One Night in Paradise (13 page)

“Zack …” She started to offer something. Comfort maybe. But she wasn’t sure if there was any comfort for that kind of pain. She wasn’t sure if it was a wound that could heal.

“Sarah didn’t want to talk to me again and I don’t blame her. Every time I looked at her I just remembered. I think it was the same for her. So I just left. I couldn’t stay there.” He paused for a moment. “He would be fourteen now. Just two years younger than I was when he was born. Maybe he’d play football, like I did. He’d be close to the age where I would be teaching him how to drive and telling him about girls. I think about it still. About him. I didn’t understand how one person could, even for such a short amount of time, became my whole world. For those two days, I breathed for him. And when he stopped, I almost forgot why I was still trying. Rock bottom is … something else. There’s a lot of alcohol there, let me tell you. But not even that fixes it. It just makes you pathetic. But I got hired on at a coffeehouse here, even though I was an aimless wreck. Once I had that job, I had a new focus. I got my GED, I found out I loved coffee. I worked my way up in the company, and I bought it from my boss when he retired. I think that’s the beginning of what you, and everyone else, already knew.”

She wiped at a tear that was sliding down her cheek, her heart aching, her entire body aching, real, physical pain tearing at her. She turned to the side and rested her head on his
shoulder, her hand on his face. He wrapped an arm around her and held her to him.

“But that changed me,” he said, his voice strong. “It made me grow up. Made me move forward. It taught me to value control. Responsibility and planning. It’s why I’m here. Why I’m so successful and not some burned out, ex-college football star has-been.”

He believed it. She could tell he did. But the road to success had been hard. It had hurt. And along with conviction, she heard the pain in his voice, too.

“Arrogance, impulsiveness. That leads to disaster. It creates grief. Needless grief,” he said.

She wished she could tell him how much she loved him, but she knew that it was the last thing he wanted to hear. So she just held him, and let him hold her. Let him offer her comfort, so that he didn’t realize she sas offering him everything.

“So,” she said after a while, “do you want me to go?”

“I want you here,” he said. “Spend the night with me.”

“Sure, Zack,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

He tightened his hold on her and neither of them spoke.

Tonight they were together. She hoped she didn’t fall asleep. She didn’t want to miss a moment.

Clara rolled over and stretched in the morning, her eyes opening to a familiar sight. Zack’s room. Though, it wasn’t familiar at all to wake up in Zack’s room. Even less familiar to wake up in Zack’s room after making love with him all night.

A slow smile spread across her lips, followed by a pang of sadness when she remembered their conversation. When she remembered his story about his son.

She looked at Zack, his eyes still closed. She wished, more than anything, that she could take his pain from him. His grief was something she couldn’t begin to understand, the kind of cut it would leave so deep she wasn’t sure if it could heal. She knew it couldn’t, not really. It would never disappear. He’d
said himself it had changed him. Had changed the course of his entire life.

His eyes opened and he smiled. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“So, I guess we should get ready to go to work,” she said.

“You think so?”

“Well, it’s almost time.”

“True,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and rolling her beneath him. “But you might be able to go in late today. I know the boss.”

“So do I,” she said, wiggling underneath him. “He’s kind of intense about people being at work on time. A bit anal, even.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really? Well, I have a feeling that he’ll look the other way today.”

“I got an invitation in the mail. For me and my wife.” Zack walked into her office and tossed a cream-colored envelope onto her desk.

She grimaced. “Don’t people read the news?”

“Well, I called the charity putting the event on and I explained to them what happened. Of course, they would still like me to come and buy two dinners at four hundred dollars a plate, so my new fiancée is more than welcome.”

“Well, hopefully the deal will be finalized by then,” she said, looking down at the spiteful ring. “And I’ll be off the hook.”

“Good for both of us, but even if you are, you still might like to come. As my friend.”

“Right.” Yes. They were friends. First and foremost, before the sex stuff. At least in his mind. She was his friend, and he was hers, her very best friend. But he was so much more to her than that.

“It’s for charity. Something I’ve been planning on for a while, though, thanks to everything that’s been happening the timing slipped my mind. And I can’t take anyone else until all of this is finished.”

She noticed he didn’t say that he didn’t want to take anyone else. Only that he
couldn’t.

Being a bit oversensitive, aren’t we?
Maybe. Or maybe not.

“When is it?” she asked.

“Thursday. How are things going today? Have you come up with anything to go with the white tea from Amudee’s? I’m thinking of a gourmet tea cake. Wondering if we could start making our own preserves. That has definite mass-market appeal. Are you closer to reaching a deal?”

“It looks that way. I’m optimistic. He’s a hard man to read but he seems reasonably satisfied that Roasted is run to the sort of standards he likes to see.”

“Good.” She fought the urge to reach out and touch him, to forge a connection. That would just come across as needy and she didn’t want to seem needy. Even if she did feel a little bit needy.

“What’s this?” He took a sheet of paper off her desk and she cringed.

