The Trouble With Love (3 page)

Now Jayce was gone and Rocky was regaining focus. She’d even sucked it up and asked Dev for a little—okay a lot of—financial advice and support. But she was going to pay it back. And she was going to hang on to her dream—the Red Clover.

As she neared her countryside Victorian home, the one she’d lovingly converted into a bed-and-breakfast, the one she’d decorated with antiques and filled with eclectic knickknacks in a fashion that mirrored Gram’s home, Rocky’s heart swelled. It wasn’t the swankiest B and B in the county, not even close, but it sat on three acres of gorgeous land with Thrush Mountain as a backdrop and it had a history. Rocky was all about history and tradition. As for the Red Clover, with her brother’s help—and it had cost her pride dearly to ask—the B and B would at last prosper. Or at least stay afloat.

Rocky parked her Jeep, now running like a charm thanks to Monica’s husband, Leo, and hustled inside the house. She tossed her keys in the vintage stoneware pottery bowl sitting on the circa-1880 mahogany parlor table—just two of the cherished bargains she’d picked up during one of her antique-hunting sprees. The familiar
chink
was muffled by thick plastic. Everything in most of the downstairs rooms was draped with plastic and tarp. Aside from the house’s needing a new roof, the front and back porch had started to list and warp. There were cracks in the ceiling and several other interior flaws. She hadn’t realized how many until the consulting contractors had talked her and Dev through their findings and recommendations. She’d been living in chaos for two weeks now, feeling out of sorts and restless.
Bored.

“Maybe a couple of days away will do me good.”

Readjusting her attitude, Rocky beelined to the kitchen and stored the cupcake care package in the fridge. Then she sailed upstairs and dragged her rolling duffel bag out of her bedroom closet. She suddenly regretted not asking Chloe’s advice on what to pack for a weekend in New York City. Tasha had made a crack about Rocky’s wardrobe, which mostly consisted of jeans, layered T-shirts, and sneakers.

I don’t suppose you have a dress and heels in your closet. Something professional or at least semi-stylish?

A bit of a tomboy and comfortable in her skin, Rocky had never cared or worried about style.

Until now.

She was frowning down at her collection of sneakers, clogs, and boots when her phone rang. “Yo,” she answered.

“Are you
insane?
”

“Hello to you, too, Dev.” Android wedged between her ear and shoulder, Rocky rifled through her clothes in search of a dress. “Wondered how long it would take you to call.”

“Chloe just told me. I’m floored she suggested you go with Tasha and that Gram, of all people, agreed.”

“You’re just worried because I’ve never been to the Big Apple.”

“You’ve never been to any big city. Not alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Tasha.”

“Like I’m supposed to trust
her?
I’m surprised you do.”

“I don’t, but I’m a big girl, oh worrywart brother. Almost thirty. I can take care of myself.”

“What if you get lost?”

“I’ll ask for directions.”

“What if you get mugged?”

“I’ll chase the guy down.”

“Christ.”

Rocky rolled her eyes—at her brother and at the modest black dress she’d worn to at least three family funerals. “Kidding. I’m not stupid, Dev. If some idiot has the nerve to snatch my purse, I’ll call the police. Not that that’s going to happen. What are the chances? I’ll be there for two days. Chloe lived in Manhattan for years and she never got mugged.”

“She was lucky. And city savvy. Maybe I should come with you.”

“You’re joking, right? Do you really want to spend the weekend away with Tasha? She’ll be all over you.”

“I can handle Tasha.”

Rocky snorted. “That would make her day.”

“Rocky—”

“Forget it. You’re not coming.” She gave up on the dress hunt and moved to her pine bureau—a sturdy yet romantic piece handmade and painted by Sam. “Besides, what are you thinking? The grand opening of Moose-a-lotta is on Saturday. Day after tomorrow.
Hello?
Gram and Chloe’s big day?”

He blew out a breath. “You’re right. I can’t go.” It had to be killing him, being the overprotective control freak Dev was. “I’ll enlist Luke.”

Rocky gritted her teeth while rolling underpants and bras into a side pocket of her duffel. No doubt she was overpacking, but even though she’d never admit it, she was nervous about this trip. “Luke has a business to run,” she said, tossing in two pairs of jeans and assorted T-shirts—go with what you know … or have. Hell, she could always buy a dress in New York. “The weekend is the busiest time for the Sugar Shack. You should know since you do the accounting.”

