“Go ahead and get started. I’m sure Byron already explained what he wanted done on the window,” she said, her focus on the candy. Almost there. Just a little more and she could take it off the burner, pour it into the bowl of perfectly toasted pecans. Not one of them had burned. Not one of them was even a little too brown. A coup, in Brenna’s mind, and she wasn’t going to ruin everything by burning the caramel.
“Actually, he didn’t.”
River.
And, dear God, if her heart didn’t jump at the sound of his voice, the warm velvety timbre of it.
“I thought you were the window repairman,” she murmured, lifting the caramel because it was beautiful and glossy, just the way it should be.
“Are you disappointed?” He leaned over her shoulder, watching as she poured the liquid candy over the pecans.
She could feel his warmth through the back of her shirt, feel his breath fanning her hair. When his hand settled on her shoulder, she didn’t complain.
Maybe she should have.
She was getting a little too used to his touch, a little too comfortable having him around.
“Disappointed that you’re late,” she replied, stirring the caramel and nuts. It needed to cool enough for the mixture to drop onto a sheet pan but not enough for it to harden. After that, she’d melt more chocolate. Milk chocolate this time. She’d pour it over the top of the caramel and pecans and let it harden.
She’d read all about it in one of Byron’s books, but nothing in the book had mentioned how to keep focused on candy when a good-looking guy was in the shop.
“Will this make you less disappointed?” He held a brown paper bag in front of her face, the scent of bacon filling her nose.
She turned around, looked him straight in his gorgeous eyes. “Are you trying to ruin my caramel clusters by distracting me?”
“I’m trying to keep you from passing out later in the day when you’ve got dozens of customers screaming for your attention and all you’re subsisting on is coffee and a piece of toast.”
“That is not what I had for breakfast.” She took the bag and opened it, her stomach growling loudly enough that River heard it.
He grinned. “In other words, you had nothing?”
“Something like that.”
“Eat. I’ll handle this.” He lifted the mixture, started scooping it out onto a pan. “How many of these do we need?”
She checked the inventory list. “Five dozen.”
“You’re going to be two dozen short.”
“How do you—” She stopped, eyeing the pan he’d already filled with dollops of pecan and caramel. “Wow. You’re fast.”
“Eat,” he commanded. “The shop opens at ten? We’ve got a lot to do before then.”
She could have told him that all she needed was a few lessons on how to do things right. She certainly didn’t need a man walking into her life and taking control of it, but he’d already tied an apron around his waist, grabbed milk chocolate morsels from the pantry, and was melting them in the double boiler.
And whatever was in the bag? It smelled phenomenal.
She dragged it out, opening waxed paper to reveal a breakfast sandwich filled with egg and cheese and bacon.
She couldn’t resist it. She really couldn’t, so she sat in one of the rickety old chairs and dug in, watching as River worked. He was a lot faster than she was. A lot faster than Byron even. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, he had the milk chocolate melted and was pouring it over the caramel and pecan.
Before she could comment on how great the candy looked, he’d put pecans in the oven to toast and had begun a new batch of caramel.
“Better watch it,” she said as she finished off the sandwich and tossed the wrapper in the trash. “You keep working like you are and I might decide you don’t need my help.”
He smiled and pulled her to her feet. “Sorry, red. Everyone works in my kitchen. Whether I need help or not.”
“Your kitchen? Don’t let Byron hear you talking like that.”
“Wash your hands and grab some strawberries. I’m melting enough chocolate to do the strawberry dips,” he responded, giving her a gentle nudge toward the sink.
An hour later, she’d dipped three dozen strawberries into silky milk chocolate and decorated them with dark and white chocolate drizzle. She set them into the display case right between the caramel clusters and the chocolate bark.
River moved in next to her, a tray of cherry cordials in his hand. She didn’t know how he’d done it, couldn’t quite figure out how he was moving so quickly. They had nearly half of Byron’s inventory of necessary candies made. Another hour and they’d be ready to open.
Almost.
There’d still be the fudge to make.
The Lamonts’ top-secret recipe was locked away in a safe in Byron’s office. No way could she give River a look at it. If she did, Byron would kill both of them.
“Looks good, huh?” River said, placing the cordials into the display case. He’d put each one in a small silver cupcake liner, the pretty foil paper adding charm to the domed candy.
“It does. Byron will be impressed.”
“He’ll be more impressed if we finish. What do you want to tackle next?” His arm brushed hers as he closed the display case door, and she caught herself leaning toward him just a little, imagining for just a second a repeat of that sweet, sweet kiss.
Forever Kisses.
The words ran through her head and she blinked, took a quick step back, the display case keeping her from actually turning and running.
No way in hell she was going down that path.
“Bonbons?” she murmured.
“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t head back to the kitchen. He didn’t even move. Just stood right where he was, studying her face as if there was something utterly fascinating about it and her.
Had Dan ever looked at her like that?
