Properly caffeinated and fed, Ella got in her car less than half an hour later. For a moment she found sitting behind the wheel odd. She hadn’t driven anything but a bicycle since the previous spring. Owning a car in Paris hadn’t made sense. Instead, she’d used public transportation or gotten a ride with a colleague. North Salem was another story. The town lacked decent public transportation, so if you lived here you needed a car.
Before she pulled out, she put down the convertible’s top. When she’d purchased the car, Mom argued she should get something more practical than the cute two-seat convertible. Ella disagreed. The way she saw it, she had her whole life to have practical vehicles. Right now she wanted something fun. Putting the car in drive, she headed out.
Located on the north shore of Massachusetts, North Salem had been founded in 1680, a little more than a decade before the witch trials the neighboring town of Salem was remembered for. Although the town’s population had grown since then, it still remained a tight-knit community where things changed slowly and neighbors helped neighbors. She’d experienced some culture shock her first few weeks living in Paris. Although she’d spent a whole year in France as an undergraduate and two semesters there as a graduate student, the university she’d attended had been in Rennes, a city in the northwestern part of the country, not Paris. And visiting Paris for a day and actually living there were two different things. Eventually she’d grown to love it and started wondering if maybe she should look for something in Boston when she returned home. Driving past the town common and the kids playing on the playground, her heart said one thing. Home. Spending time in the city was fun, but nothing beat this.
Few people hit the grocery store Fridays at nine o’clock. Ella zipped through the produce and bakery sections without seeing anyone she knew well. At this rate she’d get her shopping done and start unpacking before she met her sister for lunch.
Skipping the dairy section for now, she turned down the bread and wine aisle. She never understood why the store put the two together, but it’d been that way for a while.
“Ella, you’re home.”
At the sound of Mrs. Mitchell’s voice, Ella paused, her hand on a package of cinnamon raisin bagels. A widow old enough to be her grandmother, Mrs. Mitchell lived alone in the same house she and her husband had bought as newlyweds shortly after World War II. Despite her advanced age, she managed to remember everyone’s name and was still active around town.
Mrs. Mitchell moved her shopping cart so it was alongside hers. “Last week at bingo, Dottie said she expected you home soon.” Ella’s grandmother, Dottie, and Mrs. Mitchell often attended events like bingo at the town’s senior center.
“I got back yesterday.” Ella tossed the bagels into her cart and crossed the item off her list. “How are you?”
“Same as always. Tell me about Paris. I’ve always wanted to go. See the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, and visit the Louvre. I’d love to see the Mona Lisa. But after the war Harold swore he’d never step foot in Europe again. And we never did.”
She only had vague memories of Mrs. Mitchell’s husband, who died more than twenty-five years ago. “It’s beautiful and busy. The food is out of this world. I took a ton of pictures. I’ll give them to….” The last words died on her tongue. The one person she didn’t want to see stood near the store’s selection of peanut butter and jams. Even worse, he’d spotted her and was walking toward them. Escaping him wasn’t an option.
“Alfred, looks who’s back,” Mrs. Mitchell said when Striker stopped next to them.
Striker’s jaw twitched. He hated when anyone called him by his given name, something only Mrs. Mitchell did on a regular basis. Actually, the woman never used anyone’s nickname and no one ever dared correct her. A perk of being a well-liked old woman, Ella guessed.
“She got home last night and was just telling me about Paris,” Mrs. Mitchell said before Striker spoke a word.
Like he cares. And what’s he doing here now? He should be at work.
“Morning, Mrs. Mitchell.” He smiled at the older woman before turning his light hazel eyes on her. “Welcome home. Must be nice to be back.”
“Fabulous.” She’d done the polite thing and answered him, now she’d get on with shopping. Ella directed her attention to Mrs. Mitchell. Mom taught her never to be rude, but sometimes a woman had no other option. “I’ll give Nana my pictures to show you. Will I see you tomorrow?” The widow got invited to every North Salem wedding. There was no way Mack and Jessie hadn’t invited their next-door neighbor to theirs.
