Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (18 page)

After last night’s vodka fest, she decided to hold off on any taste tests. Her taste buds, indeed her entire system, needed a chance to recover. She suspected, however, that even had she spent the previous night drinking only the purest artesian-well water, she’d have shied away from sampling the wine aging in the barrels.

She kept her suspicion to herself. It wouldn’t exactly inspire Leo or Johnny if she were to admit she was too chicken to trust her own palate and nose.

Mia left Thomas’s—no, she corrected—
her
—assistants scrubbing and sanitizing the equipment and drove into town. Today was the farmers’ market, with vendors selling vegetables, fruits, cheeses, meats, and
everything else grown and made under the Mendocino sun. She hoped that if she wandered past the stalls set up in the elementary school’s parking lot, it might inspire her to cook dinner for herself.

She settled on a carton of farm-raised eggs, an avocado, some wildly misshapen heirloom tomatoes, and a cantaloupe melon that smelled divine. Scrambling eggs constituted cooking, right?

Thomas’s name was on everyone’s lips. Her own grew tired from the smile she pinned on them as she responded to their questions. Yes, he’d gotten off fine. No, first he was going on a vacation to Corsica and Greece with friends. Yes, that did sound absolutely lovely. Yes, she missed him already. Yes, she certainly had her work cut out for her.…

She climbed into her sunbaked truck with a sigh of relief.

With the farmers’ market in full swing, the post office and luncheonette were quiet, making it impossible to escape the notice of Maebeth and Nancy.

Maebeth paused in the midst of wiping down the tables to greet her. “So you decided to cut loose last night. I hardly recognized you.”

“Wasn’t it you who told me I should get out and have fun? Just following your advice,” she replied lightly.

“She’s got you there, Mae,” Nancy said.

“Well, you sure know how to switch gears, don’tcha? Next time come shoot pool with us. We’ll team you up with Tracy.”

Tracy Crofta was an even worse pool player than she, which was saying something. “Sounds like lots of fun.”

“So Reid took you home?” Maebeth asked.

Ah, now they were getting to the meat of it. “Yes, he volunteered to be my designated driver,” she said brightly. No way would she talk about what other services
Reid had provided—she wanted to live to twenty-eight.

“That was good of him. Real neighborly.” Nancy nodded her approval as she carried a grilled cheese sandwich to a man sitting at the table by the window. “Ralph gave the red-haired guy a ride.”

“He had to be poured into the taxi,” Maebeth told her with a disapproving sniff. “So what’s this I hear about you and the Knowleses entering into a partnership?”

“Great, isn’t it?” No matter what she thought privately or expressed to Reid, Mia wasn’t going to reveal a single reservation in public. “We’re still working out the details—”

“Who? You and Reid?”

She swallowed. “That’s right.”

Maebeth’s expression dimmed just a little, and Mia felt a pang of sympathy, a sisterly bond. She understood what was behind the crestfallen expression, what it was to spin dreams around Reid, to hope he’d see her, recognize that she was the
one
.

Even though Reid and she had slept together, Mia knew there were lots of women just waiting to take her place. A night of incredible orgasmic sex didn’t mean the same to Reid as it did to her. Actually, she was convinced the only reason they’d had sex was because they’d both temporarily lost their minds. And the almost-kiss this morning? She’d had time and space to analyze that one. It was just Reid testing her, seeing whether he could ruffle her feathers. It didn’t mean he was truly interested in her. Or in love with her—no matter how much she dreamed and hoped.

She needed to remember that.

* * *

In the end, Mia found she couldn’t summon the enthusiasm to scramble eggs, so instead she fixed a plate of sliced tomatoes and half of the avocado, and brought it, along with a large glass of water, onto the porch and sat down on the top step. After her quasi-dinner, she watched the wind stir the branches of the old oak that shaded the southern end of the house.

She was always glad to see Quinn, so when she spied her friend’s red truck coming up the drive, the heaviness that had pressed upon her lifted.

The truck disappeared momentarily from sight, but seconds later Mia heard the metallic slamming of a door. Then Quinn appeared, carrying a plate with something on it—something that looked like a chocolate-frosted cake.

“Howdy, partner,” Quinn said cheerfully. “Nice repair job on the road. Now I understand what Reid was doing with the tractor and rake. Of course, he wouldn’t tell me anything about it. Never does.”

