“I don’t think you should bother.” He tugs my hair once. “Stay here for a minute.”
I crack one eye open, curious as he crosses the street toward a vendor’s cart. He returns with a paperboard cup and a spoon. He digs the spoon into the cup as I straighten, then holds it out to me. A perfectly luscious mound of chocolate ice cream awaits. I almost open my mouth to the promise of sweet, cool, chocolaty release. But I shake my head instead.
“No. Thanks, though.”
He turns his head slightly to one side, his left eyebrow raised. “What?”
“I can’t. Standard pre-event detox.” Why does everything have to circle back to Sadie’s wedding? “I promised Sadie I wouldn’t eat any more chocolate until . . . after.”
Drawing a deep breath, he pulls his upper lip behind his bottom teeth, then exhales. “You promised, or she told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” The spoon waves under my nose. “It’s not really chocolate, it’s ice cream.”
The swirls of fudge release a tantalizing sweet scent. “Close enough.”
Ryan steps closer, eyes narrowing and brows lowering as if this is a life or death situation. “Open your mouth.”
I clamp my lips shut and shake my head again.
“Carmella. Open up, or this ice cream is going all over your face.”
Despite the absurdity of the warning, he’s serious. He’s followed through on this sort of threat before. As obedient as I am when Tess makes me her recipe guinea pig, I accept the ice cream, glaring at Ryan all the while.
Smirking, he digs out a spoonful for himself. “She seriously made you give up chocolate until after her wedding?”
“It’s not that big a deal. Besides, I’m sure my hips will thank me.”
He almost chokes. “What?” he gasps, pounding his closed fist against his sternum a couple times. “Please tell me you’re joking. You’re one of the most―”
I plant my hands on said hips when he shoves another spoonful into his mouth instead of finishing his sentence. “Most what?”
“Never mind.”
“Most what, Ryan?”
The phrase ‘cornered gazelle in the Serengeti’ applies as he stares at me. After a few seconds, he turns away, leaning his elbows on the wall. “I was just gonna say you’re the last person who needs to worry about her hips. Or her hair.”
“You’re treading on dangerous ground.” I rest against the wall, my back to the ocean.
He nudges my arm. “You don’t need to change to please other people. You’re perfect the way you are.”
Frowning, I risk a glance at him, but he’s absorbed in scraping the last melted drops of ice cream from the paperboard cup.
If anyone’s perfect, it’s Ryan. Even wearing that stupid, ratty old University of Georgia baseball cap, he’s good-looking at thirty-two. Straight nose, square jaw, hint of a cleft in his chin. He served four years in the Marine Corps before moving to Georgia for college, and between his stint on the swim team and his regular fitness regimen, he’s kept a pretty athletic build. But all that aside, he’s one of the most generous, caring guys I know. He’d give you the shirt off his back, sometimes literally, to help you if you were in trouble. The whole reason Sadie and I met him in the first place was because of his instinct to protect people.
Sadie used to have a propensity for dating guys who were less than stellar gentlemen. Toward the end of our freshman year, she broke up with one such fine individual, only to be stalked by him for a good three weeks. I got caught in the crossfire when he cornered the two of us outside our dorm during finals week. He not only got in Sadie’s face, he got in mine, and things escalated too fast for us to handle. When he shoved me hard enough to knock me into an azalea bush and then went after Sadie, Ryan appeared and basically wrestled the jerk to the ground.
“Couldn’t walk by and let him do that to you,” he’d told us as the campus police carted Sadie’s ex-boyfriend away. From that point on, the three of us were inseparable.
Sadie must be crazy to let him go.
Ryan tosses his empty ice cream cup and spoon into a nearby garbage can and joins me in leaning against the wall. “So, what else do you have to look forward to in St. Croix, besides going into chocolate withdrawal?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”
He shrugs, stretching his arms along the top of the wall. “It’s okay. Really.”
My glance is wary, but his expression is calm, his hands relaxed. Risking the topic of conversation is his idea, so I might as well dive in.
“I don’t have a very good idea of the week’s schedule. Probably a bachelorette party, some awkward meals. I don’t even know if she’ll have a bridal shower or―”
I gasp, then slap my hand over my forehead and groan.
“What?” Ryan rubs his right hand across my back.
“I forgot to get Sadie a wedding gift.”
His hand drops. “I think your presence is a gift in and of itself.”
“Ryan. This is Sadie.” I smooth my hair back, adjusting my long, heavy ponytail. “Maybe I can order something tonight and just tell her it’ll get there late. She said something about a platter with dolphins on it that she really wants.”
“She still wants that ugly-ass platter?”
“I haven’t looked to see what else is even on the registry, so I don’t―” I freeze again, then cover my face, my cheeks rapidly heating and probably turning crimson. “Oh, God, Ryan. It was your registry, too, wasn’t it?”
This is getting worse and worse, Carmella-you-idiot.
His shrug bumps his arm into my back. “It was mostly stuff she wanted. No big deal.”
