by Tawna Fenske
She’s taken aback. “Oh. Well.” She presses her palms against the table and looks down at her hands like she’s trying to identify them as part of her body. When she looks up at me again, her expression is unreadable. “I’m not really dating right now. My last relationship ended badly, and I’m really focused on work right now, so—”
“Amber, it’s fine,” I assure her. “I’m appreciating your company, not naming our future children.”
She nods, but looks uncertain. Her hands rest on the table, and she twists her fingers into a complicated knot. “I—uh—have sort of a weird track record with men,” she says. “Being someone’s hood ornament or trophy or whatever instead of holding out for respect.”
“If it helps, I respect the hell out of you,” I tell her. “Even before you showed up with a dead turkey and a crossbow and knocked me unconscious.”
She laughs as her cheeks pinken just a little. “Sorry about that. And I’m sorry for dumping all this on you. I’ve dated a lot of bullshit artists, and you don’t seem like one.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sure you’re a totally nice guy.”
“Mostly.”
Her expression is the same one I expect she’d wear if I told her I have Santa and the Pope making bruschetta in my kitchen, but I decide to let it drop. The girl clearly has some trust issues. If we’re going to be friends, it’ll take more than a charcuterie tray to win her over.
“I should go.” Amber stands up fast, nearly toppling her chair. “I need to get back to the ranch for feeding time.”
I get to my feet more slowly, not quite sure what just happened. “So you’ll be in touch about the wedding thing?”
“Oh. Yes. Um, here—let me add you to my contacts.” She pulls out her phone and flutters her thumbs over the screen, keying in my name. “What’s your number?”
I rattle it off, and she types in the digits, then taps the screen. As my butt begins to vibrate, she nods in confirmation. “There. Now you have me in your phone.”
I pull it from my pocket, ignoring the alert indicating I have five missed calls from my mother. I tap to answer Amber’s call, doing my best to keep a straight face. “Hello?”
She grins at me, but plays along. “Hey, is Sean there?”
“Speaking.”
“Sean, this is Amber.”
“Amber who?”
Her eyes dance as her smile widens. “Amber King. I was wondering if you’d be willing to stop by my ranch tomorrow between five and six. You can take a look at the space and we can talk more about the wedding.”
“I’m going to need to look at my calendar. Can you hold, please?”
“Certainly.”
I pull the phone from my ear and hold it against my chest. Amber gives me a curious look.
“It’s a bad idea to seem too available,” I whisper. “My sister told me that.”
“Ah.” Amber smiles and nods. “Good thinking,” she whispers back.
I bring the phone back to my ear. “Amber?”
“Yes?”
“Yeah, I can do tomorrow evening. Want me to bring dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“Sure. Some samples of wedding food you can taste test.”
“Oh, that’s an awesome idea. Yes, please.”
“It’s a date, then.” I click off, oddly bummed to end the call. I could keep flirting with her like this all evening.
No, we’re not flirting. It’s just professional banter. We’ve made that clear. I shove my phone into my pocket and turn toward the door. “Come on. I’ll walk you out. I need to go chop firewood anyway.”
She follows me toward the lobby, trailing just a few steps behind me. I get the sense she’s hesitating, and I wonder if she wasn’t really serious about leaving.
“Sean, wait.”
I turn around fast. Too fast, since Amber runs right into me. I grab her arms without thinking, not wanting her to fall. Her hands go to my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s a block or a grope. She tilts her head back and looks at me, eyes widening just a little.
I get this crazy sense she’s going to kiss me. I hold my breath, wondering what the hell is happening. Her lips part, and she looks up at me with dizzying heat in those brown eyes. I don’t move, determined not to fuck this up.
“I—um—” She licks her lips, eyes still fixed on mine. Her palms stay pressed to my chest, and I’m still holding her arms, so I’m a little mind-whacked from all this contact.
Her throat moves as she swallows, and her palms skid slowly down my chest. It’s the softest caress I’ve ever felt, so gentle I’m not even sure that’s what it was.