“Looking forward to it. I just love weddings. And we’re having two in town so close together. So exciting. I already have the gifts wrapped and ready to go.”
She’d never thought of weddings as exciting. Fun, sure, but exciting? Maybe for the bride and groom. “Then I’ll see you there.”
Ella backed up her shopping cart. Her other option was to ask Striker to move so she could get by. She realized it was childish, but she didn’t want to say another word to him.
Ella got past the chips and snack aisle and almost to the pasta aisle before she heard him calling her name. Ignoring it, she kept on walking. She’d found a lone box of spaghetti in her cupboard and a jar of tomato and basil sauce. Usually she kept four or five boxes of pasta on hand. It was quick and easy. Not to mention she was a bit of a carb freak. She could go the rest of her life eating nothing but pasta and bread, with the occasional slice of pizza thrown in. Ella turned down aisle five, her mind on pasta, not the six-foot-three heartbreaker who called her name again.
A large hand touched her forearm when she stopped. “Hey,” he said.
Her traitorous heart picked up its beat. Ella ignored the stupid organ and reached for some fettuccini, dislodging Striker’s hand in the process. “Hi.” She kept her eyes on the pasta selection.
“How was your trip home?”
Friends and acquaintances asked questions like that. Not people you’d had sex with and thought you might spend the rest of your life with before they up and walked out of your life.
“Long.” She selected a new pasta sauce she’d never tried and then picked up two she loved.
“Are you around for lunch later? I took a personal day. If I don’t use them before the end of December, I’ll lose ’em.”
Wow, he had a set of brass ones, as her grandfather would say. He’d broken up with her and now wanted to have lunch? “Nope. Excuse me.” She moved around him so she could grab a box of lasagna noodles. “I’ve got a really long list.” She pointed to the paper she held. “Enjoy your day off, Striker.”
Striker ground his teeth and watched Ella walk away. Forget about the cold shoulder, she’d given him the subzero treatment. “What’d you expect, asshole?” he mumbled to himself in the thankfully empty pasta aisle. Something else.
He’d ended relationships with plenty of women. Since he usually dated women who lived outside of North Salem, he didn’t run into many once he stopped calling them. He liked it that way. The few he did see from time to time never reacted the way Ella had.
Back in April, he’d known he’d hurt her. Judging by her behavior just now, she’d moved past hurt and gone straight into pissed-off mode. His normal response to angry women was to tell them goodbye and move on. Doing just that was what screwed up his life in the first place. Somehow he needed to get past Ella’s anger. How, he had no friggin’ clue.
“Oh, Alfred, will you be a dear and get me down a bottle of the garlic and onion sauce,” Mrs. Mitchell said, pointing toward a jar of sauce on the top shelf.
He hadn’t even noticed she’d come down the aisle. “Yeah, sure.” Mrs. Mitchell barely reached his chest, putting anything above the middle shelf well out of her reach. “Here you go. Do you need anything else?” He handed the woman the jar and waited.
“While you’re at it would you mind grabbing some grated Parmesan?”
Striker grabbed a container of cheese and held it out.
Mrs. Mitchell accepted th
e cheese and added it to her cart before she spoke again. “Weren’t you and Ella going steady before she left in the spring?”
Striker resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and nodded. Only the elderly woman would use the term “going steady.”
“I remember seeing you together a few times. You made such a cute couple. It’s too bad it didn’t work out. But it happens. You’re still young. You’ll meet the right girl.” She patted his arm.
He’d met the right girl and let her get away. Or rather pushed her away.
“Well, I’ll let you finish your shopping, Alfred. Thank you for the help. I’ll see you at the wedding.”
