One of These Nights (14 page)

“You have a lot of assumptions about me,” she said. “A lot of what appear to be dead-ass wrong assumptions. What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes when he snorted.

“Nothing. I just don't think I've ever heard you swear.”

“It happens occasionally, when I'm at the end of my patience. Like now, for instance. You just kissed me.”

He looked at her, and after a moment said, “Yeah.”

“You kissed me despite the fact that you've told me we have nothing in common and after insinuating repeatedly that I am, to put it nicely, a lot of work.”

Jason still looked as though he wasn't sure what she was getting at, since all of this was obvious. “Yeah.”

Her free hand went to rest on her other hip and Zoe glared up at him, getting a strong sense of déjà vu. This position was an awfully familiar one. It seemed to be where they were always destined to end up.

“Then why did you kiss the sense out of me and ask me out?”

When he had to think about that, Zoe considered punching him. Just as her fingers were balling into a fist, though, he answered.

“Because I wanted to. And anyway, you kissed me first.”

“That was so we looked like we were
together
!” she shot back. “You know that! It doesn't count!”

“Felt like it counted,” Jason replied.

“Well . . .” She didn't have a good response to that, since he was right. The best she could muster was a lame, irritable, “That was your fault.”

“How was it my fault?”

“You did that thing. With your mouth,” she said, making a pointless gesture somewhere in the vicinity of her lips to try to illustrate the thing. It accomplished nothing except making Jason look like he was trying not to laugh. At
her
. “This isn't funny.”

“It is, actually.”

Zoe gave a hopelessly exasperated growl, throwing her hands up. “I don't even know why I bother arguing with you.”

“Same reason I kissed you and asked you out.”

Now she did lift a hand to rub one of her temples. “Which is?”

“You like me.”

He had her there. She looked up at him, sighed. “Yes. For some reason, I do.”

“Well, it's as good a place to start as any, right?” Jason replied. He lifted a hand, hesitated, and then stroked his knuckles down her jawline. The touch made her shiver, and she knew he felt it when his eyes darkened. He was wrong, she decided, about them having nothing in common. They had this. And after all this time, their slow burn was finally ready to combust. The thought of it pooled like liquid heat deep in her belly, suffusing her with tingling warmth.

I'm going to sleep with him.
The thought rose unbidden, shocking her with its sudden, blunt appearance. But she couldn't deny it, and Zoe repeated the words to herself, feeling the truth of them.
I'm going to sleep with him. And soon.

The little bell above the door rang out just as Zoe was sliding back into him, ready to throw caution to the wind and steal another taste before the day was over. She stopped short, then cursed softly under her breath. Jason's laugh rumbled against her chest.

“Twice in one day.”

“Shut up. This is your fault, too.” She tried to glare at him, but it was impossible when he was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“I'll take credit for that,” he said.

“You would.”

“Hello? Zoe? Is Jason still here? He isn't picking up his cell. Hello?”

Now it was Jason's turn to mutter an expletive, and Zoe laughed, briefly dropping her forehead against his chest before stepping away from him. She needed a little distance,
now
, before Molly came back here and found them all tangled up together. The thought of his mother seeing them like that shouldn't have bothered her, except that this wasn't for show. It was private, and she suddenly wanted to keep it that way. She'd never been one to parade her personal life, and she didn't think Jason was, either.

It was different when it wasn't real. She slid a look at him, big and solid and glaring through the doorway. He really was a hot mess with his broken leg and his ancient sweatpants and his battered old jacket. His hair had fallen into his eyes again, and as usual he needed a shave.

Mine.
She tried the thought on for size, rolling it around like a foreign word she was trying to learn. He was more Wolverine than Bruce Wayne, bad attitude included. But . . . he might do. She'd have to wait and see.

“
I
need a cupcake.”

Larkin O'Neill regarded Zoe from behind the counter of Petite Treats, her bakery on the square, with striking green eyes that normally sparkled with mirth. Right now, though, they were focused and serious, and after a moment she gave a short nod.

“Go sit. I'll hook you up.”

