by Jean Oram
He gave Moe a shove, but Moe was right there in the guy’s face, his spine straight, arms loose at his sides. The men from Blueberry Springs crowded behind him, jostling Amy out of the way.
Moe held up his left hand, fingers splayed to highlight the wedding band on his ring finger. Obviously grasping the significance, the man glanced uncertainly at Amy, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Didn’t see her ring. Next time spring for a bigger one and mark your territory properly.”
Frankie and Scott pressed forward again, and Amy, unable to reach Moe, snagged Frankie’s elbow. She didn’t quite dare to restrain the lawman.
Moe’s neck had turned red and he shifted from foot to foot, his right fist clenching as though crushing a particularly thick beer can.
“Stay away from my wife.” He glowered at the smokejumper, who lifted his hands to the sky, his expression one of mocking innocence.
Amy was certain Moe was going to swing.
But then the smokejumper begrudgingly took his seat. Moe continued glaring at the man’s backup crew until they all sat as well, at which point the cluster of men from Blueberry Springs started easing back.
“You okay?” Moe led Amy away from the poker tables, and when he reached out to lightly touch her elbow, an arc of sparks zipped up her spine. A possessive blaze in his brown eyes suggested he wanted to kiss her madly, just to prove she was his. It made her want to believe, just for a second, that what they had was real, and that it wasn’t going away. That maybe he wanted to make their children the old-fashioned way, and that together they would discover how to have what they’d always been seeking, but had never found.
Amy held her breath and leaned closer. Just in case he wanted to make a point to the people in the pub about whose wife she was.
His shirt brushed the bare skin of her arm as he moved into her personal space. She shivered in anticipation and tipped her head back so he’d have better access to her lips. She caught the subtle hint of his aftershave and inhaled deeply to capture the fullness of it, of him, of everything that came with that wonderful scent.
In the distance, under the sad guitar strumming from the jukebox, the office phone rang.
Moe blinked twice, then stepped away. “If you need anything…” He gave the table of firefighters a meaningful look. “I’ll be in the office.”
Amy nodded, feeling off center and as though she’d just missed a train. As if she’d been on the platform with the right ticket, waiting for the doors to open, but when they had, crowds had rushed around her, and when they’d thinned the train was already gone.
Trying to hide her disappointment, she scurried back to the bar to collect herself, ignoring the mess of spilled beer on the floor back at the table. Never, in all her years, had she seen that side of Moe. One where he looked ready to deck a guy.
And it had been over her.
What did it mean? And why did it seem to amp up the electricity inside her like their wedding kiss had?
It was as if the Moe she’d married was completely different than the one she’d dated all those years ago. He wasn’t more daring or adventurous, not really. He was just more…primally attractive. More unexpected and take-charge, in a way that made her breath catch.
Anticipation. That’s all it was. She was anticipating his next move like she was Jane and he was Tarzan, ready to sweep her away.
But she didn’t want a kiss from him. She didn’t want him to sweep her off her feet. He was Moe, her steady, reliable best friend, who was married to her so they could have children. He wasn’t about to turn into the daredevil alpha she seemed to need in order to keep her interested, to settle her.
“What was that all about?” Mary Alice asked, her gaze tracking Amy as she moved to the dishwasher set under the bar.
“Just drunks.”
“I meant with Moe.”
Amy glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“He looked ready to devour you.”
Amy opened her mouth to shoot down that comment, but found she had no argument. He had looked ready to devour her. So ready she’d leaned in like a fool. Just like she had last night on the floor by the couch.
She needed to get a grip, then somehow lock it down so she didn’t lose it again.
“Don’t you say I’m seeing things,” Mary Alice crowed. “He was gonna kiss you so good your hair was going to curl!”
“It’s already wavy,” Amy retorted, a betraying heat pushing its way into her cheeks.
“And now I think I know why.”
Amy found her gaze drifting toward the office. All she knew was that if she kept wanting her friend to kiss her and to make her weak at the knees, things were going to get awkward in ways that were not part of their marriage deal.
But then again, when it came to listing awkward things that were outside the parameters of their marriage pledge, so was their only currently viable plan for starting a family.
And she was soon going to have to break the news to her husband.
4
“Sorry for acting like that.” The smokejumper who’d suggested he’d like to see through Amy’s wet shirt tossed enough bills to cover his table’s tab onto the bar, plus some, and met Moe’s eye before cutting his gaze away.
“No harm, no foul,” Moe said, trying to be polite. Hours later, he still wanted to grab the guy and do something uncharacteristically violent to him.
The man gave a sharp nod and exited after his friends. They’d been model customers from the “incident” until closing.
Moe placed most of the cash in Amy’s tip jar, trying to reclaim control over his anger.
He needed to cool it. Let it all go.
Amy deserved better. Women as a whole deserved better.
“Did anyone do a sweep of the bathrooms?” he asked.