“Damn,” she whispers, shaking her head.
When she raises her gaze to mine again, my heart lodges thick in my throat. I know I should say something, but I’m not sure what. “Amber—”
Bree’s voice bursts through the doors. “Hey, Sean, where’s my turkey?”
Amber and I spring apart like a pair of cats hit with a squirt bottle. My sister shoves her dark curls off her forehead gives me a look that says she knows damn well she just interrupted something.
But we’re Bracelyns, so we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen.
“Hey, Amber,” Bree says, her expression offering only the faintest flicker that she knows something’s up. “I didn’t know you were here. Jade called and said you had my turkey?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Amber nods, avoiding my eyes. “I left it next to the bar, right beside the crossbow.”
“Excellent.” Bree grins. “You ladies were the first ones who came to mind when I thought of where to get a stuffed turkey.”
“Glad to help.” Amber looks back at me. “So I’ll see you tomorrow? For the meeting. The catering thing, I mean.”
“Definitely.” I do my best to match her oh-so-professional tone. “I can bring some sample menus, too.”
Amber’s gaze slides back to Bree, and I can tell she wants my sister to know there’s no hanky panky happening. Nothing but a business meeting. “Perfect.”
I keep a straight face, determined to go along with that. To pretend what just happened between us wasn’t the hottest near-miss kiss of my life.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I add, my voice cracking only a little.
Chapter 3
AMBER
“God, I’m such a dumbass,” I mutter.
My sister glances up as I stomp into the kitchen. It’s not the first time I’ve greeted her like this, but should it bother me that she doesn’t look surprised?
“What happened?” Jade asks.
I love that she phrases it that way. Not “what did you do?” or “who’d you grope now?”
Not that she’d have any reason to suspect I accidentally manhandled our neighbor.
I slump onto one of the barstools and run a hand over the smooth concrete countertop. We built it when we started remodeling our childhood home together, and it’s still one of my favorite parts of the house. Jade is using a heart-shaped cookie cutter on a big sheet of sugary white dough, and I reach across the counter to swipe a nibble off one edge.
“Stop that,” she says, slapping my hand away. “Make yourself useful and frost that batch over there.”
I glance at the end of the counter to see a bajillion naked sugar cookie hearts on the cooling rack. “Did you get junk-punched by Cupid, or are these upside-down asses?” I flip one over and wiggle it like Beyoncé doing a booty shake.
My sister rolls her eyes and shoves a few tubes of icing at me. “They’re for the residents at Brandon’s Dad’s place. I’m trying to spread some cheer.”
“Ah.” I feel bad about mocking treats meant for dementia patients, so I uncap one of the frosting tubes and set to work making the most cheerful damn cookies on the planet.
“So what happened?” Jade asks, jogging me back to the reason I’m here.
“Oh. I, um—might have almost kissed Sean.”
My sister drops the cookie cutter and stares at me.
“Come again?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I insist as I squeeze a thick squiggle of pink icing onto a cookie. “I explained how I’m not really dating right now and that it’s important to have a professional relationship, and then I sort of stumbled into him as I was leaving, and when he caught me—”
“—you decided to thank him by polishing his tonsils with your tongue?”
“No! I said I almost kissed him.” I sigh and focus on making artful flourishes of frosting. “Then his sister showed up.”
I can’t help feeling disappointed about that part. About what might have happened if Bree hadn’t walked in. Would Sean have kissed me like I wanted him to, or would he have looked down at me pawing his chest like a hungry raccoon and said, “Lady, what is your deal?”
What is my deal? For crying out loud, I’d just finished telling him I wasn’t interested. Mixed signals much?
I grit my teeth and reach for another cookie, determined to put this faux pas behind me.
“Huh.” Jade looks thoughtful, not judgey, which is a relief. “You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that. Sean’s hot. I’ve only met him a couple times, but he seems like a nice guy.”
“He is a nice guy, which is the last thing I need right now.”
