by Melissa West
Sophie choked on her tea, and Zac’s rumbling laughter hit her ears. “Sorry, that was wrong. You just make it so easy.”
“Trust me, I’m picturing you in a lot of different ways right now, and none of them is as satisfying as nudity.”
“So seeing me naked would bring you satisfaction?”
“Ugh! Just tell me how you did it?”
She heard the whining sound stop. “I’m in a porch swing. Made it for Carrie-Anne, but honestly, it’s become more my space than hers. And if that’s your high, then you need to revamp your business. Not trying to tell you how to do things, but damn.”
“Sounds like you’re doing just that.”
“Look, we don’t like each other. I get that. I’m a thorn in your side.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“All I’m saying is maybe you want to explore other markets in the area, too. Go to Lexington. Maybe that big one in Chattanooga. Whatever. But find other ways to make money. It’s hard, farming. And you need to think outside the box to keep your numbers steady. That’s why we started U-Pick and put in all those kid activities. Brings the whole family out, and they feel like the money is worth it.”
“Why are you telling me all of this? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were offering me help.”
Zac went silent, the pause growing long, nothing to fill the void but the grasshopper-and-frog melody that kept Sophie company each evening.
“Honestly? I don’t know. Personality flaw.”
“What, being a know-it-all?”
“Helping people.”
They were quiet again, and Sophie thought maybe there was more to Zac Littleton than met the eye. Or maybe he’d had a few too many beers and drunk Zac was nicer than sober Zac. She couldn’t be sure.
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
“And we’re back to the arrogance.”
That warm chuckle of his hit her again, and despite everything, Sophie found herself closing her eyes, basking in the sound for a moment.
“Make that two personality flaws.”
She grinned. “Good night, Zac.”
“Sleep tight. Try not to picture me naked.” Then he hung up, and Sophie laughed to herself. Now there was nothing else she could think about.
Well played, Littleton. He’d won. Yet again.
Chapter Three
“So what’d you do with that hundred?” Charlie asked as he slid a knife blade over the tape that sealed a box of inventory.
It was Monday, which meant Zac had to jump from Southern Dive to the farm in hopes of staying ahead, only to end the day exhausted and with a to-do list a mile long for Tuesday. It was impossible to complete everything on a Monday.
“What hundred?” Zac asked as he ripped open his box by brute strength and then grinned at his brother.
“Show-off.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re a weak ass.”
“Now, now, boys,” Brady said as he walked out from the fitting room dressed in a new wet suit that had just been delivered from a new supplier.
“Think I’ll keep this one.”
Charlie rolled his eyes and started putting out the new Littleton Farms T-shirts from his box. “You keep something new every other week.”
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
The fight continued until Zac felt his head slicing in two and said, “Enough,” interrupting the fight just as he had a thousand times when the boys were younger, which wasn’t lost on them.
“Who died and made you boss?”
Zac stared at Brady, who tossed up his hands in surrender. “All right, fine. New topic, and this is an important one. Can I or can I not ask out Sophie Marsh?”
Zac dropped the water bottle he’d been holding, the Southern Dive red-and-black logo facedown on the floor, and glared at his brother. “Hell no you can’t ask her out. What the hell is wrong with you?”
He expected Charlie to back him up, but when he peered over at him as if to say, can you believe this dumb ass, he instead found Charlie staring at him like he’d just witnessed something profound.
“What?”
Brady answered. “You like her.”
“I like her more than I like you right now.” Zac scowled and went back to work tearing open more boxes, though he still hadn’t emptied the first box. He didn’t care. He needed to work off some of this aggravation, though to be honest, he didn’t fully understand why he felt so aggravated.
It all started last night after he and Sophie had gotten off the phone, her voice still clear in his mind. Then the damnedest thing imaginable happened—he was disappointed. Disappointed they’d ended the call, disappointed he couldn’t continue sparring with her, disappointed he couldn’t hear her voice go all sonic when he got under her skin. Which was this side of crazy. He hated Sophie Marsh. Her very presence was like a splinter in your finger that even the finest needle couldn’t dig out. Annoying. Judgmental.
And hot as hell.
He jerked back at the thought, turning over the box of water bottles, which earned him a fresh round of questioning looks from his brothers.
“What now?”
“God, you do like her.” Charlie this time, which worried Zac because Charlie was like a Littleton problem whisperer. Whether one of their parents, Kate, Brady, or Zac was having a problem, Charlie could always sniff it out, and then he’d listen until it was resolved. He’d missed his calling, if you asked Zac, because the man should have been a shrink. But then he was always family first, everything else second, just like the rest of them. Which may have been why he didn’t blink when Zac and Brady mentioned opening Southern Dive.
“I don’t like her. I like ingrown hairs more than I care for this woman. So y’all can both close your mouths.” Then he shot a glare in Brady’s direction. “But that doesn’t mean you can ask her out, either. She’s the enemy.”
“True enough, and she seemed pretty busy, too. I’m surprised we won the bet.”
In truth, so was Zac. People had surrounded the Fresh Foods table the entire day, pies and turnovers and fruit baskets being snapped up like candy. And for half a second, Zac had been worried, but then his trusty regulars came by—the high school football team, church group after church group—all stocking up for events that week, and before long, they had nothing left to sell except some okra and a few bruised apples.
