Come On Closer (15 page)

Dressed to impress, dressed to annoy, dressed to turn on . . . I'd rather just dress for myself and be done with it.

She yawned again, stretching her arms above her head, and knew it was about time to pack it in. “I have to go, ladies. A baker's hours are hell on nightlife. I needed this, though. So much better than sitting at home staring at my new dress and brooding. Plus I probably would have gotten a stain on it somehow by now.”

Emma looked horrified. “Oh God. Wrap it in plastic as soon as you get home.
Please
. And don't do it anywhere near the kitchen.”

Larkin waved her hand as she got to her feet. “I know, I know. I'll be careful.” She scooped up the box and started to look for the martini fixings she'd brought.

“I'll drop them by tomorrow,” Zoe said. “Don't worry about it. I'll happily trade your stuff for food.”

“I'll have something special with your name on it,” Larkin said. “Thanks, Zo. And thanks for keeping me sane, you guys.”

They all said their good-byes while Larkin slipped on her boots and coat. She was headed to the front door when Emma's voice stopped her. “Wait! Are you going to wear it or not?”

“And can I have it if you don't?” asked Sam.

Larkin turned to look back. “Maybe and no freaking way,” she said. “Later!” She raised her hand and headed out into the cold night, pausing only once she got in her van to type out a simple text message. She still didn't know how to feel about this, but there was
one thing she needed to say, and it was easily managed because it was true.

It's beautiful. Thank you!

See you tomorrow. —L

O
ne of the things Larkin really enjoyed about baking, a thing that most people she knew didn't really understand, was the wonderful sense of freedom that working alone at five a.m. gave her. Nobody rushed her, nobody bothered her, and her mind got to slowly wake up in the wonderfully scented quiet of the kitchen.

Saturday morning was like that. It kept her centered through the afternoon, which was cheerfully busy and involved only one incident with some frosting.

Saturday evening, on the other hand, was the antithesis of everything she liked, and by the time she got home and kicked her shoes into a corner, she had roughly twenty minutes to spare before Shane was due to pick her up. Gina had wished her all the luck in the world (with a few choice comments about what she could expect from the elder Sullivans for good measure). Going
by how much her hands were shaking as she tried to get ready, Larkin figured she'd need it.

Starting a date flustered was never a good thing. It meant she'd probably be spilling food on herself at some point. And maybe falling out of a chair. She knew her limits, and right now, she'd just about hit them.

Larkin cursed quietly while she pulled her hair into a sleek tail, freshened up her makeup, and then dove into her closet to find something to wear. The beautiful green dress hung there, putting everything around it to shame, but she'd come to a decision on the way home last night. She loved it, and she would wear it. But not tonight. Not until she was sure about what it represented to the man who'd sent it.

As for Shane's parents, if they were going to hate her, it wouldn't be because she'd been anything but herself. That included the outfit. So she made do with what she had, finally settling on a long peacock-print skirt, a fitted scoop-necked black shirt, and ballet flats. She was comfortable, presentable, and, she thought with a smile, she didn't need heated underwear. Or heels. Thank
God
.

She'd just finished putting in her biggest, shiniest filigree earrings when the doorbell rang. Larkin's nerves jangled at the sound, but she made her way to the door without falling over anything. When she opened it, Shane was standing there illuminated by the porch light. His grin faltered when he saw what she was wearing, She had a speech ready for that—a couple of speeches, actually, depending on what he said—but he seemed more confused than upset.

“Didn't it fit?” he blurted out. She didn't have a response ready for that one. Maybe, if she'd had more
patience, and if she hadn't been
rushed
, she would have let his abruptness slide. But her heart was still pounding because of something that was entirely his fault, and her skin was thinner than normal.

“You look nice, too, thanks,” Larkin said flatly. And he did, of course. He always did. Pressed slacks, a collared shirt, classic and cool—he could have stepped out of a magazine. You'd think they were going out to a restaurant instead of just to his parents' house. Fear, anxiety, and old, ugly resentment bubbled up deep inside of her. In her current state, it was a struggle to tamp them down. Why did this have to be some kind of show? Why couldn't they just be normal?

Could you just chill? It's just dinner. It's just Shane. And you're having a moment.

Shane seemed to realize that he'd put his foot in his mouth, so there was that, at least. He looked stricken.

“No, no, you look beautiful. I didn't mean that. I just . . . You said you loved the dress.”

