Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie (28 page)

Even worse, at what point would they realize they risked her knowing any number of things about them just by inadvertently touching her? Interesting and intriguing, it was like a cool party trick, but what happened when they realized she couldn't turn it on and off? She was going to know whatever she was going to know, and there was nothing they could do about it. Not if they wanted to stay friends, anyway. Honey knew she wouldn't want anyone knowing
her
personal business. She certainly wouldn't want to think about that every time she looked at a person and wonder . . . She'd probably steer clear of them just to avoid it. Who wouldn't?

“It's just a matter of balance,” she told herself, trying to quell the surge of panic and tamp down the gut knowledge that this best life, these new friends and new community . . . couldn't stay that way. Not realistically. She simply had to learn her limits and find a way to keep from knowing things. Pacing was the key. She'd stay a little apart, give herself some space and the protection that would afford her. She wanted her new life and her new friends, so she'd simply find a way to figure out how to balance it all, and be thankful for all the good things she had and would continue to have.

“You saw something, didn't you?”

Honey jumped, startled, so lost in her thoughts she hadn't noticed Alva had come around to her side of the worktable. “Alva. Listen, I'm sorry we didn't get the chance to talk, you know, before I spoke to Barbara. That wasn't planned—”

Alva waved her hand. “Water under the bridge.”

Honey glanced down at her, thinking it was obviously anything but without saying so.

Alva moved a hair closer and lowered her voice. “So, what did you see? When Riley hugged you. That girl deserves all the happiness in the world, so if you know something that might affect her newly-wedded bliss, you should tell me. We'll figure out how best to handle it. I'm good with people.”

Honey didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but she understood why Alva was willing to forgive her for letting Barbara Hughes scoop her on the latest in hot gossip. Alva wanted to be her partner in extrasensory perception crime. “It's nothing to be concerned about,” she told Alva. “I think Riley and Quinn can look forward to a good life.”

Alva's interest only increased. “So, you did see something! Well, perhaps you should let me be the judge of what should be passed along. After all, you don't really know Riley as yet, about her past heartbreak and how truly wonderful Quinn has been for her. If it's good news, perhaps that is something we should pass along.” She beamed up at Honey, who didn't miss the calculating twinkle in her eyes. “Like a wedding present, of sorts.”

“I-I think we should just let Riley and Quinn be happy newlyweds and—oh look! Franco and Charlotte are already talking about catering a reception for them here on the island, and Lani's going to do cupcakes for dessert. You should—don't you want to be in on the planning?”

Alva was clearly torn between pursuing her new path as Honey's second sight assistant and not being left out of the latest turn of events. “We'll talk more later.” She bustled back over to the excited group.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Honey murmured under her breath.

It would take a little time to figure out the delicate balance of making friends and being a good friend in return, while keeping the visions separate, but she wasn't exactly sure how that was going to work. Her friends were so good, so sweet and understanding about giving her space, about not intentionally intruding or making it hard on her . . . but the fact was accidents were going to happen. Contact amongst good friends was going to happen. At least, if she really wanted to be a part of this group, this community, it would. And if she wanted to gush about the man in her life and be a part of things like Riley's big announcement it stood to reason her talent was also going to come up in conversation . . . like it just did with Alva. They were going to notice when she had visions and naturally be curious.

What would happen when it was something she did feel compelled to share? Something that did require a warning?

Honey rubbed her forehead as the mounting tension began to make her temples throb.

“You feeling poorly,
mon amie
?”

She looked up to find Franco standing on the other side of the worktable. The smile she gave him was sincere. “I'm okay. Just . . . a lot on my mind.”

“We'll understand if you want to duck out.” He smiled. “With Riley's big announcement and the party planning, I don't think much baking is going to happen tonight, anyway. Just promise me you'll come again next time. You are coming by the open house next Sunday, right?”

“The grand opening? Of course.” She had been planning on dropping in. But she might be a little more . . . tactical about choosing her timing. Hopefully a less crowded time. She'd keep watch from across the street, pick her moment.

Franco's smile was steady, but his gaze was a bit probing. “Anything else on your mind,
chérie
?”

“I'm still getting used to this, I guess.”

His smile deepened. “We can be a lot. But we mean well.”

“I didn't mean that in a bad way,” she hurried to add, realizing it might have sounded like an insult. “I meant for me. I haven't been around a lot of people for quite some time. I'm still . . . finding my way. It's been wonderful, really. More than I ever expected.”

