Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  Graham wraps his arm around my shoulders, turning the moment tender and familiar as if we’ve walked this path together a hundred times. Rather than shy away, I lean into the embrace, hoping to steal some of his body warmth or at the least use him as a wind block from the gusts that beat against us.

  He laughs. “I wanted to take you to the nicest place in Pelican Bay, but I asked and that is apparently the bed-and-breakfast.”

  I laugh, expecting for a moment for us to turn around and head back to my workplace for dinner, but we keep walking straight. It’s the only fine dining establishment in town so I have no idea where we’re going.

  “I figure you’re there enough, so I went to the second-best place.”

  What would people in town consider the second-best place? There aren’t many options. “The bakery?”

  Graham’s steps falter, but just for a second as if he’s an engine that missed a click. “That place is a little too friendly.”

  He says “too friendly” as if that is a bad thing. The bakery is one of my favorite parts of Pelican Bay. Everyone knows everybody else and wouldn’t waste a second giving you a helping hand. Even the color scheme is happy.

  We stop much quicker than the steps it would require to get to the bakery, which is a good thing because my nose has already started to complain the frostbite will take it right off my face. Graham holds the door open, stepping back and letting me enter the diner first.

  One point for a gentleman.

  Graham is right. I have spent too much time at the bed-and-breakfast the last six months and not enough in the rest of Pelican Bay. Besides the occasional trip to the bakery for something hot to drink or one of her handmade cookies, I haven’t gone out much. Ice cream by the beach every Friday this summer does not make me a social diva.

  I skim the large diner’s menu and ultimately decide on the club sandwich and a coke, which I order from a wonderful waitress. Trish, her name is etched into her name tag that’s tilted a little to the side on the upper left of her polo shirt.

  “Do you want dessert?” Graham asks before she can leave our table with our orders.

  “How can I know this early?” Is it a big club or small club? Will I like it enough to eat the whole thing or will it only be so so-so in a half? You can’t decide until you’ve had the club in front of you and take the first bite.

  My date shakes his head as if he’s bewildered about whether or not I decide I’m going to eat a dessert in forty-five minutes. “Give us one of those lava cake things,” he says, pointing to the concoction on the back of the menu that looks like a chunk of brownie with ice cream and chocolate syrup drizzled over top.

  It looks amazing and delicious, but now I have the added expectation of not eating as much so I can enjoy the cake. And how many carbs are in cake? Something tells me the Pelican Bay diner isn’t using a special cake recipe with a can of Sprite rather than sugar, eggs, and butter.

  And here I thought I’d done a wonderful job by not doing the typical date thing and ordering a salad, but now he’s presented me with whether or not I can resist chocolate syrup filled carbs. And no woman in her right mind has ever been able to resist chocolate carbs.

  “Can you bring out the dessert first,” he asks Trish right before she walks away.

  “No problem, hun.”

  Dessert first? What is this madness? Why do I love the sound of it so much?

  “Why is your face a cross between excitement and horror as if I’ve killed your favorite kitten while giving you a million dollars?” Graham asks, watching me with sharp eyes.

  There’s absolutely no way I can tell him I’m excited because now I don’t have to figure out whether I can eat dessert, but horrified because I won’t be able to eat another carb for the rest of the month. “I’ve just never known anyone who orders dessert first.” The lie comes quickly. Cammie’s friendship is paying off.

  He smiles, not at all suspecting I’m a carb fiend. “When presented with molten lava cake, I always eat dessert first.”

  Put another check mark in the gentleman box. Or at least possibly the man of my dreams. Who needs a prince when you have somebody who orders chocolate first?

  “I’ve never considered it.” Probably because getting dessert at a restaurant wasn’t an option growing up. My parents didn’t have enough money to take us any place beyond McDonald’s, and if they did, we certainly weren’t ordering an overpriced dessert. Even if it had chocolate coming out of the middle of chocolate.