Larkin breathed in deeply, trying to keep all of her roiling emotions where they belonged. “I do.” She pulled on her coat. “I'll be glad to wear it.”

“But not tonight?” He looked dejected, which tugged mercilessly at her sympathies. Her temper dropped to a low simmer, even as she tried to remind herself that she needed to do what was best for her. He wasn't the only one whose feelings mattered.

“Not tonight,” she said firmly. “It's cold, and I want to make a good impression.”

He looked uneasy. “Larkin, I'm not saying you can't or won't, but I really wouldn't count on that. It's not anything to do with you at all, but most people don't make a good impression on them. I wouldn't expend a lot of
energy trying. This is more like paying tribute than a friendly dinner. We get it over with, we move on.”

She arched an eyebrow. “
You
seem to expend enough energy on them.”

Shane shrugged uncomfortably. “Well. They're my parents. I should try to make them happy once in a while.”

“You're an adult. You should maybe focus on making yourself happy,” Larkin replied. The look Shane gave her indicated she'd suggested something a lot more revolutionary, not to mention ridiculous, than she thought her comment merited.

“Yeah, maybe” was all he said. “Ready to go?”

No, not really.
She had the feeling she got in the pit of her stomach right before she was going to have to do something unpleasant. Larkin tried to convince herself it was ridiculous as she locked up and headed down the walk with Shane. But her gut told her this was not going to be a pleasant evening, and her gut, despite all efforts to ignore it, was rarely wrong. All those cupcakes dispensed wisdom, apparently.

Shane was unusually stiff on the ride over.
The dress,
she thought, irritated, and in the tense silence began to spin an unpleasant daydream about the fight they'd have later. He'd accuse her of being ungrateful, she'd accuse him of being controlling, and there would be an angry breakup before their relationship ever really got off the ground. Then she'd end the night stewing in the knowledge that she'd been right, that they'd been a disastrous sort of mismatch.

“You really do look beautiful,” he said into the silence of the car. Larkin looked at him in the semidarkness, startled. The voice she heard in her head
sounded nothing like the one that now scattered her thoughts, low and sweet and sincere.

“Um. Thanks.”

It's not the dress.

She knew it just as surely as she knew that this evening was going to be a problem. It soothed her nerves a little, but not enough. She wished for a berry tart, a slice of cake, something. Food was her way of making things right, something she enjoyed and could give others without hurting herself in the process . . . but right now she had nothing except herself.

That didn't bode well.

She'd only just begun to panic when he lifted his right hand from the steering wheel and threaded his fingers through hers, the warmth of his skin and the gentle pressure of his touch scattering her burgeoning worries like so much dust. A glance, a ghost of a smile, and he returned his eyes to the road as though nothing had happened . . . as though his hand weren't now securely entwined with hers.

Larkin watched his profile for a moment, inscrutable as ever, and wondered how someone like him could make the simple act of holding hands feel just as intimate as making love. An unexpected pleasure, and a welcome one.

Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe tonight would be the same. She could only hope.

•   •   •

It was going to be as bad as he'd expected.

Larkin not wearing the dress he'd picked out was the least of his worries, though that rejection was still a part of the low thrum of anxiety that had been building in him all day. The tension that had been sparking
off Larkin from the moment she'd opened the door kept him from pressing her on it, though. He'd never seen her be anything like ornery, but she was almost there tonight, and he wasn't sure why. Not that he had the bandwidth to try to figure it out right now.

He
hated
going to dinner at his parents' house. It was easy to forget how much, since he deliberately made sure that it didn't happen very often. Harvest Cove might be small, but he'd carved out a bit of space that was his, and that was where he made sure to stay in his off time.

Having dinner with Jim and Elizabeth Sullivan was like having an awkward first date, over and over and over. Sometimes with bonus yelling, making it the kind of date normal people didn't go on more than once. But they were his family, so there was obligation there, and adding his new girlfriend was just extra pressure. Had to be done, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

All he wanted was to get through it and move on.

This time of year, it was easier to see the twinkle of lights beyond the trees that hid the stately old mansions of the Crescent from view. Shane turned into his parents' driveway and drove up the long, curving path. The stately old home at the end of it was a Colonial Revival, built in the late 1800s in place of the original, smaller house. There was an old photograph somewhere of that house, and Shane thought it had been a lot more welcoming than what had replaced it. The original had been a simple, wood-sided Colonial that had seen various additions over the years. The effect was a little ramshackle and, Shane had always thought, kind of charming. Unfortunately, the Sullivans didn't do charming, and one of them had knocked it down as soon as he'd
acquired the land through marriage. In its place was something staid and immense. Pretty but foreboding.

