Three Simple Words (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  The next time he stopped, it was in front of Two Stories. He nearly tripped climbing off his bike, his eagerness to get inside—to see Annie and have her be the first to hear the good news—making him almost unaware of his own body and how to put one foot in front of the other.

  He burst through the door, and when he didn’t see her behind the front counter, he knew she must be in the upstairs office. So he bounded up the stairs, two at a time, and strode right toward the door in the back, knocking twice before opening it.

  “Hey, Emerald City. I’ve got news.”

  But it wasn’t Annie he saw. Or Brynn. It was Jeremy, sitting and slurping noodles out of a Chinese food container with his feet propped on his sister’s desk.

  “I found the soy sauce!” he heard as Annie emerged from the tiny kitchen area in the back of the office. When her eyes met his, they widened, and she halted mid step. Jeremy’s eyes, on the other hand, narrowed to slits as they volleyed from Wes to Annie and back to Wes again.

  “Emerald City?” Jeremy asked. Then he turned to Annie. “Why the hell is he calling you Emerald City?”

  Annie let out a nervous laugh, which was far better than Wes was doing. He couldn’t even make a sound. Jeremy was supposed to be at work. Wes didn’t want to be the guy who lied, yet all he was doing at the moment was cycling through things he could say to backpedal out of this situation.

  I was looking for Tabitha.

  Yeah, no. Insinuating he had anything going on with the employee who was now seeing the ex might actually be worse than coming out and saying he was messing around with his buddy’s sister.

  Okay. Not worse. But pretty damned close.

  I was looking for Brynn.

  Why? He’d have nowhere to go after that one.

  I was—

  “Jer. Come on,” Annie said. “You go to a wedding with someone, and we’re bound to come home with private jokes, right? You had to be there for the schnoodle and the soda gun. It’s too much to explain and wouldn’t even be funny since you weren’t with us. But trust me—Emerald City is the best punch line you’d have ever heard.”

  There it was, that nervous laugh again. Jesus, she was selling this horribly, and all Wes could do was stand and stare and see if Jeremy bought it.

  “Actually,” Wes said, “I just wanted to let Annie know that not only did my editor love the new pages, but my agent said the movie option is pretty much a go, so…yeah. Take that, the one person who hated my first book.”

  Wes nodded, the self-satisfied grin on his face not at all an act. True, he came here to kiss Annie and maybe thank her for breaking through his writer’s block, but the I told you so also felt fucking good.

  Annie’s eyes lit up, but she didn’t give anything else away.

  Jeremy’s shoulders relaxed, and his jaw unclenched. On a scale of one to Chuck Norris, his intensity dropped back down to an agitated Regis Philbin. Which was really just—Regis Philbin.

  “Looks like he told you,” Jeremy said to his sister.

  “Give us the details,” Annie said, and he could tell she was fighting to stay calm—fighting just as much as he was. But Jeremy kept them both in check, even though he didn’t know it.

  It was like there was a concrete wall between them, a concrete wall that still held a clump of lo mein noodles between his chopsticks.

  “Give us the details,” she repeated expectantly. “And then I have a new box of paperbacks that just came in. Maybe you’ll sign them?”

  He nodded. He’d do whatever the hell she asked if it meant a reason for him to linger and maybe, possibly, not walk out the door without tasting her lips.

  “My agent just called. And, basically, my editor flipped. She loves the pages. Wants the next fifty as soon as possible so she can edit as I go. There’s a lot more, but that’s the gist of it. Don’t let me interrupt your lunch. Show me the books you want me to sign, and then I’ll head back home to work.”

  She nodded, then tossed a few packets of soy sauce on the desk in front of her brother.

  Annie was already out the door when Jeremy turned his attention to Wes.

  “I’m glad you two hit it off at the wedding, man. But that’s all it was, right? Some private jokes and talking about books?”

