Fool for Love Page 2

  Rocky rushed over and offered her pinky.

  He crooked his own pinky around hers and squeezed. “Swear.”

  Smiling, she kissed him on the cheek, then rushed out, leaving the door open in her wake.

  Shaking his head, Dev snagged his cell and, while moving to shut the door, dialed his best friend, a private investigator who’d relocated to Brooklyn, New York.

  Jayce answered on the first ring. “Calling to shoot the shit or to raz me about the Jets?”

  “Professional call. Need you to dig into someone’s life.”

  “Must be serious.”

  “Concerns family.”

  “On it,” Jayce said. “What’s the name?”

  He glanced at his notepad. “Chloe Madison.”

  * * *

  In two days’ time, Chloe had secured a job and lodgings in Sugar Creek, put most of her belongings into storage, and purchased a one-way ticket to Burlington, Vermont. She’d worked fast, refusing to second-guess her decision. The apartment was in Ryan’s name and he’d purchased the majority of the furnishings. She suddenly felt like a kept woman, especially since he’d repeatedly pointed out her spastic work résumé. She needed to get her act together and, as Monica had suggested, take time to heal. Ryan had dinged her sense of security and blown a hole in her self-esteem. Was she really that much of a flake?

  When her plane touched down in Burlington, Chloe vowed not to fall apart when she saw her best friend. Besides, Chloe was fairly sure she was all cried out. She’d gone through four boxes of tissues and two rolls of toilet paper in her two-day packing spree. Nope, she wasn’t going to shed one more tear for Ryan-the-Cheating-Bastard Levine. She wanted to make the most of her time with Monica. Unbelievably, even though they frequently e-mailed and talked on the phone, they were lucky if they saw each other in person once every three years. In fact, the last time she’d seen Monica was when Chloe had flown back to their hometown in Indiana for Monica and Leo’s wedding. That was also the last time Chloe had seen her dad.

  “Oh, my God,” Monica squealed as Chloe rushed toward her in Baggage Claim. “You’re a brunette!”

  “I didn’t have time to keep up with the blond highlights when I was in school, so I went back to my roots, so to speak.” Chloe hugged Monica and held tight. But she didn’t cry.

  The taller woman pushed her to arm’s length and eyed her with a sympathetic smile. “You look good. A little thin, but beautiful as always. How the hell did you lose weight in culinary school? Don’t you eat what you cook?”

  “You end up tasting and sampling on the run rather than sitting down and lingering over a meal. Plus, between the heat of the kitchen and the anxiety and excitement…” She shrugged. “Watch. I’ll put on twenty pounds in the next month.”

  “In these parts that would qualify you for curvy. As someone who could stand to lose an entire dress size, I, for one, appreciate the region’s more generous views on the female form.”

  “I think you look wonderful,” Chloe said honestly. Monica had always been on the “curvy” side, but she was tall and big boned and between her pretty face, signature pixie cut, and funky eyeglasses she made a bold, sexy statement while retaining a classy aura.

  Wearing a mothering expression that Chloe knew well, her friend reached out and gently tucked Chloe’s loose long hair behind her ears. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay.” She forced a smile. “But life will get better.”

  “Yes, it will.” Monica squeezed her hand and tugged her toward the baggage carousel. “Come on. Let’s get your luggage and get you to Sugar Creek.”

  Twenty minutes later they were loaded up and on their way.

  Chloe rolled down the Suburban’s window, enjoying the rush and smell of the cool fall air as Monica sped north on I-89. Instead of stark steel and glass skyscrapers, she was surrounded by lush valleys and wooded mountains. No wonder they called Vermont the Green Mountain State. She couldn’t stop staring at the stunning landscape. Yes, she’d grown up in a small midwestern town, but in comparison this was the wilderness. “Feels like I’m in another country.”

  “You almost are. Once we get to Sugar Creek, we’ll only be ten miles south of the Canadian border.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “I can’t believe you only brought one suitcase. Didn’t you agree to a three-month trial period with Daisy?”

