Authors: Elisabeth Barrett
At last, there was only one more thing to complete—a walk-through of the rooms to ensure everything she needed was on her master list. She slipped her shoes back on and walked down the hall. But when she was close to the main entranceway, she heard deep voices.
She approached the foyer with caution, stopping in the shadows to get a good look before moving forward. There were two men: a tall, handsome blond she thought she recognized, and Jake. He had his back to her but she knew it was him. That shock of black hair and those tattoos were hard to miss. So was his aura of power.
She was starting to think like Summer.
“So I can give Marc the details?” the blond man said.
“I said you could,” Jake responded. “And we can schedule a meeting for next week after he has a chance to look over the documents.”
“Good.” The blond guy pulled out his cellphone and glanced down. “Okay, I need to be in the city on Monday and Tuesday, so maybe next Wednesday? I’ll see if Marc’s free then, too.” He lifted his head, then cocked it as he finally noticed her. “Hello? Who’s this?”
Jake turned, and as soon as he saw her, his jaw tightened. “Carolyn Rivington.”
She came forward. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just heard voices…” she said, letting her voice trail off. No need to tell them she thought they were prowlers.
“Preston North,” the blond man said, reaching out his hand. It was warm and smooth, so unlike Jake’s. “And I think we’ve been introduced before. At that art gallery fundraiser—you know, the one on Twenty-second Street?”
“Yes,” she said, quickly withdrawing. She’d gotten more than tipsy that night and had ended up at another party on a rooftop in SoHo. One of her last evenings out before everything had come crashing down. She’d been so ignorant. And so stupid.
Jake looked back and forth between the two of them. “Of course you two would know each other.”
“I believe Mr. North and I only met the one time,” she said. “And very briefly.”
“Please, call me Press.”
He flashed her a smile so genuine that she couldn’t help but smile back. “Press,” she agreed.
“Press was just leaving,” Jake said.
The corners of Press’s mouth turned down. “So soon? I thought we could continue our conversation.”
“Next Wednesday,” Jake said firmly.
Press turned to her. “Perhaps you’d like to join me, then? I know a great little tavern in Greenwich that’s open late.”
Jake crossed his arms over his chest and stared pointedly at his friend. “Say good night, Press.”
The blond man pressed his lips together in barely contained mirth. “I’d better do as he says. Good night, then.” Looking only a little bit sorry, Press stepped out the front door into the night. The heavy door clicked and automatically locked behind him.
“Walk with me,” Jake demanded, turning and striding down the main corridor. “The club’s deserted, so you won’t have to worry about us being seen together.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Carolyn said, hurrying to catch up with him.
He stopped short. “You’ve been dodging me for days.”
“I—” She opened her mouth to do just that, then shut it. “Yes.” She
had
been dodging him, but surely he had to understand why.
He kept walking, stiffly, briskly. “You’re working late.”
“I have an early event tomorrow. It’s either plan tonight or get here before the sun rises. I’m not really a morning person.”
He didn’t laugh.
“Inside,” he demanded, pointing to his office door.
She stepped in, and he immediately followed, then shut the door. He walked around to the desk and leaned back against it. Those arms were back across his chest. The chest she’d imagined in her dreams over and over again.
“You just got up and left.”
Yes. Yes, she had. Having sex with Jake was one of the most primal, heart-wrenching things she’d ever done, and she wasn’t proud of herself. She’d acted without thinking through the consequences, and she’d paid the price with a massive freak-out afterward.
Jake was waiting for her to talk, a scowl on his face.
She tilted her chin up. “We were both a little drunk, and as far as I’m concerned, it was a mistake.”
“Because I’m your boss?” His face darkened further. “I already told you I’m not firing you. I’d never expect anything from you except good work to keep your job.”
Carolyn shook her head. “I know. It’s not that.” It would never be that.
“Were you just crossing me off a list? ‘Do Jake Gaffney. Check.’ ”
“No, I—”
“Or maybe you just wanted to see what it was like to fuck a townie.”
