Sealed with a Kiss--A Sunshine Valley novella

by Melinda Curtis

  What was surprising was her response to his order. “Sorry, Book. We’re all out of specials.” Her lively brown eyes were guarded.

  Does she know?

  “Darn it.” Mims pouted, just a little. “I should have come earlier. But I got to talking to Booker, and…I suppose I’ll have a grilled cheese.”

  “Shoot.” Kimmy’s gaze softened but only when she looked at Mims. “I’ll make you a surprise special.”

  “And me? Your old friend?” He hoped they’d still be friends when he confessed what he’d done.

  “I can scrounge a grilled cheese for a childhood friend, I suppose.” Kimmy cut him no slack. “Plain and simple, like those burgers you serve.”

  He sensed it was time for damage control. “Let me apologize.”

  “For what?” Kimmy was still looking at him warily but her hands were moving—buttering bread, sprinkling seasoning.

  Watching her work in the kitchen had always been mesmerizing. “I’m assuming you’re going to tell me what to apologize for. You always do.”

  Kimmy scoffed, cheeks turning a soft pink, not an angry red.

  Booker drew a deep, relieved breath.

  “Are you going to participate in the bachelorette auction this Saturday?” Mims asked Kimmy.

  “I’m thinking about it.” Unhappily, if her expression was any indication. “And don’t”—she shook her knife in Booker’s direction—“give me any grief about it.”

  “Moi?” Booker tried to look offended. “Make fun of you? I’d never.” As teens, they’d joked that the Widows Club events were for the dateless and desperate.

  “I’m not either of the things you’re thinking of.” But Kimmy looked grim. Datelessly grim.

  What was wrong with the male population of Sunshine that they couldn’t see the appeal of Kimmy Easley?

  Booker leaned over the counter for a closer look at what Kimmy was using on Mims’s sandwich. It looked like spicy guacamole, heavy on the garlic. Garlic being her obsession.

  If he was honest, it was his too.

  “So, I can count on you on Saturday, Kimmy?” Mims was nothing if not persistent. “All proceeds go to the Sunshine Valley Boys & Girls Club.”

  “I suppose.” Kimmy relented. “Unless something comes up.”

  Booker frowned. What was going on here? Kimmy was pretty and clever and creative. She should have had guys dangling from a string, waiting for a chance to date her. When they’d been in school, she’d had Booker on a string, and she hadn’t even known it.

  “Thanks, Kimmy.” Mims paid for her sandwich, hefted her yellow pleather purse onto her shoulder, and fixed Booker with a stern stare perfected from years of working in the school cafeteria. “You’ll be our emcee, won’t you, Booker? It’ll give you a chance to talk about the Burger Shack’s new menu.”

  Kimmy sighed but didn’t glance up from her work.

  Booker reluctantly nodded. “I suppose I’ll have to agree if one of my best friends is helping raise money for a good cause.” Although, judging by the look on Kimmy’s face, he suddenly feared their friendship had fallen by the wayside. His shoulders knotted. Booker needed Kimmy to be his friend. Friends forgave each other’s bad decisions and betrayals.

  “Oh, I’m so happy you’ll be our emcee, Booker.” Mims hugged him. Her purse banged against his side with the weight of a brick—or a very large handgun, which Mims was rumored to carry.

  With her mission accomplished, Mims took her sandwich and walked toward the exit.

  No one was behind Booker in line. Earlier diners were busy eating what looked to be a darn good sandwich. Emory had disappeared somewhere. And Kimmy had her back turned to Booker, smashing his sandwich with a grill press.

  “I have a break in five minutes,” Kimmy said in a distant voice. “Meet me out back?”

  “Sure.” Relief skimmed through Booker, untying his knots.

  Their history was flooded with work breaks taken together behind the Burger Shack, where they’d sit on a sturdy plastic picnic table and dream of leaving Sunshine and making their mark on the world. Kimmy by opening a specialty sandwich shop. Haywood by selling million-dollar homes. Booker by owning and managing a chain of high-end restaurants.

