“No, Mother.” No one in history could spit the word with quite as much venom as I could. “This is Tim, telling you to tell me how it’s going to be.” A quiet calm settled over me as I’d found a new outlet for my anger. “And you can tell him to kiss my--” Simon snatched the phone out of my hand.
“Okay, Mom. Love you. See you on Friday.” He hung up quickly and spun around to face me. “Why do you do that? You knew she was gonna be mad. If you just let her bitch until she’s finished, she’d probably calm down and listen to your side of the story.”
It infuriated me that this time video footage existed to contradict my side of the story. “I got kicked out of school today, and her husband is telling her I have to pay my tuition back!” I didn’t know for sure why I screamed at Simon, except he was on Mom’s side, or at least he acted like it. “Shouldn’t you get back to school before the Principal of Death boots you out, too?”
My yelling left him unaffected. He grinned from ear to ear. “I told her you’re too upset to be left alone, so I’m taking the rest of the day off. She said okay.” He’d always been everyone’s golden boy and could have probably, literally, gotten by with murder if he tried. Fortunately, he didn’t have a mean bone in his entire body, so the world remained safe. He patted my shoulder. “What do you want to do today?”
I shrugged a half-hearted response. “Go find a job, I guess.”
He nodded. “Remember that girl Luke went out with last weekend? Katie? Her mom owns a bakery, and she’s looking for someone for a morning shift.”
“What’s she going to say when I tell her I got kicked out of school? How are people going to look at me?” I choked the words out over a lump of tears.
“Who cares?” He put his hands on his hips. “Why worry about it? It isn’t their business anyway.” He tugged me off the couch. “Let’s go.”
An hour later, I kneaded fondant with Mary Elizabeth Carnabi, owner of Dreamsicle Wedding Cakes Bakery. To me, the word bakery implied donuts, but she specialized in wedding cakes. From the looks of things, she made quite the living doing it. Five ovens lined three walls. Assorted mixers, blenders, a press machine for the fondant, stainless steel bowls, and pans sat on high wire shelves. Tools and equipment stood on every table except for one.
The center table, her work area, held an enormous cake in the latter stages of decoration. Sparkling pearl white icing gleamed beneath pink fondant ribbons, intricate white piping, latticework, and glittering diamond candies. A crystal “L” sat in its place of honor on the top tier. It smelled as though I’d stepped inside a cake rather than a bakery. Sweet and buttery, the air swirled with white powdered sugar.
She talked as we worked.
“We work every day from seven AM to six PM, Monday through Saturday. I’ll let you have Tuesdays and Sundays off. I want you to work with customers, taking orders, then helping me, so until I get you trained, I’m going to need you all six days.”
I nodded.
“I’ll get you some of these uniforms if you want.”
She wore all white with a tall chef hat. Her uniform had random splotches of pink dotting the top and drag marks from wiping her hands on her pants.
“The coloring in the fondant and icing will ruin your street clothes. I’ll pay you minimum wage to start, and when we see if you’re going to stay, we’ll talk about a raise. Does this all sound okay to you?” She glanced up at me, but her hands continued their work.
“Yes.” She’d hired me on the spot as soon as I asked for an application. She chattered all day long. The hours flew by as she taught me how to make ribbons, roses, and decorate layer after layer of cake. While her title implied she only created wedding cakes, she also made intricate creations for birthday celebrations, baby showers, office parties. Any event where a cake could be eaten.
When I followed her out of the building at six on the dot, she smiled brightly. “Do you think you might come back tomorrow?”
I looked at her for a moment, taking in the flour in her pony-tailed chocolate color hair, the pink stains on her dainty, long-fingered hands, and bright smile on her semi-wrinkled face.
“I’ll be back in the morning.”
She hugged me. “That makes me happy. I don’t think I can keep doing this by myself.”
Simon pulled up to the sidewalk as she released me. “Thank you for giving me this job.” I hopped in the car and gave her a little wave as Simon drove off.