Jade doesn’t say anything to that, which is probably because she knows. She knows damn well how hard I’ve been trying to move beyond my image as the boy crazy baby sister with a parade of guys lining up at the door and a reputation for choosing the worst possible one.
“Chin up,” Jade says as I set aside a decorated cookie and reach for another. “Even if you did grope him, I doubt he was too upset about it. He’s probably posting to Facebook about how he got felt up by Flawless Amber.”
“Ugh.” I know she’s teasing, but the last thing I need right now is a reminder of that stupid nickname. “Thank God he didn’t go to school around here.”
“It’s a small town,” she points out. “Maybe he’s heard.”
“I’m guessing the Bracelyn family has better things to talk about than our high school yearbooks.”
“Let’s hope.” Jade turns to shove a tray of cookies in the oven, and I reach for another unfrosted one. At the rate I’m going through pink icing, we’re going to need another batch.
“So did you get Sean to do the weddings?” she asks. “I mean before you stuck your tongue down his throat?”
“I told you, I didn’t actually kiss him. I hardly even groped him.”
“I hardly even groped him.” Jade grins. “We’ll put that on your headstone someday.”
I sigh and pick up a tube of white icing, adding a little fringe to my creation. “Why did you bring up that stupid Flawless Amber thing, anyway?”
“I had lunch with a couple vet techs who volunteered for the spay and neuter clinic,” she says. “They were in your grade.”
“And they mentioned it?”
She shrugs. “You’re memorable, I guess. Not every girl has a half-page color photo in her school yearbook that makes her look like a freakin’ supermodel.”
“I still want to kill the yearbook staff,” I mutter.
I know that’s a lame thing to let bother me, and there are worse things than being voted Miss Congeniality. Worse than being captain of the soccer team, class president, and the only chick to magically survive puberty without zits. Tons of kids had it way rougher than I did, and I’m sure as hell not complaining.
But there’s something about being stuck on a pedestal that makes people want to knock you off.
Or makes boys want to knock boots with you, which isn’t ideal when you’re looking to be more than a notch on someone’s bedpost.
Jade looks down at my frosted masterpiece and frowns. She turns one of the cookies around to face her. “Did you seriously just make a dozen vagina cookies?”
I finish piping white pubic hair around the edges of the pretty pink frosting labia and set it on the plate. “Technically, they’re vulvas. Not vaginas.”
“You’re not serious.” She picks up the cookie I’ve just finished and lifts one eyebrow. “White pubic hair?”
“They’re mostly senior citizens,” I point out. “I thought they’d be cheered by the familiar.”
My sister sighs and picks up another cookie, this one done in hues of tan and peach. What? I’m encouraging racial diversity.
“Remind me to be more specific with my instructions next time,” Jade mutters.
“You said cheerful,” I point out. “If vulva cookies don’t make people smile, I don’t know what will.”
“I am not taking frosted genitals to my future father-in-law and his friends.”
“Fine.” I snatch the cookie back. “I’ll make it a flower.” A Georgia O’Keeffe flower, but still a flower. “Or we can save these ones for dessert tonight, since it’s your turn to do dinner. That reminds me, I have a surprise for tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I know it’s my turn to cook, but Sean offered to bring dinner. Wedding food. Sort of a tryout, I guess.”
Jade’s expression turns regretful. “I have plans tomorrow.” She gets this funny little moony smile on her face, and I know before she speaks a word that she’s getting together with her fiancé. “Brandon got us tickets to see the Wailin’ Jennys at the Tower Theatre. I’d really like to go.”
“Oh. No, you should definitely go.”
And she’ll definitely end up staying at Brandon’s place, which would normally be fine.
But it means I’ll be all alone with Sean. All alone with those bedroom eyes and yummy facial scruff and broad shoulders and sex-rumpled hair. I set down the tube of frosting and practice sitting on my hands so I’m not tempted to grab him.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell her. “No problem. I’ll totally behave myself.”
