by Lacey Baker
His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to him, up off her tiptoes to the point she felt like wrapping her legs around his waist. But she didn’t. In fact, Nikki was the one to pull back, to let her lips leave his, her arms loosen around his neck. He still held her close but her feet were at least now back on solid ground. The world was still spinning, though, so she was in no real hurry to let her arms fall completely from him.
“Good night, Nikki,” he said.
Still, he did not pull away. Instead he looked down at her as if, again, he were trying to figure something out. She wanted to help him along and say but you just kissed the hell out of me, but she refrained.
She removed her arms from him and backed away. “Good night, Quinn.”
She’d just been kissed by her childhood crush. Her wish on the evening star had come true. This required some serious thought time.
At their feet Sweet Dixi barked and ran in circles, almost gathering them both up in the extension of her leash.
“Dixi also says good night.”
With a smile Nikki backed away toward her steps. When she was at the top of the stairs about to open the door, she looked back to see that Quinn was still standing there watching her. Seeing her inside, she supposed. Retrieving her key from her pocket, she let herself inside, falling back against the door as she closed it wondering what the hell had just happened.
* * *
Ever heard of the long walk home? Quinn hadn’t, either, until tonight. Just last night he’d walked these streets and his mind had been on things like finding a home for Dixi, making sure the B&B thrived so his grandmother’s legacy might live on, what he was going to say to the board of directors at the clinic’s next meeting. Nothing that concerned kissing Nikki Brockington.
Because that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Sure, he’d noted how attractive she was. He’d even lain in bed Sunday night thinking about her mouthwatering bottom and breasts. But those were only thoughts. He’d never intended to act on them. At least not until he’d seen her this morning.
He could blame it on the new, more mature-looking hairdo. Or the way her knee-length black skirt had hugged her backside. What would be a little more accurate would be the snug way her tight, compact body had fit against him as he’d moved closer to her at the front desk before Michelle had interrupted. Still, the plan to actually kiss her was never conceived, not consciously anyway. He’d offered to walk her home because it was the right thing to do. Sure, this was Sweetland, small town on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. It was still America, and the last time Quinn had looked at the nightly news he’d seen more muggings, sexual assaults, and shootings than he cared to. So, yes, he walked her home. Dixi also needed to be walked.
Kissing was nowhere in the equation.
Until now.
Now it was all he could think about. The B&B crossed his mind only because it was currently within his line of sight as he walked down Sycamore, and Dixi because he could hear her intermittent barking. Other than that Quinn’s mind was completely filled with Nikki.
She was feisty and independent and settled in her own life. All things that normally attracted him to a female. On the other hand, she was also kind and loyal and young, he couldn’t forget that one. She wasn’t tall and leggy as he preferred, and she didn’t carry a cell phone in one hand at all times and drive a car as fancy as his Mercedes SL550. She was a hometown girl, complete with the fresh-looking face—no makeup required—and an apartment over her parents’ garage. And she wasn’t what he’d come back to Sweetland for.
There were certain things that Quinn knew without a doubt—he’d loved his father and missed him every day of his life and he had also loved Sharane and missed her just about every minute of every day. So why had he kissed Nikki? To be truthful he’d kissed other women since Sharane’s death; this coming June would mark the twenty-first anniversary of that day. He’d gone on dates, had sex with other women, and moved on with his life as well as he could. But she was always there, in the back of his mind, as the only woman he’d ever loved.
Tonight, when he’d been kissing Nikki, that memory was gone. It was almost like the time he’d spent playing in the front yard with Dixi, when the suffocating pain of losing Sharane had been taken away.
Only this time he felt extremely guilty.
Life was crazy that way, he figured as he walked up the front steps and into the house. Coming back to Sweetland was a definite mistake. That was all there was to it.
Chapter 11
Nikki’s cell never rang before eight in the morning, unless it was an emergency. She’d just seen both her parents before she’d set out for work, so she assumed all was well there. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the phone and grit her teeth. Dr. Epilson would not like that since he’d spent three of her teen years working on her slight overbite and fitting her with the best braces her parents’ money could buy.
On about the third ring Nikki decided to just answer it. Obviously the ignore technique wasn’t working.
“Hello?” she said in a none-too-chipper voice.
“Hi,” was the tentative reply. “I’ve been trying to call you for days. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Or at least I was until you started calling me again.
With a long sigh she reached for a mildly pleasant tone. “What do you want, Randall?”
Because he’d never really wanted her. No matter that she’d given him her heart, a huge chunk of her personal self she could never get back, and about a thousand dollars to get his car fixed that she should have known she’d never see again.
“I wanted to see how you were doing. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to you. I miss you.”
And just as soon as she closed her eyes and opened them again she’d see a stampede of cows coming down Elm Road. Nothing Randall ever said could be believed. What she did know, however, was that the man had to be the most creative person on the planet to be able to spout the stories he did in record time.
“I’m doing fine and yes it’s been a while.”
“Why are you being so cold to me?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.