  “Yeah, but what do I need really aside from clothes and toiletries? I thought about bringing some of my new cooking appliances, but she said she has everything I’ll need. I asked about bringing my own bed linens, but she nixed that as well.”

  “What about personal stuff?” Monica asked as she zipped past a slow-moving pickup.

  “Like what?”

  “Like your laptop, books, camera, CDs … I don’t know. Stuff. You’re the one who said you need distractions.”

  “Laptop’s in the suitcase. Camera and music are on my smartphone. As for books…” She reached in her purse and fished out her Kindle. “Loaded with over a hundred novels and thirty-six cookbooks. So far.”

  “As a library assistant, I’m well aware of the explosion of digital books,” Monica said, “but please tell me you still read the occasional print book; otherwise you’ll break my old-fashioned heart.”

  “As an avid reader I indulge in both worlds,” Chloe said with a smile. “Happy now?”

  “Delirious. So,” she said, gesturing to the Android and e-Reader, “when did you become a techno geek?”

  “I’m not a techno geek,” Chloe said. “Ryan bought me all that stuff. Christmas. Birthdays. I would’ve chucked it all, but I’m sort of used to it now.”

  “Yeah, well. Things move at a slower pace in Sugar Creek. I’m not even sure if Daisy has cable.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll connect at an Internet café.”

  “We don’t have an Internet café.”

  Chloe gaped. “You’re kidding!”

  Monica smiled. “Nope.”

  “But … you said Sugar Creek attracts a lot of tourists.”

  “It does.”

  “How do they check their e-mail? Google directions and specifics for restaurants and attractions?”

  “Chloe, in these parts, most of the people on holiday are too busy hiking, tubing, fishing, snow skiing, horseback riding—”

  “I get the picture.”

  “—to check e-mail.” She glanced over. “If it makes you feel better, there’s a computer with Internet access at the library.”

  “Thank God. So,” she said, still amazed. “No Internet café. I’m guessing no Starbucks?”

  “Nope. But they serve great coffee at Gemma’s Bakery.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Chloe sighed. “What about a grocery store? I told Mrs. Monroe I’d take care of the shopping. Plus I’m sort of picky about the ingredients for my recipes.”

  “Not too picky, I hope. One place to do your food shopping in Sugar Creek. Oslow’s General Store.”

  “Seriously? A general store? What, something the size of Marlton’s IGA? ” The family-operated grocery in their hometown.

  “Smaller, but better stocked. If you don’t find what you want there, your best bet is the supermarket in Pixley. It’s a thirty-minute drive on a clear day. If it’s snowing, tack an hour or never.”

  “I’ll only be here until mid-December.”

  “Last year we had our first big snow late October.”

  “Oh.” When making her deal with Mrs. Monroe she hadn’t considered the weather. “I haven’t driven in the snow since I moved to Manhattan.”

  Monica cut her a look.

  “Hello? Big city? Public transportation?”

  “When were you last behind the wheel of a car?”

  Chloe looked away, knowing Monica was well aware of her arrangement with Mrs. Monroe. “The day before I moved to Manhattan.”

  “Fourteen years ago?” Monica jammed on the brakes and squealed to the shoulder of the road. “Get out.” She
unbuckled her seat belt and shoved open the driver’s door.

  “Why? What are you doing?”

  “Trading places with you. If you’re going to chauffeur Daisy you need all the practice you can get. One fender bender and Dev will have my ass. Yours, too.”

  “Who’s Dev?” Chloe asked as she scrambled out the door. Heart pounding, she rounded the hood of the Suburban, passing Monica along the way.

  “Devlin Monroe. Daisy’s oldest grandson. Heir to the Monroe legacy. Runs J. T. Monroe’s Department store and a few other local businesses. Watches over his family like a hawk. Mess with his family and you’re dead meat.”

  “Sounds like a scary guy.”

  “Not scary, just influential.”

  They stopped talking long enough to climb back into the vehicle.

  Monica buckled the passenger seat belt and sighed. “Listen. I didn’t mean to make Dev sound like a tyrant. He’s the brother of a good friend of mine. It’s just … the man has a major stick up his ass. A shame really. Otherwise he’s the perfect catch. Rich and frickin’ hot.”

