Come On Closer (19 page)

She watched him shut the door, torn between leaping off the couch in all of her cruddy glory to drag him back inside and simply letting him walk away. In the end, she chose option two, simply because she didn't want to confront him again until she had a better handle on herself. And right now, as she curled up with her pillow and cried big, ugly tears that made her nose even stuffier than it already was, she didn't have anything close to control.

He didn't know what she wanted? Well, she wanted her happy, chilled-out life back when nobody wanted anything from her but stupid jokes, bad karaoke, and cupcakes. But that was impossible, because the day he'd kissed her, everything had changed. None of her fantasies about him had been able to hurt anyone, least
of all her. The reality was so much more frightening, and dangerous . . . and wonderful.

Shane was right. They both had some work to do on themselves. And it looked like he'd just left her with the decision about whether she could allow the wonderful to outweigh everything
else.

S
he didn't call.

Shane waited through the weekend. He waited through Monday and Tuesday, at which point he heard through the grapevine that she was back at work. He even made it through half of Wednesday, determined not to call and ask if they were really done. He was Shane Sullivan, damn it. He'd dumped more women than most men had ever dated, and the one time he'd been dumped it was just because he'd been too lazy to do it first. If Larkin had decided she was through with him, that was her problem. He would. Not. Break.

Did we break up?

He hit send, stared in horror at what he'd just done,
and then buried his phone under a stack of papers on his desk as though hiding the evidence could banish the junior high–level text message he'd just sent.

“Shane, I've got that information you asked for about Whispering Pines's revised billing policy.” Tammy walked into the room, stopped short, and looked around as though she'd just arrived at some unexpected and potentially hostile destination. “Are you having some kind of emotional experience? Because I can come back.”

“No.” He shifted in his chair, squared his shoulders, and folded his hands on top of the mess he'd created. “Why would you think that?”

She pursed her lips, considered him for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. Not even going to ask why you just buried your phone on your desk.” She turned and started to go.

“Tam, can I ask you something?”

He heard her take a long breath, but she turned back around and walked to the side of his desk. “Sure.”

“Am I, like, unappealing in some fundamental way I don't know about? Do I smell? I'm not kidding.”

Tammy sighed, but she did manage to look sympathetic. “Oh, honey. Did you screw up with Larkin?”

Shane frowned. “Hey. That wasn't an answer. And no, I don't think so. We had a fight.”

“Did you start it?”

“Not really.” He mulled it over for the thousandth time. “We both started it. There were, you know, issues.”

“Well, you wouldn't be a Sullivan if you didn't have issues. Beautiful girl like her appears out of nowhere
and doesn't seem to have a family? Obvious issues. But you never liked things easy.” Tammy smirked. “Well, not for any length of time.”

He lowered his chin and gave her a long-suffering look. “Tam. Come on. I'm being serious.”

“So am I.” She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “Let me guess. You had a fight, you're not speaking, and you just sent off some ‘do you still like me?' text. And now you're freaking out.”

“Uh. Well . . . yeah.”

His phone vibrated somewhere beneath the pile of doom, and he froze. Tammy leaned a hip against the edge of the desk. “Well?” she asked. “I can't give advice if you don't give me all the information.”

“This sounds familiar,” he grumbled, but he gingerly slid the phone out from beneath his papers. There were a number of texts. From Larkin.

No! I don't think so. Maybe accidentally?

I was going to call, but then I thought you would.

But then I knew I needed to, but by then I thought it had been too long and it would be weird. I don't want to break up.

Did you want to break up? I would rather see you.

I think I just time traveled back to high school. —L

“You're smiling. I feel like this means I get to leave without giving you advice I don't get paid for. Yes?”

“Yeah.” Shane read the message again, hearing it in Larkin's voice, and then looked up at his assistant. “Thanks, though.”

“For what? Not running away? I thought about it.” She smiled.

“Nah, for putting up with my crap. As usual.”

“Well, you know. I think that might actually be in my job description.” She winked at him. “You're doing fine.” She dropped the printout she'd been carrying onto his desk and left him to text Larkin back. He might not be in high school anymore, but this was enough like passing notes in school that he laughed softly while answering her.

Can I see you tonight?

He had to wait a minute, but her answer came quickly enough.

Sorry, frosting on my hands. And on my phone screen.