His words were a slap across the face. “Stop it! Don’t talk like that!”
Jake looked like he was about to say something else, but then he clenched his fists and clamped his jaws together. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively calm. “I’m not some idiot twenty-one-year-old you can jerk around, Caro.”
“I’m not trying to jerk you around,” she said. “I swear.” He just stared at her. She could walk away just like she’d done before. But she owed this to him. “It was just a mistake.”
“Why?” he gritted out.
“Because I’m not ready to feel like this again.”
“Like what?”
Loving and losing. Letting go before I’m ready. Still being half in love with you despite everything.
“Sorry,” she finally managed to say. “Jake, maybe some things should be better left in the past.”
“You blew it when you fucked me. That brought everything into the present.”
He unwound himself from the desk and walked toward her, one slow step at a time. She forced herself to stand her ground, to look up at him, his face sharp planes of shadow and light.
“Why didn’t you return my calls?”
Did he mean fifteen years ago, or now? And then she realized it didn’t matter. The answer was the same.
“I was afraid,” she choked out.
A coward.
For so many reasons. Because being with Jake opened up her past and dredged up every terrible, selfish thing she’d ever done. Because fifteen years had done nothing to extinguish her attraction to him. Because there were so many ways she could get hurt and so many ways to fail. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life,” she told him. “And I don’t know where I fit anymore. I don’t seem to belong anywhere. How can we possibly make this work?” Whatever
this
was.
“Don’t talk to me about not fitting in,” Jake said. “Because I know, Caro.
I know.
” He clenched his fists again. “I’ve seen the way people look at me—the way they
always
looked at me. They don’t give a fuck about the money I earned because to them, I’ll always be less. I’ll
always
be on the outside, whereas you…” He stopped, his jaw tight. Then he took a deep breath. “But I’ll be damned if what other people think stops me from going after what I want. What’s stopping
you
?”
She didn’t answer. How could she, when she didn’t even know herself? Jake had found his way, kept pushing forward. In some terrible way, she envied him. He’d defied every expectation to succeed, whereas she hadn’t lived up to even a fraction of her potential.
He stepped closer, searching her face. She was trembling—surely he could see that—but she didn’t move. And when he reached out and captured her face in his hands, her breath quickened. His thumb stroked her jaw, sending a long, intense tingle right down her spine. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, because heat flared in his eyes.
“It’s this, Caro. The way you breathe just a little faster when I touch you. That, right there. You’re doing it now. I know you want me. You begged me that night on the beach. What are you so afraid of?”
“Myself,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“So deal with yourself. You’re stronger than you think you are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. You stood up to me. You stood up
for
me. You’re strong.” Then he leaned in, his chest pressing against her breasts, his mouth hot against her ear. “Next time there will be no alcohol,” he promised, his voice low. “No crying. No excuses. Just you and me working out whatever it is we have between us. And when we do, it’s going to be one hell of a ride. You get me?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
Yes.
“Good.”
He pulled back and stared at her just a moment longer. Then he released her. “Go now.”
She wanted to kiss him. To press her mouth against his and taste him. But that would be a huge mistake and he’d given her an out. So before she did something really stupid she took the gift he offered, and turned and fled.
Carolyn hitched her purse onto her shoulder and shut the door to her rattling, old sedan. The poor car looked forlorn in the otherwise barren five-car garage. Just it, the garbage cans, and a couple of rakes remained. Forget the emptiness; she’d have to call Matt Rhodes at the garage to investigate that rattle. It was yet one more thing for her to deal with on top of everything else, but she needed that car in good working order. With a deep sigh, she stepped through the garage door into her darkened house.
“Hello?” she called. “Dad?”
No answer. Not a surprise, though she had hoped, if only for a brief instant, that he’d decided to cut his trip short.
It was Friday night, and she was alone. Again.
