Cinders (3 page)

Gina had ducked out an hour earlier to put dinner on the table for Maureen and her daughters at their house two blocks over, as she did every day. Later she’d go over and clean up their dishes, but first she had the bakery to have polished to a spit-shine. Maureen didn’t check every day that it was spotless, but if it
wasn’t
on the occasion she looked, well...

The sudden flare of memory when a palm connected with her flesh stung Gina’s cheek and reminded her it was best to just follow Maureen’s rules. And a slap was getting off easy for showing her face at the store’s cash register when she was supposed to stick to the back—far worse was her stepmother’s heel crunching down on her left foot for daring to walk around barefoot. Her simple slip-on shoes pinched uncomfortably but she wouldn’t dare take them off now.

The counters were clean, dishes washed, floors swept, and the front of the shop was dark as she’d already washed the tile in there. She dragged the mop over the last of the floor in the back room, wrung it out in the pail, and stood straight. Her entire body ached—she’d been on her feet since quarter to five in the morning—and she couldn’t wait to sleep.

After I clean up the dinner dishes
. Her own stomach rumbled but she ignored it. She had just a few precious hours to herself at night when the house was dark and the others were asleep—she’d get a bite to eat then, before she finally drifted off for the night in her creaky dark attic room.

Gina scooped up the heavy pail of water and shuffled the few remaining steps to the backdoor. It creaked open on hinges that never lost their squeak no matter how many times she oiled them and suppressed a yawn as she stepped outside.

Then she yelped and fell back against the doorframe at the sight of a dark figure standing to the side of the porch steps.

“Sorry.” Brennen stepped forward, the light catching his raised splayed fingers. “I didn’t meant to scare you.”

“You’re lurking.” The pail weighed heavily in her hands but she hadn’t moved far enough to dump the water, still staring at him warily.

“Waiting,” he corrected with a grin that melted her nervousness.

“Also known as lurking.”

He held her gaze and took another step forward. “Much more innocent.”

“Lurking in the
dark
.”

“I was sitting on my car.” He gestured over his shoulder where the vintage navy Mustang waited, parked in the small empty lot behind this cluster of shops. “Stepped forward when I saw you. Hadn’t realized it would be dark and scary. Really.”

She peeled her body from the doorframe at last, the screen door creaking shut behind her, and shuffled with the heavy pail to the nearby railing. “Marginally less scary, then, except that you’re still waiting in a dark empty parking lot at night watching me through a window.”

“You’re right, that part’s weird.” He scooped the pail’s handle from her hand before she could haul it up, paused a moment in question, and when she nodded he easily tipped it over the side to splash onto the gravel. “The last thing I want is to be weird.”

And what
do
you want?
she wondered but didn’t ask. No, it wasn’t a good idea to invite conversation. “Did you enjoy the biscuits?”

“I got them for my grandfather, but yes, I did sneak one. Again, you’re magic.”

His grandfather, she knew thanks to Midsummer’s very noisy rumor mill, lived on his own in a big house just outside of town—everyone knew, in fact, because the old man was ancient and senile, but Brennen took care of him. Left law school early to do so, much to the chagrin of his parents. She greatly admired that dedication. He’d mellowed after his misspent youth, to be sure.

Gina retrieved the bucket and set it inside the shop, switched off the porch light, then locked the deadbolt of the heavy secure door and let the screen door creak shut. “Unfortunately we’re closed, but tomorrow I’m making pies. You might want to check out the pecan.” She turned to find him standing in her path to the steps, near—too near. With the porch light off, just the streetlights from the parking lot lit the area, cutting a halo around him and highlighting his strong jaw and serious eyes.

God, Brennen, just don’t even bother.
Words escaped her for a moment as she stared up at him, feeling so plain and messy in her second hand clothes and wild hair, the smell of pine cleaner hovering on her skin.

But it was the sudden sharp reminder of
Maureen
waiting at home, not content to go to bed until she knew Gina was tidying up, that got her tongue moving again. “I have to get home.”

“Can I drive you?”

