CHAPTER EIGHT
Allie
I woke up the next morning with a delicious sense of fullness inside me. I rolled over and saw Drew beside me. I remembered our lovemaking and a slow blush crept over my face.
I watched him sleep. We hadn't closed the curtains and the sunlight played on his handsome profile, making tentative shadows on his cheeks from his long-lashed eyelids.
I smiled, resisting the urge to make a firm kiss on those hard, tight lips. His mouth was relaxed in sleep, the firm line of it softened. His whole face was relaxed, the lines around his eyes – product of his work-stress – smoothed away. He could have been a twenty-eight year-old, as he had been when I met him.
I stirred in his arms and he sighed, his breath deepening as he came slowly to waking. I rolled over, not wanting to disturb him or to miss the moment when he woke.
“Uh...” he stretched and his lids flickered. He opened his eyes. Turned his head abruptly. Smiled at me.
“Hello,” I said.
His grin widened. As he had every morning, he leaned in and kissed me.
I let my body melt into his as I felt his lips gently mouth mine.
“Hello,” he whispered in return.
We made love, slow and sweet and tender. I was still half-asleep, and it was testimony to our history together that we were so well-versed in our knowledge of each other that it still worked. I was tired and fulfilled and indulged in a sweet warmness.
I rolled over and looked down at Drew's face. “What's the time?” I asked, stroking his hair.
Drew reached over for his watch. At some point he must have taken it off, though I didn't remember him doing it.
“Uh...seven twenty-five.”
“Oh.” I sat bolt upright, cheeks filled with color. “Time to work.”
He frowned. “It's Saturday,” he murmured. He seemed almost offended by that. I laughed.
“I have to open the bakery at eight thirty,” I said. “That gives me...um...ten minutes to dress and have coffee? Fifteen.” That was the most I could do. I sighed.
He sat up and looked at me. “Okay. You shower, I'll do coffee.”
“Oh. Thanks,” I said with some surprise. “That's sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”
“Of course I will,” he said, kissing the top of my head gently. “The least I can do. You're the one who has to rush off to work, after all. I'm at my leisure.”
I grinned at the lofty word-choice and then slithered out of bed, heading to the bathroom. As I let the hot water wash down me I wondered if he was going to stay long in Asheville today. Maybe he could at least come to work with me.
I came out of the shower and reached for fresh clothes. I took out black slacks identical to the ones I'd worn to work yesterday, and a white blouse with a black necktie. Then I called out.
“How's it going in there?” I could hear him banging about in the kitchen and smiled ruefully, thinking that I hadn't actually told him where to find anything. Not even coffee.
“It's going okay,” his voice came back, sounding less than usually-confident. “I found the coffee. The pot's on the draining rack, right?”
“Uh huh,” I said, slithering into my slacks and drawing the blouse down over my head. I had to dry my hair and then I would be ready. “Just add the hot water and push the mesh thingy down.”
“Oh. One of those, right?”
“Uh huh,” I called again, reaching for the dryer and plugging it in. “One of those.”
I dried my hair quickly, leaving it vaguely damp – it could air dry but I had the man of my dreams waiting outside for me – and headed out.
The scene in the kitchen was one of peaceful delight. Drew was at the counter, measuring the coffee out and the cups were laid on the table carefully. He'd even dug out some bread-slices and I could smell them crisping in the toaster. I smiled and hugged him.
“Drew,” I said with some surprise. “You're so sweet.”
“No,” he whispered, turning to face me. “You are sweet. Sweetie,” he added.
My heart melted as he said that, the first time in years he'd done it. I leaned on his chest and breathed in the scent of him. He'd put on his suit-pants and shirt and looked stunning.
“I feel quite spoiled,” I said as the toast finished up. I buttered it as he fixed the coffee. We joined each other at the breakfast table.
“It's almost eight o' clock,” he said. His mouth turned down ruefully. “I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault,” I said as I drank the coffee, not wanting to rush. This was such a special moment, having him here in my kitchen, my body relaxed with fulfillment.
“It is, I guess,” he murmured. “I wanted time with you...”
“Oh, Drew.” My throat closed up and I kept quiet, knowing that if I tried to speak I'd start sobbing. I had just found him. Did he have to go? It had been so long but we'd fallen so easily into our patterns of our past relationship.
“Allie,” he murmured. He smiled at me, a streak of butter on his top lip. I reached over to touch it and he nipped my finger.
I laughed. “I... it's been wonderful to see you,” I murmured. Dammit, my throat was closed. I couldn't get the words out. I coughed.
