All Wrapped Up (A Pine Mountain Novel)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Even if her sex drive was in overdrive at the thought of spending more time with Nick Brennan.

  Oh no you don’t. Ava nestled further into the comfort of her armchair, stamping out the memory of the dark, glittering, dead-sexy stare Nick had served up last night in his truck. The second she and Brennan had agreed on the terms of this story, they’d entered a business arrangement Being involved with a source, even on a short-term story, was a slippery slope. Ava couldn’t say she’d never heard of anyone bending that unspoken rule, but she could sure as hell see the conflict of interest.

  Plus, Gary already thought she couldn’t bring home the bacon with a source if he spotted her a block’s worth of butcher shops. She simply couldn’t lose her focus so close to breaking the biggest story of her life.

  No matter how scorchingly hot Brennan’s five-alarm stares felt on her skin.

  Ava sucked in a breath, low and deep. The soft, late-morning hum of the bakery around her smoothed her jagged nerves and knocked her resolve into place, and she clicked over the document on her laptop even though she’d long since memorized the thing.

  Solidifying the facts of the current story had been Ava’s first step toward preparing her interview questions for Nick, and she took a minute to cross-reference her notes with the public record from the fire marshal one more time. The official report on the fire at Joe’s Grocery pointed to faulty electrical wiring as the culprit, with absolutely no signs of foul play. Although the fire had destroyed more than half the building, both Pine Mountain’s and Riverside’s fire departments had worked in tandem to bravely and efficiently fight the blaze, and the residents of Pine Mountain had already rallied around Joe in an effort to help rebuild the grocery store. The facts of the story made perfect sense, and everything from procedure to progression of events fell neatly into place.

  Everything, that is, except for Nick Brennan, who as far as Ava could tell, didn’t fit into the story at all. Seven years ago, he’d been on the cusp of going to the Fairview Fire Academy with his best friend, Mason Watts, but clearly, Nick wasn’t a firefighter now. In fact, even when she’d returned to her Google search with an all-in vengeance, the only concrete information Ava had been able to unearth on Nick was a half-buried public record stating that he’d attended the fire academy as he’d intended to after their summer on Sapphire Island.

  The whole thing left her with way more questions than answers about Nick’s past. And damn it, the more questions she turned up about him that had no obvious answers, the more she wanted to discover how on earth he’d known how to find that little boy and safely rescue him from a burning building.

  What the hell was he hiding? And more importantly, why?

  “Oh Lord, spare the masses. No good can come from that hell-bent look on your face.”

  The familiar masculine voice delivered Ava back to the here and now of the Sweet Life bakery. She reached up to close her laptop with a snick, eyeballing her brother Pete with equal parts disdain and affection.

  “Please,” she said, sliding her laptop into her bag over a pop of much-needed laughter. “Like you don’t get passionate about your job, Chef Mancuso.”

  Pete’s grin got lost in the uncharacteristic stubble peppering his jaw. “Ouch on the formality. So I like to bake a little. What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big deal?” Ava echoed jokingly. “Are you even looking at this place?”

  She gestured to the warm, honey-colored walls of the bakery, two of which were fully lined with glass display cases boasting everything from cheesecake to Christmas cookies. The wide-plank floorboards glowed like lush ribbons of melted caramel, and the matching built-in shelves on the far wall brimmed over with books, magazines, and newspapers, all ready to be shared with interested eyes. Thickly cushioned reading chairs dotted the dining area, interspersed with sleek bistro tables and a longer communal barlike counter with docking stations for laptops.

  The atmosphere blended flawlessly with the fresh bread and sweet sugar aromas wafting in from the kitchen, and Ava had to admit that the place fit Pete right down to his kitchen clogs. Her brother had run the cozy Main Street storefront with his wife, Lily, for over a year and a half now, and as seriously as they both took the bakery, they were even more serious about each other. Or seriously in love, anyway.