He kept sneaking little glances at me on the short ride to the house. “So? How did it go?”
“Good. I even had fun.” I filled him in amid a flurry of yawns. A wave of exhaustion enveloped me as soon as I plopped onto the car’s plush seat.
“Better than school?”
I shrugged. Seeing my friends would have been nice, but Mary Elizabeth made the day pass quickly as she taught me about cakes, icing, and not licking the mixing bowl. As a bonus, I earned money.
“Keaton’s called about a thousand times looking for you.”
“I’m surprised Shaw let him.” Aside from my normal thousand reasons for spending time with Keaton, I wanted to see him to spite the hateful old hag. Knowing he would defy her for me had my pulse racing and made my desire to be with him all the stronger.
Simon pulled up in front of the house. As we walked to the door, he said, “I ordered pizza for dinner.”
“Cool. I’m starving.”
He chuckled. “But I ate it all.”
I laughed and shoved him off the sidewalk.
“We can order another one.”
Keaton arrived shortly after the delivery kid made his second visit to our house. “How much trouble are you in?” He took a bite of the pizza slice I held in my hand.
“She said I had to get a job, which I did. And that I have to pay back my tuition for this year.” I fed him another bite, then asked, “I guess your mom hates me even more now, huh?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. She isn’t the one going out with you. I am.”
He leaned over and kissed me long and deep. I tossed my dinner back in the box and threw my arms around his neck, pulling him on top of me. After a good half hour of making out, we went up to my room.
An hour later, I watched him put his clothes back on, which couldn’t compare to getting him to take them off. As he buttoned his jeans, emotion overpowered me and a tiny whimper escaped my throat. Aside from being gorgeous, he was tall and lean with muscled abs and a chiseled chest. His voice flowed in deep, sexy tones and his smile brightened every room, never failing to take my breath away. More than how he looked, though, he treated me as if I had been created from spun glass and rare gold. “I think you should spend the night here.” I lowered the blanket a smidge and invited him back into bed while using every single asset I possessed to sweeten the pot.
He sat beside me and leaned down. “I wish I could, but my mom’s already gonna freak.”
“I know.” It didn’t stop me from covering my chest with my crossed arms and pouting like a three year old who’d had her favorite toy taken away.
He ran a fingertip down my arm. I shivered and he grinned. “Besides, you have to work tomorrow, and if I stay here, neither one of us is going to get any sleep.” He wiggled his eyebrows, then kissed me softly.
My heart burst with all the feelings I had for him. “Can I tell you something?”
He nodded before leaning into me again.
“I love you, Keaton.”
It was the first time Keaton spent the night.
Chapter 11
Present July, 2009
It took seven long days of soul-searching before I convinced myself to take that first step toward reconciliation. Unfortunately, the step involved traipsing across town and facing the dragon in her lair. To see Keaton, I had to go to his mother’s. I conquered the anger and brushed away the mental images of him and Danielle strolling into the courtroom together as though king and queen of a small country. Th
ere was no way I wanted to be one of those girls, the ones that hung on to the past and let it destroy the possibility of a future.
When I weighed my anger against my desire to be with him, I came to an impasse. I didn’t know him well enough anymore to know if my desire bordered closer to lust for his body or memories of our past. Making a reasonable decision would require seeing him in more than a nightly fantasy. And by God, he would have to see me, too.
I assumed his phone broke and his tires went bad since our fight because my Keaton-free time continued to pile up. The alternative, worrying that I’d finally succeeded in driving him away, pinged around my mind, but I pushed it as far back as possible. It couldn’t be true, not when I’d made a move to give this thing between us a chance. One last chance.
The past three years changed both of us. Didn’t we owe it to ourselves to try and make it work? Besides, my man drought lingered on a bit too long to be considered comfortable, and Keaton, who knew his way around the female anatomy, looked better by the minute. My temperature climbed as I imagined his hands on me, his lips against mine, his skin naked and slick.