Yes. I want to talk about what we talked about. Maybe your place? I'm still fumigating mine.

Shane thought about it, then answered.

Sounds good. Have to run by Fitz's. I can get you from work on my way?

That worked for her, which worked for him, which made the last few days of misery seem almost like they hadn't happened. His anger—more frustration than anger, really—was long gone. All he felt was relief. That, and an intense need to see Larkin and reassure himself that they were okay. She'd called herself a stubborn butthead. Well, he was, too. Somehow, seeing it spelled out so clearly was reassuring for him.

It was strange, but he was getting used to strange.

He liked it, and that was all that seemed to matter.

•   •   •

It had to be the day she was in full-on awkward mode.

By the time Shane came in, she'd ruined one batch of tarts, spilled cherry juice on herself, tripped over a chair in full view of everyone in the shop, and eaten three cherry cheesecake brownies in a fit of stress. Aimee, thankfully, had brushed the telltale crumbs off the end of her nose before she'd gone home for the night.

Larkin finished cleaning, locked up the cash, hung up her apron, and did what she could with herself in the bathroom mirror. It wasn't much. She was still looking a little wan from her bout with bronchitis, and the lack of sun wasn't helping her recovery any. Still, she felt human again, even if her looks hadn't quite caught up. She fashioned a quick fishtail braid to replace her ponytail, put on a little tinted lip gloss, and was making faces at herself when she heard the knock at the front door.

Shane stood there, bathed in the yellow glow from the wrought iron streetlight, one hand behind his back and the other pressed against the glass. When he saw her, his eyes lit up, and he smiled, slow and warm and
slightly crooked. Larkin felt her heart stumble in her chest, and it was a struggle not to let her feet follow suit.

I'm not that nice,
he'd said.
I'm not a white knight.
Well, maybe that was so, but he certainly looked like a fairy-tale hero to her, larger-than-life, handsome as sin, and if that hand behind his back meant what she assumed it did, he was just as sweet as any guy who ever kissed a princess to wake her up.

He was perfect. She'd missed him.

She—

Larkin forced herself to focus, despite the way her heart fluttered like a bird in a cage, despite the way her chest tightened with the loveliest ache. She couldn't think ahead just now. She simply wanted to enjoy Shane being here. It made her feel even more like an idiot for waiting to call. Somehow, she'd thought he would make the move first, come to
her
. But that wasn't his job. This wasn't a game. When he'd told her to let him know when she was ready to talk, he'd meant it.

He was invested in this. Not just for her looks. For
her
. It put Larkin in new territory, but she was glad to be here, even if she'd managed to face-plant on the way to figuring it out. That was kind of her thing anyway, she guessed.

Larkin turned out the lights, grabbed her purse off the counter, and opened the door. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, beautiful. Nice cupcakes.”

She grinned. “Nice euphemism.”

“I aim to please.” He pulled his hand from behind his back, and there were the flowers, bright pink daisies in a small painted pot. “I was working on short notice, but these looked like you.”

“Oh!” Larkin grabbed them, stuck her nose into a
blossom, and inhaled deeply. Her sense of smell had mostly returned, and she appreciated the light scent of growing things, reminding her of a spring that was on its way even though the Cove still seemed very much asleep. “How did you know I'd rather have potted flowers than cut ones?”

“I knew you'd want something you could help grow. It's the hippie thing,” he said, and when she made a face he pointed at her tie-dyed pink-and-turquoise T-shirt, a new design she'd bought for the shop, visible beneath her coat. “Tell me I'm wrong while you're wearing that. Really.”

“Not even going to argue,” she said, and hurried back inside to put them in a place of honor beside the cash register, right next to a fluffy blue unicorn. She reemerged, locked up, then threw her arms around Shane. “Thank you,” she said, tipping her face up to look at him. “I love them. You made my day.”

His grin was big and a little silly, and she loved that, too. “So I did something right? Could you call the paper? I want this recorded for posterity.”

“You do lots of things right.”

“No, I just look really good doing them wrong.”

“Well, you do look good,” she agreed, eyes dropping to his mouth. It had been too long since she'd had a taste of him. She'd dreamed about it, but the reality had ruined her on the fantasy.

