On Lavender Lane (12 page)

They passed the bright and cheery shops, selling local crafts and gifts, and dropped into Coastal Candy, where he bought her a white bag of saltwater taffy.

They were sitting on the stone seawall, watching the fishing boats chugging back in with their day’s catch of fish and Dungeness crab, when she held out a pink and white piece of peppermint taffy.

And suddenly, lightning struck from the crimson and gold, sunset-tinged sky, hitting his heart, which stumbled beneath his chest.

You’re going to screw up a good thing,
his head had told that unsteady heart.

You don’t know that. And it’s not like you’re planning to do her right in front of all those tourists,
another, more vital part of his body, argued.

It’ll complicate things. She’s leaving town. You’re leaving town. You’ll probably never see each other after this summer,
his logical head had pointed out.

All the more reason to go for it,
his traitorous body insisted.
Unless you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what it’d be like.

Oh, hell
…

He’d still been arguing with himself when she’d leaned forward just the slightest bit. And as he’d found himself drowning in her eyes, Lucas totally understood how ancient sailors had allowed themselves to be drawn beneath the sea by sirens.

Throwing caution, along with all his good intentions, to the wind, he’d made his decision.

It was only a whisper of a kiss. Just a brushing of lips, a touching of mouths. She’d tasted sweet. And tart. Lucas knew that he’d never again taste taffy or peppermint without thinking of this girl.

When her breath trembled, he imagined how it would be—lying with her on the beach as the waves washed the sands and the summer sun warmed her vanilla-scented skin. Her fluid body moving beneath his, the soft little cries she’d make as he tasted her. All over.

But for then, in that stolen, unexpected moment in time, when the tides seemed to have stopped their ebb and flow and the earth appeared to have stopped spinning, he’d forced himself to be satisfied with savoring her moist, luscious mouth.

“Do you remember,” he asked now, “that day on the seawall? When I kissed you for the first time?”

From the way her pupils flared and her eyes darkened, he knew she did. “Vaguely.”

She was lying.

He knew it.

And he knew that she knew that he knew.

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it.”

“Sure you have.” Her brows drew together as her eyes focused like a laser on his. “I didn’t just fall off the truffle truck, Lucas. If you actually expect me to believe that while you were traipsing all over the world fighting terrorists, you were thinking about kissing me, you’ve obviously mistaken me for that naive eighteen-year-old I used to be.”

“I’m not saying that. But ever since I started watching those cooking shows of yours—”

“Coming from a man who’s already stated that an MRE is the height of his culinary abilities, I’m finding the idea of you sitting in front of your TV, watching the Cooking Network instead of ESPN, a bit of a stretch.”

“I caught a few episodes. While channel surfing,” he lied. “And, hey, thanks to you, I now not only know how to double bake a potato, but I even have a handle on braising short ribs.”

Lucas felt the change in her instantly. He could practically see the ice flowing over her.

“Back up.” Both her hands pushed against his chest and her voice shook.

“Sure.”

Lucas had gotten good at reading people’s thoughts. Many times when it had just been his SEAL team and him alone up in the mountains of Afghanistan, his life had depended on it. A cold fury and what appeared to be pain had replaced the reluctant desire in her eyes.

“Although you’re the last man on earth—other than my cheating rat of a husband—I’d want to spend time with, for my grandmother’s sake, it appears we’re going to be stuck with each other for a while,” she said, her tone now as sharp as that lethal-looking carving knife she’d been holding. “However, I’m going to expect you to behave professionally. Which means, unless you want to lose them, keep your damn hands off me.”

“Okay.” He’d never been one to pressure a woman into bed (truthfully, he’d never needed to), and he damn well wasn’t going to begin with Maddy. “But am I allowed to ask one question?”

“What?”

“Are you saying you’ve never thought about me?”

“Of course I have.”

So he wasn’t alone.

Her smile was as cold and sharp as an ice pick. “Whenever I’m pounding cutlets or making sausage.”

“Ouch. That sound you heard was my ego deflating.”

She tossed her head, morphing back into the self-assured TV chef who’d assured him that sizzling was good. Something he figured he’d better not mention.