Delicious dreams floated through my sleep, and I awoke in the morning with an unquenchable thirst for his body, mind, and presence in my life. A primal yearning so strong my body ached for him and left me powerless to do anything but act on it.
After suffering through the early shift at the bakery, I raced home to shower, then broke the speeds of light and sound as I drove to his mother’s. After taking the front steps two at a time, I rang the bell. A pretentious, eye-roll inspiring melody echoed on the empty air around me.
Behind the door, his mother’s shoes clickety-clacked on the tile floor. The massive round-topped door groaned as she pulled it open, then peered at me over her bifocals. Her eyelids narrowed and her mouth compressed into a thin seam above her chin. She’d probably believed with the divorce, she’d seen the last of me.
“Jocelyn.”
I noted the lack of pleasantries normally attributed to a greeting.
With a faked brightness, I said, “Hi, Sarah. Is Keaton home?” His car sat in the driveway.
She closed her eyes and nodded her head slightly before opening the door wider. Then walked away without a word.
I shut the door and stood in the foyer, assuming she went to get him from wherever he hid in their mausoleum of a house. The wooden walls, banisters, and trim all were all stained to a color that must have been called dark and dismal. I crossed my arms over my midsection as I tried to breathe through my mouth. The smell of the house reminded me of my great-grandma’s perfume, roses and death. A stained glass window above my head provided the only light in the foyer. Funeral parlors weren’t as dreary. I shifted from one foot to the other and crossed and uncrossed my arms until he finally appeared.
His shoulders hunched, and his eyes grew wary. “I don’t feel like fighting today, Joss.”
Fortunately for him, I didn’t either. “Are you okay?” Worry bit down on my heart.
“I’m getting over the flu.” His voice rasped deep and hoarse. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he’d obviously lost weight. His shirt hung loosely, and his pants sagged at his hips. “Did you drive all the way over here to see me?”
I nodded. “I came to apologize, and to invite you to lunch at my apartment. If you’re up to it.”
He grinned, then grimaced in pain. “You missed me.” His eyes twinkled as he reached for me. “Come on. Just say it.”
“I did miss you.” I stepped into his arms, then reached up and pressed my lips to his.
His mother cleared her throat, announcing her return. “Keaton, you’re still not well. You should be in bed.”
For once, I couldn’t have agreed with her more. I imagined our disagreement would come over the geography of said bed.
“I’m fine, Mom.” His arms still cradled my waist, and his unwavering eyes gazed into mine. A strange little pitter-patter of excitement shuddered through me. “I’m going to get my shoes, then we can go, okay?” He spoke softly, as though he thought if he talked any louder it would frighten me away.
I had news for him. Due to my increasing need for him, it would take an act of God himself to get me out the door without him in tow.
“Will you be home tonight?” Sarah followed him down the hall, his response swallowed up by the snap of her heels.
Instead of waiting in the foyer, I ventured outside to lean against the hood of my car. Being inside their house flustered me, considering Mrs. Shaw’s hatred of me. And to my way of thinking, the outside resembled all things light and happiness compared to the dungeon-like interior.
My simple light blue sundress and strappy sandals let the warmth of the outdoors soothe my skin. I leaned against the car door, waiting for him. As he stepped out into the light and walked toward me, the sight of his pale, almost opaque skin startled me. His eyes squinted against the bright mid-afternoon rays when he climbed into my car.
I climbed in and started the engine. “If you don’t feel like going, we can do this another time.” My hormones begged me to shut the hell up and drive, but my foot remained on the brake. He reclined the seat and closed his eyes. A sheen of sweat broke out on his flushed skin, and my heart ached for him.
“Are you trying to welch out of inviting me over?” He opened his eyes but stayed half lying against the seat. “Did you become a welcher while we were apart?” He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Say it isn’t so, baby.”
I couldn’t hide my smile. “Shut up, Keaton.” I put the car in gear, then took off. As I crossed the railroad tracks, he winced and sucked in a pained breath. Down the street, Mrs. Madolin’s Labradoodle streaked into the road, and I slammed on the brakes, sliding to a stop just in time. Keaton groaned, and I laid a hand on his forehead. His skin burned under my palm.