Though her brothers co-owned the popular bar and restaurant, Luke handled the day-to-day management as well as acting as host and bartender while Dev operated behind the scenes, handling the books, payroll, banking, et cetera. Luke had never been a numbers guy, whereas Dev, who also ran the family’s department store, had a master’s degree in business and finance.

“Oh, and whatever you do,” she added, cheeks burning, “don’t call Jayce.”

“This mysterious rift between you two is a pain in my ass, Rocky. You’re my baby sister and Jayce is my oldest, most trusted friend. I’d feel better about you frolicking around Manhattan if—”

“I won’t be
frolicking
and I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Do you at least have his number programmed in your phone? In case something happens?”

“Nothing will—”

“Yes or no, dammit.”

“Yes.” Not that she’d use it. “Is Chloe there?” she asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from Jayce.

“Sitting at the other end of the sofa, casting me annoyed looks in between surfing the Net on her laptop. She thinks I’m nagging you.”

“You
are
nagging me. Ask her if she contacted her friend about a hotel room. She said—”

“Done. You’ll be staying at the Hotel Chandler. Grab a pen. I’ll give you the address. Never mind. Chloe said she’ll e-mail it to you, along with her friend’s name.”

“Great. I’ll print out the information later. Is it within walking distance of anywhere neat?”

“There are lots of
neat
places in Manhattan,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Hold on. What, honey?” he said off to the side, then into the phone, “Chloe said the hotel’s two blocks from the Empire State Building and three blocks from Macy’s.”

Rocky grinned, more excited now than nervous. “Cool. I mean I may as well do some sightseeing while I’m there, right?”

“Chloe said don’t look like a tourist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“‘Don’t gawk. Be aware of your surroundings.’”

Rocky rolled her eyes and gave a two-fingered salute. “Got it.”

“Call me when you take off and call me when you land. And when you get to the hotel. How are you getting from the airport into the city?”

“Tasha hired a car.”

“Good. About this meeting, hon—”

“I know. ‘Don’t sign anything.’ Listen, Dev. It’s late and I need to finish packing. Plane leaves at the crack of dawn.”

“Want me to pick you up and drop you off?”

“Starlight Field? Fifteen-minute drive? I think I can manage.”

“Right.”

She smiled. “Back in three days. You’ll barely know I’m gone. Love you, big brother.”

“Love you, too, Sis. Sleep tight.”

Rocky disconnected and tossed her phone on the bed, an image of Jayce kissing the holy hell out of her smoking through her mind. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t sleep at all.

*   *   *

Rocky woke with a start, squinted at the blurry red numbers on her bedside digital clock.

5:45

No freaking way!

She thought she’d set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. She’d been tired and must’ve screwed up, setting it for p.m. instead. Thank God she’d woken up on her own, albeit forty-five minutes late, not that she’d ever fallen into a deep sleep. Bleary-eyed, Rocky showered and dressed, bemoaning the fact that this early flight messed with her morning routine. She typically kick-started her day with a few swigs of orange juice and a run along Pikeman’s Trail, weather permitting. This morning all she got was the juice.

At six thirty Rocky set the cupcake care package on the passenger seat, tossed her rolling duffel into the back of her Jeep, and set off for Starlight Field—a private airport for private aircraft and home of the Sugar Creek Hot-Air Balloon Company. Although she’d never had reason to fly out of Starlight, she often provided directions to B-and-B guests who’d booked a balloon ride. Also, her cousin Nash Bentley, a licensed charter pilot, operated out of Starlight. Too bad Tasha hadn’t booked
him.
An ally on the flight would’ve been nice.

Glancing in her rearview mirror, Rocky took a final peek at her beloved home. Last night after printing out the information Chloe had sent, Rocky had e-mailed Luke. Normally she would have called, since Luke wasn’t big on e-mails or texts, but she didn’t want to risk rehashing the discussion she’d had with Dev. Instead, she’d typed a succinct note informing Luke of her weekend plans and asking if he could check on the Red Clover while she was gone. Just to make sure the workers didn’t want for anything. No doubt Dev would check up, too, although he might get distracted and waylaid by the opening of Moose-a-lotta. She hated that she was going to miss Gram and Chloe’s big day, but it would be worth it if she could prevent Tasha from misrepresenting the club in any way. Rocky honestly had no idea what she was in for. She knew nothing about the publishing business, but she did know cupcakes and the mission, history, and heart of Cupcake Lovers. It would have to be enough.

