by Drea Stein
“What about you? What do you love?” His voice was low, and he saw she stiffened, as if he had struck a nerve. Good, that’s exactly what he wanted to do. She threw a look over her shoulder as she moved through the tables and racks stocked with what he decided could only be called knick-knacks.
“Candles are nice,” she said finally, picking up a colorful box and putting it down with a sigh.
“But that’s not what you want, is it?” He came up behind her. He could smell the shampoo she used in her hair, something like flowers, or maybe lemon. Whatever it was it smelled good and he had to resist the urge to bury his nose into the golden caramel colored glory of it.
“Are you sniffing me?” She turned and poked at him.
He rocked back on his feet. “Just testing.”
“Testing what?” Her eyes narrowed, and he was sure that he could see that her pulse was beating fast, in the little hollow of her neck, where her jacket was open, revealing the V-neck of her pale blue sweater. Her skin looked soft, touchable, and he took a step toward her. She didn’t pull away, just stood there, looking up at him from under her long, dark lashes.
“I wanted to see which smelled better, you or the candle.”
“And?” she asked.
He leaned down, and she didn’t move, just let him move in close so that he could whisper in her ear, “You, by a long shot.”
There was a pause, and he slowly moved away, still looking into her eyes, those giant brown eyes with their golden flecks.
“Just so you know, I’m hoping you’ll let me kiss you again,” he said as casually as he could, as if he could care less about the answer. He realized that his hands were wrapped tightly around the candle, and that they were slick and wet, sweaty with nervousness. He cared very much what she would say to that.
“Now?” she said. Their lips were hovering just a few inches from each other, and she looked bemused, as if she couldn’t quite remember where she was or what she had been doing.
“No, I don’t think so. There’s a woman over there,” he said, his voice a whisper. “I think she’s the owner, and she’s staring at us.”
“Oh,” Tory shot back now and looked around, then nodded. “It is the owner. Hi, Mrs. Altieri,” she called out with a wave of her hand.
“Tory,” the woman’s voice had that sharp New England accent, the one he was slowly growing accustomed to—the one he recognized as conveying all sorts of meaning, but mostly he supposed, suppressed disapproval.
“Let me guess, you know her,” he asked, rocking back.
“She’s good friends with my mom.” Tory nodded, her eyes twinkling as a charming rush of embarrassment crawled up her face.
He nodded. So that would explain the death stare he felt boring into his back. He supposed there was a time and a place for everything. As much as he wanted to pull Tory into his arms—or even better into his car so he could drive away with her—he didn’t think that would win him the support he was looking for. If the town was looking out for Tory, he’d just have to win the town over, one shopkeeper and cop at a time. He decided he didn’t care what the quarterback thought.
He smiled as coolly as he could and looked down at the candle in his hand. “I guess I will take a few of these. Think she’ll wrap them for me?”
“If you’re buying more than one, I am sure she will.”
“I don’t suppose you’re just trying to help out your mother’s friend, having me buy these insanely overpriced candles?”
Tory smiled, and he felt his heart pound just a bit harder.
“Well, Joan, I mean Mrs. Altieri, does tend to think more highly of people who buy things from her.”
“Let me guess, the more you spend, the more she likes you?”
Tory nodded and gave him a full-on, mischievous smile. She had, he decided, very kissable lips.
“And you said she’s friends with your mother?” Colby remembered Linda Somers’ sharp-tongued questions about him and the implicit suggestion that he wasn’t quite good enough for her daughter.
“Very best friends.” Tory’s voice had dropped conspiratorially, and the husky whisper had him beginning to feel just a little bit aroused. He’d kissed Tory Somers just once and had never seen her without her clothes on, yet she turned him on more than any other woman he’d met.
“I don’t suppose I should try to negotiate with her?”
“She hates bargain shoppers,” Tory said.
“How about I throw in some of those … what do you call ’em?” He gestured toward a stack of linen-looking fabric with bright patterns.
“Tea towels, you mean?”
He nodded.
“She’d be singing your praises to all the right people.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Ok then. I need to get back to work now,” she said, and she moved, stumbling slightly as she made her way to the door. He walked her to it, opened it for her and, as she brushed past him, he touched his forehead, just as if he had a cowboy hat.
She smiled, almost laughing, and then she was gone, walking down the street, shooting him one last look before she turned the corner and vanished.
Satisfied, he walked up to the counter to pay for his French linen tea towels and fancy, all natural, organic soy, lightly scented candles that he was sure none of the wives and girlfriends could care less about. Still, he considered it an investment in goodwill, a down payment on Linda Somers’ approval, so he turned on all of his Southern charm with Mrs. Altieri in the hopes that some would find its way back to Tory’s mom, who he was pretty sure hadn’t taken to him.
Chapter 25
Tory stepped out of her door and almost tripped on the package before she noticed it. It was white, perfectly square and tied with a purple ribbon. The door next to hers opened and Jake stepped out onto the walkway in front of their apartments.
“Did you see who put this here?”
His bulk leaned over her, and he shook his head. “Nope, didn’t see it. But I was working late, then I came home and crashed. Could’ve been a hurricane coming through, and I wouldn’t have known it.”
