CHAPTER THREE
“Um, Mom?”
I blinked away and cleared my throat.
“Sorry I startled y’all,” Bash said. “I know better than to just walk up to someone’s window like that.” He leaned his forearms on the top of the window. Oh God, those arms. The things he’d done that he wasn’t even aware of.
Stop.
“No kidding,” Angel said. “I could have stabbed you with—” She stopped to look around and he chuckled. “This pen!”
Bash had a long sleeved black T-shirt on with his logo in gold over the pocket. He threw a quick polite glance my way before looking playfully at Angel. I wanted to punch him.
Polite?
God, it was revolting. We didn’t do nice and polite. Bash and I were always without boundaries. Inappropriate. Laughing and joking and finishing each other’s thoughts. We were easy. Now, because he was somehow involved with the dickhead bookie railroading me out of my diner, and because I was an emotionally reactive idiot, we were hard. We were polite.
That was really irritating.
“True,” he said. “I’ll be smarter next time. Why aren’t you at school?”
“I’m sick,” she said, tilting her head to sell it.
“And you want to go driving with me tonight?” he said.
“I’ll be better by then,” she said.
I scoffed. “Shocking.” At his locked in gaze, I panicked. “So, that’s—congrats on the new building,” I said, gesturing that way. Good God, that was lame.
“Thanks,” he said, not blinking.
Awkward. Awesome.
“Hey, we still on for driving lessons tonight?” Angel asked, tugging on a thumb that hung down.
I saw the flash go through his eyes that said he either forgot or had a conflict of some sort. Probably a date. Or maybe he didn’t want to risk lip molestation again.
“Sure thing,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” I said, making Angel give me a look.
“Mom!”
“I’m just saying, it’s my responsibility. I can do this, you don’t—”
“I’ve got it,” Bash said, settling his gaze on me and making mine fall to his lips, which sent me reeling into every hot microsecond of that brief oh-my-God-heat-and-fireworks that flipped fifteen years of normal upside down. At least for me. “But can we use this?” he was saying, tapping on the Jeep.
I raised an eyebrow and blinked away.
“What, you afraid to use your truck?” I asked.
“Little bit.”
“Hey!” Angel said, swinging a fist sideways and missing him.
“You still seeing that little carnie chick?” Alan asked, nodding through my windows at Bash and reminding us he was there with all the tact of a bulldozer.
The expression on Bash’s face said that if he could have reached Alan he would have slapped him upside the head. Which at least was a tiny sliver of something, saying either one, he recognized that talking about another woman in front of the woman that laid a big kiss on him was uncool or two, he was still ignoring that and just pissed off that Alan reduced her to that little carnie chick.
“Her name is Kia, you imbecile,” Bash said. Well, that answered that question. “And not that it’s your business, but no, we were never dating.”
“Really?” Alan said, making a face. “What would you call it?”
“I called it sex,” Bash said, covering Angel’s ears while she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realize that was confusing.”
“I’m not five,” Angel said.
Kia had been with the Lucky Hart carnival when it came through our little town over the summer, and stayed behind with Sully Hart to work on the new project. She and Bash worked on each other a bit, as well, not that anyone could blame them. Kia was stunning, and Bash was a major catch. Gorgeous, funny, with the body of an ex-marine and the confidence of one of the most successful business owners in town. He was a hot commodity, and it was nothing new to see females on his arm or in his wake.
I never had a problem with that. Even with someone who’d been here all of two minutes and had every man in town panting and every woman wanting to be her.
“Kia,” Alan said, snapping his fingers. “That’s right. Hey, no offense, I just didn’t know what she’d think about the King and Queen nomination. Not that you’ll win,” he added quickly. “Because Katrina and I will totally kill it.”
I peered up at him questioningly, but that didn’t make his babble any more logical. Glancing back at Bash told me he was just as in the dark.
“What?” I asked.
“The King and Queen Bee inauguration to kick off opening the park,” Alan said, gesturing out the window. “You got the nomination cards in the mail.”
“Uh—yeah?” I said. “For about five minutes till they went in the trash.”
“Ditto,” Bash said.
Embossed cards went out to every business owner last month, asking for nominations for a new Charmed tradition. Two people to be chosen each year as the face and representatives of Charmed. King Bee and Queen Bee.
Yes.
I know.
Welcome to small-town hell.
“I know, it was kind of cheesy,” Alan said.
“Cheesy?” I said. “It’s ridiculous. Who came up with such a thing?”
“The Chamber of Commerce,” Alan said, pointing. “You’ve—missed a few breakfasts.”
“I’ve missed where you became a member,” Bash said, moving his arms down to rest on the bottom of Angel’s window. Thank you, I appreciate that.
“A few months back,” he said, nodding. “When the Lucky Charm sale went down and I knew I’d be doing this, I registered. Katrina did, too.”
I frowned. “Katrina? What business does she have?”
“Oh, she does nails now,” Alan said. “She filed for a business permit, and has the mother-in-law room smelling of that acrylic powder stuff.” He wiggled his fingers at me like I’d get it.
I wiggled my nubby non-acrylic’d fingers back at him since we were bonding.