“Don’t ask a question if you’re not prepared for the answer,” she said. “Now, if you promise not to steal the silverware while you’re alone in the house, I believe I’ll change and go out for something to eat. I have a sudden craving for a Grateful Bread Belgian waffle.”

With the deftness of moment he’d admired while watching her cook, she put the ingredients away, then left the kitchen with an amazing amount of dignity for a woman clad in peppermint pink, ice-cream-sundae pajamas and bare feet.

12

After getting her marketing done, Sofia dropped into the Dancing Deer Dress Shoppe Two for her weekly visit with Doris and Dottie Anderson, identical twins who owned the boutique. As usual, Adèle Douchett, Sax’s grandmother, was there, though lately, due to what everyone hoped were temporary memory problems, her husband had taken to walking to the shop with her, then picking her up later.

Usually, Zelda Chmerkovskiy, who’d established Haven House, a shelter for abused women, and lived there as a sort of housemother, would join them. But according to Dottie, she’d called earlier to say she was helping a new resident settle in.

Sofia was grateful that whoever the woman was would have the former Ukrainian ballerina there for her. But she was also sad that such a place would be needed at all. The good news was that Maddy hadn’t been in danger. At least she sincerely hoped that hadn’t been the case.

“So,” Dottie asked, with scandalized excitement, “is it true what people are saying about your granddaughter’s French chef husband?”

“Dottie,” Doris, the older by five minutes and the more sedate sister, chastened. “That’s none of our business.”

“I know.” Beringed hands fluttered beneath the sleeves of the rainbow-colored blouse she was wearing over turquoise slacks. “But it’s all over town.”

“Unfortunately, I suspect it’s all over the planet,” Sofia said with a long sigh as she bit into a melt-in-the-mouth vanilla custard cupcake from Take the Cake. She always picked up a box before showing up at the shop, where the other women would have tea brewed with herbs from Lavender Hill Farm waiting. Today’s blend was a refreshing lemongrass chai.

“And while the video appears to be genuine—”

“You’ve seen it?” Dottie’s eyes widened.

“Sister,” Doris warned cautiously.

“I felt I had no choice.” Although Sofia and her husband had always shared a healthy sex life and she liked to think that she’d kept up with the times, she was still of a generation not that comfortable discussing intimate bedroom matters. Especially when they concerned family. “If only to know how bad things were.”

“How bad are they?” Doris asked, proving even she wasn’t immune to tabloid fare.

“Not good, I’m afraid.” Sofia tried to close her mind to the images that seemed to have been burned into her memory as she took a long sip of the milky tea.

“Poor Maddy. My heart aches for her.” Adèle Douchett shook her head with what Sofia knew was very real regret.

Adèle had been her dearest friend for fifty years, since they’d both arrived in Shelter Bay as young brides. Sofia from Livorno, Italy; Adèle from Louisiana’s bayou country.

There’d even been a time when they’d both hoped that Madeline would marry one of Adèle’s grandsons, giving them the great-grandchildren they both were yearning to spoil. Although Cole and Sax were both now taken, Sofia had been holding out hope for J.T., the youngest Douchett brother. She’d never believed Maddy’s marriage to that Frenchman would last.

But now, with J.T. still traveling the world as a Marine and Lucas Chaffee back in town, her sights were shifting to a more eligible candidate.

After all, it had been obvious to anyone who’d taken the time to truly look—and she had—that what the two of them had shared ten years ago was much more than puppy love. And although what Lucas had done appeared on the surface to be unforgivable, Sofia had always suspected there was more to the story.

She’d been considering changes to Lavender Hill Farm for some time. But her life had been in flux after being widowed, and everything she’d read advised against making any major lifestyle changes after the loss of a spouse.

Still, while she had a great many friends, the unpalatable fact was that she’d slipped a bit into the doldrums. The new dog Charity had coaxed her into adopting—not that it had taken all that much coaxing, since Winnie was adorable, and needed her as much as she needed the dog—had brought sunshine back into her days.