She thought about her mom. She thought about Blair. She’d be waking up now, on the other side of the world. And she thought about her dad, what he might be doing with Jonah. Maybe he was having fun. Not too much, she hoped, given his condition. She tried not to think about Jake, all the words he’d said to her. She really did. And it worked for a while. There were other things to think about. Like what the hell she was doing with, well, everything.
It was on nights like these that she felt most alone. Her world had shrunken around her until she was left with only its essence—a job and some wayward family. That was it, and that was all it could be until she truly got back on her feet and the situation with Worring was settled.
It would take years. Maybe longer. And she just had to live with that. She
deserved
to live with that. What right did she have to be happy when there were so many others who’d suffered so much more than she had?
She dropped her bag on the island in the kitchen and headed upstairs to change. She hadn’t paid close attention to the décor of the house over the past half-year, but tonight, the gaps made by the missing furniture and objets d’art seemed wider. Although she should be honest—the furniture wasn’t
missing
; she’d sold some of the more valuable pieces to pay debts.
Her dad hadn’t seemed to notice.
Sometimes, when she lay awake at night, unable to sleep, she made lists of everything of value in the house she might be able to sell. Much of it had already been taken away by antiques buyers looking for a steal. The Louis XIV sideboard in the dining room was long gone. So was the exquisite tapestry dating from the Renaissance that used to hang in the parlor. Even with her dad in residence, the place was cavernous during the day and a mausoleum at night. Making matters worse, the house had her mom’s imprint all over it; she’d handpicked everything from the window dressings to the artwork, and being surrounded by those memories just made everything
harder
.
She didn’t bother changing out of her work clothes, just kicked off her shoes and padded into the kitchen to prepare dinner. It was strange, now. This was her life. This pared-down, minimalistic existence in the shadow of the grandeur in which she’d grown up.
She wondered when the hurt would fade.
If
the hurt would fade. On nights like this, it seemed like it never would.
When she went to move her bag off the counter, the flyer that Richard had given her fell out. She’d almost forgotten about it. The flyer wasn’t in color, but the black-and-white photograph of the multi-tiered, beautifully decorated cake looked tempting. Written underneath the photograph were a few short lines:
Girls’ Night Out!
Enjoy a spring evening downtown at Mountain Laurel Cakes’ first ever foodie book club. Our selection this month is Ruth Reichl’s
Comfort Me with Apples
.Come for the free cake, stay for the conversation. From 8
P.M.N.B. It isn’t necessary to read the book.
234 Main Street
Eastbridge, Connecticut
Carolyn glanced at her watch. Seven thirty. If she drove fast, she could just make it. Question was, did she want to go?
It took less than a second of standing in her empty, chilly kitchen to decide.
Yes. She did. At this point, it wasn’t a question of want. It was a question of need.
Before she lost her nerve, she shoved on her shoes, jammed the flyer into her bag, and flew out the door.
This time of night, the traffic into downtown Eastbridge was still busy, but she managed to get there and find parking in one of the big lots in about fifteen minutes. Main Street was a far cry from Fifth Avenue, but it was quaint, quiet, and beautiful. Most of the buildings were built in classic, Colonial style in whitewashed wood and brick. Elegant lampposts and well-groomed trees lined the street on either side. There were close to sixty shops, and many of them had springtime window displays. A few people were strolling around, window-shopping or heading to dinner.
Carolyn walked for a couple of blocks, and there, between an upscale women’s clothing boutique and a stationery store, was Mountain Laurel Cakes. One of the flyers was taped to the window, which was surrounded by intricate molding, as was the door. Inside, the lights were on and the two large display cases were lit, but the place was deserted. She checked the flyer again. Right night and right time. Maybe everyone else had plans?
She opened the door and stepped inside. The floor was marble, and so were the tops of three small tables. All gleamed, as if they’d just been wiped down.
“Hello?” she called.
