Spiced

by Jamie Farrell

  Now she was visibly fighting a smile, and he was losing yet another round to his groin. Not just her eyes sparkled when she smiled. Her whole body vibrated with suppressed mischief.

  “Glad to hear it,” she said.

  “Shoo,” Gran said. “I need to keep interrogating him.”

  Pepper crossed her arms. “Gran—”

  “So you’ll be like this when you’re ninety?” Tony interrupted. He winked at her. He might’ve been malfunctioning from the waist down this past year, but he’d kept his flirting skills sharp. “I could handle that.”

  “Could you handle taking her shopping for a new retirement home? I’m happy to pay for gas to Peoria and back.”

  “Need to get back to work,” he said. “Just thought I’d drop off some cupcakes.”

  Surprise flashed over her features. Because he thought to bring her cupcakes? Or because it had been too long since anyone had? “Thank you.”

  “I’m off at eight tonight. Stop by my place. Dinner’s on me.”

  Her expression went guardedly blank. “Sounds great.”

  “Are you going to kiss him?” Gran demanded.

  “Would that make you happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then no, I’m not.”

  Tony sucked on his cheeks. Pepper sounded like a prude, but there was enough pluck in her voice that he wondered if he’d been reading her wrong. “Not even one little smooch?” he said.

  She flicked her hands at him. “Out with you, or I won’t get my work finished today.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.” But he paused on his way by to put a hand to her back and peck her on the cheek. Close to the corner of her mouth. Close enough to inspire memories of kissing her in his kitchen last night, which would probably make him indecent to be out in public, but her breath caught, and he knew she was remembering too.

  At least there was something to like about his neighbor.

  * * *

  The drive from Bliss Bridal to Suckers was taking four hours too long.

  Okay, they’d only been driving three minutes, and only had five more to go, but Gran was on Pepper’s last nerve.

  “I didn’t think you were serious about the stripping pizza man.” Gran was wrapped up in a winter coat so huge she practically disappeared in the passenger seat, which unfortunately wasn’t stopping her from talking.

  “If I’d told you I was serious about him, you would’ve demanded to know his sperm count,” Pepper replied pointedly.

  “It’s an important thing to know about a man.”

  “You didn’t know Grandpa’s sperm count when you married him.”

  “You young people have it so easy.”

  She smiled. Gran had a point.

  “Your grandkids will probably be able to figure out their mates based on the chips the government will put in their brains at birth,” Gran continued.

  If she had grandkids.

  She had to have kids first. This time next week, she’d know for sure she was finally on her way.

  “If you marry Tony, you could name all your children after pizza toppings.”

  “Mushroom? Olive? Anchovy Blue-Cross?”

  “Ham,” Gran offered. “Tomato. Mozzarella. And why shouldn’t he take your name? You could be the Cross-Blues instead of an insurance company.”

  Pepper steered her car into the Suckers parking lot. Cinna was pulling a shift at CJ’s bar tonight, so she was on Gran duty.

  And not a minute too soon.

  Except now that she’d dropped Gran off, she had three hours to kill before she could meet Tony to sync their stories. So she went home, changed into jeans and a sweater, and grabbed the leashes to take the dogs for a walk.

  And then she indulged in a little online fantasy shopping.

  Cribs. Strollers. Adorable little onesies. Booties. And she’d need a good camera too.

  She’d had a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach most of the day that she’d been doing her best to ignore. It wasn’t something she’d experienced her last two tries.

  Which maybe meant this time had worked.

  Not that she had any doubt.

  Pepper Blue didn’t fail at anything.

  Her phone alarm pulled her out of her browsing spree. She shut down her tablet and hid it in the locked safe in her bedroom, where she’d stashed all of her fertility medications, test kits, and the medical and insurance bills she’d had delivered to Bliss Bridal’s PO box. Cinna was a snoop, so she’d had to take extra precautions to keep her out.

