Sweet Stuff Page 16

  Riley nodded. “Oh, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “And then you skipped the massage.” Franco sighed and stroked her arm. They could see the train wreck that was about to happen. “You had no warning.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. I even stopped on my way back to pick up something to wear under my dress to surprise him. Only, I was the one who got the surprise.”

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Charlotte said.

  “Me, too,” Riley said. “They were both naked. Right on my dining room table. With Brutus watching. I was jealous of her effortless perfection. We’d even made jokes about it, like couples do about people. She was so young, more than ten years younger than he was. He talked about her like she was a kid.”

  “Because she was a kid.”

  “I know. And he was madly in love with me, right?”

  “Maybe it was just crazy temptation. Like you said, boys are dumb,” Charlotte offered.

  “I don’t know if I could have forgiven that either. It would have been easier, I guess. But that wasn’t it. They didn’t even know I was there, because they were so ... enthusiastic.”

  “Oh, dear,” Charlotte said.

  “I threw my Victoria’s Secret bag at her. Clipped her on the cheek. She may never have a hairy mole, but she’ll probably have a little scar to remember me by.”

  “That’s the least of what I’d have thrown at her,” Franco said.

  “They were startled, of course.” Riley blew out a heavy sigh, prepping herself to go through it one more time. “Jeremy was contrite—not so much because of the cheating, but because I’d caught them at it. He had the nerve to be worried about covering her up, about her modesty. On my dining room table—my table—and he was more worried about me seeing her naked than—” She broke off, composed herself. “Once they were adequately covered, Jeremy proceeded to apologize that I’d found out that way. I asked how long it had been going on. He didn’t answer, but he put his arm around her—not me. He never even touched me, or tried to—” She stopped. Reliving that exact moment didn’t make her mad, it just broke her heart all over again. In that one moment, her entire life, everything she thought she had, thought she was, believed, and trusted in ... fell apart. “He told me he loved her. And that he’d been trying to find a way to tell me, for a whole year. A whole year, and he couldn’t find the right time to say, ‘By the way, I’m boinking Camalia all over our apartment. Happy New Year.’” She stifled the sob clutching at her throat, pissed with herself for letting it get to her again. “They wanted to keep Brutus.”

  “Oh, honey.” Franco stood and pulled her into a bear hug. “Now I am going to shoot him dead.”

  “I told Jeremy if he so much as laid a finger on Brutus, I’d cut parts of his body off and feed them to Mr. Bumpers,” she said, muffled against Franco’s chef coat. “While he watched.”

  Charlotte rubbed her hand on Riley’s back. “I’d have held him down for you.”

  Riley gave a watery laugh and shifted from Franco’s hug back to her stool. “My mad didn’t last long, at least not right then. It took a while to get back to that. I was just ... so devastated. Before that, I didn’t know what it felt like to be heartbroken. It’s this huge, clutching chasm in your chest. All the time. I wanted to get past it, to move on. To get mad again.” She half sniffled, half snorted. “And I did. At least the mad part. I used up all my sick leave and my vacation time because I couldn’t face the chance of seeing him at work.”

  “Oh God. You still had to work together.”

  “I didn’t know what I was going to do. But I had to go back or risk being fired and I loved my job.”

  “But you ended up leaving Chicago,” Charlotte said.

  Riley nodded. “I lasted five months, three days, and one hour. And I’m proud of that. But even I can only take so much. No career, no matter how hard you’ve worked to achieve it, or how much you love it, is worth everything. No matter how much you deserve to think you shouldn’t have to lose that, too, there’s only so much you can do. Sometimes, you just don’t get to win.”

  She slumped on her stool. “The first day I went back to work, I was freaked out about getting through the day without falling apart, not knowing what I was going to do when I saw him—it had only been two weeks—and I was still raw. Just ... raw. Like a giant exposed nerve. I was a walking disaster. I had no business trying to do anything for a client, but I knew I couldn’t sit at home and think about chopping my dining room table into kindling and setting it on fire, in Jeremy and Camalia’s front yard. That probably wasn’t healthy.”

  Drawing herself up, Riley took a steadying breath. “What I hadn’t counted on was arriving at work to find out Jeremy had never missed a day. In my absence, he had actually gotten Camalia hired.”

  Franco and Charlotte gasped.

  “Apparently Miss Perky Perfection had graduated with her degree in journalism right before Christmas. She was going to work with us, right in our department. Not a single person had thought to call and warn me—not that I had been taking calls. When I walked in, there they were, all gathered around the meeting table, drinking coffee and laughing. Laughing,” Riley said, as if the concept was so foreign to her, she simply couldn’t fathom anyone wanting to do it ever again. Of course, that was exactly how she’d felt at the time. “I was this pathetic, shattered shell ... and there they were, all happy and ... laughing. With my friends. Our friends. Well, our co-workers anyway. How could they? You know?” She laughed, but it was hollow. “The laughter died as one person spied me in the doorway and slowly everybody turned and stared at me. I don’t know which was worse, the look of regret on my co-workers’ faces, or the pity on Jeremy and Camalia’s. Humiliating doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  “And he’s still anatomically intact?” This came from Franco. “Because I might have had to ... do some rearranging.”