  Pain shot beneath the center of Ava’s pale yellow sweater in a sudden whump, and ugh, this bruise needed to fade out, stat. “Anyway, all joking aside, I’ve got a huge story in front of me. It’s time to go big or go home.”

  “Mmm. Even when going big means getting knocked down by some moron at the Double Shot?” Pete’s normally confident smile slid into something a lot less friendly, his knuckles going pale over the handle of the coffeepot caught in his grip.

  Damn it, she knew she should’ve called Layla for a ride to pick up her car instead of her brother. But Layla would’ve asked a ton of questions that had sharp and sticky answers, and anyway, even though the protective pit bull routine tugged at her gut, having Pete close after being a little shaken up had been a comfort. Albeit a temporary one.

  “That was a total accident,” Ava said, modulating her voice to cover her chagrin. “I even got checked out by a paramedic, remember? I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh. You’d just better hope Mike Trotter stays out of Pine Mountain.” He flattened the words with a hard, green stare that told her arguing would be an exercise in futility, so she didn’t.

  “Now that I’ve landed the exclusive on this fire, I’m sure he’ll move on to something else.” Guys like Trotter were all about making the biggest splash. Never mind that the wasted water held all the value.

  Pete skimmed a glance over the laptop bag she’d tucked carefully at her side, his expression easing up a fraction. “Everyone in town is talking about that rescue. It seems like one hell of a story.”

  “That’s because it is,” Ava agreed. “I might be hell-bent to tell it, but I’m not apologizing for being ambitious.”

  “Okay, okay. You win.” Pete held up one hand in playful concession while he leaned in to fill her festive red and green coffee cup with the other. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

  “You’re the only one,” she muttered, just low enough for Pete to miss it. While Gary had initially given her a brows-up no shit when she’d told him she’d landed an exclusive interview with Nick, he’d been less than impressed when she’d hedged about the specifics.

  But come on. How was she supposed to tell her boss—the man who held the power to make or break her entire career—that she’d spent two days searching for details only to come up with one nebulous might-have-happened, and that she’d only landed the exclusive in the first place by coming clean about her tangled-up past with her source?

  A past so brittle and burnt, it had made her run from the only man she’d ever loved.

  “So.” Ava straightened in her seat, pasting a smile over her face. “What’s the special today? I’m going to need some sustenance before I head over to this interview.”

  If Pete noticed the swerve in subject matter, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I made a batch of cranberry turnovers a little while ago, and I think there are still a handful of pomegranate-pistachio shortbread bars in the display case. But it’s slim pickings today, at least until I can catch up from the breakfast rush.”

  “Where’s Lily?” Ava asked, pushing back from her seat to follow Pete to the counter. The oddity of her sister-in-law’s absence hit Ava like a delayed reaction, and she swung her gaze around the shop. Usually Pete and Lily manned the Sweet Life in tandem, especially during the midmorning, when they did the most business. Maybe she was in the back now that lunch was around the corner and the rush had mostly died down. “Is she in the kitchen?”

  But her brother shook his dark head as he slipped behind the counter. “Doctor’s appointment,” he said, dropping the coffee carafe back to its burner with a clatter. “So, ah, this assignment is pretty major, huh? Sounds like that big break you’v
e been waiting for.”

  Ava switched gears, taking the cranberry turnover from Pete’s outstretched hand with a cautious smile. While she and her brother were extremely close, she’d never given him any details about her summer on Sapphire Island. As far as Pete was concerned, Ava had taken a great opportunity to spend a summer with her college roommate’s family, making some extra post-college money before she jumped into the workforce and left Philadelphia behind once and for all.

  He had no idea how much more she’d left behind when she’d hopped on that ferry.

  “Yeah,” Ava said, toasting him with her pastry. “This story is definitely a step up from the Turnip Festival.”

  “Oh, come on. I thought that article was a fine piece of journalism.”