  Only two of their trio had achieved anything close to their dreams—Haywood and Booker. Only one of them had left town.

  Kimmy had unwittingly played a role in Booker’s success.

  And now Booker had to make up for it.

  Chapter Two

  I haven’t seen you in years and you show up with Mims?” Kimmy pushed the back door of Emory’s open and didn’t stop walking until she’d reached the employee picnic table on the back patio near the receiving bay. She sat down across from Booker with her sandwich and a bottle of water. “What’s happening here?”

  Her gaze caught on him. On handsome him. And something deep inside her stirred with interest.

  I need to date more.

  Who was she kidding? She needed to date. Period. Starting this week.

  “You made me lunch. That’s what’s happening.” Booker held up his grilled cheese sandwich. “Cheddar, Muenster, and Swiss. But you spiced it up with…”

  “Grainy Dijon mustard, walnuts, and super-thin apple slices.” Pride had her smiling back, despite a small voice in her head whispering that Booker was the competition now. Her attractive competition.

  Stop. This is Booker.

  The guy she’d studied geometry with and thrown French fries at. The guy who’d taken her to prom because neither of them had had dates, although that had turned out to be a disaster. He was her friend. He could still be her friend.

  As long as he doesn’t kill Emory’s lunch business in the next six weeks.

  She sighed. “It makes the cheese more interesting, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve never done more than salt and pepper on a grilled cheese sandwich. Well done.” Booker took another bite. “You know what would make this better? Two thick slabs of French toast.”

  “Heavens, no.” Kimmy unwrapped a shredded-chicken sandwich she’d made for herself. “The imbalance of bread to cheese wouldn’t work.”

  Booker’s smile fell a little.

  “Maybe it would work between waffles,” she said kindly, intrigued by the flavor combinations.

  Behind him in the loading dock, several teenage boys were doing tricks on skateboards.

  “Isn’t that your brother?” Kimmy pointed to a teen who was shorter and skinnier than the others. “Dante?”

  Booker turned, scowling when his eyes lit on his kid brother. “Dante! Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  Dante skidded to a stop, flipping his board vertical so he could grab the front axle. “We had an assembly today. Short day at school.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be at the Burger Shack?” There was no mistaking the command in Booker’s voice.

  Dante shrugged. Translated from teen speak that meant Yes, but I’m not going.

  The other two teens—the Bodine twins—took off in the other direction.

  “Gotta go.” Dante waved and followed them.

  “But…” Booker twisted back around in his seat to face Kimmy, his expression dark. “Aren’t you glad you have an older brother? Because…” He gestured toward the escaping Dante.

  “At this moment, yes.” Looking into Booker’s dark eyes, she nearly forgot why she’d come outside to join him. Mental head thunk. Her future. “I hear you’re changing the menu at the Burger Shack.” Might as well address the elephant in the room.

  “My parents’ business has been struggling, and they wanted to retire. And I’ve been playing with the menu in the store I opened in Denver.” His voice dropped into that low, soothing range usually reserved for lawyers and ministers dealing with sensitive topics. “The restaurant in Denver is all mine, and it’s exceeded my expectations.”

  “You’re a success.” And she was just the deli clerk at Emory’s.

  Only for the next six weeks.

  Kimmy bit in
to her sandwich, pausing to relish the blend of basil pesto, melted mozzarella, baked chicken, and olives. They could take away her job but they’d never take away her ability to make magic in a sandwich.

  “It’s not exactly the dream I talked about when we worked at the Burger Shack.” He pulled what remained of his sandwich in half, stretching the cheese as he did so and then wrapping it around the bread before taking a bite. “But it’s just what my family needs. I hope to have the staff trained before the wedding. I’ve got to get back to Denver soon afterward.” He paused to smile but it was a tentative thing. “I want to show you the menu.”

  He wants my input?

  Kimmy made a noncommittal noise and took another bite of sandwich, considering the cowlick at Booker’s temple. The rest of his hair fell straight and in line. And that was Booker’s life in a nutshell. He knew what he wanted and marched straight toward it, overcoming obstacles like a tank on a battlefield.