  Of course that’s all it was because they’d made a deal. Whatever he and Annie were doing was exactly what Jeremy would approve of—if it didn’t involve his friend and his sister. Fun. If no one expected a happy ending, then no one would get hurt. He wasn’t going to hurt Annie, so Jeremy had nothing to worry about.

  “You know she’s twenty-eight years old, right, man?” Wes asked. “And probably smart enough to make her own decisions.” Jeremy’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t have a chance to answer.

  “Hey!” Annie popped back into the doorway with a stack of books in hand. “Come on. I even have a customer downstairs who wants to meet you.”

  He shrugged.

  “See ya, Jer.”

  His friend nodded, but he never answered the question.

  “Later,” Jeremy said.

  And Wes let Annie lead him back downstairs.

  Jeremy, who had stopped by for a late lunch with his sister before work, lingered while Annie set Wes up in the shop’s downstairs reading area, a circular rug with two plush love seats situated in an L formation, a wooden coffee table in front. Shelf-lined walls bordered the nook, displaying new releases and the store’s best sellers, Wes’s book included. He’d already greeted the reader Annie had mentioned, signed her book, and swelled a bit with pride. Until he remembered how Annie felt.

  She still hated his novel—not that he was harping on that as she retrieved the one book still on display and added it to the pile on the table in front of him. Okay. So he was harping on it, silently, because a) what she thought seemed to matter a little more to him as he got to know her better, but he wasn’t about to admit that, and b) Jeremy was still there, standing behind Annie as she got Wes all set up to sign, his arms crossed and a speculative glare aimed right at him.

  “Jeremy.” Annie spun to face her brother. “Go to work. I’m closing up thirty minutes early so I can make it to Kingston’s for the big Holly-and-Will-are-back-in-town dinner.”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Hartley coming?” He nodded toward Wes.

  Annie shrugged.

  She hadn’t mentioned this dinner. Or had she? Wes had been so consumed with the writing this week—along with nights at the bar—that he and Annie hadn’t really had much one-on-one time other than their lunch date the day Jeremy almost busted them.

  “You remember Brynn’s sister, Holly, right?” she asked. He nodded. “She sort of moved to London with her boyfriend. I mean, he’s from there. London. He’s British.”

  Wes tried to bite back his grin, not wanting to betray anything in front of Jeremy, but, dammit, she was adorable when she was flustered—when she was trying to figure out how to ask him out in front of her brother without really asking him out.

  He nodded. “Of course. She was only a year ahead of us.” He looked at Jeremy, then back to Annie. “Are you guys—inviting me?”

  Jeremy gave a noncommittal shrug. Like sister, like brother.

  “Leave your bike at home,” Jeremy said. “Will Evans has made it a habit of bringing a bottle of high-end scotch with him whenever he and Holly are in town, and if tonight goes anything like their last visit, no one will be able to function by morning.”

  Wes scrubbed a hand across his jaw, realizing he hadn’t shaved in days. Jesus, what did he even look like right now?

  “Sounds dangerous,” he said.

  Jeremy winked. “It is.”

  “I’ll take the bike home after I sign the books,” he said.

  Annie let out a breath and dropped down on the empty love seat opposite Wes’s.

  “Then I guess that settles it. We’ll see you at six, Jer.”

  Jeremy seemed to be letting go of his suspicions. He was no longer trying to peel away Wes’s flesh with his stare.
At least that’s what it had felt like. Maybe they shouldn’t be keeping whatever they were doing from him, but if they told him anything, it would require defining their situation, and Wes wasn’t sure he could do that.

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said. “Okay. See you at six.”

  He left them, then, but neither he nor Annie spoke for at least ten minutes after Jeremy left. Wes signed the stack of books while Annie helped a customer and then pretended to be straightening shelves that needed no straightening. It was like they were afraid Jeremy was still there, lurking behind a shelf waiting for them to slip up.

  Annie pulled out her cell phone just as Wes closed the last book.

