"I can probably choke some down, just to be polite. Let me give you a hand."
"No." She waved him down before he could rise. "I've got it. It'll just take me…" She glanced down as she cleared his plate, saw Diego sprawled belly-up in apparent ecstasy in his lap. "Have you been sneaking that cat food from the table?"
"Me?" All innocence, Zack picked up his wineglass. "I don't know what makes you think that."
"You'll spoil him, and make him sick." She started to reach down, scoop up the kitten, then realized that considering Diego's location, the move was just a tad too personal. "Put him down a while so he can run around and work off that tuna before I take him inside."
"Yes, ma'am."
She had the coffee on and was about to slice the cake when he came through the door with the serving bowl.
"Thanks. But guests don't clear."
"They did in my house." He looked at the cake, all fluffy white and succulent red. And back at her. "Honey, I've got to tell you, that's a work of art."
"Presentation's half the battle," she said, pleased. She went still when he laid his hand over the back of hers. Nearly relaxed again when he simply moved hers to widen the size of the slice.
"I'm a big patron of the arts."
"At this rate Diego's not the only one who's going to be sick." But she cut him a piece twice the size of her own. "I'll bring the coffee."
"I should tell you something else," he began as he picked up the plates, then held the door for her again. "I plan on touching you. A lot. Maybe you could work on getting used to it."
"I don't like being handled."
"I didn't plan to start out that way." He walked to the table, set down the cake plates, and sat. "Though handling, on both sides, can have some satisfying results. I don't put marks on women, Nell. I don't use my hands that way."
"I'm not going to talk about that," she answered curtly.
"I'm not asking you to. I'm talking about me, and you, and the way things are now."
"Things aren't any way now—like that."
"They're going to be." He scooped up some cake, sampled it. "God, woman, you sell this on the open market, you'd be a millionaire inside of six months."
"I don't need to be rich."
"Got your back up again," he observed and kept right on eating. "I don't mind that. Some men look for a woman who'll buckle under, tow the line, whatever." He shrugged, speared a fat strawberry. "Now, me, I wonder why. It seems that would get boring fast for both parties involved. No spark there, if you know what I mean."
"I don't need sparks either."
"Everybody does. People who set them off each other every time they turn around, though, well, that would just wear you out." Something told her he didn't wear out—or wear down—easily.
"But if you don't light a spark now and again," he went on, "you miss the sizzle that comes with it. If you cooked without spice or seasoning, you'd come up with something you could eat, but it wouldn't satisfy."
"That's very clever. But there are some of us who stay healthier on a bland diet."
"My great-uncle Frank." Zack gestured with his fork before he dived into the cake again. "Ulcers. Some said it came from pure meanness, and it's hard to argue. He was a hardheaded, miserly Yankee. Never married. He preferred curling up in bed with his ledgers rather than a woman. Lived to be ninety-eight."
"And the moral of the story?"
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of morals. Just Great-uncle Frank. We'd go to dinner at my grandmother's the third Sunday of every month when I was a boy. She made the best damn pot roast—you know, the kind circled around with the little potatoes and carrots? My mother didn't inherit Gran's talent with a pot roast. But, anyway, Great-uncle Frank would come and eat rice pudding while the rest of us gorged. The man scared the hell out of me. I can't look at a bowl of rice pudding to this day without getting the shakes."
It must be some kind of magic, she decided, that made it so impossible not to relax around him. "I think you're making half that up."
"Not a single word. You can look him up in the registry at the Island Methodist Church. Francis Morris Bigelow. Gran, she married a Ripley, but was a Bigelow by birth and older sister to Frank. She lived to just past her hundredth birthday herself. We tend to be long-lived in my family, which is why most of us don't settle down to marriage and family until into our thirties."
"I see." Since he'd polished off his cake, Nell nudged hers toward him and wasn't the least bit surprised when he took a forkful. "I'd always thought New England Yankees were a taciturn breed. You know—ayah, nope, maybe."
