Hard Pressed

by Kate Canterbary

  Before closing the shop for the night, I noticed a text from Brooke.

  * * *

  Brooke: Running late. Grab a seat at the bar and I'll be there soon.

  Annette: Is everything okay?

  Brooke: Fine. Dealing with stuff at the house.

  Annette: We can reschedule. Or I can go there. Whatever you want…

  Brooke: Stop it right now. I'll be there soon. Ish. Soonish.

  * * *

  With that knowledge, I grabbed two new cookbooks and tucked them into my tote bag. Perhaps I'd find the Rosetta Stone of pastries in one of them. Once the shop was locked up, I headed to the scene of the original crime—The Galley. I returned, my head held high, and Owen and Cole showed up not more than two minutes after I settled into a seat at the bar.

  Of course.

  But it wasn't just my former fake flame and his boyfriend. The entire town—or so it seemed—was at The Galley tonight.

  JJ Harniczek tossed a coaster in my direction, the cardboard square spinning across the bar top. "Long time, no see," he remarked. "Did it take you all this time to shake off the hangover?"

  I reached into my bag for one of the books and set it in front of me. "I'm going to read my book until Brooke gets here," I said, tapping my palm against the cover. "We don't have to talk about vodka and other bad memories."

  "Bam Bam's coming?" JJ asked with a hoot. "I'm really gonna need the sheriff tonight. One of you, well, that's one kind of trouble. The two of you? That's a lot more trouble. Should I call him now or wait until you're nice and sloshed?"

  I didn't want to meet Jackson on these terms again. I didn't want him coming to my rescue and putting me back together when I was capable of rescuing myself, putting myself back together.

  I gave JJ an unimpressed stare and opened my book. "Make yourself useful. Go pour me some pinot grigio," I said, flicking my hand toward the bottles lined up behind him.

  JJ dropped his forearms to the bar and leaned forward. "You used to be a good girl," he said. "All prim and proper, keepin' your shoes shined and your nose clean." He eyed me, as if he was seeing me for the first time. "You're not so good anymore, are you?"

  "I'm pretty sure pinot grigio is the official drink of good girls everywhere," I replied.

  He shook his head as he pushed away from the bar. "You've changed since the last time your behind warmed that seat," he said. "Not so good anymore."

  I didn't refute JJ's comment. I didn't want to address any changes—real or otherwise—that I'd experienced in the past forty-two days. Instead, I paged through my book, sipped my wine, and tried my best to keep from staring at Cole and Owen. Trying didn't equal succeeding.

  I wasn't watching them out of morbid fascination or pointless jealousy. I was watching because I felt nothing for them. I had no emotional or romantic connection to Owen, not now and not then. There was little more than familiarity between us and my misplaced hope that familiarity would blossom and bear fruit.

  That I'd survived for so long on so little only served to remind me that I was used to begging for scraps. I'd accepted those scraps as proof of affection, fondness, maybe even the inklings of love. I'd settled for those scraps, convincing myself they were plenty. That I could stitch together threadbare rags and form a connection worthy of my heart, my soul, my body.

  When you were used to scrounging for scraps, real affection was tough to swallow.

  Shortly after I requested a refill, Brooke arrived. She waved to me but found herself snared in a conversation on the opposite end of the bar. It wasn't uncommon for my neighbors to ask after her father and wax on about the time he said one thing or did another. She was always polite about it, answering questions with a pleasant-but-fake smile, nodding along as they reminisced about events she didn't recall. I didn't know how she did it, carrying the world and all its secrets on her shoulders. She made it seem effortless but I saw the cracks in the foundation.

  I ordered a glass of wine for her and returned to my books. The minutes ticked by while Brooke kept that hollow smile plastered on her face and JJ peppered me with vague comments about behaving myself tonight, and then silence swept through the tavern. Glancing up, I found Cole and Owen cozied up in their booth, their heads bent together.

