Back to the Good Fortune Diner (19 page)

“Not every man would. You had your whole life ahead of you and...” She trailed off, and her lips pinched together. “I’m just not sure I would’ve done the same thing in your shoes. Not that Simon isn’t a great kid,” she added hastily.

“Wow, you really don’t pull your punches, do you?” At her puzzled look, he said, “Since dinner, it’s been one heavy soul-searching question after another.”

“Sorry. I guess...you got me thinking about the past.”

He hadn’t wanted to bring up old wounds and make her brood over things they couldn’t change. He was supposed to get to know her better by asking her the trivial stuff. Instead, he’d stirred up the past.

“Okay,” he said decisively. “I’m putting a moratorium on serious topics from here on in. No more talk about the past or about our families.”

“But...what are we supposed to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. For instance, tell me about the last three books you read.” When she stared at him blankly, he said, “C’mon. You worked in the publishing industry. You do read, right?”

“I just don’t think you’d be interested in hearing about the books I read.”

Maybe she read erotic romance or something...which would have made interesting but awkward conversation, he supposed. “Okay, then, let’s try something easier. How about movies? What’s your all-time favorite movie?”

“Why do you want to know?” She looked genuinely nonplussed.

“Because.” He laughed, feeling just as stumped as he had at seventeen when she’d stonewalled him. “I’m interested in you.”

She reminded him of a flower wilting in a time-lapse video as she shrank away from him. “Don’t say that.”

“What? That I want to get to know you better? I don’t know anything about you. I must have spent a hundred hours with you tutoring, but I don’t know when your birthday is, or what kind of ice cream you like or which Beatles song is your favorite.”

“No one’s ever asked me that.”

“What? About the ice cream, or the Beatles?”

“About my birthday.” Her lips pursed. “No one’s ever asked me that on a first date.” Her face froze. “I mean...on an outing...like this...um...” She spun away, and Chris stood stunned.

Was this a date? He’d invited her out with honest intentions. He was sure he had. He’d wanted to get to know her. He’d wanted to make amends for his foolish youth. He’d wanted...

He’d wanted to go on a date with her.

How else did he explain all the visits to the Good Fortune? The way he’d drop whatever he was doing to hurry to the house whenever she was tutoring? He’d been denying he had any interest in her, but if that was true, why was he even out here, at an infamous make-out spot, trying to get her to open up to him?

* * *

S
TUPID, STUPID
,
STUPID.

Tiffany stewed in agonizing silence on the ride home. She leaned against the glass, murmuring an excuse about how tired she was when all she wanted was to let out a long, Charlie-Brown-esque “Auuuuugh!”

She could have blamed the wine, but she’d sobered up somewhere between leaving the restaurant and that second gulp of latte, which wasn’t sitting so well now. No wonder she had such a hard time dating.

Dating.
What a stupid thing to say. This wasn’t a date. He’d wanted to talk about his son—though she supposed he’d wanted to talk about other things, too. But she shouldn’t have assumed that meant he was interested in her in that way. He was only trying to be friendly.

She was almost relieved when Everville’s town limits came into view. Chris pointed the truck toward the main part of town.

“My car’s still at the farm.”

“It’s late, and I’d rather you not drive home in the dark. I’ll have Jane drop your car off tomorrow morning.”

She was going to argue, but she caught the dogged glint in his eye and kept her mouth shut. It would have added an extra fifty minutes to her ride home if they went to the farm first, and she wasn’t sure she could stand the tension.

Minutes later, he turned down her street, pulled up to the curb and shut off the motor. She opened the door before she’d even popped the seat belt off. He got out with her. “Is there something you need to talk to Daniel about?” she asked, hesitating.

“I’m walking you to your door.”

“Oh.” Was that a thing people did still? She glanced up at the house—the light was off in the living room. Everyone must have had retired for the night. They’d left the porch light on for her, though. “You really don’t have to.”

He folded his arms over his chest and waited expectantly.

