by Melody Grace
Riley refilled for her. “Amen to that. Any time you need a bouncer on the door to keep out the undesirables, you just let me know.” He gave her a wink and moved off to serve another customer.
Poppy raised her shot glass. “To the Blackberry Lane Bakery. And all its future success,” she said, over Summer’s protest. “Because it will be one, no matter what happened today.”
“Shit happens,” Mackenzie agreed. “What are you going to do?”
“Give up and never show my face again?” Summer suggested, only half-joking.
Poppy gave her a look. “That’s not you. Come on, who made me keep sending out my first book, even after I got all those rejection letters? You told me that you should never quit on your dream.”
“Because you’re a great writer!”
“And you’re a fabulous chef.” Poppy smiled. “Look, I know this hurts, and it can’t be easy, with Grayson . . .”
Mackenzie’s head swiveled around. “Wait, what? What happened with Grayson? Oh no,” she groaned, before Summer could answer. “Did he mess everything up? Honestly. Men!”
Summer had to laugh at her exasperation, even though it still hurt to think about it. “He . . . doesn’t seem to have room for me in his life,” she said carefully. “And I can’t be the one waiting around for scraps, you know? I won’t be that girl.”
“I’m sorry.” Mackenzie gave her arm a squeeze. “But hey, there’s always room in my Sweetbriar Spinster club. We meet every other Tuesday, for wine and Golden Girls reruns.”
“Count me in.” Summer managed a smile. “I’ll bring dessert.”
“I want to join!” Poppy protested.
Mackenzie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You’ll go home tonight to a hot man ready to rock your world. Leave us something, at least.”
Poppy grinned. “OK. I’ll keep Cooper, all the same.”
Riley came to deliver a plate of tacos, and Summer began to relax. She was glad she’d come out this evening. It was definitely better that trying to get frosting out of the floorboards, and she’d take any distraction she could get. Memories of Grayson were nudging at the edge of her mind. Like the way he’d looked at her just a few hours ago, that mix of regret and apology that made her wonder if she was being too hard on him. After all, he’d come back.
Should she have given him another chance? What if she’d pushed him away too soon and ruined any chance there may have been to make things right?
“Don’t.” Poppy’s soft warning cut through her thoughts. “I know that look. It’s your pining look.”
“I’m not pining. I’m . . . missing him.” Summer swallowed. “Why am I even feeling this way?” she asked, despairing. “I’ve known him barely a month.”
“I knew Cooper was the one after two weeks,” Poppy said, taking a bite of food. “When he fixed up that beach hut for me to use as a writing cabin . . .”
“Grayson took me to a farm stand,” Summer said sadly. “He knew I’d want to find local produce, to use in my recipes.”
“Bastard,” Mackenzie joked.
Summer swallowed back a rush of emotion. Grayson wasn’t part of her restaurant world; he didn’t know a crostata from a clafoutis before she showed him, but still, somehow, he understood what was important to her.
But she shouldn’t forget how frustrating it was, feeling shut out of his life. She would have worn herself out, trying to break down those walls. And then what? He still resented her for disturbing his precious life in the slow lane, and all his structure and routine. That was no way to be together.
She knocked back the rest of her tequila and looked around. “Didn’t you say something about karaoke in this place?” She needed a distraction, and fast.
“Not tonight,” Mackenzie replied. “Sorry. But I do have the entire Sandra Bullock movie collection back at my place.”
“What are we waiting for?” Summer hopped down. She couldn’t stay here, on edge, just wondering if Grayson was about to walk through the door. “There’s a copy of Miss Congeniality with my name on it.”
“Armed and fabulous,” Poppy teased, finishing her drink. “OK, let’s do this.”
Summer reached for her purse, but Riley waved it away. “On the house, just for tonight,” he said.
She winced again. “It really is a pity party over here, huh?”