“Uh … a list I was making. For my bakery.”

Her bakery. The dream that wasn’t really her dream. She loved her job at Roasted, but if things didn’t work out with Zack she was going to need her escape more than ever.

“Oh. Right.” He set it back down. “Working on it during business hours?”

“Or during lunch. Or maybe during business hours, but you know I put my time in,” she said stiffly.

“I’m not going to give you special treatment just because we slept together.”

His words hung in the air, too loud in the small office, and far too harsh for her already-tender insides.

“Of course not. That would be ridiculous,” she said, picking up a stack of unidentified papers from her desk and walking over to the industrial stapler. She punched it down in three places and hoped that they were at least documents that went together. “Why would you do that?”

The truth was, he had always treated her like she was special, and having him say something like that made her feel demoted.

“You know what I meant.”

“I guess I don’t.”

He rounded her desk and cupped her chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up so that she had to meet his eyes. He leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her lips. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t say anything. Even so, all of the fight drained out of her.

“I’m going to be busy tonight,” he said.

That was probably for the best. Distance was probably a really, really good idea. Because she desperately didn’t want it, and that meant she very likely needed it. Because last night was proof neither of them were thinking clearly where the other was concerned.

They’d done it again. And there could be no more sex. None. It was too dangerous for her, too stupid. Too little. It was physical only for Zack, and she wanted more. She needed more.

“All right. Me, too, actually.” She’d find something to be busy with. She would. Except, the only people she ever hung out with, besides Zack, were the people she worked with. And it would be hard hanging out with them now when she was lying to them.

Maybe she’d work on some of the tea pastries she’d been thinking of.

“See you tomorrow, then. At work,” she said, feeling very accomplished that she was managing to seem cool and aloof about the whole thing.

“See you then,” he said, nodding and walking out of the room.

When he left she blew out a breath. The affair, fling, whatever, was supposed to ease some of the tension between them. But if anything, it seemed more intense than it had before.

She looked back down at her list. The items she was choosing for if she opened her own bakery. For if she had to leave Roasted so she could get away from Zack.

She was starting to hope she wouldn’t need it.

Clara put a pan of twelve cupcakes into the oven and closed the rack with her foot. They were pineapple cupcakes which she was intending to pair light, whipped frosting and candied mango on top. They might very well taste like a Caribbean vacation gone wrong, but she was feeling risky.

She was also feeling restless and sad.

It was Monday and normally Zack would come over for a football game neither of them would pay attention to. He would bring takeout, she would provide all things baked and sinful.

She missed that. And she wondered if the status quo hadn’t been so bad after all.

Right. Because you were such a sopping, sad mess you made his wedding cake even though it destroyed you to do it. And you’ve barely had a date since you met the man.

All true.

She growled into the empty room and turned her focus to whipping her frosting. That, at least, was physically satisfying. She dipped an unused spoon into the mix and tasted it. She hit Play on her kitchen stereo system and turned to the pantry humming while she rummaged for a can of pineapple juice.

She heard a sharp knock over the sound of her acoustic-guitar music and she stopped rummaging. She frowned and walked over to the door, peeking through the security window at the top.

Zack was there, looking back down the hall, like he was thinking about leaving. He had a brown paper bag in his hand, his work clothes long discarded in favor of a gray T-shirt and a pair of dark fitted jeans.

Her heart crumpled. Seeing him was almost painful. A reminder of how close they’d been physically. How far apart they were emotionally.

She braced herself for the full impact of his presence and opened the door.

He turned to her, smiling. “Hi.”

“I thought you were busy.”

That wasn’t what she’d intended to lead with, but it had sort of slipped out. Things just seemed to be “happening” around him without her permission a lot lately.

“It turns out it could wait.” He slipped past her and stepped into her apartment, depositing his bags of food on the counter and pulling white boxes from it without even asking for permission.

“Why are you … here?”

“It’s Monday.”

“And?”

“Football.” He shrugged as he opened the first container, revealing her favorite, Sweet and Sour Pork. Like nothing had changed.

It was comforting in a very bizarre way. And a tiny bit upsetting, too. She wasn’t sure which emotion she was going to let win. She’d give it until after dinner to decide.

“Right.” She turned and made her way around the counter, taking plates and utensils out of the cupboard and drawers. Zack dished up the food and neither of them spoke as they took their first few bites.

“You could turn the game on,” she said.

Zack walked across the open room and took her remote off the couch, aiming it at the TV and putting it on the local channel broadcasting the event.

“Who’s playing?” she asked.

“No idea.” He tossed the remote back where it had been and crossed back into the kitchen, taking a seat at one of the bar stools that lined the counter.

“Important enough to come over for, though,” she said, looking down at her plate and stabbing a piece of meat with her fork.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice rough.

“What … me? You missed me?”

“Yes. We always get together Monday. And I found myself wandering around my house. Thought about turning the game
on. But you’re right. I don’t really care about football, probably a side effect of coming down from the high of being the world’s most entitled high-school jock. I didn’t really want to watch sports, but I did want to eat dinner. With you.”

