by Shirley Jump
He hurried up beside her and she wheeled on him. "Why are you here?"
"I told you, the exec at Holiday Pictures—"
"I meant here, at my house, and now, walking with me when I made it clear there is nothing between us?"
"Nothing, huh?"
"Nothing." She stopped on the corner, and faced him, keeping her face blank, impassive. "Nothing at all."
"Bullshit." He cupped her jaw, and everything inside her melted like a snowman shoved into a furnace. She wanted to stay strong, to maintain that icy distance, but it didn’t work. He leaned in, lowered his mouth to hers, and in the captivating romance of the twinkling Christmas lights and a full moon, the old feelings swept over her and before she could think twice, she was kissing him back.
Cole had always had a way of knowing exactly how she wanted to be kissed. He didn’t disappoint then or now. He reached up to cradle her face, his thumbs soft against her cheeks, his fingers tangled in her brown hair. His lips drifted over hers slow and sweet at first, then as she leaned into him, the kiss intensified, deepened, his tongue sweeping in against hers, in a familiar dance that made her ache with desire.
She pressed against him, driven by the same blind want she had felt years before. That need for more, for his magic touch, for the way he made her feel like the most special human on the planet, spiked inside her. His erection pressed between them, echoing her desire, sending that hot surge of craving through her veins. She clutched at his back, grabbing the thick leather of his jacket and pulling him closer, closer, until his chest crushed against her breasts with a sweet agonizing ache.
It took a solid minute before the sane part of her brain started screaming loud enough to drown out the hormones.
Get away, he broke your heart, he’ll do it again.
With a gust or a sigh, she wasn’t sure which, Stephanie tore herself away from Cole and staggered back a couple of steps. "That wasn’t supposed to happen."
"Why?"
The man infuriated her. He acted as if they could pick right up, have a couple weeks of fun, then say goodbye as if nothing happened. "I’m not the same girl you left behind, Cole. In fact, I don’t think I ever was that girl."
Then she spun away and hurried into her house before her common sense got lost in a rush of memories.
10 large sea scallops
10 strips bacon
1/4 cup barbecue sauce
Some wise man (okay, maybe it was me) said bacon makes everything better, so make these when you need to get out of the doghouse.
Preheat the broiler. Cut the sea scallops in half, cross-wise (so you get two round pieces from each one) and cut the bacon down the length and then in half (so you get four skinny strips from each slice). Brush both sides of the scallops with barbecue sauce, wrap with bacon and put on a foil lined cookie sheet. Look at those mad cooking skills! She’ll be impressed, for sure.
Broil 3-4 inches from the heat for about six minutes per side (watch them so they don’t burn; trust me, burned food doesn’t earn you brownie points), flipping once, until bacon is crisp. It may take several of these before she forgives you for the stupid words you said years before. It not, repeat the recipe until she sees that your heart is in the right place.
Chapter Four
Cole did his best to ho-ho and feign jolliness, but it came across about as real as the snow on the roof above him. Stephanie had switched places with Kerrie, handling camera and register duty, putting her as far from him as possible.
What had that been about last night? He still had no idea what had possessed him to go after her, not to mention kiss her. Okay, that was a lie. He knew why he had done all those things.
Because he had never forgotten Stephanie. He had gone all the way across the country, spent six years in the sun with starlets who had perfect bodies and perfect smiles, and never found a single woman who challenged him like Stephanie had. He’d known her nearly all his life, which was good and bad.
Good because they held a history together, one where they could look at a park and remember a picnic or look at a stop light and remember the dog they had rescued. Bad because no one could call him out on his bullshit like she could.
She knew him, hell, probably better than he knew himself.
There was a lull in the activity, and Stephanie put up the little sign with the plastic clock face. "Time for lunch, everyone."
Arnold zoomed toward Stephanie. Cole rose, headed in the same direction, then stopped when Kerrie put a hand on his arm. "I heard you were an actor," she said. She lifted her pert little chin, thrust her chest up and out, and flashed him a smile he had seen a thousand times.