“Can you check on our donuts?” I asked. “We’re kinda late.”
“Maxie!” he turned and yelled. “Are you making them from scratch?” He turned back and sighed as if the enormity of his world was too heavy. “So, they’ve hired a PR firm and everything to handle all the promotion,” Alan said. “The Sharp Group. It’s to coincide with the grand opening of the complex in a few weeks.”
“I thought that was a soft opening,” Bash said. “There’s only six stores right now. One full restaurant and a handful of rides. The Ferris wheel’s the only major thing and the other stuff won’t even be done till spring. Why is Sully pushing so hard for full steam ahead?”
“You’re all buddy-buddy with him, so you ask him,” Alan said. “But I don’t think it’s Sully, I think it’s town leadership.”
It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. King and Queen Bee. To do what? Parade waves from the podium?
Alan moved aside as Maxie filled the window with her smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said, head tilted with a lower lip pout. “We’re all out of Bavarian. The car before you took the last one. Would you like a super-duper-yummy strawberry or another lemon? I think there’s even a chocolate.”
I stared at her. “It took you all this time to tell me you don’t have it?”
Maxie’s happy face faltered a bit around the eyes. “Well…”
I shook my head, turning my gaze back frontward as Bash chuckled to my right. He knew I wasn’t made of patience. Or he used to know. Before I kissed him and killed us.
Okay maybe that was sulky.
“They do have the super-duper-yummy strawberry,” Angel said, her tone full of mock innocence with a pinch of maybe-I-should-duck.
I blew out a breath and smiled. “Blueberry cake?” My tone was sour, but Maxie wouldn’t know that.
I got the pout again. She had to be kidding me. “Out of those, too.”
I shook my head in awe. “Just the lemon.”
“Two?” Maxie perked up.
“One.”
“Gotcha,” Maxie said. “Want some donut holes?” I looked at her without blinking till she averted her eyes. “Gotcha,” she repeated, turning to bag Angel’s donut.
“Beat me with a stick,” I whispered, rubbing my forehead as though the dull throb behind it might somehow be massaged.
“Rough morning?” Bash asked.
I met his eyes. I couldn’t say anything about any of it in front of Angel, but I willed him to absorb it through my retinas. “You could say that.”
“She’s not sleeping,” Angel said. “Bad dreams.”
I fixed a what-the-fuck look on her. “Angel.”
“What?” she asked. “You said don’t tell Pop, not—oh!” she continued with an epiphany, filling me with dread. Kind of like when you see someone about to fall off a cliff and you can’t get there fast enough. “They’re about you!”
I felt my jaw drop, and all the heat of the universe rushed to my head like Mount Vesuvius. No, no, no…
“Bad dreams about me?” Bash asked, sending my mind skipping past the pissed off stuff and straight to every naughty, lust-driven taste, touch, and moan that had plagued my nights. Especially the past few. “How bad?”
Bad, so very, very bad.
I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Bad. You know—blood and gore.” Find something! “Jumping out of a helicopter and getting chewed up by the blades.”
Bash lifted an eyebrow. “Did I bounce?”
My head exploded. “What?”
Did he bounce? Fuck yes, he bounced, and so did I. On every piece of furniture I owned. Was it getting warmer? I fanned myself with my shirt.
“The blades are overhead,” he said, twirling a finger over his head. “So if I jumped down—”
“I have no idea,” I said weakly, not giving a flying fig which way he jumped in my fake story when visions of him nailing me on the kitchen table were so much more vibrant. “Maybe the helicopter fell. You know how dreams are.”
He smirked, looking at me all clear of mind, free of stress and Landon Lange and apparently any memory of our embrace (tackle) and lip-lock.
“I know if your dad heard about this dream, he’d tell me I was about to die,” Bash said. “Should I be worried?”
Only if he was worried that falling into naked aerobics and fucking me senseless every night might come true. Whew…where was the cold on that AC?
Alan ducked back through the window, holding Angel’s bag.
“Oh, thank God,” I said under my breath as I grabbed it, tossed it to Angel, and slapped the Jeep into gear. “It’s been fun, guys, but we need to get going.”
“So, if y’all threw your cards away, who nominated you?” Alan said.
“Who—who did what?” I asked.
Alan reached behind him and pulled up a laminated card with lots of scrolled fonts, pointing at two names.
“Right there below me and Katrina,” he said. “The two of you together.”
Together.
“What—” My brain cut off the thought, and I just blinked as I put the Jeep back in park. “What?”
Alan handed the card over, and Amber took it from me so Bash and I could both read it. At the top was a bunch of scrolled lettering with bees flying around them, and underneath was a list of paired names that owned or ran local businesses. The first pair was Mr. Masoneaux from the candy store and Mrs. Boudreaux from the feed store. I could see that. Several of the names made sense. Alan and Katrina Bowman. Not a shocker. They kissed ass everywhere. The last one was the mindblower.
SEBASTIAN ANDERSON, ANDERSON APIARY ~ ALLIE GREENE, BLUE BANANA GRILLE
“Oh dear God,” I said in barely a whisper.