Tory looked out and around to determine if any clues could be found.
“Are you going to open it?” Jake asked, a half-scowl, half-grimace on his face as he rocked back and forth easily on his heels.
“I need scissors,” she said. They hadn’t spoken since the other night and Jake’s interruption. Tory decided that ignoring the awkwardness was the best way around it.
He sighed, fished in his pocket until he pulled out a pocket knife, which he opened and handed carefully to her.
“Are you going to watch?” she asked pointedly.
“You’re using my knife,” he answered.
She shook her head and, setting the package on the railing and steadying it with one hand, she cut the strings with the knife and handed it back to Jake.
Slowly she took off the paper and saw that, whatever it was, it was wrapped in thick plastic bubble wrapping. She broke the seal with her fingernail and started to laugh.
Jake leaned over. “A candle?”
Tory carefully pulled out the squat little candle with vertical stripes of white and sage green. It smelled of citrus and lavender, and she breathed it in, while her eyes looked at the note written in black ink. She recognized the handwriting immediately.
Really wanted to get on Mrs. A’s good side, so I bought a few extra. Enjoy. Colby
P.S. Can’t wait to see you….
“An all-organic soy candle. It’s sort of an inside joke” she explained.
“Sounds serious.” Jake said, his voice smug.
“What do you mean?” Tory asked absently, since she was too busy trying not to laugh.
“He’s sending you presents.”
“It’s just a candle.”
“Exactly. Now if he’d sent you flowers then you’d be fine.”
“What?”
“Flowers are easy, simple. Every guy sends flowers. We send flowers to say we’r
e sorry, to wish you a happy birthday, to butter you up so you’ll let us in your pants for the night. And then we’ll send you flowers to say thanks for letting us in your pants.”
“What is this from – the dating guide for ex-jocks,” Tory said, though she felt a flutter of unease. Stevie had been big on flowers and she had taken it as a sign of true love.
“You know, that’s not really a thing.” Jake said, but she wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.
“Never mind, go on.”
“Well, he’s not sending you flowers.”
“So,” Tory said, though she decided she might feel better if that’s all Colby was sending her. A clear message that he wanted a simple, straight-forward relationship built on mutual attraction for each other.
“He sent you a candle.”
“Is that better or worse?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one said it was inside joke. Means he put a lot of thought into it.”
Jake waited a beat. “Ready to run yet?”
Tory willed her heartbeat to slow down. She knew Jake was teasing her. Sort of.
“Not to you. I already told you that I wouldn’t be your plus one. So what if Colby sends me a candle? Just shows me he has more imagination than the rest of you guys.”
“I just don’t understand you girls. Never know if you want steady and sure or wild and unpredictable.”
“Maybe if you stopped thinking of us as girls, you’d get a little further along,” Tory told Jake as she pushed up off the railing and opened her door. She needed to get to work, and she wanted to take a moment to read the note from Colby alone. She was as giddy…well just as giddy as a geeky girl who’d been asked to the prom by the star lacrosse player. She took a deep breath, telling herself that it was just a candle.
Chapter 26
“What are you two up to?” Tory asked, dropping the mail she had picked up from the mailbox onto the spot on the counter where it normally went. Her mother would ruthlessly sort through it later, saving catalogs she wanted to read, setting aside her father’s mail, placing important bills that needed to be paid off into the organizer on her desk. Everything in Linda Somers’ life had a place.
Her mother and Joan Altieri looked up from where they were huddled around their two laptops. It looked like they were on the internet.
Tory’s mother quickly closed the cover of one of the computers, effectively cutting it off from view.
“Is that a new laptop?” Tory asked, looking over in interest. Her mother had used an old desktop for years, and had always said she didn’t need a new computer, despite Tory’s repeated offers to help her pick one out.
“No, umm, yes, sort of.”
“You bought one?” Tory said, going to take a closer look. She couldn’t help herself, a new computer to her was like a new toy to a four-year-old.
“Why didn’t you ask me? I would have helped you pick it out.”
“You seemed busy, and it’s just a small one.” Linda Somers smiled brightly as Tory moved closer, but her body was tense and rigid. Her mother clearly didn’t want her to take a closer look. Tory stopped, puzzled but amused. Maybe her mom and Joan had been looking at something slightly risqué. A gossip site, or perhaps they had discovered what happened when they mistyped something in the search box. You never knew where you would land.
Joan, being a good friend, closed her laptop as well, so Tory couldn’t look there either. Ok, so it would be snooping if she kept asking—but, hey, both of them were acting squirrelly, and she couldn’t help herself. They were up to something, she was sure of it.
“Joan was just trying to help me open a social media account,” her mom said as she moved over to the counter and opened up a Tupperware container which Tory was sure contained a full meal. Her mother cooked in bulk every Sunday, froze it, and they efficiently re-heated the different meals throughout the week.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Tory shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t really stay. I forgot a jacket I wanted in my old closet. Mind if I run in and get it?”
“Of course not,” her mother said, and Tory was almost certain her mom sounded relieved to hear that she wasn’t planning on sticking around.