Marissa called out that she had, but Amy kept her head down as she cleared away empty glasses, avoiding his glances and not making eye contact as she moved past him with glassware for the dishwasher.
She’d had half the men in town backing her in a situation she’d been successfully laughing off, and he’d swept in and thumped his chest. She probably hated him right now.
But she was his wife. He’d been within bounds, hadn’t he?
She seemed a bit off tonight, though. Had she noticed the way he’d almost kissed her, almost claimed her like a caveman for all to see?
Of course she had. He’d be a fool to think otherwise.
Although her awkwardness could also be due to the way he’d almost kissed her last night, too. He’d laid himself on top of her like he had the right to get intimate with her on the floor of their living room.
He was hopeless. Like a randy teenager all over again. Only worse, because he knew exactly what he was missing with Amy. How had they always slipped back into the “friend” zone when they’d had that heat?
Marissa had removed her fake lashes, leaving them on the bar, where they looked scarily similar to a pair of large dead spiders. She was counting out her tips, and Amy grabbed her own, trying to give Marissa some extra as thanks for helping her stay on top of one of her tables during a rush, as well as cleaning up the spilled beer.
“Nah, next time just wade in when I need it,” she said, folding the bills back into Amy’s hand. She tucked her tip money in her purse, and since she’d come in earlier than Amy, said good-night, leaving Moe to finish closing up with his wife.
He locked the doors after Marissa left and killed the jukebox, enjoying the abrupt silence.
“How was your night?” he asked, emptying the second dishwasher so they could reload it. “That big tip should help pay for the wedding.”
“I don’t think leaving the taps open on poker night is a good idea. And if you’d been out here instead of hiding in the office you would have made tips, too.”
Moe caught himself stepping back. Was Amy, who never stressed over anything, freaking out about money? Was that what had her acting odd?
“You know I’m planning
to pay half the wedding costs, and I’m sorry if I overstepped tonight.”
She shrugged, her cheeks pinking. “It’s fine.”
“It was my wedding, too.”
“Fine. Pay for half.”
So was that it then? They were good? They were going to move past how he’d allowed his newfound, alpha, chest-thumping personality to come out and play? Because he had a feeling that if a guy treated her that way again he’d be right back in the ring. Only next time, maybe a little less restrained.
Amy still wasn’t looking at him, and when he moved into her physical space, reaching high to place a margarita glass in the rack above her, she found a reason to sidle away and give him more room instead of owning it like usual.
Had she tuned in to the fact that he’d wanted to kiss her in front of those guys? Kiss her until her lips turned cherry red and they forgot about the outside world?
Moe sighed. Now all he could think of was kissing those perfect lips of hers.
He ran a hand down his face, then glanced around the pub. He didn’t want to stare at the computer screen again, but staying out here with her was dangerous. Maybe if he concentrated on the cleanup he could pour his energy into that instead of imagining what it would be like to kiss her again. Lay her out over one of the poker tables, or press her up against the quiet jukebox. He bet her mouth tasted as sweet as the soda she’d been sipping all night to stay hydrated.
He ran his hand down his face again as if the move could sweep away his unwanted thoughts.
He cleared his throat. “I have some stuff to do in the office.”
“You’re going to leave me to deal with all of this?” She was looking at him now, all right. Hands on hips. Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed.
He found himself moving outside her strike zone.
“I have work.” He angled a thumb toward the office. She’d married him to help her, not to have him lusting after her. And if he stayed out here… Lust central.
“You always clean up with me. And I thought you talked to Kimi today about your workload.”
Spying a cloth, he snatched it up and began furiously wiping at the rings staining the countertop.
Amy had her head quirked, studying him. “You’re avoiding me, aren’t you?”
There was a hint of uncertainty and vulnerability in her tone and he quickly said, “It’s just stress. Lots of work.” He waved toward the office. “If you want to head home I can finish cleaning up.”
“What happened in the meeting with Kimi?” She took a step, breaching the safety zone of personal space he’d established. When he retreated, she moved forward yet again.
“What? Nothing.”
There was no eye contact avoidance now as she stared at him, head-on.
She leaned into him, hands pressing against his chest, her large eyes focusing on his lips.
“Did she try to kiss you?”
“What?” Moe sputtered, at a loss. That question had come so far out of left field he felt like he was on the wrong field altogether.
“What were you thinking when you were facing down that smokejumper tonight?”
He struggled to change the direction of his thoughts in order to keep up with hers.
“That he’d crossed the line.”
“You looked different than usual. More…primal.”
“It’s the haircut.”
She was standing much too close, the scent of the spilled ale mixing with her perfume and feeling so familiar. So much like something he wanted.
She snugged up against him, and it was like someone had sucked all the oxygen from the room in order to supply him with enough willpower to keep from taking her into his arms and kissing her until their souls merged into one and the world settled into place around them.
“I’m fed up with guys treating women like a piece of meat.” He sidestepped to adjust a stack of coasters, brushing her away. “Seriously. That’s all.”
