by JB Salsbury
We head down to the beach in silence, and once at the sand, I kick off my shoes, and she slides out of her flip-flops. It’s dark, but the moon and the occasional lights from the private docks illuminate enough for us to find our way.
“How long have you been cooking for people?”
She bends down and picks up a flat rock then side-arms a perfect throw that has the thing skipping across the top of the water at least twelve times before it disappears. “I don’t cook for people. I take care of a few of the bigger rental houses on the lake, open them up and get them ready for renters, clean them, that kind of thing. Cooking for you was a special requirement.”
“Really? I just assumed you’d been doing this for years. Your food is the shit.”
“Thanks.” She sounds so robotic, going through the motions and keeping up her guard.
My feet drag through the cool sand, and the soft sound of water lapping against the beach calms me.
“So, uh . . . have you thought anymore about coming to my fight?”
She shrugs.
“Hmm . . . how can I convince you?”
No response except I’d swear I saw a hint of a smile.
“How about I cook for you?”
She stops walking, and I have to back up to see her face. “You cook?”
“I’ve got a few go-to recipes up my sleeve.”
“You’d cook . . . for me.” She pulls all her long hair over her shoulder and wraps it around her fingers.
“Absolutely.” I swing my gaze around to the water and realize where we are. “This is right where we were standing the last time I saw you.”
She turns toward the lake, and the wind blows a long piece of her hair between her lips. I reach up and pull it free, taking my time to enjoy the softness before I let it go.
“I’ll never forget it. You were wearing a shirt with Tweety Bird on it and little pink shorts.”
Her eyes grow wide and she blinks up at me. “You remember what I was wearin’?”
I thump my temple with my finger. “Branded in my memory. I couldn’t believe how grown up you looked. You were always cute, but fuck me . . . you knocked me on my ass that day.” All that blond hair, full tits, round hips, and tan legs. Young men never forget their first crush and she was mine. I thought about her non-stop for seven straight days, and although wrestling took over my life and took me places I never imagined I’d go, I’d often think about her in that damn shit.
Her throat bobs as if she’s finding it hard to swallow. “You never said anything.”
“I was a kid.”
“A twelve-year-old boy enlisted and fought in World War II. Even won a purple heart.” She cringes a little and studies the sand at her feet.
“Um . . .” I narrow my eyes on her. “Okay.”
“Just sayin’ being a kid is no excuse.”
“You’re right.” I run a hand through my hair and push on. “I wanted to spend more time with you. I just wasn’t sure how to go about it. When I tried to talk to you, you were always a little cold.”
Her expression is blank. She’s not disagreeing.
“I’d never seen you smile, and I wanted to be the one to make you laugh.” The urge to touch her is incredible. My hands are practically on fire with it. “You never showed your face that last week I was here.”
“Maybe I did and you just didn’t notice.”
“No way. If you were even close, I would’ve felt it. If I’d seen you, I’d have put down whatever I was doing to get closer to you.” I brave a step forward, grateful she doesn’t lean back, and although she’s looking at me like she might bolt at any minute, she’s still here now. I reach forward and slide my hand into the hair at the side of her head. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Her eyes close, and she nods once before opening them. I wonder how much willpower it’s taking for her to forgive me.
“Please, tell me something about you. It doesn’t have to be your name if you’re not ready. God knows I don’t deserve it.”
She doesn’t back away. “My granddaddy taught me that there was no greater virtue than honor. The only kind of honor I got is my name.”
My chest swells with warmth at what I think she’s telling me. “Is that it? Your name is Honor?”
She nods once.
“I like it. It suits you.”
She snorts, and the sound seems to catch her by surprise as she covers her mouth and nose.
I chuckle and jerk my head toward the strip of beach to keep walking, because if I don’t, I’ll throw out all self-control and try for a kiss.
A symphony of crickets and the occasional owl is our only soundtrack as we walk side by side along the lake. Minutes double and triple until we’re forced to turn around and head back the way we came.
