A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2) (14 page)

Jessie's shoulders relaxed, and her eyes softened. "Oh. Sorry. That was about to be very disappointing for me."

She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and folded her arms. Her curls had turned to waves, and she had smudges of eye makeup on her lower lids. She looked a little tired, but neither of them had slept very well. He could watch her all day.

"What?" She looked down and away from him, then wiped at her cheeks. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No."

"Then why are you smiling at me?"

"I'm thinking that you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

She smiled but looked down again, too embarrassed to respond. Then she crossed the kitchen toward the stove. "You can go sit on the couch if you want. I have the fireplace channel on."

A video of a crackling fire played on the television screen. "That's a nice touch," he said.

"I should've had that idea first, to play a fire on a television channel all day. That's a million-dollar idea, I bet."

"It's gotta be close."

He couldn't help but smile. He loved that her idea of romance included a pre-recorded fire.

Instead of sitting in front of the video fire, he pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar and waited while Jessie scooped eggs onto two plates and poured two cups of coffee. She smiled sweetly as she handed him his breakfast, then she walked around the counter to sit beside him. "I like having you here," she said. "It's better than talking to Travis."

"High praise." He leaned over and kissed her on the temple. "I like being here. I'm sorry I made you feel like a prostitute just then."

"Not even a high-class one," she murmured as her gaze fell on the bills. "For future reference, I'm worth more than that."

"Amen," he said, and reached for his fork.

I
n all of
the months he'd been training Claire, he'd never been late — until that day. When he pulled up in the driveway, she was on the front steps, tapping her watch. "Ten minutes late," she called as he stepped out of the car. "Don't think I'll forget it."

That morning, Claire was in a red tank and matching spandex shorts. The outfit left virtually nothing to the imagination. "I'm only eight minutes late," Nate said calmly. Claire was giving him a hard time. He knew her schedule was her own, and she didn't care.

"I have a knot in my shoulders," she said as she approached, rubbing at the base of her neck. "I was wondering whether you have any suggestions for a good massage therapist."

See? She was already on to a different topic. "I know a few good ones in the area. I'll give you their names."

"Bless you," she sighed, and took a sip of her tea. "Oh, and that reminds me: why are you so hard to get an appointment with these days? Should I take it personally?"

He winced. He'd been meaning to talk to Claire about a few things, and he'd been sort of avoiding her calls so that he could address her in person. "I'm making some changes. I've been teaching yoga at the Archer Cove Country Club, and the classes have been full. It's going well."

She stared at him blankly. "You. Teaching yoga. At a country club." Statements, not questions. "What the hell possessed you to do that?"

Okay, that wasn't exactly the supportive response he'd been anticipating. Wasn't Claire one of his biggest fans? "My buddy is the recreation director there, and one of his teachers broke an ankle a few days before the class started, so I filled in."

Nate realized that he could continue talking, but no amount of words was going to change that dismayed look on Claire's face. "Nate. Nate. Wait a sec, I'm trying to process this." She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again and set a hand on his forearm. "You're telling me that I can't get extra appointments with you because you're doing head stands at the country club?"

"Head stands are an advanced move. This is more of an introductory —"

"Oh, this is bull." Claire turned around to talk to no one behind her. Then she spun around again, her arms spread wide. "If you needed extra money, you should've come to me. You didn't need to take some terrible job at a country club. For God's sake. Do you like yoga, is that what it is? Because if you do, I can get you hired on private yachts. Would you like to do that, to go vacationing with people as their private — what are they called? Yogurts?"

"Yogis."

"Yes. Quick trip. You go somewhere nice, make a lot of money, do some yoga on the beach, and then come back and help me to get rid of my muffin top. Would you like something like that? "

That actually sounded terrible. "No, but thank you. I kind of like working there. At the country club. And it looks like they have an opening for the recreation director position."

The blood drained from her face. "Don't say it." She covered her ears: one with her hand, one with her thermos. "Don't. I can't stand the thought of you selling your soul to a golf course."

"I'm thinking about applying," he said. "Come on. It's nine to five. Good benefits, decent salary."

She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. "I can't even —" She waved a hand at him and turned to walk away. "Do you think this is funny, Nathan? I've lost five percent body fat in the past six months, and now you're telling me that you're going to give all of this up to plan racquetball tournaments? Why don't you just shove a chocolate croissant in my face while you're at it?"