  She peeked out her bedroom window and spotted Tony’s big black truck. Her pulse fluttered. Time to do this.

  If she didn’t, she reminded herself, Gran would probably come home with goodness only knew who from Suckers tonight. Better the stress she knew to the stress she didn’t.

  Since it was just next door, she made the dash over without putting on a coat. The night was frigid, and she had goose bumps even on her rear end by the time Tony opened the door. “Evening. You like weenie mac? Got a whole pot going. I’ll share.”

  “Hot dogs and macaroni and cheese?”

  “Yep. From the box. Best kind ever.”

  He was such a bachelor. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Food of champions.”

  The scent of sautéed garlic and onions wafted out of the house, along with something else savory she couldn’t identify, and she realized she’d seriously underestimated Tony’s ability to blend in with her family. He could prank with the best of them.

  “You can have the weenie mac. I’ll take whatever that is I’m smelling.”

  “Sorry. The bacon-wrapped scallops are for my cat.”

  Her left eye twitched.

  He grinned, and that fluttering that had been quivering in her belly all day fluttered harder. He pushed the door open wider. “Get in here before you turn into a Peppersicle.”

  Once again, she followed him into his kitchen. All the houses in this part of town had been built in the early nineteen hundreds, if not before, which was a large part of their charm. It compensated for the issues that came with older houses for sure.

  She’d redone her own kitchen when she moved in, but Tony’s kitchen hadn’t been touched in at least fifty years. The cabinets were all worn wood, with a few missing knobs. The wallpaper was faded yellow-and-brown plaid, the countertops olive green, and the vinyl on the floor was peeling. The only thing new was the IKEA-style island where he’d kissed her last night.

  Nonetheless, the kitchen smelled amazing. Her belly rumbled.

  “Make yourself comfy. Wine?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He pulled a glass from the counter beside the sink, filled it with water, and handed it to her before he went to a cutting board on the counter beside the stainless steel oven. His arms flexed as he chopped scallions. Steam rose from a stockpot on the stove, and a pile of scallops already wrapped in bacon sat on a plate beside it.

  “Why are you doing this?” she abruptly asked.

  “I like having dinner most nights.”

  “Why are you cooking for me?” she clarified, fully aware she sounded like an ungrateful jerk. She wasn’t trying to be. But this felt entirely too intimate, and she had no room for intimacy right now.

  “What a boyfriend’s supposed to do, isn’t it?”

  “If this were real, yes. But it’s not. No one’s watching. So this really isn’t necessary.” Her stomach threatened to kick her, because it was a brazen hussy who’d trade food for just about anything, but she ignored it. “Appreciated, but not necessary.”

  “Afraid you might come to like me a little?”

  “No.” She sighed. And this was perhaps part of her dating problem. “That came out wrong. I don’t dislike you. Most of the time.”

  In another time and place, he could’ve been adorably sexy with those dark pirate eyes and that wolfish smile aimed at her over his shoulder. “How very honest of you.”

  This was getting her nowhere. She wouldn’t mind
being friends with her neighbor—provided he kept his cat inside—but that kissing thing wasn’t happening again, and he needed to know it.

  “We should discuss a few ground rules,” she said.

  “Oh, good. I love rules.”

  Twitch, twitch, twitch. “First, no dates.”

  He dropped the knife and laughed. “No dates? How does that work?”

  “I’m busy at the boutique. You’re busy at Pepperoni Tony’s. My family’s seen you, so they know you exist. They’ll be pressuring me to bring you to the wedding, I’ll resist because it’s what I do, and no one will question the validity of our relationship working until the wedding’s over and I don’t need you anymore.”

  He stared at her like she’d sprouted live chickens out the tips of her hair.

  “Second,” she continued, “no kissing or touching unless we happen to end up in the same public space and it would be expected.”

  “It amazes me that you’re still single.”

  She dipped her fingers in her water glass and flicked them at him. “Third, no sex.”

  “Truly astonishing.”

  She sighed out a growl. He’d fit right in with her family.

