Chapter Eight
Back in high school, Winnie and Sherry Brueggemann had had several classes in common, mostly electives since Sherry took the honors and Advanced Placement track. They’d been partnered in home economics during senior year, where in lieu of midterm and final exams they had to cook full meals as flawlessly as possible. Sherry, being a natural in the kitchen, proved Winnie’s salvation. Without her help, she doubted she could make a tasty enough cheesecake to earn an A from their teacher.
After graduation, Sherry had attended a regional culinary school and became a pastry chef. Her business, Sherry’s Sweet Cakes, mainly provided desserts for corporate and private events but she’d recently purchased a van from which she sold her wares at the farmers market and other spots around Central Virginia. Sherry had a regular corner space on the grounds and a menu of cupcakes that rotated every few weeks. Today, Winnie studied the pastel cursive on the chalkboard easel by the van and debated between Death by Chocolate and Butter Beer with butterscotch frosting.
No, no, no. As much as she loved her old friend and strove to support local businesses, she knew she couldn’t eat her problems. Maybe if she bought one to go and had half of it now and half later, it would seem more acceptable. To whom, though? Aaron, or maybe that weight-watching geezer from the restaurant? The anger she nursed in her gut simmered and bubbled to the surface, prickling her skin. Why did it matter when and where she ate a cupcake, and why was she suddenly fretting public disapproval?
She was an adult, she made her own money. She had the right to buy and eat anything she damn well pleased.
Sherry handed the customer in front of her a pink box tied with ribbon then leaned out of the pass window with a smile. “What can I get you, doll?”
Winnie handed her a debit card and ordered one each of her favorites. “Hey, you going to be at the trunk or treat thing?”
Her box, also pink, was smaller and bore Sherry’s flowery logo. “Yep,” she said. “The homecoming fair, too, and the parade.” She bent over and patted the side of the truck. “We’re going to roll behind some of the Shriners’ mini cars.”
“You gonna throw cake at people as you drive by?” Winnie snickered, thinking of all the parade cars and the people who tossed wrapped candy to the kids along the route. She’d enjoyed the tradition as a child, and had tried to gather as many Tootsie Rolls as possible. Of course, one year somebody had to make a comment about “the chubby girl” grabbing for sweets, and the memory made going to the parade less palatable for her.
Nonetheless, Marcy would want to go, so she’d let herself be dragged to a spot along Main Street, where they’d perch on the curb in the cold evening. Would she go with Cory? He’d have to ask, assuming somebody on the alumni board hadn’t roped him into riding in one of the cars as a celebrity guest.
Sherry continued to chatter. “Anyway, I’m taking special orders to pick up at the trunk and treat, so if you want anything off-menu, now’s the time order.”
“I’ll check your website, thanks.” Winnie loved how Sherry experimented with cake flavors. She imagined she’d order another variety pack soon. The pastries refrigerated well, and Winnie liked having something homemade on hand. Already the contents of the package she held tempted her.
Back at the tent, Marcy eyed the box and licked her lips. “Which one’s mine?”
“Whatever’s still in Sherry’s van. Get your own.”
Everything went quiet for a second. Winnie put aside her cupcakes and looked up to see her cousin’s stricken expression.
Shit.
“I’m sorry, Marcy. I’m just on edge after that…that…”
“Stupid jerkface Aaron?”
Those were the strongest words either of them could use within the earshot of the kids waiting. Winnie laughed. “Right. He really set my morning off-kilter but I won’t let him ruin the rest of my day. I’ll be okay.”
Marcy fluttered her lashes. “Well, I didn’t think you were mad at me, your favorite cousin.”
“Not when you look at me with those sad puppy eyes,” Winnie teased. “And you’re welcome to take one of the cupcakes, doesn’t matter which. I like ’em both.”
“That’s okay. I’ll get my own if Sherry has any left. Besides, I know you, and you probably got something besides the key lime.”
Smart girl, Marcy. Winnie tended to pass on citrus-heavy snacks. She loved berries, but found key lime-flavored anything too tart for her tastes. Marcy, on the other hand, would eat an entire lemon for dessert. “Why don’t you go over now?” She gestured to the line out the tent, down to two children since the market was nearing an end. “I can hold down the fort.”
“You sure? What if there’s a last-minute rush?”
For face painting? It had yet to happen. Typically, as the farmers market came to a close, anybody with children was exhausted and ready to leave. The crowd populating the area in the last fifteen or so minutes consisted of people wanting to bargain for what veggies and fruits were left. They never came to the tables where product could wait another week, and older people definitely didn’t want Batman makeovers.