He grinned. “Hey, if you want to pay—”
“No, we’re good. I’ll take that pity all the way to the bank.” Summer managed to smile. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
She followed Mackenzie and Poppy to the door. The car was just across the street, but as they were heading over, Summer paused. She thought she saw someone down the street, a glimpse of a familiar figure in the dark.
Her chest clenched. Grayson?
“What’s up?” Mackenzie asked.
“Nothing . . .” Summer looked again, but there was nobody there. Just her imagination playing tricks on her, she realized with a heavy heart—showing her visions of something that could never be hers.
She turned away. “Sandy’s waiting for us. Let’s go!”
Grayson hung back, watching Summer leave the pub with her friends. They piled into Poppy’s car and drove away, their laughter echoing across the square. The sound made his chest ache, but he pushed the emotion aside. Seems she was doing just fine without him—while he was skulking in the shadows to avoid her, like some kind of coward.
Not a coward, he told himself firmly. He just didn’t need another scene with her tonight. She’d made it clear he’d already screwed things up beyond repair, and that look of disappointment in her eyes was enough to last him a lifetime.
He should never have left her, but now there was no taking it back.
He waited until they were gone, then stepped inside, heading straight for the bar—and something to help him with forgetting.
“You just missed her.” Riley pulled down a pint glass and poured him some ale.
“Yup,” Grayson said noncommittally.
“Oh, so we’re doing the whole ‘I don’t need a woman in my life, they’re more trouble than they’re worth’ routine? Gotcha.” He slid the glass over with a knowing smile that made Grayson’s temper itch.
“It’s not a routine, and they are.” He scowled at his beer like it was the problem.
Riley smirked. “Are you sure about that? Because I’ve tried that woman’s pastries, and I’ve got to say, there’s a whole lot of trouble I’d take for another taste.”
Grayson’s jaw clenched. Riley had a reputation, and for good reason. The thought of him tasting anything of Summer’s made his blood boil.
“Relax,” Riley sighed, as if reading his mind. “I’m not going to pretend to be into her just to make you jealous. Although it is kind of fun, watching you squirm.”
“I don’t squirm,” Grayson snapped.
“No, you’re right,” Riley mused. “You brood. Look at you, you’re almost as bad as her.”
Grayson looked up sharply. “What do you mean? What about Summer? Is she OK?”
Riley gave him a look. “What do you think? I had to break out my best tequila, and even then, her heart wasn’t in it. If she packs up and takes those Pop-Tarts back to New York, you’ll have the whole town to answer to,” he added.
Grayson paused. Summer, back in New York? His heart clenched. “She didn’t say she was leaving, did she?”
Riley shrugged. “She had a tough break today. Apparently, the bakery’s close to ruined. And you didn’t help matters, either. Come on, man,” he said, looking impatient. “Camping?”
Guilt prickled down the back of his spine. “It’s tradition,” he argued weakly. “And anyway, I came back.”
“To do what?” Riley challenged. “Because I don’t see you winning her back by moping into your pint all night long.”
“What do you know about it, anyway?” Grayson shot back, annoyed. “You don’t even care enough to screw things up with anyone, you just lean behind that bar waiting fo
r life to come to you.”
“Which it does.” Riley pressed his lips together in the thin line. “Don’t worry about me, I’m doing just fine.”
“Well, so am I.”
Riley didn’t even dignify that with an answer, he just gave Grayson a look. “It’s taken you thirty-five years to find a woman like that. Are you really going to risk waiting on another? Chances are, you’ll be in the ground before then.”
Another Summer? Grayson already knew he didn’t have a chance. There was nobody like her, not in the whole damn world.
“Are you trying to give me a pep talk?” he scowled. “Because yours needs some work, mate.”
Riley shrugged. “The truth isn’t always pretty, my friend. But that’s what I’m here for. That, and helping out the lovely ladies who just walked in.” He was already flashing a smile at the group of coeds heading for the bar. “You think they’re in the mood to try some local muscle?”
