Sweet Escape (Sugar Rush #2)

by Nina Lane

  With Luke and Polly engaged, Hannah was part of the Stone family now. If she came back to Rainsville, she’d be included in whatever event or party Julia hosted.

  The thought was both unsettling and reassuring. Because Hannah had roots here, something to bring her back. But she might very well not want to come back. Not once the world took hold of her again.

  He shook off his musings and focused on a slew of emails about Sugar Rush’s connection to the Singa Corporation. After several tries on the phone, he got ahold of Sam Walker, the VP whom Luke had put in charge of the Fair Trade Foundation.

  “Sugar Rush barely uses the freaking palm oil,” Sam said, his voice distant and crackly due to the static on the line. “You’d need a microscope to find it in our products. And it’s way more cost effective to get our supply from them.”

  “That’s not the point,” Evan retorted. “We stopped doing business with Singa years ago. We’re not starting up with them again. And the point of the Fair Trade Foundation is to ensure that both Sugar Rush and the companies we deal with adhere to a set of responsible procurement policies based on sustainability.”

  “Yeah, and how expensive is that going to get?”

  “This isn’t about cost,” Evan snapped. “Social responsibility needs to be at the core of Sugar Rush’s culture. Not just as a long-term investment, but because consumers want it and because it’s an inroad into new markets and partnerships. And it’s the right thing to do. We can’t have an old partnership, which was severed years ago, ruin what we’re trying to do now.”

  “Singa started the Palm Oil Initiative,” Sam argued. “Ten companies are part of it now, committed to sustainable practices and certification.”

  “And those companies have all continued to destroy rainforests and peatland,” Evan said. “You need to review the Fair Trade principles I drew up. I will not sign off on doing business with any company we know is involved in destructive practices.”

  “Your brother is going to have issues with that, at least once he sees the expense reports.”

  “Luke isn’t in charge. I am.”

  Evan dropped the phone back into the receiver. He logged on to his computer. Four VPs had forwarded him social media posts about Sugar Rush’s involvement with the Singa Corporation. One of them was titled “Sugar Rush’s Un-Fair Trade Foundation.”

  Shit.

  Evan hit the button on his intercom. “Kate?”

  “Yes, sir,” the executive assistant replied.

  “We need an emergency board meeting about this palm oil issue. All the VPs and the media liaison. ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make calls right away. The boardroom is available at two. Sue Rendell has a meeting at one-thirty, but I’ll see if she can postpone it. I’ll call catering to prepare snacks, and I’ll make copies of all the sustainability documentation.”

  Not until Kate had started working temporarily for him had Evan understood the value of a ridiculously efficient assistant.

  He thanked her and stood, rolling his shoulders back to ease the tension. Part of him wanted to call Luke and hash this out. He’d always relied on his older brother when the going got rough. But he’d committed himself to handling this alone.

  Strengthening Sugar Rush’s social responsibility was the mark he needed to make on this company. He couldn’t do it directly through the Fair Trade Foundation, but he sure as hell wouldn’t allow anyone else to mar the company’s reputation for good, ethical business practices.

  His cell phone buzzed with a call from Hannah.

  “Hi,” she said. “I L B L eight.”

  “What?”

  “Tonight,” she said. “I L B L eight.”

  “Are you eating something? You sound garbled.”

  “It’s a text abbreviation.”

  Evan picked up a pen. “Say it again.”

  “I L B L eight.”

  “Oh. You’ll be late.”

  “Yes. I have to work until six, so I’ll be late for dinner.”

  “Why didn’t you just text that?”

  “I wanted to call so you could hear my voice.”

  A slow grin spread across Evan’s face. “You remembered.”

  “Of course.”

  “U R,” he said, “a Q T.”

  “Good one.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Her laugh puffed into his ear like a dandelion. “Coming from the Heartbreaker, I’d have expected you to ask what are you wearing?”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “An apron covered with gooey dough,” Hannah said wryly. “I’m trying to make a rhubarb lavender pie. It has not been successful.”

