Sweetest Temptations (12 page)

“Of course I miss him, but that’s not why I asked you over.” She focused her shrewd eyes on me, and I shrugged. “Okay, so maybe that had a little something to do with it. But really, I asked you over so we could spend some time together. You’re the first person I thought of. That has to count for something, right?”

“I was the first?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, okay. I’ll let you off the hook
this
time,” she said, pouting a little. “But only if you tell me everything about this guy. I didn’t get nearly enough information at dinner.”

So I told her everything, starting with dinner at my sister’s and ending with our departure the day before, leaving out some key moments that were none of her business. Hope was a hopeless romantic, cooing and swooning all over the place. “You two are perfect for each other. When can I start planning the wedding?”

“We’re not getting married,” I laughed. “This is just a really nice courtship between a man and a woman who are very attracted to one another.”

“But you might get married.”

“I never say never,” I said noncommittally.

“So, say that you do, wouldn’t it be awesome if you already had everything planned out?”

“I’m sure it would be, but I’m not getting into that.” Heaving myself off the couch, I headed to the kitchen to get the gallon of milk.

As I made my way back into the room, I saw that her excitement had visibly dimmed. “Party pooper.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said as I refilled our glasses, “if Kennedy pops the question, and I say yes, I’ll hand over the wedding details to you.” I was confident in saying this because it was never going to happen. But if, by some stroke of luck, it did, I was so screwed. Hope’s obsession with country music and lacey fabrics would be my ruin.

“What do you say we watch something else now?”

“Sure, what are you in the mood for?” Picking the remote from between the cushions, I started scanning again.

“
Cake Boss
. It’s never too early to start thinking about designs.” She winked at me, and I rolled my eyes as I pulled up the show.

As the contestants competed for best design, I found myself thinking of a multi-tiered cake covered in white frosting and me and Kennedy holding hands as we made the first slice before our family and friends. I realized, despite Hope’s neurotic tendencies, she was a really good friend.

“Hope,” I said, keeping my eyes fastened on the television.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you didn’t get eaten tonight.”

“Me, too, Abbs. Me, too.”

16

The next month passed by quickly. Kennedy and I had fallen into a routine. When he was off work, he spent his time with me. Most of that time was spent together hanging out at my apartment or his, with each of us storing a few changes of clothes and personal items in each other’s closets in order to save the time and hassle of having to pack a bag. For the days that we spent at his place, Kennedy made certain that Wilber had his own litter box and food bowl there waiting for him so he wouldn’t have to be left behind. He even bought him some fun toys to play with, which made me happy, because the two were getting along remarkably well. In fact, they were getting along so well, I was beginning to wonder if Wilber would even notice if I suddenly dropped off the face of the planet. The old sack of rolls even summoned enough energy to greet Kennedy at the door, a loyalty commonly reserved for dogs and never once extended to me. It was truly disheartening. At least
some
things were going my way.

Repairs to the bakery had moved along at a rapid clip, and I was able to reopen the doors earlier than anticipated, but with one condition: Kennedy made me promise never to work late or alone. I readily agreed, terrified of potentially standing off against a violent arsonist.

On the bright side, if the person responsible for the fire had intended to run off my customers, they’d failed. If anything, the line had grown longer. If I hadn’t already decided to hire another employee, the influx of business would have done it for me. And Ronnie was working out better than I’d hoped. He and Dex got along so well. I was certain every time I walked through the bakery door, that I smelled the spice of love in the air. Ronnie seemed like a great guy and a perfect match for my little Dexter.

As for whoever committed the crime, the investigation hadn’t turned up any solid leads. Mrs. Findlay was still a person of interest in Kennedy’s eyes, but as for me, I wasn’t sure what to think. On the first day of reopening, she’d expressed her intense relief that Dex and I were okay and was happy that I decided to press on because she loved the direction I was taking the business. She came by every day, ordering her usual double chocolate chip cookie to-stay and pumpkin muffin to-go. Taking all this into account had me leaning toward my original impression—that Mrs. Findlay was just a nice woman who enjoyed her sweets.

With the hours I was able to shave off my day by having additional staff, I was able to get out of work at a decent hour, and that meant more quality time spent with Kennedy. He was a total sweetheart. Each evening, he either cooked dinner for me, or we cooked it together. I always made the dessert.

We didn’t always eat it off plates.

Despite the lingering question on everyone’s mind regarding the bakery, life was pretty great. Except tonight. Despite an afternoon quickie and a soak in the tub afterward, my nerves were shot.