“I could turn around, Keats.”
“No. I don’t want to go home.” He opened one eye. “Besides, we’re almost there. Please, just drive.”
He sighed loudly when I pulled up in front of my building. Relieved, I imagined.
Shortly after we first married, he’d come down with such a bad case of the flu he spent three days in the hospital. He hadn’t looked as bad as he did right then. Worry settled in the pit of my stomach. “Keaton, have you been to the doctor?” I opened the door to my apartment.
“Yes. It just has to run its course. Don’t worry.”
He might not have been my husband anymore, but I worried anyway.
I tossed my keys on the foyer table and turned to him. “Are you hungry right now?”
He shook his head.
“Well, I’ll tell you what; I’ve been up since three this morning. I probably should have taken a nap before I went to your house.” I faked a yawn, not lying, but neglecting to mention the three gallons of coffee I’d consumed that morning. “You want to take a nap?”
Even his devil smile appeared subdued by the lines on his face.
“Are you trying to get me into bed?” I took his hand and pulled him into my room where he kicked off his shoes and immediately settled under my blanket.
“It isn’t like I’ve been keeping it a secret, genius, but for today I think we can just sleep.” Damn. I crawled in next to him, almost content with being held until his breaths deepened and leveled out. Resisting the urge to touch him, I slid off the side of the bed, careful not to disturb him, and headed out to the kitchen. Maybe soup would help.
The hottest summer on record in Storybook Lake, and I stood in my kitchen chopping, dicing, and stirring chicken soup. Since my cooking skills emulated Roseanne more than Betty Crocker, it either meant I cared about this guy, or my hormones and my cooking hands were in cahoots.
I turned around at a tiny sound and gasped. Keaton stood in the doorway between my bedroom and living room. The large plastic spoon I used to stir the soup clattered across the floor, spewing broth along the cool ceramic tiles and the glazed white of my cabinets.
“You scared the crap out of me.” I snatched the dishcloth from the sink and dropped to my knees, cleaning up the mess my bout of Keaton-nerves had created. “Feeling better?” I called over the counter top.
“Yes, actually.”
From my spot I couldn’t see his face, but his voice registered his own shock at the admission.
“Good.” I popped up off the floor and grabbed a new spoon from the jar of utensils on my counter. “I cooked.”
“I can see that.”
When I turned again, he’d moved to stand right behind me, and I bounced off his rock solid chest. “Well, hello.” Tousled hair, sleepy-eyed Keaton tripped my trigger almost as much as his bright-eyed, sexy-grinned counterpart.
He lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine. “Hello, yourself.”
His whisper, along with the slight smile when we parted, sent my hormones into begging mode once more.
He took the spoon I still clenched in my hand, then set it on the counter before tugging me to the couch. His warm hands cupped my shoulders, guiding me to sit. I gazed into his eyes as he stroked my cheek with his finger. He drew away and turned to pace a trail in my carpet.
My hormones sighed, wide awake as I tingled with anticipation and desire only his touch could inspire.
“Jocelyn, when I was in Arizona, I talked to”--he stole a glance at the picture on my mantel, then exhaled a whoosh of air--“this woman, and she told me some stuff I didn’t realize. Stuff I needed to hear from someone else so it would sink in. You know?”
My brows furrowed together, and my eyes squinted in what I called my thinking look. I wanted to tell him nothing about that time mattered to me anymore. The words, however, wouldn’t come.
“She said she could see the brokenness inside of me. The thing is, I thought I was okay. That I was getting through it, losing you, and I was doing fine. But this”--he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his tousled hair--“person, could see I was damaged even when I couldn’t see it.” He knelt in front of me, then took my hands in his. “I came back here because I am broken, and because the only time in my life I was happy was when you loved me. I need you.” He brought my hands together and kissed my knuckles. “Marry me again, Jocelyn.”
Here He Comes Again Page 9