Back to the Good Fortune Diner (26 page)

He interrupted her nervous ramblings. “I meant with Chris.”

Her expression shuttered briefly, but she brightened her smile, turning up the dimmer switch to full. “You don’t need to worry about me, big brother. We have an understanding.”

“Are you sure about that?” At her narrowed look, he said, “Look, Chris is my friend, and his ex really screwed him and Simon up. I don’t want to see you doing the same to them.”

She grabbed a dish towel and started wiping the already pristine counter once more. “I’m not going to screw them up. Chris and I are adults. And it’s none of your business what we do together.”

His jaw clenched. “You still planning on going back to New York?”

“Of course I am.”

“And are you planning on a long-distance relationship with Chris?”

She darted a guilty look at him. “I don’t see why you’re so worried. There’s nothing serious going on.” She took off her apron and folded it precisely.

Tiffany was not the sort to have a fling. Daniel was sure that hadn’t changed in the fifteen years she’d been away. She thought she could get away scot-free without hurting anyone, but he knew better. She’d harbored this crush for nearly two decades. She put up a good front, but she was about as emotionally resilient as a jelly bean. It was plain to him his sister was in love.

It wasn’t his place to judge or say anything, though. He had his own issues to work out, and was hardly qualified to tell her what not to do. All he could hope for was the best, and that his sister would be able to pick herself up after things went south.

“Listen.” He stopped her before she left and lowered his voice. “I have something to tell you. I’m going away for a while. I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet, but I thought you should know first.”

“Going away? Where? You just got back.”

“I don’t know.” He’d come to this decision after returning from New York. He’d actually stayed an extra day to see if there were any jobs open for a guy with an MBA and an honorary master’s in slaving over a hot stove. But his job search had turned up nothing. He’d known the impulse had been sheer insanity based on his desire to be near Selena. But as soon as he realized that, he knew he had to get away, forget her, forget anything they’d ever shared. Until he figured out who he was, found his worth as a man on his own, he couldn’t call on her ever again. “I’m going to need my car back, in any case.”

“Wait...what?”

“I’ll give you a loan to pay for the repairs to your car,” he said placatingly. “You can pay me back later.”

She balked, searching him for answers. She didn’t look happy. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as your car is out of the shop. I know Frank’s been working on it, so it’ll probably be sometime this week. I’ve already paid him for the work, so don’t bother refusing.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? How long will you be gone?” Worry crowded her brow.

“I don’t know.”

She groaned. “Mom and Dad are going to flip out.”

He nodded. They’d be mad, of course, and he’d have to leave right away or risk getting trapped by guilt and duty.
Poh-poh
would be the hardest to tell—she would probably cry and beg him to stay. He could never say no to his grandmother.

“I have to go. I need to find myself, figure out who I am, where I fit in this world.”

Her expression blanked. She was probably trying to decide whether to be outraged or frightened, or perhaps even understanding. It hadn’t been an easy decision. She’d told him about how much their parents had fought while he’d been away. But he couldn’t be their referee for the rest of his life. He’d already stayed too long.

* * *

T
IFFANY GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL HARD
, wishing for once that the drive to Chris’s was longer.

Thoughts ran circles through her brain. Daniel was leaving. Her brother was fleeing the nest, abandoning her here alone to fend for herself against her parents....

No, that wasn’t what was really bothering her. This identity crisis had come about because of what she’d said. He’d been depressed since he’d returned from New York, and Tiffany was sure it was about Selena. She kicked herself for ever doubting his feelings and questioning his suitability. As strong-willed as he was, his self-confidence was surprisingly fragile. She’d acted like a superior bitch, and it was eating her from the inside out.

She thought about what he’d said about hurting Chris’s feelings, but didn’t want to dwell on why his remarks had bothered her. She and Chris had had great sex, but that was it. He knew she wasn’t going to stay in Everville. A summer tryst was all they could ever have. And it wasn’t as though he could live up to fifteen years of daydreams and fantasies. The scorching heat between them would flare and burn out quickly. Once they were out of each other’s systems, they’d go back to their regular lives. An extended commitment would only suffocate them both.