Striker picked up the last few items he needed and left. When he reached his truck, he spotted Ella kneeling near her back left tire. The trunk of her car was open, and she’d placed the spare on the ground. She’d made it clear inside that she wanted nothing to do with him. Regardless, he couldn’t drive away and leave her to change her own tire.
He dropped his bags in his truck and walked over. “Flat tire?”
Ella slid the jack under the car and inserted the handle without even glancing in his direction. “Nope, I just thought I’d change the tire for fun.”
Yeah, maybe he deserved that response. It’d been a stupid thing to ask. “I’ll do it.” He crouched down next to her and reached for the lug wrench on the ground. The moment reminded him of a similar one the previous fall. He’d seen her on the side of Union Street with a flat and stopped to help her. Once he finished, he’d asked her out. They’d spent the next eight months together.
“No need, Striker. I know how. Don’t worry about it.” She held out her hand for the wrench, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek and let the wrench dangle between his knees. She might be determined to keep her distance, but he had other plans. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. Let me do it, Ella. Please. I want to.”
She blew out a breath, causing her long bangs to move, and glanced at him. “You’ll get it done faster than me anyway. Go ahead.”
Did he hear less anger in her voice? Before she changed her mind, he attacked the lug nuts. At least for the next few minutes she had no way to escape him. Who knew when he’d get a similar opportunity? “This reminds me of last fall.” When he’d loosened the lug nuts enough, he jacked up the car, and then removed the tire.
“I guess.”
“You’re not around for lunch, but what—”
“You’re home!”
A woman he didn’t know threw her arms around Ella, interrupting him midsentence.
“Kickboxing class hasn’t been the same without you,” the woman said, ignoring him completely.
“Came home yesterday,” Ella said, all her attention on the new arrival.
He listened and worked as slowly as he could, hoping the unknown friend would leave before he finished changing the flat.
Despite his best efforts, it didn’t happen. The two were still talking when he lowered the car and pulled the jack out from underneath. He even replaced the tools and the flat tire in the trunk.
He slammed the trunk closed and both women looked at him. “All set.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a half-hearted smile, an improvement over the frown she’d shot him inside.
“Anytime. See you at Mack and Jessie’s wedding Saturday.”
“Yep. Bye.” She looked back at her friend, leaving him no choice but to walk away.
Striker started up his truck and cranked up the music, the heavy bass filling his ears. He’d never seen this side of Ella. Before they’d gotten together they’d maintained a friendly enough relationship; hard not to when she was good friends with his younger sister. They’d say hello when they saw each other and have short conversations about nothing important. She’d never been rude or sarcastic, at least not sarcastic like today. Sometimes Ella’s sense of humor took on a sarcastic tone, but she hadn’t been joking around with him today.
A smart man would take the hint and move on. Find another woman, since she wanted nothing to do with him. But he’d already proven he wasn’t a smart guy. If he were, he wouldn’t be in this messed-up situation. He was a desperate guy, though. Desperate enough to ask his baby sister for advice—assuming she’d offer any. He figured the chances of it happening were less than 50 percent. Since the spring, Cat considered him not much better than pond scum. He had nothing to lose by asking. And if Cat refused, there was also Jessie Quinn. Since she’d hooked up with his best friend, they’d gotten to know each other very well. She’d help him out if he asked. She helped out everyone.
***
First time out of the way. Ella added a stack of folded shorts to a drawer, her mind still processing her run-in with Striker. She would’ve preferred it happen when she was more prepared.
She’d expected to see people she knew while shopping, but not him. During football season, he went into work extra early so he could make it to football practice in the afternoon. Just her dumb luck he’d picked today as a personal day.
Oh, well, at least it was done. In a strange sort of way, maybe it was better it’d happened today instead of at the wedding. Tomorrow she wanted to enjoy herself, not worry about her response when she came face-to-face with her ex-boyfriend. Now she knew she could see and talk to him without an emotional meltdown. She’d wasted enough tears and time on him, something she didn’t intend to repeat.