But having always been active and involved in the community, Sofia needed more. She was ready to shake up her life a bit. And if she could do a little matchmaking while turning the Lavender Hill Farm’s kitchen into a family restaurant serving fresh, sustainable food from local farms, why, all the better.

13

Of all the kitchens in all the world, Lucas Chaffee had to walk into hers? Well, it wasn’t technically hers. But she certainly had more claim to it than he did.

Just the thought of his strolling into the house, as if he had every right to be there, caused myriad emotions to flood through Madeline.

Pain. Fury. Misery. Then, saving her just in time, before she’d done something really, really stupid, his comment about braising short ribs had brought back yesterday’s humiliation and had her swinging back to fury. True, her anger had been directed much more toward Maxime than Lucas, but it had allowed her to escape the situation.

Even as she’d wanted to run away, to get as far away from him as fast as she could, she’d managed to wrap herself in a mantle of dignity and walked out of the kitchen just as she’d walked away from Maxime.

And while it took all her self-restraint, which was hanging by a single, tattered thread after the past two days, she didn’t give in to the impulse to slam the door behind her.

She’d tried to convince herself that she’d gotten over Lucas Chaffee. That he’d been nothing more than a teenage romance gone bad. Besides, so much had changed in her life during their years apart.

Unfortunately, not everything.

She never could have expected that rush of emotion
when she’d turned around and saw him standing there, looking good enough to scoop up with a spoon.

“It’s only because you’re vulnerable right now,” she assured herself as she went through the dresser drawer, coming up with a T-shirt and a pair of jeans she’d left here the last time she’d visited and had planned to return home soon.

That had been, what? Three years ago, for her grandfather’s funeral.

Too long.
Sofia was the only family she had left. And family deserved better. Oh, sure, she’d been insanely busy, trying to keep all her plates spinning. But that wasn’t any excuse. Not when she considered that her grandmother hadn’t exactly been living an idle life when she’d rushed off to Italy to comfort Madeline and bring her here to Shelter Bay.

A person didn’t just decide to gut their kitchen and open a restaurant on a whim. So logic told Madeline that her grandmother had been thinking about this plan for some time.

“And I had to hear about it from Lucas Chaffee, of all people?”

She twisted on the shower with more force than necessary, then stood beneath the water, scrubbing away the travel grime. She was not nearly as successful at washing away the memory of the first time she and Lucas had made love.

She’d been a virgin, but not exactly by choice; she’d tried, with every teenage feminine wile she possessed, to seduce him for weeks.

“I don’t understand,” she’d complained as they lay together on a sleeping bag in their secret hidden cave beside the sea. He’d kissed her nearly to oblivion, and touched her in places that always tingled for hours after they’d been together this way, yet once again, he was somehow managing to pull back. “I turned eighteen today. So we’re both adults. If you want me, and I want you—”

“It’s not about want, dammit,” he’d said with what she remembered to be frustration. “
Want
is easy, Maddy. Too easy.”

“Perhaps it’s easy for you.” She’d lifted her chin as a tear escaped to trail down her cheek. “But not for me.” She’d had her entire life planned. She was on her way to Europe to learn from the best. She certainly hadn’t planned to fall in love. And definitely not with a summer boy, who was probably only interested in a vacation fling.

“No.” He’d sighed as he’d cupped her face in his hand. “Not for you.”

His expression, visible in the dark as the lighthouse flashed its warning to ships at sea, was as serious as she’d ever seen it.

“Oh, hell.” His smile was a ghost of its usual laughing one. Later, when everything had gone so terribly wrong, she would remember that it hadn’t reached his eyes. “I give up.”

She’d flung her arms around his neck. Pressed her mouth to his and her body against his lean, muscled strength.

When she would have rushed to satisfy the hunger that had been building for days, he slowed the pace, kissing her gently, patiently. And even as he deepened the kiss, his lips remained as soft as sea mist.

Her thoughts, her body, her entire world had compressed to nothing but shimmering sensations. She was oh, so vividly aware of his sweep of his tongue against the seam of her lips, the hypnotizing touch of his hands stroking up and down her back, the glorious feel of his body responding to hers.