He's the One (16 page)

“Nothing much going on in my life at the moment,” Brad said. He released her and returned
to his stool. “Let me think about your offer over a second cup of coffee.”

Violet gave him a refill. She listened as Molly and Brad spoke a moment longer. Her
aunt had always been fond of him. She saw him as a good guy and a hard worker.

Molly had no idea he used to jump Vi’s bones whenever she left to make a bank deposit
in the middle of the afternoon. Fifteen minutes was the perfect window for a quickie
in the storeroom. Their nightly sex stretched for hours. Brad had been insatiable.

The bank bag in her hand, Molly was headed for the door that very minute. Violet’s
pulse picked up and her stomach fluttered. Memories of his mouth, hands, and cock
stroked her like foreplay. Her face flushed and her nipples hardened. Her bikini panties
felt too tight.

She was afraid to look at Brad; afraid he’d notice how mere thoughts of him still
turned her on. Her body was heated and humming. She could barely catch her breath.

“I’m off,” Molly finally said, clutching the bank bag to her ample bosom. “It should
be fairly quiet while I’m gone. The local coffee crowd will be trickling in around
four, and a few will order pie. I have two peach pies and one apple baking in the
oven. Listen for the timer, Violet. It should go off in ten or eleven minutes.” Then
she left.

The click of the door sounded loud in the silence. But not as loud as Violet’s heart
thumping in her chest. It wasn’t often the diner stood empty and sexual opportunity
knocked. She practiced self-control. Biting down on her bottom lip, she glanced through
the wide set of windows that faced the southwest Florida beach.

Her hometown had once been divided by a century-old feud, but the conflict between
its two founding families had recently been resolved. Still, there were considerable
differences in the two sides of the boardwalk, separated by Center Street.

The Cates northern cement boardwalk linked to a wooden pier that catered to fishermen,
sun worshippers, water sports enthusiasts, and tourists who didn’t wear a watch on
vacation.

Amusement arcades and carnival rides drew large crowds. The specialty shops sold everything
from Florida T-shirts, ice cream, and sunglasses, to sharks’ teeth, shells, and hula
hoops.

A vintage carousel whirled within a weatherproof enclosure. Its wall of windows overlooked
the Gulf. The whirr of the Ferris wheel was soothing, while the swing ride that whipped
out and over the waves sent pulses racing.

Barefoot William was as honky-tonk as Saunders Shores was high-end. Couture, gourmet
dining, and a five-star hotel claimed the southern boundaries. Yachts the size of
cruise ships lined the waterways. Private airstrips replaced commercial travel. The
wealthy were a community unto themselves. The Saunders boardwalk was too rich for
Violet’s blood.

She preferred the warmth and wholesomeness of Barefoot William. She wished there was
a career opportunity for her here. However, all the storefronts were rented. The Cateses
owned and operated each one. The shops were handed down over generations.

Violet’s parents had chosen to work at city hall instead of the boardwalk. Her mother
was the mayor’s secretary and her father did maintenance. They budgeted, took a yearly
vacation, and lived a frugal lifestyle.

Vi had started working for her aunt when she was sixteen, but over the years, she’d
slowly outgrown the diner. She desperately wanted to be her own boss.

Her stomach sank at the thought of how long it would take her to achieve her goal.
Someday, she promised herself. Someday . . .

“Vi?” Brad nudged into her thoughts. “You look sad, babe. Want to talk about it? I’m
a good listener.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do.”

“I can check on the pies,” he offered. He grabbed his duffel bag and pushed off the
stool. “Molly would kill us both if the crusts burned.”

“That she would,” she agreed, grateful for his concern.

He held the kitchen door for her. As she walked past him, her shoulder brushed his
chest and her hip bumped his thigh. He flattened his palm on her lower back. His fingers
tipped the upper curve of her bottom.

That did it. Apprehension marked her steps as their history surrounded her now, drawing
her back to what they’d once had together. The storeroom stood off to the right. The
door was closed to the orgasmic moans of her past.

Were Brad’s memories as vivid as her own? Violet felt suddenly shy. And very nervous.
Her confidence failed her. She’d always wanted to see Brad again, yet five years stretched
between them. Could they pick up where they’d once left off? She wished she were twenty-four
again.

She watched as he tossed his bag in the corner by the dishwasher, then checked out
the kitchen. “Lots of updates,” he noted, nodding his approval. “The grill I used
to cook on had a slant. This one’s brandnew.”

“Repairs were eating up Molly’s profits,” Vi said. “She decided new equipment was
the best investment.”

“Smart lady.” The timer buzzed. “Oven mitts?” he asked her, moving toward the commercial
stove.

She pointed to the second shelf. “Between the colander and tongs.”