“You’re bigger.” Her voice is so quiet it takes a moment to register that she’s even speaking let alone decipher what she’s saying.
“I am?” I’m flattered that she’d remember enough about me to notice. I don’t even attempt to hold back my smirk.
She shrugs, looking suddenly bashful. “I remember you being tall, but you got a lot”—she holds her hands out the way fishermen do when they’re describing a big catch— “wider.”
“Thank you.” I rock into her side and catch the hint of a grin.
“I didn’t say it was a compliment,” she mumbles.
God, what is it about this girl’s quiet awkwardness that’s such a turn-on? It’s like she’s never been hit on by a guy before much less even been flirted with, which is fucking insane, considering how cute she is.
I stop walking. “I believe you’ve just hurt my ego, Honor.”
When she turns and sets her eyes on mine, they’re filled with awe, as if the simple calling of her by her name makes her feel ten feet taller.
“Is it even possible to make a dent in that ego?”
She’s teasing me.
Fuck me. I like it!
“I’ll give you a ten-second start, but when I catch you, and I will catch you, you’re goin’ in the lake.”
She hits me with a playful glare. “You wouldn’t.”
Just for the chance to get my hands on you, Honor, I most definitely will. “Ten. Nine.”
She backs up a step.
“You’re gonna have to move faster than that. Eight. Seven.”
Her grin is huge and blinding.
“I run a seven-minute mile. You best get moving. Six.”
She turns with a wave of blond hair and darts down the beach.
“Five. Four. Three.”
A peel of excited laughter echoes off the trees, and I take a second to close my eyes and soak it up, patting myself on the back for being the one responsible for bringing it out of her. “Ready or not, here I come!”
I take off down the beach at a full sprint. My arms pump furiously while my legs do the same, all in an effort to have an excuse to touch her. She’s fast, but she’s not nearly fast enough. Within seconds, I close in on her and sweep her off her feet. She squeals and laughs so hard I feel it vibrate against my arms. I pivot toward the water.
In a desperate attempt to stay dry, she wraps her arms like a python around my neck. She weighs next to nothing as she kicks and squirms to get free.
“Not fast enough.” In the water up to my knees, I catch my breath. “But I don’t have the heart to dunk you.”
“Put me down!” She’s breathing heavily too, and humor fills her voice.
“If I put you down here, you’ll get wet, not that I mind, but I get the feeling those are your favorite Mickey Mouse pajamas.”
She laughs. “You’re right. So why don’t you get out of the lake and put me on dry land?”
Our gazes tangle together, and her smile falls as something heavy passes between us. Yeah, gorgeous . . . I’m not ready to put you down.
The tension becomes too much, and I don’t want to scare her, so I head back to the beach and set her down gently on her feet.
“Thank you.”
She looks up at me through skeptical eyes. “For what?”
“For hanging out with me tonight. I had a good time.”
I don’t know what she heard or what I expected her to say back, but I never thought I’d make her frown.
“I better go. Thanks for dinner.”
And with that, she’s gone.
Four
Honor
A few days have passed since my night with Caleb, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t relived the experience every second of every day in my mind.
I wasn’t sure what his intentions were. I’m still not. And that makes me uneasy. I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible.
I’ve discovered that his training schedule makes slipping in and out of the house to prepare meals without running into him pretty easy.
He jogs at seven a.m. Just enough time to cook up some breakfast meat and heat up some biscuits before he’s home at eight forty-five. At ten o’clock, he goes out back to the garage, and that’s plenty of time to slip in and make his lunch and dinner.
Now that I know he’s a professional athlete, I’ve been trying some leaner dishes: more protein and vegetables, less deep fried and empty carbs.
I’m just finishing off the fruit topping for the steal cut oatmeal I prepared for breakfast when I hear the murmur of male voices from the front door.