  “That is because you’re my brother,” she said, sinking her teeth into one corner of the golden, flaky turnover. The sweet-tart flavor of homemade cranberry jam burst on her tongue, filling her senses with a whole lot of yes, yes, yes as it melted into the buttery goodness of the crust. “God, Pete. This is amazing.”

  “Are you saying that because you’re my sister?” he asked, propping his palms against the glass display case with a cocky grin.

  “No. Why would I sugarcoat something like that? No pun intended,” she added before taking another bite.

  “You’re hilarious.” Pete rolled his eyes, but didn’t scale back on his smile. “And you just proved my point. I’m not telling you your article was good because I have to.”

  “Turnip Festival,” Ava reminded him, but they were both made up of the same brand of stubborn, and right now, Pete’s was on full display.

  “Regardless of the subject, it was a solid, well-written article. You’re a great reporter, Ava.”

  She laughed. “Tell me again once I get a byline on the front page, would you?”

  “I’m telling you now.” Pete leaned in closer, sending a hard prickle through her chest as his normally confident expression turned serious. “I get that work is important to you, but you don’t need a byline to prove your worth.”

  Ava chewed a little longer than necessary, tacking her armor into place along with a grateful smile. Pete had always been there for her, cheering her on and doing his best to protect her no matter what. He’d even bused tables at a greasy inner-city diner every night for two years to afford a more expensive culinary school, refusing to leave Philadelphia even though their father had kicked him out of the house in a drunken rage the day Pete turned eighteen.

  Pete had gone to unbelievable lengths to be strong for her until she could escape to college, and to remain close as her only family after that. The least she could do was show him some of his toughness had stuck and she could stand on her own.

  “Thanks.” She packed every emotion she had into the small word, hoping like hell he’d understand. “But you don’t have to coddle me anymore.”

  “I don’t coddle you,” he argued, but his sudden merciless fascination with polishing the top of the display case in front of him outed the words for the lie they were.

  Ava’s muscles went tight over her breastbone. Damn, she’d really had it with this stupid bruise. “Okay,” she said, leaning in to buss his cheek and deftly skip over the brewing conversation. She couldn’t afford to get all gooey with her brother right now. She was going to need every ounce of toughness she could scrape together for this interview with Nick.

  Which reminded her... “Anyway, thanks for the quick bite, but I’ve got to run. Tell Lily I hope she feels better.”

  Ava collected her things, giving Pete one last wave and good-bye before heading out the front door of the bakery. Wrapping her red wool scarf a little tighter to ward off the winter air, she aimed her boots down Main Street, gathering her thoughts along with her resolve. Pine Mountain was a lot smaller than Riverside, and even though Ava didn’t really frequent any local spots other than the Sweet Life, she knew the footprint of the cozy town well enough to get her bearings. She’d recognized the address Nick had given her as belonging to the small group of apartments where her brother had lived before he and Lily had gotten married, which made getting from Point A to Point B easy enough.

  Getting out of the car to actually walk up to Nick’s apartment, especially with her lack of solid information on his past and the lingering memory of his ohhh-so-sexy stare?

  Not exactly the same piece of cake.

  “Stop being a sixth-grader,” she whispered, the words riding out on tiny white puffs as she pushed her car door wide. Smoothing a hand over her crisp black pencil skirt, Ava stepped out of the car and made her way to the left side of the two-story L-shaped building. She ticked through the numbers on the pretty brass plates attached to the bricks, the heels of her slim leather boots clacking softly on the neat concrete path until she reached the apartment number Nick had given her. Without giving herself even a second to balk or get nervous, Ava placed a knock in the center of the glossy black door. She was a complete professional. She could do this. She would.

  Oh, God, the sight of Nick Brennan still grabbed the breath right from her lungs.

  “Hi.” For a second, he just stood there on the threshold of the door he’d swung open, staring at her with those dark, brooding eyes so at odds with the extravagant lashes framing them. His lean, muscular frame fit perfectly beneath his white T-shirt, his broken-in jeans slung over his hips like they’d been born there, and just like that, Ava’s pulse surged with speed and heat.

