He went to fetch a beer from the refrigerator but changed his mind and poured two fingers of bourbon instead. He’d been careful about alcohol since the accident. He’d never had a tendency to drink too much but he’d seen tragedy turn better people than himself into drunks. He couldn’t afford that. At first he didn’t drink at all but, lately, he’d come to trust that he could have a drink without longing for another.
Damn. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had manipulated Lanie into asking them for dinner. Maybe because the menu sounded good. Maybe because he wanted some adult conversation in an environment where he was sure Emma would be welcome. Maybe because Lanie hadn’t been wearing those awful candy clothes and she’d looked prettier than he’d ever seen her.
But if he was going to be honest, he knew the real reason. As soon as he’s seen her in Big Starr, he hadn’t felt alone. And he wanted some more of that.
At any rate, he’d been enjoying himself. Even when Emma had become difficult, he had detected no annoyance at all from Lanie. It had pleased him more than it should have when she fixed him a fresh plate. And the simple comfort food had tasted better than anything he’d had since Carrie died. When he’d found himself confiding his misgivings about his parenting skills, he’d felt so comforted when Lanie reassured him. Sure, other people told him he was doing a good job, but he never quite believed them, always felt like they were trying to make him feel better. For some odd reason, he trusted that Lanie knew what she was talking about and that she would have had no compunction about telling him he needed to stop rocking Emma.
Then all hell had broken loose. He couldn’t even put his finger on exactly what had made her mad.
But by damn, he was going to find out. He knocked back the rest of the bourbon, picked up the baby monitor, and pounded on Lanie’s door. No answer. He pounded again. Still no answer. Maybe she was in the shop.
Sure enough, when he opened the stairwell door he saw light coming from the kitchen. She had her back to the door and she was beating a slab of fudge with a two-foot long spatula. She could have been a medieval warrior punishing fudge that had offended kingdom, crown, and God.
He waited for her to turn around. When she didn’t, he stepped around the counter to face her. She was still wearing the jeans and white shirt but had added a plain heavy canvas apron. Why couldn’t she dress like this all the time?
She frowned at him and said, “Where’s Emma?”
He held up the baby monitor. She frowned some more. He held it to her ear so she could hear Emma breathing. She nodded, albeit grudgingly.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know what I did to offend you.”
Whack, whack, whack,
went the spatula against the fudge. “Well, let’s see.” She put one hand on her hip and let the spatula rest against the fudge. “You practically invited yourself to dinner, which I took as a sign that you might want to be friends. But it turns out you’re hoping my business fails so I can be Emma’s nanny!”
What? Where did she get that idea? “I do not hope your business fails. I was just pointing out that if it did, I think you’d make a good nanny. It was a compliment.”
“Oh, knock it off, Luke.” She slammed the spatula on the counter and put her other hand on her hip. “I might not have finished college but I’m not stupid.”
Suddenly, he was a little mad. The punishment — her anger — didn’t fit his crime. Nobody ever went to jail for wishing someone’s business would fail. The rats in the chocolate would be another matter, but it’s not like he would have really done that.
“Well? So what? I’m having a hard time. You’re good with Emma. Great. Better than anyone since — well, even better than my mother. Is it such a sin to wish you could take care of her all the time? It’s not like my wishing is going to bankrupt you.”
“Friends do not wish ill on each other. What if I wished you would get thrown off the bench so you could be Phillip’s assistant?”
“
Assistant
? I am not anyone’s assistant! I could run that coffee bar better than Phillip on his best day!” She waved that spatula in the air. He noticed a wooden spoon that had to be a yard long lying on the counter. He picked it up, thinking he might have to parry a blow.
“Yeah, I’m sure of that!” she said sarcastically. “Especially if your coffee making skills are as good as your people skills!”
“And why are you pretending to date Nathan Scott when you’re not?” Why had he said that?
“What?” Her eyes widened and she spoke in a whisper. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody told me. I used my ears. I was sitting on the balcony that night when he brought you home and took your chicken. By the way, I appreciate you keeping him off my car.”
“You spied on me!” Her surprise turned to fury. She turned the spatula over in her hand, like it was a weapon.