  “Hey, Jamie,” she said. “Is my brother there? Yeah, I just want to ask him something really quickly. Thanks.”

  Wes could see her out of his peripheral vision, but he didn’t turn his head. He was, however, completely eavesdropping.

  “Hey,” she said after a pause. “Is the stout-battered fish and chips on the menu this week?” Another pause. “Great!” Pause. “Yes, that’s why I was calling. You mentioned dinner, and I got hungry. You know I like to think about the menu before I order. Nope. I guess I forgot to finish my lo mein. Got distracted by—work.”

  Wes looked up at this, and Annie’s eyes were on his. She was smiling at him, and it just about melted his insides.

  “God, yes. I will so have that as an appetizer. You’re the best, Jer. Bye.”

  She dropped her phone back in her pocket.

  “You were making sure he was there, weren’t you?” Wes asked.

  She nodded.

  “Tabitha’s at the register,” she said.

  “So…”

  “So I think there was one more book for you to sign up in my office.”

  Wes was on his feet and headed for the stairs before she could say another word. In fact, he practically raced her there. They were both out of breath by the time she closed the door behind them and she launched herself at him.

  Wes lifted her in his arms, and she clasped her legs around his waist, kissing him hard. He stumbled but didn’t fall, backing against a wall to regain his footing.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. “Those pages were amazing,” she said. “They were so good, Wes. I knew your editor would love them.”

  She kissed him again, her tongue tangling with his.

  She was proud of him. When was the last time anyone had said something like that? Certainly not his father, and his mom—

  He swallowed hard. His mom was gone before he even wrote it. He’d had loads of people lauding his talent, from his agent to his editor to top reviewers. But most of them didn’t give a shit about anything other than how well the book was selling and whether or not whatever came next would sell as well. Annie had no stake in the book. She just liked it, and that had meant more than he wanted to admit.

  “What did you say?” he asked, lowering her to the ground. His voice was strained, but not from holding her in his arms.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said, louder this time, her tone resolute. “And I’m happy for you,” she added. “I know how much you have riding on this.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Or how to react. So he just kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her some more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Annie held up the rocks glass, examining the amber liquid inside. She’d chickened out last time Holly and Will were in town, but now even Jamie was goading her.

  “Denning, you are holding about a hundred bucks right there in that glass. Don’t you want to know what Ben Franklin tastes like?”

  Annie wrinkled her nose. “You’re disgusting, Jamie.”

  Brynn backhanded him on the shoulder. “Yeah, ew, babe. I don’t think you’re making this any more tempting for her.”

  Jamie had closed off the upstairs area for the night, so they had a private party of sorts. Jeremy, Wes, Will, and Holly were enjoying their Ben Nevis over at the dartboard. Jamie and Brynn were coddling Annie as she considered how many books she could buy with a bottle of the Highland whiskey and whether or not said whiskey would remove her tonsils.

  “I’m sure there’s a soda gun behind the bar.”

  The voice came from behind her, and she spun on her bar stool to see Wes, empty glass in hand.

  “Holly and Will just mopped the floor with me and your brother over at the dartboard,” he said. “I need a break. And maybe a refill.”

  Jamie obliged by offering him another pour.

  “Ha-ha,” Annie said.

  He clinked his glass with hers.

  “It’s just a drink,” he said. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  She sighed. He was right. But she wanted to step outside her comfort zone. She wanted to live on the edge—just a little, even if all it meant was taking a sip of scotch.

  “Jamie, why don’t we go see how things are going in the kitchen—make sure your servers are doing okay downstairs.”

  He furrowed his brow. “We’re fully staffed. I’m not even technically on the clock tonight,” Jamie added, but Brynn gave him a look that Annie read loud and clear. She was trying to leave her and Wes alone.

  “James,” she said, and this seemed to get his attention.

  He looked from Annie to Wes and then back at Brynn.

  “Yeah, okay,” he told her. “Let’s check on the food.”

