The Path to You: A Steamy Small-Town Romance (Jetty Beach Book 7)

by Claire Kingsley

  It would be a perfect afternoon, except for the company.

  Granted, Alice Hudson, up-and-coming journalist for Simple Pleasures, is a beautiful woman. Any man who can’t admit that is lying. Lush dark hair, full breasts, legs that go on for miles. She’s dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a white blouse that’s open just enough to reveal the valley between her breasts.

  Regardless of what she looks like, Alice Hudson is not who I wanted to bring with me to the winery today.

  I thought she was finished with the interview yesterday at the restaurant. She asked me about everything from my early love of cooking, to my education, to the progression of my career. I was pleased that she kept the focus entirely on the restaurant itself, and me as a chef. She asked almost no personal questions at all. Nothing about my failed marriage, or my current relationship status.

  I met with her for several hours. When she and the photographer, a soft-spoken guy named Ricardo, left, I assumed we were finished.

  This morning, I was in my office, catching up on some things with Linda, when Alice called. She said she’d gone over her notes last night and had some follow up questions. Linda could hear our conversation, and she nodded at me, her eyes giving me a clear message: Keep being nice and do what she asks.

  I already had a tour set up at the winery, so it seemed like the only way to get this over with would be to use the time to finish the interview with Alice.

  Which meant I had to cancel with Sadie.

  It was physically difficult to write that text. I started out trying to explain what was going on, but it was turning into the longest text in the history of mankind. So I kept it short, just letting her know I was sorry and I’d see her soon.

  The second I hit send, I regretted doing it, and I’ve regretted it ever since.

  Alice and I didn’t talk much while on the tour; we were busy listening to the winery manager. We made small talk while we sampled a few of their wines, but Alice didn’t get into her questions.

  Now we’re sitting out on a terrace in the warm sunshine with a cheese spread and a bottle of their chardonnay. The wine is fantastic—I think they have varieties that will pair beautifully with many of our dishes. But this trip is dragging on longer than I anticipated. I keep wanting to check my phone to see if Sadie responded to my text—she hadn’t by the time I picked Alice up at her hotel. But I don’t want to be rude.

  Alice swirls the wine in her glass. “This is lovely. Thank you again for inviting me along.”

  “You’re welcome.” I hope she gets to her questions. I’m ready for this to be over, but Linda’s voice keeps echoing in my head, reminding me not to be an asshole.

  “So, Gabe,” she says, “it seems like the life of a chef must be quite busy. Does your work take up a great deal of your time?”

  I hesitate for a beat, wondering if she’s going to take out her phone or a notepad to take notes, but she just watches me, her wineglass still in her hand. “I suppose it does. I’m called a workaholic a lot.”

  “Addicted to your work,” she says. “Maybe passion and addiction are simply two sides of the same coin.”

  “Could be,” I say.

  She licks her lips, slowly, like she wants me to notice. I do, but if she’s trying to flirt with me, it’s not having the desired effect.

  “What do you like to do in your free time?” she asks.

  “I like to cook. I know that sounds strange, but I spend a lot of time experimenting at home.” Or I used to, before I got the chef’s version of writer’s block.

  “Experimenting,” she says, her mouth twitching in a smile. “That’s very… enticing.”

  “It’s how I keep the menu fresh,” I say, trying to keep us both on topic. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t thinking about food when she said the word experimenting.

  “Of course,” she says. “What else?”

  “Honestly, Alice, there’s not much else to tell,” I say. “I go running. Lift weights at the gym. I hang out with friends. I have family who live in town. I like to see my nephews.”

  “Hmm,” she says, a soft purring sound at the back of her throat. “No one at home to cook for?”

  I glance away. “No, I live alone.”

  “I’m sorry. I touched a nerve,” she says.

  “No, it’s fine,” I say.

  “Gabe, I do this for a living,” she says. “I can see when I’ve hit on something tender. I won’t press you about it. We all have our sad stories. I’m not looking to uncover yours.”

  I meet her eyes again. “Thank you.”

  “Does it help if I tell you I’m glad to hear there isn’t someone in particular who has the pleasure of tasting all your… creations?”

  I take a sip of my wine. “It’s still not something I’m interested in discussing.”

  “All right,” she says, putting her glass down. “But this passion, or addiction, you have for your work. Does it interfere with your personal life?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “So vague,” she says with another twitch of her lips.

  “I suppose I like to keep my personal life private,” I say.

  She leans forward, slowly, and her breasts press against her blouse. “This isn’t part of the interview, Gabe.”

  I take another drink to give myself a second to think. I can tell she’s a woman who’s accustomed to getting what she wants, particularly from men. She has the confident vibe of someone who rarely hears the word no. I’m familiar with the type. My ex-wife was exactly like her.

  Maybe I can steer this back toward interview territory. “Yes, my work does interfere with my personal life. But I love what I do, so the trade-off is worth it.”

  “I understand exactly what you mean.” She trails her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “I have the same problem. You could say I have a similar passion—or perhaps addiction—to my work. It doesn’t afford me a lot of time for a personal life.”