He’d wanted to ask Sophie what she charged for her stuff, how she positioned it—single piece or a bundle—to get a better feel for how her best day would have been Littleton Farms’ worst, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. If he had, she’d have pushed him on how he’d sold so much, when in truth he really hadn’t sold that much. He just didn’t have as much produce to sell as usual.
Which was another concern altogether.
“I think she’s got her stuff overpriced. Talked to her last night, and she said that was a good day for her. Sounded like her best.”
Brady smirked at him and propped a box against his hip, still wearing the new wet suit because the fool insisted on “testing” everything they received . . . and keeping half of it for himself. “Wait a sec. Did you just say last night? What, did you use the hundred to buy sexual favors or something?”
“You’re a moron,” Charlie said before Zac could even open his mouth.
“Hey, a man can dream.” Brady dropped the box he’d been holding, opened it, and pulled out new masks. Immediately, he slipped one onto his face. “Check this shit out. Fancy.”
“Not to support the moron’s claims, but what were you doing talking to Sophie last night?”
Zac finished setting up the water bottles and went to work on the magnets. “Hell if I know. She called me. Wanted to talk about how we beat her by so much, but then she ended up even more disappointed after I told her that was a low for us.”
Charlie kept working on the T-shirts, this time the Southern Dive shirts, his head down, but Zac could tell he w
as thinking. “How long did y’all talk?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t time the damn thing.”
Brady whistled. “Sure are defensive.”
“Shut it.”
He grinned, and Zac contemplated asking his mother for birth records to show that he was in fact a blood brother and not adopted.
“Hey, just calling it like I see it.”
“Look, she called me. We talked. About business. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Are you going to talk again today?”
“No.”
“And if she calls you?”
“Then she does. Dude, y’all sound like the women down at the salon. This was two businesspeople discussing their businesses.” And him being naked, but he wasn’t about to mention that. Or why he’d had so much fun screwing with her.
“All right, all right. But maybe it’s not a bad idea.”
Zac glanced up at Charlie, now across the store, tucking the shirts into their rightful slots on the back shelf. “What’s not a bad idea?”
He shrugged. “You know, you talking to a woman.”
Zac stared a hole into Charlie’s back until he turned around. “Is there something y’all want to say?”
“Not with that attitude,” Brady said. “But I’ll go there anyway. Dude, you need to get laid. Badly. I tried to get Charlie to let me hire you a lady, but he thought that’d just piss you off.”
Damn. First Carrie-Anne, now his brothers? Did all of Crestler’s Key think he needed to date? He’d flirted with a few women in town, went out occasionally, but yeah, if he were honest with himself, it’d been a while since he’d had sex. Certainly with anyone that mattered. The few times he’d had sex after dating a woman for a little while, he was left feeling empty inside, lost on what he was doing. Zac had never been the kind of guy to sleep around. He wasn’t Brady, even if there were times he wished he were.
And it wasn’t like he didn’t have opportunities. He had them. All the time. Women liked to try for nonchalant—at the grocery store, eating out, when they picked up orders at the farm. And he enjoyed the attention as long as he didn’t have to take it further than flirting. That always ended badly for Zac—him the asshole who refused to commit, her angry that he hadn’t said so from the beginning. Even though he had. Numerous times.
“Don’t get pissed off, man,” Charlie said. “We’re just saying it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go out with someone. Have a little fun.”
“I have fun.”
“Since when? You’re boring as hell.”
And just like that, his patience with the littlest Littleton had reached its max. He grabbed one of the stress balls from the counter and, when Brady turned, chucked it at him, forever a pitcher. It smacked Brady square in the back of the head.
Charlie broke into fits, and Zac smiled. “You were saying?”
Brady rubbed his head where the ball had connected. “How the hell do you hit a man from behind? What kind of wussy shit is that?”
Zac tossed his hands out. “Want to throw? I’m standing right here. Take a hit.”
Brady scowled. “Like that’d go over well. You two would just team up on me like when we were kids. Plus, you’re a giant or something. Still haven’t figured out how you managed to get so much bigger than me. Sign with the devil or something?”
“It’s called the gym. Might try it.”
“Yeah, no. I do other things for cardio. You might try it.” Brady waggled his eyebrows. “And in case my point is lost on you, I’m talking about sex.”
The brothers all laughed, relaxing into their roles.
“You know, I’ve heard of it.”
“Like this year? ’Cause these things change. Women want freakier things now. They’re all reading that erotica shit and asking you to spank them and looking around for your red room.” Brady shuddered. “My ass is still bruised from last weekend.”
Their laughter boomed through the room then, all of them unable to rein it in. Zac thought that despite his romantic life, he was happy. Very happy. He had a great family and an even greater kid. What else could a man ask for?
Sure, he might be lonely at night when Carrie-Anne was in bed and the house became too quiet and there was nothing but crap on TV and it was raining outside, nothing to occupy his thoughts but thoughts, most of them as condemning as a judge. What did he do? Why did she leave? Wasn’t he enough?
