All for You (Sweetbriar Cove Book 2)

by Melody Grace

  “Never mind the paint.” Poppy looked around at the boxes she’d brought from New York. “I see clothes and about five hundred cookbooks, but no furniture. Where are you planning on sleeping?”

  “Oh, right.” Summer paused. “I forgot. I put all my budget into ordering things for the bakery,” she explained. “It’s fine, you know me. I’ll be happy on a mattress in the corner as long as the kitchen is fully stocked.”

  Poppy laughed. “I believe it. I’m sure Aunt June has some stuff in her garage she’d love to get rid of.”

  “Did I hear you gossiping about me?” The woman herself popped her head around the door. Summer smiled.

  “Never.”

  “Hmm, I’ll have to try harder.” June grinned. She was a petite force of nature with a taste for voluminous scarves and good whiskey. “All set to move over to the bakery? I’ll be sorry to see you go. With Poppy moving out too, I’ll be left all alone.” She pretended to wipe a tear away, and Poppy laughed.

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone to keep you company. Who was the guy you met on that cruise?”

  “Alfred,” June said with a smile, “Or was it Albert? I’m always getting those two mixed up. Anyway, you’re right, I should give him a call.”

  “Which one?” Summer teased.

  “Maybe both,” June answered with a wink.

  It turned out June had an old bed frame and mattress she didn’t need, and some other pieces too, so they tied them to the roof of her car and drove over to the bakery. Summer still couldn’t get over the sight of the ocean, so vivid and sparkling azure on the edge of every view. “How is this place not overrun with hotels and vacation homes?” she asked Poppy, stretching her hand out the window in the breeze. “Everyone in New York would kill to spend the summer here.”

  “It’s a hidden gem,” Poppy replied. “But just wait. I hear it picks up around Memorial Day. Come July, you can’t move for tourists.”

  “Good,” Summer said, relieved. “I’m going to need every customer I can get.”

  She was already investing her life savings in getting the bakery ready, and she’d need a steady stream of business to keep the doors open. Poppy and her aunt eating their body weight in cake would only go so far, and Summer didn’t want to be responsible for doubling their dress size in under a month.

  “Have you told your mom yet?” Poppy asked, and Summer sighed.

  “Now, why do you have to go ruin a perfectly nice day?”

  Poppy laughed. “You know it’s only going to be worse, the longer you leave it. Just rip the Band-Aid straight off.”

  “And expose the gaping wound of our relationship?” Summer muttered darkly. “Gee, thanks.”

  “Come on.” Poppy gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re probably overthinking it. She might even have some good advice for you. She opened that restaurant in Vegas last year, after all.”

  “No, her business team opened it,” Summer corrected her. “Eve flew in for two days to pick fabric samples and fire the executive chef. I think he had a breakdown and went to rehab.”

  “Ah.” Poppy winced. “OK. Maybe not.”

  “Who knows, maybe she’s so busy with her new show, she won’t even notice I’m not working at Andre’s anymore?” Summer said, feeling a shot of hope. “And I can make it all the way to Christmas before slipping it into conversation. You know, ‘Hey, Mom, I actually have my own place now. It’s doing great, thanks for asking. See you at Easter!’ ”

  “Sure!” Poppy agreed, but Summer sighed.

  “Who am I kidding? Unless Jamie’s decided to elope with some girl he met on a beach in Thailand, I’m going to be the Bloom family’s number one disappointment—for the twenty-eighth year running.”

  “How is your brother?” Poppy asked, wisely changing the subject.

  “Fine, I think. You know him—he’ll disappear on assignment for six months, and then send me a postcard from Tibet or something.” Her younger brother had been traveling the world non-stop for years now, shooting wildlife and current events stories. “He keeps saying he wants to quit travel and settle down, but I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  They pulled up outside the bakery, and found Cooper just packing up his truck. “We’re all set,” he greeted them. “Just a couple of touch-ups left, but that won’t be a problem. It’s looking good.”

