Sex and Key Lime Pie (2 page)

****

A long, restless night at the Peachtree Inn did little to prepare Cheyanne for the day ahead. The sooner she finished her business the sooner she could leave. Her emotions couldn’t take another shock to the heart like yesterday. A long, hot shower and a double shot of espresso boosted her strength for whatever the day brought. At least, she hoped so.

At 11 a.m. Cheyanne parked in front of the Taste of Lisbon restaurant. Another change for the better, she thought, remembering the bland burger place that used to fill the corner lot. A glance at the specials board in front of the small restaurant caused her mouth to water. Sopa De Ameijoas. She hadn’t tasted a good bowl of the Portuguese clam soup since...Isabelle.

Numbness washed over her. When she’d left town nine years ago, she’d only been thinking about her own pain and fear. She hadn’t said goodbye to anyone. Her friends had deserved better.

Was it too late to make amends?

Should she try when she would be staying only two weeks?

Sam needed roots. Changing jobs from year to year had been fine when he was young but now he needed stability and a chance to develop friendships that wouldn’t be torn from him on an annual basis. The position of culinary director for a small California college might not be the most creative way to market her skills, but the school paid good money and health benefits for them both.

After spinning a quarter into the parking meter, she walked inside the small diner. The place had the style and ambiance of a Southern European bistro. Checkered tablecloths and Portuguese seascapes brought to mind some of the picturesque taverns she’d dined in while working abroad. She took a seat at one of the wrought iron tables near the bay window and glanced out over the wharf just across the street.

Fishing trawlers making their return to port during the high tide, floated by. The market was alive with activity as both customers and businesses alike vied for the catch of the day. The familiar sight she had witnessed so many times in the past made her feel like an outsider today.

“Would you like to see a menu, ma’am?” The cheerful voice was as familiar as the view and probably just as lost to her. She turned slowly, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat.

“Izzy?”

“Oh...my...God. Cheyanne!” Isabelle’s shocked words seemed dragged from her. Apparently Luc hadn’t mentioned their meeting last night.

“In the flesh.”

Cheyanne wasn’t sure if surprise or anger brought tears to her dear friend’s eyes. She wouldn’t blame Isabelle for hating her. Her affair with Luc had ended badly. If he believed Cheyanne had deliberately set out to cheat him from his inheritance, his sister probably felt the same. Her sympathies would naturally lie with family.

Isabelle smoothed a hand over her obviously round stomach and shuddered.

“Are you all right?” Cheyanne asked.

“Baby kicked,” she muttered on an exhale. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Cheyanne smiled uncertainly. “Is that bad?”

“It’s a shock. That’s all.” A rainbow of emotions played across Isabelle’s face. From black sorrow to bright white hope, her expressions mirrored Cheyanne’s own kaleidoscope of conflicting sentiments.

“My mother asked me to take care of clearing out the house. She sold it finally.”

Isabelle bowed her head. “I heard that somewhere.”

“The gossip mill still runs smooth.”

“Some things never change.”

“Are friendships among them?” Cheyanne asked softly.

“Did you doubt it?”

A numbing pressure settled in her chest. “I haven’t been a good friend.”

With a warming grin, Isabelle lowered herself into the chair opposite Cheyanne and covered her hand. “You haven’t been a bad one either. Just an absent one who has been missed terribly.”

Cheyanne shot a glance toward a man lingering by the kitchen doors and watching them curiously. He looked vaguely familiar. She didn’t want to cause trouble on her first day back. “Is your boss going to be mad at you?”

“If he is, he’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight. That’s Tony Ortega. You remember him, don’t you? He’s my husband now and partner in this place.”

Cheyanne waved to the man she recalled as the only shy one in a gang of hell raisers.

“It’s a great place.”

“We like it. We’ve been here almost three years. The beauty is that being so close to the industrial area, we make a good living just serving breakfast and lunch shifts. We close up and go home by four for family time. Except during tourist season. It pays to stay open then.”

“Are you expecting your first?” Cheyanne asked.

“Our second. We have a daughter, Alicia. She’ll be eight at the end of the month.”

So Sam had a cousin nearly his own age. Tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed hard. “Congratulations...on both.”

“What about you? I heard you were married. Is your husband with you?”

“I’m a widow.”

Isabelle’s face constricted in sorrow. “I’m so sorry. Your mother never said anything.”

Cheyanne wasn’t surprised. She and her mother had gone through a very strained period in their relationship after Harlan’s death. They had only become close again recently.

“It was a couple of years ago.” Although theirs had been a marriage in name only, Pierre had been a good friend. He helped her through a very difficult time and for that, she would always be grateful.

“Our tenth high school reunion is next week. The dinner is at the Yacht Club. You have to go.”

A high school reunion. Just the thought made her feel old. “I don’t know.”

“It will be a hoot to see everyone.”

She didn’t share her friend’s optimism. How welcome would she be?

Isabelle spent the next hour trying to convince Cheyanne to come, by filling her in on the lives and loves of the Class of 2000. Over a bowl of delicious soup and a loaf of crusty fresh bread, nine years of history melted away. Cheyanne discovered who was married to whom and fooling around with whom. Who moved away, who returned home. They talked about everyone and everything.

Almost.

“You’re not going to ask about my brother, are you?” Isabelle asked.

“No.” After seeing his attitude toward her at their last meeting, the fewer personal specifics she knew about Luc, the better for her peace of mind. “You’re bound to run into him while you’re here.”

“It’s between us and I don’t want you in the middle again.”

