All Wrapped Up (A Pine Mountain Novel)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “It doesn’t.”

  The words dislodged themselves from the deepest part of Brennan’s chest, shocking him on the way out. He needed to get control of what he was saying, and he needed to do it right now. Yes, she’d just been honest with him, but no way could he tell Ava, who was about to interview him for a goddamned newspaper exclusive, that he knew exactly what it felt like to push back on reality when it gave you a healthy shove. He knew what it meant to panic, to numb the ache with distraction while you fought all the demons that were supposed to dull the pain.

  For the last two years, Brennan had known exactly what it felt like to run.

  “Look, we were young,” he said, tamping down his unease. “I’m not going to say I wasn’t mad when you left, or that I don’t wish you had told me all of this at the time. But we can’t change the past. The only thing we can control is the present.”

  “That’s true.” Ava proceeded with caution, but the flash of emotion behind her gaze gave her away. “I don’t blame you for hating me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Brennan’s hand was halfway over the small console separating them before he could register the movement, but at the last second, he pulled back, letting his arm fall short over the molded leather. She’d been so startled by his touch just an hour ago, and with what he knew now, maybe contact was a bad idea.

  But rather than flinch at the movement, Ava lifted a dark brow over her steady gaze, turning toward him in her seat. “You pretty much told me in no uncertain terms to get out of the bar last night,” she argued, and wait . . . was that a smile edging up the corners of her mouth?

  “Okay,” he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug, and holy shit, she was smiling. “But you threw me for a hell of a loop.”

  “I know.” Ava’s expression softened, the overhead lamplight bathing her face in a barely-there glow. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. For not telling you everything, for leaving without a good-bye. For . . . all of it.”

  “Tell you what,” he said, clearing his throat over the rough-edged words. “Why don’t we start with a clean slate? Totally fresh, right now. What do you think?”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re willing to forgive me, just like that?”

  This time, he closed the space between their hands, just enough to touch the backs of his fingers to hers. “I can’t lie, Ava. Your leaving like that hit me pretty hard.”

  “I understand,” she whispered. “I know it’ll take time to make up for what I did.”

  “It will. But I know it must’ve been hard for you too, and in a way, I get why you left.” Brennan broke off, trying to stomach the thought of her horrible past. “Think you can be straight with me from now on?”

  “Yes. But do me a favor.” She pressed her fingers against his, lowering her gaze to the contact. “Please don’t treat me differently because of what my parents did. I’m not fragile. I won’t break.”

  Brennan nodded, sliding his fingers against her hand, and damn, a touch this innocent shouldn’t feel so freaking good. “Okay. But then you have to do something for me.”

  “And that is?”

  “Call me Brennan. The only people who call me Nick anymore are my sisters, and even then, it sounds weird to me.”

  “Brennan sounds weird to me,” Ava countered, and he rediscovered how cute her little nose-wrinkle maneuver was. “Going by your last name is such a guy thing.”

  Brennan was tempted to tell her it was a firefighter thing, and that just like every other rookie, he’d had zero say over the nickname he’d been branded with as a recruit. But instead, he nudged her hand. “A deal’s a deal, Spitfire. Take it or leave it.”

  Her groan slid into laughter. “Okay, okay! I’ll try to call you Brennan, but only if you call me Ava.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he said, extending his hand. “Clean slate, Ava?”

  Her fingers were warm and strong as she slid them over his palm and shook. “Clean slate, Brennan.”

  For a second, they sat there, fingers entwined and eyes locked together, and Brennan wanted nothing more than to lean over the console between them, to kiss her fast and deep and not stop until they were both completely out of air and common sense.

  Get it together, you jackass! Ava was about to interview him for a tell-all in the paper, which was the one thing— the only thing—he’d managed to avoid when his life in Fairview had come flying apart at the seams. He needed to pin every last ounce of his composure firmly into place in order to keep his past in the past.

  Putting his mouth on hers would ruin him.

  “So, ah, how does this interview thing work?” he asked, shifting in his seat to flip on the headlights and finally put the Trailblazer in gear. They had a bit of a drive to Riverside, and having something mundane to focus on might teach his impulsively traitorous libido a lesson.