“Doesn't make it easy, though, does it?” He laid his hand on the table between them palm down, and she understood it for the gesture it was. A pat on the arm, a squeeze of reassurance, just without the actual contact. “Maybe, since it's more than you hoped, it also makes it more than you bargained on having to cope with?”

Honey's smile grew as well, as did the honest affection she felt for her new friend. “You're very wise, but then I hear you French-Italians are like that.”

Franco snorted a laugh. “And don't you forget it, sister,” he said, all pure native Bronx.

“Thank you,” she said, never more sincere.

“Just remember, even when a lot feels like too much, real friends still understand, forgive when necessary, and want to be there. Our hearts are in the right place. I think yours is, too. At the end of the day that's all that matters. Right,
ma chérie
?” He winked at her, then blew a kiss, making her laugh despite the tears she felt gathering at the corners of her eyes. “I told you none of us is perfect, and this group in particular is like the band of merry misfits.”

She let out a snort. “Then I'll fit right in.”

He rolled his eyes, but was grinning. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. You already do. Go on. I'll cover for you.”

Honey slipped off her apron, folded it carefully, and put it back in the white bag. She didn't have any baking tools of her own, so she winked at Franco, mouthed
thank-you,
and ducked out the back.

She had a lot to think about. Despite Franco's much needed and timely words of encouragement, the fact remained that she was going to have to figure out how to handle a lot. She questioned if she could. How much harder would it be when she cared more deeply, loved more deeply, only to find out that the people who were being so wonderful to her found they had their own limits as to what they could handle.

She saw Dylan walking toward her across the alley and was torn between the strong desire to run and fling herself into his arms and pour out all of her mounting fears . . . and the equally strong urge to turn around and simply run. And keep running. From all of it.

“G
ood,” Dylan said when he saw Honey come out the back door of Cakes by the Cup. “You saved me from having to kidnap you from Bake Club.”

“Cupcake Club,” Honey corrected, smiling as he drew closer. “Why were you going to kidnap me?”

He lifted his hand and dangled a set of keys between them. “Thought there was something you might like to see.”

Her eyes grew wide, but not before he'd gotten close enough to see the tension around them and that her smile was a little bit pinched.

His instinct—a rather strong one—was to pull her into his arms, kiss her until that pinched look went away, then get her to tell him what had put it there in the first place. He wasn't quite sure what kept him from following through on it . . . maybe the fact that she hadn't had that same urge.

The pinched look disappeared as she realized it was her car keys he was jangling. “My car? It's done?”

“It is.” He dropped the keys in her open hand. “Come on. Take a look.”

If she was at all surprised by the less than intimate greeting, considering they had spent the previous night and a good part of the morning in his bed . . . and in his shower and his kitchen and back in his bed, she didn't do or say anything to indicate it. He didn't know if that relieved him, concerned him . . . or just plain pissed him off.

But he did know until he figured that out, it was probably a good idea to keep his hands to himself.

He'd left the back bay door open so the light from the garage spilled out, adding a brighter glow to the moonlit alley. They walked around his truck and though he was a little confused by their interaction, he took great satisfaction from her gasp of delight.

“It's . . . it's actually pretty. And shiny, too.” She turned to him and his heart skipped a little, seeing an equally bright and shiny light in her eyes.

He shouldn't be miffed that same light hadn't been there upon seeing him, but the truth was he was a bit put out.

He reminded himself he had no idea what had been going on inside the bakery, or what she might have been dealing with. Socializing was still very new to her, and it had to be a lot of work, learning to balance that against her second sight.

He wished she felt she could bring any or all of her problems to him, unload if she had to, or find a haven of sorts with him, but he knew she was figuring it all out. He gave her space, letting her set the pace . . . but that didn't mean he didn't feel disappointment.

“How did you get it to look so glossy like that? You couldn't have had time to paint it.” She walked around the car. “I can still see all the scratches and dents, but—it looks so cute now.” She smiled at him. “So Bug-like.”

Dylan shook his head, wondering how he could be amused and annoyed at the same time. “You can thank Dell for that. He found some article on a new compound being developed to help seal boat hulls to keep the salt water from corroding them so quickly and thought maybe it would work on your car. The salt air here and your worn off finish were going to be a lethal combination, sugar. All my hard work would be for nothing when the body turned to rust only months after getting it back into pretty decent running condition.”