“You’re not wearing those socks, are you?”

Kennedy looked down at the white cotton crew cut socks on his feet. “Um, no?”

“Good, because the black ones will look better with the pants I picked out for you.” Hurrying into his closet, I pulled the dress I brought over from its hanger. Simple and black, it had the perfect mix of casual and elegant with an A-line cut falling just below the knee. A beaded necklace and a pop of color from a pair of shoes would make it perfect for an evening of meet-the-parents.

“You picked my clothes out?” From the tone of his voice, I knew Kennedy was surprised.

“It’s not that I don’t have confidence in you, but I just want tonight to be perfect.” I wanted everything to be perfect. My parents weren’t some stick-in-the-mud, stuffy fuddy-duddies. They were the average middle-class working Americans, and they liked their jeans as much as the next person. But I’d never brought a man home before, so a little bit of crazy on my part was to be expected.

With a gentle smile, Kennedy walked over, grabbed my hips, and pulled me to him. His eyes were full of understanding and patience as he curled my hair behind my ears and cupped my face in his large hands. “Tonight is going to be great. Your parents are going to love me, and they’re going to love you for introducing us.”

I grinned, feeling lighter already. “Promise?”

“Need I remind you that I am a man of my word? I promise I will ruin them for all other men. If you dump me tomorrow, they’ll never welcome another into their home.”

“Who says I’ll dump you? Maybe you’ll get sick of me and cut me loose.”

“Oh, sweet, that’s never going to happen, and do you know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Backing us toward the bed, he dropped down onto the mattress, pulling me down on top of him. With my hair falling like a curtain around us, I stared into his heated eyes. “I’m hopelessly addicted to you. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t think of you. I started putting on my uniform each day to save lives, but it’s always been a good attraction for women, too. With you, I don’t even look at other women. I don’t care to. No one but you has the power to hold my attention.”

Never in all my days had a man ever said anything so endearing to me. While I wasn’t a girlie-girl and I would never coo or swoon or squeal in delight, my heart was all kinds of melty at his words. “You know exactly the right words to say to get into my pants,” I told him as I leaned in and captured his lips with mine.

This man, who looked at no other woman than me, was going to get lucky for the second time that day. Stripping off what little clothes we had on, I took my time making love to Kennedy, because when pouring one’s heart out to another, there was no such thing as time.

So, by the time we made it to my parents’ home, Kennedy and I were beyond stylishly late and had entered the realm of obscenely late. My mother greeted us at the door with her trademark glowing smile and welcomed us inside. Embracing me, she squeezed my shoulders and asked, “I was beginning to get worried. Did you two run into trouble on the highway?”

“No, we’re just running behind,” I explained, dodging the question. “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Kennedy Harper.”

“Call me Ken. It’s very nice to finally meet you,” he said, walking right into her arms and returning my mother’s affectionate hug.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, too, Ken. I’m Violet. Abby’s sister, Amy, has told me a lot about you. I hear you’re a fireman?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been working for the department since I turned eighteen.”

“Did you hear that, Abby?” my mother said, her gaze fixed on Ken. “The man is dedicated.”

“I heard,” I muttered, smirking as I caught Kennedy’s gaze. “You should also know that Kennedy knows his way around the kitchen,
and
he likes cats.”

“Oh,” my mother tittered. “I think I sense a keeper. Come on, Ken, let me introduce you to my husband.” Taking his elbow, she all but dragged Kennedy into the dining room, where my father sat at the head of the table enjoying old-fashioned homemade chicken pot pie. Kennedy’s steps faltered as he got his first good look at the silver-haired, six-foot-four former bricklayer. “Pay no mind to the rifle. Mick has been using that thing to scare away the boys for years. I swear it never leaves his side. It’s not even loaded,” she whispered behind her hand.

My dad stared Kennedy down, his mustache twitching as he took him in. I could see the suspicion in his eyes from across the room. It was the same look he’d given to all of Amy’s boyfriends when we were growing up. It only intensified when she brought home her future husband, Doug. I think my father sensed something different in Doug, something that had staying power, and I was seeing that same look in his eyes now. I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or terrified.

My mother made introductions, and then seated us with Kennedy in the chair beside her, and me across the table from him. While my mother conversed with Kennedy, quite obviously taken with him, my father maintained his stern demeanor. He didn’t speak, aside from the occasional grunt when my mother directed a question at him. He was truly living up to the scary dad figure.

