“You’re delivering breakfast and flowers?” She looked from him to the flowers and back again. “At eight o’clock on a Sunday morning?”
“I wanted to get here before you ate.”
“You succeeded.” Ella nibbled on her bottom lip, and he saw the gears turning in her head. She glanced at the flowers again before taking a step back. “Do you want some coffee?”
Before she changed her mind and slammed the door in his face, he stepped inside. “Don’t worry about it. Sit down, and I’ll get us both some. I remember where you keep everything.”
Ella’s lips parted, and he prepared his counter argument to whatever she said. No words came. Instead, she took her usual seat at the table and waited.
His neck burned as he started the coffee and plated the food. She might not be saying anything, but she watched his every move.
“Hope it’s warm enough.” He set down her breakfast before going to the refrigerator. Ella liked both milk and sugar in her coffee and tea. She only drank her espresso black, which he never understood.
“Eggs Benedict? You don’t really like this.” She reached for her fork as she tipped the bowl of fruit next to her plate for a better look inside. “And you hate pineapple.”
Armed with two mugs of coffee, he returned. “And you love both. Enjoy.”
He drank his coffee while she sampled the eggs, and he waited for her thoughts. She’d taught him the recipe the previous fall, but he’d only made it on his own once before today. He’d used a recipe from the Internet rather than his memory, but that didn’t guarantee he hadn’t screwed it up. A second forkful followed the first. A good sign. Considering her feelings toward him, she wouldn’t eat it just to avoid hurting his feelings. Six months ago maybe, but not this morning.
“Aren’t you eating?”
“Had a bagel at home.”
Ella’s eyes reflected her disbelief. “Only a bagel?”
She knew him well. Most mornings he had a breakfast large enough for two grown men. Today the clamp around his gut made it hard to get even the bagel down. “A poppy seed bagel with peanut butter. How’s breakfast?” Sharing his personal discomforts wasn’t in the playbook.
“Delicious. Tastes like when I make it.” Despite her praise, she didn’t return to eating. “Are you feeling okay? A bagel is never enough for you. Have some of this. I can’t eat all of it and the pineapple.”
“All set, Ella. Coffee’s enough.”
She appeared unconvinced but went back to eating.
“The block party is tonight,” Striker said.
Throughout the spring and summer the town held regular block parties on the town common. Designed for everyone in town, you could find everything from live music and dancing to grilled food and face painting. Usually he got to a few every summer. This year he hadn’t made it to one.
“Sounds weird, but I actually missed them being away.” Ella switched from her eggs to her pineapple. He watched her bite into it and wondered again how she stomached the fruit. Any other fruit he’d eat even if he didn’t love it, but he didn’t even like when pineapple touched other fruit. “They must be almost done for the year,” she said.
“Tonight’s the last one. Come with me.” For a moment, he forgot he no longer had any right to touch her. Reaching out, he brushed the loose pieces of hair off her cheek. At his touch she swallowed, but she didn’t pull away. Willing to risk it, he did the same on the other side, letting his thumb pass over the corner of her lips. “We don’t have to stay long.”
Ella glanced down at her breakfast, and the flowers still on the table waiting to be trimmed and put in a vase.
“It’ll be fun.” She hadn’t pulled away yet so he slid his hand across her jaw and down her neck. When he reached her shoulder, he stopped because otherwise he risked going lower, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever progress he might have made so far. “What do ya say?”
She leaned forward, or he thought she did, and she moistened her bottom lip. “Okay, for a little while. I have a ton to do tomorrow and need to get up early.” She stood up, her coffee mug in hand. “Want some more?”
What he wanted was Ella in bed, her lips crushed against his until she came and cried out his name. This morning she wasn’t offering that or anything remotely close. But coffee would at least keep him sitting next to her. He’d take what he could get. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it. Sit and eat.”
He snagged the mug from her hand and went toward the counter, putting some much-needed space between them. Now that he’d touched her, he wanted to do it again. And if he did he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from kissing her. Once he kissed her, it’d be all over.