“I missed you, too, Zack,” she said.

His smile. His presence. His arms around her while she slept. But she wasn’t allowed to miss that last part. That had to be done. Over.

As for their friendship … she didn’t know what she would do without him. But she didn’t know if she would ever get over him if he was always around, either.

But she had to be with him, at least until she left Roasted. She would worry about the rest then.

“Making cupcakes?” he asked.

“They’re going to be very tropical.” She took a bite of fried rice and stood up, walking back into the kitchen to grab the can of pineapple juice she’d been after when he came to the door. “Not sure about them yet.”

She punched the top of the tin and drizzled some juice into her frosting, stirring it in slowly.

Zack leaned over the counter and stuck his finger in the bowl. She smacked the top of his hand. “I will frost your butt, Parsons. Keep your fingers out of my mixing bowl.”

He held his finger near his lips and gave her a roguish smile. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” He licked his frosting-covered finger and her internal muscles clenched in response.

She snorted. “No. I don’t know. You know what I meant.”

“Yeah.”

Her heart fluttered, but it was a manageable amount. “Behave.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Can’t make any promises.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back down to her dinner.

“Heard anymore about the store in Japan?” she asked.

That got Zack rolling on statistics and sales figures and all
sorts of things he found endlessly fascinating. She liked that about him. Liked that his job sometimes gave him a glint in his eye that made him look like an enthusiastic kid.

Then he launched into a story about the street performers that had been out in front of the restaurant tonight when he’d picked the food up, which reminded her of the time they’d been all but accosted by a street mime on their way to lunch one day.

She really had missed this. Sharing. Laughing. She loved that he knew her, that he knew all of her best stories, her most embarrassing moments.

The timer pinged for the cupcakes and she got up to check them.

“Finished?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, pulling them out with an oven mitt and setting them on the counter. “But hot.” She nearly laughed at his pained expression. “I have some cool ones, though. I know you don’t bake, but if you want to frost them you’re welcome to.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Bear in mind they are highly experimental.”

He smiled. “Sounds exciting, anyway.”

“Or a potential disaster of epic proportions, but we won’t know until we taste them.”

She loaded up a frosting bag and handed it to Zack while she set her own up and got started on leaving little stars all over the surface of one of the cupcakes.

Zack sneaked his hand past her and dipped it into the bowl again. She grabbed the spatula and smacked the back of his hand, leaving a streak of white frosting behind. “I said stop!” she said, laughing as he examined the mess she’d left behind.

“But the frosting is the best part.”

“You didn’t try the cake yet.”

He shrugged and raised his hand to his lips cleaning off the frosting she’d left behind, then he moved his finger near her mouth. “Taste?” he asked.

In that moment, it felt like her vision tunneled, reduced to nothing but Zack. The game, the sounds of the whistle, the crowd, the announcers, faded, blood roaring in her ears.

It was innocent. Or it should have been. She tried to tell herself that for about ten seconds. Because there was no female friend on earth, no matter how close, who would have offered what Zack was at the moment.

So it wasn’t innocent. She looked up, her eyes clashing with his.

They were dark, intense. Aroused. The air between them seemed to thicken, the only sound her breath. Too loud. Too obvious.

It wasn’t innocent at all.

She’d promised herself it wouldn’t happen again. That their last night together had been exactly that: their last night together.

It won’t happen again. I just need a taste.

She leaned in and slid her tongue along the line of his finger and her entire body tightened when a rough groan escaped his lips. The salt of his skin gave bite to the super-sweet frosting. If her cupcakes were a bust maybe she could just spread it all over Zack.

No.

She pulled back sharply, shaking her head. “Sorry. Just … sorry, I …”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her, deep and long, his tongue still coated in icing. When he released her, she felt dazed in the very best way.

She licked her lips. “You taste like a pineapple,” she said, her breath erratic, her heart pounding.

“Is that a good thing?” His voice sounded strained, like each word was an effort.

“I might have to … test it out again.”

He smiled and her stomach curled in on itself. “I’m more than willing to aid you in the testing.”

He dipped his head and she closed the distance between them, sliding her tongue over his bottom lip, reveling in the rough groan that rumbled in his chest.

He dipped his fingers back in the bowl and tugged at the hem of her shirt, drawing it over her head. “I feel at a disadvantage,” he said, sliding his fingers over her stomach. “Because you got a chance to taste me this way, and I haven’t gotten to do the same.”

He bent down and slid his tongue over her stomach. She shivered, gripping his shoulders, knowing they were going too far, not sure if she wanted to stop.

He stood and reached behind her, unhooking her bra with one hand. “You’re better at that than I am,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Good. That’s kind of the idea. I’d hate to think you’d be better off doing this for yourself.” He cupped her breast and slid his thumb off her nipple, leaving a faint dusting of icing covering her there. He bent his head and circled the tightened bud with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth.