by Niecey Roy
“You won’t.” He turned me in his arms and leaned down to kiss me, his lips warm and soft against mine.
He plied my lips open with little effort, sucking my bottom lip between his before sliding his tongue against mine. Holy wow, the man could kiss. My vision was cloudy by the time he was done with me.
“I thought you were hungry,” I managed to say, though I was short of breath, and my focus was on the way his fingers lightly caressed my butt through the skirt. His fingers were splayed in toward my inner thighs, and I was annoyed with the skirt for being in his way.
“I am.” His gaze told me exactly what he was hungry for, and the knowledge was electrifying.
“Great. Because the water is boiling and you can add the pasta now.” I turned in his arms to face the stove, but now the evidence of his arousal was pressed against the curve of my lower back. And he didn’t move. “So you should do that.”
I didn’t have anything against dessert before supper, but this was about me showing some self control around him. Which, I had none of with him around.
When he kissed my neck again, I said, “Leo.”
He laughed. “Okay, okay. The pasta.” He stepped around me and picked up the box off the counter. “How do I do it?”
I raised my brows at him. “You’re serious?”
He laughed. “I’m just kidding. I like when you give me that look of yours.”
“Just get the pasta in the water, musclehead.”
He winked at me. “I like how obsessed you are with my body.”
He was incorrigible, really. I decided to change the subject.
“Where’s Roxi tonight?” Gen was with Matt at a business dinner for his work, so it was weird she was out and she hadn’t called me. Lately she was all about keeping her crazy friend company.
“Out with her ex jerk.”
I nearly dropped the steak on the floor. I managed to get it in the skillet then waved the tongs at Leo. “What? You let her go?”
“You know Rox. She only listens when she wants to.” He didn’t look happy about it as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “I can’t stand that guy.”
I didn’t exactly dislike Blake, but he’d never be Roxanna’s happy ending.
“I didn’t realize he’s back in town. She never said anything about it.” The steaks sizzled in the olive oil, and I nudged a little space between them in the skillet. “Is he back for good?”
“No. Visiting his grandparents. He’ll be gone soon.”
“Good,” I said.
“I think she uses butter.”
I looked up at his hopeful expression. “Aren’t you some kind of health nut?”
He shrugged. “I like butter.”
I handed him the tongs and walked to the fridge. “You know, a couple of months ago I would have said ‘no butter’.”
“And now?”
I smiled at him over my shoulder. “I forgot how much I love butter.”
“Probably as much as I like the view,” he said, and I stood too quickly and hit my head on the edge of the freezer door.
“Ouch,” I gasped, and clasped my head.
He turned me around by the shoulders and nudged my hand away so he could inspect my throbbing head.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?” He ran his hand over the top of my head. “No bump.”
“I didn’t hit it very hard.” Not true. I might have cried if I were alone. I blinked my watery eyes and winced, then pushed him away. “Jeez, quit staring at my butt already.”
“Quit sticking it out already.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter, and I couldn’t help myself.
I lifted my hand and touched it to the side of his cheek. The smile settled into his face and softened his lips.
The steaks sizzled in the pan, reminding me of the dinner I would burn if I weren’t careful. I dropped my hand and shut the refrigerator door.
“So,” I said as I stepped to the stove, “how is work?”
It was a lame attempt at changing the subject to something safe, something not involving me staring at his lips.
“Busy.” He watched me flip the steaks. “Should I be doing something?”
“I have no idea. You should have brought a recipe.” I pointed at the boiling noodles. “The noodles might be done. You can check them.”
A noodle flew past my nose and hit the wall. It didn’t stick. I looked to the noodle, then to him.
He shrugged. “That’s how you check noodles, right?”
“No wonder Roxanna doesn’t let you cook.”
“I’m going to prove to you I’m not a menace in the kitchen.” He picked up the bag of organic kale and ripped open the top. “See?”
I paused in reaching for the bowl of onions on the counter and turned to face him. “After dinner, do you want to go out? There’s this movie I’d like to see.”
I hadn’t been out in a long time, and I wasn’t sure where the idea came from. But he was here, and I’d been cooped up for too long. And he made me laugh. Laughing again felt good.
He looked surprise by the invitation, but he nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Okay, then.” I turned back to the stove so he wouldn’t see the big, goofy grin on my lips. “I suppose we better get serious about this meal. I’m starving.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Did Millicent call you back yesterday?” I asked Michelle as I skimmed the pages of our website. “You know, this website could use some new pictures. We’ll have to do that once the spring inventory comes in.”
When she didn’t answer, I looked up from the laptop. Michelle stood beside me, looking down at the notepad in her hands, biting at her lip.
“Michelle,” I said, and she jerked from her thoughts.
“Yeah. I mean, yes. She called back.” She looked worried her recap might send me over the edge.
Not that I blamed her. I hadn’t exactly been the picture of optimism lately. But I felt good today. Really good.
I’d seen Leo two nights in a row, and since Roxanna was secretly meeting Blake, she wasn’t investigating where her cousin disappeared to in the evenings. What I couldn’t figure out was why he hadn’t come on to me yet. Not once. Not at all. I mean, we’d kissed, but each night he left me at my door, chaste and frustrated.