  “You got me thinking about you wearing nothing but an apron,” Evan said. “By my estimation, that is a rousing success. And I do mean rousing.”

  She chuckled again. He could see her standing in Wild Child’s kitchen with her hair tied back in a tangled ponytail, her face dusted with flour, the scooped neck of her shirt revealing her elegant collarbones.

  “I gotta go,” she said. “H and K. B four N.”

  “C U L eight R,” Evan replied. “L H six.”

  “L H six? What does that mean?”

  “Look it up.”

  He ended the call, only half remembering what he’d been doing before talking to Hannah.

  A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with a text: OMG. LOL! OK.

  Evan turned back to his computer, unable to stop smiling. A feeling rose in him that he didn’t recognize. Something intensely good.

  Forelsket. The euphoria of starting to fall in—

  He blocked the thought. No way would he let his heart go there.

  Chapter

  FIFTEEN

  Returning to Wild Child after the weekend away with Evan was like reentering the atmosphere. Hannah felt as if she were in a dream-like fog, one she’d experienced before when immersed in an unexpected wonder of the world—the canopy of green trees and temple silhouettes in Burma, the crashing majesty of Victoria Falls, a herd of gazelles leaping over the golden-brown plains of the Serengeti.

  Except then she’d always been alone. She’d chosen to be alone. Much less risk of getting hurt.

  She smothered her unease over the acknowledgement that she didn’t feel alone with Evan. She’d been upfront with him from the start about leaving as soon as Polly returned. She didn’t have to feel guilty about enjoying his company.

  She did think about his health, though. Part of her was still in disbelief that her big, strong Evan could ever have so much as a cold, much less a serious medical issue. His heart defect explained why he hadn’t gone on roller coasters at the boardwalk, why his mother’s foundation helped special-needs children, why he disliked girlfriends with a caretaker complex, why he’d reacted angrily to Hannah’s remark about wanting to make him “feel better.”

  The knowledge of his condition also intensified her feelings for him—she liked him even more for trusting her with the truth, and her admiration for him increased tenfold. She tried to set aside a newfound fear, focusing on the fact that Evan was much stronger and more capable than men with no medical issues at all.

  He had also been right about Napa—the romance of the valley and all its offerings had given Hannah quite a bit of material for her blog. She started writing posts about the bike trips, the Wine Train, and the station with its own “love lock” bridge.

  But as she worked, Hannah still drew a blank when it came to compiling a new manuscript for Elaine Miller of Franklin Publishing. She would not rewrite her history into a “sex-starved woman abroad” memoir, and she didn’t want to dredge up her own romantic history, or lack thereof, to add a personal flavor to her essays.

  All she had to offer was her photography and her reporter’s posts about love traditions. If that wasn’t enough for Franklin Publishing, then Hannah wasn’t enough.

  The blank was the only thing marring her thoughts, especially now that Evan came into Wild Child every day during his lun
ch hour.

  Sparks of happiness flared inside Hannah whenever she turned and saw him standing on the other side of the counter, his hands in his pockets, his gaze on her, and his beautiful mouth curved into a smile.

  She started setting aside his usual order of a ham-and-cheese croissant sandwich, followed by a Declair from her secret stash and a cup of coffee. Sometimes, if it wasn’t too busy, she’d sit with him for a few minutes and ask about how things were going at Sugar Rush. He’d then return after work to either take her out or spend the evening in her apartment, which invariably led to very hot and satisfying overnights.

  Four days of this routine passed before Hannah realized that her thoughts of leaving had lessened. They hadn’t gone completely silent—thinking about where to go next was such a habit for her that she doubted she’d ever be rid of it completely—but now her mind had shifted to when will I see Evan next?

