by Jamie Beck
“Danny broke up with me to date Janey Thomas and her double Ds.” Another tear trickled from her eye.
“Danny Wilcox is an idiot who won’t even know what to do with Janey’s double Ds.” Alec bumped shoulders with her, hoping to make her laugh. No such luck. “You’re too good for him, Colby.”
She shook her head. “If that were true, he wouldn’t have dumped me, and other guys would be interested, too.”
Alec wished he could confess his interest, but he wasn’t her type. She’d always liked the jocks with attitude. Pretty much his opposite. The last thing he needed in his life was more rejection. Maybe one day, when she grew up, she’d appreciate a guy like him. But not now. And besides, Hunter would probably freak out.
“You’re barely fifteen. Trust me, there will be other boyfriends.” He refrained from slinging his arm around her in comfort because she might hear his pounding heart.
“Or not! Besides, all my friends have boyfriends now. They’ve already gone past second base. Who’s going to want me when there’s nothing underneath my shirt to excite anyone?” She tugged at the front of her shirt to emphasize her point, and grimaced. “I’ve barely had my first kiss, and Danny said I did that wrong, too.” Her eyes filled with more tears.
“Proving my point about him being an idiot.” Although not usually violent, Alec imagined the satisfaction of punching Danny Wilcox in the face.
“Maybe he’s right. I mean, I don’t really know anything about kissing.” Colby wiped her tears. She turned then, and he recognized the light in her eyes that often preceded one of her crazier ideas. “Alec, could you . . . would you teach me?”
He went rigid. Did she ask him to kiss her? Suddenly the sound of his racing heart filled his ears, blocking out the rain overhead. “What?”
Smooth he was not.
“Teach me how to kiss.” She blushed. “Sorry. If you don’t want to, maybe I could ask Joe.”
“No!” Alec wouldn’t let Joe—who already had more than his fair share of everything—steal this opportunity, too. This might be wrong, but he couldn’t resist the chance to kiss her, especially knowing he didn’t risk rejection. “If you really want me to, I’ll do it.”
Had he feigned nonchalance well enough, or could she tell that his entire body might explode at any second? Please, God, let the tremors be only on the inside.
“Okay.” A hopeful grin replaced her frown, and, in typical Colby fashion, she became rather curious and businesslike. “So what do I do first?”
“Stop talking,” he chuckled.
She closed her mouth and leaned forward. Holy shit, he was going to kiss Colby Cabot. It would probably be the one and only time, so he had to make it perfect.
His gaze dipped to her mouth. He reached out to touch her cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her breathing hitched. His fell shallow. Fighting the sense of urgency building inside, he forced himself to be tender. Not to overwhelm or scare her. He glanced into her eyes before closing his and brushing his lips against hers.
Featherlight, once, twice. Colby butted against him, clumsy and awkward, so he cupped her face and ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth until she opened it and let him in.
Fire fanned through him then as his excitement ratcheted up ten notches. Weaving his fingers through her long, silky hair, every part of his brain begged for more, more, more. His tongue plundered her pouty mouth over and over while the rest of his body exploded like a tree struck by lightning. Fortunately, Colby caught on quickly and responded.
As if in a dream, he laid her down on the mattress. He heard and felt their breaths mingling. A satisfied rumble ripped through his chest when her hands found their way into his hair. His heart, one used to disappointment, soared and stretched and jumped around in his chest with a strange, aching joy.
“Colby,” he uttered without thought. But his voice seemed to yank them back to reality. Her body tensed beneath him.
Beneath him!
He opened his eyes and eased away from her. They stared at each other, half-dazed, chests heaving.
“Thanks,” she finally muttered, cheeks flaming, as she straightened her clothes. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or if, well, just thanks. I mean, I think I get it now. So, thanks.”
Fortunately, her embarrassed stammering gave him time to hide his raging erection. Good God, had she felt it?
