Best of My Love (Fool's Gold) (2 page)

Shelby had always enjoyed cooking, but culinary school had given her the technical expertise that had freed her creativity. While she could appreciate the perfection of a smooth and spicy sauce or a delicious entrée, the truth was most people celebrated little moments with a cookie or a brownie or cake. No one said, “Yay, you got a raise. Let’s have a sandwich.”

She liked that, on a daily basis, she was a part of people’s lives. That Fridays were made a little brighter because of her doughnuts or pastries. That weddings and baby showers were prettier with her cakes and that birthdays came in all colors and shapes.

She pointed to the small bistro tables by the window. The bakery had more of a walk-in clientele, but they did have a few chairs for the odd tourist who wanted to eat in.

“What would you like? I have cupcakes, but they’re a day old.”

“I can make that work,” Madeline said with a grin. “Anything day old from you is better than fresh anywhere else.”

Shelby laughed. “I don’t care if you’re just saying that to be a good friend. I’m going to accept the compliment and hold it close to my heart.”

“As you should.”

Shelby went into the back and pulled out several large plastic bins, where the pastries that hadn’t sold were stored. After selecting an assortment, she piled them onto a plate before starting the small coffeemaker the employees used. She collected mugs and napkins, then took everything to the front of the bakery.

Light spilled in through the big window. Despite the chill in the air, the day promised to be sunny. The mountains to the east reminded her of Colorado—where she and her brother had grown up. Those had been fun, happy times, she reminded herself. More good than bad, at least when she’d been younger. Eventually the bad would fade and she would be left with only positive recollections.

She sat across from Madeline and studied her friend. Madeline’s eyes were bright with love and contentment and her skin practically glowed.

“Being in love agrees with you,” Shelby told her.

“I feel amazing. Like I’ve been waiting for Jonny all my life. When I’m with him, I can barely breathe and when I’m away from him, I can’t wait to see him again.”

“Young love,” Shelby said with a sigh. “I remember it well.”

Madeline laughed. “Oh, please. You’re twenty-eight, which means you don’t get to mock young love.”

“I wasn’t mocking. I was expressing gentle envy. I’m happy for you and I’d like a little of that myself.” She paused, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Not with Jonny, of course.”

“I knew that.”

Shelby stood. “Let me go pour the coffee, then we’ll eat sugary carbs until we can’t move.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Madeline followed her into the back. “You doing okay?”

The question sounded casual enough, but Shelby sensed the concern. Her friend had found her crying the Sunday after Christmas. She’d been phoning and texting regularly ever since.

“I’m fine. Better. I was just missing my mom.”

Shelby poured them both large mugs of coffee. Madeline added creamer to hers, then they walked back to the small table by the window.

“The holidays are hard,” Shelby admitted. “I always miss her, but it’s worse this time of year.”

“It’s your second year without her, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Last year had been worse. She’d been in a new place, on her own. Kipling had still been in rehab after his skiing accident. She’d flown down to spend Christmas with him, then had returned to Fool’s Gold and her job. But through the entire holiday season, she’d been acutely aware of the fact that except for her brother, she had no one in the world. Something she wanted to change.

Madeline’s blue eyes turned knowing. “So last Christmas you were dealing with a fresh loss, while this year, you’re more settled. But Kipling’s married now, with a baby on the way, so everything is still different.”

“Possibly.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. How can I help?”

“You already are helping by being my friend.”

Madeline grinned. “But that’s so easy.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Shelby picked up a peanut butter cookie. Even a couple of days old, they were still soft and sweet, with the perfect hint of crispness. The bite she took practically melted on her tongue.

“So,” Madeline said as she leaned forward. “Have you decided? Are you going to go for it?”

Shelby thought about the alternative. Always making a bad decision for the very best of reasons. She wanted more. Of course, feeling safe was important, but she’d meant what she said before—she wanted what her friend had. A wonderful man to love who would love her in return. But to find that, to even start looking, she had to get over her fears.

Baby steps, she reminded herself. First a man as a friend, then a man as a significant other.

Shelby drew in a breath. “I’m going to do it,” she said firmly.

Madeline’s brows rose. “Seriously? Good for you. Have you picked the guy?”

“Aidan Mitchell.”

Her friend’s brows went up another half inch as Madeline’s mouth fell open. “Aidan?”

Shelby nodded. “Did you hear what happened last night?”

“With Aidan? No. What?”

Shelby filled her in on the incident at The Man Cave. She’d heard a couple of different versions before getting confirmation from Aidan himself. She spared no detail of the poor woman’s distress and Aidan’s hungover self-loathing.

“So why is what happened a good thing?” Madeline asked, sounding doubtful.