“It's been great,” he agreed. We sat quietly in the soft half-light of my kitchen as the sunlight strengthened outside.
“We...when is your flight?” I asked, clearing my throat after a moment. Dammit, why was it so hard to talk? To think of saying goodbye?
“At three,” he said softly. His voice sounded tight too. I sighed.
“You can come to the bakery briefly?”
His face lit up. “I would very much like to,” he said. “I have a free day. I want to come.”
“Good,” I said. My heart glowed with warmth at the thought of showing him my place of work. “Well,” I added, draining my coffee in one smooth movement. “Let's go.”
As we pulled up outside my workplace I couldn't help a glow of pride. I was proud of Drew – how handsome he was, how stylish, how well-established. I wanted to show him off, just a little.
I bit my cheeks to keep the grin off my face as I walked into the kitchen. I could smell something cooking. Marcelle was already here. I looked at the clock on the wall. Twenty-five minutes past eight. I was late.
“I'm sorry I'm late,” I called out. Drew frowned at me and I nodded. He was behind me as I walked into the kitchen.
“No problem, Ms...” Marcelle trailed off uncertain, looking up. “Oh.”
I grinned. I could see her taking in his looks, his style, his upright stance. I felt a tremor of pride inside me. “Marcelle, this is Drew Liston. He's on a visit from California. Drew, meet my chief assistant and second-in-command, Marcelle LeRoy.”
Marcelle smiled and held out a hand, not missing a beat. “Hello, Mr. Liston.”
“Hello, Ms. LeRoy,” Drew said. She blushed as he took her hand and I hid a bright smile, realizing there was no-one entirely immunized to his appeal.
“So,” I said brightly. “I'd better open up the front. We'll do scones again today, hey?”
“Yes, Ms. Hendricks,” Marcelle said and gave me a bit of a funny look. I realized that we always did the same things on Saturday – scones, croissants and buns – and it was weird of me to ask anything different. I sighed. I felt so happy and carefree today it was no wonder my thoughts were elsewhere.
“What happens now?” Drew asked, following me into the front of the cafe. I could already see a family waiting outside and I looked round, wondering if they'd noticed him behind me.
“Now we open up,” I said. He nodded and stepped back, conscious of the fact that it could be awkward for me to have him there in front-of-house.
I opened the doors and the family came in. I recognized them – they often came by for pastries and coffee this time.
“Hey!” I said cheerily. “Welcome. Beautiful day.”
“Yeah, it sure is,” the father agreed. His wife nodded.
“So good, after the rain. And the kids can go outside, finally.”
“Yeah!” The small son agreed. I laughed.
“I sympathize,” I said, giving the little boy a smile. “Coffee, yes?”
“Yes, please. And hot milk for the kids.”
I moved quickly to fill their orders while they looked at the board over the counter, reading the names of what was on offer. I knew what they usually had – filled croissants and dense cakes – and headed off to the back to see how things were doing.
I was met with Drew.
“Busy already, huh?” he said with a cocked eyebrow.
“Uh huh,” I commented. “You should see it when it's really busy,” I added. “Madness.”
He looked impressed. “Sounds pretty hectic.”
“It can be.” I chuckled a little breathlessly. Having him this close and in my workspace was making me feel a strange tingle inside.
He looked at the clock. “I'd love to stay, but...”
“I know,” I sighed. “You have to go. And I'm going to be busy in here too,” I said, my hands already reaching for the scone-dough bowl and measuring out ingredients reflexively as I did so.
“Can I try something?” He asked with a boyish grin. I laughed. The smell in the place was heady, the croissants already in and baking.
“Sure,” I said. “If you take a seat at the back there, you can have a croissant as they come out. With filling?” I asked as I started to crumb the dough.
“Mm,” he smiled. “Is there more than one flavor?”
“Raspberry or apricot,” I said succinctly. I was mixing the milk into the crumb mixture now, my hands working though I didn't need to take my eyes off him.
“Almost done,” my assistant sang out. “Two more minutes.”
“Great,” I said. I paused mixing for a bit to pop my head into the front-of-house. “Ready to order?” I asked.
“A raspberry croissant, one with apricot, and...”
“Two buns,” the little boy yelled triumphantly, almost cannoning out of his seat. His sister – about three years his senior – looked shyly at the table. She was clearly grown-up enough to find childish antics embarrassing. I chuckled. I liked his enthusiasm.
“Great,” I said. “I'll get those out to you now...”