He tried to play it cool, but cool had never been his shtick. “Don’t mention it.” And then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he asked, “Feeling better?”
Although she appeared somewhat disoriented, she managed to speak. “Yes. But let’s not tell Hunter or Joe about this. That could get . . . awkward.”
“Agreed.” Alec would never tell a soul. He wouldn’t let anyone’s opinion ruin the most perfect few minutes of high school.
“I’d better go home.” She froze, as if still undecided, then stood and headed to the door. “See ya later.”
After giving a little wave, she disappeared down the ladder.
The recollection reminded Alec of how she’d once trusted him. It also reminded him of how she’d never seen him as a man, and probably still thought of him as a brother. Despite it all, those two or three illicit minutes were burned into his brain for all eternity.
Did it ever pass through her mind? Wishful thinking. He laughed at himself, because she’d married someone completely unlike him. An uninhibited, athletic guy like his brother, Joe.
Joe.
His phone rang, thankfully steering him away from the abyss of guilty, dark thoughts. Down to 2 percent battery. He answered, “Hi, Mom.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No.” He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “Colby and Hunter have gone. I’m alone now, checking out the space.”
“I’ve heard it’s quite lovely.”
“It is. The Cabots spared no expense in the front or back of the house. It’s got the potential to be a real destination spot.” It started rising—that yearning to be among the best. To create a one-of-a-kind menu and environment that drew people from afar. He’d done it before. He would do it again. He had to.
“I’m cautiously optimistic, then, that this might work out.” His mom’s voice carried a hopeful note. “It’s been lovely to have you home again.”
She’d been the only person in his family who’d encouraged his passion. Certainly his father hadn’t. “Derogatory” would be a gentle adjective to describe that man’s opinions about Alec’s career. Words like “girlie,” “fruity,” and “weird” were often slung around like hash on a diner grill. His dad’s attitude had gradually infected Joe, too, who’d emulated their father’s machismo and followed him into the police force.
As his once-beloved little brother grew to scorn him, Alec’s sorrow had turned to bitterness, resulting in Alec’s decision that day. That regrettable day before Joe’s fateful hike.
Again, blackness gathered at the edges of Alec’s mind, so he forced his thoughts back to his mother. “You can relax, Mom. I’m home to stay.”
He was. He’d make this restaurant great. He’d give Colby what she needed, as a weak way of making amends for his inadvertent role in her husband’s suicide. And he’d prove to his father that he could be every bit as tough as Joe. That his demanding career was something only someone with strength, discipline, and dedication could achieve.
Maybe then his dad might realize he still had one son he could love.
“Wonderful. So, can you come for dinner tomorrow?” she asked. When Alec hesitated, she added, “Your father’s meeting his old partner, Craig, so I could use some company.”
“Well, then, I suppose that depends on what you’re making.” He smiled, lapsing into their comfortable banter.
“Nothing fancy. How about some old-fashioned barbecued chicken and jalapeño corn bread?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Six o’clock?”
“See you then.” He didn’t
even need to hit “Off” because the battery died. He placed the phone back in his pocket and turned toward the kitchen.
Only four weeks until this place opened. It would be tough, but he could make it happen, and make it brilliant.
Chapter Two
Colby slammed on the brakes to avoid flattening Stitch in her mom’s driveway.
Her mom had always hated being alone, so it had surprised absolutely no one when that tabby cat arrived just as Colby went off to college. Although her mother never stopped complaining about the vet bills, Colby suspected she’d be devastated whenever Stitch died. If he didn’t stay out of driveways, that might happen sooner than later.
The aging, gargantuan beast had grown stubborn in his old age, refusing to budge, even for cars. Shifting into park, Colby removed him from the driveway.
“Stitch, you’re going to be a pancake if you don’t learn to scoot.” She deposited him on the porch of the small bungalow where she’d grown up. Quite a different neighborhood from where her half sister, Gentry, had been raised. Colby had never cared much for material things, but her mom liked to bring that disparity up . . . often.