He removed the pies and set them on a metal cooling rack. The scents of warm peaches
and apples crooked like a beckoning finger. Removing the mitts, he located a knife
and spatula and snuck a thin slice of peach. He motioned to Vi to take a bite.

She blew to cool it, then pinched off a piece with her fingers. There was nothing
better than warm, out-of-the-oven peach pie.

Brad eyed her mouth. “Crumbs at the corner,” he said.

Time stilled, along with her heart. She waited a second too long for him to kiss them
away or brush them off. He made no move to do so. She was embarrassed by her need
to have him touch her, even lightly.

She turned toward the polished stainless steel of the refrigerator. Staring at her
reflection, she swiped at the specks with her palm. Brad came to stand behind her.
He was a man of dark good looks and impressive height. They stood in silence, anticipating,
evaluating, and thoughtful.

“Relax, babe,” he finally said. He wrapped his arms about her waist and drew her to
him, gently at first, until she pressed against him. He rested his chin on the top
of her head. “I remember the old days, too. I can still see us in the storeroom, naked
and so close. I can hear your breathing against my neck, feel you bite my shoulder.”

She remembered the arch of his back and the rock of his hips. The way he slid inside
her. She leaned back then, closing what little space remained between them. Her spine
curved fully against his chest. Her round bottom pushed against his thighs. He tightened
his hold as if he planned to never let her go.

“Your body’s talking to mine, Violet,” he said. “You’re getting hot and going soft.
You just sighed for me.”

That she had. There was familiarity in his touch, in the steadiness of his breathing.
In the male power of his stance. In the swell of his sex. Desire rekindled their past.
She let go and lived their present. She tilted her head and raised her chin, seeking
his mouth with her own.

Chapter Two

T
he diner wasn’t the ideal place for his homecoming kiss, Brad Davis thought, but he
could never deny Violet anything. Sex was waiting to happen. Yet all he could give
her at that moment was a kiss. He hated to start what he wouldn’t be able to finish.

His pulse picked up as he looked down on her face. Damn, she was beautiful. Her eyelids
were shuttered, her light brown lashes long. Her blond ponytail shadowed one cheek.
Her lips were inviting, full and generous. The flick of her tongue aroused him.

He put his forefinger and thumb under her chin and tilted her head back farther. Their
past emerged with a hungry need and embraced them both. His mind shut down as his
body turned on. The light brush of her lips made him instantly stiff. Her mouth was
sweet and yielding. What started as a short kiss lasted a good long while.

Never breaking their kiss, he slowly turned her to face him. She wound her arms about
his neck and went smooth against him. The softness of her breasts pushed into his
chest. His erection settled between the V of her thighs. His hands slid up her sides
to cup her full breasts. His thumbs rubbed across her nipples, drawing them to points.

He kept going, in spite of himself.

He scrolled his knuckles down her ribs, then circled her navel. He went on to caress
her lower spine, her bottom, the crease of her ass through her short cotton skirt.
The skirt bunched high on her thighs. He stroked the smooth, tan backs of her bare
legs.

His libido was hyped, and he had the wild urge to walk her backward toward the storeroom,
to open the door and slip inside. To take her with the passion of a man long without
his woman.

It was not to be. Reality soon separated them. He drew back and exhaled his frustration.
Violet looked dazed, confused. Flushed. He wanted to go on, reconnect with her sexually,
but their timing was off. Molly could return at any minute. Locals would soon cluster
for their daily chat and slice of afternoon pie. The last thing he wanted was for
Molly to catch them in the act. He held great respect for both Violet and her aunt.

That didn’t make the situation any easier. He had to face the facts. He and Vi were
older now. Lives changed in five years. The days of their slipping into the back room
for sex had passed. The next time they went horizontal it would be on a big, comfortable
bed. He wondered if she had her own home or if she still lived with her parents.

He thought back to the day he’d left town. He’d packed their goals and dreams in his
heart and driven off in his Chevy. Now, returning on a summer day in mid-July, he
looked much the same as when he’d left, scruffy and broke. He wore clothes from his
laundry basket and his high school sneakers. He’d saved the Nikes. They reminded him
of his roots. Something he vowed never to forget.

He hoped with all his heart that Violet would accept him as he was. He hadn’t changed
all that much.

The back door suddenly slammed and a burly man in a white T-shirt, camouflage pants,
and black army boots walked into the kitchen. He nodded to Violet and raised an eyebrow
at Brad.

“Joe, this is Brad,” Vi said, introducing the two men. “Brad was the short-order cook
before you.”

Joe ran one hand over his buzz cut and frowned. “The same Brad who broke your heart?”
His tone was blunt, rough, and protective. Brad wasn’t jealous. The man was old enough
to be her father.