  She even caught herself glancing at the clock after the morning Declair rush was over, calculating how long it would be before he walked in the door. She felt silly about her reaction, but she also rather liked it. She’d forgotten how good it felt to have a crush on a boy. A real “like him like him” crush that went beyond physical attraction.

  Though she was certainly physically attracted to Evan. In truckloads, if her body’s reaction was anything to judge by. Her breath shortened every time his fingers brushed hers when he handed her the money for the Declairs. She watched the movement of his mouth as he chewed, remembering the sensation of his lips on hers. Her gaze drifted over the strong column of his throat exposed by his unbuttoned collar, and then down over the breadth of his chest. Little tingles washed through her as she imagined the sensation of his warm, taut skin beneath her palms.

  For the first time in more years than Hannah cared to think about, she was content. She couldn’t stay in town, of course, and this thing with Evan would burn out like her affairs always did, but she was happy to enjoy it while it lasted.

  “So I invented a cake recipe this morning,” she told him, setting a cup of coffee on the table.

  His eyebrows lifted. “You invented a dessert?”

  “You and all your sugar-rushness got me thinking more about savory desserts. Wait here.” She went into the kitchen and returned with golden-brown cake. “When I was in Greece, I tried olive oil cake, which isn’t too sweet. So this is a riff on semolina olive oil cake, which I flavored with bergamot, orange, and basil.”

  Evan looked at the cake a bit skeptically. “Sounds like a perfume.”

  “It’s a dessert.” She sliced a piece and put it on a plate for him.

  “Where’s the frosting?”

  She tweaked his ear. “Eat it.”

  He took a bite and spent a rather inordinately long time chewing and swallowing.

  “Well?” Hannah regarded him expectantly. “What do you think?”

  “It’s good. Zesty. It could use frosting, and I think I’d call it more of a snack than a dessert, but you did good, Sahnehäubchen.”

  She smiled. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or not, but I’ll take it.”

  “I don’t want you to get a swelled head.”

  “Hmm. I kind of like it when you get a swelled head.”

  He flashed her a grin as he dug his fork into the cake again. “Let’s have dinner at L’Etoile tonight. They’re known for their profiteroles. No way will you be able to turn them down.”

  “Challenge accepted.” Hannah picked up the cake plate. “I’ll be ready at seven.”

  This would be the second time this week he’d taken her out to a fancy restaurant. Come to think of it, they’d only ever gone to outrageously expensive or luxurious places that Hannah could never have afforded on her own. When she was traveling alone, they’d also never held much appeal for her.

  Of course, with Evan everything was appealing, and she was both flattered by and grateful for his generosity, but even though they’d only been “together” for less than a week, it had all been on his level of rare wines and caviar. Soon they’d end up at his custom-made mansion with its waterfall swimming pool and five-car garage.

  And six months from now, when she was sharing a room with half a dozen fellow travelers in a low-budget hostel, she’d think of Evan in his huge house and remember the world of luxury she’d lived in for a short time.

  She wouldn’t long for that world, but she might very well long for him.

  An ache pushed at her. The wind chimes over the door jingled. Hannah turned, welcoming the distraction from the thought of pining for Evan.

  A bearded man and a woman with short, curly hair entered, both dressed in jeans and T-shirts with backpacks hitched around their shoulders. Hannah’s brain stuttered for a second before she recognized them.

  “Hey, Hannah.” The man grinned as they approached the counter.

  “Peter.” Hannah looked from him to the woman. “And Laura. What in the world are you both doing here?”

  “We were in San Francisco and remembered your post about working at Wild Child,” Laura said. “So we thought we’d drive down and see if you were still here.”

  “And we heard about the famous Declairs, too,” Peter added. “Any chance of us getting one?”

  “Sure, hold on. I have a secret stash in the back. Have a seat.”

  As they moved to sit down, Hannah hurried into the back to get a couple of Declairs. She poured two cups of coffee and brought them over to her friends’ table along with the Declairs. Aware of Evan watching her, she turned and gestured to him.