Okay, this was new. Claire was legitimately worked up about his possible gig. This move was supposed to be about making him respectable and stable. It was supposed to be about advancement options — weren't those good things? He waved his hand at his SUV. "What am I doing now, Claire? I drive around and teach people how to make their push-ups more challenging, or how to do a squat without blowing out their knees. Where do I go from here? I can't advance, and I'm too young to be okay with doing this for the rest of my life."

She came back to center and took a breath, considering the statement. "I'm sorry," she said after a few moments had passed. "Of course. It's not just about me and my muffin top."

He exhaled. "Thank you for understanding."

"I understand nothing," she replied. "You don't belong in that country club — are you kidding me? You'd be miserable."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So what's your suggestion, then?"

She lifted her shoulders and said, "Easy. You're going to open a gym. I'm going to be your number-one investor."

"Claire." Nate rubbed at the back of his neck. His day had been going so damn well, and now it was all awkward. "I appreciate that. I really do. To be honest, I've been looking into the possibility of opening a gym, but there are some barriers."

She listened attentively as he detailed his discussions with George Dinardo and told her about the space. She asked thoughtful questions that indicated she knew a few things about running a business — questions about tax deductions and depreciations, returns on investment, and capitalization. Before he knew it, they were both leaning against the hood of the SUV, deep in conversation as the morning sun grew warmer.

"I'm going to be frank," Claire said at a pause in the conversation. "I want to invest in your gym. Not out of charity, but out of faith that you're going to make me a shit ton of money."

Nate laughed softly, feeling the conflict within him. On the one hand, he agreed with Claire: he could open a gym, and he could kick ass. On the other hand, there was always the possibility he could fail, and he didn't want to do that to Claire.

She sensed his hesitation. "You're not going to do this, are you? You're going to take that terrible country club job instead." She shook her head sadly. "Sorry to say, I'm not about to give up on you. I know you can do this, and I'm going to keep pushing you."

Nate stared down at his feet, wondering what he was so afraid of, anyway. Well, maybe it was just that he was used to being a lone wolf, doing his own thing without having anyone else depend on him. "The last thing I want is to let you down."

"Hey." Claire reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, but the look in her eyes was serious, not sympathetic. "You've never let me down. You're so thoughtful, I doubt you've ever let anyone down in your entire life. How about taking something for yourself this time? You never know, you may like getting what you actually want."

His thoughts flew to Jessie and quickly turned graphic. Yeah, he liked it, all right. Nate cleared his throat. "Okay. Let's say, for argument's sake, that I'm willing to keep an open mind about...what is this? A partnership?"

"I could be persuaded to be a silent investor or a silent partner."

"All right. You seem like you have some experience with these things. Let's assume I don't. So." He looked at her. "What's the plan?"

Claire grinned and linked her arm with his. "How much time do you have before your next client?"

"I'm free until noon."

"Then let's keep the workout light and talk shop in my kitchen. I do my best plotting over tea."

N
ormally
, Jessie loved working with her family. On days that she came to work after a night of being shagged silly, however, she felt a little strange about the whole thing.

"Hey, Jess," Uncle Hank called from the kitchen. "Can you get me some bananas?"

Bananas. They were a harmless fruit — so why did her mind choose to go dirty? By the time she reached the kitchen with the bunch, her cheeks were enflamed and she couldn't look her uncle in the eyes.

Jeez. It's not like she'd been a virgin! Maybe she wasn't the most experienced person in the world, and maybe her last boyfriend hadn't been exactly attentive in that department, and perhaps there had been a long, long dry spell before that...Still, sex had never made her lose her damn mind before. Though she'd never had sex like that, either.

Gosh. Nate had played her like a harp, knowing when to apply pressure and when to go gently. He took full control, and she loved every second of it. And the more she thought about him, the hotter she became, and the hotter she became, the more she giggled at menu items in Hedda's like "sweet nut rolls" and "hot buns." Because apparently sex with Nate made her a ten-year-old girl.

She needed a distraction. Fortunately, Emily was working, as well. "Did you have fun last night, Em?" Jessie asked during an afternoon lull. She could guess the answer, because Emily had misbuttoned her shirt for the first time ever, and had screwed up two lunch orders. If Jessie had to guess, Emily was giggling at bananas, too.

"Dinner was great," Emily said coyly.

"And how about drinks? Didn't you and Max stay?"