  Summer smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”

  The front windows gleamed in the sunshine, and the door was painted a bold shade of red, inviting against the white siding and red shutters. “I need to get a sign painted,” Summer mused, looking up at the front. “Maybe with a cute blackberry on it.”

  “Good thing it wasn’t on Turnip Road.” Poppy grinned.

  “You got it from here?” Cooper asked, helping them unload the car.

  Summer nodded. “I’ve applied for all my permits with the council, put in a massive order for restaurant supplies, and I even put a couple of signs on the noticeboard in town, advertising for part-time staff.” She ticked them off her mental to-do list. “Once I’m moved in upstairs, I can get started on the fun part.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The menu!”

  “Don’t forget to sleep,” Poppy reminded her with a concerned look. “You’ve been working crazy hours here. You both have.”

  “I know,” Summer sighed. “But there’s no time. Not if I want to be ready to open next week.”

  “Believe me, I know about deadlines,” Cooper said. “But we’ve done a month’s work in a week here already. Take the rest of the day off. I know I will.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  Summer waved them off and got back to hauling her boxes up to the freshly painted apartment. By the time she was done, the small space was littered with boxes—and she was drenched in sweat. She needed a cold shower. Hell, she’d settle for a bucket of ice water and an inflatable pool.

  Maybe they were right about that break . . .

  Summer dug through a box until she found her bikini, then quickly changed and threw a shirt over the top. The ocean was still probably too cold, but Poppy texted her the details of a swimming hole just a few minutes away through the woods, so Summer threw some tanning lotion and a couple of Tupperware containers in her bag and set off on foot along the back path. The trees shaded the path in green, winding around fields and paddocks, until she emerged at the edge of a gorgeous, hidden pond.

  She eagerly shucked off her clothing and waded into the icy water.

  Ahhh . . .

  Summer sank into the pond with a sigh of delight. The breeze was cooler here, shadowed by the trees, but the sky was clear blue overhead when she kicked off to float on her back. All the renovation stress and late nights of the past week melted away with the feel of the cool water on her skin.

  Bliss.

  She floated there, letting the water lap over her. She felt a million miles from New York—and a lifetime away from that crazy, chaotic kitchen that had ruled her life for so long. She may have been working hard here in Sweetbriar, but it was a different kind of work. Fewer French tantrums, more coffee breaks with friends.

  And Grayson . . .

  Summer couldn’t stop her mind going back to their kiss. She’d been ignoring it all week, pushing it out of her mind with all her busy plans, but there in the quiet calm of the woods, she couldn’t deny it any longer.

  He’d kissed her.

  And then promptly disappeared, she reminded herself. She hadn’t seen him all week, even though she’d been in town and strolled past the bookshop a couple of times. He’d insisted it was an “unfortunate” mistake, but still, Summer remembered the look in his eyes right before he’d closed the distance between them.

  That was no mistake. He wanted her, and that kiss was just a taste . . .

  She felt a shiver of longing. It had been too long since she’d felt this way, the spark of possibility warming her blood and circling lazily in her belly. She’d felt it there at the wedding, and now it was only burning b
righter. Summer knew all the reasons she should let it flicker out, it was just a distraction from her plans, but she couldn’t help it. There was something between them, and the adventurer in her wanted to discover it all.

  So what did a girl have to do to get a little romance in her life?

  What did a man have to do to get a little peace?

  Grayson scowled as the bookshop door swung open again and a group of kids spilled into the store, making a beeline for the old comics in the back while the frazzled man behind them shot him a look as if to say, Nothing I can do.

  It had been like this all week: one customer after another, cluttering the peaceful aisles and interrupting his reading, asking about the new John Grisham and the old Oprah selections, wanting his recommendations and suggesting new stock now that the summer season was getting underway. He knew he was acting like a grumpy old man, but his temple of solitude was invaded; he hadn’t had a moment for himself to think.

  Or replay the memory of that kiss for the hundredth time.