  Her path to her dreams was slower paced and more circuitous. Not that she wanted to discuss her plans with Booker, owner of the Burger Shack. Or help with his menu.

  She switched gears. “I need to find a wedding date.” She set down her sandwich, thinking it could use a bit more garlic. “Maybe I am desperate. Can you imagine? Me up on the stage at Shaw’s?” Gawked at and bid on. She shivered.

  What did I get myself into?

  “You’ll earn the highest bid of the evening.” That was Booker, ever the optimist.

  Booker back in town. Kimmy needing a date. The Widows Club at her lunch counter. Suspicion worked its way into her thoughts.

  “I’m just going to be frank here.” She wiped her fingers clean with a napkin, wishing she could just as easily wipe away her promise to be auctioned off. “You walked up to my counter with the president of the Widows Club. Mims cornered you to emcee the event and maybe something more.”

  “It’s not what you think.” Booker held up his hands. “My mom brought her into the kitchen at the Burger Shack, and then she said she had something to talk about but wanted to get her steps in, and suddenly I was in your lunch line.”

  Kimmy picked up her sandwich and was about to take another bite when she hesitated. “You don’t think they’re targeting the two of us as…”

  Booker looked stricken and released a strangled “No.”

  He either believed that or was friend-zoning her.

  The friend-zoning stung given how smitten she was by his good looks today.

  It’s a by-product of my need for a date.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” She stuffed some chicken back between the bread. “If they were trying to match the two of us, Mims wouldn’t have asked you to emcee. You can’t bid as the host.”

  “Bullet dodged,” Booker muttered, not meeting her gaze.

  Was the richness of the sandwich getting to him? Or was this conversation turning him off?

  A cool mountain breeze swirled around them.

  “I can still get out of the auction if I find a wedding date.” Kimmy took another bite of her sandwich and savored the flavors.

  “But…you promised.”

  Kimmy lifted her chin. “I caveated my acquiescence.”

  “High school vocabulary words aren’t going to get you out of this.” He wasn’t teasing. He was serious. “You always said—”

  “That a promise isn’t to be broken.” She hung her head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I can show and get bought, and the schmo can buy me dinner. But forget about that guy being my wedding date.” She’d heard stories about drunken cowboys bidding. “Who can I ask from our high school class?”

  Booker smirked. “First off, you want someone to talk to about the food they serve.”

  It was calming the way he knew her so well. “Yes, there’s that.”

  “And someone who’s willing to put up with your extraordinary dance moves.” Booker grinned.

  What Kimmy didn’t have in smooth moves she made up for in enthusiasm.

  Booker was eyeing her sandwich the way her father’s dog eyed a hot Shack burger. “How about Jason Petrie?”

  “He’s still Darcy’s guy.” When Jason came home from the rodeo circuit, which was almost never.

  “Iggy King?” Booker watched her take another bite. “I hear he’s running a legitimate business now.”

  Kimmy swallowed and frowned. Iggy would be a fun wedding date if she wanted to drink too much and wake up in the wrong bed the next morning. Pass. “I’d put him in my last-resort category.”

  Booker seemed relieved. “I’d offer Dante but that seems a little extreme.”

  His kid brother? “I’m no cradle robber.” Dante was thirteen years younger than she was. She pushed the remains of her sandwich away.

  Booker scooped it up and took a bite. “Oh, man,” he said after he swallowed, “this is good.” He took another bite before asking, “Why don’t you go stag?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Kimmy propped her chin on her fists and adopted a sarcastic tone. “Maybe because ten years ago I went on a date with Hay.”

  It had been wonderful. Dinner in Greeley, followed by a movie and then a drink at Shaw’s. He’d brought her home and kissed her good night. She’d been melting in his arms—her childhood crush, a tender kiss, visions of wedding veils dancing in her head.