“Don’t hit me with that. I’m a judge. You won’t get away with it.”
“I don’t give a monkey’s ass what you are and I don’t even have a monkey!”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t have to make sense. I’ve got five pounds of fresh fudge. I can rule the world.”
“Not in those candy infested clothes you wear all the time, you can’t. And the fudge probably has peanuts in it.”
“I knew it! I knew you blamed me for that attack.”
“I didn’t until you kept groveling,” he admitted.
“Groveling? Just because I have some manners and was sorry for what happened to you — ”
He tapped the wooden spoon across his palm. Lanie trained her eyes on it, then him, and then lifted her chin.
“I know what you want to do,” she said between gritted teeth. “You want to bang that spoon on the counter and yell, ‘Order! Order! I will have order in this candy shop! Miss Heaven, you will be quiet or I will hold you in contempt!’ Well, guess what? You can’t. This is
my
candy shop and
my
counter!” She grabbed his forearm with one hand and took the spoon with the other. “Furthermore, this is
my
spoon. It was my great-grandmother’s spoon and then my grandmother’s. It has stirred enough candy to fatten the whole of Ethiopia. It’s always going to be my spoon, even in the unlikely event that you get your wish and my shop fails. If I have to, I’ll sneak it out of here in my pants that you find so offensive.”
She continued to rant and wave the spoon — while continuing to grip his forearm. Gradually, Luke lost all sense of what she was saying because he could only take in one thing — that warm, strong hand on his arm, skin on skin.
Not counting fingers brushing accidently over money, receipts, and legal papers, how long had it been since he’d been touched by someone who didn’t share his DNA? Sure, he’d touched Lanie — or almost touched her, but
she
hadn’t touched
him
. Maybe a hand gripping him out of anger shouldn’t count, but it felt so good, like an anchor that would stop him from drifting out to sea. Now and then, she squeezed his arm, he supposed, for emphasis. Her lips continued to move and he occasionally caught a word or phrase; “arrogant,” “nosy,” “know it all,” “mind your own business.” All the while, her green eyes snapped with life and fury.
Once again, she squeezed his arm but this time she moved her fingers. Bliss. He closed his eyes to block out everything except that sensation. Seconds passed, maybe minutes, before he realized she’d grown quiet. Lanie’s fingers loosened but she didn’t let go of his arm. Was she even aware she was still grasping it?
“Luke?” He partially opened one eye to see a perplexed, less angry Lanie. She started to remove her hand.
No! Anything but that.
His eyes flew all the way open.
“Lanie!” He gripped her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, or what all she had accused him of. But it didn’t matter. He’d say whatever it took make her touch him again. “You’re right and I am so, so sorry.”
He let his hands slip from her shoulders to her back and she was finally fully engulfed in his arms. Her hair smelled like lemons and her cheek was warm and soft against his neck. She stiffened for a moment and then gave his back an awkward pat. She probably thought this was just a friendly “I’m sorry” hug. His groin said otherwise.
“You can’t help who you are, I guess,” she said with a sigh.
Refusing to let her go, he placed his cheek next to hers and urged her face upward until their mouths met. So soft, so sweet, so feminine. But strong too; there was strength in everything about her. She almost pulled away, but instead relaxed into him. When he tried to draw her tongue into his mouth, she resisted but accepted his. She tasted like chocolate — not childlike sweet milk chocolate, but warm dark chocolate with layers of flavors that drove him from aroused to desperate.
If only he hadn’t gotten greedy the moment might have lasted, but he slid her apron up and cradled his erection in the apex of her thighs. Lost in the blissful friction, he deepened the kiss.
She allowed it for no more than a few seconds. Then she was out of his arms with her back to him, her spatula poised over the slab of candy.
“Are you allergic to pecans?” she asked as if they had been pleasantly discussing the weather.
“No.” Before he could speak another word, he found himself with a wax paper wrapped chunk of fudge in his hand.
“Try it tomorrow once the flavors have had a chance to blend. It has cherry liquor and espresso in it.” Without turning to look at him again, she gathered dirty utensils and moved toward the commercial dishwasher.
He’d been dismissed — twice in one night.
