The Trouble With Love Page 22

  Jayce torched her senses with a soulful kiss while finessing his rock-hard body beneath her. “No.” He gripped her hips, then relinquished control. “Take me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Fix Mama another drink, Jayce-e.”

  “Get your own damn booze, Angie. Go outside and play, kid.”

  Jayce looked from his mom to his dad, sick to his stomach, sick to death of being told what to do by two people who didn’t give a crap about him.

  Chilling out in the worn recliner, his mom shook her empty glass at him, the ice cubes tinkling like a bully’s taunt. “Half a glass of bourbon and a splash of water,” she said in a slurry voice. Then again, her voice was almost always slurred.

  Jayce’s dad pushed off of the sofa with his own empty glass and nabbed Angie’s, giving her that creepy look he always got just before they disappeared into their bedroom.

  Jayce’s face burned. He hated the sounds they made in that room. The grunts, the squeals, the dirty words that filtered through the walls. “Dev invited me to his grandma’s for dinner.”

  “Someone going to pick you up?” his dad asked, looking annoyed at the prospect of tearing himself away from his liquor and whatever he had in mind for Angie.

  “I’ll ride my bike.” He headed for the door, not surprised when no one said, Be careful, Have fun, or Don’t be too late. Nope. It was the Monroes who said stuff like that to him. Jayce blew out of the suffocating house and into the fresh air and sunshine. The cramp in his stomach eased as he straddled the banana seat of his most prized possession. Gripping the moustache handlebars of his secondhand bike, Jayce pedaled hard. Daisy Monroe lived on the other side of town. Since he was only eleven, probably he should feel lucky that his parents gave him so much freedom. He didn’t feel so lucky.

  Someone touched him. Not a slap or a push, but a gentle brush.

  “Jayce.”

  He’d know that voice anywhere. Especially in his dreams. Although not this dream. Jayce shoved away the shitty memories of the past and focused on his future. He lazed open his eyes and smiled at the naked woman cuddled against him and cradling his face. “Morning, Dash.”

  “You were dreaming.”

  “Talk in my sleep?” He’d been known to mumble when particularly troubled, which sucked. Although past lovers had labeled the mumbling as incoherent.

  “No, but you were frowning and restless. Want to talk about it?”

  He grasped her hand, kissed her palm. “Nothing to talk about.” They gazed at each other for a long moment, and Jayce breathed slow and deep, appreciating the mingling scents of Rocky’s herbal shampoo, her flowery-fresh sheets, and some sort of pine potpourri. Country scents, comforting scents. Sunshine filtered through her lacey curtains, illuminating the antique furnishings and eclectic curiosities. Everything from the braided rugs to the framed scenic paintings screamed an appreciation of old-fashioned sensibilities. Basking in the domestic tranquility, Jayce felt the painful remnants of the past fade away. “I could get used to this.”

  She quirked an ornery grin. “Sleeping with me?”

  “Waking with you. Sex is a bonus.”

  She trailed her fingers over his shoulders, his chest. “The sex is amazing. Know what would make it even better?”

  “Got something kinky in mind?”

  “Depends on if you consider intimacy kinky.”

  “Depends on your definition of ‘intimate.’”

  She rose up on one elbow and studied him with wide blue eyes. He stared back, mesmerized as always by her natural beauty. Her intense gaze promised trouble. Warning bells clanged in his head even as his shaft sprang to life.

  “You’re awfully private,” she said.

  “You mean like you?”

  “You’re worse. Way worse. I’ve known you all my life, Jayce, and I hardly know you at all. It wouldn’t matter except, if we’re going to do this, us, I want … I need to know you more than anyone else. Even Dev.”

  That wouldn’t be hard, since Jayce had been nearly as guarded with his best friend. Jayce had craved a lot of things in his life, but never sympathy. He pushed up and tried to relax against the pillows. Meanwhile his gut clenched. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why do you always refer to your house as your parents’ house? They’ve been gone a long time and, yes, you rented it out for years, but you do own it. You grew up in that house, yet you seem so detached.”

  “It’s never felt like home,” he answered honestly.

