Hard Pressed

by Kate Canterbary

  "Pity?" I repeated.

  She nodded. I shook my head in earnest. She nodded again.

  I picked up the forgotten muffin and pointed it toward her. "I'm gonna eat this while I try to make sense of you. I need a quiet moment with the muffin. Okay?"

  She rolled her eyes and re-crossed her legs, and I couldn't believe this was the same shy woman who couldn't look at me minutes ago. Or the same seductress who'd pushed the limits of my restraint last night. There was far more to the town sweetheart than I'd realized. And I liked all of it, even if she was driving me mad with this argument.

  I bit into the muffin and promptly discovered a new level of ecstasy. "This is fucking amazing," I said around another mouthful. "This is blueberry muffin heaven. It's not even a muffin. It's a blueberry acid trip orgasm."

  The scowl and angry glint in her eyes melted, and a warm smile took its place. "Yeah?"

  "Fuck yeah," I replied. "Now I understand why the guys went crazy. These things are life altering. It's like I've just now learned what a muffin should be."

  Annette threw back her head and laughed at that. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

  I devoured the other half of the muffin and she was quick to set another on the plate. "Not at all," I said. "I'll never again waste my time on inferior muffins. Not when I can knock on your door and beg for more."

  She stared at me for a moment and her gaze dropped to my mouth. She started to say something but then pressed her fingertips to her lips and glanced away.

  "What?" I asked. "After last night, I think we should be comfortable with each other."

  "Easy for you to say," Annette replied. "You were fully clothed."

  "Yes, well," I started, shooting her a pointed look, "it sounded as though you got an eyeful of something on your way out. Or did I read that wrong?"

  Shrugging, she offered an innocent smile. "Maybe a little something."

  "Maybe not so little," I said, leaning back in the chair and manspreading like it was my job. "Whatever you want to tell me, I want to hear."

  "You're wearing a suit today," she said, tipping her head toward my navy trousers.

  "You like?" I asked between bites.

  Her curls rustled as she shook her hair. "It was just an observation. It doesn't matter what I think about your clothing."

  "No? Not at all?" I asked as she continued shaking her head. "It matters to me."

  She tossed up her hands with a frustrated grumble. "It's not what you usually wear. That's the only reason I brought it up."

  "I was in court this afternoon. It was a short hearing so I gave the suit a shot." I shrugged, aiming an easy smile at Annette. Her lips turned up in a grin but her gaze dropped to my mouth and I had to stifle a hungry groan. It was all I could do to smother the desire to drag her into my lap and finish what she started last night.

  "It works for you. The suit." Annette leaned forward and gestured toward my face. "You have a little something," she said, staring at my mouth again. "Some blueberry."

  I jerked my chin toward her. "Get it for me."

  She hesitated but then edged closer. Her thumb passed over the corner of my lip and I couldn't stop looking at her mouth. I wasn't sure who moved first but her hands were in my hair and my arms around her waist, and then she was in my lap and our lips crashed together in a frantic rush. Every second throbbed like a strobe light. My tongue stroked over hers and my hands were sliding up her flanks, her thighs, her ass. But it wasn't enough.

  A quiet thought spiraled up from the back of my mind, one that nearly dragged me right out of the moment. I'll never be able to have enough when it comes to Annette.

  "Does this feel like pity to you?" I asked, rocking my erection against her. "D'you still think I'm placating you?"

  She dragged her teeth down my neck and stars sparkled behind my eyes. I'd never wanted to rip a dress or any article of clothing before but I needed it like I needed oxygen. Annette, naked, now.

  "I don't know what I think," she whispered against my skin. Her hands traveled down my shoulders to rest on my chest, and after a breath, she pushed me away. It was the slightest push but there was no mistaking it. "I don't even know you."

