Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie Page 18

  “I was going to tell you once we’d talked through whether or not the space would even work for you. You’d kind of dismissed it out of hand, if you recall.”

  “Because I can’t afford rent on a place the size of Bea’s tailor shop, much less something like this, so there was no point in getting my hopes up.”

  “So, are you saying that, if rent wasn’t an issue . . . you think this might work?”

  Whatever rational answer she thought she might give him, the fleeting look of yearning in her eyes was all the answer he needed. It was a replica of the one he’d seen in the alley the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. It was as powerful now as it had been then. More so, maybe, because he knew more of what was behind it. And, perhaps, because there was hope along with the aching vulnerability.

  “I can’t pay you,” she said, then lifted her hand. “And no, I’m not making any wisecracks about other forms of payment. I really was just kidding. We might not know each other all that well yet, but I think I have a pretty good handle on the type of code you live by.”

  “Do you now?” he asked, bemused.

  “I think so. Anyway, it’s all moot because no money is no money.”

  “This place is sitting here earning me exactly nothing, whether someone is in it or not. To my way of thinking, it’s better if someone is at least in it, right?”

  “Fair point, and appreciated, but the renovations—”

  “You had some plan for renovating Bea’s place, right?”

  “I did, but it’s a much smaller space. I was going to focus on getting the front area set up to show off my pieces, use the back room for my work studio and her apartment upstairs to live in and as my office, then gradually upgrade as I could. I’d save the more dramatic changes for when the farm sells. Then I would get my own place to live, make the entire downstairs the showroom, keep her upstairs apartment as my office, and renovate the rest into a workshop. Maybe even a small classroom.”

  He could envision all of that, and she’d be good at it. It was brilliant in its own way, because she’d be instructing and demonstrating, which invited people directly into her world, allowing them to get to know her. At the same time, by keeping her students’ hands on their work . . . she’d have more control in keeping them out of her immediate personal space. It was a way to immerse herself in the community, get close to people, allow them in, but still preserve that tiny bit of physical distance she needed to insure she stayed on an even keel.

  He thought back to how extreme it had been for her when she’d been transported back to the garage fire, reliving that terror through his eyes. He realized what a great risk it was to put herself in any position where that might happen in a professional setting. It was one thing for it to happen between the two of them, or even on Miss Barbara’s front porch. But what if she was in the middle of a class? Or ringing up a sale?

  Who would help her then? Who would protect her?

  The ferocity of his immediate internal response to that question floored him. There was leaping tall buildings, and then there was taking on the impossible task. No one could completely protect her . . . and more to the point, she didn’t expect anyone to, much less want them to.

  Her aunt had successfully offered her “advice” right along with her tailoring skills, but it sounded like Bea never had the kind of “moments” Honey had. Their familial gifts were entirely different. Bea’s was much milder than her own, Honey had said. And she had come all the way across the country with the idea of trying to have a normal life, with a normal storefront business, normal friends she could actually spend time with. He didn’t know if that made her courageous and brave, or a glutton for the worst kind of emotional and public punishment. But she had his admiration for trying.

  “It sounds like you had it all planned out.” He realized how much of a shock it must have been to arrive, only to find Bea’s little shop had been renovated completely and turned into a cupcake shipping outlet. “I know this is a bigger space and it hasn’t been used in a long time, but if you tried to break it down into smaller, doable chunks, the end result would put you in a much better place, right?”

  “In terms of size, yes. But I owned the space in my scenario and, no offense, but now I’d be a tenant.”

  “A tenant who is still a property owner. I know it won’t bring you income for a few years, but I’m assuming you plan to be in this business for the long haul. In a couple years, you’ll have the lease income. You’ll also get investment capital from selling the farm, and eventually, a profit from this place, as well. I’m assuming you plan to keep your online store going, too, so that’s a good foundation to build on.”

  “You make it all seem so doable.”

  “Because it is. But only if you want it to be.” He looked around again, then back at her. “You could really do something with a space like this, couldn’t you?”

  For all her casual dismissal earlier, her guard had been sufficiently lowered, and the poignant longing, the barely concealed, banked excitement was plain to see.

  “I know it took a lot to come here, to try. More space would be a good thing for . . . the rest of it, too, right? Easier to control contact if there was less potential crowding.”

  “Yes, it would, but—”

  “You put your farm up for sale and drove a couple thousand miles, intent on starting your own place, starting a new life. That’s not something someone does who is iffy on the idea.”

  “Juniper Hollow, where I’m from, is a very small town in a somewhat rugged and isolated area. I didn’t think a sale was going to happen right away. If ever. So, it wasn’t like I absolutely couldn’t go back. A risk, yes, but—”

  “But, what if it had? What if the farm sells, and you’re here, and it’s not going as you’d hoped. Do you have a backup plan?”

  She smiled then, and he liked the spark that came back into her sea green eyes as she lifted a shoulder. “Georgia is in the South, right? I figure it has a lot of barns. Probably one I could buy and move into somewhere around here.” She sighed. “The truth is, whatever happened, I didn’t want to go back to Oregon. Ever. I wanted . . . something new. Something else. Anything else.”