  “It’s freezing out there. Come on in,” he continued, his gaze detaching from hers to do a quick sweep of the periphery over her shoulder. She turned to mimic the movement, her common sense finally barreling back into place.

  “Are reporters bothering you here too?” she asked, swinging forward to follow him into the tiny foyer.

  “No. I’m not listed, and none of them got ballsy enough to follow me home from work. At least, none that I know of.” He tilted his head toward the hallway, his shower-damp hair falling in an infuriatingly sexy tousle that would look sloppy on nearly anyone else. “But thanks for meeting me here. Reporters aside, Pine Mountain’s grapevine is kind of notorious. I figured this way, we’d have a better shot at privacy.”

  The idea skittered down Ava’s spine as she followed him further inside, but she kicked it back with a deep breath. Nick was her source. She was here for the story, period. “I don’t mind. It’s your interview, so you should be comfortable. Plus, coming to Pine Mountain gave me a chance to visit my brother.”

  Nick’s cross-trainers squeaked to a stop in front of his open-air kitchen. “Your brother lives here?”

  “He runs the bakery on Main Street,” Ava said over a nod. She slipped a covert gaze around the small but tidy kitchen. Becoming a reporter had taught her to gather information from even the smallest details. Nick’s kitchen was sparse enough to offer the bare minimum—mostly clear Formica countertops, small breakfast table with two sturdy chairs by the window, one house plant that had seen far better days—but the realization sent a wash of heat through her belly.

  Ava would bet her annual salary he lived alone. Double or nothing he spent most of his time at the Double Shot rather than at home. His dishwasher still had the plastic protective covering on the push buttons, for God’s sake.

  “Oh.” Nick delivered the word with a healthy dose of surprise. “I’ve been pretty busy at work. I haven’t had a chance to go down there and try it out yet.”

  “Wow, that bar must do a ton of business then. The Sweet Life has been open for a year and a half,” she said, unable to keep the smile out of her words. Even though Pete had lived in Pine Mountain pretty much in name only until he’d met Lily and they’d opened the bakery together, the town was more tightly knit than a trunk full of sweaters. Most of the locals definitely knew him now.

  Of course, Nick didn’t seem to be like most locals. In fact, Ava didn’t know anyone who worked as much as he appeared to.

  Present company excluded, anyway.

  “Yeah.” He shrugged
, shoulder muscles tightening beneath his white T-shirt as he pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table for Ava before turning to sit across from her. “We did a huge street fair about six months ago, and added a new head chef. The Double Shot has been pretty popular since then.”

  “Oh, right.” Recognition pricked at Ava’s memory. “I heard about that street fair on the radio. My friend Layla said it was a blast, actually.”

  “But you didn’t come down from Riverside,” Nick said, settling back against his padded seat cushion to look at her.

  “No.” She’d felt guilty for two days about faking the headache that had gotten her off the hook from attending, but it had been better than telling Layla the ugly truth.

  A street fair run by a local bar and sponsored by an up-and-coming brewery equaled the sixth level of hell for the daughter of abusive alcoholics.

  “So you’ve worked at the Double Shot for two years.” Ava laced her fingers together, pressing the sides of her hands over the cool wood of the table, but Nick’s unexpected smile caught her completely by surprise.

  “You’re pretty good at steering conversation. Changing the subject, that kind of thing.”

  “I’m not changing the subject,” she said, hoping the burn on her face didn’t equal a visible blush.

  Nick snorted, but his smile didn’t fade. “And now you’re buying time.”

  “I’m making small talk,” she argued, although she had to fight the urge to squirm. How the hell could he read her so clearly after seven freaking years?

  “Gotta hand it to you, it’s a subtle tactic. Probably part of what makes you a good reporter.”