Catch of a Lifetime: A Cricket Creek Novel (17 page)

And he wanted nothing less.

Ty glanced over at the table where he had lit two candles. The bottle of Elk Creek merlot and two wineglasses appeared as lonely as he felt. “Well . . .” Ty muttered, and then scrubbed a hand down his face. He suddenly felt a bit of a fool, standing out here, hoping Jessica would join him. And he shouldn’t have to resort to playing games while trying to get the woman he cared about to spend time with him. He reminded himself that he was supposed to be patient and to take it slow, but all at once he became frustrated and decided that he should simply leave.

And then he saw her.

While she walked slowly toward him, the light of the windows behind her cast a golden glow. The cool evening breeze molded her billowy blouse to her body, making Ty inhale sharply. He knew he was staring, but could not even begin to tear his gaze from her face.

“Good evening, Ty.” Her sultry voice was a warm contrast to the cool night and felt like a physical caress. When she was standing directly in front of him, Ty tried to think of something clever to say, but when he caught a whiff of her perfume, words failed him. Instead, a pathetic little moan came out of his mouth and he had to disguise it with a cough. Her eyes widened slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he managed to articulate. “Something caught in my throat.”

“Oh.” There was something different in the way she gazed up at him. He felt confidence oozing from her and an underlying sense of determination, and when Ty searched
her amber eyes for that all-too-familiar flash of fear, his heart thudded.

It was gone.

What he did see was a woman who knew what she wanted and was going for it. And it was damned sexy.

“Well, now . . .” Jessica angled her head slightly, allowing her sleek ponytail to slip over her shoulder. Ty dearly wanted to wrap the silky hair around his fist and pull her head back for a long, hot kiss. “I was told I had a disgruntled customer. Might that be you?”

“Yes,” he replied in a husky tone filled with the need to kiss her. But he wanted to play this out and hopefully drive her crazy. He gestured toward the table where candles flickered and danced off the delicate wineglasses. “Would you mind sitting down and discussing my grievances over a nice glass of merlot?”

“Not at all,” she replied, and sat down on the cushioned love seat. “Oh, and by the way, I brought you dessert as an apology for your . . . dissatisfaction.”

Ty sat down next to her and then leaned over to open the small box. “Ah, Derby Pie?”

She nodded

“My favorite.”
Did she remember that?

“Well, actually, it’s my version of the original classic served at the Kentucky Derby. I use pecans instead of walnuts.”

“I think it’s great to give classic recipes your own personal touch. You excel at that, you know.”

“I always have to tinker with a recipe. Besides, we couldn’t call it Derby Pie on the menu.”

“Really?”

“Yes, the original was created by George Kern at the Melrose Inn in Prospect, Kentucky, and the Kern family holds the copyright. There have been several lawsuits over the use of the name Derby Pie through the years, including one against Nestlé when they put a Derby Pie recipe on the back of a bag of chocolate chips.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. The Kern family is serious about guarding the secret Derby Pie recipe.” She leaned in closer. “Only a few of the Kern family know it, and one kitchen cook.” She held up her index finger with a grin. “I think it would be the coolest thing to create something so amazing that it was a closely guarded secret and kept in a safe.”

“Well, the Derby—I mean the
Kentucky Nut Pie
—that you make is to die for, and I can’t imagine one better. It really is my personal favorite.”

She gave him a steady look. “I know. I kept it on the menu just for you.”

Ty was touched by her admission. She was allowing him to know that she had been taking note over the past months as well and wasn’t afraid to put it out there. “Thank you, Jessica,” he said, and they both knew he wasn’t only referring to the pie. “I’m beginning to really like this habit of you bringing me dessert.” He wiggled his eyebrows and then swiped his finger in the whipped cream before sucking the cool sweetness off his finger. “Wow, that is amazingly good. Just the right amount of bourbon,” he said, letting her know that her cooking was an art and not hit-or-miss. Nothing at Wine and Diner was simply slapped together, and he admired her dedication and talent.