I set their orders down on the tray and headed back into the kitchen. Drew stood up as I came in.
“Three croissants?” Marcelle asked me.
“Uh huh,” I commented absently. “Raspberry or apricot?” I asked him.
“Yes.”
We both ended up laughing a little hysterically.
“I mean,” he said softly as the laughter subsided momentarily, “raspberry would be great thanks.”
I smiled radiantly and headed out to the front to fill the orders.
When my customers were eating happily, and fresh customers were starting to build up on the sidewalk outside, I went through to the back and gave Drew his croissant. He took a slow bite, eyes closed appreciatively and I felt my loins tighten as he murmured.
“Mm. So good.”
My cheeks flushed with color, pride and arousal mixed. “Thank you,” I demurred.
He laughed.
He finished his order while I went out to make coffee for the new customers and take their orders and when I came back into the kitchen to finish cutting out scone-dough, he stood.
“I guess I should go,” he said softly. “I can't stay under your feet like this all day. And I need to organize stuff back at the hotel. Settle my bill.”
“Okay,” I said. I was surprised by how disheartened I felt. I desperately didn't want to say goodbye. I reached out and rested my hand on his shoulder. “It was...good,” I murmured.
Drew looked into my eyes and blinked. I felt my throat tighten and cleared it.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I said. I was crying now, tears running soundlessly down my cheeks and dripping slowly off my chin. I shook my head as he reached up with a tissue.
“Tissue?”
“Thanks,” I said, reaching for it. He dabbed at my tears himself, very gently. I drew in a long shuddering breath.
“Allie,” he said under his breath. “I… thank you for everything.”
I chuckled. “Thank you, too. Thanks.”
He passed me the tissue and smiled into my eyes.
“It was great to see you,” he said softly.
“You too.”
He looked at me and then very gently, we kissed. I felt myself melt in his arms, his hand on my shoulder, drawing me close, his other hand stroking my head softly. My heart melted as my body pressed to his. I wrapped him in my arms, holding him close.
When he gently disentangled himself, looking down tenderly at me, I felt as if it wasn't possible for me to part, as if my body was drawn to his like a magnet to metal and that if he walked away now I would snap, part of me leaving with him, drawn to him across the widened space.
He smiled back at me when he reached the door.
“Bye,” he said.
“Bye,” I whispered. I held up my hand and then he was gone, going out through the kitchen door and out into the street. I watched the door moment, closed gently behind him in his passing, as if not even leaving the trace of an open door. Then he was gone.
The merest trace of pastry flaking the table was all the evidence I had that he had ever been here, ever walked into my life once more. That, and the widening gulf in my heart.
I drew in a shuddering breath.
I turned around to face my small, empty kitchen. It was bright and cheerful. Marcelle had just come back in from the front desk and she was bending over the floured counter-top, studiously looking elsewhere.
I drew in a long, shaky breath. “Well,” I said brightly. “I think the first scones can go in now. And it’s not nine A.M. yet. We’re going strongly.”
She nodded. “Yes, Ms. Hendricks.
I sighed. What could I say? My life had suddenly hit the wall of his absence and I was stunned. It had all happened so fast! He was part of my life one moment, slotting in so seamlessly that it seemed as if he'd never been absent. Now, just as suddenly, he was gone.
What am I going to do now?
I shook my head, impatient with myself. How the hell would I know? I'd just take one day at a time.
“Marcelle?”
“Yes?”
“Will you check on the guys out there again? Sorry. I just need to get these into the oven.”
I carried the laden tray of unbaked scones – rich and gooey and delicious – over to the oven. Then I slid them in and shut the door.
Alone in the kitchen for a moment, I let my eyes fill with tears. I sobbed.
Drew, I thought sadly. You always do this to me. You have no pity, do you? First he was in my life, and then he wasn't. It felt as if my heart, made so suddenly to celebrate, was in mourning.
I shook my head impatiently at myself and started making a fresh batch of scones. I could smell the first lot cooking.
“Ms. Hendricks`”
“Uh huh?”
“Two scones. And cappuccino. Can you do the machine? I never quite get the bit with the foam properly...”
“Sure,” I nodded. “I'll do that. You take over here, huh?”
“Sure, Mrs. Hendricks.”
“Great.”
Sniffing firmly, I took a deep breath and headed out to address my customers. I had to – this was my life.
My life was absolutely not in any way connected to that tall, dark-haired and stunning man who was even now packing to head back to San Diego.
No, I told myself firmly. That was a dream. This is reality.