  He held her gaze, then let his own smile come out, as certain about his decision as she was about hers. If she could take that kind of risk and had that kind of determination, then hell, he had no choice. He wasn’t leaping the tall building in this case, but the surprise was it felt every bit as good to help her leap her own.

  “Then let’s do this. Knowing how you feel about helping hands, we’ll work out a little lease agreement that includes paying back rent for whatever time it takes to get up and running. We can get Morgan to put it in writing and make it all legal. When your farm sells, or when this place is making a profit, you can handle the lease and the back rent repayment however it works best. Like I said, I’m not making money from this place as it is.”

  “Dylan—” She broke off and simply stared at him, clearly torn.

  “Sugar, how can you expect me to bet on you if you won’t bet on yourself?”

  “I do bet on myself,” she said staunchly, but he could hear the quaver in her voice. She broke their gaze and slowly, as if in a dream, turned and took in the space one more time. “I just . . . I don’t even know what to say. I’ve never . . . no one has ever . . .” Her voice drifted off, and he saw her throat work.

  “What? Believed in you? Backed you up?”

  “Other than my family . . . no. Not that I’ve let anyone in. It’s just . . . a lot to take in. A whole lot.”

  “I’ve learned the only person who can get in the way of me getting what I want . . . is me. If you want it, go for it. Whether you believe I’m behind you or not doesn’t matter. Are you behind you? Can you back up your dream with commitment, no matter what? That’s what matters. That’s what it takes.”

  She looked at him again. “Is that what it took for you? I mean . . . I don’t know the whole story of your family history and I’m
not asking for it, but you’ve alluded to it, and Alva has, and, if we’re being open and honest, Barbara Hughes said a few things.”

  He frowned. “Honey—”

  She lifted her hand, palm out. “I really don’t mean to pry. That’s not my point, anyway. I was going to say that it sounds like you’ve practiced what you’re preaching. And that means something to me.”

  “We all get where we want to be on different paths, but the one thing we have in common is we have to take the path, embark on it, to get there. You won’t get anywhere sitting and wondering. You already know that. So . . . keep going.”

  “Why did you buy this space? Don’t you have plans for it?”

  He shook his head. “The garage had been passed down to me. I owned it when it burned down. We’d been with the same insurance company since the day my grandfather opened. Never filed a single claim. The settlement was a good one. And, between the depressed economy and how long these properties have sat empty . . . well, to say they went for a song isn’t much of a stretch. Where my shop is now was already set up as a garage, so renovation was minimal. I had more money than I needed for the garage property. It made sense to put it somewhere instead of giving it away in taxes. I have a house, so”—he shrugged—“I figured, worst case, the investment would keep me from having neighbors I didn’t want. Best case, if the garage did start a trend and interest in developing the other channel road properties grew, then I could turn around and sell them at a profit. And, sugar, pretty much anything more than the plug nickel I paid would be a windfall.”

  She gave him a perceptive look. “You try to pass as this sort of unassuming mechanic, just getting by, running the old family business. But something tells me you’re a lot shrewder than people might guess.”

  “Well, darlin’, I’m not entirely a bad bet. Business-wise, anyway.”

  She grinned at that. “Yeah, I’m not buying the unassuming part anymore, either, just so you know. On any count. You forget who was almost taking my blouse off not that long ago.” She gestured around her. “Not exactly the most romantic spot, so . . . you’re not without skill.”

  “I’m not sure if my ego just got a bump, or took a hit.”

  She simply smiled at him. “You have your skills, I have mine. So, tell me honestly, did you have dreams of expanding the garage one day?”

  He shook his head. “Expanding means growing the business, which means taking on other types of work, not to mention more employees. I’ve got no interest in that. I like what I’ve got, it suits me just right, and provides enough to meet my needs.”

  He let the smile come out again. “And once I have a paying tenant next door, I’ll be making more money without any of the overhead or the headaches. That’s more than I could have hoped for.”

  “It might take a long time,” she warned, “a very long time, in fact, before I’m operating in the black, given the much bigger starting size of the shop. And the farm might never sell. What if—”

  “Darlin’, we’ll deal with the what if when it happens. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m right next door. Unless you get a vision in your head tellin’ me it’s going to burn down or blow away, I plan to still be there when I’m too old to wheel myself under a car.” A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “And if you play your cards right, having good neighbors might net you some free labor now and again from me or Dell when we have the spare time.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t expect—”

  “Shhh. For once, just say thank you. If you plan to stay in the South, you’ll have to get used to folks helpin’ folks. You’ll get plenty of chances to pay it forward.”

  She smiled again. “Thank you.”

  He grinned. “That mean we’re in business?”

  She brought her hand up to cover her still smiling mouth, then pushed up her glasses, then covered her mouth again.

  “You want it, darlin’, don’t you?”

  She lowered her hand. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything,” she blurted in a fervent whisper that tugged at his heart. “It’s perfect.”