It spelled invitation. Take me to your bed, let me have that brush with Hollywood. The women didn’t care if he was an extra or a lead—as long as he maintained a connection, no matter how tenuous, to fame, they wanted him. They’d climb in his bed, twine their legs around his back, and for a few moments, have that connection, too.
He looked down into Kerrie’s bright, eager, willing face. She was maybe twenty-one, twenty-two, with a rock-hard body, perky breasts, and a bright red mouth that quirked into a flirtatious smile. A lite lay, his friends called it. No strings, nothing complicated and heavy. Exactly what he should have wanted. Except now, the thought of a fling like that left a sour taste in his mouth.
"Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else," he said. "I’m just a working schlump like everyone else."
Kerrie’s face turned down into a pout. "Are you sure? I mean, my sister said she heard that you were in that movie that was, like, a huge hit everywhere."
"Not me. Sorry." He shrugged, then walked away.
The lower part of his body let out a weak protest. But then he spied Stephanie, and the protest ended. He didn’t want lite, not anymore. Hell, he never really had. He’d told himself he didn’t want complicated, but he did. The problem? Complicated came with risks. With believing in the impossible.
Complicated came with being in Stephanie’s world.
She was laughing at something Arnold said, and Cole wanted to be in on the joke, to be the one that coaxed that merry laughter from her. He headed out of Santa’s Village and caught up to Arnold and Stephanie as they headed for the secret door.
Behind him, he heard the patter of Kerrie’s padded elf feet as she hurried to catch up to him. "Meet me in the food court?"
"Uh, maybe," he said, distracted, his attention on Stephanie.
"Okay, great!" Kerrie spun away, at the same time Arnold and Stephanie headed down the passageway. Cole followed behind them.
"Are you guys grabbing lunch somewhere?" Cole asked. God, what was this, middle school? He sounded like a lame teenager trying to insert himself with the cool kids.
"We’re grabbing salads," Arnold said. "A plate of greens—"
"Makes for happy scenes," Stephanie finished. She and Arnold laughed.
Cole arched a brow. "Rhymes about salads?"
"It’s one of the Chubby Chums mantras," Arnold said. "We have one for almost every food group. It’s what keeps us on track."
"Chubby Chums?"
"It’s our support group," Arnold explained as they headed for the secret door. "I’ve lost eighty pounds, with the Chubby Chums, and I owe it all to our fearless leader." He wrapped Stephanie in a one-armed hug, quite the feat in the narrow hall.
Cole glanced over at Stephanie’s still-trim figure. To him, she hadn’t changed an ounce in the last six years. "You were never a Chubby Chum," he said to her. "You look just like you did in high school."
"Stephanie here is our most inspirational story," Arnold said. "She lost a whole lot of weight after—"
Stephanie elbowed Arnold. "Cole doesn’t want to hear about that. Okay?"
"Okay, but I think it’s super motivational how you got your figure back after—"
Another elbow. "Let’s save it for the meeting."
Cole glanced at Stephanie. Then at Arnold. The other man looked confused, but in the end, he shrugged
and went along with Stephanie’s request. Why would Stephanie be so reluctant to let him know she’d lost weight? He’d never known her to be vain or that worried about a few pounds.
It was part of what he’d always liked about her. Stephanie was real—unlike so many of the women he’d met in California. She was confident in herself, the kind of woman who had the attitude of what-you-see-is-what-you-get. She’d never fed into the cliques in high school or opted for a trend just because it was cool. She had an understated beauty, and a classic way of dressing that never failed to present a good impression.
Okay, well, at least he was pretty sure that was how she looked. Right now, she was wearing an elf suit. Not exactly a fashion moment for anyone. Stephanie, however, rocked that costume in a way no one else did.
"I’m going to change before I head out to the food court," Stephanie said. She thumbed toward the women’s locker room on the right side of the hall. "Arnold, want to meet me back here?"