  I gazed at her, my hands still gripping her ass, and waited for direction. I knew what I wanted and I had a good idea what she wanted, too, but I wasn't about to announce that. There was no reason to bully my way into her panties or insist that she surrender to my wishes because I'd make it good for her. It didn't matter whether she was sorting through some complex issues right now. To my mind, a real man waited for his woman to be ready and willing. There was nothing sexy about cajoling a woman into something, even if she enjoyed it in the end. Even if she loved it and begged for more. Sex wasn't about saying "I told you so." I wanted my woman how and when she was ready for me, and nothing less.

  "That's all right," I said. "There's no rush to—"

  Annette grabbed my shirt and yanked me to me, her knees squeezing my waist as her mouth found mine. I held her close and kissed her until we were breathless. When she edged back again, I knew it was time to go.

  I brushed her hair off her forehead and kissed the corner of her mouth. "I like you. I've liked you for a long time. I don't think it's crazy to say you like me, too. When you're not hollering at me, of course. But you're figuring things out and you don't need me pawing at your ass right now."

  I kissed her again because—for this fleeting moment—I could, and I couldn't stay away from her.

  "I want to know you, Annette," I said, my forehead pressed against hers.

  "I was naked in your kitchen last night," she said, laughing. "How much more do you need to know about me?"

  "Naked is only one form of knowledge," I replied, "and I'm sure you're an opponent of judging books by their covers."

  "You want to get between my pages?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

  "Like you wouldn't believe," I said. "But I also want to be your friend, Annette. Let me do that."

  "What kind of friend, sheriff? The kind with benefits?" she asked. "Or something else?"

  "Is that what you want?" I asked.

  Annette started to respond but bit her bottom lip instead. Then she said, "I'm not sure."

  "When you figure it out, let me know," I said. I wanted to kiss her again but I knew I wouldn't stop if I did. Instead, I brushed my lips over her forehead. "I should go. Keep that cell phone charged, would you?"

  "I'll work on it," she said, settling back in her seat.

  "Good," I replied. "Lock the door behind me."

  I didn't allow myself another word, instead dragging my gaze over her body and shooting her a heated smile as I backed out of the storeroom. When the front door bell chimed overhead and I stepped onto the sidewalk, my chest lurched at the reality of leaving her.

  I'd never felt starved and sated all at once.

  6

  Crimp

  v. To seal the edges of two layers of dough with a fork, tool, or fingertips.

  Annette

  * * *

  I didn't let myself think about Jackson while I baked that night. Instead, I plowed my focus into my pie crusts and fillings, and the Bake Off reruns playing in the background. That combination soothed my senses and lulled me into a Zen state where the implosion of my romantic life didn't seem too bad. And I couldn't dwell on my desire for Jackson when I was busy folding butter into dough.

  But I didn't have to think about Jackson to know why I pushed him away when his kisses were heaven and his eyes were hunger. I pushed him away—twice—because I didn't trust myself anymore.

  I used to be chock-full of confidence. I knew what I was doing and where I was going, and the path was clear. Striking out on my own, opening this shop, putting everything into making it a success, and…Owen. Confidence struck again, telling me I could have anything—and anyone—if I worked hard enough. Never once did I stop to ask whether I should be doing that work. I believed the world was mine for the taking, and with that arrogance, I t
ook a man who'd never belong to me.

  I didn't know what to believe anymore. I'd allowed myself to believe Owen harbored feelings for me—small, sapling feelings that would require time to grow, but feelings nonetheless. But that was a lie perpetrated by my boundless belief in myself, one that succeeded at forcing Owen into an awkward position and humiliating me.

  It was a belief in myself but also a slow-rumbling awareness that I had to take anyone I could get, regardless of how poorly we fit together. When I stepped away from the awkwardness and the humiliation, I was forced to see some unpleasant truths. Owen wasn't meant for me and I knew that. I'd known it for ages but I'd allowed myself to believe there was a chance for me because I hadn't seen him date anyone, ever. Aside from grossly disregarding his preference, I was also telling myself I was only worthy of the scraps. That I could live with a love that came from me wearing someone down rather than authentic affection. That I didn't deserve someone who wanted me enough to pursue me.