  He’d purposefully ignored thinking about how it was going to affect him, so it was not the time to be thinking about what it might feel like to hear her say those same words while she was looking straight at him with that same anticipation and excitement banked in those eyes of hers . . . and not talking about an empty, musty building space.

  “Then it’s a done deal,” he said, before either of them could change their mind.

  Her eyes went wide over the fist she’d pressed against her mouth and she did a nervous little dance-in-place maneuver that had him chuckling.

  He spread his arms wide. “Welcome to Honey’s Next Life Adventure.”

  Superman, eat your heart out.

  He was still grinning at her little two-step victory dance, so was completely unprepared when she impulsively launched herself right into his open arms. He caught her against his chest even as his eyes went wide with stunned surprise. He spun her around to keep from stumbling back as she whooped and laughed, which made him laugh and want to whoop right along with her. He gave her another spin and she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her hands behind his neck as their gazes met again.

  “Thank you,” she said, eyes shining with emotion. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll pay you back. Every penny. I’m a good bet, too, Dylan Ross.”

  I know you are, sugar, he thought. I know you are.

  He was still reeling from having her wrapped around him, having her hands freely and willfully on him for the first time when she took what was left of his breath away by leaning in and kissing him soundly on the mouth. What might have been meant as a fast, hard kiss to seal the deal, quickly turned into something heated and far more intimate. She moaned first . . . or maybe he did. He was thinking about finding the nearest wall and picking up where they’d left off earlier . . . when she went oddly stiff and made a strangling noise in her throat.

  “Aw, shit,” he murmured.

  Then he held on for dear life. Hers . . . and his.

  Chapter 12

  Dammit, dammit, no! No! But it was too late, she was already spinning away. The way he’d looked at her, encouraged her—dared her, almost—to reach out and grab what she wanted had made her feel invincible.

  She should have known better.

  She could still feel Dylan’s arms around her holding her tightly, and he was murmuring something she couldn’t make out, over and over. Surprisingly, the steadiness of his voice, the constancy of it, along with his hold on her, calmed her, and the panic she always felt at that first existential jerk sideways subsided a little.

  Then things began to shift more fully into the vision and other thoughts took over. She braced herself to deal with the acrid smell of smoke, the pounding pulse, and racing heart that would soon follow. But . . . she wasn’t in the burning garage, nor was she watching him race toward one. She wasn’t anywhere around anything like that. She was . . . rocking. Slowly, gently. Swaying. There was a gentle pitch, then a slow dip, then another easy climb again.

  A boat!

  She was . . . on a boat. Oh no! No, no, no! Was she on the fishing trawler? Did that mean it was going to be Dylan instead of Mr. Hughes taking the gash in the leg? Or worse? Why would he take Frank’s place on the fishing boat? She had to warn him not to go. But . . . wouldn’t the boat be pitching wildly in the storm? She squinted, trying to make the rest of the vision come into focus, but it was just sensory, nothing visual yet. She could smell the salt water, the sting of it in the air. It was warm, humid . . . but there was heat, too. The sun! Not the storm she’d seen earlier. It was sunny, bright, hot. Oh, thank God.

  So . . . where was the urgency, she wondered. Why had she been pulled in so abruptly? Usually when she was jerked in like that, it meant something big . . . something bad. Oftentimes, really bad.

  She tried to focus, tried, for once, to tap in more deeply to the vision instead of backing away from it. If something was going to happen to Dylan,
she wanted to know about it. But she just kept feeling the sway, the dip and roll of the water beneath . . . beneath a sailboat! Dylan’s sailboat! Was something going to happen to his boat? After all his hard work, was he destined to lose it somehow? Seemed unfair for a man who’d suffered so much loss, but Honey knew all about life not being fair.

  That kind of ominous vibration wasn’t in the moment. Quite the opposite, actually. If she allowed herself to relax into it, she could be lulled into a very peaceful place. At least, that’s how it felt.

  Her breath began to steady now that the initial onslaught was over, and she let herself relax into it more. She could feel the heat on her skin, and enjoyed the motion of the gentle swell and the slow slide down again. It felt . . . good. She tried to keep some part of herself braced for the inevitable, but the longer she stayed in the moment, the more challenging that became.

  The vision formed like mists parting. Although she felt the movement of the sailboat, she was sort of watching as the scene came into focus. Out on the open water, a gorgeous, bright, sunny day, his back was to her as he manned the wheel. A beautifully restored, vintage wooden wheel—or whatever they were called. He wore white khaki board shorts that hung low on his hips, showcasing his backside and tanned, muscular calves. His stance was solid, his hips steady as he easily rode the pitch and roll.

  He wore a faded, sky blue T-shirt and the breeze had molded the soft fabric to his torso. Strong forearms, with those wide palms she already knew so intimately, gripped the wheel. His hair was longer, sun streaked, the ends dancing in the wind as he kept watch over the waters ahead. Something else was different about him. His shoulders were relaxed, she realized. Everything about him was relaxed. The man she knew had an intensity about him, a sort of banked energy that emanated from him at all times, as if he was always braced for something. But the man on the sailboat had not a care in the world.