Her shoulders dropped a notch and a flicker of something that looked like disappointment zipped through her brown eyes.
She returned her attention to the dishwasher, not glancing up as she said, “I can clean up.”
“No, I can help. The office stuff isn’t going anywhere.”
“You were up past five, trying to catch up on everything.”
“How do you know? You went home at two. And speaking of which, how are we going to deal with working this late-at-night thing when we have kids?”
She let out a sigh so long and laden with frustration that he leaned forward to try and catch her expression. “What?” he asked.
“In vitro is really expensive.”
“Yes.”
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with such pain his heart hurt just looking at her.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, his mind racing for an easy answer.
There wasn’t one.
In vitro. Purchasing the pub. Their house. His father’s house. The wedding bills. How was he going to pay for it all?
“Did you finalize the agreement with Kimi at least?”
This would be the time to tell her about Cesar’s ridiculous, generous offer to purchase the pub if Moe made his three months as the manager. About how the business would be liquidated if not.
But what if she told him to put their dream of having kids on a shelf—a shelf that might be forgotten until it was too late? He couldn’t do that to her. He’d made a promise. One that was more important than owning a pub.
A pub that supplied their livelihoods.
“Kimi and I are going to work together.” He quickly looked for a way to change the topic before Amy started a fight about Kimi taking over and claiming more ownership than she should. He had plenty to learn about this business, and would be getting more from Cesar’s daughter than the equivalent of a few promotional ideas, in terms of reciprocation with their partnership. “You had your doctor’s appointment today?”
“It’s ridiculous that she’s got you working two jobs in here. She needs to ask the estate to take care of the business end. You don’t want or need this headache.”
“Is there any chance you’ve been saving up for in vitro?” he asked.
She winced, her right eye closing.
His stomach dropped. She hadn’t planned for the cost.
“Nash suggested that if money was an issue…well…” She suddenly looked shy, her cheeks flaming red.
It took Moe a second to catch up, and then his mind stopped working completely.
Oh.
Oh.
Because when it came to making babies, there was only one way they could save a lot of money. And that meant breaking the first unwritten rule of their pledge.
Amy was so embarrassed. Moe had turned red right up to the tips of his ears when he’d realized that neither of them had the money to make babies the way they’d planned, and that there was only one way to proceed. The way that cost them nothing but a few intimate moments together.
“I know you didn’t sign on for this,” she said.
“For making babies?” He cleared his throat a few times. His cheeks were pinking up again.
They were still cleaning up the pub; cleaning, organizing, restocking with their usual flow.
“The agreement was always that it would be in vitro.” She struggled to find the right words, a hitch in her chest preventing her from acting as casual as she wanted to. “I understand if this is a deal-breaking oversight and…and if you want to leave me.”
Moe’s movements slowed. “Right,” he said, his voice flat.
“So?” she asked after an extended silence.
“I’m in this for the long haul.” He looked at her, his eyes a kind, deep brown that made her think of happiness and trust. “Maybe there’s a solution somewhere. Did Nash say how long we have until the risks and complications go up due to age?”
“He didn’t have to. I already know.” She let out a frustrated groan. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to work out. I’m s
orry I’m not more organized. I should have had a proper plan.”
This was what her mother had been getting at. This was why Faith wanted Amy to be more like her sister. But Jillian had made mistakes, too, just none this big.
Moe grabbed Amy in a hug, holding her tight. “If you had a proper plan I’d probably ask to have your head checked.” She tried to push out of his arms, but he refused to release her. “You know I’m your friend because I like you just the way you are. Don’t ever change. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d have all the details taken care of. That’s my thing, not yours, and I dropped the ball.”
“Don’t blame yourself.” He’d loosened his hold and she was able to lean back so she could watch his expression.
“We will figure this out. Together.”
“Are you trying to be my rock in the storm?”
“I believe it’s an anchor.” He released her to tap his chin and peer at the ceiling, as though trying to recall his wedding vows.
Amy let out a soft chuckle. “I love you.”
“You always say that when I save the day.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“For the record, I have not yet agreed to have sex with you.”
“You can’t refuse me for long. We live in the same house. All I have to do is walk across the living room in lingerie and you’ll knock me up so fast our children will all grow up to be race car drivers.”
He laughed, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re mighty full of yourself.”
She lifted her palms to the sky, and said, “Your fault. You’ve built up my ego by telling me repeatedly how hot I am.”
“I might just have to knock you up the old-fashioned way so I can enjoy your hotness one or two last times.” He lightly touched her lower back, nudging her aside. She inhaled sharply and arched away as sparks zipped through her. She whirled, hands on the bar behind her, chest out.
What was that?
Sparks. Seriously. Every time.
Why? Why now?
“You could say excuse me,” she said, her voice faint and breathless.
“I could.” He shifted to step past her. She echoed his move, blocking him.