Zoe obediently went to one of the pink-and-white tables, too tired to do much but follow simple instructions. She dumped her purse on the floor, propped her chin on her hands, and closed her eyes until Larkin's voice pulled her out of what had almost turned into an impromptu nap.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Have some sugar.”

Zoe could smell the chocolate even before her eyes fluttered open to see what Larkin had brought her. “Oh my God. Chocolate cherry cheesecake.”

“For my friends, I bring out the big guns.” Larkin sat down across from her, nudged the cheerful turquoise plate toward her, and smiled encouragingly. “Go on. Stuff your face and tell me everything. It's been a slow day.”

“You don't have slow days,” Zoe replied, picking up the fork and diving in. When the cheesecake hit her tongue her eyes rolled back in her head. “I think I'm in a relationship with your baked goods, Larkin. It's not natural.”

“Oh, it was busy workwise. But nobody came in and told me anything fun, and no eye candy wandered in. So I occupied myself with sinful thoughts and made food to go with. Are you chewing? This is going to be the shortest relationship on record.”

Zoe swallowed her bite, held up her fork, and said, “Turns out it's more of a hot fling. Anyway, thanks. I'll pay Aimee when I'm done.” Hearing her name, Larkin's teenage protégée looked up from behind the long glass display case and smiled.

“On the house,” Larkin said, waving her objections off. “So, what's up? Tell me something good. Or juicy. Or . . . well, anything really.” She grinned, and Zoe could only shake her head. Larkin was a transplant herself, from California instead of Georgia, and she gave off a carefree supermodel-surfer-girl vibe that would have been off-putting if it hadn't been so genuine. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, showing off her big green eyes, pert little nose, and generous mouth. She had a double strand of painted beads around her throat, and her apron was still snowy white, though dusted with flour across the Petite Treats logo. She was five-ten, long and lean, and prone to tripping over imaginary objects that most of her friends thought were probably just her feet. Zoe liked her, not least because she'd been instrumental in drawing Emma Henry out of her shell this summer. Besides, the Harvest Cove misfits needed to stick together, and Zoe knew that no matter how long she stayed, she'd always have a bit of that about her.

“You want gossip? Let me see,” Zoe said. She shoveled in another bite, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed before continuing. “I've got a big show for Aaron coming up. Like, ‘people coming here who would not normally deign to notice me and my little gallery' big. I'm excited for him, but I'm stressing. I've got less than four weeks. If my brain caves in before then, we're all in trouble.”

“It won't. You'll wait until afterward, then crash, sleep for twenty-four hours, binge on a bunch of your fancy tea and maybe some Cheetos in front of your TV, and then return to normal life.”

Zoe laughed. “Probably. Maybe not the Cheetos, though. I'll just beg you to make me one of these cakes. Then I'll set it on my coffee table with a fork and I'll be good to go.”

“I like this plan. I'll make it so.” Larkin looked at her curiously, with a tilt of her head. “What else is new? How's your man holding up?”

The fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Um.”

“Yeah, I heard about that from Emma. It's cool,” Larkin said, lowering her voice. “I heard you were holding hands at lunch last weekend. And somebody saw you give him a smooch before he got in his car with Psycho Mom. Kimmie from Brewbaker's thinks it's adorable, and Troy and Lindy from Merry Meet were like, ‘It's about time!' Oh, and none of us buys that this is fake, since you two have been trying to have a night of anger-fueled passion for what, like, two years now? He's hot, by the way. Nice job.”

She still hadn't gotten the fork to her mouth. “What is this place? Are you bugging the cupcake wrappers? How do you hear all this stuff?”

“People talk to me,” Larkin said, nodding sagely. “I know things.”

“Petite Treats, sponsored by the CIA.”

Larkin's grin was infectious. “If I told you, I'd have to kill you, standard disclaimers, etcetera. Seriously, though. How's your man holding up? Shane and Fitz were in here, and Fitz had kind of a moment when Shane brought her up. Something about soccer a bunch of years ago. I guess he played with Jason's brother?”