“Hello, hello!” a voice from the back cried out. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Carolyn walked up to the display cases. Each case had row upon row of decadent-looking miniature cakes and petit fours. In the larger of the two cases, a tall chocolate cake, maybe nine inches high, was covered in dark chocolate shavings. Next to it was a double-layer cake expertly trimmed in marzipan and raspberry jam and bedecked with a twisted sugar ribbon that actually looked flexible.
“Wow,” Carolyn breathed.
“Some of my best work,” a voice said. Carolyn looked up into Jane Pringle’s frank gaze. The small, slight woman gave her a warm smile. “Thanks for coming by tonight. I was actually hoping you’d come, given that we never scheduled that coffee we spoke about. It’s good to see you outside of Briarwood. You’re the only one who’s shown up so far.”
“Am I really?” Carolyn said, looking around as if she hadn’t just cased the place. It was a little awkward, given that she didn’t know Jane
that
well, even though Jane had been freelancing at Briarwood for months and knew almost everyone on staff. She thought about leaving. And then Richard’s hopeful face flashed in her mind.
Jane shrugged slim shoulders. “I’m not surprised. Eastbridge isn’t that big, and I’m sure people have a lot going on. We tried to pick a night that wouldn’t overlap with any events, but then we found out that it’s opening night for the spring season at the Westport Playhouse, the Eastbridge Library is doing a read-a-thon kickoff, and there’s some FCIAC soccer tournament happening. But there’s no stopping Evelyn—my boss here at the bakery—once she gets on a kick, and since it was her idea, I
had
to say yes,” Jane said with a grin. “I told you I rarely do anything for myself, and I think this was her way of getting me out and about. Being a single mom kind of takes a toll on a woman’s personal life, but I’d rather be flying solo than with my ass of an ex. Do you take coffee or tea? I’m a tea gal myself, but I don’t judge. If you like coffee, I’ll make you coffee. It’s on the house, by the way.”
“Ah, tea, please,” Carolyn said. Jane’s easy patter was making this easier.
“Great,” Jane said, filling two cups with hot water from a machine. “You can choose a bag from the wall there.” She indicated a shelf behind the counter with about twenty different types of boxes.
“Decaf Ceylon, please.”
“I drink the same,” Jane said, sounding pleased. She came out from behind the counter. Her apron emphasized her extremely narrow waist, and her dark hair, pulled back into a bun, displayed her prominent cheekbones. “Definitely too late to be drinking full caf, especially since my little guy goes to sleep at eight thirty, and once he goes down, I try to go down, too.”
Jane got a tray out from behind the counter and placed it on one of the small marble tables. “Free cake. I thought that’d get people to come. Do you eat cake? Everyone’s on these gluten-free diets now. You don’t look like you eat cake, you’re so thin, but that’s what they say about me, and I eat a ton. I mean, I’m around it all day. It’s impossible not to at least taste it every once in a while. And, you know, my kid Andy would eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I let him. His birthday’s coming up, and I told him he could choose whatever he wanted and I’d make it for him. Or Evelyn would. She loves him just as much as I do.” Jane paused for a breath. “I’m sorry. I tend to talk a lot when other people are quiet. You want to leave, don’t you?”
“No—I…” Carolyn started to say, then took a deep breath. “I don’t. In all honesty, I didn’t even read the book. I just came here tonight because I wanted to see you and Richard encouraged me to come. Outside of work, I’ve been kind of isolated of late.”
A slow smile bloomed on Jane’s face. “So our bosses set us up? That’s kind of funny.”
“In a way, I suppose they did. Though I guess you could argue that you and I took the first step ourselves.”
Jane sat down and gestured for Carolyn to do the same. “Well, I’m over the moon to be working with Susumo. He’s a legend.”
“I know,” Carolyn said, breathing in the fragrant aroma of the tea and letting it fill her senses. A bit of tension melted away. “He loves your work, and so do I. That cake you did for the Draeger event was incredible. All those colored swirls.”
“Thanks. I had a lot of fun making it.” Jane sat back and smiled. “But let’s not talk about work tonight. What kind of cake do
you
want? I just grabbed slices of whatever extras we had in the back. This one’s coconut,” she said, pointing, “and I have lemon, double-chocolate, vanilla-rum, and just plain vanilla.”