But Nikki didn’t feel like rehashing the past. She’d forgiven him, only because that’s what the good Lord said she should do. But no way had she forgotten the longest six months of her life when she’d had to suffer through the pain and disgrace he’d caused.
“Niceties are over, Randall. We did this dance two years ago. I’m on to a new step now.”
He sighed. “You’d think you would be mature enough to have a civil conversation. I need your help with something important. You’re the only one I can turn to.”
He did not just call her immature! She wanted to scream. No, she wanted to hurl the phone across the street and keep on walking. But that would cost her another hundred or so bucks to buy a new one, and Randall Davis was most definitely not worth another dime of her hard-earned money. Nor was he worth another minute of her time.
“You’re right, I’m just not mature enough to have a conversation with you. So take that as a hint and don’t call me again,” she told him with finality and disconnected the call.
With a groan she stuck the phone back into her purse knowing instinctively that would not be the last she heard from him. For whatever reason he wanted back into her life and for a million other reasons she refused to let that happen.
She’d met him during the Bay Day festivities two years ago. He was handsome. No, actually he ripped that word to shreds he looked so good. And he’d smelled good, she still remembered that. His cologne was soft but masculine, and it had rippled through her senses like a fresh summer’s breeze. He’d driven right down Main Street in the hottest car Sweetland had ever seen, a silver Jaguar that was shined and in pristine condition. And when he’d parked right across the street from Jana’s Java and stepped out of that car even Marabelle and Louisa were speechless.
Sweet Nothings hadn’t opened yet but Nikki had volunteered to help
with the decorating committee, so she’d been in front of that empty building hanging yellow bows on the doorknob. Sweetland’s official colors were yellow, black, and white—representing the black-eyed Susan, the official flower for the state of Maryland. Every door on Main Street wore those bright yellow bows, while tiny white lights that reminded her of Christmas had been strung from one lamppost to another and black and yellow ribbons were intertwined up and down the poles.
Out of the corner of her eye she’d seen the car and heard the whispers as he’d stepped out. She’d glanced at him in his white linen pants and shirt and dock shoes. Then she’d looked away because men weren’t her strong point—even back then. There had to have been about thirty people in the immediate area that day. The sun was shining but it wasn’t hot, which was a miracle. A cool breeze had been blowing as they’d worked. Mr. Creed had just passed them on the way to the building he’d used for his law firm for more than twenty years, saying it looked like a storm was coming. Sure enough, the next gusts of wind brought the scent of his cologne. The sunlight faded a bit, as if a cloud had covered its brightness, and the next time Nikki had looked up from her task, it had been to stare right into his stormy gray eyes. The fact that Mr. Creed had just predicted a storm and Randall’s eye color correlated should have been warning enough. But she’d been enamored from that moment on. And by Sunday, the night of the Sweet Soiree that closed out Bay Day celebrations, Nikki had arrived at Gentry’s Hall on the arm of Randall Davis, junior stockbroker from New York City.
Or, as she liked to refer to him now, the con artist from who-gave-a-crap where.
Everything Randall had ever told her was a lie. He didn’t own his own condo, nor did he work on Wall Street. And that car wasn’t even his. He was a hired driver who had apparently driven his boss down here for a golfing weekend. At the time there was only one golf course; it had just been built on the other side of Yates Passage where there were still acres and acres of unused land. A large hotel chain had been first to put up a resort and golf course in the prime locale.
So the entire week that Randy had been wining and dining her, he’d also been running back and forth to the resort to drive his boss wherever he needed to be. But Nikki hadn’t found all this out until months later. After she’d slept with him and fallen in love with the person he’d pretended to be.
Her mother had been the first to say there was something about Randall she didn’t like. Mrs. Cantrell had followed up by calling him unsavory. Nikki had foolishly disregarded both of the well-meant warnings.
The end had come soon enough when Nikki had saved up her paychecks to make the plane fare to New York and back. It was a good thing she’d gotten the round-trip ticket. What she’d found when she arrived at the address Randall had given her was a man who introduced himself as Aaron Witherspoon and who also told her that the only Randall Davis he knew was his driver. He’d shown her the car Randall drove for him, after he’d absently introduced her to the half-naked woman that she would later learn was not his wife. It had all happened so fast; then Mr. Witherspoon—who had to be in his early fifties with a spray of salt-and-pepper hair still thick on top his head—had driven her to the place where Randall really lived, a shabby little three-story where he rented a room. And as if that weren’t bad enough, Randall hadn’t even had the foresight to be in his crappy little apartment alone. Oh no, it seems both he and his boss had called the same escort service, as his tramp looked vaguely similar to the one she’d just left at Mr. Witherspoon’s place. Nikki had quickly changed her return flight and flew home. Where she knew just about every man her age, where he lived, what he drove, and whom he was married to, if applicable. She took refuge in the place she knew and loved, vowing to never become a fool for love again. Ever!
So no, she was not taking Randall’s calls, because nothing he had to say meant a damned thing to her. Besides, she didn’t have time to try to decipher truth from make believe where he was concerned.
As she walked into the back door of The Silver Spoon she was greeted by Michelle, already in the kitchen with her apron on and her long black hair pulled back into a bun.