  He sighed. That was the real problem: not the overeager readers tearing his displays apart, but what treacherous thoughts slipped into his mind the moment they were gone.

  Summer.

  He’d been fighting it all week, pushing her firmly out of his head the way he did anything it wasn’t productive to linger on. Mind over matter. Willpower, that’s all it took. But like the woman herself, those thoughts just wouldn’t be contained. Monday night, he’d dreamed about her in the bakery kitchen, teasing him with more of those sweet treats, her lips as light as air. But it didn’t stop there. She returned the next night, and the next, taunting him with wild fantasies until by the end of the week, he was waking in a cold sweat, his heart pounding from sinful images that trailed him all day long.

  “Grayson?”

  “What?” he demanded, whirling around. Poppy was standing by the desk with a box of books. “Sorry,” he added gruffly. “One of those mornings.”

  “No problem,” she said, cheerful. “I was just dropping these off, we went through June’s garage and found a bunch of stuff.”

  Grayson took a look. Faded paperback romance novels, some potboilers, and . . . He lifted out a couple of nude art books and raised his eyebrows.

  Poppy laughed. “Maybe keep those on the top shelf.”

  “Will do.” He took the box and set it aside, but Poppy lingered.

  “It’s getting busy, huh?” She looked around. “It’s my first year here, so I’ve never seen the tourist season. There was even a line for coffee this morning, and that never happens.”

  “This is only the beginning,” Grayson said ruefully. “By the time the Fourth of July rolls around, you won’t be able move for day-trippers and summer folk.”

  “You should take a break while you have the chance,” Poppy suggested. “Take the afternoon off, go relax, before you bite someone’s head off,” she added.

  “Maybe.” The last thing he needed was more free time to think about Summer, and those lush, sweet lips of hers.

  “It’s been so hot out, I’ve been dreaming of a swim.” Poppy continued, “Maybe in one of the ponds around here . . . the nice cold water . . . calm and refreshing . . . away from it all.” She gave him a sideways glance that Grayson couldn’t decipher. “Anyway, I’m on deadline, so I better get back to it. Enjoy the rest of your day!”

  She waltzed out, leaving Grayson with a sudden urge to go take that swim himself. He’d stopped by Blackbottom Pond that morning for his usual dip, but that had been a brisk necessity. It would be nice to spend the afternoon and escape all this bustling summer heat. Maybe take his book, and a fishing pole along, too . . . Try to quiet those lustful thoughts the old-fashioned way, with some shoreline meditation and a fresh supper catch.

  What the hell. He shooed out the comic-hunting kids and closed up early, then threw his cooler in the Jeep and drove into the woods as far as the dirt road took him. He felt better already, away from the crowds, and it wasn’t until he stepped out of the treeline and caught sight of Summer floating lazily on the water, sunlight glistening off her wet curves, that he realized just how easily Poppy had played him.

  The power of suggestion. Damn, that woman was good.

  9

  Grayson watched her from the shore, his pulse kicking up a beat, which seemed to be the automatic reaction now whenever Summer came around.

  Restful, she wasn’t.

  He paused. She was still floating there, out in the deep water. She hadn’t seen him yet, so he could easily turn and head back through the trees before she did. Avoid an awkward confrontation—that would be made even more awkward by the fact she was dressed in nothing but a scrap of a bright blue bikini, dripping wet like some siren who had just emerged from the depths to lead him to his doom.

  Or he could stop being so overdramatic, and stay.

  Grayson felt a flicker of stubborn pride. This pond had always been his retreat, and he wasn’t about to let Summer take over here, too. He already felt like an outlaw, skulking around town all week, trying to steer clear. Every day he drove past the turn on Blackberry Lane and wondered what chaos she was unleashing just a little ways down the road—then fought the instinct to turn the steering wheel and go find out for himself. Clearly, staying away hadn’t helped anything, so maybe it was time to try the opposite approach: sit himself down and make polite conversation until she lost all of her mysterious allure, and became just a regular woman instead.