Zac sighed. Maybe they were right—maybe he did need to date. But how did one go about that in a town where everyone talked about everything? Asking Becca out had been easy—she lived in Triple Run, and he never thought that would go anywhere. But this was different. People were paying attention and expecting him to be more active.
Zac just had to figure out who to ask out without the whole town going ape-shit and planning their wedding. Which might be the hardest thing of all.
Hmm, who did Zac know who could keep this to herself, but still knew the other ladies and could make recommendations? Not Kate. She’d tell his parents and then all the Hamiltons, and he could barely stand them. Not Donna at the salon, though she tried to not gossip.
Then it occurred to him—Sophie. Sophie knew the town but wasn’t really a part of it yet. She hung out in all those town meetings, had her hair and nails done at the salon, and ate at all the restaurants, all in an effort to immerse herself in the town so she could get more business. But how could Zac ask Sophie for dating advice? He couldn’t, wouldn’t. No way in hell.
Still... what if he did?
* * *
Sophie parked her Mini Cooper outside Donna’s Hair & Nails, her eyes trained on the slew of women inside. She’d studied the salon for months now, careful to pay attention to when specific women arrived for their regular appointments. Which was probably über-stalkerish of her, but a woman had to do what she had to do.
Today, the salon bustled with the minister’s wife, the elementary school assistant principal, and Annie-Jean Carlisle, half of AJ&P Bakery. These three women could secure contracts that would feed Sophie’s starving budget for a year . . . if only they’d agree to purchase from her instead of her competition.
She thought of her call with Zac again, that smirk of his so evident in his voice that she wished she had been at his house so she could waggle her finger at him and tell him to turn that smirk on someone else. She wasn’t shopping.
But then he’d said that bit about being naked. Twice. And suddenly Sophie’s aggravation at arrogant Zac had been replaced with aggravation at herself and her dusty libido.
In truth, she hadn’t intended to avoid men. It was just that when you were burned as badly as Sophie had been burned and turned your life upside down to start over, you tended to tread lightly and then take three steps back before attempting it all over again.
Fear was a debilitating thing, and Sophie felt fear down to her toes every time she thought about venturing into the dating world again. Because the problem with dating was that the bad stuff, the really bad stuff, didn’t show until you were already too invested to walk away.
That fear Sophie so hated worked through her again, but she refused to let it take hold. Not anymore.
Instead, she packed her fridge magnets and pretty pens in her giant Fresh Foods tote and stepped out of her Mini Cooper. She needed an SUV for all of her hauling, but she’d never once met an SUV that looked or felt like her. She liked sweet, cute things. Pretty and simple. Just like her Mini Cooper. Maybe whoever made the Mini Cooper needed to create an SUV and then she’d relent and buy one. She’d write a letter to them tonight.
But right now, she had bigger fish that needed frying.
Sophie became a cat on the prowl, her target in sight, and already she imagined the women agreeing to support her. Female power and all that stuff, and maybe she’d push that very idea: Support me, a Southern woman just like you, brought down by a man. The feminism angle could help, so long as the women supported women’s rights. Which they were sure to, right? They were women.
Whi
te clouds floated in the forever-blue sky, not a bit of humidity in the air, the sun not burning up everything yet. Pollen aside, spring had always been her favorite season. It made her happy and hopeful—flowers bursting with fresh blooms, birds singing, the scent of freshly mown grass in the air. Which made it the perfect time for her to push her organic produce on anyone with an open hand and an empty belly.
With another deep breath for courage, Sophie pulled open the salon’s door, a soft jingle hitting her ears while the earthy yet slightly spicy scent of Aveda products filled her nose. Donna had switched to Aveda three months before, and Sophie had sped over, planning to talk natural products and suggest they have tea sometime to talk about the environment. Sophie thought she might also talk Donna into giving out Fresh Foods magnets and other goodies to her clients. But instead of any of that happening, Sophie had sped over, only for the salon owner to stare at her from behind those blunt black bangs of hers, her hair forever cut in a perfectly shiny bob, and turn away, the words, “I’m a Littleton Farms girl,” floating out from behind her.
And that was that.
Later she learned Donna and Kate Littleton were good friends in high school, so it stood to reason she’d follow her friend. But what Sophie didn’t understand was how Kate could leave Crestler’s Key for a Triple Run guy, most traitorous of all traitorous moves, yet they still supported her over Sophie.
Still, that was three months ago, and Sophie had made a lot of headway since then in gaining friendships in the town. Or at least they tolerated her.
And to prove that very point to herself, she walked up to the main counter and beamed at the girl standing behind it, twenty at best, her gaze focused on her black nails like they held the answers to the universe. Or perhaps more importantly, her next date.
“Hey there,” Sophie said.
The girl glanced up, her highlighted hair pulled back into a ponytail, her dark roots as obvious as a coffee stain on a white shirt, which had to be driving Donna crazy.
“You’re uh . . .” Crap. What was her name?
“Zoey. Same as I told you last time you were here.”
Double crap. “Right. I knew that.” Sophie flashed a smile that was met with complete disdain. “I have an appointment. Ten thirty?”