We’ve just ordered our drinks, McKenna bowing to my judgment on the wine but also insisting on a jug of water with a slice of lemon, when someone steps up to the table. I turn to see who it is, and decide that the universe is definitely looking out for me.
“Carl, how are you?” I shake hands with the tall, fit man with slightly messy brown hair and cheerful eyes. “McKenna, this is Carl Ranger, owner of a number of hospitality venues across the country, including the Grey Goose Hotel.”
To her credit, she barely falters before saying hello and shaking his hand.
“Carl, this is McKenna Brooks, owner of Cherry Picker Farm. I believe the Grey Goose has an ongoing arrangement with her regarding baked goods.”
Carl’s interest is clear and genuine. “So you’re the genius behind the cherry pie? Every time I visit that location, I gain five pounds. We go every year for the Spring Moon Festival, but my wife tells me if I take her there right before Fashion Week again, she’ll divorce me.”
He’s joking. I know for a fact his wife adores him. McKenna laughs. “I’m very sorry to be the source of your marital troubles. Unfortunately, I don’t think they can move the festival. The moon is a creature of habit. Clearly, your only option is to reschedule Fashion Week.”
He roars with laughter, and turns to me. “I like this one, Hall. Keep her around.”
“I intend to.”
He claps me on the shoulder and heads back to his table. His wife, Misty, waves at me. I’m not surprised she didn’t come over with him. She’s heavily pregnant, and I imagine movement is awkward, to say the least.
“Wow,” says McKenna, who’s looking in the same direction. “She’s beautiful.”
“She is, isn’t she? They’ve been married about five years now? Just expecting their first child.”
She smiles. “That’s lovely.” Then her face falls.
I turn to see what’s upset her and have to work not to scowl myself. Christian Hughes is coming towards us, Bunny hanging off his arm like vampiric, gold-digging Spanish Moss.
“Gibson,” she coos. “How lovely to see you!”
“Bunny,” I say. “You remember McKenna, my partner?”
The two women inhale sharply, albeit, I’m sure, for very different reasons. Bunny’s fake smile widens. “Of course! Hello, McKenna. Did you have a delivery in the city?”
I bite my tongue at Bunny’s bitchy attempt to make her feel out of place. I want to defend her, but I know my girl won’t appreciate it. Besides, she’s more than able to defend herself.
“No, actually,” she says, smiling up at her hated business rival. “Gibson was just absolutely determined to take me shopping and then out to dinner. He’s the perfect date.”
Bunny looks sick with envy, which is ridiculous because Christian dotes on her and is happy to take her shopping whenever she wants. And they’re both here in the same restaurant as us right now.
“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” she says. “Who knows when you’ll get an opportunity to come here again?”
McKenna’s polite expression falters ever so slightly before she schools her face, but Bunny sees the slip, and her eyes gleam with triumph. I want to strangle her so badly, but if I do that, I might never find out what it feels like to wake up next to McKenna the morning after the night before. The idea of conjugal visits in jail doesn’t really appeal.
Christian looks bemused by the exchange and finally breaks the awkward silence. “It’s lovely to see you again, McKenna. Do give my regards to your mother. Her pie is life-changing.”
“Likewise, and thank you,” she tells him, her smile genuine. “We do our best.”
“And your best is excellent. I’m not surprised Gibson decided to stay with you instead. Bunny has many talents, but cooking is not one of them.” He turns to me, apparently oblivious to his wife’s eyes promising dire retribution. “Make sure you don’t eat them out of house and home, Gibson.”
I’m well aware he’s reminding me of his earlier warning, and as irritating as it is, I’m glad someone’s watching out for McKenna’s well-being. He leads his wife away, and McKenna watches them go, a speculative look on her face.
“Don’t waste your time worrying about Bunny Hughes,” I tell her, and she turns her attention to me.
“Oh, I’m not worrying so much as intrigued. If she’s that bad a cook, why is she so confident that her pie will win the contest?”
It’s a valid point, but I have no intention of wasting another second on Bunny Hughes and I tell her so. She grins at me. “Fair enough. Wow me with food, Mr. Billionaire Hottie.”
It’s nearly midnight when we arrive back at the farm. I ordered a car to pick us up from the airport and drive us back, and I made the right decision. McKenna is snuggled against me, sleepy and soft and totally relaxed. She rouses as the driver opens our door, but I slide my arms around her and lift her against my chest. Her eyes widen.
“You can’t possibly carry me! I’m far too heavy!”
I glare at her. “Shut up. You’re perfect.”
I suspect it’s surprise that shuts her up, rather than the knowledge that I’m right, but either way, she relaxes against me and allows me to carry her up to the front door. She pulls the key out of her purse and unlocks the door, and I put her down just inside and push her up against the inside of the door as it closes behind us.
“Wait!” she gasps. “We can’t. Mom will hear.”
I look around, cursing the fact that she’s probably right, and then see a note propped up on the hall table. “What’s this?”
I hand it to McKenna and she reads it aloud. “‘I’ve gone out to Lulu Charles’ Full Moon party and won’t be back until around lunchtime tomorrow. Don’t wait up, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Love, Mom (Mrs. Brooks).’”