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t expect you to. We were dealt very different lives, Rocky.”

  “For all the time you spent with us, I never really knew your parents. They weren’t very sociable. Is that where you got your independent streak?”

  “I’m hoping I didn’t get anything from them.” He reached out and tucked her messy curls behind one ear. “Why the preoccupation with Angie and Joe Bello?” As Jayce had grown older, more confident, and more distant from his folks, he’d fallen into thinking of them by their given names. “Mom” and “Dad” were too intimate and undeserved.

  “Honestly, they were an afterthought. I was fixated on your house. I’ve only been inside a couple of times and I’ve always been aware of an emptiness. A lack of personality. Your personality.” She shifted under the covers and sprawled on top of Jayce, cocooning him in feminine warmth and affection. As she gazed down at him, her expression turned from inquisitive to determined. “I’m glad you asked me to decorate. I think … I know I can make it into a home. Your home.”

  He smiled a little, thinking it would take a miracle. “If anyone can, you can.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me abusing your credit card.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “I spotted some interesting pieces at Molly’s. Some I reserved pending your approval. One I purchased on my own. A housewarming gift. It’s being delivered later today.”

  Jayce’s heart jerked. “I’m intrigued. And touched.”

  She smiled. “Yay.”

  Moved beyond words, he traced a finger over the healing wound on her forehead. She’d been nicked by a car, but he’d been slammed by a damned Mack truck. With Rocky at the wheel, his life would never be the same. Hoo-frickin’-rah.

  “So about your dream.”

  Damn.

  “Have anything to do with that personal business that kept you from me last night?”

  He thought about distracting her with a kiss, but that wouldn’t be fair. She’d asked a valid question. “Yes.”

  She blinked, looking pleased and surprised that she’d guessed right. Looking curious.

  Jayce shifted, rolling her off of him so that they were resting on their sides—face-to-face. “Knowing me entails knowing some ugly stuff, Dash. You sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.”

  No hesitation. Well, hell. “I spent last night tearing down a wall. I asked you to make my house a home, but I couldn’t see that happening with certain memories bouncing off certain walls. Specifically the walls that used to be my parents’ bedroom.”

  He took a breath and uttered words that he’d never spoken aloud before. “My mom was an alcoholic and my dad liked her that way because he was a sexual deviant.” Jayce saw no reason to cite specifics. “To each his own behind closed doors, but not at the expense of a kid. They never wanted me and that room represented the extent of their rejection. So last night, I rejected that room.”

  Rocky stared at him a long moment before responding. “Why not just purchase another house?”

  “I don’t want to give them that kind of power over me. I need to put the past to rest—things they said and did. Things I said and … didn’t do.”

  “So you moved back to Sugar Creek to conquer demons? Purge your soul?”

  “And to be with you.”

  She licked her lips, angled her head. “Wow. That’s…”

  “Heavy? Scary?
”

  “Romantic. The last part, that is. As for the ugly stuff … I can’t imagine.”

  “I don’t want you to.” He stroked his palm down her bare arm, interlocked his fingers with hers. “I don’t want the past tainting the future.”

  She held his gaze, but he caught a flash of panic. “Okay. That was sort of heavy,” she said with a nervous laugh. “The future thing. Feeling a little overwhelmed here. Between openly dating you and the decorating opportunities coming my way…”

  “How ’bout we approach the future one day at a time? Starting with today.” He squeezed her hand and smiled to lighten the mood. “Speaking of gifts, I bought you one, too.”

  She blinked, then lit up like Times Square—a vibrant, kinetic force. “You did? Where is it? What is it?”

  Jayce laughed. Her excitement over a present obliterated the last of his gloom. He’d have to remember that. Rocky liked gifts. He kissed her, relishing the taste of her tongue, the feel of her skin, then rolled out of bed with a teasing grin. “The faster we shower, the faster you’ll get your present.”