  “I guess we’re all striving for balance,” I say.

  “Well said. I think finding balance means we need to indulge ourselves once in a while.” She raises her glass, as if she’s referring to the wine, but I see right through the gesture.

  “And a winery is the perfect place for it,” I say.

  Her dark brown eyes hold onto mine, her expression sultry and intense. “My hotel room isn’t a bad spot either.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Alice, I—”

  “Gabe, I’m going to level with you,” she says. “I think we’re both a little lonely. I’m in town one more night.” She slides her tongue out across her lips again. “I can make it a night you’ll never forget.”

  It’s extremely telling that my dick is doing nothing—literally nothing—in my pants. Not a twitch of interest. You’d think if an objectively beautiful woman—because, for fuck’s sake, she has everything going for her—offers a night of no-strings sex, any man’s cock would stand up and take notice. Mine? Nothing.

  And even if I was straining against my pants, my answer would be the same.

  “Thank you, Alice, that’s… tempting.” That’s a lie. “But I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Her eyebrows lift, a slight movement that momentarily betrays her surprise. In mere seconds, her face smooths out again. “I assure you, it’s a very good idea. And in case I’m not making myself clear, I’ll be gone tomorrow. I just want a taste of your… talents. Nothing more.”

  It hits me as I stare at my almost-empty wine glass that I picked her up at her hotel. I have to drive her back to town. Do I give her a hard no right here, and deal with the awkwardness of the drive? Or be noncommittal until we get back to town?

  “I think we’re about done with our wine, don’t you?” I stand, not waiting for her answer.

  Her eyebrows draw together, like she’s not sure what I mean. But she stands and shoulders her purse. “Yes, I’m finished.”

  “Great, I’ll get you back to your hotel.”

  We walk to my car and m
y back is so tense I feel like I might snap. I don’t know if my last comment got my point across, or if she thinks I’m going to take her up on her offer. There’s no way I’m spending the night with Alice. Attractive or not, I’m not interested, even if it’s just for a night of sex. Granted, I’ve been single for a long time, so a night of sex would be fucking fantastic.

  But not with Alice.

  Don’t even get me started on the fact that all I can think about is Sadie. I have no idea what to do with that.

  We pass most of the drive back to town in silence. I’m stiff and uncomfortable, but I keep my eyes on the road, working out what I’m going to say to Alice when we get to her hotel. I suddenly realize why girls in bars often make up fake boyfriends to ward off unwanted advances. It’s an easy fall back; I wish I could claim that I’m seeing someone as an excuse. But I already admitted I’m not.

  Although, Sadie…

  What about Sadie? What can I claim that she is to me? My employee. Perhaps my friend. I spent a night holding her, but what did I do then? Nothing. My entire body ached with the desire to kiss her when we woke up together yesterday morning. I wish I would have.

  She was beautiful. Her hair a tangled mess, smelling like jasmine. Little smudges of makeup on her cheeks from crying. Her body warm and soft against mine as we slept. I would have done just about anything for more time with her. But I had to get to work.

  I never should have agreed to this with Alice. I should have told her I wasn’t available. Then it would be Sadie sitting beside me now. Sadie in my passenger seat, racing down the highway toward town. I bet the wine would have flushed her cheeks. The view would have made her smile.

  I pull into the hotel parking lot and I’m jolted from my thoughts by the feeling of something on my leg. Alice’s perfectly manicured hand rests on my thigh, just above my knee.

  “The offer still stands,” she says, her voice low. She squeezes my leg. “Come up. Trust me. You’ll be glad you did.”

  I breathe out a long breath. “Alice, thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

  She gapes at me, her full lips open. If she’s anything like my ex—and I think these two might as well be long lost twins—she’s accustomed to getting her way. “Gabe, if you have any concerns about tomorrow, let me assure you, there’s no need. I just want you to fuck me in every way you can think of tonight. And then we’ll go our separate ways.”

  Okay, that gets a twitch out of my dick. I’m a guy, after all, and I’m only human. But there’s just no way. “I understand you completely. But the answer is still no.”

  With a sharp jerk of her neck, her face turns forward. She gathers up her purse and opens the car door. “Your loss, I suppose.”

  The door shuts with a loud bang. She didn’t quite slam it, but she shut it hard enough to let me know she’s angry. I grip the steering wheel and drive away. That was a shit show. I wonder her article is going to say now?

  Nothing I can do about it at this point. Even Linda would have drawn the line at me sleeping with Alice to get good PR.

  What a fucking day. I check my phone again, but Sadie never did respond. Damn it, I fucked this up royally.

  Maybe I shouldn’t, but I turn toward Sadie’s house.

  10

  Sadie

  What is it about ice cream that makes it the universal I’ve had a shitty day and want to wallow in it food? I’m not sure, but I’m sitting on my couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s—Chunky Monkey, thank you very much—and a glass of wine. It’s a weird combination, and the fact I’m craving French fries makes it worse. I was tempted to go into town and find a place where I could get both—fries and a milkshake would have been ideal—but the thought of sitting pathetically alone in a restaurant was enough to keep me home.

