He's the One

by Cat Johnson

  “Your sister?” he was quick to guess.

  She nodded. He’d met Lydia, her sister with three kids and no job. “She’s a single mom and needed my help more than once,” Vi said, holding back her sigh. Lydia could be exhausting.

  Whenever her younger sister held out her hand, Violet was there, paying a bill, buying clothes for Lydia’s kids, or filling the refrigerator with groceries. Last week, Vi had bought two retread tires for her sister’s dented, rusted, and outdated Datsun. The bucket of bolts was falling apart and had no trade-in value.

  Violet was the only person she could turn to. Their parents no longer loaned Lydia money. She never paid them back. She was in debt not only to family but to countless friends. Lydia lived off people. She used her kids to gain sympathy, but people were tired of her ploys.

  It seemed for every two dollars Violet got ahead, she fell back five. Her credit cards were maxed out. She wasn’t making enough money at the diner to qualify for a bank loan. Life was as life was. She refused to throw herself a pity party. She’d make it. Somehow.

  “I’m in a rut.” She smiled thinly. “I’m still waiting tables.”

  “You look good doing it,” he complimented her, giving her the once-over. His gaze lingered on her breasts and the bare length of leg below her short skirt. “Don’t give up, Violet. You never know when your luck will change.”

  “Have you been lucky?” she asked, and instantly regretted her question. He appeared the worse for wear. Brad needed a shower, shave, and change of clothes.

  He shrugged. “I’ve had a few things go my way,” he slowly said, only to pause when Molly pushed through the swinging kitchen door.

  She wore a plain brown dress, white Keds, and carried a bank bag. She crossed to the counter. “Brad Davis!” Her excitement was genuine.

  “Sweet Molly.” Brad hugged the older woman. He was as tall and lean as she was short and plump. Molly was a testament to her home-style cooking. She sampled every dish and dessert before it was served to her customers.

  “Have you come back to me?” Molly asked, hopeful.

  “Did I ever leave you?” he asked.

  Molly patted him on the arm. “Stick around,” she said as she filled the bank bag from the cash register. “You couldn’t have arrived at a more opportune time. My cook is going on vacation for two weeks. I’d hate to hire someone for such a short time. You know the ropes, son. Care to help out, unless you have other commitments?”

  “Nothing much going on in my life at the moment,” Brad said. He released her and returned to his stool. “Let me think about your offer over a second cup of coffee.”

  Violet gave him a refill. She listened as Molly and Brad spoke a moment longer. Her aunt had always been fond of him. She saw him as a good guy and a hard worker.

  Molly had no idea he used to jump Vi’s bones whenever she left to make a bank deposit in the middle of the afternoon. Fifteen minutes was the perfect window for a quickie in the storeroom. Their nightly sex stretched for hours. Brad had been insatiable.

  The bank bag in her hand, Molly was headed for the door that very minute. Violet’s pulse picked up and her stomach fluttered. Memories of his mouth, hands, and cock stroked her like foreplay. Her face flushed and her nipples hardened. Her bikini panties felt too tight.

  She was afraid to look at Brad; afraid he’d notice how mere thoughts of him still turned her on. Her body was heated and humming. She could barely catch her breath.

  “I’m off,” Molly finally said, clutching the bank bag to her ample bosom. “It should be fairly quiet while I’m gone. The local coffee crowd will be trickling in around four, and a few will order pie. I have two peach pies and one apple baking in the oven. Listen for the timer, Violet. It should go off in ten or eleven minutes.” Then she left.

  The click of the door sounded loud in the silence. But not as loud as Violet’s heart thumping in her chest. It wasn’t often the diner stood empty and sexual opportunity knocked. She practiced self-control. Biting down on her bottom lip, she glanced through the wide set of windows that faced the southwest Florida beach.

  Her hometown had once been divided by a century-old feud, but the conflict between its two founding families had recently been resolved. Still, there were considerable differences in the two sides of the boardwalk, separated by Center Street.