Like the good sister she is, Jade does her best not to look dubious.
I’m dubious enough for the both of us.
* * *
I change outfits four times before I’m finally disgusted with myself and settle on gray skinny jeans with boots and a flowy pink sweater. It’s feminine and unassuming, and totally says “professional” and not “I want to jump you.”
At least I think it does.
I second guess myself when I throw open the front door and Sean does a double take. He’s gentleman enough to snap his gaze from my boobs to my eyes in under a second, but not so gentlemanly that he avoided the boob check in the first place.
I shouldn’t like it, but I do.
“Something smells yummy,” I say.
“What? Oh—that’s probably me.”
I cringe, realizing he’s not holding any food and I totally just sniff-ogled the neighbor. “Awkward,” I mumble, which earns me a laugh.
“I just meant I probably smell like food,” he says. “I’ve been in the kitchen all day.”
“I promise I don’t usually greet my houseguests by sniffing them.” Or by gawking at them with my mouth half open. The man looks fine in black jeans tailored to his delicious posterior and a dark green wool coat that catches the green in his eyes.
Stop staring. Stop sniffing. Just act like a normal human.
“Come on in,” I tell him. “Wait, do you need help bringing in food?”
“Everything’s in the car,” he says. “It’s packaged up and should be fine for a little bit. I was hoping maybe I could see the venue before it’s dark?”
“Good idea. I’ll grab my coat.”
I shrug into an oversized down parka and debate swapping out my favorite leather Frye boots for rubber muckers. The weather’s been dry all week, so I take my chances on cute boots and mud-free trails.
“The barn’s heated, but the path out there isn’t,” I tell him as I locate my hat and gloves. “In case you’re worried about food temperature or brides freezing to death in strapless gowns.”
“I wasn’t worried. I figured you guys know what you’re doing.”
“Let’s hope so.”
&n
bsp; I finish pulling on my gloves and push open the door, making sure to flick on the porch light. I consider grabbing my snub nose pistol from the gun safe, but decide against it. We’ve had no cougar sightings lately, and it’s still light out. Besides, toting a weapon isn’t the second impression I want to give a guy whose first impression of me involved a head injury and a crossbow.
I step into the cool early evening and shove my hands into my pockets. The air is cool and crisp and smells like sage and bitterbrush. It’s too early in the season for crickets or frogs, but a nighthawk screeches somewhere in the distance.
Sean falls into step beside me. “So, uh—I hear you had a bit of an issue out here last month.”
I look at him, wondering if he read my mind about the gun. If he knows why the thought crossed my mind at all. It’s a small town, and secrets are tough to keep. “You mean the fact that I held my ex-boyfriend at gunpoint after he tried to burn down our barn?”
Sean looks startled. “I was talking about the cougar attack. One of your reindeer got hurt?”
“Oh. That.” I clear my throat, feeling like an idiot. “Yeah. That was Randy. He’s doing great now.”
“I’m glad.” He pauses. “I heard about the other thing, too. The guy’s in jail, right?”
“Right.” Chalk up another awesome choice to Amber King. “The whole thing is kind of embarrassing.”
“How so?”
I glance at him, tall and broad and solid beside me on the footpath. Our breath comes in frozen, puffy clouds, and I take my time answering. “I guess I feel like an idiot for not knowing,” I tell him. “For thinking he was a devoted boyfriend instead of a psycho jerk.”
He shakes his head and kicks a pebble off the path. “That’s on him, not you. It wasn’t your fault you trusted a guy who turned out to be an asshole.”
“Thanks.” I’ve heard that before, of course. From my sister and mom and pretty much everyone who knows what happened.
Doesn’t make me feel better, but I appreciate that people try.
We’ve reached the barn and, hopefully, the end of this topic. “Here we are,” I announce a little too cheerfully. I push open the door and flip on the lights, breathing in the sweet scent of hay. “Ignore the mess. We were just organizing some of the Christmas stuff.”