I grab the side of his shirt and give him a little shake. “It is a big deal! Why am I freaking out about this more than you are?”
Pulling his shirt free of my fingernails, he pats the back of my hand. “To be honest, the breakup was a long time coming. Like I said on the plane yesterday, it wasn’t just one thing. It was pretty mutual, actually. I think Sadie and I will end up being friends again at some point. We were always better at being friends anyway.”
I start to protest, but he slings his arm around my shoulders and nudges me into motion.
“Really, it’s fine. Listen, let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got a reservation for eight o’clock at the Italian restaurant. We’ll catch up on work stories and have a good time like we always do. It’ll be like old times, just like this afternoon.”
“But―”
“No buts, Carmel-cakes.” He pulls me to a stop, looking down at me. “Please, let me take you to dinner.”
I grimace, and the plea on his face squashes any argument I might have ready. “Okay. But really, no chocolate for dessert.”
Chapter 6
Conversations Over Dinner
Without knowing what to expect when I get to St. Croix, I only packed one cocktail dress snazzy enough for any high-end festivities leading up to Sadie’s wedding. The jersey dress, a bright cerulean blue, isn’t in my normal fashion plate, but Tess talked me into buying it for a fancy tasting event last year. After some consideration between the cocktail dress and a sundress patterned with white and red orchids, I decide on the blue. Strappy silver high-heeled sandals, intended for the wedding, and a thin white-gold chain clasped around my neck complete the outfit. Pressed for time, I give up on styling my unruly brown hair and let it fall free as it may.
Ryan knocks on the door just as I finish getting dressed. He looks like he’s grabbed a shower and shaved as well, trading in his shorts and ratty baseball hat for dress pants and a maroon button-down shirt.
“I’ll just be another second.” I hold the door open for him. “And I’m giving you fair warning, I’ll need to prop myself up on your arm if
I have to navigate any stairs in these heels.”
He doesn’t say anything while I squeeze my cell phone and key card into the tiny silver clutch purse that matches my shoes. I catch him staring at me, eyebrows raised as he props against the open door, hands in his pockets.
There’s a strong possibility I missed a few cat hairs in my lint-brush attack prior to packing. “What?” I do a quick turn in front of the mirror. “Is there still a slight essence of Moxley?”
“No.” He steps away from the door, then leans one shoulder into it as it starts to swing shut. He blinks, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.”
I glance down. The sweetheart neckline fits pretty tight across the bust, and the clingy fabric leaves little to the imagination. “I have a different dress.”
Ryan holds his hand out, almost tripping himself in an effort to keep the door open with one foot. “Really, no, you look great—fine. Great.”
My face relaxes into an easy smile. “Well, which is it?”
He shakes his head, gesturing me into the hallway with a grin. “You look fantastic, Carmella. You’re bound to break some hearts in St. Croix if you wear that dress.”
“Pfft.” I wave off the comment as we start toward the elevator. “You’re just trying to save face after that comment about my hips this afternoon.”
“You made the comment about your hips,” he reminds me. “I tried to compliment them.”
I jab one finger into his ribs. “You shouldn’t have replied at all. Have you learned nothing, young grasshopper?”
“I can hardly believe Sadie hasn’t picked out someone to set you up with,” he says as he presses the call button for the elevator.
His nonchalant tone surprises me, as it has for most of the past day and a half. I can’t figure it out. If I were in his shoes, I would be a blubbering mess of mascara and chocolate smears, surrounded by empty Snickers wrappers and Coke cans. What’s more, he keeps bringing the conversation back around to Sadie’s elopement, like he’s actually curious or something. For a while on the flight, I thought he might be seconds away from showing some anger, which would have said a lot about the breakup. Ryan is level-headed to the point of aggravation. Something really has to get under his skin for him to show any negative emotion.
Maybe the key to getting the full story out of him is riling him up. He must be pissed about Sadie running off to the Caribbean the way she did, even if he claims the breakup was mutual. They’ve known each other for almost nine years, six of those spent as a romantic couple.
Part of me wants to keep him talking, to get him complaining, and maybe opening up at last about what happened. Another part would rather leave it alone for now. But whether it’s for my sake or his, I can’t quite tell. Either way, I need to be careful and not try pushing his buttons too soon. Otherwise, he’ll completely clam up about everything.
With a ding, the elevator doors slide open to reveal the empty car, and Ryan follows me inside. “She has someone in mind for you, doesn’t she?”
His question pierces my musings, and I want to shake my head no. “What makes you think that?”
“Because she always does.” He hits the button for the lower lobby, then turns to effectively cut off my protest. “Every time you come to Atlanta for a visit, she sets you up with somebody. That guy from her work at Christmas, for example. Or the guy from my office in April. And don’t forget the string of jackasses she tried out during the two years you roomed with her after college.”
“She means well.” I can’t deny the blind dates and matchmaking attempts Sadie has made over the years. “She’s just not good at picking out guys who’d be a good fit for me.”