Even though it was brisk outside, Rocky rolled down the window, breathing in the fresh, crisp air tinged with the scent of wood smoke. She knew without ever being there that New York City wouldn’t smell this good. The sun had yet to rise, so she couldn’t drink in the beauty of the lush green valley or the rolling mountains bursting with last remnants of vivid autumn foliage. Still the images burned bright in her heart and mind. Connecting with nature had always been a source of inspiration and serenity, part of the reason Rocky enjoyed her morning runs.

Her sense of calm scattered to the brisk October winds the moment she arrived at Starlight and spied a small plane with blinking lights on its wings sitting on the tarmac. She wasn’t afraid of flying. She didn’t have enough experience to be scared. She’d only been up in the air once in her twenty-nine years. That had been a long time ago, a family vacation to Disney World when she was seven. As for other family vacations, they’d always opted for driving. Personally, Rocky loved to drive. She liked being in control. Yeah. She liked that a lot.

She glanced at her cell. Six forty-five. Fifteen minutes from now she’d be giving up control for the next forty-eight hours. Daunting, yet stimulating. So
this
was the rush Gram got out of taking risks and facing the unknown.

Braced for whatever crap Tasha slung her way, Rocky locked the Jeep and rolled her burgeoning duffel toward the hangar where she was told to proceed to the DriftAir private jet—the sleek plane with the blinking lights. Crossing the tarmac, Rocky told herself not to obsess on how small the plane was. Surely the lighter the plane, the easier to stay aloft.

A middle-aged, stiff-postured, suit-wearing man took her bag and helped her aboard. Although the interior was confined, it was certainly luxurious. Plush leather and polished wood. Soft gathered drapes shielding the windows instead of those hard plastic shades.

Tasha was already seated in a roomy leather club chair, looking as stylish as her surroundings. She frowned at Rocky’s casual attire. “That’s the best you could do?”

“Don’t worry,” Rocky said, setting aside the care package and dropping into a seat. “I’ll dress up for the meeting.”

Tasha, who was sipping a glass of champagne, smirked. “To be honest, I was hoping you’d bail and let me handle this. But of course you showed. You’re just dying to pee in my Cheerios.”

Rocky ignored the dig and buckled in. Yes, she was coming along to preserve the integrity of the club. If that somehow ruined Tasha’s agenda, so be it.

Pulling the latest
Martha Stewart Living
magazine from her messenger bag, Rocky settled in for the ride, praying she wouldn’t get airsick. Just one more thing for Tasha to rib her about. They settled into a tense silence, but Rocky’s mind screamed with excitement. In less than two hours she’d be in the freaking Big Apple. She had a short must-see/must-do list of her own and an additional list from Gram, who’d delighted in the thought of living vicariously through her granddaughter. Rocky hated the thought of Tasha potentially raining on
their
parade.

Digging deep for diplomacy, Rocky smiled. “I know this is difficult given our strained history, but for this weekend at least, could we set aside our differences? For the club? For the book deal?” she added, hoping to strike a mutual chord.

Tasha-the-Pinhead Burke rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

CHAPTER THREE

Brooklyn, New York

Jayce Bello stood on the steps of the prewar limestone town house and watched as the moving van drove off with the contents of the one bedroom co-op he’d lived in for the last nine years. He’d spent the past three weeks working up to this decision. No turning back now.

Hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his cargo pants, he tilted back his head, closed his eyes, and absorbed the scents and sounds of President Street and beyond. Park Slope, a fairly upscale neighborhood in Brooklyn, was ripe with historic buildings, top-notch restaurants, bars, and shopping. It was also close to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, the Brooklyn Museum, and Prospect Park—three of his favorite haunts. Various images and memories slid through his mind, some pleasant, some gritty, all vivid.

He was going to miss this place.

And he wasn’t.

Jayce opened his eyes just as a desperate driver tried wedging an SUV into a parking space that would barely accommodate a compact car. Made Jayce think about all the times he’d driven around the block trying to cop a space. There was a reason residents jokingly referred to this area as “
No
Park Slope.” He definitely wouldn’t miss the lack of on-street parking. Lately, he’d been craving wide-open spaces, along with a few other things.