  I smiled at them, wishing them well in this small gesture. They didn't need my acceptance or approval to love each other but I still wanted them to know we were good. No hard feelings, no awkwardness.

  Returning to my cookbook, I got lost in an intricate linzer torte recipe that started with a detailed accounting of the cake's history and permutations through the centuries. It wasn't until the main door clattered that I looked up and found Jackson darkening The Galley's doorway. On a gust of wind, the door banged behind him again, drawing the attention of everyone in the tavern.

  He stood there a moment, his shoulders nearly broad enough to brush the doorframe as he scanned the room, and then his gaze fell on me. His golden arms were bent at the elbows, his hands loosely gripping his duty belt. That pose had the fabric of his short-sleeved sheriff's shirt straining around his thick biceps and my lips parting on a sigh.

  I found a deep store of confidence, one I wasn't sure I had anymore, and smiled at him. This wasn't how I'd imagined I'd see him again but here we were, no baked goods in sight and the entire town our audience. He blinked at me, once, twice, thrice before allowing the corner of his lip to turn up in response. I tipped my head toward the empty seat beside me, the one reserved for my best friend, and raised my eyebrows.

  It was an invitation, one I hoped he'd take even if I didn't have the haziest idea what I was going to say or do if he joined me.

  Jackson strode across the tavern, certain and bold, as if sent to collect me. It occurred to me that he was here for that exact reason. I peeked at JJ, who was reading the back of a whiskey bottle like it revealed the secrets to a long life.

  "This will come back to you, Jedidiah," I hissed. "Don't think I'll forget."

  "Can't imagine what you're talking about," he replied, watching as Jackson stopped at my side.

  "Annette," Jackson said, his deep voice raking over my name. "I'm taking you home."

  "Not until you settle up your tab," JJ called.

  Jackson dropped some bills on the bar and pushed them toward JJ without taking his eyes off me. "I'm taking you home," he repeated.

  "Can we talk first?" I asked, gesturing to the empty seat.

  He shook his head once, a curt movement that had my edginess rising. He didn't want to sit, didn't want to talk…what was I missing?

  "I am taking you home, Annette," Jackson said, each word crisper than the one before. Then, softly, "Please, beautiful. I need you right now."

  And that was it. That was all I required to hop off the stool and gather my books.

  "Give me that," he ordered, reaching for my tote bag.

  I snatched it away with an exasperated frown. "I've got it," I said, swinging the tote over my shoulder. "It's two books and I can't let you pay for my drinks and carry my bag all on the same night. These people are going to think I'm a kept woman or something."

  Jackson brought his hand to my lower back and bent to brush his lips over the shell of my ear. "That's exactly what I'd like them to think."

  25

  Glaze

  v. To brush food with milk, egg, or sugar before baking in order to produce a shiny, golden finish.

  Jackson

  * * *

  I hadn't expected to march through The Galley and claim Annette with the whole town watching us over their grilled swordfish, but Brooke was right. It was the best way to kill a whole lot of birds with one stone.

  There was no credence to the suggestion Annette was the one doing the chasing, not when I made it clear to everyone watching she was mine.

  There was no denying we had a history, one that transcended our roles of sheriff and bookseller.

  There was no hiding the relief I felt when she climbed off that stool and I was certain everyone saw
it on my face, too.

  She'd played her part well with that flare of fire when I'd tried to relieve her of her bag. No one could argue there wasn't heat between us.

  I knew Annette's family wouldn't be at The Galley but I also knew this would get back to them. And I wasn't done. No, we had another stop on our route before heading home.

  "Jackson," Annette said slowly, glancing up at me, "can we talk now?"

  I led her across the street, toward the alley behind her shop, and took her in my arms. I'd never believed the touch of another could soothe me down to my core but Annette, she was my balm.

  "I missed you today," I whispered. "Yesterday, too. I don't want to miss you anymore."

  She nodded, her head rubbing against my chest as she moved. "I missed you, too," she confessed. "But I have a lot of things to say and I think I should say them."