  Graham smirks, having his own private memory. “We were only allowed to do it when my father was on another deployment. Every time he left, my mother would take us to a restaurant to eat all the desserts. As a kid I thought it was great, but now I realize she was trying to hide her own emotions over my father going away and possibly never coming back.”

  It’s such a small peek into his life but so telling. “Your father was in the military?”

  He nods. “Army. For a while I thought he wouldn’t survive when I joined the Navy, but when I passed SEAL training, he was in the audience, the proudest father there.”

  “Did you move around a lot?”

  As a child I always wanted to go new places and see the world, but Southern California’s expensive, and besides the couple of trips across the border to Tijuana, the biggest adventure was when I moved to Pelican Bay.

  “Extensively. We even did a few trips overseas. We never stayed anywhere longer than a year or so.” It sounds fun and amazing, but there’s something about his tone that hints at the fact it wasn’t all that great for a small child.

  Maybe that’s why the boy who never had a home turned into the man who isn’t searching for one.

  “How are you surviving this winter coming from Southern California?”

  My eyes display the truth when they widen, and my head shakes back and forth in dismay. “Barely.” It’s only because the city is decorated so beautifully for the upcoming Christmas holiday. The trees wrapped in white stuff, twinkling lights up and down Main Street. The view of the frosty ocean and the chunks of ice battering against the sand take away some of the cold breeze and deep snow.

  Our conversation turns to easier topics, like weather patterns, and before I’ve had time to put any more checks in his serial killer column, it feels as if his gentleman box is filled to the brim.

  5

  “You’re seeing the spy again?” Cammie asks, waving her hand in front of her face and pretending to fan herself.

  “Shhh. Lower your voice. He’s not and yes.” If he were a spy, it’s not like he’d tell me anyway.

  Her eyes narrow as she studies me and worry builds in my stomach. I love Cammie even though she gets me into trouble, but that girl could make money as a human lie detector. She has to be part gypsy because half the time she knows what I’m planning to do before I do.

  “Is he blackmailing you?” She stares for a moment longer. “Because he is hot, but he caught you in his room with a B&E.”

  “Me?” I whisper shout and then quickly look around to make sure there were no guests in hearing range. It can never get out that I was in someone’s room when I shouldn’t have been. The consequences would be dire for the bed-and-breakfast and myself.

  “Where is he taking you?” she asks leaning against the front desk, her eyes never wavering. Human lie detector.

  I shrug. “I have no idea.”

  We parted ways yesterday, and I expected something… anything. A good-night kiss or a nice hand shake, but he seemed comfortable to let me walk out on my own. I was ten steps away from him, headed back to the small apartment I occupy in the back of the bed-and-breakfast — a perk of working here — before he called my name and I spun in my tracks. For two seconds my heart beat fast as I imagined how wonderful his next words would be. An undying declaration of his love or a plea we’d see each other again. The seconds ticked away and with it my hope, but finally he opened his mouth and out came well-constructed words. “Can I see you again tomorrow?”


  I gathered my breath, let a smile take over my features and replied earnestly with, “Sure.” That was it. Then he went to his room, I went to my apartment, and our night ended. So, he is not Prince Charming and I haven’t fallen into a fairytale romance novel, but he did ask to see me again.

  I’m putting another check in the gentleman column.

  “How can you go with someone and have no idea where you’re going?”

  I shrug again. Isn’t that how dating works? Sure, I haven’t gone on a ton of dates but enough to figure out the general idea.

  Cammie’s face falls, and she looks at me as if I’m crazy. “How will I know where he dumps your body if you don’t even find out where you’re going?”

  I choke on my own spit, covering my mouth so it doesn’t land on her face. “Cammie!”

  “It’s the truth. Most attackers won’t take the time to move the body far. They dump you in the nearest field but now I won’t know what field is closest.”

  I mentally switch back to my tally marks with the overwhelming evidence that Graham not a serial killer. “You watch way too much Investigative Discovery Channel.”