“Because he feels awful about the whole situation. He’s disappointed in himself and he says he wants to change.”

For her plan to work, she was going to need cooperation. “When you think about it, he’s kind of in the same position I am. We both want to be better people than we are now.”

“No,” Madeline said, interrupting. “You want to deal with something bad that happened in your past. He wants to stop being icky when it comes to women. There’s a difference.”

“Agreed, but we’re both still heading in the same direction. What do you think?”

She wanted Madeline’s opinion for a lot of reasons. Not only because she trusted her friend, but Madeline had grown up in Fool’s Gold. She’d known Aidan all her life. If he had a dark or violent past, Madeline would tell her everything.

Her friend reached for a cookie and took a bite before answering.

“If he’s serious about changing his ways, then he’s a good choice. He was always nice. You know, in a guy way.” Madeline’s mouth turned up. “What about sex?”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in sex. That part of me isn’t broken.”

“What if he needs the incentive?”

“I don’t think he will. Not after what happened last night. This isn’t about romance. It’s about something more important. Both of us healing. For me, it’s my heart. Or maybe my trust. I’m not sure how to explain it exactly. I just know that being friends, not lovers, is the answer.”

“Good luck getting him to go for that.”

“He says he wants to be a better man,” Shelby said, not sure if she was convincing the other woman or herself. “If he is, then this is one way for that to happen.” She bit her lower lip. She was taking a big step, but there didn’t seem to be another way. “So you think he’s an okay guy?”

“I do.”

“Then I’m going to ask him if he’s interested.”

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall. You’ll tell me what happens?”

“Absolutely. I think he’s going to be fine with it. We’ll help each other and then move on with our lives.”

“The road to hell,” Madeline murmured.

Aidan had used the same expression that morning, Shelby remembered. Intentions were practically resolutions. She had hers for the New Year. A plan to finally put her past behind her and move forward with her life. Now all she needed was a willing partner and in a matter of months everything would be exactly how she’d always dreamed.

CHAPTER TWO

A
IDAN
DRAINED
HIS
bottle of water. He was dripping sweat and exhausted, but in a good way. It was the second day of the New Year and he was feeling better. His hangover was gone. He’d slept the night before, had eaten a healthy breakfast and just completed a grueling two-hour workout. He was on his way to being a new man.

He was going to make this New Year’s thing work for himself. He would drink more water and eat right and get lots of exercise. See his mother more often and if an old lady needed help crossing the street, he would be there. Maybe he would even get a dog. You know, to show some sense of responsibility. It would be good for him to have something other than himself to worry about.

He grabbed his gym bag and shrugged into his jacket. He would shower and change at home, then go into his office and complete some paperwork he’d been putting off. Yup, virtuous. That was his new middle name. Aidan Virtuous Mitchell.

Once outside, the cold air sucked the heat from his body. He took a couple of deep breaths as he walked to his truck. After he finished the paperwork he would—

Someone stood by his truck. A female someone.

The cold on the outside had nothing on the sudden knot of ice that formed in his gut. His throat tightened with dread as he wondered how else his past would come back to kick him in the ass. Or maybe it was the same woman, here for her pound of flesh. He wondered if he should simply let her beat him up. Maybe if he lay down, she could get in a couple of kicks. After all, he’d earned them.

He continued walking and quickly recognized the petite blonde. Shelby Gilmore was leaning against his door, but straightened when she saw him. She squared her shoulders, as if she was determined.

Her thick wool jacket dwarfed her. She had on a ridiculous red knit hat with a pom-pom on the top. She looked young and fresh and just a little bit sexy.

Aidan slowed his steps as he reminded himself that there was no sexy in his life. Not now and not in the foreseeable future. A—no women. B—no local women. C—see A.

“Hi, Aidan,” Shelby said, her voice cheerful. “Have a good workout?”

“Uh-huh.” He tightened his grip on his gym bag. He wanted to ask why she was waiting for him but couldn’t think of a way to phrase the question without sounding abrupt. And these days he was all about the good manners.

“I brought you some cookies.”

She held out a small silver-and-white-striped bag. Even from several feet away, he could smell chocolate and maybe peanut butter.

“I just ran six miles and lifted weights.” He had resolutions, he reminded himself. A need to be virtuous.

“Then you must be hungry.”

Her smile was soft and welcoming. Friendly. Which was close to sexy.

Aidan put the brakes on that train of thought. No sex for him, he reminded himself. Remember A and C. And B.

“You can’t show anyone the sugar cookies.”

He sucked in cold air. “Excuse me?”