No. Yes.
She hesitated. Her foot ached—she desperately wanted to be off it for a moment—but all she needed was a neighbor seeing the car and mentioning it to Maureen to create problems. “No, thank you.”

His hopeful smile wavered. “Walk?”

Yes. No.
“Part of the way.”

He took a step back and offered his arm with a gentlemanly bow; she couldn’t help but chuckle and accepted the gesture, folding her small hand over his muscled forearm.

Gina tried to disguise her slight limp when she walked but it forced her to practically slow to a crawl. Brennen said nothing, letting her set the pace as they stepped down the handful of porch stairs and moved across the silent parking lot.

“Did your friend not get his tarts this morning?”

Brennen chuckled. “That was actually an excuse so I could see you without seeming creepy. But the lurking outside your store apparently took care of that.”

She chewed on that for a moment, knowing she probably shouldn’t invite more conversation on the subject, but unable to help herself. “Why did you want to see me?”

“For one thing,” he leaned over and grinned down at her, “I happen to
like
seeing pretty girls. For another, one of your sisters is almost always running cash.”

She hadn’t guessed he came by enough to notice, the picture of him in her head shifting ever so slightly. Now it wasn’t a mere coincidence when he dropped by—he was hoping to see
her
. The thought warmed her through even when her brain piped up to be cautious.

“Did I get you into trouble for being in the back room?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she said quickly—probably too quickly, but she couldn’t take the word back. “No, it was fine.”

“Can I ask why you stay there?”

“No.” And she was firm about it, her entire body stiffening. Of course he’d sense something was up, of course he’d ask. Anyone who paid attention to her—and there had been very few people over the years, but there were a couple—ended up wondering the same thing. After she graduated high school, even her stepsisters seemed surprised to see her still around. They were callous but not stupid.

It wasn’t something she could explain. Not to anyone. Not while she still had...
stuff
to do.

“Okay, home life off the table. Got it.”

His arm was warm and comforting under her hand and she wanted desperately to lean into him, to take comfort there, to close her eyes and
rest
. But she remained at attention, measuring the distance between the shop and home, watching for the break in the hedges up the road—he couldn’t walk farther than that or risk Maureen seeing him. And God knew what the woman would do if she found Brennen hanging around her.

“Can I ask you out for coffee?” he asked next.

Gina found herself grinning absently as she turned her gaze up at him. “You can but I’ll say no.”

Brennen looked down at her. “Is it me?”

“No. I...I don’t
date
. I work around the clock.”

“So it’s not just a line you use on all your suitors?”

The guy was nuts, apparently. Gina shook her head. “I don’t
have
suitors.” Of course, there was the odd boy in high school, but that rarely went anywhere. Now, she hardly saw the opposite sex at all.

“That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you.”

She quickly averted her gaze. “I’ll have to do a better job of discouraging you, then.”

“Hey...” He stopped and as she was still holding his arm, she did as well. Brennen stepped in front of her, blocking the sidewalk.

Danger, danger
. The word practically flashed in her mind like a big neon sign she couldn’t ignore, because her heart was hammering and her fingers were trembling, and Brennen was far too close for comfort. Her lips parted on an objection she couldn’t quite express, the words dying in her throat.

She pulled her hand from his arm but didn’t get far with it, his fingers snapping out to grasp hers, pressing their palms together.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He gave her a sexy little half-smile. “Not letting you run away like you do every time I see you.” His other hand came up to cup her jaw gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek, and she shivered with a sudden flare of desire, a feeling that sped her pulse. Her eyes closed involuntarily—if she could just have this
one
moment, just one, not a second longer and never another one, would it be so bad?

The voice in her head that should’ve spoken up to say
yes
,
yes it would be bad
, was silent. She knew she shouldn’t give into this, shouldn’t even
want
this, but all resistance melted away with his proximity.

Because she hadn’t opened her eyes, she could only feel his nearness, sense it. She breathed in the scent of his aftershave again, that cinnamon tickle that wrapped comfortingly around her, and felt his nose brush hers when he tilted her head back.