He headed over, leaving Grayson to shake his head. Riley was the furthest thing from local muscle. He’d shown up in town a couple of years ago, from someplace on the West Coast. Someplace successful, if the antique Rolex on his wrist and that sailing boat of his were any indication, but Riley never said anything about it, and Grayson wasn’t one to ask. If he wanted to hide out behind a bar, pouring pints and flirting with tourists, that was his business.
Just like Summer was Grayson’s.
Or not, anymore.
He drained his glass and got down from his stool. It would take all the alcohol in the world to make him forget her, and even then, she’d probably slip into his dreams again, with that tempting smile and the fire in her eyes that made a man forget himself . . .
Grayson stopped. No, she was right. He shouldn’t think about her like that. She wasn’t some siren, sent to lead him astray. She’d been upfront and honest with him from the start. He was the one who couldn’t get his head on straight, so caught up in his past mistakes, he kept her at arm’s length just to keep some pretense of self-control.
And for what?
He pushed her away, and now she was gone. He was alone, free to make his life exactly the way he wanted: no interruptions, no disturbances.
No Summer.
Grayson left the pub, but instead of heading home, he found himself detouring to the bakery instead. A part of him was still hoping she would be there, but the lights were all out, and the place was dark and still.
He paused by the door. The place had been a mess earlier that afternoon, and if she was still planning on her grand opening Monday morning, there was a lot of work ahead.
He tried the handle; it was unlocked. Inside, he flipped the lights on and found everything exactly as damp and disarrayed as he’d seen it last. Tables overturned, plates broken on the floor, and were those . . . strawberry-jam handprints all over the counter? In the kitchen, it was even worse: burn marks fighting with waterlogged drywall and a sink full of mixing bowls.
Damn. He knew how much Summer loved this place—and her spotless kitchen. When he’d rushed here that afternoon, he’d been so busy feeling guilty about letting her down, he hadn’t even begun to think about the rest of it: her dream, right here. But now looking around, he saw that whatever happened between wasn’t even the worst part of Summer’s day. She’d spent a lifetime working towards this moment, and from what he’d heard on the Sweetbriar grapevine, it had been a disaster from the moment she’d opened the doors.
She didn’t deserve this.
She deserved everything. The bakery, her success. She’d looked so hopeless, sitting there in the corner. No spark in her eyes, or reckless, breathless energy anymore.
Like she’d finally given up.
But there was no way he was letting her go back to New York in failure when they could still make this dream her reality. She’d earned it, and even if she never wanted to speak to him again, he would do whatever it took to make this right for her.
Anything.
He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
21
It took two movies and a deadly bottle of local Sweetbriar wine, but the pain in Summer’s chest finally numbed to a bitter ache around 1 a.m. Poppy had already called it quits hours ago, but Summer was still dreading going back to the bakery alone.
“You can crash here,” Mackenzie offered, yawning on her couch. “It’s just a pull-out, but it does the trick.”
“No, I need to get back.” Summer sighed. “Drunk cleaning is the best kind of cleaning. With any luck I’ll wake up tomorrow and not even remember scrubbing the kitchen floor.”
Mackenzie chuckled. “That’s a good trick, I’ll have to try it sometime. Call me if you need help tomorrow,” she added, showing her to the door. “And it’s OK. We all fall on our faces sometimes,” she told Summer, giving her a hug. “But you can get back up from this one. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Summer wanted to believe her. She piled into a cab for the short ride home, but the wine had taken the edge off her defenses, and now it was impossible to stop thoughts of Grayson flooding her mind.
Was it asking too much for him to let her in?
Nobody had ever made her feel the way he did: so happy and free and understood. But no man had ever shut her out like that either, kept her at arm’s length, and acted like the wild attraction between them was a burden, not a blessing. She wanted more than that from him, but did that mean she had to wind up with nothing at all?