"We like to talk in my family. Ripley can be short-winded, but then she isn't overly fond of people as a species. This is the best meal I've had since Sunday dinner at my gran's."
"That is the ultimate compliment."
"We'd finish it off exactly right if we were to take a walk on the beach."
She couldn't chink of a reason to say no. Maybe she didn't want to.
The light was fading, going deep at the edges. A needle-thin and needle-bright swath of light swept over the horizon, and a blush of pink gleamed in the west. The tide had gone out, leaving a wide avenue of dark, damp sand that was cool underfoot. The surf teased it, foaming out in ribbons while narrow-bodied birds with legs like stilts pecked for their supper.
Others strolled the beach. Almost all couples now, Nell noted. Hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm. As a precaution, she'd tucked her own hands in her pockets after she'd pried off her shoes and rolled up her jeans.
Here and there were stockpiles of driftwood that would be bonfires when full dark fell. She wondered what it would be like to sit by the flames with a group of friends. To laugh and talk of nothing important.
"Haven't seen you go in yet."
"In?"
"The water," Zack explained.
She didn't own a bathing suit, but saw no reason to say so. "I've waded in a couple of times."
"Don't swim?"
"Of course I can swim."
"Let's go."
He scooped her up so fast her heart stuck between her chest and her throat. She could barely manage to breathe, much less scream. Before full panic had a chance to bloom, she was in the water.
Zack was laughing, spinning her away from an oncoming wave to take the brunt of it himself. She was sliding, rolling, fighting to gain her feet when he simply nipped her at the waist and righted her.
"Can't live on Three Sisters without being baptized." Tossing his wet hair back, he pulled her farther out.
"It's freezing."
"Balmy," he corrected. "Your blood's just thin yet. Here comes a good-size one. You'd better hold on to me."
"I don't want to—" Whatever she did or didn't want, the sea had its own ideas. The wave hit, knocked her off her feet, and had her legs tangling with his.
"You idiot." But she was laughing as she surfaced. When the air hit her skin, she quickly dunked neck-deep again. "The sheriff's supposed to have more sense than to jump in the ocean fully dressed."
"I'd've stripped down, but we haven't known each other long enough." He rolled over on his back, floating lazily. "The first stars are coming out. There's nothing like it. Nothing in the world like it. Come on."
The sea rocked her, made her feel weightless as she watched the color of the sky change. As the tone deepened bit by bit, stars winked to life.
"You're right, there's nothing like it. But it's still freezing."
"You just need a winter on the island to thicken your blood up." He took her hand, a quiet connection as they drifted an armspan apart. "I've never spent more than three months at a time off-island, and that was for college. Had three years of that, and couldn't take it anymore. I knew what I wanted anyway. And that's what I've got."
The rhythm of the waves, the sweep of the sky. The quiet flow of his voice coming out of the dark.
"It's a kind of magic, isn't it?" She sighed as the cool, moist breeze whispered over her face. "To know what you want, to just know. And t
o get it."
"Magic doesn't hurt. Work helps. So does patience and all kinds of things."
"I know what I want now, and I'm getting it. That's magic to me."
"The island's never been short on that commodity. Comes from being founded by witches, I suppose."
Surprise tinged her voice. "Do you believe in that sort of thing?"
"Why wouldn't I? Things are, whether people believe in them or not. There were lights in the sky last night that weren't stars. A person could look the other way, but they'd still have been there."
He planted his feet again, lifting her until she stood facing him with the water fuming at waist level. Night had drifted in, and the lights of the stars sprinkled over the surface of the water.
"You can turn away from something like this." He skimmed her wet hair away from her face, left his hands resting there. "But it's still going to be there."
She pressed a hand against his shoulder as his mouth lowered to hers. She meant to turn away, told herself to turn away, to where everything was safe and ordered and simple.
But the spark he'd spoken of snapped inside her, warm and bright. She curled her fingers into his wet shirt and let herself feel.
Alive. Cold where the air whisked over her skin. Hot in the belly where desire began to build. Testing herself, she leaned into him, parted her lips under his.