“Is that what I think it is?” Mia eyed the cake, a huge mouthwatering creation. “Get thee behind me, Satan. You know I’m on a lifelong diet.”

“Which, as I’ve told you a hundred times, is the stupidest thing in an already seriously messed-up world. You don’t need to lose weight.”

“So says the skinny girl from the genetically blessed family.”

“Knock it off,” Quinn said. And the great thing about Quinn was, she meant it. Quinn’s total disinterest in her beauty was just one of the many reasons Mia liked her.

Wearing jeans and a fitted long-sleeve T-shirt with the words B
E KIND TO ANIMALS OR
I’
LL KILL YOU
emblazoned on the front, Quinn dropped down onto the step beside her. No sooner had she settled than, as if by magic, Vincent appeared, brushing back and forth against her shins like a love-drunk tomcat.

“It’s amazing how he remembers you,” Mia said.

Trading cake for cat, Quinn placed the plate between her and Mia and scooped Vincent up onto her lap; he began a full-throated purr. “He’s a smart cat,” Quinn said. Abruptly, she wriggled and grimaced. “Oops. I forgot.” With a flourish, she produced two forks from her back pocket.

Shaking her head in amusement, Mia accepted one. “So what’s the occasion?” she asked. The scent of chocolate was already teasing her.

Quinn removed her straw cowboy hat and dropped it by her booted feet. “The cake? It’s your prize for being the first woman to blacken my brother’s eye. But here’s the thing. Unless you offer a blow-by-blow account, I’m going to eat every last crumb in front of you.”

“Ah, well, not much to tell.” Or, rather, that Mia could tell.

Quinn’s fork was poised over the chocolate cake. “In case you need further incentive, Roo baked this.”

Roo Rodgers, the multipierced, tattooed Australian pastry chef at Silver Creek, was a true artist. It’d be stupid to pass up one of her creations.

“You are so evil. But, really, there’s not much to share. I, um, had a few too many last night.”

“I noticed. Not your usual style, Mia. I kept waiting for you to tear yourself away from the bar, but you were too busy making a new friend.”

“Sorry about that. I was a little out of sorts. I broke up with Andrew. And I missed dinner. I guess I ended up drinking it,” she said.

“Missing dinner sucks. Breaking up with Andrew, well, I don’t know why you bothered to date him in the first place.”

“Quinn, that’s what you say about men in general.” She grinned. “Yeah, pretty much. Who has the time
for them and all their expectations? So what did Andrew say when you told him you were finished?”

“Well, apparently Andrew hadn’t even realized we were dating.” She smiled when Quinn snorted in disgust. “So my calling it quits had significantly less impact than I would’ve liked—I doubt it put him off his video game.” And she recounted how he’d been playing Mass Effect 3 while she sat waiting for him at Aubergine.

“See?” Quinn said, poking the air with her fork. “I told you guys are a waste of time. Still, what a moron. Good riddance.”

“Yeah, good riddance.”

Mia must have looked as depressed as she felt. Quinn waved a hand in the direction of the frosted cake. “Okay, first bite allowed.”

“Don’t we need a knife to cut it first?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get civilized on me? What’s the point of living here on your own if you can’t wage an all-out attack on a cake?”

“Quinn, think of Roo.”

She sighed. “Fine. We’ll be boring adults and slice it.”

“I’ll get a knife while you and Vincent catch up.” The cat was now lying on his back, legs extended in bliss as Quinn stroked his belly.

Picking up her used plate and half-empty glass, Mia went into the house, stowed the plate in the dishwasher, and rooted around in the drawer until she found a cake knife. She grabbed two dessert plates, a glass of water for Quinn and a refill of her own, and rejoined her friend.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Quinn plucked the water and the knife off the plates. She waited until Mia was seated, then sliced two enormous pieces.

“So, back to last night and my brother, who is many
things but not, thank God, an idiot like Andrew Schroeder,” she said, and passed Mia her plate. “How’d you manage to give him a black eye?”

“Well, basically, I slammed him with my elbow. The details are kind of fuzzy.” And that wasn’t really a lie. No way was she going to divulge precisely
where
they’d been when her elbow connected with Reid’s eye. Omitting the fact that they were naked and that they’d spent the night having the best sex of Mia’s life seemed wise, too. “I didn’t intend to hurt him, exasperating as he is.” She took a bite of the cake and moaned. “Lord, this is amazing.”