  He turned to the stove and lit a burner beneath a frying pan. “No dates, no kissing, no fornication. Got it.”

  Her rules, and yet, when he parroted them back to her, she felt…offended? Hurt?

  What difference did it make that he didn’t want to see her naked and roll around in the sheets? She didn’t want it either.

  Perhaps it would’ve been nice to have felt attractive though.

  One last time before her life completely flipped upside down. For the best reason.

  “Once the Blueper Bowl is over, I’ll take care of the paperwork to get Pepperoni Tony’s listed on the recommended restaurants list. And I’ll tell a few people to drop by for lunch.”

  “Blueper Bowl?”

  “Super Bowl, Blue family style. It’s a train wreck. You’re not invited.”

  “I do love a good train wreck. Is Gran coming? She’s quite the lady.”

  “You realize the harder you fight these rules, the more likely it is you’re going to meet the woman of your dreams after we have our breakup, don’t you?”

  His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. “Not worried.”

  “You should be. My track record’s impeccable.”

  “I’ve already met the woman of my dreams.”

  Her heart flung itself against her ribs. He was using her. And not just for her connections.

  Fine. What did she care? “And she’s resisting marrying you. Of course. Sure. Fine. We’re using each other. This is perfect. I get everything I want, you get everything you want, and everyone’s happy.”

  She gulped her water, her hand wobbling.

  Even the sarcastic jerk with the evil cat next door could find love. So what was wrong with her that she couldn’t? She had her contingency plans, and she would have a baby, but was it so wrong to have wanted someone to share it with?

  She had a speck of dust in her eye. Or possibly a whole dust bunny based on the way the darn things stung.

  Freaking hormones.

  “Matter of fact, here she is,” he said. “Pepper, meet Lucky. Formally.”

  A soft meow had her blinking at the floor.

  That scrappy little fur ball with deceptively innocent golden eyes slunk into the kitchen from a flap in the back door, hugging the baseboard. Her gray-striped fur was clean, but she was missing half her tail and she had a limp.

  “The demonic cat is the woman of your dreams?”

  “She’s quiet, she doesn’t yell at me when I leave my clothes on the floor, and she doesn’t hog the covers. Though space on the bed is another story. And she’s not demonic. She’s recovering from life on the streets.”

  “She tried to bite Sadie’s ear off.”

  “What would you do if you saw a shaggy bunny twice your size bearing down on you?”

  “Sadie wasn’t bearing down on her, she was investigating an unexpected visitor in the yard.”

  “Perspective is everything. And if we’re going to pull this off, you’re going to have to learn to appreciate my cat.”

  “I can fake it. And you don’t get to call Sadie a doggit.”

  Now his eyes were twinkling. He was a twinkly-eyed pirate wolf in a chef’s apron. Metaphorically speaking, of course, since he was actually in a loose gray polo and butt-hugging jeans that she was also doing her best to ignore.

  “Seems like the kind of endearment your family would like.” He dumped the chopped vegetables on his cutting board into the first pan and tossed Lucky a leftover scallion. She batted it across the floor, went down on her front legs, rear end wiggling before she pounced on it. “Plus, what else do you call a dog that thinks it’s a rabbit? A punny?”

  She wished she didn’t instantly get the puppy-bunny thing, but she was a Blue. Good jokes were revered above all else. Tonight, however, she appreciated finishing this conversation—and probably eating those scallops—more than she appreciated his zinger. “Regardless, it’s illegal to marry a cat, so I hope you understand that you’re putting yourself in real danger of meeting the human woman of your dreams.”

  She wasn’t sure if that look was don’t be a dumbass or we’re not discussing this, but it was clear he put no stock in her secret superpower.

  “I will never get married again,” he said. “Period.”

  Again. Okay then. There was a story there, but she didn’t need to hear it.

  Probably.

  He flipped a pair of tongs and put the first scallop in the pan. A sizzle and the aroma of delicious filled the air. “You ask me, you’re getting the better end of the deal. I’m going to break your streak.”