Oookay.
With quick small strides, she went up the short walkway and climbed the three steps, feeling Chris at her back. Was he going to kiss her good-night? A tremor rippled from the base of her skull all the way down to her belly. Even a friendly peck on the cheek would probably make her pass out. She couldn’t let him tease her like that, but she couldn’t let him know she was affected by him, either. She didn’t want things to be more awkward than they already were. God, what if he kissed her out of pity or something?

At the door, she took out her keys, then stopped. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You barely ate.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Then thank you for finding the Starbucks.”

“This night didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll take you somewhere nicer next time.”

“You don’t have to,” she said hastily. She didn’t want him making promises, giving her false hope. “We had fun.” She thought they had, at least, even if she had mucked things up. Now she had to say good-night before she absolutely ruined the evening. She straightened her spine, recovering some of her cool dignity. “It was fine. Good night.” She put her keys in the lock, turning away from him as she opened the door.

“Wait.” His hand clamped over her upper arm. She turned and jerked the door closed as he stepped closer.

His face hovered an inch away from hers, eyes lowered to her mouth. She could smell the rich aroma of coffee on his breath, his spicy aftershave and the barest hint of freshly cut grass. Her eyes fluttered close, and she swayed forward, pulled inexorably toward him.

Their lips met on a surprised half gasp, half moan, and she wasn’t sure which of them had made that sound. Her skin prickled all over as he tasted her, probing until he gained entrance. His mouth was sweet with that splash of bold dark Verona coffee. Her hands slipped around his neck and he pressed forward, backing her against the door as the kiss deepened.

He leaned into her, and the unmistakable hardness of his arousal pushed against her belly. She wasn’t a virgin, but she’d never felt like this—skin too tight as blood rushed to all the places on her body she wanted him to touch.

This was no high school crush. What she wanted was decidedly adult.

Boldly, she ran the tip of her tongue across his, and he groaned. Her nails raked the soft fabric of his shirt. She could feel the way he was flexing his hips, wanting to get closer. She arched her body toward his—

Chris yanked back as if she’d shocked him, and she stumbled against the doorjamb.

“I—I...” Chris searched the porch, flustered. “Good night.” He turned, strode quickly to his truck and got in. He didn’t pull away immediately, though. He sat watching her in the driver’s seat, both hands wrapped tightly around the wheel. He was waiting for her to go inside.

She opened the door, but paused and looked over her shoulder. Still there.

She smiled. Waved. Then closed the door.

It was a solid five minutes before she heard the engine start up.

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
HE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON
, Tiffany darted into the consignment shop and quickly pulled the door closed behind her. Her father had been standing outside the Good Fortune, hands on hips and staring up at the sky as though searching for portents for the day’s business. She wasn’t sure he’d seen her, but she couldn’t press her luck.

Last night, he’d caught her sneaking up the stairs after her passionate clinch with Chris on the front porch. Before he could ask any questions, she’d said good-night and shut herself in her room, hoping her wet, swollen lips and mussed hair hadn’t given anything away.

That kiss... She’d replayed it over and over in her head, experienced that same wicked thrill pulse through her at the memory. But the way he’d recoiled, leaving her standing there like an idiot...

“Hey, Tiffany. You okay?”

She spun around. “Oh, Maya. Hi. Sorry.” The shopkeeper wore a leopard-print jumpsuit today and black patent-leather heels. A big black bow nestled in her short-cropped hair. She glanced back at the door. “I was lost in thought.”

“I was about to call and tell you a bunch of your stuff sold this past weekend.”

“Really?” She clapped her hands together. “That’s great. If you want, I’ve got more clothes I can bring in.” Tiff rifled through her mental closet. She was happy to part with anything that could get her some quick cash.

Maya gave her the paperwork and handed over a tidy sum of money. It wasn’t a fortune by any means, but it was promising. “So...” Maya gave her an expectant smile. “How are
things?
”

“Things?”

Maya grinned. “Rumor has it you were out with Christopher Jamieson last night.”

Tiff’s face exploded in flame. She ducked her head, ears so hot they stung.