He took his time, as much for himself as for her. Sampling, savoring. She tasted of the sea. Smelled of it. For a moment, in the star-drenched surf, he let himself drown.
He eased back, let his hands run over her shoulders, down her arms before he linked his fingers with hers. "Not so complicated." He kissed her again, lightly, though the lightness cost him. "I'll walk you home."
Chapter Eight
Mia, can I talk to you?" With ten minutes until opening, Nell hurried down from the café. Lulu was already ringing up mail orders and shot her a typically suspicious look while Mia continued to put the finishing touches on a new display.
"Of course. What's on your mind?"
"Well, I…" The store was small enough, and empty enough, that Lulu would hear every word. "I thought we could go up to your office for a minute."
"Here's fine. Don't let Lulu's sour face put you off." Mia built a small tower out of new summer releases. "She's worried you're going to ask me for a loan, and naturally I'm such a soft touch—along with my soft head—I'll let you rob me blind so I'll die penniless and alone in some filthy gutter. Isn't that right, Lu?"
Lulu merely sniffed and jabbed keys on the cash register.
"Oh, no, it's not about money. I'd never ask for—after you've been so—damn it." Nell fisted her hands in her hair, tugged until the pain stiffened her spine. Deliberately now, she turned to face Lulu.
"I understand you're protective of Mia, and you have no reason to trust me. I came out of nowhere, with nothing, and haven't been here a month. But I'm not a thief, and I'm not a user. I've carried my weight here, and I'm going to keep carrying it. And if Mia asked me to try serving sandwiches while standing on one foot and singing 'Yankee Doodle Dandy,' I'd give it my best shot. Because I came out of nowhere, with nothing, and she gave me a chance."
Lulu sniffed again. "Wouldn't mind seeing that myself. Likely bring in fresh trade, too. Never said you didn't carry your weight," she added. "But that doesn't mean I won't keep a watch on you."
"Fine with me. I understand."
"All this sentimental bonding." Mia dabbed at her lashes. "It's ruining my mascara." She stepped back from her display, nodded in approval. "Now what do you need to talk to me about, Nell?"
"Mrs. Macey is having an anniversary party next month. She'd like to have a fancy catered affair."
"Yes, I know." Mia turned to straighten stock on the shelves. "She'll drive you a bit crazy with changes and suggestions and questions, but you can handle it."
"I didn't agree to… We just discussed it yesterday. I didn't realize you'd heard she asked already. I wanted to talk to you first."
"It's a small island, word gets around. You don't need to talk to me about an outside catering job, Nell."
She made a mental note to order more ritual candies. There'd been a run on them during the solstice, and they were running unacceptably low on Passion and on Prosperity. Which just showed, she supposed, where many people's priorities lay.
"Your free time is your time," she added.
"I just wanted to tell you that if I did the job for her, it wouldn't interfere with my work here."
"I should hope not, particularly since I'm giving you a raise." She glanced at her watch. "Time to open, Lu."
"You're giving me a raise?"
"You've earned it. I hired you at a probationary salary. You're officially off probation." She unlocked the door, walked over to turn on the music system. "How was your dinner with Zack the other night?" Mia asked with amusement. "A small island, as I said."
"It was fine. It was just a friendly dinner."
"Good-looking boy," Lulu said. "Quality, too."
"I'm not trying to lure him into temptation."
"Something wrong with you, then." Lulu tipped down her silver frames and peered over them. It was a look she was particularly proud of. "If I were a few years younger, I'd be setting out lures. Got a great pair of hands on him. Bet he knows how to use them."
"No doubt," Mia said mildly. "But you're embarrassing our Nell. Now where was I? Gladys's anniversary, check. Raise, check. Dinner with Zack, check." She paused, tapped a fingertip against her lips. "Ah, yes. Nell, I wanted to ask. Do you have a religious or political objection to cosmetics or jewelry?"
She could find nothing more constructive to do than huff out her breath. "No."