“If the line grows, well, you’ll have to come back anyway to help break down the booth,” she said. “Now go before Sherry drives off.”
Without argument, Marcy shed her smock and bolted. Winnie brought the next child forward and got to work on a full-face butterfly. She had just applied a pair of glittering antennae when she heard a deep rumbling noise, a man clearing his throat. No need to guess.
“There you go, Chastity.” She showed the girl her new look in the hand mirror and made change then brushed some sparkles off the chair before acknowledging Cory’s presence.
Damn, why did he have to look so gorgeous? In his jeans and tight green Cougars T-shirt, muscles and tats on display, he may as well have walked out of a country music video about a girl dreaming of a cowboy. Maybe Cory didn’t consider himself one, despite growing up on farm, but give him a hat and he’d pull it off.
“You flying solo today?”
“Marcy went to get cupcakes from Sherry Brueggemann before the market closes. You know she’s going to drive her van in the parade?”
Cory’s brows knit. “Marcy has a van?”
“Sherry’s food truck.” Winnie laughed.
He grinned back. He was obviously yanking her chain. Their exchanges came so easily, so naturally. She found it difficult to be mad at him, and in a way she wondered if she had the right. Everything Aaron said about them at school had occurred so long ago, and people changed.
Well, some did. She couldn’t judge Cory now for actions done decades ago, and clearly he wanted to make amends with her.
All night long, if possible. Winnie warmed at the thought and fought to keep her body in check. There were still children wandering around the place.
“That’s cool,” he said. “I meant to tell you I got a call from Bart Alexander the other day about that the parade.”
Bart Alexander, their class rep on the alumni board, chaired the homecoming committee. She knew where this was going. “You riding with the mayor?”
“I get a separate car.” He offered a sheepish smile. “I volunteered to drive my own, but they want to chauffeur me in one of those old-timey kit cars. You can help me practice my wave.” He tried one out for size, cupping a hand and twisting his wrist like royalty blessing a crowd. “You’re gonna be my date for it, right?”
“Is that your way of asking?” She could yank chains, too.
“Right. I’ll do better. So….” He folded his arms. “What time you get off work? You think your boss might be open to letting you skip out?”
“You want to look at this face and tell him we’re closed for the day?” Winnie gestured to the young boy in her chair, all doe-eyed and clutching a Hulk action figure. Cory might think she only had to cover the child’s face in green, but there was a nuance to creating a face for this particular superhero. The Hulk had eyebrows, anger lines.
She nodded toward Marcy’s chair and said, “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
“There a discount for NFL retirees?” He winked at the boy, who giggled.
“Keep talking. I might charge you by the hour.”
He grinned and took the empty chair. She liked having the distraction of work to give her time to formulate her next words to Cory. The banter kept the atmosphere at the booth light, and despite her determination to stay positive, the memory of the morning nagged at her. She couldn’t blame him for Aaron’s attempt to shame her, but as for being angry at Cory for letting the man influence his decisions…she pondered if she should be more disappointed than angry. Clearly, Cory was his own man now—he came to her for dates and their night together…yowza. She couldn’t mistake the desire in his eyes when they made love.
No sign of game face there. They’d both wanted it.
She wanted it again.
“Are you going as the Hulk for Halloween?” she asked her young customer. The boy nodded, showing off a full upper row of teeth biting down on his lower lip. “I bet you have a mask for trick and treating, though.”
“And Hulk hands.” The boy made a fist. Cory must have mugged at him behind her back, because the boy kept posturing, enjoying the attention.
She put the finishing touches on the child-Hulk’s dark brows, collected the fee, then moved to her easel to flip the small sign hanging from it to read Closed. Around them, vendors began packing up for the day, sealing away perishables in plastic containers and breaking down tables and tents.
“Aw, it was my turn.” Cory mock-pouted.
“Next week,” Winnie said, gathering her sponges and brushes. “I have a whole new shipment of clown white coming in. I’ll turn you into a mime.”
Cory moved closer, nudging her backside as she tried to clean up. She felt hard muscle press against her, powerful thighs and everything in between.
“Now, there’s an idea,” he whispered in her ear. “But mimes are silent, and I don’t think I could keep quiet when I’m—”
“Oh, hey, Cory.” Marcy returned in time to assist, startling them both into standing up straight, inches apart and hands to themselves.
Perfect timing, heh.
“Hey yourself,” Cory said. “Do you require a big strong man to help take down the tent?”