“Michelle, it’s okay, really. I can take it.” She didn’t look convinced, so I flashed an encouraging smile. “Really. I’m in damage control mode.”
“Oo-kay,” she said, still looking doubtful. She cleared her throat. “So, Millicent can’t send the new line until after it’s paid in full.” She grimaced. “They have new rules, I guess.”
She read down the list of the distributors I’d worked with last year: payment in full required, partial payment required. One thing was clear—I needed an influx of money to sustain me until the flyers generated some business, and until after the bridal expo. Michelle looked sick to her stomach. She depended on me. She couldn’t afford to lose this job, not while putting herself through college. Someday she’d be a fabulous designer, and working at Once Upon A Dream was great for her resume. I wouldn’t let her down.
“We’ll be fine, I promise.” I clicked off the Internet browser and pressed my hands together. “I have great news, too. I almost called you last night to tell you about it.”
“Thank God,” she said, and I raised my brows. “I mean, that’s great. Good news is great.”
“We had a walk-in yesterday afternoon. A young thing paying for her own wedding. She said she heard I had the best gowns in town, so Deborah hasn’t poisoned everyone against me.” I’d been so excited by the woman’s interest, I almost did a happy dance with relief. I pointed at the champagne gown draped on the mannequin in the window. The lace and beading gave it a vintage 1920s elegance—it was my favorite in the boutique. “She’s perfect for the Angelino, but she almost fainted when she saw the price tag.”
Michelle sighed. “It is a little pricey.”
“Like layaway?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yes, like layaway. She was thrilled.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s great.”
“She was so happy, she made an appointment for her bridesmaids to come try on dresses.”
“Oh wow, I’m so happy for you, Lexie.” She gave me a relieved hug, and I squeezed her back.
“And don’t worry about the spring line. I have a plan for that.” I’d spent the last two days updating my business plan. I wasn’t entirely comfortable approaching the bank for a credit line increase, but I had every confidence that after the bridal expo next month, business would pick up quickly. And if I wanted the dresses in time for the expo, I’d need to order them by the end of next week.
“Should I call Millicent and let her know we still want the dresses?”
Mitzy pawed at my shoe so I bent to pick her up. “Yes, tell her she’ll have the payment by next week.” I kissed Mitzy on the top of her head. “I have an appointment this morning, so I won’t be back until after lunch. If you have any customers, let them know we do layaway, and I can call them with the details.”
“Ms. Gorecki, I would love to extend your line of credit, but your liquid assets do not meet our bank requirements. Based on your financial records, your store is in the red, and you’ve begun to make substantial withdrawals from your savings account.”
Mr. Blythe, the banker, peered at me over the rim of his glasses. His southern twang tweaked my already shot nerves. He was new to the bank. Though his gaze was kind, his tone was cut-to-the-chase serious. My old banker, a nice man with salt and pepper hair and an easy smile, had retired. I wanted to cry.
“But as you can see from my business plan, I have no doubt the boutique’s profit will increase significantly after the bridal expo. If you look at the numbers from the last expo my dresses were featured in, you’ll see Once Upon A Dream Boutique did very well, better than any of the numbers I projected before opening the business. I offer a unique line of bridal fashion. It’s all part of the dream, Mr. Blythe. My clients come to me because they want a fairytale wedding, and they’re willing to pay for it, no matter the cost.” I smiled at him, my hands folded primly in my lap. I wanted to be the image of confidence, and keeping my hands clenched together kept them from shaking.
Mr. Blythe tapped the tip of his pen against his notepad, and I fought not to fidget in my seat. After a couple of excruciating long minutes, he set the pen down.
“Ms. Gorecki, I am going to be honest with you.” He crossed his legs behind the desk and gave me an expression which could only be described as sympathetic. A ball of dread hit my stomach, hard. “When you made this appointment, I was warned you might be here for a credit extension. Personally, I love to see small businesses thrive. It’s why I enjoy my occupation so much. I can see potential in your little store, and you have such passion for what you do; it’s refreshing. But there is someone in the offices upstairs who has some…ties to a family who might not agree with the bank giving you a credit extension. And based on these records,” he waved at my beautifully bound business plan, “I would have a hard time swaying anyone to my way of thinking, even if there wasn’t so much influence against your boutique already.”
The saliva in my mouth was almost too thick to swallow, and my eyes were wet. I blinked back the tears, pushed down at the disappointment, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Mr. Blythe, I am a good person.” I could hear the plea in my voice, and it made my stomach turn.
His lips were pinched in discomfort. “I have no doubt, Ms. Gorecki. I wish I could help you. My only suggestion would be to try another bank. Or perhaps you could ask your family members for help?”
I shook my head. There was no way I would risk my parents’ money on a business headed for failure. They’d already put money into a wedding that never happened. There was nothing I could do now, except go bank shopping. But Mr. Blythe was right—with my financial records, I would probably have a hard time convincing anyone to take a leap of faith on my boutique.