“I aim to please,” she answered in a low, seductive voice that made him feel warm despite the evening breeze. She handed him a fork. “Go ahead. Take a bite. I’ll pour the wine. Would you like a glass?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Ty tried for a casual tone but failed miserably. And he was grateful for her offer to pour, because when he pushed his fork into the crunchy pecans, he noticed that his hands were trembling slightly.
Wow,
Ty thought to himself. He had played baseball in front of thousands in crushingly stressful situations and his hands had been as steady as a rock. And yet just sitting next to Jessica, with the anticipation of what was to come, had
him shaking like a rookie taking his first at bat in the major leagues.

The flaky crust hit his tongue, followed by a blast of rich, dark chocolate. The soft, buttery center of the pie rolled over his tongue and he savored the texture and flavor. He pointed his fork at the pie. “What I like about this pie is that the semisweet chocolate and bite of bourbon keep it from being too cloyingly sweet.”

Jessica handed him a glass of wine. “I agree. And I prefer pecans over walnuts, although I might try mixing in both.”

Ty gave her a shake of his head. “Don’t change a thing. This pie is perfect as it is. And you make a tender, flaky crust. My mom was a good cook, but piecrusts always gave her fits. What’s the secret?”

“Keeping everything chilled and not overworking the dough, or the texture will be tough. Precise measurements are so important for a perfect crust. Oh, and add just enough water, or it will get too sticky and not be nearly as flaky. . . .” She trailed off and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sorry! More than you wanted to know.” She leaned back against the cushion and shook her head. “I get carried away talking about food.”

“What?” Ty reached over and touched her arm. “First of all, I asked you. And you know me better than that. I could listen to you talk about food all night long. Jessica, to me, eating is one of life’s pleasures, and you enhance that experience for me.”

“You have a good palate. That’s for sure, and . . .” She pressed her lips together.

“Don’t”—Ty shook his head and softly pleaded—“hold anything back from me. Jessica, please finish your thought.”

“I love that about you . . . your appreciation of fine food and the work that goes into making it that way,” she said, but instead of meeting his gaze, she took a sip of her wine and glanced away.

Ty’s heart pounded and he wanted to pull her in for a
hug, but he refrained. She was a strong-willed woman and needed to open up on her own terms, and he would let her. So even though he sensed she wanted to say more, instead of prompting her further, Ty decided it was time to kick back and have a good time. “Day-um, this Derby Pie—um, I mean Kentucky Nut Pie—is a party in my mouth.”

Jessica giggled, making her appear younger, carefree. “So you’re no longer a disgruntled customer?”

“Not anymore.”

“Yeah, right.” Jessica reached over and pinched off a piece of the piecrust. “I am going to get Madison back when she least expects it,” she said before popping the pastry into her mouth.

“Hey, I am a customer and I was disgruntled.”

“Sure you were.” Jessica scoffed. “About what?”

“Not getting a glimpse of you all night long.”

“Oh, come on.” She took another sip of her wine and then sighed.

Ty felt his heart plummet and he placed his wineglass and pie on the table. “What will it take?”

“What do you mean?”

“What will it take for you to believe me and not think I’m spitting game at you?”

“I don’t think that!”

“What was the sigh for, Jessica?”

She set down her wine and scooted to face him on the love seat. “I came out here to knock your doggone socks off and . . .”

“And what?”

“I don’t know how to banter. To flirt!” She raised her palms skyward. “I suck!” she said so forcefully that Ty almost laughed, except that she was serious and it went straight to his heart.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, I suck, suck . . .
suck
!”

“That’s what I . . . like about you.” He almost said
love
.

She dipped her head and gave him a pointed look. “That I suck at flirting?”

“Jessica, I’ve had a lifetime of bullshit from women. I don’t need batting eyes and playful pouts. Games.” He sliced his hand like a salute to the forehead. “I’ve had it up to here with all of that meaningless crap. When I pay you a compliment, I’m not flirting. I damned well mean it. And you don’t know how refreshing it is to have real, meaningful conversations with you. No pretense.”

She grinned. “No bullshit?”

“Exactly.”

“So, I should just get down to brass tacks?”