  “I don’t really remember the next few minutes, but everyone started to walk toward me, like they were going to what? Hug me? Say they were sorry? One guy—Ted, from graphics—lamely apologized and said he thought I knew. I think I laughed, before I turned around and fled. Just ... ran out.”

  “But you went back,” Char said. “My God, how?”

  “You know, I don’t really know. I was like a zombie, but I felt I had no choice, and that by plowing through, I was being the bigger person, the better person. But I sure didn’t feel bigger or better. In fact, it was probably the unhealthiest thing I ever made myself do. It was like working in a toxic cesspool every day. I didn’t trust anyone there, no one—”

  “Of course you didn’t, they all betrayed you.”

  “Why did you finally leave? What happened?”

  “Oh. I found the announcement. By accident, someone left it on the conference room table. Or maybe it wasn’t by accident. I don’t know, don’t care.”

  “Announcement of what?” Char asked.

  “Jeremy and Camalia’s wedding.”

  “Five months later?”

  “Well, you have to remember, for them, it had been more like a year and a half.”

  “Still. You’d been engaged longer than that.”

  “I guess the future wasn’t as far off and hazy for them. Whatever. If I thought the looks of pity I’d been getting up to that point had been gross, I could only imagine where it was going to go from there. Not to mention the endless talk of wedding dresses, wedding cake, photographers, and food—” Riley made a sound of disgust. “That was it. I surrendered. I saw the future and wanted no part of it. I walked straight to my office, dropped the announcement in the shredder, packed up my tools and whatever I could haul out on my person, and left. Didn’t say good-bye to a single person.”

  “Can’t blame you,” Franco said. “Then what did you do? How did you quit?”

  “I sent in my resignation by e-mail. And told them to go to hell when they didn’t even try to get me to stay but offered to give me good references. I was damn good at my job, the best stylist the
y had. I didn’t need their damn references. They should have at least pretended they wanted me to stay, though I wouldn’t have. They just ... chose Jeremy, I guess.” She shook her head. “No one picked me. I know that sounds so ... pathetic.”

  Riley lifted her shoulders, then let them slump. “I lasted one whole day at the apartment, but I’d wallowed enough by then and even I wasn’t that pathetic. I packed some things, got Brutus into my car, and we drove east. I had two friends, Chuck and Greg, who I’d worked with on several shoots earlier in my career. They’d become mentors and friends to me. They’d looked out for me, professionally, and I knew they’d probably help me figure out the next step. At that time they were living in the Hamptons, so I called them and they invited me out, told me I could stay as long as I wanted. They had a houseboat they were always planning to wander the ocean blue on, though they never did. I don’t remember who first had the idea I should live on it, but I do know there was a lot of wine involved. Anyway, Chuck has an uncle who lives on Jekyll, so that’s where they had the houseboat docked. I couldn’t afford to keep it there, so I had it moved up here, thinking I’d stay until I figured out what I was going to do next.” She smiled then, pushing the ugliness away. “And here I still am.”

  “We choose you,” Franco said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I am, too,” Charlotte agreed.

  Riley took a deep, deep, breath, and let it out slowly. It felt good. Cleansing. “Okay, so that’s it, right? I don’t ever have to talk about this again?”

  “Non, mon amie, of course not,” Franco said. “Unless you need to bash him. Then we’ll all jump in and help. With great enthusiasm.”

  She grinned. “Thank you. And thanks for dragging it out of me. For obvious reasons, it’s not something I like to talk about or even think about, but it’s good to have it all out there. I’m happy here. Truly happy. I choose you all, too.”

  “Do you miss Chicago?” Charlotte asked.

  “At times. Not so much the city. I’ve truly embraced island life. I love it here. I’m at peace here, and, more important, I feel like I fit in. I don’t think I realized how much I didn’t fit in, in the city. It was the job that took me there, and my life with Jeremy kept me there. Magazine life is pretty bohemian in a lot of ways and I loved so much of it, but I didn’t really fit in with the movers and shakers, suit and tie stuff. Here ... I’m accepted for who I am. Maybe because I can finally just be myself, I’ve figured out how to have—and to be—the one thing I’ve never really had in my life.” Riley smiled at them. “Friends. True friends.”

  Charlotte nodded. “You do. I’m glad you know that. We’ve always been in your corner.”

  “I know, and I should have confided sooner, it’s—”

  “No, that’s no one’s business but your own,” Charlotte said. “But I’m glad you felt like you could finally trust us enough to share. It makes sharing back that much easier.”

  “Not that it’s a real struggle for us,” Franco said dryly, earning a nudge from Charlotte.

  “We’ve had each other for a very long time, so we’re used to it,” Charlotte said. “Do you miss your work, styling food?”

  Riley nodded. “I do. A lot, actually. That was the one thing that did fit me. I think that’s why I love getting together with you all so much. Jeremy and I were big foodies, too, so I guess I miss that part a little bit, the restaurants, trying new chefs, new dishes. Working at Foodie, there were always events and things. I miss that part. Not so much the social game, or the power plays, but the food. It’s always been about the food for me.”