The storm in her chest was raging by the time she stumbled out of the cab and fumbled for her keys. But the door was open, and the lights were on inside.
Summer paused. “Hello?” she called, wary. “Is anyone there?”
She stepped inside the front door and stopped. It looked . . . normal again. The chaos she remembered was gone, and in its place, there were neat tables and clean floors, the books righted on the shelves, and no sign of Marmaduke’s kamikaze chase. Was she drunker than she thought, or had she been visited by the magical cleaning fairies of Sweetbriar Cove?
“Hello?” she called again, feeling unsteady.
“Hi.”
A single word, and her stomach flipped over. It was him. Grayson. Emerging from the back with his sleeves rolled up and a cleaning rag over one shoulder, looking like everything she wanted in the world. Too good to be true.
Summer gulped. “Hi.”
“Sorry,” he said, looking awkward. He brushed his hair back with one hand, “I saw the mess and thought . . . I figured you’d need it cleaned up, to get ready for business.”
Summer couldn’t believe it. “Thanks,” she managed. “But I don’t even know if that’s going ahead.”
“Yes, you do.” Grayson gave her a quiet smile. “You don’t quit. You’d be serving cupcakes come Monday if you had to sell them off a table in the town square.”
Summer felt an ache. “But should I? Maybe I have this backwards. Maybe this is fate telling me to quit before I make an even bigger fool of myself. Not that it would be easy,” she added, remembering the lines and the mess and the sprinklers . . .
Grayson moved closer. “Don’t give up,” he said, his voice raw. “You can’t. Not when something matters to you.”
Summer looked up, into those dark eyes she’d seen blaze with passion, and felt herself unravel all over again. But what about us? She wanted to ask. He’d given up—he hadn’t even tried. So did that mean she didn’t matter to him?
She shook her head. She couldn’t do this now. “I’m drunk,” she whispered.
He smiled. “I know.”
“There was tequila. And wine. Which I know I shouldn’t mix, but you can’t watch Two Weeks Notice sober. Hugh Grant was in it. He’s British, like you.”
She was babbling, but that was nothing new. Grayson placed his hand gently on her arm. “You want help getting upstairs?”
Summer ached. She felt his touch burn through her, and in an instant, she remembered how it felt to be pinned beneath his body, caught up in that incredible release.
/> God, she wanted him.
She stumbled back, shaking her head. “No, I’m fine. Good. Great!”
“Alright.” Grayson watched her, and it seemed like there was something he wanted to say, but he just nodded. “You’ll feel better in the morning,” he said, “just give it a chance. Make a batch of those sticky rolls, and you’ll see, this is where you’re meant to be. Don’t write yourself off just yet.”
He turned to the door, and Summer couldn’t keep it inside anymore.
“You mean the way you wrote us off?” she blurted.
Grayson stopped. He glanced back, his eyes flashing with something determined. Then, before Summer could even process what was happening, he closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands with a searing kiss.
His mouth was hot on hers, desperate and searching, branding her lips with his passion.
She almost fell. Back into his arms, and the electric rush between them. Back to feeling his body pressed tightly against hers, and that delicious hunger, curling deep inside her bloodstream.
But something inside her held back.
One more night would be incredible, but what happened in the morning? When Grayson rolled briskly away from her, and shut down all over again, and Summer was left feeling more alone than if she’d slept by herself all night?
She broke the kiss. “It’s late . . .” she said, turning away from him. “And I’m drunk, and . . .”
“I understand.” Grayson’s voice was tight. “You get some rest. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
Summer nodded and watched him let himself out. She felt unsteady, but this time it had nothing to do with the tequila.
No, this was all him.
She swallowed back the lump in her throat. She felt so torn. She didn’t have much experience with guys, and definitely not with men like Grayson. Because there was nobody else like him. He was so proud and independent; he’d built this life for himself on his own terms, and it was one of the things she loved about him. But if he honestly didn’t want to share any of that with her, then there was nothing she could do.