  No siren wiles, no sugared midnight fantasies, just a perfectly pleasant interaction with his tenant, who just happened to be of the female persuasion.

  With lips that tasted like vanilla and whiskey, and a body that promised to be even more delicious . . .

  Grayson dropped his cooler on the little beach with a thump and spread his blanket to settle there, too. He could see Summer’s clothing discarded in a messy heap nearby, along with a canvas bag. Well, the shoreline was big enough for the both of them. He pulled out his book, stretched back in the sun, and forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on the page, and not the shapely woman splashing around in the pond.

  It was damn near impossible, but Grayson persevered. He needed to prove to himself that he had some self-control. After all, he wasn’t a young kid anymore, ready to turn his life upside down for the first pretty girl to catch his eye. Back then, he’d rushed head-first into chaos like that made him some kind of hero, when the truth was, he was just another fool. Well, he’d learned his lesson. Summer Bloom may have been sent to test him, but he was made of sterner stuff this time around.

  He could resist her. She was no match for a level head and cool temper; and he refused to let her cause another night of fevered dreams.

  And then she rose up out of the water, and began walking towards shore.

  Summer’s feet had just hit the squishy pond bottom when she realized there was someone sitting on the shore, and she was three steps closer when she recognized Grayson’s dark head bent over his book.

  Her stomach tightened. For a moment, she wondered if her lustful daydreams had conjured him to life; but no, if that were the case, he would have appeared five minutes later, when she was lounging prettily on dry land, instead of slipping around like a drowned rat as she lurched her way to shore.

  “Hey there,” she called, giving an awkward wave.

  Grayson looked up. Damn, he was wearing those glasses again, and looking just as handsome as she remembered. Summer gulped, and concentrated on keeping her balance on the rocks as she slowly emerged from the water.

  “Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” she said brightly, trying to ignore the fact she was practically naked. “Perfect for a swim. Poppy told me about this spot, I couldn’t resist. In New York, we’d all be fighting over a tiny rooftop pool somewhere, but here you’ve got all this to yourself.”

  Yes, she was babbling about nature.

  No, she couldn’t seem to stop.

  “It’s a nice place to relax,” Grayson agreed meaningfully. “Peaceful.�
��

  “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your reading,” Summer said. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

  She reached the shore and stepped onto dry land. Grayson’s gaze slid over her body like sweet molasses, and Summer thought she saw a flicker of tension in his jaw.

  Interesting.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling off balance right now. Summer felt her confidence return, and she couldn’t resist putting a swing in her hips as she padded over to her pile of clothes. “Mind if I steal a corner of your blanket?” she asked, leaning over to snag her shorts. “I’ll trade you some snacks.”

  She tugged them on over her wet bikini bottoms and straightened up. Grayson snapped his eyes back up to her face. Summer hid a smile. He was playing it cool, but some things you couldn’t hide. Like the fact her stony landlord was looking decidedly hot around his collar. And staring at her like he hadn’t heard a word she’d just said.

  Well, that wasn’t a “no.”

  Summer settled cross-legged on the blanket and reached for her bag. “You can help me out, actually. I’ve been experimenting with some recipes for opening night and need another opinion. How do you feel about crostata?”

  Grayson blinked. “I can’t say I have any particular feelings on the subject.”

  “Good.” Summer grinned. “A blank palate.”

  She pulled out the Tupperware bowls and set them out between them. “I have balsamic cherry, honeycomb lemon, and white chocolate plum.”

  Grayson leaned closer to look at the pastries. “Looks like pie to me.”

  “Almost. A crostata is kind of the Italian relative of pie,” Summer explained. “It’s more rustic and open, without the pastry lid. Plus, it’s easier to do these cute individual servings.” She handed him the first one, pastry barely wrapped over the oozing fruit filling. “Go on, try.”

  “You’re going to be hell on my waistline, I can tell.” Grayson gave her a wry look before biting into it.