  Ava laughed, as smooth and sweet as warm butterscotch, and hell, keeping his eyes on the road wasn’t going to be enough. “It’s pretty standard, actually,” she said. “I ask the questions, you give the answers. Then I write it all up and the story goes to print.”

  The teasing lilt in her voice made his sudden unease fizzle out, his chuckle escaping without his consent. “I get that part. What I meant was more like when and where.”

  “Well, the where part is really up to you. As for the when, this is obviously a little time sensitive. I’ll start pulling the questions together as soon as I get home. That way we can do the interview at your earliest convenience.”

  “Ava, it’s Friday night. Plus, you took a hell of a pop from that idiot Trotter.” Was she seriously going to throw in that much overtime on this interview, even injured?

  “Good stories don’t happen on a schedule, and my chest is fine. I can be ready any time after tomorrow morning,” she said.

  Guess that answered that. Damn, she was tenacious. And double damn, that spark in her eyes still shot right through him, even after seven years.

  Brennan coasted to a stop at Pine Mountain’s only stoplight, turning to give Ava a full glance in the shadows of the truck. “Monday is my day off this week. What do you think about my place, twelve-thirty?”

  The spark in her eyes flashed brighter with the intensity of her smile, and it sizzled right through him even in the soft glow of the dashboard.

  “I think it’s a date.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brennan rolled to his side, burrowing deep into the warmth of his time-softened bedsheets. Brilliant Saturday morning sunshine filtered through his bedroom window, riding past the curtains on the dappled shadows of glittering, snowy pine trees.

  Damn. Even lying down, his back felt as if someone had slammed into it with railroad spikes.

  Wincing against the pain, Brennan pushed his way out of bed, quick-tripping it to the bathroom for the requisite date with his toothbrush and a mouthful of ibuprofen before shuffling down the hall toward the kitchen. With three weeks to go before Christmas, winter had definitely settled into the Blue Ridge. Between the near-arctic mountain temperatures and the wringer of physical stress from the fire at Joe’s, Brennan’s back felt like a haystack just waiting for a stiff wind to blow it all to pieces.

  Or maybe that was his composure, because in T minus two days, he was going to sit down with the hottest woman he’d ever laid eyes on and she was going to do her best to unearth every single secret he’d ever wanted to forget.

  Brennan jammed a lid on the thought and grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge, letting the sugar and caffeine combo do its thing to wake up his system before flicking his cell phone to life. He rebrowsed the string of texts he’d been unable to deal with in the crush of last night’s dinner shift at the Double Shot, his finger hovering over the DELETE button for a breath, then two, before actually making contact.

  Damn. He really should eat something if his gut was going to get all mutinous and jab at him like that.

  Tossing his phone to the counter with a clatter, Brennan unfolded into a stretch that tested h
is overtight muscles. A familiar electronic ring tone froze his movements halfway to the pantry, and his gut did an automatic knot-and-drop. Brennan knew from experience that if he ignored enough of his younger sister’s calls, she’d threaten to show up in Pine Mountain, and that was a can of worms he had no interest in popping open. Better to do this now, on his own terms, where no one could overhear him, anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh! Um, hey,” Ellie stammered, clearly surprised. “I didn’t think you’d pick up. Did I wake you?”

  “Nope. I was up,” he said, and so far, so good. Of his four sisters, Ellie was the cagiest, though, so no way was he abandoning caution.

  “Good. How are you feeling?”

  Ah, the million-dollar opener. Brennan had lost hope a long time ago that she’d actually believe his answer, but it didn’t stop him from saying, “Fine. You?”

  “You’re up awfully early.” An equal mix of concern and suspicion colored her words as she ignored the pleasantries and went for round two. “Aren’t you working really late nights at that restaurant now?”

  He’d rather be stuck with a thousand pins than admit to Ellie that he was awake because his back never let him get more than a handful of hours’ worth of shut-eye, and anyway, she had enough on her mind right now without worrying about his sleep habits.