Or maybe the foreboding part was just him.

“Wow,” Larkin said beside him, breaking the silence. He pulled in front of the carriage house, set back from the main house and which now functioned as a garage, and turned off the engine. He tried to take a deep breath without sounding like he was hyperventilating, then turned to look at Larkin's face, shadowed in the darkness of the car.

It shouldn't matter what they thought. He should have stopped caring a long time ago. But like he'd told Larkin, they were his parents . . . and here he was again, palms sweating, looking for some kind of validation. That had never been a recipe for an enjoyable evening.

“So, my parents,” he began, wondering how exactly he should explain the way things were.

“Don't worry about it,” she said. “As long as they don't bite, I can handle it.” She sounded so steely in that moment that he had to wonder what made her so confident about that, but that was a question for any time except right now. She gave his hand a squeeze, and her voice softened. “Why don't you try to relax, okay?”

It was strange to be told to relax. If anything, he was used to being told he didn't take things seriously enough. Either he was being really obvious, or she saw what nobody else ever did. Both possibilities were unnerving.

“I'm relaxed,” he told her, ignoring her skeptical look. “Just do yourself a favor and ignore pretty much everything they say.”

“Ah. That's going to make dinner conversation kind of tough.”

“Not really.” He thought back to all the endless dinners over the years and winced. “Just let them talk. We'll get out of here faster.”

Larkin's lips pursed into an expression of distaste. “Sounds fun. Any other instructions?”

“No.” He knew he sounded gruff as he yanked the car door open. He'd make it up to her later, when he could breathe again, Shane told himself. After all, he owed her for even coming to this dinner in the first place. Right now, all he wanted was the ability to nod, smile, and wolf down food so he didn't have to talk.

Shane rounded the car to open Larkin's door for her, but she was already sliding out, her long skirt swirling around her legs in a gust of arctic air. She shivered, and he slid a hand around her back. Warmth radiated through his palm and traveled up his arm, and he couldn't shake the memory of her bare skin against his, just as warm, impossibly soft, and infinitely sweeter.

They walked to the front door together, then stood beneath the portico while Shane knocked. He felt Larkin's gaze on him, searching, so he kept his attention on the door and the sounds beyond it. What could he say?
Yes, I have to knock before we can go in. My parents are big on formality.

There were footsteps, and then the door swung open, revealing Jim Sullivan in all his glory. “There you are,” he bellowed. “You're late.” He had a glass of scotch in his hand that he swirled restlessly.

“You said seven,” Shane said. “It's seven.”

His father looked at him skeptically and glanced at his watch. “It's seven-
ish
. You know better than that. Food's going to get cold.” He turned his attention to Larkin then, and the man's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Pretty
women, he liked. Pretty and compliant. He was destined for disappointment this evening. “There you are. Nice to see you again, sweetheart. Why don't you come on in? Liz can't wait to see what you two have in common.”

There was a hint of nerves in Larkin's laughter. “Great.” Jim ushered her inside, hand firmly against her upper back. She looked over her shoulder once, and Shane caught the flash of uncertainty in her eyes. All they could do was get through it, and afterward, she'd probably have some thoughts on his upbringing. That made two of them. Except most of his thoughts on the subject included multiple variations of the word “fuck.”

Shane bit back a sigh and followed them inside.

•   •   •

“. . . and that was the last time I let Tammy make my travel reservations. The entire damn cabin smelled like a farm! And one of them had something in a carry-on that was alive—I didn't ask. Thank God Shane never wanted to do 4-H. I would have had to build him a room in the garage. I mean, the
smell
. But that's one thing about Shane. He always wanted to be clean. His nanny used to laugh about it.”

Larkin smiled, nodded, and laughed what she hoped was the appropriate amount. Shane had certainly been right—his parents, or more specifically, his father, were perfectly happy to carry the entire conversation themselves. There was a pattern. Jim would start a story, Liz would egg him on to finish it, Jim would spin that story into several other stories, including fun little tidbits of social commentary and gossip along the way. And by “fun” she meant “obnoxious.”