  The Cates northern cement boardwalk linked to a wooden pier that catered to fishermen, sun worshippers, water sports enthusiasts, and tourists who didn’t wear a watch on vacation.

  Amusement arcades and carnival rides drew large crowds. The specialty shops sold everything from Florida T-shirts, ice cream, and sunglasses, to sharks’ teeth, shells, and hula hoops.

  A vintage carousel whirled within a weatherproof enclosure. Its wall of windows overlooked the Gulf. The whirr of the Ferris wheel was soothing, while the swing ride that whipped out and over the waves sent pulses racing.

  Barefoot William was as honky-tonk as Saunders Shores was high-end. Couture, gourmet dining, and a five-star hotel claimed the southern boundaries. Yachts the size of cruise ships lined the waterways. Private airstrips replaced commercial travel. The wealthy were a community unto themselves. The Saunders boardwalk was too rich for Violet’s blood.

  She preferred the warmth and wholesomeness of Barefoot William. She wished there was a career opportunity for her here. However, all the storefronts were rented. The Cateses owned and operated each one. The shops were handed down over generations.

  Violet’s parents had chosen to work at city hall instead of the boardwalk. Her mother was the mayor’s secretary and her father did maintenance. They budgeted, took a yearly vacation, and lived a frugal lifestyle.

  Vi had started working for her aunt when she was sixteen, but over the years, she’d slowly outgrown the diner. She desperately wanted to be her own boss.

  Her stomach sank at the thought of how long it would take her to achieve her goal. Someday, she promised herself. Someday . . .

  “Vi?” Brad nudged into her thoughts. “You look sad, babe. Want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do.”

  “I can check on the pies,” he offered. He grabbed his duffel bag and pushed off the stool. “Molly would kill us both if the crusts burned.”

  “That she would,” she agreed, grateful for his concern.

  He held the kitchen door for her. As she walked past him, her shoulder brushed his chest and her hip bumped his thigh. He flattened his palm on her lower back. His fingers tipped the upper curve of her bottom.

  That did it. Apprehension marked her steps as their history surrounded her now, drawing her back to what they’d once had together. The storeroom stood off to the right. The door was closed to the orgasmic moans of her past.

  Were Brad’s memories as vivid as her own? Violet felt suddenly shy. And very nervous. Her confidence failed her. She’d always wanted to see Brad again, yet five years stretched between them. Could they pick up where they’d once left off? She wished she were twenty-four again.

  She watched as he tossed his bag in the corner by the dishwasher, then checked out the kitchen. “Lots of updates,” he noted, nodding his approval. “The grill I used to cook on had a slant. This one’s brandnew.”

  “Repairs were eating up Molly’s profits,” Vi said. “She decided new equipment was the best investment.”

  “Smart lady.” The timer buzzed. “Oven mitts?” he asked her, moving toward the commercial stove.

  She pointed to the second shelf. “Between the colander and tongs.”

  He removed the pies and set them on a metal cooling rack. The scents of warm peaches and apples crooked like a beckoning finger. Removing the mitts, he located a knife and spatula and snuck a thin slice of peach. He motioned to Vi to take a bite.

  She blew to cool it, then pinched off a piece with her fingers. There was nothing better than warm, out-of-the-oven peach pie.

  Brad eyed her mouth. “Cru
mbs at the corner,” he said.

  Time stilled, along with her heart. She waited a second too long for him to kiss them away or brush them off. He made no move to do so. She was embarrassed by her need to have him touch her, even lightly.

  She turned toward the polished stainless steel of the refrigerator. Staring at her reflection, she swiped at the specks with her palm. Brad came to stand behind her. He was a man of dark good looks and impressive height. They stood in silence, anticipating, evaluating, and thoughtful.

  “Relax, babe,” he finally said. He wrapped his arms about her waist and drew her to him, gently at first, until she pressed against him. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I remember the old days, too. I can still see us in the storeroom, naked and so close. I can hear your breathing against my neck, feel you bite my shoulder.”

  She remembered the arch of his back and the rock of his hips. The way he slid inside her. She leaned back then, closing what little space remained between them. Her spine curved fully against his chest. Her round bottom pushed against his thighs. He tightened his hold as if he planned to never let her go.