Striker refilled his mug then went to fill Ella’s. Only it didn’t need more. The mug remained more than three quarters full. She’d used getting more coffee as an excuse to get away from him. She hadn’t pulled away when he’d touched her, so why did she want to get away from him? Was she afraid of what she might do or what he’d do?
When she’d opened the door and seen him standing there with flowers and a cooler, she’d thought maybe she was still dreaming. The night before she’d found it difficult to fall asleep. Their conversation at the wedding reception kept popping up, demanding her attention. Each time it did she agonized over her answer. Had she made a mistake? He’d sounded so sincere, and she’d never known him to lie. Sure, he’d broken her heart when he ended things, but that was different. So, if he’d said he fucked up—his words, not hers—he meant it.
And he’d said more.
Before the breakup, she’d hoped for the three-word statement. But not once had he said he loved her. Despite loving him she’d kept the sentiment to herself, afraid she’d tell him before he was ready to hear it. Back then she’d suspected he loved her even though he’d never told her so. Afterward, she told herself she’d been wrong. She had seen things that weren’t there. If she believed what he said yesterday, she hadn’t been wrong. But could she trust him? If he’d gotten scared before, he could again. She’d agreed to a month. She couldn’t back out. Okay, she could, but it’d be a bitchy thing to do.
Ella took another bite of her eggs and watched him at the counter. Having him in her kitchen, pouring coffee, brought up memories from all the times they’d spent the night together. Every weekend when they’d been together, he either stayed with her or she slept at his condo. Back then they’d spent their mornings in bed: sometimes making love, other times just talking. If they stayed at his condo, Striker always made her breakfast in bed on Sundays. Often they were simple dishes like french toast or scrambled eggs, but he’d taken the time to pamper her. On those mornings they found themselves here, she’d cook and teach him some of her favorite breakfast recipes, including eggs Benedict. Some of her favorite memories included those weekend mornings they spent together.
Somehow he must know it, too. Why else would he have cooked her breakfast and delivered it? And not only had he cooked, but he made one of her favorites, a dish he barely tolerated, along with fresh pineapple. Judging by the condition of the chunks, he’d cut it up himself. She wondered how he’d managed. She’d seen Striker actually gag at the smell, so peeling and cutting it must have taken considerable effort.
“Mind if I grab some juice?” he asked from behind her.
Striker set her coffee mug, the one that hadn’t needed to be refilled, back down. He must have noticed, yet he hadn’t mentioned it. Getting his hand off her skin moments ago had been paramount. Not because she didn’t want it there, but because she wanted it there too much. His first touch as he moved hair off her cheek had sent warmth through her face. When he’d traced her jaw and moved to her shoulder, the warmth spread and her body demanded she seek out more. She’d come so close to kissing him. Before she closed the space left between them, she recalled the pain he’d caused in the spring. Giving him a month was one thing. Kissing him as if nothing had ever happened was another.
“Help yourself,” Ella answered. “Do you kno
w who’s playing at the block party tonight?” She needed to keep a conversation going so her lips and mouth stayed busy. Otherwise they might get some crazy ideas again and think kissing went well with eggs Benedict. “I’m guessing it’s not Gage.”
She’d gone to school with Gage Larson, who’d formed a band with some of his college buddies eight or nine years ago. For a long time, the band had played local venues around New England, and they’d frequently played at the town’s block parties. The previous fall they’d landed a recording contract from a big-name record company. According to Maryann, his longtime girlfriend and one of Ella’s friends, they hadn’t performed in North Salem all summer.
“Some band out of Danvers. Can’t remember their name, but I heard ’em play at a bar back in June. Not as good as Gage and his band, but not bad.”
Ella took the last possible bite she could and pushed her plate away. “That was really good. Thank you.”
