Yeah, the Dvornakov prom package was pretty awesome.
26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Heather was still riding high on the fumes from her prom night with Jase—even though they’d had three other nights since. Three nights wrapped up in each other. He’d done his family thing, said it was fine, dodged any questions. So she didn’t ask. Didn’t push.
Now it was a new work week. A week where she had to start her search for Candy’s replacement. She pushed another tray of cockies into the oven.
“Heather?” Jase asked from the door to her kitchen.
“Hey, what’re you doing here?” she asked.
“I have something for you.” He strode toward her, brushed his hand to her jaw, lifting her lips to his. The sensitive skin of her lips met his. The kiss deepened. Well, that was a nice way to say good morning. Not that they hadn’t already said good morning once that day. The world around them bopped along, but they were holding on to each other. Mouth, tongue, and everything all wrapped up together.
His hand found hers, and he slid something into it. Cool metal. She broke the kiss, looking at the key fob he’d placed in her hand.
“Your van’s done.” He traced circles on her neck. “It’s parked out front.”
“Serious?” Heather asked. She hugged him.
“Serious.” He kissed her forehead.
“Candy, I’m checking out the new van,” she hollered on her way out the front door.
She skidded to a halt. Her breath caught.
It was perfect. Brand new, bright pink, with the cookie perched on top. “I love it.”
Jase pulled her to his side. “Thanks for not sending my grandmother to the pokey.”
Speaking of his grandmother, Babushka shuffled up the sidewalk toward them. “I am not speaking to you.” She glared at Heather. Glared at the van. Nodded at Jase.
“Sorry?” Heather asked.
Jase tensed. Dropped his arm.
“I am not speaking to you,” Babushka said in a louder voice.
Heather stepped toward Babushka. “What did I do this time?” she asked carefully.
Babushka planted her hands on her hips. “You can’t even make time for an old woman’s birthday party.”
“Shit,” Jase said.
What on earth was Babushka talking about? “Okay, I’m missing something.”
Heather glanced to Jase. He’d gone pale.
“My birthday party. You vere not there,” Babushka huffed. “Jason said you vere too busy to come.”
He said what?
“I missed your birthday party?” Heather asked. She looked to Jase. “You told her what?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. The family shit Jase was talking about was Babushka’s birthday party?
Heather’s heart did a dive to her stomach. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
Jase still didn’t meet her gaze.
“You said you invited her,” Babushka huffed.
“No, what I said was she had other plans. I also encouraged you not to make her feel bad about it.”
Heather ground her back teeth together. “I didn’t have other plans, Jase.”
“Everyone else was there.” Babushka waved her hand. “All my friends.” She paused. “Except the girl who is like my own daughter.”
“Laying it on a little thick there.” Jase ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “Heather, I was protecting you from all the family drama.”
The numb realization that he’d lied to keep her away from his family settled over her. He’d given her a fantastic prom. An amazing weekend. And he’d still tucked part of himself aside.
She couldn’t do this. Not again. Not jump into the deep end and discover she was the only one actually in the water.
Her lips parted. Her fingers went cold.
The anger didn’t come. The fast breaths. The threat of tears. She was just numb. No feeling. Because she was certain that once she started to feel it was going to hurt.
A lot.
“I think I need a walk.” She pushed past him.
“Heather,” he called.
She just shook her head and kept walking. He didn’t follow. She hit the corner of the block. Her breaths came in sharp exhales.
She was Heather Reese. A sexy florist couldn’t ruin her morning. A hunky guy couldn’t ruin her day. And another bad decision couldn’t ruin her life.
Was that what this was with him? A bad decision?
She lapped the city block once, twice, three times.
Her focus had slipped. That’s all. Steely resolve held her up as she came around the corner to her street. She paused at the window to the jewelry store. She’d lost her focus. She’d spent how many months looking for that talisman of a promise ring to herself? Since she’d been with Jase, she’d slipped.
She pushed open the door to the jewelry shop.
“Heather, how is the cookie business?” Chandra asked, her tone off.
Of course it was, she was friends with Jase’s mother. Jase’s mother, who hated her.
That didn’t matter now. “I came back for that ring.” She paused. Fingertips to forehead, she pulled herself together. “Except I left my purse at the shop. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t wait for Chandra’s response. She just hurried back to the sidewalk, heading toward her storefront. The bleat of a smoke alarm echoed down the street. Candy stood near the open door of her shop, ushering customers outside.
Heather’s feet wouldn’t move.
No. Shit. She’d forgotten the cookies.
She sprinted to the building. The soles of her shoes slapped the sidewalk like punctuation to a poorly written business plan. Nothing was on fire, she was just burning the shit out of some cockies. She passed Babushka by her van and skidded through the door, the scent of burnt sugar scorching her nostrils. A thick arm wrapped around her belly, pulling her back outside. She’d know that scent anywhere—cinnamon, cloves, and freshly cut flowers.
“The cookies.” Her breasts heaved against the muscled forearm acting as a vise. “The cookies, Jase.”