  The spoonful of ice cream chills my mouth with creamy, sugary goodness. But it’s not really making me feel better. Comfort food often sounds like a good idea, but it doesn’t usually pan out.

  After having lunch with Clover, I tried very hard to get my head together and stop thinking about Gabriel. Not an easy task, considering it’s my day off, and I was supposed to be with him today. I didn’t exactly have fallback plans. I wound up scrubbing my house clean from top to bottom until I was too exhausted to continue.

  And now a date with my old loves, Ben and Jerry.

  I take another bite. “You two are always here for me when I need you.”

  From outside, I hear the rumble of an engine. It slows and turns off. Seconds later, a knock at my door.

  The sound makes every muscle in my body contract painfully. The next breath feels labored and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

  With shaking hands, I put the ice cream and spoon on the coffee table. Who would come over unannounced? I check my phone, but I don’t have any texts or messages. There are only a few people who know where I live, and I’m not expecting anyone.

  Calm down, Sadie. I take a deep breath. I hate that something as simple as a knock at my door rattles me like this. But my chest feels constricted, like I can’t get enough air. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating and my heart knocks against my ribs.

  Another deep breath and I focus on the feel of the air expanding my lungs. I look at the door, with the deadbolt, and a chain lock I installed myself. No one is getting through that bad boy unless I open it for them.

  My hands aren’t shaking as badly when I stand and go over to the door. Whoever it is knocks again—which isn’t a surprise, considering it’s taking me so long to get myself together to even ask who it is. But the noise jolts me just the same.

  “Who is it?” I call through the door.

  The reply is muffled. “It’s Gabriel.”

  The sound of his voice does funny things to my insides, so unlike the rush of fear when he first knocked.

  But why on Earth is he here?

  It takes me another few seconds to decide what to do. I’m shaken at having someone show up out of the blue, and I honestly don’t know if I can face him right now. All I can see is her. I hate that I feel so catty about it, but I thought…

  It doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask through the door.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Can I talk to you?”

  I slide out the chain lock, unlatch the deadbolt, and unlock the doorknob. I open the door to find Gabriel, dressed in a light blue button down with the sleeves cuffed, and dark jeans. I glance down at myself. Not only am I wearing faded yoga pants and an oversize t-shirt, I have a drip of ice cream just over my left boob.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I hesitate, not quite sure if I’m going to invite him in. He doesn’t make a move to come inside, just watches me, clearly awaiting my go-ahead.

  The fact that he waits—that he’s not barging in without my permission—is what tips the scales in his favor.

  “Hi.” I step aside and motion for him to come in.

  I shut the door behind him and lock all three locks. He takes a quick look around and I can tell he notices my container of ice cream, the spoon still sticking straight out the top.

  God, I’m such a mess.

  “Listen, Sadie,” he says, but pauses, looking at the floor, like he’s trying to work out what to say. “I owe you an apology for canceling today.”

  I shrug and sit back down, grabbing my ice cream. I’m wearing some on my shirt; might as well own it. “It’s fine. You were busy.”

  He sits down next to me. “No, it’s not fine. I was really looking forward to it. The way things turned out…” He shakes his head.

  The way things turned out? What is that supposed to mean? “Things didn’t go well at the winery? Wasn’t Alice pleasant enough company?”

  His eyes snap to mine. He didn’t realize I knew. “No. No, she wasn’t, as a matter of fact.”

  “You didn’t seem to have any complaints last night.”

  “Last night?” he asks, his brow furrowed.

  I shrug, trying t
o act like it’s no big deal, and take another bite of ice cream. “It looked like you were getting along very well when you left the restaurant together.”

  He blinks, his gaze traveling between the ice cream in my hands, to my face, back again. “You thought…? No, we left at the same time, but I didn’t leave with her. I went home last night. Alone.”

  The spoon dangles from my fingers, just above the container. “You did?”

  “Yes, very much alone.”

  “Then why… why did you take her to the winery today?”

  He sighs. “She called this morning and said she had more questions for me. Linda has been on me to be cooperative. I assumed they were leaving town soon, so I figured the only way to get it done would be to see her at the winery.”

  I stare down at the ice cream in my hands. So he didn’t… They didn’t…

  “How did you know I was there with her?” he asks.

  “I had lunch with Clover.”

  He nods. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Listen, I didn’t want to be there with her. And she didn’t really want to interview me anyway. She just wanted to get personal.”

  “I can only imagine,” I say.

  “I regretted canceling all day,” he says, his voice going soft. “I would have much rather been there with you.”

  My heart is still beating too fast and my hands tremble. He has me so unsteady. I spent half the day thinking he’d ditched me for a hot piece of ass. Now he shows up here, at my house, to tell me he didn’t? And that he wishes he hadn’t canceled on me?

  “Well, maybe another time,” I say.

  His eyebrows lift. “Could there be another time?”

  I dig the spoon into the ice cream, my eyes intent on it, like it’s suddenly very interesting. “Is this a work thing? For the restaurant? Or do you mean like… a date?”