Carolyn took in the array of goodies. Everything looked so decadent and she hadn’t eaten dinner. Her mouth began to water. “The lemon, if you please.”
“I love how polite you always are,” Jane said. “Brings everyone up a notch.”
Carolyn felt her cheeks warming and decided to keep silent about the year she’d spent at a Swiss finishing school. Her parents had insisted on it after high school, mostly to keep her away from Jake. Now, not only did it seem like a colossal waste of time, it just underscored how disconnected from the real world she truly was.
“So we both work at Briarwood—well, I do some of the time—but I don’t know that much about you,” Jane said, lifting the slice onto Carolyn’s plate. “How long have you been in the area?”
“Officially for just over half a year, but I spent time here as a child. My parents—my mother—had a vacation house in Eastbridge. And now it’s mine.”
“Your mother is…no longer living?” Jane ventured.
Carolyn nodded. “A year ago. Cancer.”
Jane gave her a look of sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Carolyn said.
Jane must have sensed the topic was still too raw for Carolyn to talk about, since she glanced up at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. “Well, it’s after eight. I doubt anyone else is coming tonight. And since neither of us actually read the book, why don’t we just relax and…”
At that moment, the door clattered open, and a woman swept inside. Carolyn had never seen anyone as exquisitely beautiful, except maybe on a movie screen. But movie stars seemed manufactured. This woman was real—voluptuous and lush, with long, wavy brown hair that fell far past the swell of her breasts and almost reached the top of her low-slung jeans. Long pendant earrings dangled from her lobes, and around her neck, a myriad of colored, beaded necklaces hung over her peasant blouse, tinkling when she moved. Almond-shaped green eyes lit on her and Jane, and then her lips curled up in a slightly gap-toothed smile that only added to her earthiness.
Jane rose. “Are you here for Girls’ Night?”
“I’m here for a cake,” she said, her voice husky, with just the hint of a British accent. “I placed an order, but I got caught up with work. Are you still open?”
“We’re not, but I can help you anyway,” Jane said, walking to the counter. “What’s the name?”
“Grace D.”
“Oh, the carrot cake. Yes. I have that in the back.” Jane disappeared through a door.
The gorgeous woman turned to the table where Carolyn was seated, the array of sweets spread out before her in a delectable buffet. “I hate carrot cake, but it’s what my dad wants. God, I’m starving. What are you having? It looks good.” The hope in her voice was unmistakable.
“Cake and tea.”
“Two of my favorite things.”
“You’re welcome to join us.”
“Oh, I don’t have much time. I’ll be late as it is. But—” She paused and shrugged. “Oh, what the hell. With the amount of alcohol I’m bound to consume tonight, I’d better put
something
in my stomach.” She sank down into the seat next to Carolyn. “Grace,” she said, holding out her hand.
“How do you do. I’m Carolyn,” she responded.
Jane reappeared holding a large cake box. “You’re staying?” She made room for the box in one of the refrigerated cases. “Do you want some tea?”
“Ceylon if you have some. And decaf would be even better. I’m already wired up.”
Jane took one look at Carolyn and the new woman, and started to laugh. Carolyn laughed, too.
“What’s so funny?” Grace asked.
“Tea,” Jane said, pouring hot water into a mug. “It’s fate that you came late to pick up your cake.”
“I’m not a big fan of fate,” the woman said, shifting in her seat. Carolyn caught a whiff of roses overlaid with paint thinner. “I’m more of a make-your-own-destiny kind of girl.”
“Are you an artist?” Carolyn asked.
Grace looked directly at her. “Yes.” She looked young up close, yet she carried herself with such poise. How old was she, anyway? “I work in oils. In pencil, too, sometimes.”
“How interesting,” Jane said, as she returned to the table with the tea. “What do you paint?”
“I’m a naturalist,” Grace said.