  I wasn't sure where any of that came from. Maybe it was my upbringing; maybe it was something I created. Maybe it was both, or neither. I'd spent so long hustling to make my way and do everything on my own that I didn't know how to accept anything that came without concerted effort. It seemed too good to be true.

  Now, I couldn't trust my reaction to Jackson. I didn't know how to abandon the world I'd built around Owen and then construct a new one around Jackson, and I wasn't convinced I should. It was easy to force him into the space Owen vacated, but that seemed like a recipe for disaster. As if disaster wasn't a big enough problem, I didn't want to slide Jackson into Owen's slot. They weren't interchangeable cogs but creatures with their own shapes and angles. Jackson would never take Owen's place and he wouldn't fit if I tried.

  If I was hopping on the truth train and riding all the way to revelation station, I'd see that I didn't know what I wanted or needed. I knew these little pies were delicious and there was a good chance I'd be wiping some wild blueberry filling from Jackson's lip tomorrow, but I didn't know anything beyond that. I couldn't get myself to choose past the point of my thumb brushing over his lip. I saw all the paths—friends, fuck buddies, dating—but I was afraid the ground would collapse beneath me if I took a step forward.

  But if Jackson took that step, I knew I'd follow him down whichever path he chose.

  I slipped two trays of mini pies into the oven and set the timer. Again, I ignored the dishes, flopping onto the sofa with my phone instead. It was charged, as per Jackson's request. I didn't spend much time on my phone. The cell signal in this area was wobbly and I hated notifications with the fire of a thousand suns. My social media energies were reserved for the shop, and I was a lazy texter, often forgetting to respond to messages for hours.

  Case in point: a truckload of messages had piled up from my friend Brooke over the past two days. Brooke and I went to high school together but we barely knew each other back then and didn't become friends until she moved home to Talbott's Cove after a decade away. She lived at her childhood home with her father, Judge Markham. He'd retired from the bench years ago but he was still Judge Markham around here, much in the way many of us gave directions based on landmarks that no longer existed. "Turn right where the Zayre's used to be," or "Around the corner from the old Market Basket, the one they turned into the sporting goods store but that went out of business and now it's Planet Fitness."

  Brooke, or Brooke-Ashley as she was known in high school, was my opposite in every way. Tall, blonde, slim, super stylish. If I was the kind of lady who used the word chic, I'd use it to describe Brooke. But beyond those basics, she was bold and brash where I favored subtly subversive. She was salty when I leaned into killing with kindness. She lived for big risks and bigger payoffs, and I found owning a small business to be more than enough risk.

  The one thing we had in common was our single lady status. At the ripe old age of thirty-three, we alternated between wanting to get married right-fucking-now and giving convention the finger. Brooke was a pro at shutting down the well-intentioned fix-up attempts by everyone in this town with an eligible son or grandson. I loved the girl through and through.

  I'd never expected to claim Brooke-Ashley Markham as my best friend but I wouldn't have it any other way. Unfortunately for her, I was a terrible texting partner.

  * * *

  Brooke: Could it be any more humid and miserable around here? This weather actually makes me miss NYC subways in the summer and those smell like piss and corn nuts.

  Brooke: Okay. Fine. We don't have to talk about the weather.

  Brooke: Do you want to get lunch this weekend? We could wear complementary Lily Pulitzer dresses and drive down to Kennebunkport and drink wine and call it lunch. As you do.

  Brooke: To be clear, I want the wine. Food is unnecessary.

  Brooke: Excuse me, ma'am, but did I just see your cute ass walk of shame its way down the street?

  Brooke: I need an explanation for this. If I don't get one, I'm going to start inventing my own.

  Brooke: Nope. Can't do it. I tried but I can't figure out why Little Miss Angel Cake would be sneaking home before dawn. That is not your operating system.

  Brooke: Serious question, no judgment: do you need some Plan B? I stocked up before I left NYC because I wasn't sure rural Maine had its women's health shit in order.

  Brooke: I've done some light recon but no one has any intel for me. I'll never understand how this town can alternate between high-powered rumor mills and cones of silence.