Tory ran up the stairs. A landing ran along the second floor, one way leading off to her parents’ bedroom. To the other side was Tory’s old bedroom. At some point, her mother had realized she would have only Tory and had knocked down the wall between the two bedrooms so that Tory had a combination bed and sitting room. It had felt pretty big as a kid growing up. There had been plenty of room for her to sleep and study, the wall lined with bookshelves and then a big work table for her projects and computers.
Now, though, her mother had straightened and cleaned it up. True, the framed photographs and pictures they had picked out together were still there, but her mom had taken down the big poster of Einstein and a few other pieces of geek memorabilia that Tory had hung up.
She glanced over at the night table. There was a stack of books there, and reading glasses. Tory moved closer, perused the titles. She was pretty sure they were from her mom’s book club, and that the glasses belonged, too, to her mom. They were one of her several pairs of reading glasses that she left scattered throughout the house and her purse, so she always has one handy. She wondered if her mom was slowly taking over the room for her own.
Tory suppressed the small feeling of nostalgia that washed over her. Her mother had been very supportive of her moving out, saying something about a woman needing a room of her own. At least her mom had kept some things, she thought as she walked over to the bookcase where her mom kept the collection of trophies and ribbons Tory had won at math and science and robotics competitions. Everything was dust-free and shiny bright.
Tory shook her head. She hadn’t made friends easily, being shy and quiet—and, to be honest, there hadn’t been a lot of girls as into robots and computers as she’d been, which was why she was glad for Lynn and Phoebe. Though they didn’t have a lot of interest in computers, they were intelligent, capable women who didn’t care if Tory was still a bit of a geek at heart.
Still all those years ago, it had been her mom who’d been the most understanding. A lot of moms would have fretted about their teenaged daughter’s lack of social life and odd ball interests. But not her mom. Her mom had always figured out a way for Tory to get that new computer or take a special class or whatever else she needed. And she’d been like a friend too, telling Tory that high school wasn’t life, that there was plenty of time to blossom after high school. In fact her mom had strongly encouraged her not to date, to stay away from boys, from the social scene, instead making sure she focused on homework and getting into college.
She sighed. She’d done everything right, stuck to the plan. Until Stevie. He’d been one big derailment. At least he had knocked up the other woman, not Tory. Not that she would mind having kids. Not now, but at some point in the future, the very distant future. Still she’d promised herself that she would never get as carried away about a man as she had about Stevie.
And here she was, making a special trip to her old bedroom to get the jacket she wanted to wear. All because she couldn’t stop thinking about Colby and their date and the candle. She hadn’t heard from him since, and the anticipation was making her jumpy. Why did hormones always seem to win out over good sense?
She found the jacket she was looking for in the back of her closet, almost left it and then grabbed it. She might as well look good while she going off the rails, she thought as she headed back down to the kitchen.
“That Colby Reynolds seems like a nice young man. Bought about ten candles the other day,” Joan Altieri said, her hands warming up over a mug of tea as Tory emerged into the kitchen.
Her mother, also holding a cup of tea between her hands, looked up at Tory sharply, as if this was news to her.
“Colby is very nice,” Tory said, choosing her words carefully. Suddenly the kitchen, which her mother had careful
ly planned and worked to be more open, felt decidedly cramped and, even though the oven wasn’t on, quite warm.
Tory took her eyes off of Joan and looked at her mother. Her mother had put her cup down, and sat with her hands folded in front of her.
“Linda, have you seen him? You know, that tall, rugged fellow who wears cowboy boots and is always driving one of those classic cars around town?”
“Ah yes, Colby the cowboy.” Tory recognized the tone in her mother’s voice, but she was pretty sure that Joan did not. It was gentle, yet disapproving.
“He’s not a cowboy,” Tory defended Colby. “He buys and sells classic cars.”
“Oh, that’s right, he’s a used car dealer,” Mrs. Somers said, and there was all the bite of a New England Nor’easter in her words.
Tory fought back the urge to roll her eyes and shrug her shoulders, “Technically, all of the classic cars he deals with are used so, yes, I guess he is a used car dealer.”
Joan gave a little laugh. “I wouldn’t consider that absolutely beautiful Mustang he let you drive a used car. It’s as shiny as the day it rolled off the showroom floor. Remember when Bob Miller showed up in one of those? Convinced me to cut class to take a ride out to Lighthouse Point.”
“Yes, Joan, I remember very well. And as I recall, Joan, you almost flunked math that year because you spent so much time trying to figure out how to get a ride in that car.”
“Well, I didn’t flunk, and I did get a ride in that car,” Joan said with a touch of mischief in her voice.
“And remember what happened? He told you he ran out of gas and tried to get a good time off of you,” Tory’s mom said tartly, as if that proved her point which, Tory supposed, it did.
She turned her attention back to Tory, “Goes to show you that you shouldn’t go after a boy just because he has a nice car.”
Joan laughed. “I seem to remember George had a nice little car you didn’t mind riding around in, Linda.”
Linda turned on her friend quickly, the look on her face a mix of … what? Anger? Fear? Joan just sat there, placidly sipping her tea as if nothing had happened.