Shit! I check the time. It’s only eight o’clock. He’s not due back for at least another half hour. I wipe the counters down and hope to slip out the back door when the front swings open and two men walk inside.
Both I recognize immediately.
Both I was hoping to avoid at all costs.
Caleb’s eyes find mine, and he smiles as if to say, Ah-ha! I finally caught you.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here.”
I cringe at the sound of Roy’s voice. Thank God I’m dressed a little nicer today in a light blue T-shirt dress and sandals—my hair pulled up as it always is when I cook. Roy makes a big deal about appearances. “I was just leaving.”
“No, don’t go.” Caleb comes in behind me, his bare torso glistening with sweat, and I swear he brushes against my back on purpose as he reaches around me for a towel. “Stay. Have a cup of coffee with us.”
Us? Yuck.
Roy’s dark brown eyes, so dark they look black, dance with humor.
“Yeah, Bug. Stay.”
Caleb’s body goes rigid at my side. His arm muscles seem to swell against mine.
“I really shouldn’t. I need to go water the plants at the Preston house.”
Roy blocks my way as I try to leave the kitchen. “I think I’m the one who gets to tell you when you need to go, Buggy.”
“Don’t.” That one word is said with such menace it electrifies the air.
Roy’s eyes slide to Caleb, who is just over my shoulder. I expect Caleb to do what most people do when faced with Roy the asshole—cower, backpedal, shy away.
Caleb moves closer. “That’s not her name.”
“No shit, genius.” Roy laughs, and I can tell he expects Caleb to join in with him, but he doesn’t. “How’s she doing anyway?”
Yes, Roy, please talk about me like I’m a piece of furniture rather than the human being standing right in front of you.
“Doing?” Caleb slides me a cup of coffee, and I don’t miss that he didn’t offer one to Roy.
“Yeah, she works for me. Who do you think set this whole thing up?” He motions around the house, and it takes superhuman effort to keep my chin from hanging down to my chest.
“Hold on.” Caleb sets down his water. “You own this house?”
Roy swings a pasty arm toward the lake. “I own half the homes on this lake. Bug here keeps ’em clean, and because I know she’s a fucking genius in the kitchen, I added cooking your meals to her list of duties.”
I feel Caleb’s eyes on me, and it feels like he’s asking, Where’s your honor now?
“She’s a fantastic cook. I’ve never eaten better in my thirty-two years of life, but don’t tell my mom that.” He rocks into my side, a small and silent gesture of support.
I take a breath.
“I’m glad she’s keeping you happy. She’s got a tendency to let her mouth run away on her when she’s in a mood.” Roy lifts his eyebrows, daring me to lash out, and my jaw aches from clenching my teeth together. “I gotta run. See what you can do about scoring me some tickets, hot shot.” He points at Caleb, and before he leaves, he hooks me behind the neck and slams his cold hard lips to the top of my head. “Later, Bug.”
Uncomfortable silence stretches between Caleb and me. Unable to sit still with the amount of energy running through me, I dump my coffee in the sink, rinse the cup, and ladle oatmeal into a bowl.
“This is ready. Are you hungry?”
“Honor . . .”
I shake my head, unable to hear my name from his lips. That one word, honor, is something I was stripped of since birth, and no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to earn it back.
“Do you want fruit?”
“Please, stop.”
“Pecans? I have to get dinner started.”
“Baby . . .”
My hand stills mid scoop, sending a dollop of oatmeal to the counter. “What?”
He moves in behind me, his big bare arms come around my middle, and his face hits the side of my neck. “No dinner. I’m cooking for you tonight.” The heat of his breath, the press of his body, the combination makes me shiver in his hold. “Are you okay?”
I’m stunned, unable to speak.
“Roy is a dick, Honor. Always was.” His arms tighten at my waist. “Why do you work for him?”
Caleb called me baby.
“He treats you like shit, not to mention he’s a scumbag. Just . . . there’s got to be something else you can do in Hope Town. What about a private chef? I’ll talk to Axel. I’m sure there are a ton of people who would pay—”
“No.”