They were already getting too comfy with each other as it was. She’d tried to limit her exposure, but the more she pulled away, the more she pined for him. If she didn’t seek him out, he would find her. And he’d get her to follow him on some pretense to the barn, shed, greenhouse, tack room or whichever building was unoccupied. Then he’d quietly close the door, press her up against the wall and kiss her until her knees turned to butter.

It’s just a fling.
She repeated the cold mantra quietly even as warmth rushed between her legs.
All good flings must come to an end.

The most dangerous thing was that part of her wished it could last. Chris was everything she’d always wanted in a man—strong but gentle, playful, and hot as hell. But she couldn’t imagine a life here with him. The farm, his son, his father—none of that had ever figured in the life she’d pictured for herself. Her career—everything she’d studied for and worked for and sacrificed for—was going to be in the city. New York was the center of the publishing world, and the path to becoming an editor began and ended there. After all her hard work, she wasn’t willing to settle for anything less. She wouldn’t sacrifice her dreams to become a farmer’s wife.

When she pulled up, Chris was waiting for her on the porch. He stood in one smooth motion, a lazy, suggestive smile on his face. All thoughts of Daniel and New York and the future fled as he strolled up to her car.

“Hey,” he said as she got out. He slipped his callused hand over hers surreptitiously and squeezed. By silent agreement, they’d kept their relationship under wraps, which meant no public displays of affection. Even so, the space between them was kept at a minimum. “You’re here early.”

“And you were waiting. Don’t you have a cow to milk or something?” she teased.

He moved closer, backing her up against the door, and his hips brushed against hers. “Something needs milking, all right.” He lowered his mouth to her ear. “My father’s out at a doctor’s appointment. He’ll be gone all afternoon.”

A shiver of pleasure rippled over her skin as he trailed his fingertips up her arm, and she remembered the erotic way he’d licked the gravy off her. Without another word, he turned toward the house, and she followed like a besotted puppy dog.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
N THE HOUSE
, Chris pulled her into his arms and kissed her as if he hadn’t seen her in months. He cupped her bottom, the same way he had at the swimming hole. She obligingly wrapped her legs around his hips, pressing the center of her need against his rock-hard heat. She flung her purse onto the dining-room table as he carried her up the stairs and into the bedroom, where he laid her on the bed. They wriggled out of their clothes quickly. With her naked skin sliding between the smooth, cool bedsheets and Chris’s hot, hard body, she felt absolutely hedonistic.

She didn’t question the rightness of the way he made love to her. He wasn’t frantic or hurried in his ministrations, but the intensity in his kisses and caresses and long, hard strokes kept her riding the brittle edge between pleasure and ecstasy. The bed was soft and smelled faintly of sandalwood. The way the room glowed, as the afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, reminded her of a sepia-toned snapshot and made her long for more stolen moments like this. She closed her eyes to relish the delicious sensation of him moving over and inside her, clutching him close as they found their pleasure together. When they finally came, she whispered a secret wish to the sky, letting her heart soar with it.

Blood thrumming, she lay in his arms, head resting against his slightly damp chest. She listened to the hard drum of his heart slow to a strong, steady beat. He stroked her hair absently. Neither of them spoke as their breathing evened out. Normally, she wasn’t into the sticky business of cuddling, and had never really enjoyed her previous partners’ heavy limbs trapping her in bed. But Chris was different. He held her as though she were precious.

She must have drifted off because all of a sudden, her eyes snapped open. Something had woken her. She sat up, disoriented.

“What time is it?” She nudged Chris as she fumbled for her panties.

He stirred and groped for the alarm clock on the nightstand. His hair was sticking out in all directions. “Almost four. Damn.” He levered up and dragged his hands over his face. “I was hoping to get one more go in before Simon came home.” He peeked up over his fingers with a smile.

It was meant to be a joke, but his words niggled. This had been a pleasant afternoon diversion—it was what she’d wanted and all she could expect. She shouldn’t get huffy because she was a booty call.