His silence is almost tangible as the elevator slows. “She doesn’t want you to be alone.”
I shrug and give him a grin. “She never got that I don’t mind being alone. I’m not lonely. I have Tess and work, and I have you guys.” With a mental slap, I shake my head. “Had you guys, I guess, is a better way to phrase it.”
“You still have both of us, Carmella.”
His fingertips brush the back of my arm, reassuring, and my eyes burn. Fortunately, we reach the hostess station at the restaurant entrance before I start crying. By the time the hostess shows us to our table, I regain my composure. Ryan pulls a chair out for me, and I ease onto the seat as smoothly as I can in my clingy dress and high heels.
“Anyway, you’re right. I think she’s planning to set me up with the best man.” I can’t say future brother-in-law out loud. If I’m going to get under his skin, it needs to be subtle. “But I have no intention of following through.”
“Not mildly curious?”
“Not mildly stupid.” I wait for him to sit down before perusing the menu. “I’m gonna take Tess’s advice to stand up for myself, and not let Sadie push me around on this trip.”
His frown puzzles me. “Isn’t the fact that you’re going a little contrary to that vow?”
I scan the list of salads before answering. “So you think I’m a pushover, too.”
He says nothing, and the implication bugs me. Ryan, of all people, understands why Sadie and I are friends. He’s the only person I never had to explain it to; the only one who never asked. Despite all her air-headed ideas and emphasis on appearance over substance, she’s always been there for me when it counted.
She picked me out of a crowd on registration day and showed me the ropes of our Georgia college town. When my grandfather died and I was stuck hundreds of miles from home, with no way to get back in time for the funeral services, she arranged for her dad to get me as far as the Newark airport when he was traveling to Manhattan on business. After college, with nothing in the landscape resembling a paying career for a newly-minted historian, she convinced her grandmother to let me cook and clean for her. And then, after she moved to Atlanta, she found me a temp job at her marketing office and let me rent her extra bedroom for far less than it was worth.
Ryan knows all this, and knows how she cried and pleaded with me to stay in Atlanta, instead of moving to Savannah to work for Tess and chase opportunities as a museum curator. He was the one who convinced me to do it, knew I needed to do it. They both promised to save space for me whenever I wanted to visit. I couldn’t see myself ever going home to New York, but Sadie and Ryan had my back in Georgia. I would be okay on my own in Savannah.
He reaches across the table and covers my hand. “You’re not a pushover. Sadie’s damn lucky to have a friend like you.”
My smile wobbles a bit, and the waiter’s appearance to take our drink order provides a much needed shift in focus. Once the waiter moves on, Ryan closes his menu and rests one elbow on the table, propping his chin in his palm.
“So, how’s Tess these days?”
“Oh, Tess is Tess. Assertive and driven as ever. She’s had some good luck the past couple months with weddings and other events around the Historic District.” I give him a quick rundown of the highlights, capping it off with the Telfair Academy shindig we catered a couple weeks ago. I can’t help sneaking in the tidbit about my lemon squares.
The waiter returns with our drinks and disappears with our dinner order.
“Sounds like you’re getting some experience under your belt for when you start your own business,” Ryan says.
Instead of answering, I take a tentative sip of my white Zinfandel.
He leans back, studying me. “Okay, you’ve talked about opening a bakery before. What’s with the avoidance?”
The stemware clinks against the edge of my bread plate as I set it down. “Yeah, I’ve talked about it. Just like people talk about climbing Mount Everest when there’s no possibility of it ever happening. I love baking, but the business end of the idea doesn’t appeal to me at all.”
“You never mentioned that part.”
I shrug, dipping one fingertip
into my water goblet and running it around the rim of my wine glass. “Nobody ever asks, honestly. I keep making comments about not having startup money or the right marketing savvy, and everyone just assumes I’m being modest or timid.”
“Ever thought about going into business with Tess, as her partner? Hasn’t she wanted to expand the bakery for a while now?”
The wine glass sings as my fingertip makes one final orbit. “Yeah. She’d like to offer breakfast and lunch during the week, maybe brunch on the weekends. It would mean either finding a bigger retail space or renovating her current location, hiring more staff . . .” I wipe my finger on my linen napkin. “I don’t know if she’s got the resources to make that happen.”
“So, what do you want to do? I mean, long term plans. Working for Tess pays the bills. But what do you really want to do with your life?”
“Really?” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “I want to get a Master’s degree in history and land a job with the Georgia Historical Society.” I spread my hands on the pristine white tablecloth. “Something that will let me research and educate. With time to work at Tess’s bakery on the side. That’s what I really want to do.”
He lets out a short whistle. “Well, then. Why don’t you do it?”
I select a warm roll from the basket in the center of the table and sit back. “Again, money is the biggest issue. Graduate school carries a higher price tag than undergraduate work. You know that, you already have a master’s degree.” A glob of butter clings to my knife as I point it at him. “Which you do nothing with, by the way.”
Better Than Chocolate (Sweet Somethings Book 1) Page 5