  “You’ll have to come into Savannah for more than just shopping,” Charlotte said. “Carlo is an amazing chef, and between us we’ve already met many of the local chefs and industry people. I think you’d really be surprised by the level of sophistication in their food. We go out all the time, doing exactly what you said, tasting, trying new things, getting inspired. We’d love to have you join us.”

  “Thank you,” Riley said, loving the idea, but not so sure she wanted to be the third wheel to the giddy couple.

  “I’ll invite myself along,” Franco said, so good at picking up on her every mood. “We’ll double-date.”

  “Deal.” Rather than feeling as if she’d given a chunk of herself away, Riley felt she’d received a very big gift. She knew her new friendships had been cemented with the exchange of trust.

  She supposed the next thing would be figuring out where she wanted to go with her other relationships. Of course, Quinn’s sexy grin popped to mind, but this time she didn’t automatically try to block it.

  Was it time to hang out her dating shingle again? She smiled, and tucked the thought away to ponder later. She’d done enough emotional dredging for one day.

  “Let’s make some cupcakes,” she announced. “I could use something decadent and sinful.” As they fell into the rhythms and patterns they’d established over the months of baking and working together, she realized she was happy. More important, for the first time in a very, very long time, she felt ... hopeful.

  She had no idea what the next step on her path would be, but she figured hope was a pretty vital ingredient to have. And, for now, that was enough.

  Chapter 11

  Hannah looked up, grooming brush in hand, as she heard the footsteps entering the stable. She stroked the mare’s neck and mane, more to gather herself than to settle the startled horse. She should be more surprised to see him again. Maybe, in some part of her, she’d always known she would. She took a step away, and faced her intruder. “What are you doing here?”

  If the lack of a warm welcome bothered him, he didn’t let it show. Not surprising. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  “Then, perhaps you should head on out. Come back when you do know.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Is that an invitation?”

  She allowed herself a moment to drink in the sight of him. It had been, what ... five years? Six, now? It might as well have been twenty, for all that had happened in their lives since.

  It might as well have been yesterday, given the way her heart was pounding. “I don’t know what it is,” she said, deciding honesty was the only way to handle this. Handle him. “What made you drive all the way out here? Did something happen on an old case?” She didn’t bother asking how he’d known where to look for her. He’d once been the best detective the Denver police department had ever had. Colorado was a big place, easy to get lost in, which was precisely what she’d done after leaving the medical examiner’s office over half a decade ago. But if Joe St. Cloud wanted to find someone, he usually did.

  “I’m not with the department any longer.”

  “I know,” was all she said, and found herself enjoying the way his eyebrow lifted again. She’d surprised him with that. Good.

  He walked closer then, and she had to work at not taking a physical step back. It would have been better—smarter—if she could have taken an emotional step back. Just as she’d done the entire time they’d worked together.

  “Some things you can walk away from and never look back.” He stopped right in front of her. His piercing blue gaze, the one she’d seen pin down the most heartless killer and make him beg for mercy, pinned her now. “Other things ... not so much.”

  Quinn abruptly closed his laptop. Dammit. He’d promised himself he’d stop doing that. Stop giving Joe and Hannah a voice, until he figured things out. But he’d been doing exactly that. He shoved away from his desk. A good hard run, that’s what he needed.

  Because today was going to be D-Day. Decision Day. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  Already in running shorts and a T-shirt, he put thought to action and headed straight out the back, through the dune trail. Kicking off his flip-flops, he tucked them between the blades of a palmetto bush so they wouldn’t blow away. He wasn’t coming off the beach until he’d committed himself to figuring out the lives, and eventual epic love story, of (maybe retired) homicide detective Joe St.
Cloud, and (maybe former) forensic analyst and (now full-time?) horse rancher, Hannah Lake.

  Quinn had been on Sugarberry for thirty-six days. October loomed less than a week away. He’d taken reams of notes and plotted out both versions of the story, wanting—needing—one of them to grab him and not let go. Problem was ... they were both good. Any other time, he’d have had his hooks deep into the homicide detective and forensic analyst partnership, pushing, dragging, propelling them through the paces of another gritty, grisly string of murders ... and letting them burn off the tension and screaming stress with steamy hot, bodies-up-against-the-wall and down-on-the-floor, mind-blowing sex. He knew exactly how he’d tell their story, how they’d work together, play together. He liked these two. A lot. And they were going to like each other a whole lot more.

  It was why the other story idea kind of pissed him off. He should already be knee-deep in brain matter and severed body parts, relishing the difficult path he was going to force those two down, if they had any hope of solving the murders. He’d even started the opening chapters, more than once.

  But snatches of other dialogue, the kind that happens long before a partnership is solidified, kept whispering in his head. Images, ideas teased and tantalized. His captivation with the two people he’d created grew by leaps and bounds ... but in the reverse direction. His characters usually had a backstory, how they’d come to be who and what they were as the story opens. His problem was, the backstory was as tantalizing as the current one he’d had in mind for them. So much so, his mind kept going there ... and sticking around for awhile.

  The more he thought about what they could give each other, the more tantalizing that story became. To him. Question was ... would anyone else care? He simply had no answer for that.