“I don't know,” Zoe replied. “I think so. I haven't gotten a lot of backstory. As you might expect, we're not exactly alone.
Ever.
”

Larkin wrinkled her nose. “I feel you. She sounds like a pain. Actually, I think she was in here yesterday. Only got a glimpse, though, since I was in the back getting my groove on and Aimee had to throw a pen at my head to get my attention. She has good aim.”

“That would make sense,” Zoe said. “I had a text message yesterday afternoon. Well, a picture of an open beer on his patio table, next to Rosie.”

“Who's Rosie?”

“His dog. She gets herself up on that patio table sometimes and then doesn't know how to get off. Looked like she was taking a nap up there while he had a beer. I assumed he was getting a break.”

“Aw. He has a little dog.”

“Yes. She's very cute.”

“Nothing like a big, sexy man with a little foofy dog. Plus he has a nice smile.” Larkin looked slightly dreamy, and Zoe pursed her lips.

“I didn't think he
could
smile until last weekend. When did you see him do that?” She wasn't jealous, Zoe told herself. Not even a tiny bit. Just . . . surprised, was all.

“He comes in once in a while,” Larkin said with a shrug. “Sometimes with this other park ranger he works with. Jason is always very polite, and he always orders the same thing.”

“Which is?”

“Lemon meringue pie. I don't always have it once the weather gets cold, but to be honest, I make it once in a while in the winter just in case he stops by. Not,” she added hurriedly, “that you should take that as me in any way hitting on him. But you know, he's pretty adorable. I think he's shy.”

“We're both talking about the same guy, right? Jason Evans, tall, needs a shave, probably yells at clouds when he doesn't like the weather?”

Larkin laughed. “Okay, he looks intimidating, but you're forgetting that I give people food. There's a lot of instant gratification going on in here, and I swear the smell improves people's moods. So all I see is the shy. He's quiet, polite, and he always smiles when I hand him his pie.”

“Oh.” All right, maybe she
was
jealous. “That's . . . nice.”

“Stop. I know when guys are interested, and he wasn't. He's just into my kick-ass baking skills.”

“Who isn't, though, really?” Zoe asked, and popped the last bite in her mouth. “Mmm.”

“I did hear he gets a little feistier with you,” Larkin said, waggling her eyebrows. “Thus I assumed his affections lay elsewhere, and I continue my vigil for Chris Evans so that I might seduce him with my sexy food.”

“I wish you all the luck in the world with that,” Zoe said. “Just as long as you promise to make him go for shirtless runs a few times a week so we can all admire him.”

“But of course.” Larkin poked at the empty plate. “Feel better?”

“Yes. It'll be fleeting, but yes.”

“Why fleeting? I thought you and Treebeard would be all domestically blissed out by now. Oh. But you said you're never alone. So you can't—”

“We're not even really dating. I mean, we weren't, but we are, I suppose . . . sort of. Soon? Possibly. I think this weekend. But it's not official. At least, I don't think so.” Zoe rushed out the words, knowing they sounded ridiculous even as they tumbled from her lips. Larkin watched her quietly, looking like the cat that got the canary. “Don't repeat that.”

“I wouldn't know what to repeat. Was there information in there?” Larkin smiled, and this time it was full of understanding. “I won't, anyways. I think it's cute. So, when do you get to be”—she fluttered her lashes—“alone?”

“It was supposed to be tomorrow, which then became Saturday because
someone
invited a bunch of people over for a bonfire. I am eagerly awaiting what she comes up with to keep him there Saturday night.”

Larkin winced. “Ugh.”

“You're not kidding.” Zoe poked at the empty paper plate with her fork. “You know, this all started because Jason thought I'd be just what that woman likes. She'd be charmed, satisfied, and go in peace.”

“Uh-oh. She's
that woman
now.”