  “It comes in handy if you’re ever in trouble.”

  “If it looks like Graham is going to off me, I’ll ask him to pick a field close by so I’m easier to find.” The clock ticks away, the seconds getting closer and closer to my inevitable date, and my stomach fills with a quickening uneasiness. Not just from the images of my body lying in a field dead and helpless, but the excitement of going on another date with the not spy and hopefully not a serial killer.

  My phone dings with a message as I hand over the final paperwork to Dwight with still no sign of my date for the evening.

  It’s an unknown number text and I’m curious enough to swipe the screen and read it.

  UNKNOWN: Can you meet me at the bakery?

  I guess who it’s from immediately, but even so a small worm in the back my head picks up about Cammie’s field warning. I type back a hasty text with a yes and leave out the front door, waving to Dwight’s scowls behind the desk.

  The Pelican Bay bakery or so aptly named Bakery by the Bay is situated on a corner of Main Street. It’s a few short blocks from the bed-and-breakfast and I make the walk speedy hampered only by the cold weather.

  Out front Graham waits, a long peacoat buttoned up at his chest and a dark knit hat covering his ears and dark hair. A dusting of snow flutters down from the top of the roof and I breathe in a healthy bitter cold breath of night air. How in the world did I get so lucky to be seen with someone like him? And it’s not just his good looks, but everything about Graham. It’s as if my body is drawn to his, the two of us floating side by side with my aura reaching out to grab hold of his.

  He takes a few steps to me on the sidewalk before I hit the bakery and then we both pause awkwardly unsure about our greeting. At first, I wish he’d pull me in for a hug, but he hesitates momentarily. Rather than meet me with outstretched arms, a smile graces his lips as I stop in front of him.

  “Sorry you had to walk. My meeting ran long, and I figured this is the first place I’d take you, anyway.”

  “You had a meeting at the bakery?”

  His cheeks pinken but I can’t decide if it’s embarrassment at my question or from the cold evening. “Sometimes if we’re running late and it’s short.”

  He holds the bakery door open and two ladies stand behind the counter, each wearing a bright pink full-length apron covering their upper halves. Their heads pop up in a smile at Graham, their eyes quickly falling to me.

  The worker with long brown hair watches the two of us walk in side by side, her smile growing with each of our steps. “Graham, you came back. And who is this?”

  Graham tugs me into his side, wrapping his arm through mine, and I’m not sure if it’s protection or claiming, maybe a little of both.

  He hesitates for a second “Tabitha, Anessa. This is Tara. Play nice.”

  My eyes search his, looking for an explanation of the two women continuing to smile overwhelmingly at him and us as if they’re waiting for him to make some big declaration, but he’s not planning to. Graham is hot. Is it possible these two have a thing for the man who brought me to their bakery on a date?

  Why do they know his name? Why did he pick here? Why are they so smiley? My eyes ask the questions, but he only shakes his head and leans down whispering in my ear.

  “It’s not what it looks like. I’ll tell you later.”

  He orders two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of donut holes, allowing me to pick out my favorite kind — cherry glazed. Then rather than take a seat at one of the small brightly colored tables and chairs, he basically pushes me right back out the bakery door, the two women behind the counter with smiles even larger. They both wave as we walk by the large window. It’s a little Stepford Wives if you ask me.

  “What was that about?”

  Graham holds his truck door open as I climb inside and take the two cups of hot chocolate, putting one in each holder. He sighs after getting in on his side and starting the truck.

  “Tabitha is Ridge’s fiancé. I may have mentioned I couldn’t stay any longer because I had a date coming to the bakery and they went perky from there.”

  For a moment my face pales. Once a week a group of older ladies get together and have lunch at the bed-and-breakfast. They share the wildest gossip for at least two hours every meeting. Crazy stories. Things you should not hear about your neighbors. Not just who doesn’t clean up their dog poop or who is sleeping with whom, but bigger things like the fact that one of the neighbors named Andres has a son who was arrested for DUI three towns over.