  And then Hay had broken it off, rested his forehead on hers, and said, “That was weird, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

  He’d turned and walked away so fast that Kimmy hadn’t worked up the nerve to say, That wasn’t weird. It was wonderful, you idiot.

  And he’d driven off, apparently straight to Ariana’s house.

  And that, my friends, was the end of that.

  “You aren’t still freaking out over that kiss, are you?” Booker rolled his eyes. “Hay told me it was like kissing his sister.”

  And Booker had made sure he’d told Kimmy that, more than once. “We don’t have to rehash it.”

  “But you’ve been rehashing if you’re thinking you need a date because of that one mistake a decade ago.”

  “Ariana still looks at me funny.” Like she wasn’t sure Kimmy could be trusted around her man. “I’ll ask Avery if she’s got a castoff I can use.” Avery was an avid dater.

  Booker pulled a face. “Man up and go alone.”

  “No. Jeez. Don’t you get it? This is Ariana’s big day. I don’t want her to look at me and think, That woman is in love with my husband.”

  “Do you love him?” Booker’s dark brows lowered.

  “No.” Crushes weren’t love. When Booker narrowed his eyes, she tried to clarify. “It’s like…when you’re young and you look at a famous actor—in your case, an actress—and you imagine what it would be like to be with them. But you know it’s not going to happen.” Although in her case it had, but not with the desired result.

  “So you do still love him.” There was an odd note to Booker’s words that she couldn’t place.

  “No.” Kimmy made a frustrated noise deep in her throat. “I love both of you but I’m not in love with either of you.”

  “Well then…” Booker was building a grin, along with his point. “Ariana’s not going to be jealous of you.”

  Like I’m not someone to be jealous of?

  “Way to make me feel good about myself, Book.”

  “Kim”—he shortened her name too—“you have mad kitchen skills. You should feel good about yourself and let the past stay in the past.” Booker crumpled their sandwich wrappers together. “Now, about my menu…”

  He didn’t understand. “I don’t have time to fawn over your menu.” Kimmy stood, awash in disappointment. “My break’s over.”

  “Right. Time constraints.” He threw the balled wrappers into the trash, a gleam in his eye. “Speaking of, you should get yourself a wedding date quick, before the good ones are gone. Don’t forget what happened at prom.” When they’d both hesitated and ended up going together. “But first, tell me what you put in your sandwich besides garlic.” He blessed her with a gri
n that tugged something in her chest.

  “Spill my secrets?” Kimmy wasn’t falling for Booker’s charm that easily. “Help me get a wedding date, and maybe I will.”

  “Hello, parents. What are you doing here?” Booker stood in the back entrance to the Burger Shack, where he had half the staff practicing making gourmet sandwiches. He wanted to check on their progress and then find Mims. “Go home. You’re supposed to be retired.” The business was his now, and he planned to manage it from Denver.

  His dad looked down his nose at a pimento-chicken sandwich with waffles in place of bread while his mom was poking a finger at a jalapeño- and meatball-stuffed ciabatta. Both his parents had dark hair threaded with gray and wore the Burger Shack black button-down and black slacks, along with grease-stained running shoes. They’d come prepared to work.

  “I don’t know, Booker.” His dad pulled a face. The one he’d used when Booker came home after curfew. “The Burger Shack isn’t known for sandwiches.”

  The tension that had sat between his shoulder blades while he’d stood in line for one of Kimmy’s sandwiches and when she’d refused to look at his menu returned. “I’ve proved both concepts work together.” With the restaurant he’d opened in Denver. “People want options.”

  “But these sandwiches…” His mom looked just as grave. “They’re like what Emory’s Grocery offers.”

  The sandwiches were exactly what Emory’s offered, since they were the same sammies Kimmy had made while they were in high school.

  Those were the sandwiches Booker knew how to make. He hadn’t thought anything of his use of Kimmy’s creations until his lawyer suggested he create fanciful names for items on his menu and trademark them. The process of legal protection had made him realize the sandwiches had never been his to begin with. He had to buy the rights from her.

  The double knots threaded their way up his spine, tightening at the base of his neck.