  “Good looking, huh?” Not that Chloe cared. It’s not like she was looking to date anytime soon.

  “Drop-dead gorgeous,” Monica said. “You do know where all the important parts are, right?”

  Chloe blinked.

  “Steering wheel, gas pedal, brake…”

  She smirked. “I know how to drive. It’s just been a while.”

  “Okay then. Keep the pedal to the metal until the exit for 105.” She glanced sideways and smiled as Chloe peeled onto the interstate. “Just watch out for squirrels.”

  THREE

  By the time they reached Sugar Creek the sun was setting and Chloe was running out of steam. She’d been up since 6:00 a.m. and hadn’t slept well for three nights running. She hadn’t eaten much either, operating mostly on coffee and adrenaline. Now that they’d reached their destination, even the wonder of the forested peaks and the high of driving had worn off. All she wanted was to eat a sandwich and go to bed. So what if it was only five thirty?

  Monica had other ideas. One block into the quaint town, she instructed Chloe to make a left, then pointed to a bright blue barn with white trim—Leo’s Auto Repair. “Just pull in here and let me tell Leo about our change of plans.”

  “Honestly, Monica, ordering in pizza is fine.”

  “Forget it. After hearing you describe all the dishes you’ve made over the past few weeks, I’m jonesing for a full-course, professionally prepared dinner.”

  “I could cook—”

  “Not on your first night here. I’m taking you out. The Sugar Shack has the best food in town. Great atmosphere. You’ll love it. Plus we can order champagne and toast your special honors diploma.”

  “It’s not that big a deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal, and you know it.”

  Which was why she’d been especially crushed when Ryan had peed in her Cheerios. Or rather her cake. “You’re right,” she said, sitting straighter and forcing a smile. “I deserve a celebration.”

  “Atta girl.” Monica hopped out. “I’ll be quick. I’d call, but if he’s working on a car he won’t answer. When the man focuses on engines, he’s oblivious to all else.”

  “How late does Leo work?”

  “Depends. Tonight the garage is open until six.”

  “What about Oslow’s?” Chloe asked, eyeing the general store across the street.

  “Same.”

  “Mind if I peek in? I’d like to get an idea of what they stock so I can plan Mrs. Monroe’s meals for the week.” She was staying with Monica and Leo tonight, but tomorrow Chloe moved in with her new employer. She wanted to impress the woman from the get-go. Sharing a well-thought-out menu seemed like a good start. She noticed then that Monica had a goofy smile on her face. “What?”

  “I just love how you never do anything half-assed.”

  Chloe laughed. “Me? Up until the Culinary Arts Institute, I never followed through with anything. Just ask Dad or Ryan.”

  Monica waved them off. “I’m not talking about commitment. I’m talking about passion. Since I’ve known you, whatever your current interest, you pour your heart and soul into the project. Your enthusiasm is infectious. And admirable.”

  Chloe swallowed an emotional lump and smiled. “I’m really glad I came.”

  “Me, too.” Monica squeezed her hand. “Now run over to Oslow’s. If you’re not back when I come out, I’ll join you.”

  “Deal.” Chloe slid out of the Suburban, smoothed the wrinkles from her mid-thigh dress, and crossed the deserted street.

  Sugar Creek’s sole grocery looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Like Leo’s garage, it resembled a converted barn. Only it was bigger and varnished an appealing shade of maple brown. A big green sign announced in white letters: OSLOW’S GENERAL STORE—established in 1888. Swinging out from the top gable was a brightly painted rooster displaying a much smaller sign that simply read: GOOD FOOD.

  Chloe hooked her handbag over her shoulder and entered the store, smiling when a bell tinkled to announce her arrival. Cute. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Heaven. Spices and freshly ground coffee, scented soaps and fresh herbs. She caught a whiff of fried chicken and … apple pie? Must have a ready-made food section, she thought as she opened her eyes and took in the layout.