  “Is it true there’s a phone tree?” I’ve heard it mentioned more than once or twice and Cammie herself has alluded at its existence. We live in an age of digital communication, but the traditional landline seems to be the preferred method of communication for people in Pelican Bay. Seven p.m. every night the phone tree starts up, and whatever gossip is too juicy to share over a public table of the bed-and-breakfast is relayed all across town. It’s weird.

  I hope my life is never exciting enough to make the phone tree. Cammie says she did it once her senior year of high school when her and three classmates put shaving cream over the principal’s car in the parking lot. It washed away in an afternoon rain, but was a big enough prank to make the tree. She talks about it like it’s a badge of honor.

  Graham shrugs, answering the phone tree question and bringing me out of my tirade. “I’m not sure, but stay away from Tabitha and her gang. They have a codename on the police radio.”

  I laugh as we drive out of town. “There’s no way that’s true.” What would they have to do to have a call name on a police radio? Certainly, they wouldn’t be out walking around town and working in the bakery of all places. How would this small town allow it?

  The truck turns on the main road down by the beach headed toward the Pelican Bay forest. Salty sea water and pine scents fill the air as if someone cut down a tree within the last five minutes.

  Cammie’s warning about being left in a field chooses that moment to pop back into my head as we drive past the little white church at the edge of Pelican Bay Woods.

  “Where are we?” I ask, reaching for a donut hole out of the bag and shoving it in my mouth. If I go down, I want sugar on my tongue.

  The truck jerks to the left, pulled away by a fork in the road. “Not far.”

  Well that’s not reassuring.

  Think of all the check marks in the not-serial-killer column, Tara.

  Graham’s truck stops at a dirt clearing right before a line of trees breaks in front of us creating a spectacular forest. There are hiking trails all over these woods. People talk about them all the time at the bed-and-breakfast and I’ve passed out hundreds of maps. Half of our guests this summer came to walk the trails, but I myself haven’t spent any significant time in them. Bugs and snakes and bears live in trees and woods.

  The truck shuts off, and
he opens his door, coming to my side before I can look at the window or lock the door. Graham leans across me, his arm skimming across the tops of my legs as he plucks both cups of hot chocolate from the middle console of his truck.

  “Come on. It’s a short walk. I promise.”

  I grab the bag of donut holes, rolling it at the top and holding it into my side as I jump out of the truck. I swap the bag for a cup of hot chocolate.

  “Why are we going to the woods in the dark?”

  He laughs, sensing my unease. “I promise it’s not far.”

  “Are there any fields nearby?” It’s a joke. I should be worried about Cammie’s comment, but I can’t muster concern. Something about the man just brings my soul to ease.

  We walk through the woods, our feet trudging against the soft layer of snow while the thick top layer of leaves crunching follows us into the woods.

  Then from what seems like nowhere, the trees break and in front of us opens a wide clearing stretching further than I can see with the naked eye in the darkness. Tall grasses grow on the edges, but the middle looks to be flatter. Then one side to our left is a bench the same brown color as the ones on Main Street. A soft snow trickles from the sky but I’m unable to tell if it picked up snowing or if the wind is causing the flakes to fall from the tops of the trees. Either way the small flakes trickling down from the sky is magical.

  “It’s beautiful.” I step further into the clearing, headed for the bench and the white snow-covered seat.

  “Isn’t it? I wanted to share this with someone special.” His eyes twinkle in the moonlight as he places the bag of donut holes between us.

  “Thank you.” I wouldn’t have traveled to this part of the woods on my own and I’d miss out on the spectacular view. The snow circles in the air around us, falling on the branches lower on the tree some and dusting Graham’s hair with a few tickling my nose. A bird calls overhead and as I’m distracted by the sound, my dark-haired not spy — but who could definitely be my Prince Charming — leans closer and settles into our first kiss. Slow and sweet.