  “Evan, these are my friends Peter and Laura,” she explained. “We connect on the road sometimes. Peter does archaeological volunteer work, and Laura is a writer.”

  They exchanged greetings. Evan turned his attention back to his laptop. Hannah pulled a chair up to the table.

  “How long are you staying here?” she asked.

  “Just a couple of days.” Laura bit into the Declair with a noise of appreciation. “There are discounted tickets to the UK through SFO right now, and we were thinking of heading to Ireland.”

  “We were wondering if you wanted to go with us,” Peter added.

  Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. “Go with you?”

  “There’s that County Clare Matchmaking Festival later this month,” Laura said. “I was there a couple of years ago in this little town where there are also a bunch of spas. The town matchmakers help single people find partners. And there’s a horse race and music and stuff.”

  “We figured you could write about it for your blog,” Peter added. “Unless you already have.”

  Hannah shook her head slowly, unable to look in Evan’s direction though she felt him watching her.

  “No,” she said. “I haven’t.”

  “Great, then come along.” Laura beamed. “Lowest price tickets we’ve seen in a while. When can you be ready?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “Okay, well, we were planning to leave on Thursday,” Peter said.

  “Can I think about it and let you know?” Hannah asked. “I promised my sister I’d run her bakery, so she wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea of me running off to Ireland.”

  “You could always take a couple of days to visit her,” Laura said with a shrug.

  “I’ll let you know,” Hannah repeated, pushing her chair back.

  She returned to the front counter and started rearranging the baskets to give herself something to do. Restlessness seethed through her veins. With its emerald-green hills and sweeping vistas, Ireland pulled at her.

  But Evan pulled at her harder. The sky over the Cliffs of Moher were no match for his blue eyes. The heating effects of Irish whiskey were nothing compared to the warmth of his smile. Her heart would never dance at the sight of a historic castle the way it did when Evan walked through the door. Her love for the savage beauty of Connemara paled in comparison to her love for—

  She shook her head. Her jaw tightened against a sudden sting of tears.

  S
illy girl. Her defenses were down. All these months stuck in Rainsville had weakened her. She’d find her old self again once she got back on the road. And a matchmaking festival in Ireland… well, if that wasn’t a sign that she needed to travel abroad right now, she didn’t know what was.

  The bell over the door jingled again. Hannah looked up, her interest piquing at the sight of Mr. Becker holding the door open for an attractive, elderly woman wearing a peach-colored suit. As he guided the woman to a table by the windows, he caught Hannah’s eye and winked.

  She gave him a discreet thumbs-up and hurried to make a fresh pot of Darjeeling tea. She went to their table as Mr. Becker held out the chair for his lady friend.

  “Welcome to Wild Child,” she said pleasantly. “We have fresh-baked cranberry muffins, and the pastry chef is just putting the finishing touches on our tiramisu flan and our orange-carrot cake.”

  “That all sounds lovely, dear.” Miss Purdy smiled at Hannah as she patted Mr. Becker’s hand. “You choose.”

  “Two pieces of the carrot cake, please.” Mr. Becker almost glowed with happiness.

  “Coming right up. I have a fresh pot of Darjeeling almost ready for you.”

  She fetched their order and brought it to their table on a tray. They were whispering like two teenagers, unable to take their eyes off each other.

  How sweet. Clearly they’d made the match themselves the old-fashioned way. A lovely tradition in its own right, but one she’d never actually written about.

  She approached Laura and Peter as they stood to leave.

  “Hey, thanks for the invitation,” she said. “But I can’t leave Rainsville… at least, not yet. I promised my sister I’d stay until she returns, so I have to keep my promise.”

  “Okay.” Peter shrugged, accustomed to last-minute changes of plan. “Just let us know if you change your mind.”

  “The ticket sale lasts until the end of the week.” Laura gave Hannah a hug. “Great to see you again.”