"That's a relief. Here." She took off the silver dangles on her ears, handed them to Nell. "Wear these. If anyone asks where you got them, they come from All That Glitters, two doors down. We like to promote other merchants. I'll want them back at the end of your shift. Tomorrow you might try a little blush, maybe some lipstick, eyeliner."
"I don't have any."
"I'm sorry." Mia held up a hand, laid the other on her heart, and staggered to the counter for support. "I feel a little faint. Did you say you don't own any lipstick?"
The corner of Nell's mouth turned up and brought out a hint of dimples. "I'm afraid not."
"Lulu, we have to help this woman. It's our duty. Emergency supplies. Hurry."
Lips quivering with what might have been a smile, Lulu hauled a large cosmetic bag out from under the counter. "She's got good skin."
"A blank canvas, Lu. A blank canvas. Come with me," she ordered Nell.
"The café—the regulars will be coming in any second."
"I'm fast, and I'm good. Let's move." She grabbed Nell's hand, hauled her upstairs and into the rest room.
Ten minutes later, Nell was serving her first customers and wearing silver earrings, peach-toned lipstick, and expertly smudged slate eyeliner.
There was something, she decided, very comforting about feeling female again.
~•~
She took the catering job and crossed her fingers. When Zack asked if she'd like to go for an evening sail, she said yes and felt powerful.
When a customer asked if she could bake a cake in the shape of a ballerina for a birthday party, she said absolutely. And spent her fee on a pair of earrings.
As word spread, she found herself agreeing to provide picnic-style food for a party of twenty for July Fourth and ten box lunches for a private day sailor.
At her kitchen table, Nell spread out notes, files, menus. Somehow she was becoming her own cottage industry. Which, she thought, looking around, seemed perfectly apt.
She glanced up at the brisk knock on the door, and happily welcomed Ripley in.
"Got a minute?"
"Sure. Sit down. Do you want anything?"
"I'm fine." Ripley sat, then picked up Diego when he sniffed at her shoes. "Meal planning?"
"I've got to organize these catering jobs. If I
had a computer… Well, eventually. I'd sell my soul for a professional blender. And both feet for a commercial-grade food processor. But for now, we make do."
"Why don't you use the computer at the bookstore?"
"Mia's already doing enough."
"Whatever. Listen, I've got this date for the Fourth. A date with potential," she added. "Casual because Zack and I are more or less on duty right through the night. Fireworks and beer sometimes make people a little too festive for their own good."
"I can't wait to see the fireworks. Everyone says they're spectacular."
"Yeah, we do a hell of a job on them. The thing is, this guy—he's a security consultant on the mainland—he's been hitting on me, and I decided to let him land one."
"Ripley, that's so romantic, I can barely catch my breath."
"He's really built, too," Ripley continued as she scratched Diego's ears, "so the after-fireworks fireworks potential is fairly high, if you get me. I've been in a downswing sexwise. Anyway, we talked about having this night picnic deal, and somehow I got stuck with doing the food. Since I think I'd like to jump this guy's bones, I don't want to poison him first."
"A romantic picnic for two." Nell made notes. "Vegetarian or carnivore?"
"Carnivore. Not too fancy, okay?" Ripley plucked a grape from the bowl of fruit on the table, popped it in her mouth. "I don't want him more interested in the food than me."
"Check. Pickup or delivery?"
"This is so cool." Cheerful, she popped another grape. "I can pick it up. Can we keep it under fifty?"
"Under fifty. Tell him to pick up a nice crisp white wine. Now if you had a picnic hamper…"
"We've got one somewhere."
"Perfect. Bring that by and we'll pack it up. You'll be set, foodwise. The bone-jumping portion of the evening is up to you."
"I can handle that. You know, if you want, I can ask around, see if anybody's got a secondhand computer they want to sell."
"That would be great. I'm glad you came by." She rose, got out two glasses. "I was afraid you were annoyed with me."
"No, not with you. That particular subject annoys me. It's a bunch of bullshit, just like…" She scowled through the screened door. "Well, speak of the devil."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 154