“We haven’t before.” Marcy winked. “However, if you want to take my place while I sit here and eat my cupcake, I won’t object.” She perched in her chair and opened the single-sized pink box to scoop up a dollop of white icing.
“You’ll want to move then, unless you’re into tents collapsing on you.” Winnie whipped her smock in Marcy’s direction and nudged her to get packing. To Cory she said, “If you pitch in, we’ll be out of here sooner. And if Marcy doesn’t object, you’re welcome to join us at Lost Girls. I owe her a drink.”
Marcy licked away a patch of white on her lip. “You’re welcome to buy the first round, too.”
“First?” Cory huffed out a laugh. “How many rounds were you planning?”
“Depends on whether or not the Lost Girls take coupons.” At that remark Marcy grabbed a notebook, turned to a fresh page, and quickly drew a rectangle. Cory watched with fascination as Winnie’s cousin filled in a sketch of a fake coupon complete with a foaming mug of beer and the words Buy One Get One Free in puffy script.
“That’s not bad. I bet if you handed that over to one of the part-time bartenders you’d get a free beer,” he said.
Marcy snorted. “Yeah, and when Satin finds this in the cash drawer instead of actual money, she’ll give him a whupping and come after me.”
“Why would she do that?” Cory laughed.
“Well, for one thing, I signed it.” Marcy pointed to one corner of the fake coupon where she’d put her initials. “Force of habit. I certainly wouldn’t want anybody thinking another person forged my forgery.”
“Hey! That’s mine.” Winnie approached, making a grab for the spiral bound pad. The two women playfully tugged at it, laughing all the while, and the book’s pages fluttered in the mild fracas. Cory caught a glimpse of charcoal and pencil and realized Winnie hadn’t shared all her drawings with him.
“Do you mind if I have a look?”
“You’re supposed to help with the tent,” Marcy scolded.
“Let him browse. It’s cool.” Winnie folded up the big easel and set it against her table. Hands on hips, she surveyed the tent above their heads. “Besides, the more I think about it, with Cory not in the way we’ll be fine.”
“Funny.” He wouldn’t take long with the notebook; of course he’d help break down the booth. Winnie’s talents called to him strongly, though, and he couldn’t let the opportunity to see her work pass. Once caught up in packing, he figured she’d secrete the book into a box or bag and forget about it for the rest of the day.
Even the briefest glimpse of a doodle or sketch, he knew, provided deeper insight into the woman he wanted for his own. Back in high school, he’d seen the paper bag covers of her textbooks inked up with rock band logos and cutesy anime-style creatures drawn idly during a teacher’s droning lecture. She’d had the skills so young, and time had only improved them. He flipped through a few pages of mostly body parts—hands and faces, details of generic people—and guessed she’d used this once for a class or mainly for practice. Looked like she’d marked up about a third of it.
Toward the end of the used pages, and Marcy’s fake coupon, he came to a drawing that gave him pause. He recognized Winnie’s face. Even done in dark pencil, her eyes held a familiar warmth and her full lips pursed as though ready for a kiss. The woman in this drawing, however, appeared a bit younger. Maybe a teenager.
Also slimmer. She posed like a Hollywood wartime cheesecake model, kneeling in heels and hot pants, arms over her head like she’d just run her hands through her hair. Her smile beckoned the troops to hurry home.
Could a guy get aroused by a simple pencil drawing, even one that hadn’t a nude detail? Cory pressed his knees together for a moment. The stiffening in his tightie whities happened anyway and he longed to have the subject of this sketch, all of her, in his arms. Naked, no frills.
“Like what you see?”
He slammed the book shut at the sound of her voice, feeling like he’d been caught with a dirty magazine. Winnie stood before him with a folded chair under each arm, and she didn’t wait for his answer. She leaned her equipment on the pile just outside the tent, which he now noticed was drooping from the lack of support. Either Marcy or Winnie had loosened some of the arms keeping the cover taut over their heads. All they needed to do was to remove the tarp and fold in the tent’s legs.
Cory placed the sketchbook on top of Winnie’s sealed plastic bins and moved to assist. “I’ll get the structure if you two want to fold the tarp.” He had the easy part, really. The poles were connected to the top part, and it all sprang like an accordion into a thick bundle once he undid some of the joints. He figured Marcy and Winnie knew better how to pack the tarp so it would fit into the bag.
“You ever been camping before, Cory?” Marcy teased him as they finished the job.
“Many times with my dad, and the Scouts.” He nodded. “I remember enough to know once you take a tent out of its bag, it’s hell stuffing it back in.”