  Speaking of which . . . “Yeah, Friday is our busiest night, so we’re usually slammed, especially over the holidays. Sorry I didn’t answer your texts. Dress looks nice, though.”

  “You think so?” Ellie’s voice lifted in excitement. “I mean, you only get one wedding dress, so I want it to be perfect, but I really love it, and . . . damn it, Nick. That’s not fair.”

  Brennan froze, the can of Coke halfway to his mouth. The sound of his first name was odd in his ears, as if it belonged to someone else, and he tamped down the memory of the last person who’d used it.

  “What’s not fair?” he asked in a last-ditch effort, but of course she was too sharp to fall for the rope-a-dope.

  “You used my wedding dress to distract me, that’s what! Look, we’re all really worried about you. You haven’t been back to Fairview once since you left. You’ve bailed on Christmas and Easter twice now—which by the way, even Dad has noticed—and Pine Mountain’s really far from home.”

  “First of all, I had to work those days. And secondly, Pine Mountain is my home.” He pulled in a smooth, controlled breath, the composure he wore like a full set of turnout gear locked securely into place. “And there’s nothing to worry about. Everything here really is fine.”

  “Fine.” Ellie scoffed, as if the word tasted burnt. “You’ve been saying that for two years.”

  “I relocated to make a career change, Ells. People do it all the time, and working at the restaurant isn’t a nine-to-five gig, okay? Just because I’m busy doesn’t mean I’m not doing all right.”

  Brennan’s tone held just enough please-let’s-drop-the-subject to get her attention, and finally, he got some latitude. He knew Ellie meant well, but this conversation practically had a script, and the last thing he needed was a come to Jesus meeting with his sister about things that were over and done. “I know you don’t think so, but I really am all set here. I promise.”

  Ellie’s silence hung fire for a minute before she said, “I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, Nick. I love you, okay?”

  “I love you too, kid.” Brennan cleared his throat, scrubbing a hand over his goatee before taking a long draw from his can of Coke. “So you’re serious about marrying this Murphy guy?”

  His sister hesitated, but relief pricked at his chest when she gave in with a soft laugh. “The Murphy guy’s name is Josh, which I know you know full well. And the wedding’s in three weeks.”

  Okay. So engaging in a pointless conversation about the past might not be on his agenda, but a little friendly ribbing with his sister? Now, that he’d dive into headfirst.

  “So is that a yes?”

  Her laughter grew, and damn, he had to admit, it sounded good on her. “Well, there are going to be five hundred people at Saint Mark’s on Christmas Day expecting me to take that little stroll down the aisle, plus I’m kind of insanely in love with the guy, so yeah. That’s a yes.”

  On second thought, maybe not with the ribbing. “Older brother, here. Can we skip the you-in-love thing, please?”

  “Sure.” A crafty grin crept into Ellie’s tone. “So have you been dating anybody lately? I wasn’t kidding about adding a plus-one to the seating arrangements, you know.”

  Brennan winced, grateful Ellie couldn’t see the gesture. He loved his sister, and not a little bit, but he wasn’t planning on attending her wedding any longer than absolutely necessary. Even then, his agenda was to lie low and blend into the wallpaper. The last thing he needed was to see anyone he knew in Fairview, or worse yet, for anyone he knew to see him.

  Check that. The last thing Brennan needed was to worry about a date for the ten hours he’d be fading to black in the town he’d left behind.

  “Ugh! Okay, fine,” he mumbled in defeat. “You-in-love it is.”

  Ellie launched into a monologue about bridesmaids and bodices and bustles, and Brennan did his best to play along. The muscles on either side of his lumbar vertebrae reminded him exactly how much time he’d spent on his feet last night after returning to the bar from Riverside, and he parked himself in a heavily cushioned kitchen chair as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear. Ellie was clearly the head spokeswoman for crazy-in-love, and even though he had no frigging clue what a hand-beaded empire waist was, it really didn’t seem fair to deny her this excitement.

