory of last night in his soft dark eyes, her courage fled as fast as her amusement.

  If Nacho can apologize to a pissed-off yeti, you can do this.

  “I’m sorry I ran away last night. I owe you—”

  He looked away. “For the candy. I know.” His jaw in profile was hard.

  “—an explanation.”

  He turned to her, his eyes holding a look of hopeful guardedness.

  The truth had seemed simple when she’d been in the shower. When she’d driven Nacho to school. Even when she’d sat down with the paper a few minutes ago. It was still simple—it was just hard to say. She fingered the edges of the newsprint, folding the corners in precise angles. “You scare me.”

  “I scare you?”

  “You think that’s funny?”

  His chuckle looked like it pained him. “I’m not laughing at you. If you knew me better, you’d get the joke.” He shrugged. “I’m nothing to be afraid of. What you see is what you get.”

  “Yeah, and that’s what scares me.” She folded another corner. This was not going as planned. Planned? Hell, truth was she hadn’t thought past spitting out the truth. “Look, what happened last night shouldn’t have. You are a ‘nice guy.’ I don’t do nice guys. I’m sure I’m not your normal type, either.” She frowned and cocked her head. “It’s weird. There’s this...”

  “Pull.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” He drew the word out, as if testing it. “Maybe we should get to know each other better.”

  A sparkler of excitement fired in her chest, burning hot even as she opened her mouth to say no. You came down here to finish with him. Do it.

  He rushed on. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I have a game in the morning, but after that why don’t we load up Nacho and a picnic lunch and drive up the coast?”

  “I—”

  “Have you ever seen an elephant seal sunbathing in a bikini?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She smiled. “You say that like I’d want to.”

  The smile faded in his eyes, replaced by a somehow sexy wistfulness. “Come on, Priss. If you take a chance, I will.”

  She wanted to say yes. But she needed to say no.

  She shook her head. “Um. Okay.”

  * * *

  THE LUNCHTIME RUSH OVER, Priss wiped down the bar, then checked her stock. The regulars sat engrossed in a game show on TV.

  “Three fifty,” Ian said.

  Barney dismissed him with a wave. “Are you kidding? Dish detergent is expensive. Seven ninety-five.”

  Numbers flipped and the TV dinged.

  Barney took a pull on his beer. “Loser. What would a dude in a chicken suit know about shopping?”

  “Everyone okay for now?” After they nodded, Priss grabbed the handle of her bucket. “I’ll be right back.” She walked to toward the back room, where the industrial ice maker lived.

  I should have said no to Adam. She imagined driving up PCH, wind in her hair, Adam beside her. Her heart took a happy skip.

  Pushing open the door, she saw Gaby lying on the tile floor, half in, half out of the room-size cooler, her feet on the overturned milk crate they used as a step stool.

  Priss’s heart broke into a full gallop. She dropped the bucket and ran the few steps to drop on her knees at Gaby’s side. She put her fingers to the wrinkly skin at Gaby’s neck, feeling for a pulse while she scanned the rayon-clad body for obvious fractures.

  Gaby came to with a start, slapping at Priss’s hands. “Get away!”

  Priss sat back on her heels. “Did you fall? Are you dizzy? Is your—”

  “Whatsamatterwithyou?” The old woman struggled to sit up.

  Priss reached to help her, but thought better of it just in time.

  “Back off.” Gaby lowered her feet from the crate. “What do you want? I’m allowed a lunch break.”

  When Gaby sat up, Priss noticed a yoga mat on the floor under her. “You did this on purpose?”

  “Of course I did, you little fool.” Joints popping, she crawled to her knees, took a few breaths, then slowly pushed to her feet. She pulled at her bra, straightened her dress, and after shooting Priss a de
ath ray, walked out with all the stiff, awkward dignity of a strutting ostrich.

  What the hell?

  Priss slid the yoga mat out of the entryway and closed the thick door of the cooler.

  Retrieving her bucket, she walked to the ice maker. She scooped, trying to work out what she’d just seen. Gaby had her feet up, in the cold. Did the woman’s feet ache? They must. But those old bones, lying on a hard tile floor, even with a mat—that had to hurt, too. Which meant Gaby’s feet hurt worse.

  It took both hands to drag the ice-filled bucket across the tile. Why should I feel bad for the old hag?

  She pushed the swinging door open with her butt. Porter saw her and rushed over to carry the bucket.

  She followed him behind the bar and slid open the ice bin lid.

  The ice rattled, drowning out the TV game show. “Thanks.”

  “No worries. A little thing like you shouldn’t have to do that.”

  “You do what you have to.” She watched Gaby exit the restroom. I’ve got it easier than some. She shook her head to clear out the sympathy. Gaby was as helpless as a cobra, and about as even-tempered.

  Priss walked to the end of the bar. “Hey, Barn, you need another beer?” She removed the empty bottle and crumpled the wet napkin beneath it.

  “Nope.” He pulled out his ancient wallet. “I want to be home in time for the double-header this afternoon.” Counting out a few ones he laid them on the bar, then pulled his change purse from the other pocket. He leaned in and whispered, “Did I tell you I got a new TV?”

  “You did? I’m so glad.” She picked up the bills, a small trickle of satisfaction warming her stomach.

  “Yeah. I think my son had it delivered. It’s not new, but it’s a gem.” He pushed the change around the small leather purse, selected two quarters, and laid them on the bar. “Did I ever tell you that my grandson is a backup shortstop for the Tigers?” Pride sparkled in his little blue eyes.

  And the trickle in her stomach froze to ice chips. “No, Barn, you never did.”

  * * *

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Nacho sat with his head stuck out the window, squinting against the wind like a retriever happy to be out for a ride.