And when at last his lips touched hers, a gentle but fiery caress, she yielded and opened to him, welcoming his kiss. His tongue snaked out, tentative at first, and then eager when she moaned into his mouth, lost in the feel of him. The heat of desire rushed from her lips down her body, through her limbs, between her legs where it stoked an odd unfamiliar yearning at the apex of her thighs and moisture pooled in her panties.

The shuffling of steps behind her broke through her reverie and Gina pulled back, heart hammering and terror gripping her as she half-expected Maureen to be standing there watching.

It wasn’t, though, just an older man walking a small terrier. He gave her and Brennen a rather scathing look and then continued on, crossing the street as if he was going to catch something from two young people kissing on the sidewalk.

Kissing. Oh God, I was
kissing
him
.

“I have to get home,” she said swiftly, moving past Brennen and limping as fast as she could toward the house, leaving him too dumbfounded to follow until she’d turned the corner toward the house and was completely out of sight.

She would never, ever let that happen again.

****

In the darkness of her childhood home after midnight had rolled around, when the dishes were cleaned and put away and her stepfamily was in bed, Gina crept through the silent house. Down the narrow staircase from the attic, where she knew every step—every loose board, every creak, so she could avoid making any noise on her way down. A small flashlight was tucked in the waistband of her pajama bottoms, her loose T-shirt hanging over it. If she was caught, she could say she was headed to the bathroom, but not if someone saw the flashlight.

Her feet touched down on the floor at the very bottom, the familiar feel of the elegant carpet runner brushing her toes. She ghosted forward, her fingers following the wall to her right, guided past the shapes of furniture by the moonlight through the sheer drapes over tall narrow windows. The tiny corridor turned left and widened into a large proper hall of bedrooms.

Maureen had exceptionally good hearing, to the point that when Gina was little, she didn’t think her stepmother even slept. Once, before her father died, she’d had over a friend for a sleepover. The girls slept in the living room downstairs with sleeping bags, whispering about boys, and the next morning—after her friend was gone and father was out, of course—Maureen had repeated nearly word-for-word what they’d been talking about and proceeded to slap Gina hard across the face for being “such a little slut.”

She was nine. And she didn’t ask to have another sleepover party after that.

Gina slipped past her stepmother’s closed bedroom door, careful to avoid the creaky part of the floor just a foot to the left of it. She didn’t bother worrying about her stepsisters—they slept through anything, and even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t care enough to say anything about her being up. Not unless she gave them a reason to want to get back at her, and she avoided
that
at all costs.

At the end of the moonlit hall was the main staircase; she could take the back ones, the old servants’ stairs from centuries past when the house was an elegant manor, that led to the kitchen. The main stairs would take her nearest to her destination, however. The other ones would remain her backup plan, in case someone came looking for her this way.

The lower floor was just as silent as the upper, and besides the moonlight, a neon green glow came from beside the front door, the security panel with an alarm engaged. Across the tile, near the front of the house, waited the closed door to Maureen’s office.

It was locked, as usual, but it had also once been Gina’s
father’s
office, and Maureen had never changed the locks. Gina slipped the old worn house skeleton key from her pocket and gently slid it in the lock, her gaze pinned to the top of the stairs to her left just in case someone appeared on them. When no sound or sight indicated anyone had followed her, she gave the key a careful twist and then eased open the office door.

Not much had changed about the house over the years, not like the bakery, but Maureen’s stamp was everywhere. The paintings on the walls, the arrangement of the desk. The art deco lamp sitting atop a small table by the window next to a photo of her two daughters. Tamara and Tatum didn’t even make a pretense of smiling at the camera, and both of them looked almost identical to their mother in the image.

There was no photo of Gina’s father, and the old picture of her mother—once tucked in the cabinet at the back of the room as when he married Maureen, she made it clear she didn’t like the dead woman’s face around—was hidden up in Gina’s room where it couldn’t be thrown out. The air smelled faintly of Maureen’s perfume, mixed with the pine cleaner scent. That was the only time Gina was technically allowed in there—to clean.