One red brow quirked up. “Yeah? Well, it just so happens I'm a giving man, if you'd like to partake. Come here, Cupcake Queen. You look pretty sweet tonight yourself.” He lowered his mouth to hers, and the first brush of his lips took her back to that day at Brynn's when he'd surprised her with the best almost-sort-of kiss
she'd ever had. Tonight, though, that first teasing brush was followed by another, and then a final brush that turned into a long, slow dance of lips and tongues that made the snowy sidewalk vanish. For a few minutes, they could have been alone in the dark. Shane's arms wrapped around her, holding her while she slid her hands over his shoulders, remembering the rhythmic way they'd flexed when he'd been over her, in her. She gripped him harder, deepening the kiss, rising up to press against the length of him. Shane growled low in the back of his throat, his hands stroking downward. . . .

The quick burst of a police siren made Larkin jump, and they were bathed in flashing light. Larkin felt a brief burst of panic, but Shane kept his arms loosely around her and insulted the officer.

“You asshole. Quit wasting my taxpayer dollars and go catch a bad guy or something.”

“Be nice, Sullivan, or I'll give you a ticket for lewd conduct and tell everybody I found you drunk and making out with a lamppost.” Seth Andersen leaned over to smile at Larkin through his rolled-down window. “No offense. You're way prettier than a lamppost. Not sure about your taste in men, though.”

“I get that a lot,” Larkin said, grinning when she recognized him. Emma Henry's fiancé might be quiet in crowds, but he could definitely bring the snark when needed.

“Go away. We're closed. There are no donuts here,” Shane said.

“That hurts. Really,” Seth said. “Be safe, kids. Make good decisions.” Larkin heard him laughing as he rolled up the window and drove off.

“I should have been a cop,” Shane said, watching him drive off.

“Pretty sure I speak on behalf of all of Harvest Cove when I say, I am so glad you aren't one.”

Shane gave her a look, then slung his arm around her to walk to his car. “I'd drive around playing ‘Yakety Sax' over the loudspeakers the whole time. You people just don't know what you're missing. Come on. Let's go bother the old man by the sea and then get into some more trouble.”

For good or for ill, Larkin found she was in the mood to do exactly that.

•   •   •

Fitz lived at the end of the Crescent, in a beautiful house perched on a cliff that overlooked the sea. It looked like the backdrop to some great romance, a place where a poetic hero wrote lengthy letters to the woman he loved and pined for.

In reality, Fitz opened the door with his hair standing up in at least six different directions and was sporting a sweatshirt with what looked like a pizza stain on the front of it. His eyes were glazed, but he looked happy to see them.

“Hey! I forgot you were coming. Is it that late already? What time is it?” He leaned back into the house frowning, presumably to look for a clock. Larkin assumed he'd found one when he muttered, “Shit.”

“Sure, thanks. We'd love to come in,” Shane said and brushed past him, catching Larkin's hand and pulling her long with him.

“Um, we can come back.” Larkin tugged on her hand, but Shane didn't release it, simply shaking his
head and rolling his eyes.
It's fine,
he mouthed. He would know better than she did, she guessed, but it still felt rude. Fitz didn't seem bothered at all. Just kind of spacey. She didn't know him all that well, but he'd been around often enough that she found his current state pretty out of character. He wasn't as loud as Shane, but he always seemed pretty together, and he was normally quick on the uptake.

“Oh yeah, come in. I need a break, anyway. I haven't come up for air in hours. This deadline is kicking my ass.”

“You always say that,” Shane said. “And then you'll tell us it's the worst piece of crap you've ever written, and this fall you'll sell a billion copies and decide maybe you did all right. Lather, rinse, repeat.”

Fitz offered them a lopsided smile. “Maybe. If I'm lucky.” He turned his attention to her, and said, “Nice to see you, Larkin. Shane mentioned he'd somehow talked you into letting him hang around. It's his sparkling personality, right?”

“His butt, actually,” Larkin said. “I'm a butt woman.”

Both Fitz and Shane dissolved into laughter. Fitz shut the front door, and then shook his head. “Wow. Maybe you
are
made for each other. Come on. I've got, like, cold pizza. I think. Soda? You guys want a drink?”

“I want my book back,” Shane said. “You promised. Deadline brain is no excuse.”

“You're a writer?” Larkin asked, suddenly interested. She wasn't clear on exactly what Fitz did, though his friends never seemed to act like anything was amiss, so she figured he wasn't a drug dealer or anything.