Unspoken message—Cole, you’re not invited.
"That works for me," Cole said.
She pursed her lips, but didn’t disagree. Cole hadn’t won the war yet, but he’d at least won one battle.
A few minutes later, the three of them were back in street clothes and heading for a salad bar located in the back corner of the food court. Long lines snaked in front of the fast food places, but the salad place had only one person in line.
"Such a sad state of affairs," Arnold said with a sigh. "Sometimes I just want to give everybody in the world a great big Chubby Chum hug."
Someone across the mall greeted Arnold, and he exclaimed, then rushed toward his friend with outstretched arms. The customer ahead of them got her order and headed for a table. That left Cole and Stephanie in line. Alone.
"What would you like?" the girl across the glass counter asked.
This woman right here. Cole caught himself before saying that out loud.
"Chicken salad, tossed with cranberries and pecans," Stephanie said. "Raspberry dressing on the side."
"Sounds good," Cole said. "I’ll have the same."
As the girl worked on their salads, Cole loaded up a tray with silverware and napkins, then returned to Stephanie’s side. For a moment, he was back in high school, standing beside the girl who had been his best friend since first grade. Then somewhere between ninth and tenth grade, he’d started to notice her as a woman-to-be. He’d begun stammering around her, tortured by that awkward adolescent existence. It had taken him another two years to work up the courage to ask her on a date. Those years dating Stephanie had been the happiest of his life. He just hadn’t realized or appreciated that fact until it was too late.
In the end, he’d been the one to ruin it all. He never should have left when she told him to go to California alone. He should have insisted she go with him.
But would she have been happy? Living that far from her family? The career she was planning? Either way, Cole couldn’t go back and undo the choices he’d made six years ago. All he had was here and now—
And a chance to try again.
"You didn’t order the cookies," he said to her.
"That would undo the goodness of the salad."
"True, but they have chocolate kiss cookies. If I remember right, those were your favorites."
She cocked her head and studied him. "Yes, they are. You remember that?"
He definitely remembered the cookies. If there was ever a symbol of Stephanie’s world, it was the cookies her mother baked. She’d bring in peanut butter ones pressed with a fork imprint, or ginger cookies with icing drizzled on top, and share her bounty with Cole. When he thought of those years, he thought of the cookies, warm, gooey, made with peanut butter and chocolate and tasting as sweet and perfect as Stephanie.
"I remember lots of things, Stephanie." He held her gaze, and the noise of the mall and the shoppers and diners dropped away. The world closed in to just her and him, and no one else.
"Yeah, and so do I." She turned away and reached for their salads. In the little frown on her face, he saw the history between them. The breakup, the years apart. The mistakes he had made.
"Stephanie, I—"
"Oh, my God. I knew it was you!" Kerrie’s high-pitched voice raised above the hubbub like a siren. She barreled toward them, covering the distance from Taco Bell to the salad bar in a few quick seconds. "You are Cole Benson!"
Four words and a pandemonium of a different kind exploded in the mall. This time, it wasn’t children who were rushing toward him, it was every woman over the age of thirteen. Oh, crap. Women started calling his name and rushing in his direction with hurried steps and eager smiles.
"I’ll leave you to your fan club," Stephanie said, and started to walk away.
A week ago, heck, a couple days ago, Cole would have welcomed the female attention. The fawning of women who wanted him because they believed he was a fictional character in a movie. People thought they knew him from a one-page profile in a magazine where his publicist had made up half the answers to make him sound more "All-American." Part of crafting a boy-next-door image that was supposed to feed into a long and happy career in romantic comedies.
But the part of him that had felt alive and real for the first time in years, the part of him that hadn’t been Cole Benson, but had been just Cole, had been awakened last night on that chilly walk through the park. And right now, that part was walking away with his salad.
He ran to catch up to Stephanie. "You have my lunch."