“She's certainly something. But anyway, if she likes me she's got a funny way of showing it. I drove him to a doctor appointment this week, I've stopped by to make nice, and she smiles, but I get the feeling it's more because she's thinking about taking a bite out of me. Just hypercompetitive. I can see why she makes him crazy. She competes with him, too. It is,” she finished, “deeply messed up. And I don't think she's going anywhere until she's good and ready.”

“If it gets really bad you can fight her.”

“Sure. I may be short, but I can punch her in the kidneys.” Zoe smirked and stretched out her legs. “I need to head home. Thanks for the cheesecake. It was exactly what I needed.”

Larkin held up a hand. “Say no more. Happy to be of assistance.” She stood, drawing herself up to her full height. Zoe noted that her sneakers were neon blue, and smiled. There was something ever so slightly goofy about Larkin that made her endearing, and there were hints of it all over her not-quite-tacky pink-and-white-and-turquoise bakery. The sparkly unicorn by the cash register, for instance. Or the Care Bear drawn on the Daily Specials board. Sam joked that hanging out with Larkin was a little like being with a kid who'd just eaten an entire bag of Pixy Stix. That wasn't entirely accurate. But it wasn't entirely inaccurate, either.

“Have a good one,” Zoe said. Larkin grinned, waved, and tripped on her way through the door to the kitchen. Zoe picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and was still smiling when she headed back out into the day.

*   *   *

Jason plotted his escape carefully.

Not that carefully, because he was panicked and his house was full of his mother's friends and they were talking about the housing market and some actor they all thought was hot and
oh God shoes
, and desperation moved things along a little more quickly than usual. But he needed to get out, he and poor Rosie, who was probably about as tired of his mother's attempts to lure her outside as he was. The dog narrowed his options a little, but that was okay. He wasn't flush with options on the best of days.

Jason peered around the corner, having spent enough time hiding in the bathroom that it was probably beginning to look odd. He looked longingly at the TV, which was turned to a rerun of a sitcom he didn't watch, and at his PlayStation, which he could no longer play on one of his many sleepless nights because it would keep his mother up. There was a nice spread of snacks on the coffee table, wine chilling in a bucket on the counter, and nowhere for him to sit even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't.

It wasn't a big house. Right now, it was even smaller. And he was trapped in it.

The cell phone in his pocket buzzed, and Jason pulled it out to read the text. Jake was in the driveway. It was go time, and he didn't exactly have stealth on his side. He texted back quickly, then shoved the phone back in his pocket and headed as quickly as he could to the closed door of his bedroom. Poor Rosie had been shut in there for a couple of hours now, which in his opinion was a much better deal than sitting at the dining room table with his leg propped on another chair, ignored, uncomfortable, and without a feasible way to leave. That was, until Jake got off work.

He'd almost called Zoe, then stopped himself. She was probably tired. She'd been a trouper this week, but he knew she needed a night away from the crazy, so he'd do her a favor.

That was the explanation he was comfortable with, anyway. He'd been honest—he liked her. Too much, for a fake relationship that wasn't even a week old. So letting it turn into something real needed to be slow. Glacial.

Kind of like him on these stupid crutches.

“Rosie,” Jason half whispered when he opened the door. She was curled into a little ball in the middle of the bed, and he heard her snort when he called her. She didn't move, though, instead regarding him blearily from where she lay. He'd interrupted her nap.

“Oh, come on,” he said quietly. “You take a dozen naps a day. You can move your furry butt this once. We're breaking out.”

He tried to pretend she looked more interested at that, but no. She closed her eyes, licked her muzzle, and heaved a long-suffering sigh. She'd already suffered the indignity of being shooed away from the pretzels and wrapped cocktail weenies. Rosie was apparently done being pushed around . . . which was why he'd smuggled a couple of weenies into a napkin and stuck them in the pocket of his flannel shirt.

“Want to go for walkies, girl? Go for a walk?”
Thank God the guys at work can't hear this.

Nope. No movement. She loved her walks, but there were too many people here she felt robbed of barking at, Jason guessed. Hence the drama. He went to the side of the bed and dangled the treat he'd brought her. There was nothing wrong with her nose—it twitched while her dark brown eyes popped open and stared.