  She didn’t know why, but a shiver worked its way down her spine, and she blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I meant it when I said no sex.”

  “Won’t hold it against you if you change your mind about that.”

  There was absolutely no way Tony Cross wanted to have sex with her. Still, an unexpected zing pulsed between her legs, and she squirmed.

  If she wasn’t pregnant—she blinked hard.

  Nope. Not going there. She would be pregnant. She was pregnant. It was just too early for tests to confirm it.

  “And we need to renegotiate this date deal,” he continued.

  Now he was just trying to irritate her. “Sure. You can come over and watch chick flicks with me and Gran one night this weekend.”

  “When you say watch—”

  “No phone, no tablet, no books, no radio tuned into the game. No faking it.”

  His warm grin turned carnal. “Sweets, I don’t fake anything.”

  Hello, terribly, horribly tempting idea. Goodbye, better sense.

  She should’ve called his bluff at the pizzeria yesterday.

  “If I watch chick flicks, you’ll go see my band play,” he said.

  “Your band.”

  “We rock a mean polka.”

  Dammit, now he was making her laugh. Also not part of the deal. “You’re going to have to cook me dinner more than once if you want me to watch your polka cover band.”

  “Did I forget to mention dinner’s going to cost you a kiss?”

  Right. “You don’t want to kiss me.”

  “Sure I do. Now. Later. All night. For breakfast. Mid-morning snack. After mid-morning snack.”

  “Mid-morning snack? Are we in preschool again?” She grabbed the water once more and gulped, because there were definitely hormones raging in her body now, and they had nothing to do with her fertility treatments.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?”

  “Because you don’t like me.”

  “That’s never stopped me before.”

  Oh, he was annoying.

  Except…he wasn’t. Because there was something in his brazen confidence that didn’t quite feel real. As if he was faking it.

  She folded her arms and stared at h
is back. “We’re not having sex.”

  “Challenge accepted.” He flipped the scallops, and the tantalizing scent of frying bacon tickled her nose. Lucky continued tossing and chasing the green onion bit about the room, adorably oblivious to the humans.

  He was. He was either intentionally trying to irritate her, or he was making himself out to be far more of a playboy than he actually was. She didn’t know how she knew.

  Just that she did. “Who taught you how to cook?”

  He slid another glance at her. “My mom.”

  His mom had passed away last spring, she’d discovered during her cyber-stalking. One of very few personal tidbits included in the article about the Bliss Pepperoni Tony’s location opening. “You miss her?”

  He grunted.

  She might’ve grown up with mostly sisters, but she knew a drop it grunt when she heard it. “Sounded like you were close.”

  “You’re right. We shouldn’t have sex.”

  And he was a terrible subject-changer. But she quit pressing, because she’d found out what she needed to know.

  He didn’t want to trust her. He grabbed two plates painted with grape leaves. “Why do you want to get married?”

  “I don’t,” she replied.

  “You did.”

  “So? As my sister Margie would say, it’s biology. And I’ve used my evolved brain to get over it.”

  He set a steaming plate of pasta, vegetables, and scallops on the island before her, then plunked a second plate down for himself and passed her silverware. The food smelled tantalizing and delicious, but when he sat across from her and fixed that too-observant look on her, she wanted to slink to the floor and bat around a scallion with the cat instead.

  “If you were over it,” he said while he twirled pasta around his fork, “you’d tell your grandmother dating is futile.”

  She speared a perfectly browned scallop and told herself the only reason she was still here was because she could eat his delicious scallops and bacon without touching the pasta. “She’s diabolical. And she’s old enough that she thinks she knows what’s best for everyone, even if she can’t be enough of an adult to keep herself from getting tossed out of retirement homes.”

  She bit into the scallop and nearly moaned in pleasure. Perfectly cooked, both scallop and bacon, with some of that divine cream sauce adding the perfect touch.