“Mornin’.” Michelle barely looked up from the three long pans lined up on the table in front of her.
“Good morning,” Nikki said, hanging up her purse. “Ah, Wednesday is southern seaside fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits day.”
“You know it. And we already have four reservations for lunch.”
“What’s that I smell cooking?” Nikki moved to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of water. It was already humid outside, which was never a good sign. If at eight in the morning the sun was already sitting high in the sky, its rays beaming down onto the sidewalk and humidity threading its fingers around the base of your neck, it was going to be a hell of a scorcher!
“Marcus Godfrey stopped by this morning on his way back from Easton where he’d been to the butcher. He had some slab ribs that looked too good to pass up. I put the invoice over there.” Michelle nodded toward the countertop where the sink was.
“I’ll make barbecued ribs the lunch special and leave the fried chicken, biscuits, and baked beans as the regular daily deal.”
“Good idea. Plenty of iced tea today. It’s hot already.”
Michelle was dipping chicken legs that looked big enough to be human into the buttermilk that filled one long pan. Then she dipped the leg into her special seasonsings, of which Nikki only knew some of the ingredients, one being a healthy dousing of Old Bay. Afterward, she’d go back to double-dip in the buttermilk, then on to the bleached flour breading before they landed on a cookie sheet that had been pre-sprayed with olive oil. Once those pieces hit that piping-hot canola oil the kitchen would fill with the savory scent that drew customers from as far as the pier to have some of Michelle’s Famous Seaside Fried Chicken—that’s the way it was listed on the menu and the way they all asked for it.
Michelle nodded as she worked. “Already have it brewing in the window.”
Nikki looked over to the bay window over the sink. Four large barrel-like containers were filled with water and tea bags that by lunchtime would be brewed just right. Once Michelle added the sugar and lemon it would be perfect and ready for the orders that would no doubt come in to quench their customers’ throats.
“Is Natalie here?”
“She is. Said she received a call about a group booking for Fourth of July weekend.”
“Okay, good.”
“You okay?” Michelle asked her.
“Huh?” Nikki said, trying to remember what Michelle had said. Walking into this kitchen and watching the daily routine left her feeling a bit nostalgic, missing Mrs. Cantrell especially. Maybe because so much was going through her mind at the moment, and usually she’d run right and talk to Mrs. Cantrell about whatever was bothering her. She wasn’t as rigid as her mother; nor was she as opinionated as Cordy. There was a delicate balance about Mrs. Cantrell, and Nikki could always count on her to be totally honest and compassionate at the same time.
“I asked if you were okay,” Michelle repeated. “You look a little out of it this morning.”
“I’m fine,” was her quick reply. “Just wondering how we’re going to do sales-wise this summer. You know, if we’ll make enough over our daily expenses to put a dent in those taxes.”
“We’re going to do fine, just like every summer. We might even do a little better if I can hire that sous chef who just graduated a few weeks ago. Remember, I told you about her—she lives in Hagerstown but I think I could persuade her to relocate, for the right price I mean.”
“I don’t know about another salary just yet, Michelle,” Nikki said absently, picking up the invoice from the counter.
“Look, Nikki, we’ve come too far—and by ‘we’ I mean my grandmother and my family—we’ve come too far for this to fall apart now. I just have to believe that everything will work out. And maybe I’ll just hire the sous chef part-time. I’ll talk to her and see what she’s looking for. If
it’s out of our range then I’ll pull back.”
“Okay,” Nikki agreed without much fight because she wasn’t really paying that much attention.
Until he came in.
“Good morning,” Quinn said the moment he pushed through the swinging door.
“Mornin’, Quinn. What has you up so early?” Michelle asked.
“Sweet Dixi does not like to wait for her walk. She actually thinks she’s supposed to beat the sun up in the morning,” he said with a chuckle.
A very relaxed chuckle that was vastly different from the way he’d sounded last night. And just like that Nikki’s melancholy over missing Mrs. Cantrell melted away to be upstaged by the slight uneasiness of last night’s kiss.
“Looks like you’re frying chicken today,” he said, walking over to stand beside Michelle.
“I am.”
“And I’ll bet there’ll be biscuits and baked beans.”
“You know me too well.” Michelle smiled up at him.
He shook his head. “I know what Gramma used to cook for us all the time. You’re just like her, you know.”
To that Michelle’s grin broadened, pride almost radiating from her. “There are worse people I could be like.”
“Can I help?” he asked.
“You know I’m not turning that down. Look over there in those bottom cabinets and grab the navy beans. You can get those rinsed and into the pot and then you can work on the sauce to go on them.”
With a nod Quinn headed over to the cabinets—and that’s when he saw her.
“Good morning, Nikki,” he said, his gaze lingering on hers a moment longer than was probably necessary.
But Nikki didn’t look away. To be perfectly honest, she couldn’t. Being captured in Quinn’s gaze was like a drug, and she was quickly becoming addicted. Besides, it made her feel so warm, so womanly, so wanted. She just couldn’t focus on what was bad about it.