"Oh, I’m sorry. Here."
"I want to eat it. With you." He glanced back at the rushing throng, gaining on him by the second. "Let’s go somewhere more private."
"Don’t you want to sit with your adoring fans?"
"No." He waved them off. "I want to sit with you."
She sighed. "Cole—"
"Save me, Stephanie." He grinned, then held up the tray. Behind him, he heard dozens of voices calling his name. "Besides, I have the silverware. Together, we make the perfect lunch pair. We always did. Remember? I helped you pass Geometry and you helped me decipher Romeo and Juliet."
"You did make those darn theorems make sense."
"And you made Shakespeare palatable. We had some productive lunches back in the day."
She tried to hold back a smile, but it pushed through all the same. "Okay, follow me." She detoured to the rear of the food court, then opened another of those secret doors, turning after Cole entered, and flicking a lock into place. "Just in case you create some Beatles type mania and they try to follow us."
"Believe me, I’m not that popular."
"Could have fooled me by the reaction out there." She gestured toward a small room on the right. "It’s not exactly lunch at the Ritz, but it’s private and quiet."
"It’s perfect. Reminds me of those lunches we had in high school, when we hid in the janitor’s closet."
"With the burgers you snuck out and bought at the fast food place next door. Oh, such rule breakers were we, eating contraband food."
"While making out in between bites." He would have gone to East Timbuktu for burgers if it meant being alone with Stephanie. "I remember that much more than the burgers. Don’t you?"
Her face colored. "We broke a lot of rules back then."
"And what about now? Are you still that same risk taker?"
She shook her head and let out a little laugh. "I am as far from that as you can get. Heck, I work in a bank."
"You work in a bank? I thought you wanted to go into corporate law. Broker billion dollar deals and all that."
She shrugged. "Plans changed."
She said it as if she was shutting a door. "Is that all?" he said. "Six years, plans changed?"
"Yup." She speared up some lettuce and ate it.
"You never married." It was more of a statement than a question. Although his breath caught while he waited for her answer.
"No." Another piece of lettuce. Another shut door.
"And you don’t want to talk about eithe
r subject."
"Nope." A piece of chicken, and a sip of water.
"Okay." He forked up some salad, then put the utensil back down. Why was he pretending this was just a regular lunch? That they were two work colleagues sharing a space and a tray of silverware? It was more than that, much more, and every time he got close to Stephanie, he craved her in ways he hadn’t craved anything in a long, long time. "You know what, it’s not okay. You and I used to have a close relationship. Hell, you were my best friend, Stephanie. And…more. A lot more. Now you won’t talk to me, and every time I try to get close, you throw up this wall. What changed?"
"You did. Remember?"
"Me? You’re the one who broke up with me."
She put her plate to the side and let out a long breath. "You were leaving to pursue your dream. Nothing wrong with that, but it’s the way you did it that hurt. You ran away like everything here was some kind of communicable disease that you couldn’t wait to escape. Everything, including me."
"That wasn’t what I meant. I asked you to go with me. You told me no."
"Because what I wanted, all I ever wanted," at this, her voice broke, and Cole got the feeling that he was missing some fundamental detail, some thread of the conversation that had been lost along the way, "was right here."
"The house in the suburbs. The fenced-in yard. The dog." He shook his head. "That’s not me, Steph. I’m not made for that kind of life."
"How do you know if you never tried?"
"I just know." He picked at his salad, but he no longer wanted it.
"That’s why I let you go then, Cole." She got to her feet, tossed her plate into a nearby trash can. She gave him a bittersweet smile, then crossed to the door. "I didn’t get in the way of what you wanted then, and I won’t now."
Then she was gone. And he was left wondering what the hell just happened and where he could find the memo he had missed.
Why did she keep getting sucked into Cole? He was like a dangerous whirlpool. Every time she got close to the edge, she lost her footing and before she knew it, she was drowning in that smile and those eyes and all those damned memories.