She swallows and looks up at me. “Lulu runs the general store. She throws a party every month.”
I look down at her, and much as I want to pick up where I left off, I can’t. There’s heat in her eyes, but she’s also clearly nervous. She’s still not entirely onboard with this, with us, and I refuse to push her before she’s ready. “Want a drink?”
She sags a little, a combination of disappointment and relief on her face. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”
She leads me through to the kitchen and I grab a bottle of wine, check the label and fake a scowl. “Not cherry wine. I’m disappointed.”
Her nose wrinkles. It’s adorable. “We tried, but wine requires quite a bit of testing and experimentation to be commercially viable, and I just don’t have the time, the energy, or, if I’m honest, the interest. I figured we could leave that to the professionals.”
I smile at her and pour a couple of glasses. I hand one to her and lift my own. “To knowing your strengths as well as your weaknesses.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she says, clinking her glass against mine. “Shall we sit in the living room? It’s a little more comfortable.”
“Sure.” I’m incredibly uncomfortable, thanks to the granite erection I’ve had since she walked out of that dressing room earlier today, but I’m not about to tell her that. If she’ll be more comfortable in the living room, then we’ll go to the living room.
She sits on the couch, and I’m pleased. It means she’s comfortable with giving me the option to sit next to her. I choose the armchair instead, though. There’s only a foot or so between us, but I think she needs the artificial distance of sitting on different pieces of furniture.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping wine. I’m content just to look at her and enjoy being here, in her space. It feels like another layer of trust. I’m halfway down my glass when she speaks.
“It occurs to me that you know way more about me than I know about you.” She meets my eyes with a challenging look. “I don’t even know what kind of car it was that you crashed outside our house.”
“It was a rental,” I remind her, and she gives me what my mother would have called ‘an old-fashioned lo
ok’. “A brand new Lexus.”
“Oh no!” She looks horrified, although I can’t tell whether it’s for me or the car.
“It’s okay. Donny called this afternoon to say his wife and little baby Brenna are doing well and that the damage to the car is superficial.”
She laughs. “How big was Brenna, and how’s Lottie? That’s his wife.”
“Eight pounds six ounces. Lottie is apparently fine, although she did burst into tears this afternoon over a soup commercial.”
“Ouch. Hormones are no joke. I’m not looking forward to that part.”
I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, my interest piqued. “You want kids?”
Her eyes fall away, and she looks at her hands. “Well, sure, eventually. If I meet the right guy.” She bites her lip and then looks at me again. “I’m not planning on it for a few years, though. You?”
The idea of being a father is…complex for me, and I tell her so.
“How come?”
I take a breath, let it out. “I guess it’s only fair that you should know a bit about my background, since you so rightly pointed out that I know quite a lot about yours. I never knew my father. My mom was a dancer, an exotic dancer, and she told me my father owned one of the clubs she danced at. He liked to, uh…” I still can’t even say it, rage closing my throat at the actions of a man I’ve never met.
“Avail himself of what was on offer?” she suggests, and I nod.
“He wasn’t so good at taking responsibility for his actions, though, and when he found out Mom was pregnant, he demanded she terminate the pregnancy. Apparently it was me or her job.”
“Bastard!” McKenna’s fury is exactly what I needed to hear, and it soothes a place I hadn’t even realized still hurt.
“Quite. She walked away, obviously.” I spread my hands, then drop them to my lap again. “She was able to get other jobs, but of course it was hard once she started showing. Luckily she was good with her money, so when I was born and she just couldn’t work for a while, it was okay.”
McKenna makes a sound, and I look up to see her eyebrows high with disbelief.
“Okay, fine, it wasn’t okay. It was really hard, and it continued to be really hard up until I was about fifteen or so. That’s when I started bouncing at clubs. I’d been wheeling and dealing for a few years by then, little things, as kids do, but I decided early on I wanted to take care of my mom. And I did. By the time I was eighteen I owned my first club. Maraschino. I opened up the first Black Cherry in an upstairs section of the building about six months later, and a brand was born.”
“That’s fantastic,” says McKenna, and I look up to see her smiling softly. There isn’t an ounce of pity in her eyes, and I’m grateful for that. I’ve worked long and hard to get away from the pitying looks. “May I ask…what happened to your…biological father?”
I like that she refers to him that way. He sure as hell wasn’t my dad. “I put him out of business. Treated my employees better, catered to higher end clientele.”
I’m not sure how much I should tell her, but I want her to know me. The real me, not just the polished version that drives a Lexus and stays in seven star hotels. “I bought up his debts and foreclosed on his clubs. Called the health inspector on his venues. Called in tips to the cops about drugs on the premises. Last I heard, he was on welfare.”
I make myself meet her eyes. It’s one thing to want a person to know you, but I have no idea how she’ll react.
“Sounds like he deserved it,” she says. “None of those things are illegal.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Mom wasn’t the first dancer he’d treated that way, and she definitely wasn’t the last. I just…brought Karma to his door.”
She smiles at me. “I like that. Some people just seem to get away with everything. You made sure he didn’t.”
I raise my glass to hers and we both drink.