“Mom?” From the so-called entry, Colby could see most of the cozy living room and dining room and a bit of the kitchen thanks to a renovation she’d underwritten several years ago for her mother. Almost everything had been replaced. Only the orange-and-brown patchwork afghan quilt her grandmother had made in the seventies and the “antique” secretary desk in the corner that had been handed down for two generations—its sole value being sentimental—remained as reminders of yesteryear. A quick scan proved the main area to be empty. She strode to her mom’s bedroom and knocked on the door. “Mom?”
No answer.
Walking to the rear of the home, she opened the French doors to the tiered deck—also a recent addition, courtesy of her checkbook. “Mom?”
“Over here!” Her mother dug her trowel into the dirt beside her, stood, and brushed off her knees. Unlike Colby, she was petite, with womanly curves that had always attracted men. At sixty, age-appropriate wrinkles collected around her eyes, forehead, and neck, yet she still looked vivacious thanks to her energetic cobalt-blue irises. Her mom reminded her of a rabbit, actually—twitchy and ever alert. Gesturing to a newly established garden, she asked, “What do you think?”
Colby’s heels sank into the damp ground as she crossed the yard. “Wow! When did you plant this?”
The plot itself looked to be at least fifteen feet long and ten feet wide. Neatly labeled mounded rows—lettuce, carrots, potatoes, long pole beans, and others—stretched from one side to the other.
“I’ve been working on this for two days.” Pride shone in her eyes as she tucked her graying blonde hair behind her ear and kissed Colby’s cheek. “If you stopped in more often, you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Colby let the lighthearted dig slide without mentioning that she usually stopped by at least twice a week. Maintaining a sense of humor about these things helped keep her sane. And despite the parrying, she and her mom loved each other deeply. “It’s very nice.”
“Maybe you can use some of these fresh vegetables at your restaurant later this summer. Farm-to-table is all the rage, you know.” An elfin smile popped into place. “My garden could be a footnote on your menu!”
“You never know.” Colby grinned. Her mom’s legendary history of starting projects without finishing them suggested it would lie fallow within the year. Cute, though, that she wanted to be part of Colby’s new venture. “So tell me, why’d you call me over today?”
Her mother’s hands flicked toward the garden in a gesture that basically said, “Duh.”
“Your garden?” Colby repressed the sigh pushing against her lungs. “What’s urgent about this?”
“How will I keep critters out if I don’t enclose it?” Her hands rested on her hips, brows pulled together in sincere concern. “I need a fence right away, or all my work will be for nothing.”
Oh, the melodrama. At thirty-one, Colby should have been used to her mother’s special brand of crazy. Sometimes it could be fun—whimsical excursions and projects that could entertain and educate, like the spontaneous day trip south, to Florence, to go on a dune buggy tour. Other times, when things weren’t going her mother’s way, not so fun.
Colby now knew where this conversation was headed: money.
Since childhood, she’d listened to her mom note the differences between the clothes, cars, and jewels her father bestowed on Jenna versus anything he’d ever given Colby’s mom. Although Colby had no influence over any of it, seeing her mother’s hurt and envy filled her with guilt whenever her father was generous with her. Whether or not with intention, her mother could always exploit that guilt.
But ever since Joe’s and Mark’s deaths, Colby’s patience with First World problems had grown thin. Her mother, however, was still one person she’d placate, because her mom was someone who’d loved her unconditionally.
“Well?” her mother asked.
“I agree. You need a fence.”
“I saw a beautiful home-garden fence in a magazine. It had a two-foot-high stone base and a picket-style gate.” Her mother smiled, erroneously sensing victory within her grasp. “Wouldn’t that go perfectly with the stone accent on the house?”
“Sounds very pretty, Mom.” And pricey, which was really the point. Not that her mom would admit it. And so the dance began. “However, that’d take a lot of time to build, so it wouldn’t protect this crop. Why not start with something less permanent and easy to install? Then, if you still love gardening at the end of the summer, you could explore the stone-and-picket option for next year.”