  Even if there was no chance in hell he’d ever follow suit. Falling in love with someone meant opening up, and now more than ever, he needed to keep a handle on his emotions. Letting loose with anything other than precise, logical control only got you burned. Literally. Figuratively. Take your pick.

  Brennan wasn’t going back there either.

  After another ten minutes of easy back and forth with Ellie that may or may not have included the words ice sculptures, Brennan ended the call on one last assurance that everything in Pine Mountain was status quo. He had a liquor delivery to oversee, not to mention holiday staff schedules that needed finalizing. While he’d never imagined that managing a small-town bar and grill would headline his résumé, the place meant a lot to Adrian and Teagan. Teagan’s father had taken a flyer on him when Brennan had needed a job two years ago, no questions asked, and for that, he owed them a lot. The hard work was the least he could do, and if it kept him moving through the present tense, all the better.

  Knocking back the rest of his sugar rush, Brennan padded to the bathroom to go through the motions of lather-rinse-repeat. By the time he’d slung on a pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt with the Double Shot logo printed across the front, his back was mostly on board with keeping the rest of him upright, although his stomach wasn’t feeling quite so friendly. A quick scan of his pantry told him sneaking in breakfast at work was a moral imperative unless he wanted to chow down on condiments, so Brennan went to grab the keys to his Trailblazer from the drawer where he’d tossed them without looking last night.

  Only his gaze made a direct hit on a photograph instead.

  A dull ache that had nothing to do with his back thudded all the way through him, and his mind wheeled back to the day he’d stuck the thing in there to begin with.

  Brennan had been in such a hurry to leave Fairview that he’d dumped most of his belongings into boxes without looking, figuring he’d just pitch anything he didn’t want or need when he unpacked. On the fourth day of slow sorting, he’d unearthed the photograph, staring up at him from beneath his collection of hockey memorabilia and a stash of old T-shirts. Brennan had stood over the kitchen trash can for ten minutes, then twenty, before stuffing the photo in that drawer. He hadn’t clapped eyes on the damned thing since, having long ago buried it under a pile of take-out menus and packets of so
y sauce from the Chinese restaurant in Riverside. Only now, the story that went with the image had a very different ending.

  “Screw it.”

  Before the rational part of his brain could override the hot impulse daring his fingers to move, Brennan creaked the drawer all the way open and plucked the picture from its resting place.

  The black and white photo of Ava had faded over time, although his memory of the day it had been taken was brass-tack sharp. Glossy black hair spilled down the back of her white tank top like fresh ink on a page as she faced the camera from the side, her face tipped up and caught in deep laughter. Her coal-colored lashes fanned downward, framing her closed eyes and sending shadows over the apples of her cheeks. Her expression was so sweet, so totally wide open in her happiness, that she looked as honest and good as a lazy day in the sun.

  Seven years ago, he’d have done anything for her, regardless of consequence or cost. He’d been young enough, reckless enough, to fall in love with her without even realizing she’d been hiding her past. A past worth hiding, sure. But if he hadn’t been so blindly impulsive, maybe he’d have been able to see it. To save himself the heartache. To help her cope.

  As if flying by the seat of his pants hadn’t already done enough damage.

  The thought rattled Brennan firmly back to reality, and he snapped into place on the linoleum. All that talk with Ellie about true love must be making him soft. Okay, so he’d had a thing—maybe even the thing—for Ava Mancuso the summer after college. But she was about to ask him no less than a thousand questions about the one part of his life he was desperate to leave buried in the past.

  As hard and as fast as he’d once fallen for her, the best thing he could do for both of them now was to shut her out.

  Chapter Eight

  Ava’s breath escaped from her lungs in a slow leak, the exhale smarting even though two and a half days had passed since her embarrassing-as-hell tumble at the Double Shot. The whack to her sternum had stung nearly as much as the shot to her pride, but it was worth the literal heartache. She’d come clean about her past in a move long overdue, and as much as Ava had dreaded spilling her own story in exchange for Nick’s, she’d felt oddly strong giving him the truth he deserved. Add to it the fact that she’d also landed the exclusive that was going to resuscitate her dying career, and truly, she couldn’t have asked for a better situation.