I stood before the tears could take over, and gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Mr. Blythe.”
He shook my hand, a frown on his lips. “I am very sorry we couldn’t help you.”
I didn’t answer. What was the point in saying anything? He handed me my business plan, and I took it and hurried from his office. Rushing through the lobby, I told myself to keep it together. After I slipped behind the wheel of my car, I turned into a shuddering mess of tears.
I didn’t know how long I sat in my car, but when my cell phone rang, it startled me out of a daze. I answered, “Hello?” without looking at the caller ID first.
“Hey, honey. How are you?” my dad asked.
“Hi, Daddy. I’m fine. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Your mom just wanted to know if you’d be here for supper tomorrow? She’s making meatloaf.” Then, before I could answer, he added, “The good recipe, the one with the green peppers.”
In our family, there was a good meatloaf recipe and a bad meatloaf recipe. The only one who didn’t know about the “good” and “bad” titles was my mom, who still made her mother’s recipe out of habit. Every once in awhile she made the recipe she’d gotten from Roxanna’s dad years ago. When she did, my dad liked to spread the word to us girls.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I smiled. Just hearing his voice made me feel better, it was like a deep, soothing rumble in my ear. Growing up, he’d been a menacing figure to the boys who showed up at our door to pick me, or one of my sisters, up for a date. The conversation would always start off with: I have a shotgun right here in this house, son, and don’t you forget it.
“Glad to hear it. We missed you last week, and your mom made chili and cinnamon rolls.” The note of concern in his voice was hard to miss. My parents could sense something was wrong, but I didn’t want to worry them, so I pretended to be fine, even with my boutique crumbling to ruins before my eyes. My mom was a worrier, and my dad was a fixer—I didn’t want my mom to have ulcers over this, and I didn’t want my dad to insist I take their money, and he would. I would not let Deborah’s poison touch my parents.
“I’m sorry about that. I just had a lot to do at the boutique. Inventory stuff.” Skipping dinners was better than telling them everything was fine, when it wasn’t, that I was fine, when I wasn’t. I hated lying to them. They still didn’t know the truth about what happened to make me change my mind about Jeremy. At this point, I didn’t think it would matter. I wanted to keep them out of the muck for as long as I could.
“Go easy on yourself, honey. Your mother’s worried you’re wearing yourself down,” he said.
A thick tear rolled down my cheek. “I’m fine, Daddy. See you tomorrow, okay? Tell mom I’ll bring dessert.”
I hung up, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders and emptiness in my heart. I would be bankrupt at twenty-three years old, and then what would I do? I had put all my eggs into this one basket—there hadn’t ever been a need for a contingency plan because there had been no room in my mind for failure.
Merging into traffic, my brain ticked over every possible way I could save my business, but my mind drew a blank. There has to be something.
Chapter Seventeen
“You have to tell them.” Catherine dried her hands on the hand towel in our parents’ kitchen, pinning me with one of her older-sister-knows-best stares.
I lifted the serrated knife from the loaf of fresh baked bread and waved it at her. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.” She dropped the towel to the counter beside the tossed salad bowl.
I glanced over my shoulder at Gen. “You shouldn’t have told her. You know she can’t keep her mouth shut.”
Catherine’s stare was unwavering. “She told me how bad your finances were because she should have told me, like you should have.”
“No, I shouldn’t have. It’s not
your business to know everything, Ms. Know-It-All.” I sliced into the bread on the cutting board.
The smell of browning meat and green peppers slow cooking in the oven made my mouth salivate. There was a big batch of scalloped potatoes in the top oven and sweet corn bubbled in the crock pot. Every year my dad picked corn from my mom’s garden in the back yard, and then we girls would process it in butter and half-and-half, packing it into plastic bags to freeze for the winter. The sweet, rich smell mingled with all the other tantalizing scents filling the house. Since I was eating with no reservations now, I couldn’t wait to sit down and stuff my plate full of food the way Gen always did. The only difference was that my twin was working out and taking care of herself, while I still didn’t give a damn. After my meeting at the bank this week, I planned to eat my feelings.
“You can’t just keep it from them,” Catherine insisted, and I groaned in annoyance, setting the knife down. “They should know if you’re in trouble.”
“Catherine, this is not your problem, so quit getting pushy, okay?” I set the slices of bread into a napkin-lined basket.
“I’m not being pushy,” she denied.
Gen laughed. “Ha! You’re always pushy.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” I told Catherine.
“They could help,” she said.
“Let Lexie make her own decisions, Cat,” Gen said.
“Keep it down,” I hissed at them. “I don’t want Mom hearing.”
“Yeah, Cat,” Gen said.
“Mom is in the bathroom.” Catherine sliced button mushroom into the salad bowl. “And if she heard us, it’d be a good thing.”
She couldn’t leave anything alone, but that was Catherine. As the oldest, she thought she knew best. Sometimes, she did. But this time, I didn’t think so.
“I’m not telling Mom and Dad, and you’re not telling them either.”
“You could lose your business, Lexie,” Catherine pressed. “Do you know what a bankruptcy would do to your credit?”