“Where did you go? What did you do?” She gave her a sly look. “Did things go
well?
”

Her instinct was to simply say it wasn’t anyone’s business what had happened, but as she turned to snap it out, she blurted, “I don’t know.”

It came out a broken whimper. Maya’s smile became uncertain. “Tiff, are you okay?”

She shook her head silently, frustration and bewilderment mounting. She wasn’t going to have a breakdown, was she? She didn’t quite feel like crying, but the laughter jammed in her throat. She was confused and besotted and ecstatic and terrified all at once, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

“Wait.” Maya snatched up a purse and tugged her toward the door. “Let’s go for that coffee.”

“But...your store...”

“The great thing about owning a business is that you make your own hours.”

That was the exact opposite of what her parents had always said: when you own your own business, you can’t afford to stop working. She followed the shopkeeper out, taking a quick peek first to make sure her dad wasn’t outside the diner.

They walked a few doors down to the Grindery. Tiffany insisted on a table in the back away from the window, just in case a member of her family walked by. Maya brought them each a cup of coffee, sat and folded her hands in front of her. “So? What happened?”

Tiffany didn’t know Maya, and yet somehow it was much easier to relate the past evening’s events to her than it would have been to anyone else. The story poured out of her, starting with what had happened when she’d locked herself out of the car and Chris had rescued and hugged her, and ending with the kiss on her porch. Maya only stopped her to ask a few clarifying questions. When she’d finally ended her tale with her going up to her bedroom to a sleepless night, Maya nodded, then broke into a grin.

“I always wondered if there was anything going on between you guys in high school,” she said, dimples deepening as she flashed her white teeth. “He was with Daphne and all that, and everyone knew how crazy she was, so if she wasn’t freaking out nothing underhanded could’ve been going on. But now...”

“I’m sorry I barf-talked all over you,” Tiff said, embarrassed she’d dragged this poor woman through her problems. She’d never blabbed like this to someone who wasn’t in her family and even then, she never talked about anything personal. No one in the house needed to hear about her boy troubles.

Maya propped up her chin. “So, from the way you’re describing dinner, it wasn’t great?”

“I wouldn’t call it date-worthy, no,” she admitted with a shake of her head, “but I might be a snob when it comes to food.”

“No, I’d definitely say a buffet is not on any approved list of first-date restaurants. Driving out to Osprey Peak tells me something else, though. But you said nothing happened out there?”

Tiff shook her head. “We just talked.”

“Talk about mixed messages.” She tapped her black-tipped nails on the table. “So, are you going on a second date with him?”

“I don’t know.”

Maya studied her, confused. “Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions. Do you want to go on a second date?”

Tiff shrugged. “I’m really not the one to determine that.”

“Why not? Nothing in the rule book says you can’t ask him out. What you need to ask yourself is, what do you want this thing between you to be?”

“Over.” She rubbed her temples. “I can’t ask him out. We have different lives now. I have a career path I have to follow. A life in the city. I’m not sticking around here, and I don’t need
this
to complicate things.” No matter how much she wanted a complication like Chris.

“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’” Maya quipped, and Tiffany chuckled dryly. Great, more Shakespeare. When it came to her love life, though, things usually ended in tragedy.

“Look, you guys have a history. It could be that there was always friction between you, and now that you’re adults and both available, you can explore those feelings. But you’re also his son’s tutor. He’s paying you to help Simon, and that kind of employer-employee relationship can get sticky. Anyhow, it wasn’t as if he was going to push you into your parents’ house and ravage you on the dining-room table, right?” She sat back, and a sly look crossed her face. “Maybe you’re simply in lust with him.”

“What?” Tiff sat back hard, startled.

“Chris is a good-looking guy. Half the girls were in love with him. You’re here temporarily. It’s summertime. Why not have a fling? Get him out of your system, make a few good memories to take with you.”

“I...I...” She’d never considered a fling because...well, it had never crossed her mind. Being with Chris had simply never been a real possibility before—only a fantasy daydream. The idea that she could indulge herself and say goodbye when things had run their course was too tempting, and deliciously simple. And she liked simple.