He gave her the same sexy smile as the day he first asked her out. The one that said “don’t worry, I know how to please a woman.” The warmth she’d experienced moments ago when he touched her returned, and she glanced at his hands wrapped around his coffee mug. Big mistake. Instantly, memories of his large hands cupping her breasts and butt surged forward. An out-of-control fire started burning her from the inside out.
“Anytime.”
His voice, lower, more seductive than a moment ago, pulled her eyes away from his hands and to his eyes. Could he tell what she was thinking? Did her face somehow give her away? Mon dieu! She hoped not.
Striker leaned toward her and brushed his hand against her cheek. “I like cooking for you.”
Either she moved closer or he did, because before she responded, he settled his lips on hers. He moved his lips against hers, giving Ella a series of slow, shivery kisses rather than a passionate one.
Some part of her, not ruled by emotion and feelings, shouted that she shouldn’t be letting him kiss her. Slowly the annoying voice got through to the rest of her, and she pulled away. Ella removed his hand from the back of her neck and immediately released it. “I’ve got a lot of things to do. See you tonight?”
The smile he’d given her before no longer existed. “You’re pissed at me.” He sounded more annoyed than angry.
Ella shook her head. “More upset with myself. You didn’t force me. I could’ve stopped you.”
Striker cracked his knuckles. She’d learned months ago he did it whenever he was trying to work something out, or when he got annoyed. “Ella, you agreed to give me a month. Please don’t—”
“I’m not changing my mind. But I’m not rushing anything, either, Striker. Things happened fast last time, and we both know how it turned out. You’ve got your month, but I’m setting the pace.”
He cracked a knuckle on his left hand this time. “Whatever you want.”
She wanted to kiss him again. But you couldn’t always have what you wanted.
“I’ll go so you can get stuff done. What time should I pick you up?”
“Around five.”
He nodded and stood. “See you tonight.”
Her eyes followed him to the door. When he got there, he didn’t leave. Instead, he paused and turned around. “Call if you need me to come by later.”
Ella remained seated even after the door closed. A few more kisses like that and I’ll be in love with him again, she thought, before laughing. “Like you ever stopped loving him.” Zut! What had she signed up for this time?
***
Except for the party held on the Fourth of July, the first block party and the last one of the season always drew the biggest crowds. Judging by the crowd already gathered across the street on the town common, tonight was no different. She’d been coming to the parties for as long as she could remember, and she truly had missed them while away. She wished tonight wasn’t the last one until next spring.
Like many people, Striker parked in the church’s parking lot just across from the common. As soon as Ella pushed open the truck door the scent of grilling meat descended on her, and she wondered what other tasty treats would be available tonight. At most parties, Mrs. Mitchell cooked up homemade donuts on the spot. Frequently, the senior center brought over its old-fashioned popcorn machine and sold bags of popcorn, too. If they didn’t they brought over their cotton candy machine instead, a huge hit with the children. That didn’t even take into consideration all the baked goods the various town organizations donated.
“There’s nothing like the smell of burgers on the grill,” Striker said. He came around the truck and stopped next to her. So far, he’d kept his hands and his lips to himself. She was both grateful and disappointed at the same time. Not a pleasant set of emotions to experience.
“If you’re hungry we can stop and get food first.” Ella shoved her hands into her pockets before he tried to take one. Oh, please, who am I kidding? She’d done it to keep herself from reaching for him. Evidently her body was ready to forgive and forget even if her head and heart weren’t. Thankfully, so far she’d managed to control her body’s desires. The only time she’d slipped had been this morning in the kitchen when they kissed, but she’d gotten the upper hand before things went too far.
“What do you want to do?” Striker asked. She noticed after he slipped his car keys into a pocket that his hand remained there. She guessed he suffered from the same problem she did.
Together they crossed Main Street, the horseshoe-shaped road that went around the common. When they reached the edge of the grass she paused, her attention immediately going to the temporary dance floor. Up on the bandstand a DJ played music.
“I thought a band from Danvers was playing tonight.” Ella glanced around, curious as to who else had arrived so far, and wondered how long it would take before people noticed them together and assumed they’d gotten back together.