  She practically knocked him over in her haste to get to the bathroom. He admired her wicked body and confident spirit, appreciated the fact that she hadn’t dredged up their fight from the night before or pushed for more details regarding his parents. He knew he’d piqued her interest, but she seemed to know when to back off. Maybe he’d been a little harsh in New York when he’d labeled her immature. Or maybe they’d reached a new level in their relationship. That thought, and the sight of Rocky soaping up in a frenzy, made Jayce smile.

  * * *

  Even though she’d grown up in a small town, up until recently Chloe had been living in New York City. Sugar Creek was a stark change from the thriving, congested, sometimes bombastic city. Heart full, she navigated sparse traffic, steering Daisy’s big-as-a-boat Caddy past quaint two- and three-story businesses, brick sidewalks, and Victorian-looking street lamps. Trees were abundant as well as expanses of verdant grass. Beyond the town’s limits, rolling mountains exploded with the last vivid colors of fall—red, yellow, orange. The autumn foliage was overwhelming in its beauty and a popular attraction for tourists. People came from miles away to witness the splendor, and a portion of those tourists would be mingling with locals this weekend, enjoying the town’s annual Halloween festival.

  Smiling, Chloe imagined all four seasons and future adventures with Devlin and their child. Raking up, then jumping into heaps of colorful leaves, sledding down snow-covered hills, taking nature walks in the throes of spring, tubing down Sugar Creek—the river, not the town—in the height of summer. She considered the low crime rate and escalated sense of community. Even now the preparations for the Spookytown Spectacular—three days away—were evident. Honeysuckle Street, an offshoot of Main Street, had been stanchioned off. Chloe noted two of what were to be several carnival rides and smiled. Someday she and Devlin would be standing in line with their son or daughter eagerly choosing the specific horse for their spin on the merry-go-round.

  Her future was not only bright but also optimistically, fantastically brilliant.

  Nearing Moose-a-lotta, Chloe tried to focus on now, on business, but damn, it was hard.

  She would’ve enjoyed nothing more than spending the day in bed with Devlin. In fact, he’d suggested just that, saying they should both play hooky. She was pretty sure Devlin Monroe had never called out sick a day in his life, and she’d bet her cherished Cuisinart mixer he’d never played hooky. Loving that he’d bend his work ethics in order to afford them a leisurely day to celebrate her pregnancy, Chloe had almost relented. But her obligations at Moose-a-lotta were too new and a burst of unexpected energy too welcome to ignore.

  Jazzed on the aftershock of a lengthy, passionate, see-you-later kiss with Devlin, Chloe approached the café, smiling as she noted Vince Redding’s shiny blue four-door rolling curbside. Chloe pulled into a designated Merchant parking space and tried not to stare as the robust man walked Daisy to the café’s door and said his good-byes. What an odd-looking pair. From the moment Chloe had laid eyes on Daisy, she’d labeled the quirky woman a cross between Whoopi Goldberg and Betty White—although Daisy had recently dyed her white curls purple. Daisy had also given up the majority of her conservative Jackie O wardrobe in favor of bohemian clothing and blingy accessories. Vince, on the other hand, looked like the cliché of who he was—the seventy-some-year-old owner of a small-town general store, complete with baggy pants, plaid flannel shirt, and red suspenders.

  The old-fashioned widower and the devil-may-care widow.

  Chloe still wasn’t sure of the exact nature of their relationship. She’d never seen them kiss or cuddle, although affection shone in Vince’s old eyes every time he looked at or talked about Daisy. Unlike with Rocky and Jayce, Chloe knew Daisy and Vince had common interests and goals. They never fought, and talked about anything and everything, according to Daisy. Even their past relationships. They seemed like the perfect couple, although how perfect could it be if the romantic interest was one-sided? What if Daisy only saw Vince as an amiable companion and friend? Was she leading him on by moving into his home? With their being together 24/7, would Daisy start to feel smothered? Would Vince become disenchanted? All of a sudden Chloe understood Devlin’s reservation regarding this couple cohabitating, although she was more focused on the personal ramifications rather than the financial.

  Chloe glanced at her reflection in the Caddy’s rearview mirror. “Mind your own business, Madison.”

  Easier said than done.