“Fire department is on their way.” His tone was off. Clipped. Like he was giving orders.
Gah, no.
“That’s what’s burning.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “There’s not a fire. It’s the cookies.”
He held tighter. Something was wrong with him, something had changed.
She pushed harder against his arm, but he clearly wasn’t going anywhere. He shifted her, lifting her just an inch off the ground as he backed away from everything that mattered to her.
“Let go, Jase,” she said over the rushing in her ears. “I have to get in there.”
The fire alarm taunted her. Your cookies are burning. Your cookies are burning.
He held her tighter. “You’re not going in.”
“It’s just the cookies.” She fought against his grip.
He stepped backward, farther from the shop.
“Negative.” His tone was all military. She’d never heard him like this, never experienced who he’d once been.
She forced her body to go from limp to dead weight.
“Nice try,” he mumbled close to her ear.
The place wasn’t on fire. The stupid, stupid, stupid cockies were burning. Though if she didn’t get inside soon there would be a fire.
“Where’s your grandmother?” Heather asked. She knew Babushka was behind her, but maybe the distraction would make him release his grip.
“Son of a bitch,” he clipped.
It worked. He let her go, setting her to the concrete.
Her feet hit the ground and she did a Risky Business slide through the door, bolting to the kitchen. Smoke flowed from the seam of the oven door. She hit the switch to turn on the stove hood, the vacuum instantly sucking the thin gray air up through the vent and outside.
Her lungs itched with a compressed cough she refused to let out. Shoving her hands in industrial oven mitts, she squinted a
gainst her watering tear ducts to pull open the oven. Head turned to the side, she snatched a pan of black cookie bricks and tossed the whole thing in the sink.
She reached for the faucet, but a very male hand covered her oven mitt and turned the knob. Jase.
Not just Jase. Ticked-off Jase, with a murderous expression traced on his face and stone eyes holding no emotion.
She went back for the second tray of scorched cookies and tossed them into the sink, too, the cold water turning the black chunks to burnt mush.
The alarm still blared, but with the emergency averted, she let the cough she held rack her chest. Doubled over, her lungs continued convulsing. Eyes closed, she let the entire morning wash over her, effectively turning her to the same burnt mush as her cookies. She shoved open the back door to the kitchen, embracing the cool air with deep, broken breaths.
Hands braced on her knees, she sucked in oxygen. A shadow crossed in front of her, and a cool, damp kitchen towel pressed to her forehead.
Jase held the same expression from inside, but it had frayed around the edges. Little lines that had nothing to do with laughter crinkled around his eyes. His perpetual cocky demeanor had evaporated.
“Thank you.” She held the towel to her forehead and wiped her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
Physically? “Yes.”
“Good.” He leaned in so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”
“I panicked.” She pressed against the towel. “The cookies were burning.”
“You don’t run into a building when there might be a fire. That’s how people die.” His voice cracked, and the words pierced the anger she carried from earlier.
“Well, I didn’t. Because I knew it was only a tray of cookies—”
“It might not have been.” His words were clipped again. Tense. He tipped her chin to force her gaze to meet his.
She blinked against the sun behind him. “It was.”
His eyes remained fierce, his fingertips still on her chin. “You take a stupid risk and people die.”
“People? I’m only a person.”
His eyes clouded. “You could’ve died, and I would’ve had to live with that, too.”
She couldn’t turn her head, his grip on her steady, so she followed the path of a dust mote in her periphery. Anything to keep her from meeting his inspection again, because all she wanted to do at the moment was hug the guy she needed to distance herself from. Hang on for all she was worth. Trust him.
“What happened to you over there, Jase?” she whispered instead.
“Everybody died.” He leaned in, his expression unreadable. “Because I wasn’t there in time.”
She gasped. Her back pressed against the brick exterior of the building. She wished in equal parts it would swallow her whole and set her free.
He dropped his fingers from her chin and straightened.
The wail of a fire truck sliced the moment in two. He withdrew and his hands dropped to his sides. “The firemen will want to talk to you.”
She nodded. This was her business and she should handle it, but right now she felt as fragile as one of his porcelain vases filled with roses. “Jase?”
He paused.
“I am sorry I scared you.” She gulped. “But I don’t want to go back where we started.” Now she was sounding desperate. Deep breaths, Heather. “I don’t want to have to pretend we’re not together, because your parents hate me.” She took another breath. Get it all out. “Before you, I thought I wanted to be alone, but it turns out I just want someone who wants me, too. As much as I want them. Someone who is all in. I think I deserve that, you know?”
“Heather—”
“I don’t think this has to hurt so bad. Maybe we should just call it for what it was—a really good shot at something that didn’t work out.”
The light in his eyes went out. “That’s what you want? To be done?”
“I want to stop feeling like you’re not one hundred percent in this.” Fingertips gripping the no-longer-cool cloth, she slid down the wall, ass to ankles, forehead to knees, heart to throat.
“This is what happens. Shit gets complicated.” He cursed under his breath, kneeling to her level.