“Yeah. Roo does have a way with all things chocolate,” Quinn said, shoving a forkful into her mouth. “So why is it that Reid rubs you the wrong way?”

Three years younger than Mia, Quinn wouldn’t have heard the stories flying through high school after Jay’s public reading of her diary.

Mia couldn’t bring herself to tell the tale or admit how long it had taken—years—to get over her puppy love for Quinn’s brother. Now, because of her colossal foolishness the night before, she was terrified she might fall right back in love with him.

“It’s like this,” she offered instead. “Your brother—suppose he was a woman.”

Quinn blinked. “Okay, it’s a bit of stretch, but I’ll give it a try for novelty’s sake. So Reid’s a Rita. Go on.”

“Well, Rita is the type of woman who can eat all the chocolate desserts she wants, every day if she feels like it. And she never gets fat, never breaks out, never feels sick to her stomach, even after the brownie pan’s been scraped clean of every gooey crumb. She’s impervious.”

“Ooh. I hate Rita.” Quinn forked up a huge piece of cake. She chewed busily. About to plunge her fork in again, she paused. “Quick question, Mia. What in hell does this have to do with Reid?”

“My point is, Reid’s like Rita with her chocolate desserts. Only he’s that way with women. He can have as many doe-eyed Barbie dolls as he wants, with no repercussions. No heartbreaks.”

“Huh.” Quinn twirled her fork meditatively. “Do you really think so?”

“Think about it. Have you ever seen him down in the dumps or acting in any way brokenhearted after he and a woman part ways?”

Quinn was silent as she stroked Vincent’s belly. “No, I suppose not,” she said at last. “Wow, if that’s really how you see Reid, I totally get your hostility.”

Mia had eaten only a couple of bites of cake, but, thanks to the discussion, they felt as heavy as bricks in her stomach. She put her fork down and pushed her plate away. “Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“Be honest, okay?”

“Nothing but.”

“Am I sounding like a total witch? Bitter and shriveled?” she asked.

“You? God, no. You may be a bit tangy—tart, even—but not vinegary bitter. I get where you’re coming from, Mia. Reid can be annoying. You should have seen him and Sirrus this afternoon, working the cattle. He put Domino and me to shame—and let me tell you, my gelding and I are
good
. Right now he’s showing a couple of our horses to Howie Briggs, who must have provided all the gravel for your now super-smooth driveway. He’ll probably sell Roland or Jagger to Howie, and because Reid’s trained them, he’ll get top dollar. And tonight, after we have dinner at Mom and Dad’s, he’ll probably go hang out at The Drop and, in spite of the fact that he’s sporting a seriously ugly shiner, he’ll charm half a dozen ladies.” She broke off to slice another
piece of cake for herself. “Yeah, it’s pretty galling to watch him in action sometimes.”

Mia remained silent. What was there to say? She only wished being right about Reid felt better.

Quinn lapsed into silence for a moment, too. But then suddenly she shifted, leaning forward with a kind of urgency as she spoke. “But here’s the thing about Reid. All that stuff I just said about him? It’s an accurate description and thus supremely aggravating. He’s got a lot of talent, and for all his mellow attitude, he’s pretty driven, which means he’s successful at most everything he does. But when it comes to women, I think your take on him is wrong.”

“Really? How so?” she asked.

“Well, first of all, he doesn’t pursue them. He doesn’t have to, because they swarm him. Or, to use your cake analogy, I’d say they treat him as if
he’s
the cake.”

“True enough.” Mia tried not to sound miserable. Or guilty. Because when she looked at Reid, didn’t she do exactly the same? Fantasize about the touch of his lips, the taste of his kiss? Oh God, she thought with sudden despair, as it occurred to her that she now knew for a fact that he was more delicious than any chocolate on earth.

“There’s another thing you may not see about Reid, but I do, being his sister.”

There was no way Mia was going to admit to Quinn how close a study she’d made of Reid all these years, so she opted for “What’s that?”

“You made it sound like Reid’s immune to love. I don’t agree. I think the truth has more to do with him not having found the right woman yet. Or maybe he has and that right woman won’t give him a chance.”

Quinn couldn’t be referring to her, could she? The idea was laughable—if only it weren’t so depressing. Reid had made no sign he cared a fig about her. “Quinn,
I know how much you adore Reid, but I just don’t see him pining for any—”