  “Your body’s talking to mine, Violet,” he said. “You’re getting hot and going soft. You just sighed for me.”

  That she had. There was familiarity in his touch, in the steadiness of his breathing. In the male power of his stance. In the swell of his sex. Desire rekindled their past. She let go and lived their present. She tilted her head and raised her chin, seeking his mouth with her own.

  Chapter Two

  The diner wasn’t the ideal place for his homecoming kiss, Brad Davis thought, but he could never deny Violet anything. Sex was waiting to happen. Yet all he could give her at that moment was a kiss. He hated to start what he wouldn’t be able to finish.

  His pulse picked up as he looked down on her face. Damn, she was beautiful. Her eyelids were shuttered, her light brown lashes long. Her blond ponytail shadowed one cheek. Her lips were inviting, full and generous. The flick of her tongue aroused him.

  He put his forefinger and thumb under her chin and tilted her head back farther. Their past emerged with a hungry need and embraced them both. His mind shut down as his body turned on. The light brush of her lips made him instantly stiff. Her mouth was sweet and yielding. What started as a short kiss lasted a good long while.

  Never breaking their kiss, he slowly turned her to face him. She wound her arms about his neck and went smooth against him. The softness of her breasts pushed into his chest. His erection settled between the V of her thighs. His hands slid up her sides to cup her full breasts. His thumbs rubbed across her nipples, drawing them to points.

  He kept going, in spite of himself.

  He scrolled his knuckles down her ribs, then circled her navel. He went on to caress her lower spine, her bottom, the crease of her ass through her short cotton skirt. The skirt bunched high on her thighs. He stroked the smooth, tan backs of her bare legs.

  His libido was hyped, and he had the wild urge to walk her backward toward the storeroom, to open the door and slip inside. To take her with the passion of a man long without his woman.

  It was not to be. Reality soon separated them. He drew back and exhaled his frustration. Violet looked dazed, confused. Flushed. He wanted to go on, reconnect with her sexually, but their timing was off. Molly could return at any minute. Locals would soon cluster for their daily chat and slice of afternoon pie. The last thing he wanted was for Molly to catch them in the act. He held great respect for both Violet and her aunt.

  That didn’t make the situation any easier. He had to face the facts. He and Vi were older now. Lives changed in five years. The days of their slipping into the back room for sex had passed. The next time they went horizontal it would be on a big, comfortable bed. He wondered if she had her own home or if she still lived with her parents.

  He thought back to the day he’d left town. He’d packed their goals and dreams in his heart and driven off in his Chevy. Now, returning on a summer day in mid-July, he looked much the same as when he’d left, scruffy and broke. He wore clothes from his laundry basket and his high school sneakers. He’d saved the Nikes. They reminded him of his roots. Something he vowed never to forget.

  He hoped with all his heart that Violet would accept him as he was. He hadn’t changed all that much.

  The back door suddenly slammed and a burly man in a white T-shirt, camouflage pants, and black army boots walked into the kitchen. He nodded to Violet and raised an eyebrow at Brad.

  “Joe, this is Brad,” Vi said, introducing the two men. “Brad was the short-order cook before you.”

  Joe ran one hand over his buzz cut and frowned. “The same Brad who broke your heart?” His tone was blunt, rough, and protective. Brad wasn’t jealous. The man was old enough to be her father.

  Color rose in Violet’s cheeks. “One and the same.”

  Brad’s chest clenched. He’d thought Vi understood the importance of his leaving town, his need to make something of himself. To hear how much he’d hurt her from a stranger was a punch to his gut.

  “I’m back,” he finally said.

  “Staying or passing through?” asked Joe. He widened his stance, crossed his arms over his chest. A Fry It tattoo was revealed beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

  “I’m here to cover your two-week vacation,” Brad decided on the spot. He couldn’t help noticing that Violet appeared relieved. “Afterward, we’ll see.” He and Vi had a lot of catching up to do. He refused to disclose his future plans to a man he’d just met.