“Maybe that’s why we should stop. It doesn’t have to be complicated.” She said the words, but she didn’t mean them.
She waited for him to reply with something to make everything better. He didn’t. He stood. She pinched her eyes closed. The kitchen door flung open.
“Something’s wrong with Babushka.” Candy was frantic. “You need to come quick.”
Heather hurried to stand, following Jase as he rushed through the shop.
27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Heather pinched her lips together, waiting for the fireman to finish his report. She needed to get to the hospital. Make things right with Babushka. God, Babushka had to be okay. She’d had some kind of episode. When Heather and Jase got to her, her face was chalky and she was having a hard time catching her breath.
The ambulance had just pulled up for the “fire”—Heather used the term loosely. The paramedics took no time in rushing Babushka to the hospital.
Heather checked her phone, hoping for an update from Jase.
Nothing.
“Candy?” she called. “Can you handle the rest?”
Candy stepped beside Heather. “I’ve got this. Go.”
Heather didn’t need to be told twice. She scooted out to her new delivery van. Key in the ignition, she squealed the tires pulling onto the street. Rose Medical was only a mile away, but it felt like it took an eternity to get there. She parked the van and dashed into the ER.
Jase stood near the nurse’s desk with Anna. Heather’s heart seemed to stop beating. How would she be able to see him and not be able to touch him? How would she be able to go back to who she was before Babushka took out her delivery van?
“Jase,” she called his name. He glanced to her, his expression tense.
She wasn’t close enough to hear him, but he mouthed her name. She hustled toward him. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Anna answered for him. “Not a heart attack, just a blip. That’s what the doctor said.”
Heather let out the breath she’d been holding since the fire alarm went off.
“She’s been asking for you.” Jase shoved his hands in his pockets.
Heather’s rib cage seemed to cinch tighter. She hated that. The hands-in-the-pockets thing. Normally, he’d pull her to his side. The beginning of the end…that’s what this was. And she’d started it. She’d brought it up. She’d have to own it.
Jase had well and truly screwed the pooch. He didn’t want to lose Heather. Didn’t want her to believe he was anything less than all in.
So, he’d fix it. He’d make it right.
According to the rules of Dvornakov engagement, if you’re off the hook, don’t screw with it. Jase had been certain he’d be off the hook. He’d decided to keep his Heather life and his family life separate. Everyone would win. He’d dug himself a bunker too deep to escape. All because his brother lied to his mother and Jase was going along with it because it made his life easier.
“Where is she?” Heather asked.
“This way.” He jerked his head toward the curtain where Babushka was being evaluated.
Heather started that way. He strode beside her, letting his hand brush hers. She turned her palm so he could grasp it.
His blood pressure started to return to normal.
They’d be okay. He’d fix it.
“Why’s she here, Jason?” his mom asked from behind.
Or not.
Heather dropped his hand. She bit at her lip. “Mrs. Dvornakov, I wanted to apologize for all of the”—she paused—“mishaps with Babushka. I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”
“Heather!” Babushka yelled from behind the curtain. “You vill come in.”
Jase pulled open the curtain, lettin
g Heather and his mother through.
“Nadzieja.” Jase’s mother brushed past Heather. “I think since she and Jason broke up, it’s inappropriate that she’s here.”
Heather did a double take. Her eyes focused on Jase. “That’s what you decided you want?”
No, that’s not at all what he’d decided.
“Jase said you two broke up.” His mother enunciated each word as though Heather hadn’t caught it the first time.
No, that’s not what he’d said, Jase thought. That’s what Roman had said.
“What are you talking about?” Babushka frowned. “This is why you didn’t come to my party?”
“Jase?” Heather asked him. Her eyes didn’t spark with anger. No, this time it was disappointment.
“No, I never said that.” He shook his head.
“I said it,” Roman chimed in from behind them.
“I’m so confused.” His mother looked between Roman and Jase. “I asked you. You said you broke up.”
He could actually feel the moment he lost control of any aspect of a situation. This would be that moment. “Technically, you said that. I didn’t correct you.”
“Seriously, Jase?” Heather whispered.
Time to end this bullshit. “Mom, Heather’s my girlfriend. Roman wanted you to quit ranting about it, so he told you we broke up.”
“But you knew he was telling her that?” Heather was holding it together, but he could see the way she was shattering beneath the surface. All because he’d taken the easy way.
“Yeah.” He hooked his fingertips at his waist.
“And you didn’t think you should correct it?” Heather had tightened her mask, he knew the second she did it. Closed it down.
But her lip trembled just a tad.
He’d fucked up. Hurt feelings. Deep ones.
“That’s why you didn’t tell me about the party,” she concluded.
The whole day was spiraling and all he could do was watch.
“You could’ve just told me what was going on,” she continued.
“This is on me.” Roman stood. “Also, Zach. He backed me up.”
“So, you boys lied?” their mother asked, shocked. Which was total bullshit, because it wasn’t the first time her kids had told her a fib.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 47