Before reaching for another suitcase, she checked her watch. She’d promised her sister, Claire, she’d come over around one. It was ten of one now, so any more unpacking would have to wait. Gathering up the gifts she’d brought back for her niece, Ella left.
When Claire first got married, she and her husband lived in an apartment on Simon Street. They stayed there until the previous year when they’d decided to try for a second child and wanted something bigger. Now, unfortunately, they lived in the same condo complex as Striker. In fact, their condo was only a few down from his. When she’d agreed to lunch at her sister’s, she’d assumed he’d be at work and there would be no chance of running into him. So far fate hadn’t been on her side today. She’d rather not bump into him again. Who knew what he might say or ask? He’d definitely intended to say something while he changed her tire. The arrival of Corey, her friend from kickboxing, had cut him off before he finished his sentence. She’d proceeded to ignore him while he worked. Or at least tried. Ignoring anyone six-foot-three and built like a wide receiver was no easy task. Especially when you remembered what it felt like when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.
“Don’t go there,” Ella said, turning into the condo complex parking lot. Despite her command, her eyes darted toward where Striker’s truck should be. Sure enough, the large dark blue pickup was parked in his spot.
She drove past it, pleased he wasn’t anywhere in sight, and parked in a visitor spot.
On the other side of the door, she heard Bean, her sister’s three-year-old Smooth Fox Terrier, barking, followed by Claire’s voice. Moments later the door opened. And Ella got her next surprise of the day.
“You’re pregnant?” she asked before she even said hello. A part-time personal trainer and nutritionist, Claire was as slim as the day she graduated high school. Or at least she had been. Today there was no mistaking the change.
Claire hugged her and nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me? When are you due?” She thought of Claire as not just an older sister but also a close friend. Sure, they did their fair share of fighting as children, but they always shared the important stuff.
“January first.” She closed the door behind Ella and started toward the kitchen.
Ella counted in her head. If she was due in January, Claire was already into her second trimester. Yet no one had said a word to her.
The scent of chocolate wrapped around her when she stepped into the kitchen, and Ella spotted the pan of brownies cooling on the counter.
“I made us grilled chicken a
nd strawberry salads for lunch and brownies for dessert.” Claire brought over two large salad bowls overflowing with fresh vegetables, chicken, and strawberries.
Ella loved brownies. She’d take them over ice cream or cake any day. Claire knew that. “Then maybe I’ll consider forgiving you for not telling me.”
“That’s why I baked them,” she said, going back to the refrigerator for salad dressing. “I kind of figured you’d be upset when you found out today.”
“And wouldn’t you be?” Ella skipped the Italian dressing and reached for the olive oil already on the table instead. “Why didn’t you say anything? Did you know before I left?”
Claire nodded and poured dressing over her salad. “We did. And I considered telling you.” She gave a little shrug. “You’d just broken up with Striker. For some reason telling you then seemed, I don’t know, mean I guess. I knew you’d expected things with him to last. I did, too.”
“Claire, that was months ago. And we talked on the phone all the time while I was gone. You could’ve told me then.”
“I know, but I didn’t want you mad because I didn’t say anything before you left. So I decided to wait and then soften you up with brownies.” She smiled and winked. “Did it work?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m forgiven and you want to know if I’m having a boy or a girl.”
As they worked their way though the salads they talked all things baby, including the list of potential boy names Claire and her husband had settled on. It wasn’t until they dug into the brownies that Claire brought their conversation around to Striker.
“Are you going to the wedding tomorrow?” Claire asked, setting down the whole pan of brownies on the table along with a knife and napkins.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” She didn’t wait for Claire to cut into the still-warm brownies. Instead, she picked up the knife and cut out a large corner piece for herself. “Jessie and I have been friends for a long time.”
Her sister cut an equally large piece before answering. “Striker’s the best man. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see him.”
In His Kiss (Love On The North Shore Book 4) Page 3