She ran her hand along the roof and over the wheel hubs, and he realized he was a sick, sick man indeed, for being jealous of a damn car. But he'd already gotten a little attached to feeling those same hands stroking him. Something told him that wasn't in the cards for him again anytime soon. He was on the verge of asking her to tell him what had happened at the bakery and get her to talk about it with him, but she spoke first.

“Well, you can tell Dell he's amazing. I will thank him profusely, the first time I see him.” She looked over at Dylan, eyes still shining. “Thank you, Dylan. For all of this. You put a lot of work into this poor thing. I'm not sure it deserved it. But I appreciate it. More than you know.” She looked back at the car. “Now I have an escape hatch.”

His smile didn't just fade, it winked directly out, right as his gut knotted up. “Thinkin' about runnin' off already?”

“What?” She looked up at him again, her tone perplexed, but a tinge of guilt in her eyes. “No. I just—I meant it will be good to be captain of my own destiny again, and not dependant on the kindness of strangers.”

She'd done her best Southern drawl on that last part, but he'd seen right through it and heard the anxiety . . . and decided it was bullshit to keep his distance.

He strolled around the back of the car, half expecting her to back away as he came up to her. But she stood her ground—which was exactly how it felt—like they'd somehow entered a field of battle. For the life of him, he didn't know why. So he pushed. Not because it pissed him off, but because it hurt him. If she was going to have the power to hurt him, then the least he deserved was an explanation.

He blocked her in, between him and her car, bracing an arm on either side of her, holding her gaze. It occurred to him that this was how it had all started, standing next to her car. One bobbled stack of boxes and a freaky vision later . . . and here he was, all tangled up.

More surprising was that he didn't so much mind the tangled-up part. He understood these moments, much as the easy moments, mattered, and hoped like hell he didn't screw it up. “How was your day, sugar?”

Her brows lifted. “How was my day?”

He nodded.

“Uh, well . . . it was pretty good. I've gotten the ground floor pretty well cleared out, just need to do some industrial cleaning. Jake came by and fixed the stairs. He made sure they were stable, so they'll pass inspection now. Thanks for sending him, by the way. I was going to call him, but it saved me a lot of time. I can get started on the upper balcony and office tomorrow.” She stopped, took a breath, then looked at him and held his gaze. “But that's not what you're really asking.”

“Actually, it is. I know something is wrong. Or at least not entirely right. It's not how we left things this morning, anyway. But if I came out and asked you that, it would put you in a defensive position, and I didn't want that. Especially if what's not right has anything to do with me. So, I figure the safest way to find out is to ask about your day, give you a chance to tell me.”

A dry smile teased the corners of her mouth. “I thought you said you weren't good at this relationship stuff.”

His urge to smile came back, even if there wasn't quite the sense of relief he'd been hoping to feel along with it. “I'm trying not to screw it up.”

“I'm sorry I'm not good at this. It's funny. I've been thinking a lot about how it feels, opening myself up to knowing things about people who are becoming my friends, things I'd rather not know, things—if they knew—that they'd rather me not know. Even if they're good things.”

“Something happened at Bake Club, huh?”

“It wasn't a big deal,” she said, admitting as much. “No one noticed except Alva. Riley came back and she hugged me hello and . . . anyway, it wasn't that big a deal. It was a good thing, not a bad thing.”

“Like the two you've had about me, about the sailboat.”

“Like that, yes.”

Dylan studied her face, her eyes. “It's still a lot, isn't it? Never knowing what you'll find out, or what to do with it.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I just . . . realized that being close to people isn't going to protect me from having visions about them, maybe quite the opposite. Even good ones come with a price, and I feel . . . well, I feel like a whiny, ungrateful jerk. I'm getting so much more than I expected. I'm getting
everything
. How dare I complain, you know? Even to myself.”

“You're getting a lot all at once. Cut yourself some slack.”

Honey let out a brief laugh and shook her head. “Maybe I should have just run into your arms after all.”

He lifted her chin, cupped her cheek, the first he'd touched her after a day spent apart. “I'd have liked that, sugar. Welcomed that. Why didn't you?”

“You're right that it's been a whole lot all at once. Tonight, with everyone being so excited—Riley and Quinn eloped—I just ... after the vision, I kind of stood apart, trying to figure out how I was going to be a part of things the way I want to, the way they want me to, and at the same time, deal with the fallout. And it is fallout. I can't pretend it isn't or that it won't be. It's only going to accumulate.”