He steps back and turns me to face him, his gaze dancing over my face, searching for . . . something. “Why not?”
“He owns my house. I’m working for him to buy it back.”
Caleb opens his mouth then quickly closes it.
“If I quit, I have nowhere to go. When my granddaddy died, I inherited his debt. Roy paid it so I could keep a roof over my head, but now I have nothing.”
His face gets hard. “Not true. You have me.”
“I have you? You’ve been here for what? A week?” I laugh and shake my head. “And what are you going to do? You got a quarter of a million dollars you can loan me?”
“Quarter of a mil! Is that what he’s making you pay for that piece of shi—um . . . sorry.”
He’s right. My home is nothing to brag about. It’s rundown, and although I’m constantly working to keep the holes in the roof patched and the floorboards from curling, it’s better than being homeless. “It’s what he says he’d get for the property alone. Don’t you see? I’m stuck with Roy.”
He grips my forearm and pulls me into his chest, two big arms engulf me, and for a second I’m frozen. What the hell is he doing? My cheek is pressed to his bare chest, and I know I should step back and out of his arms, but a deeper need inside me refuses to cooperate.
He rubs up and down my back with a firm pressure that releases some of the tension in my muscles. Maybe it would be okay to allow someone else to comfort me, just for a minute? I absorb his warmth, his strength, breathe in the salty spice of his skin, and let myself go. Uncurling my fists, I reach around his waist with one arm and then the other until I’m holding on to him just as tightly as he is to me.
He moans low and the vibration rumbles against my cheek; he feels so good.
“You feel good in my arms.”
I’m about to tell him I was thinking the same thing, but fear locks the words in my throat. I’m terrified of being vulnerable. Scared out of my mind that I’ll open myself up only to get hurt or used or teased.
For now, his
arms are enough. I’ll take that. I can take that and still be strong.
I may not have honor. But I’ll be damned if I let go of my pride.
~*~
Caleb
“You sure things are working out over there?”
I’m putting the finishing touches on the dinner I prepared for Honor and me with my cell phone pressed to my ear as Cam yaks away. “Yeah, it’s been great. The garage is outfitted perfectly. I have more than I need.”
“I got two fighters gearing up to crash in on you. Plan on workin’ your ass off.”
“Who’re you sending?” It might be selfish, but I’m hoping for some of the guys from my camp back in Vegas. I haven’t seen any of them in over two years.
“I’m sending who you need; this ain’t a democracy.”
“Easy, big boy. I was just asking.” I put away a few ingredients and check the time. It’s almost seven. Honor should be here any minute. She’s been avoiding me for days after our first dinner together, and for whatever reason, she’s skittish around me. She may decide not to show, but luckily, I know where she lives.
“I’ll see you in Atlanta.”
“Ten-four. Later.”
He hangs up without saying good-bye.
“Grumpy motherfuck—”
“Did I come at a bad time?”
I jerk my head around to see Honor in the kitchen’s entryway, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “No, you’re right on time.” Closing the distance between us, I risk another hug. She let me hold her earlier, and I’m hoping she’ll get used to the feel of my arms. She tenses up a little, but I’m thankful she doesn’t push me away.
“I’m a little early.”
I motion for her to take a seat at the breakfast bar. She’s wearing nothing special, a black fitted tee, jean shorts, and flip flops, but something about her hair and face makes her look slightly made up. Her eyes are a little brighter, her lips glossy, her cheeks pink, and all that golden hair is loose and falls nearly to her waist.
“I’m happy you’re early. Are you hungry?”
She bites her lip and nods, a little nervous maybe that she’s not going to like my cooking.
I head for the fridge and pull out the two plates I prepared and place them in front of her. Those expressive eyes widen, and she peeks up at me with a grin that shoots straight to my chest. “Is this”—she peels back the top slice of bread— “peanut butter and jelly?”