  Annie giggled softly as the two headed toward the stairs. Jeremy, Will, and Holly had taken seats at a table near the dartboard. She and Wes were sort of alone.

  “She’s not very subtle. Is she?” Wes asked.

  “Trust me,” Annie said. “Jamie’s clueless. He went ten years thinking she never loved him. There’s no way he knows anything about us.”

  Wes sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out.

  “Because the whole keeping us a secret thing only works if it’s—you know—secret.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know how the game works,” she said. “I needed at least one ally. I tell Brynn everything. She’d see it on my face if I didn’t at least tell her. Don’t you have an ally? Someone you can tell shit to?” She bit her tongue as soon as the words came out.

  “You mean your brother?” He laughed. “My roommate and the guy whose sister I’m messing around with? Not really an ally.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I promise Brynn won’t say anything.”

  Wes raised his brows. “I promise to reward you for her discretion, then.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Looks like the food is here. We should probably head over.”

  She held up her glass. “You can go. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He clinked his glass with hers. “You all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Cheers, then. See you in a minute.”

  He backed away, leaving her alone with her drink.

  “Shit,” she mumbled, then tossed back the ounce of scotch. “Shit,” she whispered this time. As predicted, liquid heat slid down her throat, but she refrained from reaching for the soda gun. She didn’t want to bury this feeling. Instead she savored the burn, hoping it would mask what lay beneath.

  Because every time she looked at Wes, she thought about his lips on hers and his hands all over her body. How could someone whose physical touch affected her so much not be capable of anything more than that. Why? Why did it matter so much whether or not he believed that love could conquer all?

  It wasn’t like she was falling for him. Because—he didn’t measure up. No romance hero refused the happily ever after.

  Of course she wasn’t falling for him. He wasn’t the right guy. Annie’s HEA would happen with the right guy. Wes was wrong. So very wrong. Anything that made her think otherwise?

  That was the scotch talking.

  The stout-battered fish and chips was probably delicious, more than half the table having chosen it as a main dish, but Annie was having a hard time enjoying her favorite menu item. Wes sat across from her, yet she avoided eye contact
with him like he was Medusa and looking at him would give her a stony heart equal to his.

  He joined in Jamie and Jeremy’s heated debate about the White Sox pitcher who threw a recent no-hitter and whether or not they’d finally make it back to the Series this year. Holly and Brynn were swiping through pictures on Holly’s phone of the most recent fashion show she’d produced in London. And Will—Holly’s ridiculously gorgeous Brit—stared at the two women with the biggest, lovesick grin she’d ever seen.

  And here was Annie—the outsider looking in. Had she ever smiled like that at anyone? What’s more, had anyone ever smiled like that at her?

  She took a measured sip from her glass, having now found a taste for scotch that cost more than she probably made in a week. As the liquid heat blurred the edges of conflicted emotions, the gorgeous Brit cleared his throat.

  And because Will Evans was the type of guy who commanded attention on a regular basis, his gesture brought the rest of the table’s activity to a halt.

  “Holly,” he said, his accent making her name sound like holy.

  Wow, that was hot.

  Holly looked up from her phone, still laughing at something her sister had said.

  “William,” she teased.

  He cleared his throat again, and Annie’s eyes widened. This man was—nervous.

  “Holly, I wonder if you could check that horoscope app you’re so fond of, see how the stars are aligning this evening?”

  Annie watched as Holly’s brows furrowed. She had no idea what was about to happen, but Annie did.

  “I’ve been so jet-lagged all week,” Holly said, “I’ve barely checked my email. Don’t tell my clients!” She giggled. “What are you up to, Mr. Evans? I thought you didn’t believe in the stars aligning and all that.”

  Brynn nudged her sister’s shoulder.

  “Open the app, Holly,” she said. Brynn was catching on, too.

  Holly huffed out a breath. “Okay. Okay. You don’t have to be so bossy.”