  Brooke: I mean, they'd cone of silence all over you. You're like the town mascot.

  Brooke: No, you're not a mascot. Mascots are weird. You're more like our Good Witch.

  Brooke: Or something like that. You're just pretty and happy and everyone loves you.

  Brooke: Does that make me the Wicked Witch?

  Brooke: Shit.

  Brooke: Now that I think about it…I kind of hate you. We can't be friends.

  Brooke: In other news, Dad wanted meatloaf for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he insisted I serve his mashed potatoes with an ice cream scoop so I'm going to need you to talk me through this walk of shame situation before I start eating the wallpaper.

  * * *

  I pressed the phone to my chest and laughed for a solid minute.

  * * *

  Annette: So many questions but let's start with this: why were you awake and watching the streets at 4:30 in the morning?

  Brooke: Because I'm a muthafuckin' beast?

  Annette: Yes, but also…?

  Brooke: Hong Kong's market closes at 4 a.m. EST. Singapore at 5.

  Annette: Oh, right. I don't understand how you keep those hours.

  Brooke: Funny story because it seems like YOU keep those hours, too.

  Annette: It was just the one time and it won't happen again.

  Brooke: Wait a hot second. Why isn't it happening again? It should definitely happen again!

  Brooke: Also it would be wonderful to grab some details like who, where, how it was, length and girth. The basics.

  Annette: Because I wasn't being smart. I made some bad decisions.

  Brooke: Was it bad-bad decisions or bad-very good decisions?

  Brooke: No, don't answer. Just tell me the damn story before I get an eye twitch.

  * * *

  The oven timer trilled and I abandoned my phone to collect my little pies. Dark purply-blue liquid bubbled up between the crust's lattice lines and the scent of sweetness filled the air. I'd prepared a small batch this time and they were just for Jackson.

  When I had them seated on the cooling rack, I returned to the sofa and Brooke.

  * * *

  Annette: Sorry about that. I had to take some pies out of the oven.

  Brooke: How the holy fuck are you baking in this weather? Dad's house has central air conditioning and I'm still sweating like Whitney Houston on stage. I have to wear a bra just to keep the tit sweat under control.

  Annette: There is such a thing as oversh
aring, dearie.

  Annette: I have a breeze off the water. It's not much, but it helps.

  Brooke: Back to the story and make it snappy, please. I'm due for my two hours of sleep soon.

  Annette: I got drunk at The Galley, Sheriff Lau took me home, I stripped in his living room and did rude things to him, and then passed out in his bed.

  Brooke: YOU FUCKED LAU?!?

  Brooke: Well done. I knew we'd make a hunter out of you.

  Annette: I didn't fuck him. I was really drunk and really stupid, and I kissed him. And then I spanked him.

  Brooke: I'm going to need some time to process this information.

  Brooke: Processing finished. Tell me about his cock. It's huge, right? It's gotta be.

  Annette: I was the only one naked, but based upon certain interactions, yeah, I'd say it's huge.

  Brooke: YESSSSS. So, what's next? When are you seeing him again? I need this kind of live action drama in my life.

  Annette: I don't know. He's so polite and respectful, it makes my teeth hurt. He wouldn't fuck me when I was drunk, and when I saw him tonight he made it clear he wasn't going to fuck me until I had my head on straight. Which it is not. So it's probably a good thing I didn't go there with him.

  Brooke: You saw him tonight?!? You saw him tonight. Of course. Go ahead and live your life without informing me. It's fine. I'm fine. Whatever. I'll just drown myself in rosé and mashed potatoes. IT'S FINE.

  Annette: I made him some muffins this morning to thank him for…everything. And he came to the shop tonight. I didn't go looking for him.

  Brooke: Bullshit.

  Annette: What?

  Brooke: Pardon me, ma'am, but your crockery is full of bullshit. Those muffins were like a trail of breadcrumbs. You basically hiked up your skirt and said "come and get me."

  Annette: Even if I did, he said he wants to be friends.