“Damned straight.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Jessica said, and before he could voice his total agreement, she closed the gap between them and pulled his head down for a long, hot kiss. Damn, she tasted like wine and woman, and he couldn’t get enough. The pie had been a party in his mouth, but this was a full-blown celebration. He had been daydreaming about this all day long, but the reality was so much better. He cradled her head, wishing for her hair to be loose and sliding between his fingers. To hell with playing this out. He wanted her more than enough now, and he wanted her in his bed.

“Jessica, are you finished for the night?”

“Not with you,” she said, and kissed his neck. “I’m just beginning.”

“Damn, that was straight to the point and smokin’ hot. Who needs wimpy-ass flirting?” He chuckled but then inhaled a quick breath when she sucked his earlobe into her warm mouth. When she nibbled, a jolt of pure desire shot all the way to his toes. “How quickly can you meet me back at my condo?”

“World Record time. I’ll tell Madison to lock up.”

“Good.” He let out a long sigh.

“What?”

“The only thing better than you bringing me dessert is you being the dessert.”

Jessica tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, I like the way you think.”

“Let’s get out of here.” He sensed that she was finally letting her guard down and saying what she felt, and he loved it. Her personality was shining through, and she seemed tired but as though she was beginning to finally relax. He planned on giving her a back rub that would turn her into warm putty in his hands. She deserved to be pampered. And then it hit him hard that no one had probably ever done that for her. She was always doing for everyone else. He ground his teeth together when unexpected emotion gripped him, but then he smiled.

Jessica Robinson was about to get swept off her tired feet.

“C
heck it out.” Bella gave Madison an elbow when she spotted Jessica scurrying into her office.

“You girls lock up. Okay?” Jessica requested when she emerged a moment later clutching her purse.

“Sure, Mom,” Madison replied, and they watched her rush toward the front door and then pause to catch her breath.

“Oh, Bella, awesome job tonight!” Jessica tossed over her shoulder. “See you both tomorrow! I’m, uh, really tired and—”

“Mom, don’t even try.”

Jessica flushed a pretty shade of pink and pointed at Madison. “I’m going to get you for this. A disgruntled customer. Right.”

“Go on and get out of here,” Madison urged with a giggle and shooed her mother out the door.

“Wow,” Bella commented with a sense of wonder. “I always kinda thought your mom had a thing for Ty, but he was such a player back in Chicago and she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Wouldn’t it be cool if they stayed together? You know, became an official couple?”

“They will,” Madison responded with a firm nod.

“What makes you so sure?”

“My gut.”

“You trust your gut?” Bella snorted. “My gut lies to me all the damned time.” She frowned down at her stomach. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am,” Madison replied with a tilt of her head. “Bella, your gut doesn’t lie. You just don’t listen.”

“Pfft.”
Bella straightened up a stack of menus. “You really are joking, right?” She remembered that Madison had a wicked sense of humor.

“No, I’m not. You just can’t let your heart”—she tapped her chest—“or your brain”—she tapped her temple—“screw it all up.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bella scoffed.

“If you’ve got a minute, I’ll explain,” Madison offered, and pointed to the stools at the counter.

“Sure. Every minute I spend here is a minute more I get to put off calling my mother. She’s left two messages, but I texted her that I was busy hanging out with you guys and catching up on old times.” She wrinkled her nose. “Little white lie. But no—
Hey
, I don’t want to keep you from Jason.”

“Don’t worry. I have to stay here and lock up after the cleanup is done in the kitchen.” Madison rolled her eyes. “They would have been done by now if they hadn’t been tripping over each other, sneaking peeks at you.”

“Shut up. I’m just the new girl in town.”

Madison handed her a cold bottle of water and then sat down. “Yeah, the new girl who looks like Eva Longoria.”

“Right . . .” Bella shrugged, even though she had gotten that too often to count in Chicago. “She’s, like, ten years older than me and Mexican, not Italian.”

Madison raised her hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I finally had Evan the busboy convinced that you
were
Eva Longoria and were doing that TV show
I Get
That a Lot
, where celebrities pretend to be
everyday Joes. Told him there were hidden cameras. I had him going.”

Bella laughed. “Madison, you’re crazy.”