She offered the bag again. “Some of them are iced sugar cookies. You can’t show them to anyone.” The smile returned. “Because of Cabin Fever Days. Several of the artists sent me drawings of their designs so I could turn them into cookies. But the designs are supposed to be a secret, so you can’t show anyone the cookies.”

“Because another guy doing an ice sculpture might steal the shape?”

She nodded. “Only some of the artists are women. You shouldn’t assume they’re men.”

“Obviously not.” He eyed the bag, tempted by the delicious smell. “I’m trying to eat right.” The comment was aimed more at himself than her.

“What could be wrong with my cookies?” Her blue eyes brightened with humor. “They’re really delicious. You should trust me.”

He wanted to ask why, then remembered she was also trusting him. With her cookies. Which almost sounded dirty. He sighed. The whole virtuous thing was harder than he thought.

“How do you turn ice sculptures into cookies?” he asked.

“I use the outline of the basic shape. I can add a few details, but not too many. If the details are too refined, they’ll bake out. Plus they can’t be too hard to decorate or I’ll spend all my profits frosting them. Not the amount of frosting, but the time.” She held out the bag again. “Sometimes I get a special order where I can really go to town, but the ice-sculpture cookies are an experiment. We’ll be selling them at the festival. In our kiosk.”

She was talking too quickly. Almost nervously. The bag shook a little and he instinctively grabbed it from her. Then wondered if he shouldn’t have.

“Shelby, why are you here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“About cookies?”

“No. I brought those because I’m nice.”

That made him laugh. “Good to know. What do you want to talk about?” He hesitated. “In case it matters, I’ve given up women.”

Her mouth twitched. “Have you? That can’t be very fun.”

“It’s only been a day. So far it’s not so bad.” He was lying, but what the hell. She couldn’t know that.

Her smile returned. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not here because I’m interested in having sex with you. And I don’t want a boyfriend. Well, I do. But not you.”

He had no idea what to make of her or what she was saying. “So I should be grateful for the cookies?”

She laughed. “No. I hope you’ll like them, though.” The humor faded. “The truth is...” She swallowed. “Wow, this is harder than I thought. I want...”

The ice in his gut returned. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it. He told himself, whatever it was, he would say no. He needed practice saying no and this would be how he started.
N-O.
Easy enough. According to his mother it had been one of his first words.

“I want us to be friends.”

* * *

S
HELBY
UNLOCKED
HER
front door. She was cold and nervous. The first would be remedied by the furnace in her small apartment. The second was more of a problem.

Aidan hadn’t laughed at her. That was something. Nor had he walked away. Instead he’d thought for a long second, before saying, “Go on.” Which was when she’d suggested they talk at her place.

Now she waited while he followed her inside. Her already tiny apartment seemed to shrink. She pulled off her hat and fluffed her bangs, then hung both coats on the rack by the front door.

She turned and looked around her place, wondering what he saw. Or thought.

The apartment was newish, with big windows. From where she was standing, she could see the living room, the dining alcove and most of the kitchen. All in all, the place was pretty ordinary and she hadn’t done that much decorating.

She’d left the walls white and added a few posters. Most of them were of wildflowers or sunsets, but the one over the sofa was of Kipling screaming down a mountain. He was in perfect focus, with the background behind him a blur. Both skis were several inches above the ground. His expression was intense, his mouth straight.

He’d won that race and she’d been there to see it happen. The picture was one of her favorites.

The rest of the room was less exciting. She had a navy plaid sofa with a single chair by the window. She’s found the simple maple dining table and chairs at a thrift store. Back the other way was the short hallway that led to her bedroom. There was also a decent-sized bathroom.

Nothing fancy, but the place worked. The rent was reasonable, the neighbors quiet. She worked a lot of hours and didn’t need any more. One day, she thought wistfully. One day she would have a house and husband and kids and maybe a dog. Until then, this was fine.

She pointed to the dining table. “I have cupcakes,” she said. “I’ll make coffee to go with them. Unless you want milk.”

“You gave me cookies. I have them in my truck.”

“They’re for later. The cupcakes are for our conversation.”

He looked from the platter in the center of the table back to her. “How can you eat like you do and still look like that?”

She felt some of her tension ease. “I taste rather than have a whole serving. Plus I work in a bakery. After a while, the good things start to be less tempting.”

“I wish that were true for me.”

He took the seat she offered. Shelby went into the kitchen and started her coffeemaker. She’d prepped it before she’d left, hoping things would work out. In a way, she was surprised they’d gotten this far. Her plan had potential, but it required cooperation. And Aidan not thinking she was insane.

Now that he was here, she didn’t know what to say. How to start. She’d been practicing opening lines for a couple of weeks now. Ever since she’d figured out what she was going to do. She’d known the what, but not the who. Not until she’d heard about what had happened on New Year’s Eve and had seen Aidan the next day.