Next to her, Striker waved back at a teen who waved to him, and she assumed he played on the football team. She’d attended many of the games last season, but because the players usually had helmets on she didn’t know many of their faces.
“They must’ve canceled. When I checked the website this morning, they were still listed. Do you want to dance?”
She loved dancing and never passed up an opportunity to do so. Plus, if the DJ played a slow song she’d have to touch him, despite the voice repeatedly telling her to keep her distance tonight. “Of course. After, let’s see who volunteered to be in the dunk tank. I missed seeing Mr. Rizzo go down this year.”
The town set the dunk tank up for almost every party as a fundraiser. Every year Mr. Rizzo, the high school principal, took a turn inside. He’d started the tradition when he’d been a first-year teacher and lost a bet with one of his math classes. Ever since, he’d made a point to go in the tank at the first block party of the season. Throughout the summer, other residents stepped up and volunteered. In the past, everyone from town police officers and firefighters to the president of the Parent Teacher Association had volunteered. And there was never a shortage of people willing to purchase a ticket to dunk the person inside.
Striker nodded and held out his hand. Perhaps remembering all the times he’d done something similar, her hand slipped from her pocket and into his. Great self-control tonight.
Together they walked to the center of the dance floor. A few couples glanced their way, but the pulsing beat occupied most of the dancers. She noticed Striker flex his fingers when he released her hand, and she wondered if it suddenly felt as empty as hers did.
In no time the crowd around them grew, and people she hadn’t seen in months waved as they passed her. Several sent easily decipherable looks. Just as she’d suspected, people were wondering if she and Striker were together again. She hated being the center of rumors. Perhaps for their first date, or whatever you called this, they should’ve left town, gone somewhere they could be alone. Scratch that. They were much better off in a public place, surrounded by people. Here, she was much less likely to kiss him again.
“I need a break,” Ella said in between songs. They’d been on the dance floor for a solid half hour and Tom, the DJ, had played nothing but popular dance hits so far. Thanks to Tom’s choices, she’d had no excuse to touch Striker again. She wasn’t sure if she should go over and thank Tom or yell at him. Perhaps even both. “And a drink.”
Determined to remind the North Shore that summer wasn’t over, Mother Nature had dropped a record-breaking heat wave on them today. According to the news, the temps would remain unusually high until the end of the week and then return to more seasonable norms.
On cue, Striker took her hand, the first time he’d touched her since they started dancing. The nerve endings in her hand came to life and a dizzying current of warmth raced up her arm and throughout her body. If she slipped her hand free, it’d raise questions. And she didn’t want to admit that even the slightest of touches made her long for the intimacy they once shared.
“Me, too. And a burger or hot dog. Maybe both. I’m starving.”
As they cleared the dance floor, Grace Ellsbury and her cousin ran past them, headed in the direction of the bounce houses set up. Their grandmother followed a few steps behind them, but she paused long enough to say hello.
“I’m going to skip the burgers tonight. But I’ll get some drinks and see if Mrs. Mitchell is selling her donuts if you want to go get one.” She could get a burger anytime. After tonight, the next time she might be able to get Mrs. Mitchell’s donuts was at the holiday craft fair in December. She’d rather not wait so long.
He crackled a knuckle on his free hand, a clear sign something was going through his head. “When I’m done getting food, I’ll grab us some seats.”
“Meet you over there.” Ella didn’t wait for him to change his mind and insist they stick together. A few minutes apart would let her get her head rather than her body back in control.
Even from the back of the line, Ella caught most of the conversation between Mrs. Mitchell and a young woman she’d seen around town but didn’t know. While she waited, Ella made a mental list of what she needed to get done tomorrow. It was either that or argue with herself about what a bad idea it’d be to kiss Striker again tonight. If she started that argument now, she knew her lips would win instead of her common sense.
In His Kiss (Love On The North Shore Book 4) Page 6