She couldn’t remember, and that was pretty sad. All those years with a guy who’d never, ever been fascinated? Not cool.
Mooning over a guy like River? One who obviously had his life all planned out, his course set? That wasn’t cool either.
Sure, he’d kissed her, and sure, she’d kissed him back, but they were both in Benevolence for a season. Neither planned to stay. Eventually, their lives would pull them on different trajectories, and then where would they be? Brokenhearted? Alone?
She’d rather just stay alone to begin with.
“I saw a recipe for coconut dream bonbons,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. “Granddad has never made them, but they’re a play off the cocoa and cream ones he makes every Saturday. I thought I’d make half his and half the coconut. They’ll look really pretty together in the case: cocoa dusted bonbons next to ones rolled in coconut.” She was blabbering on like an idiot because he was still standing between her and the kitchen and she wasn’t sure why it mattered. Why she didn’t just step to the side and walk past him.
She could have very easily. Just like she could have told him that the kiss they’d shared had been a mistake, that she didn’t ever want a repeat of it.
“You’re nervous.”
“And?”
“I want to know why.”
“Because I’ve got a lot to do in a limited amount of time.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe, but what good would the truth do?”
“It might help me understand.”
“Why do you even need to?” She tried to laugh, the sound echoing hollowly through the shop as she finally got herself moving past him and into the hallway.
“We’re going to be working together a lot these next two weeks. Understanding each other will go a long way in making that easier.”
“Hasn’t it already been easy?” she asked, because it had been. Somehow, they’d just kind of moved into each other’s rhythms, synched with each other’s energy.
“So, maybe I lied, too, red,” he said as he grabbed ingredients from the pantry. “Maybe I find you i
nteresting and maybe that interest is making me want to know more.”
“Like?”
“Why you’re lying to your family.”
He turned to face her and she couldn’t get the words out, the ones she was supposed to say: I’m not lying. Why would you think I’m lying? Who told you I was lying?
“They don’t need more to worry about” came out instead.
“Isn’t that for them to decide?”
“You’ve seen Byron. He’s not a young man anymore. Adeline is pregnant. My mother—”
“I think your mother can handle anything you throw her way.”
“Don’t let her fool you, River. She puts on a good show, but she spends way too much time and energy worrying about us.”
“Like I said, isn’t that for her to decide?”
“You don’t know my family.”
“Up until I was thirteen, I didn’t know any family at all,” he responded. “Finally having one taught me just how valuable they are.”
“I value my family.” She tore open a package of coconut, dumped it into a blender, and ground it into a fine powder.
He didn’t say anything, so she turned to face him again. “I do value them.”
“I know,” he said simply. “But I’m not sure you realize how much they value you.”
“They value what they think I am,” she said. “That’s not the same as valuing me.”
“You’re limiting their love if you think that.”
“What I think—”
Is that it’s none of your business, she was going to say, but something in his expression stopped the words before she could say them.
“Go ahead,” he offered. “Say what you’re thinking.”
She didn’t have a chance. The back door flew open and Janelle rushed in. She’d pulled her hair back into a tight bun, wrapped some kind of frilly fifties apron around her waist.
“I’m here to help!” she proclaimed. “I heard you were in the weeds and I . . .” Her voice trailed off as she saw River. “I didn’t realize Byron had hired a professional. How fun! We’ll all work together and get this shop open!”
“Wonderful,” Brenna muttered, but Janelle was too busy eyeing River like he was a piece of dark chocolate fudge to hear her.
* * *
Janelle was a force to be reckoned with.
It took River about three minutes to realize that and about a half a minute longer to realize she knew nothing about making candy. She sure as hell thought she did, though. She moved around the kitchen like a whirlwind, gushing over everything he did and criticizing Brenna’s efforts.
It seemed like nothing her youngest daughter did was right.
Not the coconut she’d turned into powder: too chunky.
Not the white chocolate she’d melted for her coconut dream bonbons: too thick.
Not the way she’d rolled the chocolate for the bonbons or the way she’d set them in the display case. An hour in and River had had about all he could take of the woman. He also thought he’d figured out why Brenna hadn’t been honest with her family.
It would be really hard to admit to a woman like Janelle that you’d been tricked by your fiancé. Not just cheated on but robbed blind and left with nothing.
That’s the way River read things.
He could be wrong.
It could be that the guy hadn’t taken nearly what River thought he had. Didn’t matter. He was still a bastard, and Brenna deserved better.
She also deserved better than what she was getting from her mother. He washed the last pot, eyed the inventory list. They only had one thing left to make: the Lamont fudge.
“You have a recipe for the fudge, red?” he asked, and Janelle frowned.
“Red? Is that any way to describe a beautiful woman?” She laughed, but there was a sharpness to it that set River’s teeth on edge.
“It is if she has the reddest hair a person has ever seen.”