  Monica was right. Oslow’s was smaller than their hometown IGA, but not by much. Instead of a sprawling building, it was compact and three stories high. The hardwood floor creaked under Chloe’s wedge-heeled boots as she made her way up and down the narrow aisles. Folksy Muzak floated softly from hidden speakers.

  The shelves were crammed with stock—lots of local specialty foods, but a ton of basics, too. Deli counter, dairy section. To her amazement, she only spied a couple of shoppers. The markets in Manhattan were crowded every day at every hour. Here the sparse shoppers smiled and nodded in greeting but other than that didn’t pay her much mind. Probably assumed she was just another tourist.

  She was lost in thought, mentally cataloguing stock and sifting through recipes when she rounded the soda and chip aisle and rammed hard into another shopper. Half the contents of his wicker shopping basket tipped out and crashed to the floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” she squeaked, dropping to her knees to snag a runaway can of pork ’n’ beans. A box of cornflakes, a bag of chips, frozen dinners. He had to be single. Or lazy.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, stooping to help.

  Their fingers connected around his Vermont smoked and cured summer sausage. Chloe froze—her skin tingling with sensual awareness—then flushed when she noted the devilish tilt of his mouth. She wasn’t sure which was more disconcerting—his sexy smile or her reaction to his touch. Not to mention he was freaking gorgeous. Chocolate hair, blueberry eyes, a beefcake body clad in grey canvas khakis and a plaid oxford shirt, the long sleeves rolled midway up his muscled forearms. Not that she was checking him out.

  Heat flooded her body as she realized she was doing just that and he was doing the same!

  “My sausage—”

  “Excuse me?” She followed his gaze and saw in horror that she was still clinging to his processed meat. “Oh.” Cheeks burning, she scrambled to her feet, wishing he hadn’t helped by grasping her elbow. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so flustered by a man’s innocent touch. “You should buy some fruit,” she said, noting the contents of his basket. Wow. That was lame.

  Again with the sexy half smile. “What would you suggest?”

  “Bananas? Apples?” She glanced at the fresh-fruit cart to their left. “Melons?”

  “I like melons.”

  She waited for his gaze to shift to her chest. It didn’t. He was looking directly in her eyes. Somehow that was worse.

  He snagged a small honeydew and put it in his basket.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Buying fruit?”

  “But you didn’t thump it.”
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  He raised a brow.

  Men. She moved in and gave the melon a squeeze. “Too hard.”

  “I can honestly say I’ve never gotten that complaint.”

  Okay. Definite flirting here. She should leave. But the image of Ryan canoodling with his tart caused her to stand her ground. Her wounded ego needed affirmation that she was still desirable to the opposite sex. Problem was she hadn’t flirted in a long time. “Let me give you some tips on how to handle melons.” Oh, brother.

  “I’m all ears.”

  Just then his phone rang. He pulled an Android from his pocket, glanced at the incoming call. “Damn.”

  Obviously, he needed to take it. Perfect. This way she could exit before making a complete fool of herself. She quickly squeezed and thumped three melons, putting the second one in his basket. “Nice meeting you,” she whispered as he tried holding off the person on the other end of the line.

  “Wait,” he called as she backed away.

  “Remember. Four food groups,” she said, then made a beeline for the front door. Four food groups?

  Lame, lame, lame.

  * * *

  “If this is a bad time,” Jayce said, “I can call back.”

  “No. Now is good. Now is … great.” Devlin watched her sweet ass go, telling himself not to follow. To what end? A one-night stand? She didn’t strike him as the type. She’d blushed too easily, and her attempt at flirting had been awkward. Not that his had been much better. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inspired to flirt. But, Christ, seeing her in that short flowery dress and those knee-high boots, the long dark hair and that face. Like any man wouldn’t be reduced to a drooling idiot.

  Yet for all her sensual beauty, she seemed oblivious. An even greater turn-on. Melon Girl was a nice girl and, since he’d never seen her before, no doubt a tourist. Which meant she’d be gone in a day or two. He chalked up the encounter to the sexiest five minutes of the last three years and felt thankful for it.