Her mother frowned. “It hurts my feelings when you undermine my enthusiasm.”
“I’m not undermining you. I’ll even take you to Home Depot and help you install a serviceable fence some night this week.” She raised her hands at her sides. “Truthfully, a stone fence will be costly. You can’t bring equipment back here without destroying that hedgerow, so masonry would have to be done by hand.”
Her mother waved dismissively. “If Jenna even thought about gardening, your father would have a massive garden and fence constructed in their yard.”
“Please, Mom. I can’t answer for Dad.” Her parents had now been divorced for almost three times as long as they’d been married. Not that that made a difference to her mother. She’d been hopelessly in love with and devoted to that man, and devastated when he’d left. Rather than mope, she’d donned an armor of righteous anger to shield her broken heart.
“I see. You’re just like him and your brother now. Tired of me.” Her mother’s eyes glistened. “None of you ever appreciate or understand me. You all can’t wait to get away from me.”
Colby knew those tears to be genuine. Perhaps her mom’s perceptions were distorted, but they were real to her. An important distinction Colby had come to understand after living with Mark’s illness. Unlike then, she’d never again underestimate the depth of another person’s sorrow.
She slung an arm around her mother’s shoulder. “I appreciate you. But you know I’m gearing up to open the restaurant and don’t have as much free time to drop in.”
“Fine.” Her mother huffed, squaring her shoulders. Colby stifled a smile. The woman really should’ve been an actress. “I ran into Julie Morgan the other day. Imagine my surprise to learn that you’d hired Alec. Once again, I’m the last to know anything.”
“Hunter hired Alec, so Julie might’ve even known before I did, Mom.”
“Humph. So now you know how it feels.” Her mother gave a sharp nod.
Oh, for the love of God. These circular conversations made her dizzy. “Speaking of Alec, I need to go meet with him about the menu.”
“He was always a bit of an odd duck, wasn’t he?” Her mother glanced toward the Morgans’ house.
Nowadays overgrown shrubs blocked the view of their backyard and obscured the path leading through the woods to the tree hous
e. Many fond memories of Hunter, Joe, Alec, and herself lingered back there.
Perhaps Colby should camp out in the old fort, where life had been simple. Where she’d felt secure and certain that people were exactly what they appeared. When she’d been free to give her heart away without fear. A time and place when everything had been easy and anything seemed possible.
“Odd?” No. Alec was shy. Awkward, at times. But interesting and talented.
“Joe was more normal. More fun.” Her mother touched her own cheek and shook her head.
Colby didn’t like exalting one brother over the other. Joe was an extrovert to Alec’s introvert. Joe had been athletic; Alec, intuitive. Both had been her friends.
“What’s normal, anyway?” Surely no one in Colby’s acquaintance fit neatly into that mold. “There’s nothing wrong with Alec. The key is that he’s always been an amazing cook, and that’s all I care about right now.”
Not entirely true, but her mother didn’t need to know that Alec’s return had thrown Colby mildly out of sorts.
“Remember those delicious fruit tarts he used to make? It was fun to be his test audience.” Her mother smiled now, apparently thinking back to the days when Alec would deliver shoe boxes of food he’d prepared. Colby and her mother never met a sweet they didn’t love, including Cherpumple and deep-fried candy bars. “Maybe he’ll make me some, now that he’s working for you.”
Like clockwork, her mother swung the conversation back to herself and her wishes.
“Actually, you’ll get a chance to ask him at the soft opening in about three weeks.” Colby’s stomach pinched as the words left her lips, because that made everything more real. In the beginning, this enterprise had been as wispy as a wish and a prayer. Suddenly it seemed fraught with obligations and responsibilities.
“I suppose your father and Jenna will be there.” Her mother tugged at her shirtsleeve. “And Gentry.”