Could a daughter ever be prouder? Or more humiliated?

I could tell that Kennedy was uncomfortable under such close scrutiny, but he played it off well, answering all of my mother’s questions and asking a few of his own. At times, he had my mother in stitches, especially when he told her stories from some of his runs, and again when he revealed my epic face-plant in front of his crew members. As much as I wanted to knee him in the crotch for that one, I knew when my mother brought out her famous peach cobbler and offered him the same double scoop of ice cream she had only ever offered my father, that he had won her over.

The jury was still out on Dad.

“Anyone want a beer?” my father asked once the dessert dishes had been taken away.

“Guinness?” I asked hopefully. Dad had been the one to give me my first drink of beer. He claimed that it was better to get it from someone with more refined tastes, than from some pimply-faced idiot who wouldn’t know quality from piss water. Because of Dad, I only drank certain kinds of beer, and a nice hard stout topped the list.

“Picked up a case just for you, pumpkin. I suppose you can have one too,” he grumbled at Kennedy. As he left the table to retrieve the drinks, I smirked at Ken.

“Your father hates me,” he whispered, clearly afraid of being overheard.

I leaned in, folding my arms on the tabletop. “Actually, I think he likes you. My dad doesn’t give his favorite beer away to just anyone.”

“So giving me a beer is a good sign?”

“So good, babe. Before you know it, you two will be watching football games together and everything.”

“I don’t know. He looks at me like he wants to punch my face in—or blow it off.” He glanced meaningfully at the rifle leaned up against the table.

I waved his concern away. “Like Mom said, he doesn’t even keep it loaded. Dad gives everyone the evil eye. He just wants to remind you that he’s watching. So, you know, you should probably be super nice to me and worship me like a goddess so you don’t accidentally upset him.”

“You are hilarious,” Kennedy deadpanned.

“I know. I get it from my mother.”

“What do you get from me?” Mom asked as she walked back into the room.

“Her incredible figure,” Kennedy piped up, charm oozing out of his every pore.

Mother’s answering smile was enormous and I didn’t miss the beard burn on her chin or that her stay-put mauve lipstick was curiously missing.

“Did you two just make out in the kitchen?” I asked, appalled. At no time was it acceptable to know that my parents were still into each other. In fact, I’d rather just assume that Amy and I appeared on their doorstep one day and helped them forge an amazing friendship.

“Abigail, do we have to have this talk again?” My mother chastised. “Your father and I are not just friends. We’re lovers and, as such, we do all the things a married couple is expected to do.”

“And I’ll remind you,” my father’s booming voice added, “that since you are not married, you’re forbidden to do what married people do.” His intense gaze landed on Kennedy like a hot branding iron, and I saw Kennedy’s eyes flare as he looked to me for help.

I laughed. More like cackled. A real throw-your-head-back-and-let-it-fly kind of deal. “Worry not, father,” I said, sobering instantly. “Your dearest Abigail is as yet a virgin. However, I regret that I cannot say the same for your other, much more sinful daughter.”

My attempt at deflection didn’t work, but it did serve to lighten the oppressive mood I had unintentionally set off in the room. Hazard averted, I held out my hand for one of the beers my father held, and smiled sweetly at him.

We took our after-dinner party into the living room and my father turned on a football game, the volume down low, as my mother picked up another conversation with Kennedy and me. She covered all the bases she’d neglected previously, including when we were thinking of moving in together, if we saw marriage in our future, and where Kennedy saw Wilber fitting into all of this. Clearly, she understood how important my cat was in my life, and I liked how she wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions.

What I didn’t like was how I found myself anticipating Kennedy’s answers, as if I was just as eager to know what he wanted from our relationship as my mother. Once again, I needed to remind myself that this was just a fun little excursion, something that had no immediate or indefinite plans. I didn’t need nor want a promise of a future with Kennedy, just a promise of fidelity for as long as we were dating. Attempting to sketch out a future for something as fragile and un-promised as a relationship was just asking for trouble. Hearts would get broken, feelings would be hurt, and enemies would be made, however unintentionally. Nothing good ever came from such a thing, which was why I ended the night rather abruptly with the excuse of needing to be up early to open
Sweetest Temptations
.

Once we arrived back at Kennedy’s apartment, I grabbed a quick shower and dressed for bed, happy to get out of my heels and wash the greasy makeup off. I fell into Kennedy’s waiting arms, resting my cheek against his bare chest, and sighed as the weight of the day melted away.