  "Can you talk and pack at the same time?" I asked. "Because I meant it when I said I was taking you home now."

  Annette stared at me for a moment, her wide, dark eyes blinking up at me as if I'd spoken another language and she needed time to translate. Eventually, she said, "I can't. I can't talk and pack, I have to say this now."

  "Okay," I said. "Go ahead. I won't rush you."

  She brought her hands to my chest, her gaze locked on the buttons running down my shirt. She bit her lip, hesitating before she spoke.

  "I'm just learning how to do this. I'm—I'm going to make mistakes. I'm going to push you away because I don't know what to do with big feelings and big love but I want to get better at it. At this." She tapped her chest and then mine. "At us."

  "I'm going to pull you right back," I said, scooping her up in my arms and backing her up against the building. I wanted her body pressed to mine but I also needed some help staying upright. "I'm going to want everything with you and you're going to have to tell me when to slow down. I can handle it, I swear. Just tell me what you need and promise you'll give me a chance to adjust."

  "I love you," she whispered, a deep valley of awe in her words. "And I want to let you love me, even when it's scary and overwhelming."

  "I've loved you since the first moment I set eyes on your ankles," I replied. "I saw you from my office and my heart broke free from my chest and climbed into your hands."

  I kissed her then, fast and hard, just like we'd fallen for each other. She tasted like wine and comfort, and I found myself rocking into the heat between her legs. I was exhausted and in desperate need of sleep but my cock was ready to go all night.

  "Isn't this illegal?" she asked against my lips. "Public indecency or something?"

  "That's why I'm trying to take you home," I said, groaning as the friction spiraled through me. "Quick. We're running upstairs and getting all the things you need for the next day or two. Your favorite whisk, the rolling pin you favor, aprons with flamingos on them, a few of those white dresses I like so much. Just the basics. Panties are unnecessary."

  "Whisks, rolling pins, aprons," Annette repeated. "What am I making with those things?"

  "Anything you want," I said. "Anything at all. I want you with me and not just for one night. I want you to stay. Stay for a long, long time, Annie."

  She ran her teeth across her bottom lip, humming to herself. I was prepared for an argument, braced against her certain refusal.

  "But no panties? Is that your way of getting around previous restrictions on touching my underwear? This is one conversation we can have while we pack, you know. We don't have to do this up against my building."

  No argument. No refusal. Just me and Annette, trying our damnedest to do this thing. With or without undies.

  "If you insist." With regret, I set Annette on her feet and let her lead the way to her apartment. "I'm just throwing out some ideas here but I think we can live happily with a no-panties rule. Seems mutually beneficial to me."

  Annette shook her keys at me when we reached the landing outside her door. "See? Keys. For the lock. The one on the door."

  I brought both hands to her backside and squeezed. "What? You think I'm going to reward you for seeing to the most basic safety procedures? No, beautiful. Not happening."

  She hooked a glance at me over her shoulder, her eyes a pair of inky pools in the darkness and her lips pressed together in a pout. I couldn't resist that face. It was the same one she used on me that first night, when she didn't want to be alone in my bed.

  "What if I asked nicely?"

  I squeezed her ass, harder this time. "You better pack fast."

  Annette pushed open the door and I followed her into the narrow apartment. She handed me a reusable grocery bag and gestured to the baking pans and tools piled high on the kitchen table. "You work on the kitchen goods and I'll grab some clothes. Don't mean to break your heart but I will be bringing undies. Not everything can be fun and naked games."

  I pointed at her with a muffin tin. "That's false. Fun and naked games are the gift of adulthood."

  She moved toward me, her saucy expression crumbling with each step. "I am sorry." She ran her hands from my shoulders down to my wrists before tangling our fingers together. The muffin tin clanged to the floor. "I didn't say what I meant and it hurt you, and I'm sorry."

  I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I didn't say what I meant either. Not what I truly meant. I'm sorry I left."