“Fair enough,” Isabelle conceded. “But I’m not going to let you avoid me. We’re having a big Summer Solstice clam bake at Hollow Point Beach tomorrow. Your presence is requested.”

“I appreciate the offer...” Cheyanne might not be able to avoid Lucien Alessandro, but she didn’t have to seek him out either. No, she wasn’t anxious to renew that relationship. It had taken her too long to get over him the first time.

“Luc isn’t coming. He has a business function to attend in Providence,” Isabelle said.

Damn! Were her feelings still so transparent where Luc was concerned? She knew Luc ran several successful enterprises now. He was a busy man. With luck and timing, she might be able to steer clear of him for her remaining time in the Cove. “It’s a date then.”

****

Every morning before work Luc stopped for breakfast in his sister’s restaurant. He almost skipped today and he wished now that he had. After several sleepless nights, he needed strong coffee and peace and quiet. Unfortunately, his sister, in an annoyingly cheerful mood, felt the need to engage in mindless conversation. With all the customers in the place, why did she have to join him in his little corner booth?

Isabelle rapped her knuckles against the table to get his attention. “Luc, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I’m listening,” he said while never glancing away from his Wall Street Journal. Manufacturing stocks were up and that was good news for him. Somehow, it didn’t seem important today.

“What did I just say?” she asked.

He gulped down the coffee, intent on getting as much caffeine in him as possible. “You were talking about the clam bake, which I already told you I couldn’t make.”

“I was talking about Alicia’s birthday party at the end of next month.”

“Which I will make,” he grumbled.

“I should hope so. She is your niece and she adores you. You can’t keep skipping out on every family function.”

He looked up from his paper. “Is that all?”

“You’re in a crappy mood. I wonder why.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then rested her hand on her round stomach. He wasn’t up for a lecture, but he’d learned the last time not to argue with a pregnant woman. Not unless he wanted a scene in a public place.

“I suppose you know your friend is in town. Did she tell you we ran into each other?”

“I wish she had. But I had a suspicion since your normally charming personality is so much more personable today.”

His glare of anger that worked so well on his employees had no effect on her. “I don’t know why I bother eating here.”

“Because it’s free?” she queried. “Or is it because none of your bimbos know how to cook?”

He wouldn’t know if they could cook. He never brought one to his home, and he never stuck around for breakfast. It was less complicated and less awkward. Even those affairs occurred less often than his sister seemed to think. “When did you become such a pain in the ass?”

“When I was eight and I started hanging around with Cheyanne. Are you only noticing now?”

He had no wish to discuss the past with his well meaning, if interfering, sister. “I have to get to the office.”

“Funny how the conversation turns to Cheyanne and you run away. I wonder why.”

“I didn’t realize we were talking about her.”

“Right!” Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. “She’s here to empty the house for Rita before you tear it down.”

His muscles tensed. Her words sounded like an accusation.

Did she believe he had anything other than business reasons for buying the property? He figured she would show up for the closing but it had nothing to do with his decision to buy the estate. “That was big of her. I bet she’s hoping there are a few valuable paintings left that she can get her hands on.”

Isabelle leveled him a stony glare. “She’s my friend. If you’re going to be obnoxious, do it out of earshot please.”

“A friend who didn’t bother to let you know she was alive in the past nine years.”

“Gee, Luc. I wonder why she felt she couldn’t come to me.” Her words vibrated with anger and sarcasm.

His little sister had a big chip on her shoulder. He didn’t realize Isabelle still harbored resentment over the past. It had only taken Cheyanne one day back in town to stir up trouble.

“There’s no statute of limitation on friendship,” Isabelle continued. “What do you care anyway?” “Who says I care?”

Isabelle arched her eyebrow. “So, I guess I won’t have to worry about you making trouble for her while she’s here. You can just steer clear of her.”

Oh, he would steer clear. His sister could bank on that. He had some principles and one was to avoid married women. He liked his relationships uncomplicated and unemotional, no strings attached. He wasn’t looking for a blast from the past, no matter how physically satisfying that past happened to be.

“You worry too much. It’s not good for the baby.” “I worry about you too, Luc. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

“No worry there.” Cheyanne no longer had the power to hurt him. His life was just where he wanted it now. In fact, he had done just fine without her.

He’d been bitter over the fact that his father left everything to Cheyanne and admittedly, he’d taken that anger out on her. But hell, he’d gone after her to apologize when he had finally gotten his head straightened out only to discover she had married and left the country. Apparently, six months was the statute of limitations on lovers.

Isabelle shook her head. “Forget I said anything. I have to start making the salads for the clam bake.” She took his breakfast plate and silverware and slid out of the booth. “It’s just as well you can’t make it. I invited Cheyanne and it’s better if you two aren’t anywhere near each other while she’s here.”

Luc groaned. She went looking for him, not the other way around. He didn’t trespass on her private property. He didn’t need to. In another two weeks, her property would be his. “Maybe you should have this conversation with her instead. She’s the one who’s married.”

“She’s not married. She’s a widow. Does that make you happy?”

Her sharp question sliced his conscience. He might be the cold-hearted bastard everyone believed, but he’d never taken comfort in another person’s death. Not even his father’s. “Should it?”

“I don’t know. I hope to God it doesn’t. But when it comes to your obsession with Cheyanne, or anything Waitley, I don’t know you anymore.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, so he bit back a retort. He never set out to destroy the Waitley name, but if he could help a family member financially to buy out one of Harlan’s failing businesses, he was happy to make an investment. He figured he owed that much to the people here, many of who had worked for him at minimum wage while he and Miguel got the factory into the black.