At the door, he looked back over his shoulder. If she knew he was watching her, there was no indication. She methodically loaded that dishwasher like the very existence of mankind depended on it being done correctly and she was the only one who could possibly live up to the task. How could he have ever thought she was a train wreck? Maybe the existence of mankind
did
depend on her — at least this man. He had thought Lanie was the last thing he needed. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was the
only
thing he needed. Not what he wanted, of course. But he couldn’t have what he wanted. That was buried in Magnolia Cemetery in Mobile.
With half an erection and Lanie’s chocolate and cherry flavored kiss still warm in his mouth, Luke slowly and reluctantly walked away from the room that held Lanie — and pondered a way to be allowed back in.
At ten minutes before eleven, Lanie slipped into her usual pew at Christ Episcopal Church. At least she hoped it was her pew. People could get pretty persnickety if you took their seat, and she usually came to early service. However, this morning during early service, she’d been delivering the thirty personalized chocolate eggs that would serve as place cards at the children’s table at Missy’s Easter egg hunt and luncheon — plus a large basket of Easter candy that hadn’t sold. Missy had tried to pay her, but she had refused. It had been a good month — maybe the best she’d had since she’d taken over the business. She’d know for sure when she went over the figures tonight. She needed to order supplies too, which she dreaded but it had to been done — should have been done three days ago. But between the busy week and helping to watch Emma, there had simply been no time. If the thought of Emma brought a smile to her face, the thought of her father didn’t.
Damn Luke Avery! Damn that kiss — if she hadn’t known better, it was almost enough to make her think she might be normal. It had felt almost like high school kisses and the early days with Alexander when a kiss felt like a promise of wonderful things to come. But she knew better. There were no wonderful things to come for her, at least not in that department. It was a good thing it had been a busy week and she hadn’t had time to think about it much.
Thankfully, except for once, the times she’d seen Luke, Emma had been with him. The one time she’d had to deal with him alone, he’d ordered almost five hundred dollars’ worth of Easter candy — marzipan rabbits for Emma’s school party, boxes of truffles for his staff, and chocolate assortments that he wanted shipped to his sister and out of town friends — which Lanie noted were all couples.
When he added a ridiculously extravagant Easter basket for Emma, Lanie said, “Why are you doing this?” After all, she was still furious with him and had made no secret of it. Fury was excellent insulation.
“I need it. You sell it. Supply and demand. That’s how commerce works, Lanie.”
“Fine.” She added the price of the basket to his bill. “Anything else? I have some fresh peanut caramel clusters.”
“No, thank you. But I would like some of that fudge. You know, from Saturday night.”
“Sold out,” she lied. “It was a hit.”
“Yes, it was.” And the bastard had the audacity to wink at her as he handed over his platinum card.
Lanie sighed. This was nothing to be thinking of on Easter. There were lilies on the altar, the music was soothing, and the bells rang sweet. Behind her, she heard a quiet chuckle go through the crowd. Highly unusual. Episcopalians were taught at an early age not to talk, laugh, or fidget after entering the sanctuary. This was a time to prepare to worship. Lanie resisted turning around, which was also against the rules — until she felt an insistent little finger tapping her shoulder.
She gave her head a quarter turn, and there sat Emma Avery — in a bee costume, complete with antennae, yellow and black tights, and little black shoes. Lanie bit her lip and met Emma’s bright smile. Then she slid her eyes to the left. Pressed and perfect Luke Avery didn’t look so pressed and perfect this morning. He looked like a man who had fought a war — a bad one. His hair lay in messy curls all over his head, his tie was crooked, and his face was damp with perspiration. He met her eyes and shook his head helplessly.
During the children’s moment, when all the preschoolers went to the altar to gather around Father Gregory, there were more chuckles throughout the congregation. As Emma sat among the other children wearing their smocked and embroidered finery, Father Gregory smiled broadly and said something about all God’s creatures gathering on Easter Sunday. When Emma passed Lanie on the way back to Luke, she leaned in and whispered, “Buzz.” Throughout the rest of the service — hymns, sermon, prayers, communion — Lanie fought her laughter. By golly, Emma had said she was “’posed to be honeybee,” and she was.