“I’m going to clean up and head downstairs,” she said. “Take your time in here.”

In minutes, she’d dressed and brushed her hair out and retied it into a tidy, efficient ponytail. Her makeup was in her purse downstairs. She needed to touch up the lip gloss Chris had kissed off. She probably wouldn’t need much else, though. She was rosy cheeked and bright-eyed, and a nice healthy glow radiated from her normally pale skin. Sex was the best makeover, it seemed. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything about the stubble burn on her neck, and she didn’t have time to shower and get Chris’s earthy musk off her skin. She’d have to take those little souvenirs home and hope no one noticed.

She grinned to herself as she headed down to the dining room, but at the foot of the stairs she stopped cold.

Simon sat in the kitchen, a can of soda in hand. He took her in from head to toe, and Tiffany knew by the glimmer in his eyes that she was well and truly busted.

“Hey,” he greeted her, not taking his dark eyes off her as he took a long swig of his soda. His expression was unreadable, neither disappointed, happy or even speculative.

“When did you get home?” she asked, folding her hands in front of her to keep from tugging on her suddenly too-tight collar. “I was...in the bathroom. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Half an hour ago. I got a ride home from a friend’s mom.”

“Oh.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Sorry. If I’d known you were here early—”

“Hey, Dad,” Simon greeted over her shoulder.

She turned to face Chris, who’d halted halfway down the stairs. With his bare feet and sexily mussed hair, it was pretty clear he hadn’t been working in the fields. Chagrined, she watched him slowly descend the rest of the way.

“Hey, Simon. How was school?” How he could sound so casual she had no idea.

“All right,” Simon returned with equal coolness.

“I was just saying if I’d known he was home early that I would have been waiting for him down here instead of looking at the bathroom.” Tiffany cringed. God, she
was
a terrible liar.

Chris nodded. “Yeah...I was thinking of renovating it. Getting some new tile in. You know. She’s got a good eye for color, being a painter and all. Did you know that about her?”

“Sure, Dad,” Simon said, and downed the rest of his cola. As he got up to pitch the can in the recycling bin, he nodded at his father. “Your T-shirt’s inside out.”

* * *

L
ATER THAT EVENING
, Chris sat through dinner, feeling like he was sitting on a very high and narrow stool. The gravy-laden steak and mashed potatoes his father had prepared tasted like cardboard. He was nervous, though why that was, he couldn’t say. He was a grown man, after all, and whatever questions his father and son had, he could deal with them. Dad and Simon were both watching him surreptitiously, glancing up now and again as if trying to work up the courage to say something. He wondered what his son had told his father.

He spooned out the pool of oil sitting in the caldera of his mashed potato volcano. “How much butter did you use, Dad? I thought the doctor said you were supposed to cut down on fatty foods.”

“But I’m eating greens now, see?” He scooped up a forkful of peas dripping with yet more butter. “Nothing’s wrong with a little butter.”

“You know, Grandpa, I bet Tiffany would know of some healthy ways to cook vegetables,” Simon suggested.

“I’m not fond of their food,” he said. “Pardon me. Her food. Chinese food. You know I only ever go there for the Friday lasagna special.”

“Well, her grandmother is over seventy and she’s really healthy. I bet I could get Tiffany to give us some recipes for bok choy.”

William grumbled, belligerently shoveling more peas into his mouth.

“Actually,” Simon went on, “I was thinking about getting a job at the Cheungs’ diner once summer school’s over.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You were?”

“I was talking to Theo, who’s in my class. His sister Cindy works there as a waitress, and she said they needed someone to help with kitchen duties and stuff. I asked Tiffany about it, too, and she said she’d talk to her parents. She told me they were okay with it, so I phoned and asked Mrs. Cheung.”

“I don’t know, Simon....” He eyed the fresh bandages taped around his arm. Simon tugged his sleeve to cover it.

“Dad, it’s fine. They’ll train me and stuff. This was a stupid mistake and I won’t make it again.”

For whatever reason, Chris looked to his own father for guidance. William only shrugged in response. “How are you going to get to work? You don’t drive.”