Yep, there it was! Emily looked away and pretended to be excruciatingly interested in a spot on the counter. "Drinks were great. I think Sam's has the best bartenders in town, don't you?" She licked her lips before looking back at Jessie. "Did you and Nate head home?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I drove him to my home and then he went to his place. Oh, wait!" Jessie smacked her forehead. "I meant, I drove him to his place and then went home. Alone."

Emily nodded thoughtfully as if the answer had made sense. "Did you watch that home shopping channel? I have to see those knives."

"It was a great set of knives. I'll get them for you when you graduate med school, how's that?"

"Deal."

Jessie could barely contain her excitement. Emily and Max! She was going to have to dig deeper, though closed-lipped Emily would be a tough nut to crack.

Nut. Heh.

To keep the impure thoughts at bay, Jessie spent the rest of the afternoon making cherry cordials and washing the bakery windows. Fortunately, she wasn't doing a good job with the windows. If she had been, she might not have noticed George Dinardo walking toward the bakery. She was out the door in two seconds flat. "Hi, Mr. Dinardo!" She waved eagerly.

Jessie knew that look. She'd seen it often. It was a special blend of confusion and desire to not look confused. Mr. Dinardo lifted his hand and gave a guarded smile. "Why, hello."

He has no idea who I am. "I'm Jessie Mallory. Hank Mallory's niece."

Recognition crossed his face. "Oh, yes. Sorry, I must've had the sun in my eyes. I couldn't see your face at first."

"That's all right. Are you going somewhere? You look like you're busy."

"I was heading to the bookstore."

She folded her hands demurely. "Do you have a few minutes? I wanted to talk to you about the space you have for rent."

He agreed and followed her back into Hedda's. Had she been thinking, Jessie's heart would have been in her throat. This was her one chance to make an impression. Screw that up, and her dreams of opening "Chocolate Crush" were as good as ended. Fortunately, Jessie had put her brain on neutral and started coasting. The words came effortlessly.

"I have a line of chocolates that I'd like you to try," she said, and rounded the chocolate display case to the back. "Which do you prefer, milk chocolate or dark?"

"Milk, please."

Jessie lifted a shiny white confectioner's box, added a pink and white polka-dotted sheet of tissue paper, and began adding chocolates. She chose a few of her favorites: a creamy hazelnut crème truffle, a sea salted caramel, rocky road bark, and toasted coconut squares. "I make them right here, all by hand."

Mr. Dinardo took a small bite of the coconut square and chewed it thoughtfully. "Delicious. The chocolate is wonderful."

"Isn't it? It took me ages to select the right chocolate, but it was worth it. Here, I'll show you how I made those."

As he sampled the sweets, Jessie took him on a tour of the kitchen, showing him the molds and the cooling racks, and how she tempered the chocolate bars to keep them at the right consistency. "I make everything the old-fashioned way," she explained. "I use these marble slabs to make toffee."

Mr. Dinardo glanced around the kitchen. "You don't have a lot of room back here."

Jessie took a breath. "Well, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

She explained that she was looking for a storefront, a small place to set up her own shop and expand. She told him about her sales numbers and how her business was growing slowly but steadily. The more she talked, the more he listened. He even nodded his head at the right times.

"So although I think I could afford to rent a space for the price you're asking," she said, "the size of the space will be the determining factor."

Mr. Dinardo took another bite of the hazelnut crème truffle and chewed slowly. "Are you asking me to divide the deli space?"

Don't look like you're begging! She calmly nodded her head. "I would love to wall off a small section of the space, maybe at the corner so I have more window room. I've considered the layout, and I really think that it can be done in a way that won't hurt your ability to rent the remaining space. Here, I'll show you."

Jessie grabbed a pen and a small pad of paper and rendered the deli in a series of slash marks and cross-hatches. "See, if you place the wall here, then that gives access to a portion of the kitchen but leaves a larger section open."

He peered over her shoulder. "But won't you need more kitchen space than that?"

"I'd extend the kitchen out to about here," she said. "What I need is some additional work space, but I wouldn't be bringing large equipment." She smiled. "It's just me."

Mr. Dinardo lifted the drawing gently from her hands and pulled a pen out of his pocket. He set to work making calculations as to the remaining square footage. "I wouldn't even consider this if we hadn't had so much feedback about the space being difficult," he said. "It's not quite right for a restaurant or office space, and it's too large for the average store that would locate in the center of Archer Cove."

She waited breathlessly as he studied the drawing, turning it in his hands to study it from different angles. Finally, he said, "Your chocolate is delicious."