  Even though the Monroes weren’t technically her family, she’d considered them family since soon after moving to Sugar Creek. The big, sloppy warm family she’d never had. She worried about each and every one of them, including Nash and Sam. She worried about Luke and Rocky but especially Daisy—a woman who indulged in every whim because life was short. Even shorter for a seventy-five-year-old woman with a heart condition.

  Daisy waved good-bye as Vince drove off; then she whistled at Chloe.

  Smiling, Chloe exited the refurbished Caddy, unlooping her scarf and welcoming the warmth of an unseasonably mild day.

  “Shake a leg, kitten. Time to make the donuts.”

  “You mean muffins,” Chloe said as she joined her friend and partner.

  “Doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Daisy said while unlocking the door.

  “I need to buy a car,” Chloe said while they entered and set about their morning rituals.

  “You can’t afford a car.” Daisy placed her fringed shoulder bag behind the counter. “You put all your pennies into this business.”

  Aside from draining her own meager bank account, Chloe had relied on her dad to co-sign for a loan, which had dented her pride but at the same time boosted their relationship. She refused to feel bad about something so good. “I know. But I feel like I’m monopolizing the Caddy.” A car she’d once wrecked and that, thanks to Monica’s whiz-mechanic husband, had been given an extended life. “What if you need it?”

  Daisy raised a penciled brow as she shrugged out of her lime-green coat. “I’ve been barred from driving ever since the reckless-driving arrest. Remember? Besides, I don’t need the Caddy. I have Vincent.”

  “But what if he’s unavailable and you need to get somewhere?”

  “Then I’ll call you or one of my grandchildren or steal a set of wheels.”

  Chloe blinked.

  “Kidding about that last part,” Daisy said with a gleam in her eye. “Maybe.”

  She trotted to the kitchen, and Chloe followed. After seeing the woman hobbling around in that ankle cast for weeks, it was good to see her mobile again. Although it also meant Daisy was back in action, as in back to her reckless ways—like stealing someone’s wheels.

  “You look different,” Daisy said while lining up their ingredients for the muffin-of-the-day.

  Cheeks flushing, Chloe tied on an apron. “How so?” She wasn’t showing. Surely she wasn’t glowing. That was a
cliché, right? Although since sharing her news with Dev, Chloe felt different. Lighter. Excited.

  “You’re smiling. What gives?”

  Chloe mixed the muffin batter while Daisy attacked the topping. She considered her mood. She was happy. Devlin’s acceptance and enthusiasm had made all the difference in the world. “Can’t a person be happy for happy’s sake?”

  “Sure, but you’ve been an Anxious Annie for days. Why the sudden turnaround?”

  “Why the third degree?”

  “Why the stone wall?”

  She didn’t want to share her news until a doctor had confirmed the pregnancy. Certainly not until that video crew had left town. Unmarried and pregnant constituted scandal, right? As much as Chloe wanted to confide in Daisy—this would be her first great-grandchild!—Chloe didn’t trust the impetuous woman to keep her secret. “I confess I’ve been edgy lately. Between the book deal and issues with assorted family members, it’s a little overwhelming.”

  “The Cupcake Lovers have survived several wars and decades,” Daisy said while melting a hunk of butter. “We’ll survive a book deal. Did I ever tell you about the time—” She waved off her words and nabbed a bag of fresh nuts. “Never mind. Long story. Regarding the family, we’ll prevail. We always do. Take my son, for instance.…”

  Devlin’s dad. “What about him?”

  Daisy chopped pecans with a little too much zeal. “Darn my loose lips. Forget I mentioned it, kitten.”

  She couldn’t. She’d been on pins and needles for weeks wondering about the gloom that settled over Devlin every time he spoke with his father. Yes, they were at odds regarding store renovations. But there had to be more to it.

  Chloe added an egg, vanilla extract, and her melted-chocolate mixture into a bowl while contemplating the best way to snoop. “I’m a little nervous about meeting your son and his wife. I want them to like me.”

  “They’ll love you. We all love you.”

  Chloe smiled at that. She did indeed feel cherished and appreciated by the Monroes. “Rocky said they might be flying up for Thanksgiving.”