Color rose in Violet’s cheeks. “One and the same.”

Brad’s chest clenched. He’d thought Vi understood the importance of his leaving town,
his need to make something of himself. To hear how much he’d hurt her from a stranger
was a punch to his gut.

“I’m back,” he finally said.

“Staying or passing through?” asked Joe. He widened his stance, crossed his arms over
his chest. A
Fry It
tattoo was revealed beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’m here to cover your two-week vacation,” Brad decided on the spot. He couldn’t
help noticing that Violet appeared relieved. “Afterward, we’ll see.” He and Vi had
a lot of catching up to do. He refused to disclose his future plans to a man he’d
just met.

“Don’t commit to more than two weeks,” Joe stated, cracking his knuckles. “I like
working here.”

“Brad’s a placeholder until you return from Las Vegas,” Molly clarified as she swung
through the kitchen doors. “The menu hasn’t changed much. Brad knows the ropes and
can pick up where he left off.”

Joe gave Brad a man-to-man look, one that openly asked if Brad would be starting up
with Violet as well. Brad had no reason to respond to the older man, yet something
inside him wanted to reassure Joe that he wasn’t out to hurt Violet a second time.
“Barefoot William is my home,” he said firmly.

Joe gave him a brief nod before heading to the storeroom. He cracked the door, took
two fresh aprons off a hook, and tossed one to Brad. “Suit up,” he said. “We’ll work
the dinner rush together, if that’s okay with Molly.”

“Fine by me,” Molly agreed, smiling.

“The coffee crowd’s coming through the door,” Joe said. “I’ll start setting up for
the dinner rush.”

Brad watched as Violet adjusted her ponytail and straightened her shirt. She bent
to retie the lace on her tennis shoe, giving him a view he couldn’t resist. He admired
the curve of her slender shoulders and sweet ass. She had great legs.

Vi glanced at him on her way to the dining room. Her green eyes warmed and a sexy
smile tipped her lips. She wanted him. Brad’s balls tightened. Tonight couldn’t come
soon enough.

The dinner hour passed in a flourish of orders. The waiting line grew so long it stretched
half a block. No one seemed to mind. The boardwalk entertainers were out in full force.
The unicycle troupe, stilt walkers, and mimes left the customers laughing and applauding.

Polka music from the carousel danced in with each opening and closing of the front
door. Families with kids and lone surfers crowded the counter, tables, and booths.
The customers brought their smiles and high spirits to dinner.

Service ran until eight
P.M.
That’s when Molly turned the sign on the door from
OPEN
to
CLOSED
. The shift wrapped up with a clearing of tables and thorough cleaning of the kitchen.

Joe shook Brad’s hand on his way out. “You’re a hard worker. I’m leaving the diner
in good hands.” He was gone.

“What’s his story?” Brad asked Violet when she passed through the swinging doors.

She untied her short apron and tossed it into the laundry bag. “He’s retired army.
He worked in the mess hall. He’s divorced, but never talks about his ex. No kids.
He showed up one morning when we were short of help. Molly had burned her hand on
the stove after our cook Kevin went home sick. Joe walked into the kitchen and started
filling orders. He saved the day and stayed on. He lives in a trailer south of town.”

Vi glanced toward the office, where Molly counted the receipts. “I think Joe’s got
a soft spot for Molly,” she whispered. “He brings her flowers every Friday.”

“Your aunt doesn’t have much of a social life,” said Brad. “She’s married to the diner.”

“I’ll be committed to my restaurant, too,” said Violet, chin up, “once the stars align
and fortune falls in my lap.”

He believed her, too. He could see it in her eyes; she was determined and filled with
faith in her ability. All she needed was start-up capital. Life was all about timing.
Her success was inevitable. “What now?” he asked.

“I walk home, take a shower, and change clothes,” she said. “What’s your situation?
Do you have a car, a place to stay?”

“I rode in on the bus,” he told her.

“Care to come home with me?” she invited.

He nodded. “Let me grab my duffel bag.”

“I’ll get my purse.”

Molly stuck her head out of the office door. “Have a good day off tomorrow,” she called
to them. “See you bright and early on Thursday.”

“Is bright and early still five
A.M.
?” Brad asked Vi as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“We’ll be serving breakfast before the sun rises.”

He didn’t shun hard work. He was looking forward to renewing old customer acquaintances.
He was damn glad to be home.

Brad curved his arm over Violet’s shoulders as they strolled along Center Street.
He liked walking beside her. The soft outer swell of her breast brushed his chest.
They bumped hips and thighs. The scent of food traveled with them.

He drew in a breath, then said, “You smell like coffee and blueberry pie.”

“I’m sniffing French fries on you, big guy.”