  Annette nodded, her grip tight on my fingers. "You look tired," she said, her brows furrowed. "Jackson, tell me you haven't been working around the clock since that situation at the inn."

  "I could use a good night's rest," I admitted. "It will be better with you."

  "Give me ten minutes," she said.

  "Then we can go home?" I asked. "We can do this?"

  "We're going home." She bobbed her head, a wide smile telling me everything I needed to know. "We're doing this."

  26

  Caramelize

  v. To heat sugar until it is melted and brown.

  Annette

  * * *

  "What is that?" Jackson murmured, his words vibrating against the tender skin at the junction of my neck and shoulder. "What is it and how do I make it stop?"

  It took a minute to hear anything other than my need for him. We'd only just set my things down inside his home when we reached for each other and we hadn't been able to let go since.

  After another trill, I leaned away, blinked, and glanced around his kitchen. After a long moment of concentrated listen-staring, I placed the noise. "It's my phone," I said, peering around him to see where I left my tote. Grocery bags loaded with kitchen tools littered the countertop, and my tote was hidden beneath it.

  "The only person who needs you now is right here," he said.

  "I know," I said, busy loosening his shirt buttons. "I'd rather ignore it but it just keeps ringing."

  With a grunt, Jackson scooped me up and set me on the countertop. He kept one hand on my backside and used the other to dig through the bags and then upend my purse. He sifted through lip balms and tampons, coins and hard candies to find my phone trilling under my wallet.

  "Where is the pepper spray I gave you?" he asked, holding the phone out of my reach. Brooke's picture flashed on the screen.

  "I didn't have room for it," I said, grabbing for my phone. The ringing stopped but then quickly started again. "She doesn't know how to back down. She'll just keep calling. Better yet, she'll show up at the door."

  "You didn't have room for it," Jackson said, still staring at the contents of my purse. "You have room for six different lipsticks but not one pepper spray." He turned his attention toward me, his eyebrow arched. "We'll talk about that later but don't doubt we'll talk about it."

  "I'm sure we will," I said, taking the phone from him. "Hi, Brooke."

  She didn't bother with pleasantries or preamble, instead launching right in. "Are you with him right now? I saw him walking you to his house with a bunch of bags but I need more information. Tell me everything."

  "Yes, I'm with Jackson." I smiled up at him
and his impatient scowl. "He took me home and I'm staying here. Me and all my stuff."

  The scowl softened into a smile I couldn't help but return. "It's about time you came around to those facts," he said.

  "It's my turn with you. Tell him to cut out the sweet sentiments for a minute," Brooke said. "What did he say? What did you say? What's happening now? I need to know!"

  Jackson stepped between my legs, pushed my skirt up to my waist. "Wrap it up," he said under his breath.

  "Are we still on for wine and lunch this weekend?" I asked.

  "Wine, yes. I can live without food," she replied. "But don't think you're leaving me hanging until then. I need all the details. Living vicariously through you is the only thing keeping me from going full-metal Kate Chopin and The Yellow Wallpaper."

  "I think you mean Charlotte Perkins Gilman," I replied. "You and Kate Chopin have other things in common."

  Jackson dragged his fingers up my inner thighs, grinning as if he was unwrapping the gift he'd always wanted. He did that to me, he made me believe I was worth treasuring.

  "Okay, whatever. Give me the literature lesson later," Brooke said. "Please get to the good parts. I'm growing old and weary over here."

  With my gaze locked on Jackson, I said to her, "You were at The Galley. You saw him drag me out of there."

  "Yes, kicking and screaming," she replied.

  "I'm probably going to get naked in his kitchen. I might even spank him. Then we're going to bed where we plan to sleep."

  "At least for a little while," Jackson murmured.

  "This is completely unacceptable as far as key details go," Brooke seethed. "You better choose me as your maid of honor after all the shit you've put me through with this man. I'm going to give the sloppiest, sappiest toast at your wedding and I'm going to make those evil stepsisters of yours my bridal party bitches. And you're definitely buying the wine this weekend."