He could have been blasé about what had happened, but he hadn’t been. He’d been angry at himself and ashamed. He’d wanted to change. All of which was in her favor.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked.

“Just black.”

She took her coffee the same way. Every calorie saved, she’d always thought. Now she carried two mugs to the table and took the seat across from him.

Aidan was tall, with broad shoulders. He still wore his workout clothes—a T-shirt over sweats. Both were loose, but she caught sight of the muscles lurking underneath. Given what he did for a living, it made sense that he was in good shape.

His face was nice, she thought. He was good-looking without being too pretty. She liked his dark brown eyes, the way they met hers steadily.

Silence stretched between them.

“This would be your meeting,” he said as he reached for one of her cupcakes. She’d picked chocolate with a nice coconut frosting. Simple, but delicious. The best desserts usually were.

She drew in a breath and said the first thing that came to her mind. “I want to buy a house.”

His eyebrows drew together. “I don’t sell real estate.”

“I know.” She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. This was going to be harder than she’d thought.

“Yesterday, you said you were sorry about what happened with that woman.” She sipped her coffee. “Are you still?”

He nodded, then took a bite of his cupcake. “These are good,” he said when he’d chewed and swallowed.

“Thanks. I like that you want to change. It’s not easy. Old habits and all that.”

“Yeah. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do yet. I’m giving up women. That’s for sure.”

“And how long do you think your antiwoman pledge will last?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks. A couple of months.”

“A long time.”

His mouth turned down at the corners. “Tell me about it. But I don’t know what else to do. I won’t be that guy again.”

“Do you want to fall in love?” She held up her hands. “Not with me. That’s not where this is going. But ever?”

“I don’t know.”

An unexpectedly honest answer. “Because you’d be stuck?”

“I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“You were hungover. You couldn’t help yourself. I won’t tell anyone.”

Emotions flashed across his face. She tried to read them and couldn’t.

“I want to not treat women badly,” he said at last. “No, that’s not right. I was honest about what I wanted and if the lady agreed, then we had a good time. It was supposed to be okay for both of us. I don’t know what went wrong.”

“One of your temporaries wanted more.”

“And I couldn’t remember her name.”

He spoke with what felt like sincere regret.

“Now you want to be different.”

He looked at her. “If you think you can change me,” he began.

“I don’t.” She shrugged. “I don’t believe people can change each other. We have to make the choice to be different ourselves and then make it happen. You want to act differently around women, but you don’t know how. Has it occurred to you that maybe the problem isn’t that you couldn’t remember her name, but that you never saw her as a person in the first place? That you don’t see any of them as people?”

He glanced longingly toward the door. “Okay then. While this has been great, I need to go.”

“Five minutes,” she said quietly. “Give me five minutes. I’m really going somewhere with this and I think you’ll be interested. Plus, it’s not scary. I promise.”

He deliberately glanced at his watch. “Five minutes.”

“Thank you.” She paused while she figured out the best and quickest way to say what she was thinking, in a way that would get him to see her plan had real merit.

“You do what you do to avoid getting stuck. Which is the same as being in love, right? You don’t want the serious relationship.”

He gave her a brief nod.

“Logically you go the other way. A series of short-term, meaningless flings. And while there is some pleasure in that, it’s not exactly who you want to be.”

Another nod, this one slightly less cautious.

“Now you want to change, but don’t know how. I’m suggesting that part of the problem is you see women as either wives or playthings. You don’t have any women friends in your life.” She waved her hand. “I’m not counting family. Your mom, cousins and the like. I’m talking about the everyday garden-variety woman you interact with.”

He leaned back in the chair. “Go on.”

She told herself it was great that he hadn’t bolted. Now came the tough part. Telling him about her.

“My mom was my dad’s second wife. Kipling and I are half brother and sister. My mom was great. Sweet and loving. She adored my father.” Shelby drew in a breath. She told herself to stick to the facts. To stay in her head and everything would be okay. It was only if she lost herself in the memories that she got into trouble.

“My dad was a difficult man,” she began, then made herself stop. Martina, her therapist, was always reminding her to talk about the past with authenticity, no euphemisms. “No. That’s not true. He wasn’t difficult. He was violent. He beat my mother and when I got older, he beat me.”

The stark words hung in the air between them. Aidan’s expression tightened but he didn’t say anything.

“One of my earliest memories was of my mom screaming as my dad hit her. I remember being so scared. But when I was little, he never hit me, so in a strange way, I was safe. He didn’t hit Kipling—not like he hit my mom. Maybe it was because Kipling was his son. I don’t know.”