He hugged her even closer. “Do you have a car?” he asked.

She stiffened. “Cars cost money,” she said. “I only live four blocks from the diner.
I don’t mind walking. Molly picks me up on rainy days.”

Brad’s jaw set. She didn’t have a car. He bet her sister had one, even if it was a
junker. He couldn’t fault Vi for being a giver, but Lydia would take and take until
Violet had no more to lend.

He would buy Violet a vehicle of her choice someday when she stepped back and made
Lydia stand on her own two feet. He was a patient man.

Looking around him now, he noted that they’d crossed into Olde Barefoot William, where
the majority of the Cateses lived. The streets were quiet and the old Florida-style
cottages were quaint. The homes were shingled and shuttered with wide porches. They’d
withstood hurricanes and time. The homes were handed down through generations. Here
lay the inner circle.

Enormous evergreens lined the narrow two-lane road. The late-afternoon sun winked
between the branches. Ancient moss hung from the boughs. The scents of hibiscus and
plumeria were heavy on the air. Sprinklers whirred as homeowners watered their lawns.

“South on Seashell,” Violet directed, pointing left.

They turned the corner and stopped midblock. Her cottage was the smallest on the street.
Painted green with white shutters and narrow window boxes, her house blended with
the flowers and the foliage. Magnificent Queen Palms formed crescent arcs on both
sides of the house. Red rosebushes lined the brick path that led to her front porch.

Brad followed her to the door. “How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“Three years,” she said, fitting the key into the lock. “It was a Cates family hand-me-down
from my great-uncle Thomas. He retired from the post office, bought a camper, and
took off for Colorado. He prefers the mountains to the beach.”

Vi bumped the door with her hip and he came in behind her. She sidestepped a small
pink tricycle. He nearly tripped over a plastic water gun that had leaked onto the
floor.

“Lydia and her kids stopped by while I was at work,” she said. Her voice was flat.

They’d left one hell of a mess, Brad noted. “They came, they played, they didn’t clean
up.”

Violet sighed. “They never do.”

“Where does your sister live?” he asked. Vi’s cottage wasn’t very big. He figured
two bedrooms at the most. There wasn’t enough room for four more people. They’d be
walking into walls.

“She lives boyfriend to boyfriend,” she told him. “Lydia’s staying with her latest,
as far as I know. His name is Mark. He’s a mechanic and a decent guy. She gets bored
during the day and often drops by. My cottage is her day care center.”

He caught her eye and she read his look. “Vi . . .”

“I know, I know,” she said, making excuses. “Changes are coming soon.”

They walked into the living room and Brad swore a tornado had hit the place. Hundreds
of Legos were strewn across the blue and beige diamond-patterned carpet. Board games
sat upended. The playing cards from Candyland lay amid a rifled deck of Uno. The plastic
body parts of Operation were mixed with the Hungry Hungry Hippos. A dollhouse had
fallen over. The roof was cracked.

A Teddy bear held a toy camera in the corner. A dozen wooden soldiers surrounded the
stuffed animal, as if holding him hostage. The TV had been left on, and Big Bird waved
from
Sesame Street
.

A glass of orange juice had tipped over on a side table and the juice dripped onto
the couch, sticky and staining a cushion. The remains of a peanut butter sandwich
smeared the glass coffee table. Graham cracker crumbs were as thick as sand.

“Sorry about this,” Violet apologized. “Why don’t you take a shower while I clean
up?”

He had a better suggestion. “How about we both straighten the place and shower together?”
He tossed his duffel bag back into the hallway. “Where can I find garbage bags, paper
towels, and a sponge?”

She set down her purse on top of the television and came to him, her expression soft.
“Thank you.”

He drew her to him, held her close. “I’d do anything for you, Violet, even vacuum.”

“I’m in your debt. I’ll repay you in the shower.” She smiled suggestively.

His body stirred at the thought. He set her gently from him. They had a mess to clean
up. The faster they scrubbed and straightened, the sooner they’d have sex.

He worked like Mr. Clean. Thirty minutes later, the living room was spotless. There
was a minor mess in the kitchen; together they loaded the dishwasher and wiped down
the counters.

“All done,” he said, drying his hands on a dish towel.

“That’s what you think,” said Vi as she turned on the dishwasher and crossed to him.
“We’re just getting started.”

His gaze was hot. “I haven’t even put my mouth on you, and I’m betting you’re wet.”

“I’m betting you’re hard.”

His dimple flashed. “See for yourself.”

She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, flicked the snap with her
thumb. She lowered his zipper and reached inside the Y-front fly of his navy Jockeys.
Her tender touch set him on fire. He came alive for her. She led him to the shower,
and not by the hand.