“I guess it will. I don't know what to tell you about that. I can say what anyone who cares about you would say—that you'll figure it out, that you'll find a way if it's what you want, that we support you and will help you any way we can. All of which is true. But I don't know what it's like to be you, and I don't know how you'll make it work. Frankly, if it were me, I don't know that I'd even want to try.”

Her eyes widened at that.

“But you're not me, and I'm not you,” he said. “I'd go deep into cave mode and be happy there, tuning it all out. You wouldn't, you won't, especially now that you know what you can have, and that it's what you really want. I'm guessing it would be harder going back to hiding again. I guess the question is . . . which is the harder of the two? Giving it all up and dealing with the loss of what you really want . . . or trying to find a way to make it work without exhausting yourself and becoming so stressed that you can't enjoy the life you finally get to have.”

She didn't say anything for several long moments and he felt his own heart pound, waiting for her to speak and dreading what she was going to say. The fact was she'd opted not to run to him, and had seen a means of escape when she'd looked at her car.

“I do know one thing,” she said at length, and warmth finally came back into her eyes. “You didn't screw it up.”

“But?”

She ducked her head again. “I don't know, Dylan. I don't know the answer to that question. And the longer it takes me to figure it out, the harder it gets, the scarier it gets”—she lifted her gaze to his—“because I am getting attached . . . to the island, to the people here . . . to you. It's all happening so fast, and you're right, it's so much all at once. I know no one is pressuring me to do anything or figure anything out. I feel like if I could just bury myself in the bookstore—my shop—and focus on getting that up and running, it would buy me time. But it's just more hiding in the barn, you know? The only way to figure it out is to get out and live it, do it, and let it happen.

“It scares the hell out of me. I realized tonight that reality might not turn out to be what I want. We'll all get closer, we'll care more, and . . . I will know more. Our friendships will change, people will change, the more things I know. I'll change. I'll care a lot more, and it will be harder for my friends, maybe too hard, if they realize they can't handle having me around. And . . . I don't know . . . I don't think I can—” She broke off and looked straight at Dylan.

He saw the utter dread—and the absolute longing—in her eyes. And his heart broke. She was right. It was the one thing he couldn't fix . . . and the only thing he didn't think he could take, if it stayed broken.

“Come home with me,” he told her. “I have a guest room,” he added, before she could reply. “You can be comfortable, have some peace, a little quiet and comfort.”

“I'm—thank-you, but I think I need—”

He cupped her face with both of his hands. “I want to fix this, and I know I can't. That's as hard for me as this is for you. It's the only really important thing that needs fixing, and I feel helpless. I don't want to add to your pressure, either. But don't go hide in your space, in your new barn. At least come hide in mine. Give me that much.”

“Dylan,” she said, the word choked with emotion.

He knew she was going to turn him down, just as he knew he shouldn't take the rejection so hard. She wanted—needed—to regroup and naturally wanted her own space to do it in. But he also knew if she had any hope of figuring things out so she ended up staying and reaching for the life she wanted, she was going to have to break some of her old habits. He knew that better than anyone.

“I've never wanted what you want.” He wasn't sure how to say what needed to be said, but had to risk trying. “I've also never wanted what I want right now—which is you. This . . . thing we've started. I want that. And I don't know any more how to go about getting it and keeping it, than you do about handling the big, wide world crashing in on your carefully constructed bubble. We've both protected ourselves, and with good reason.

“But I'm stepping out of my bubble—hell, sugar, I'm busting it to pieces. If you don't think it scares me spitless, you'd be wrong. I've already asked myself my big question. Which is harder? Trying to figure out what we have, stumbling through it, terrified I'll just screw it up, and making myself vulnerable for the first time in a very long time by giving someone the power to hurt me . . . or not waking up to you like I did this morning ever again. For me, sugar, it was a no brainer.”

Tears leaked out the corners of those voluminous, beautiful eyes, and he felt like the worst kind of bully. He was also a desperate one. If he didn't at least put in his claim and make her aware of what was really at stake, then she was going to make her choice without all the information she should have. Perhaps the most important information. At least, it felt that way to him.

“Just . . . come home with me, Honey. We'll create our own sanctuary. Together. Take whatever space you want. But do it with me.” He reached up and dabbed at her tears. “You're breaking my heart here, darlin'. I'm not trying to make it harder.”