“Not red, River,” Janelle corrected. “It’s more of a—”
“Let it go, Mother,” Brenna said with a sigh.
“I’m simply saying—”
“You don’t have to say anything. I like the nickname. It doesn’t bother me that he calls me that.” She met River’s eyes and offered a tight smile. “Let it go.”
“Fine, but I hope you’re not planning to show him Byron’s recipe. Your grandfather will have a stroke if you do.”
“Only if he finds out,” Brenna muttered.
“I hope you’re kidding,” Janelle huffed. “You know how he feels about it.”
“Yes, Mother, I do. Rest assured, I’ll keep the secret recipe secret. If a dozen armed men break into the shop, demanding that I either reveal the recipe or give up my life, I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for the cause.”
“Well!” Janelle set her hands on her slim waist. “There’s no need to be sarcastic, Brenna.”
“And there’s no need for you to criticize someone who has done nothing wrong.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Criticizing?”
“What would you call it?”
“Standing up for my daughter.” She frowned. “But obviously, that isn’t necessary or needed.” She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with irritation and something that looked a lot like hurt. “So, I’ll just go to work and do what I do best: stay out of my daughters’ lives.”
“Mom—” Brenna began, but Janelle was already at the door.
“Don’t forget your sister’s birthday party. Unless you think you’ll be too busy making chocolate to attend,” Janelle said, as she broke into whatever apology Brenna might have offered. “I’d suggest you bring a date.” Her gaze cut to River. “But you’re probably too independent and accomplished to worry about such things.”
“I don’t—”
Janelle didn’t wait for Brenna to finish. She closed the door firmly enough to rattle the bowls in the cupboards.
“Shit,” Brenna muttered, squeezing the bridge of her nose and shaking her head. “How do I manage to constantly piss her off?”
It was a rhetorical question, but River was just irritated enough to respond. “I think she did a fair job of pissing you off first.”
“No. She didn’t.”
“She was critical of you since she first walked into the shop,” he pointed out. “Are you trying to tell me that didn’t bother you?”
“She’s my mother. She’s been criticizing me my whole life.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Maybe it should,” he argued.
“Why? She means well, and I know it. Getting offended is a waste of time and energy.”
“And yet, you’re worried about offending her.”
“What’s your point, River? That I’m some weak-minded woman who lets everyone take advantage of her? That somehow I’m too stupid to know that my mother is putting me down? Or too wimpy to tell her to stop?”
“That’s a hell of a lot of baggage you’re dumping on me.”
She frowned. “You’re right. I apologize. Thanks for your help today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Now go away and leave me alone? Is that what you’re saying?”
She smiled, shook her head. “What I’m saying is that I appreciate all your help, but I have to make fudge and you can’t be here. So, you’re going to have to leave. The shop opens in half an hour, and the only fudge I’ve got is what’s left from yesterday.”
“You sure you don’t want my help?”
“I want your help, but if I take it, I’ll betray every Lamont who ever came before me. That’ll piss off Janelle and Byron. Not something I’m in the mood to do.”
“It might be fun,” he said, brushing thick strands of red hair from her cheeks.
“I have this strange feeling,” she responded “that anything we do together would be.”
“We can test your theory out tonight,” he said, his hands gliding along silky flesh, set
tling on her narrow shoulders.
“Tonight?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
“Have you forgotten about our deal? I help you, you help me?”
“You don’t really need my help. Admit it. You’re not the kind of guy who’d let someone else design his restaurant. You’re not the kind of person who doubts his taste or his abilities. You probably had your hand in every single aspect of building your brand.”
“You’re right,” he admitted, because she deserved the truth. She’d been lied to enough, hurt enough, and he’d never add to that. Not even for Belinda and the ranch. “But I do need your help if I’m going to convince the business council to grant my permit. They want someone local—”
“You can buy local without my help. No one around here is going to turn away your money.”
“So, maybe it’s not your help with the business council I want. Maybe it’s just you.”
“Not the right time,” she said, but she didn’t move away.
He didn’t think she could any more than he could.
They were tied together, bound in some way he couldn’t even begin to understand. All he knew was that there was something between them. Something he couldn’t explain away as simple attraction. He’d been in plenty of relationships. He knew heat and desire and lust.
What he felt with Brenna was different.
It was warm and true and compelling.
It made him want to do the right thing. Even if the right thing was stepping back, putting some distance between them.
He let his hands fall away.
“You choose the time, Brenna. When you’re ready, let me know. Now, I guess I’d better get going. I’ve got spark plugs to buy if you’re going to bring your car home tonight.”
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t say another word.
Not as he removed the apron, hung it on the hook, opened the back door. Not even as he walked outside.
He could feel her standing in the doorway, knew she was watching as he walked to his truck. He opened the door, turned, and met her eyes.
They were deep violet in the sunlight, her skin flawless, her expression guarded.
“Thanks again, River,” she said so quietly the words barely carried on the still morning air.
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