  “Don’t commit to more than two weeks,” Joe stated, cracking his knuckles. “I like working here.”

  “Brad’s a placeholder until you return from Las Vegas,” Molly clarified as she swung through the kitchen doors. “The menu hasn’t changed much. Brad knows the ropes and can pick up where he left off.”

  Joe gave Brad a man-to-man look, one that openly asked if Brad would be starting up with Violet as well. Brad had no reason to respond to the older man, yet something inside him wanted to reassure Joe that he wasn’t out to hurt Violet a second time. “Barefoot William is my home,” he said firmly.

  Joe gave him a brief nod before heading to the storeroom. He cracked the door, took two fresh aprons off a hook, and tossed one to Brad. “Suit up,” he said. “We’ll work the dinner rush together, if that’s okay with Molly.”

  “Fine by me,” Molly agreed, smiling.

  “The coffee crowd’s coming through the door,” Joe said. “I’ll start setting up for the dinner rush.”

  Brad watched as Violet adjusted her ponytail and straightened her shirt. She bent to retie the lace on her tennis shoe, giving him a view he couldn’t resist. He admired the curve of her slender shoulders and sweet ass. She had great legs.

  Vi glanced at him on her way to the dining room. Her green eyes warmed and a sexy smile tipped her lips. She wanted him. Brad’s balls tightened. Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.

  The dinner hour passed in a flourish of orders. The waiting line grew so long it stretched half a block. No one seemed to mind. The boardwalk entertainers were out in full force. The unicycle troupe, stilt walkers, and mimes left the customers laughing and applauding.

  Polka music from the carousel danced in with each opening and closing of the front door. Families with kids and lone surfers crowded the counter, tables, and booths. The customers brought their smiles and high spirits to dinner.

  Service ran until eight P.M. That’s when Molly turned the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED. The shift wrapped up with a clearing of tables and thorough cleaning of the kitchen.

  Joe shook Brad’s hand on his way out. “You’re a hard worker. I’m leaving the diner in good hands.” He was gone.

  “What’s his story?” Brad asked Violet when she passed through the swinging doors.

  She untied her short apron and tossed it into the laundry bag. “He’s retired army. He worked in the mess hall. He’s divorced, but never talks about his ex. No kids. He showed
up one morning when we were short of help. Molly had burned her hand on the stove after our cook Kevin went home sick. Joe walked into the kitchen and started filling orders. He saved the day and stayed on. He lives in a trailer south of town.”

  Vi glanced toward the office, where Molly counted the receipts. “I think Joe’s got a soft spot for Molly,” she whispered. “He brings her flowers every Friday.”

  “Your aunt doesn’t have much of a social life,” said Brad. “She’s married to the diner.”

  “I’ll be committed to my restaurant, too,” said Violet, chin up, “once the stars align and fortune falls in my lap.”

  He believed her, too. He could see it in her eyes; she was determined and filled with faith in her ability. All she needed was start-up capital. Life was all about timing. Her success was inevitable. “What now?” he asked.

  “I walk home, take a shower, and change clothes,” she said. “What’s your situation? Do you have a car, a place to stay?”

  “I rode in on the bus,” he told her.

  “Care to come home with me?” she invited.

  He nodded. “Let me grab my duffel bag.”

  “I’ll get my purse.”

  Molly stuck her head out of the office door. “Have a good day off tomorrow,” she called to them. “See you bright and early on Thursday.”

  “Is bright and early still five A.M.?” Brad asked Vi as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  “We’ll be serving breakfast before the sun rises.”

  He didn’t shun hard work. He was looking forward to renewing old customer acquaintances. He was damn glad to be home.

  Brad curved his arm over Violet’s shoulders as they strolled along Center Street. He liked walking beside her. The soft outer swell of her breast brushed his chest. They bumped hips and thighs. The scent of food traveled with them.

  He drew in a breath, then said, “You smell like coffee and blueberry pie.”

  “I’m sniffing French fries on you, big guy.”

  He hugged her even closer. “Do you have a car?” he asked.