“Where’s your mom now?” she asks.
“She passed away, about five years ago now.”
“I’m so sorry. Wait. Five years? You mean—”
I give her a gentle smile. “We met two days after the funeral. It was the first time I was out on the floor since she passed. Seeing you was like…like she was standing next to me, pointing you out, telling me everything was going to be okay.”
She reaches out and puts her hand on my knee, and I cover her hand with mine. The warmth of her touch, the gentle truth of it, the unquestioning support…I never knew I needed that until now.
“Gibson, I’m so sorry I ran away from you that night.” She looks genuinely regretful, and I frown at her.
“You did what you needed to do. Honestly, even that brief encounter changed things for me. I can’t really explain it, but it wasn’t a bad thing, McKenna. It was the best thing. The best.”
I lift her hand and lace her fingers through mine. “Mom lived long enough to be comfortable, to benefit from my business. I took her everywhere she’d always wanted to go and consulted with her when it came to figuring out employee benefits and so on. My mission was always to make it so that none of my employees, least of all the dancers, ever had to choose between work and survival, for them or their families.”
“Do they get maternity leave, then?” she asks, a hint of humor in her eyes.
“Absolutely. And paternity. There’s also an extra payment for paternity leave for their partners who don’t work here, subject to vetting. Education supplements for any classes or training they want to take. Thirteen of them will graduate from college this year. Eight of my employees have PhDs, all done while they worked for me.”
“Wow,” she says. “Gibson, that’s amazing. You’re, like, the best boss ever.”
I laugh. “Pretty sure you’re just as good. Your mom told me you gave Lenny time off and took on all his duties yourself.”
She shrugs it off. “His dad had passed and his mom needed him. It was no big deal.”
I tug at her hand, and she rises, moving to sit next to me, but I pull her down into my lap instead. “It is a big deal. You gave him what he needed—time to spend with his mom without having to worry about money.”
“It’s not a college degree,” she points out.
“It doesn’t have to be. It’s what you could do, and you did it. That’s all anyone can ask.”
She curls into me, and I stroke her hair. This, her snuggled against me in her own home, with no one else around, is another layer of trust. Trust goes both ways, of course. I’ve never told anyone about my mom. It’s none of their business, but I wanted to share it with McKenna. I want to share all of myself with her.
“I wish I could do more,” she whispers. “There’s so much I want to do for my employees, Mom, the farm.”
“What about you?” I whisper back. “What do you want for you?”
Chapter 10
McKenna, faced with decisions, decisions…
“What do you want for you?”
Well, isn’t that the sixty-four thousand dollar question?
My wine glass is nearly empty. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the good food or the fact that it’s a hell of a lot later than I usually stay up, but I know I’m considering doing something I wouldn’t normally do.
On the one hand, I’m totally humiliated that Mom couldn’t even be a little discreet about leaving us with the house to ourselves for the night. I mean, seriously? I’m surprised she didn’t leave condoms next to the note. With cherry flavored lube.
Is cherry flavored lube a thing?
I’m getting off track. I know she’s onboard with me and Gibson spending ‘quality time’ together. I just don’t know if I am.
On the other hand, when am I going to get this chance again? Gibson’s on vacation. He’ll be gone in a few days, back to his perfect life in the city, and I’ll still be here, farming cherries.
Which I love. There’s a reason I keep expanding the business. Cherry Picker
Farm is clearly where I’m supposed to be. It just doesn’t le
ave a lot of time or energy for anything else. And of all the guys I’ve met in my life, Gibson is the only one I’ve come close to wanting to have sex with.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, McKenna,” he says, as though he can read my mind.
Problem is, him saying that makes my breasts ache and my panties damp.
I bite my lip, then meet his gaze. “There are a lot of things I haven’t done,” I tell him. “Including sex.”
Amusement lights his eyes. “I’m aware.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “It’s not funny.”
He sobers immediately. “You’re right. Sex is cherry serious.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re awful.”
“Awfully good with cherries.”
I stare at him, eyes wide, while I fight to hide my smile. “Are you trying to sell me your sexual prowess with cherry innuendoes?”
He doesn’t even have the grace to look uncomfortable. “I’d make it good for you. Very good. I already know what you like.”
The arrogance is almost off-putting. Almost. My lady parts are definitely not put off. They are very, very keen to find out if he’s right.
The problem is, the rest of me believes him already. As I curl against him in an armchair that hasn’t had a man in it since Dad passed, I realize I could dither about this all night, and then I’d have lost both my chance to see what all the fuss is about, and a lot of sleep. Lose-lose.
“Give me tonight,” I tell him, in a rush of words.
His expression sharpens, but he doesn’t move. “You’re not a one and done kind of girl, McKenna.”
Oh God. Somehow that’s even more of a turn-on than his confidence. “One night is all we have.”
“Is it really? I’m buying a property up the road.”
I’m shocked speechless. “Since when?”
His lips curve. “Since before I got here. Remember my appointment with Christian Hughes?”
I’m a little deflated at that, which is ridiculous because I should be glad he’s not planning to stay based on a few days of knowing me, right? Right?
Eat Your Heart Out: A Romance Charity Anthology Page 34