“That’s why we have a system,” Winnie said. He watched it in effect; the two ladies folded and rolled the tarp and got it into a slim blue bag with no hair-pulling or grunting. Marcy tightened the drawstring and slung the strap over her shoulder while Winnie put the pole bundle in its wheeled cart.
“Let me help get this stuff out to your car.” With Cory’s help, they got all the supplies in Winnie’s car in one trip. She slammed the trunk shut, and Cory leaned over the roof, chin on his arms.
“I’d say I earned that beer.”
Winnie waited for Marcy to say her see-you-soons before speaking. She fingered the key fob and glanced down as though expecting him to invite himself along for the ride. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”
That’s right. Did he like what he saw? What a loaded question, especially since she hadn’t specified the contents of the sketchbook, her, the tent, whatever was in eyeshot. He could guess, though.
“I like what I’m seeing right now.” Charm turned up to eleven, he waited for a reaction and Winnie didn’t disappoint.
She rolled her eyes and huffed, albeit in a lighthearted manner. “I know you saw my pinup. Don’t lie. I watched you shift in place like you were hiding a hard-on.”
“So we’re both clear, you consider that a compliment, right?”
She barked out a laugh that turned a few heads. People leaving the farmers market, laden with recyclable bags bulging with produce, gave them double-takes before resuming the search for their respective cars.
“Yeah, I saw,” he said. “It’s a great picture, but—”
“I drew it years ago, sometime after high school graduation,” she broke in. “I’d read this article about visualization, some New Age-y thing in one of my aunt’s magazines.” She crooked her head toward the parking lot as though to indicate she referred to Marcy’s mother. “It suggested if you drew a picture of something you wanted—money, a new car, whatever—and concentrated on it you’d eventually realize it.” She sighed. “I knew it was all bull, but I figured I had nothing to lose.”
“I get it.” He kept his voice low and solemn. “All these years, you want a pretty lady model. Winnie Segal, I had no idea.”
“You are so lucky I’m not in my car right now. I’d run over your feet.”
“I still get my NFL pension. Hey, come here.” He gestured to her, reaching over the car, and she padded around the front grill to his embrace. Winnie smelled like sugar and something undefinable, probably the scent of the makeup she used on the kids. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled, loving the feel of her body against his and her hands pressed on his back. She put in as much into the hug as he, and that excited him all the more.
Yep, again. He shifted, this time nudging her thigh so she knew what she did to him. Her muffled laughter rumbled through his body, and they broke free.
“You don’t need me telling you not to be disappointed for not turning into that girl in the picture,” he said, looking into her eyes. “The one in front of me is real, and fantastic.”
“I do have a bone to pick with you, but I wonder if it’s worth having the argument.”
Intriguing. He imagined she’d stepped into Aaron territory and reminded himself to have it out with the guy if things here went south.
“I’m not about rehashing the past,” she continued, “and there’s really nothing we can do to fix it. Aaron gave the impression he influenced you in high school enough that you never asked me out.”
Scratch that. He’d have it out with Aaron regardless, though he knew he couldn’t push all the blame on his old friend. “I can’t say anything in my defense, Winnie, except I was a teenager. Most teenage boys are either vain or insecure assholes, and I suppose I was a bit of columns A and B. As much as I tried not to fit the stereotype there you are. I listened to people who gave bad advice and spent the next several years regretting it.”
He took a step back and watched for a moment as cars rolled out of the gravel lot. Clouds of white dust kicked up for every set of tires passing them. Beyond them, the sky shone a brilliant blue and the line of Shenandoah mountains gave the scenery a postcard-perfect look. Somewhere in the distance, Marcy probably sat at a table at Lost Girls, wondering when in the hell were they coming to ply her with free beer.
“Winnie, I care for you deeply. I hope you feel the same way,” he told her. “I’ll be honest, too. I hadn’t planned to have this conversation in a parking lot in the town square. I figured we’d be at a romantic dinner…or maybe back in my room.” He leaned closer with a smile he hoped melted some of the reserve she showed. When her cheeks suffused with pink he felt his body relax.
“Can we have dinner tonight, and talk? Really talk, not about the book or work or football but us?” He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I would like that very much.”
“So would I, but a talk like that calls for privacy. I’ll cook.” To his surprise, a flash of silver crossed his line of vision, and he caught her keys. “Your car will be safe here, too. You can drive to the brewery.”
“Uh, sure.” Okay, new development here. “Why would we need to do that? Shouldn’t we take separate cars over? I’ll want to go home afterward and change before tonight.”
Winnie opened the passenger door and sat then held up a charcoal pencil. “I have something to do on the drive over.”