I turned to meet his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the card, the unaffected thing leaving his expression, replaced with displeasure.
Okay. Yeah, I wasn’t excited about it either, but he looked like someone shit in his cereal.
“Why would someone nominate us and not tell us?” Bash asked.
“And why me?” I asked, hearing the pissy enter my tone as I watched his face. Dial it back. “I mean, I understand him, he’s like Rambo Ken, but I’m—Diner Barbie.” I shook my head. “Nobody wants Diner Barbie.”
“Rambo Ken?” Bash echoed.
“Aaron told me about the prizes,” Angel chimed in.
I looked at her. “What prizes?”
“Who’s Aaron?” Bash asked at the same time, and we met gazes for a second.
Yeah, I probably should have asked that one.
“Aaron Sharp,” she said, holding up palms at both of us. “He’s new at school and—we talk.” I noted the shrug that I didn’t buy for a millisecond. “His mom is in charge of that Sharp Group you were talking about.”
Fabulous. “And?”
“He said all the businesses donate stuff and the winners get cash and scholarships and all kinds of things,” she finished.
“Do they give away eighty-seven-thousand dollars?” I asked.
Her eyes got all squinty. “What?”
“Nothing.” Hey, it was worth a shot.
“There is a formal event,” Alan said. “An essay, and maybe a talent thing, I can’t remember if that was approved—”
“That’s a pageant, Alan,” Bash said.
“Kind of, but it’s done in pairs,” Alan said. “You work together with someone to win, like you’d work together to benefit Charmed.”
I was going to throw up. Right there. Bash and I—we—oh my God, there just weren’t words. And where was I supposed to find time for all this shit, around trying to oust Lange and keep him from turning my eclectic little diner into something I wouldn’t recognize?
“They suggested that we come up with off-the-wall creative things to do to make it different,” Alan said. “I was thinking grand entrances for each couple to the bandstand, like maybe get a crane to lower us from up high.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I said, finding my voice.
“Why not?” he said, looking disappointed that I’d shot down his idea.
“Because it’s ridiculous,” Bash said.
“Because she’s afraid of heights,” my daughter added helpfully.
“Because no,” I said, my tone flat as I fixed another look on her. I didn’t advertise my weaknesses to the world. Especially that one.
“Omigod,” Angel said, clapping her hands together in oblivion to my evil stare.
“What?”
I started to sweat. It was fifty degrees out, and I had half a mind to climb out the window.
“A formal event? You have to dress up!” she said. “I’ve never even seen you in a skirt.”
“I don’t think I have either,” Bash said.
I don’t think I have, either? Okay, this was insulting. He couldn’t continue to flip between acting like nothing ever happened, or acting like I was a pariah. Or—he could. But I didn’t have to be okay with it.
“I want to dress you!” Angel said.
“You people need a life,” I said. “And we have to go.” I yanked the Jeep back into drive and slow-rolled through.
“Text me when you’re coming tonight!” Angel called back to Bash, and he waved.
“You’ll get e-mails telling you what to do,” I heard Alan calling on my side.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
I looked back in my rearview mirror and saw Bash slow-walking back over the curb to his truck, not watching us drive away. Ugh. Of course he wasn’t. He had no damn issues.
“I think it’ll be cool,” Angel said. “And something fun. You’re always working, you never do anything fun.”
I frowned. “I have plenty of fun.”
Angel slid a narrow-eyed look my way. “Lies.”
“Mommy never lies,” I said, pulling out onto the street. I hit the air one more notch.
“Any sentence that begins with Mommy is going to be a lie,” she countered. “And what about men?”
“Men always lie,” I said, pointing.
She rolled her eyes. “I mean you and men, Mom. You never date anymore.”
With my nightly activity in my dreams lately, who needed to date? I exhaled loudly.
“Well, maybe no one is ever worth my time, baby girl,” I said. “And I’m not talking about dating with you. Unless it’s about you.” I pointed. “And then you’re too young, so who’s this Aaron?”
“And back to you,” she said.
“Cute.”
“This will be a good thing,” she said. “Social.” She looked my way as I started to laugh. “Why is that funny?”
“Because social and good thing don’t play in the same sandbox,” I said. “At least, not for me.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’ll help you out with that. You know, studies show—”
“What studies?”
She blinked and held up a finger. “Studies show that reconnecting with old friends and peers in a social setting clicks off endorphins and positive neurons in the brain. It’s actually healthy for you.”
Another laugh bubbled up as I patted her cheek and she ducked my hand.
“Oh, my naïve girl.”
“Why is it naïve?” she asked.
“Because you think those people are my friends,” I said, the funny still tickling me.
“They are, Mom,” she said. “Everyone likes you.”
Oh, the simple thoughts of a fifteen-year-old girl with no social problems and not a care in the world. How I wished my teenaged life could have been like hers.
“I’m social enough every day at work without making it an extracurricular activity,” I said, sighing. “I ought to be as healthy as a horse. But yes, if I have to get dressed up for this freak show, you can dress me. We’ll go shopping.”
Angel laughed. “You should see the face you just made.”
I nodded, patting my chest. “I feel like I need to spit.”