Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (38 page)

“Was this motorcycle his?”

Cain shook his head. “I found it in England and had it shipped to Sven’s shop. We restored it together. It’s worth a lot now to a collector; it’s in mint condition.”

She put her hands on her hips, tilting her head back to look up at him. “What
happened
to you?” She shook her head and laughed softly. “Sometimes you don’t even feel like the boy I grew up with.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing, princess?”

“Maybe,” she said, her voice soft and wistful, her smile warm. “You’re all grown up now.”

“Had to happen eventually.”

“I guess so.”

“Any complaints?”

She bit her bottom lip like she was trying to decide whether or not to ask him something. Deciding against it, she shook her head. “Nope.”

He knew it was brash, but he let his eyes drop to her lips and linger, then to her neck, to her breasts, full and firm in a light blue sweater. Lower, to her tight waist and lightly  flared hips. Her legs in jeans, probably strong from a lifetime of riding. He let his gaze travel back up her body slowly, reverently, and found her brown eyes dark and wide when he met them again.

“You grew up too, Gin.”

She swallowed. “Any complaints?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nope.”

“Uh, Mr. Wolfram?” called Linus from the office. “I have a question about your cable plan, sir.”

Fucking Linus.

“Ready to work?” Cain asked Ginger.

She nodded, but he could have sworn he saw a hint of disappointment in her eyes, like maybe she was just as curious about where that exchange would have gone if they’d been alone, with plenty of time.

“I guess so.”

He showed her into the office and introduced her to Linus.

“Linus, Ginger. Ginger, Linus. He’s from Geek Squad. Obviously,” he muttered.

“Hey, Linus,” she said, offering scrawny, bespectacled Linus her hand.

Over her head Cain gave Linus a look that told him Ginger was absolutely, positively off-limits unless Linus was interested in getting beat up with his own laptop.

“Afternoon, miss.”

“Ginger’s the, uh, the receptionist, or, uh, secretary, so maybe show her how all this works, okay?”

A loud motor pulled into one of the drive bays, and a moment later the showroom door opened to a cheerful jingle.

Ginger flashed her eyes at him. “Should  I go . . .?”

“No,” said Cain. “Stay here and get these computers workin’, okay?” He gestured to a mountain of unsorted paperwork. “And maybe make sense out of that? I’ll come check up on you later.”

And he meant to. Hell, he would have liked to spend the whole fucking day just staring at her. But the suicide clutch guy was part of a motorcycle hobbyist club two towns away, and he called a guy who called a guy who called a guy, and Cain was lying under an antique British motorcycle called a Vincent Rapide C when he noticed Linus walking back to his black, white, and orange VW bug.

“Linus!” he called. “Already done for the day?”

Linus turned around, looking perplexed. “
Already?
It’s a quarter to seven. But yeah, I’m finally done. I’ll send a bill.”

Cain glanced at his watch and blinked when he saw the time.
Holy shit.
She was leaving in fifteen minutes.

Three motonuts were still hanging out with Cain in the drive bay, but he rolled to his knees and stood up. “You know, boys, I gotta close up shop in a few. Vic, I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble with that clutch. Frank, can you leave the Vincent with me for a few days?”

“Sure thing, Cain,” said Frank, giving Cain an appreciative nod.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll give you a call when I fix the front forks. Might need to send for some parts.”

“Dang, son, but you know your way around a bike.”

Cain grinned at the older man. “Been tinkerin’ with ’em for as long as I can remember.”

He waved good-bye to the men, welcoming them back anytime, then turned and headed inside to salvage a few precious minutes with Ginger.

He knocked lightly on the open office door and watched as she looked up at him from the desk, which was now twenty times more organized than it had been that morning. All his bills and receipts had been replaced by a neat stack of folders, and the two laptops sat back to back on the desk, with an office chair pushed into one side and a guest chair pushed into the other.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he said, wiping his greasy hands on his coveralls and stepping into the room. “How’d it go today?”

“Good.” She gestured to the files. “Purchases and receipts categorized and filed.” She pointed to a small pile of pink notes. “Phone messages.” She picked up the laptop before her and turned it to face him. “A simple bookkeepin’ system that Linus helped me download.”

“It looks great in here, Gin. Thanks for gettin’ me organized.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome. I decided to take messages rather than disturb you. Seemed like you had enough work to keep you busy for today.”

“Thanks.”
“And from the look of that pile, I don’t think you’ll be wantin’ for work tomorrow either.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, it’s just about seven. I guess I’ll be goin’.” She pulled her coat from the back of the chair and shrugged it on. “So I’ll see you again on Fri—”

“Hey, um . . .” He put his hands on his hips, feeling a sudden heat warm his cheeks.    “Would you, uh . . . would you want to have dinner with me on Friday? After work?”

“Sure.” She grinned at him. “But won’t your girlfriends be jealous?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, keeping his expression stone cold sober.

“Well, if we’re bein’ honest, you never did have a
proper
girlfriend,” she said lightly, “What you had was a boatload of—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “There’s only one girl I’m interested in right now, Gin. And she’s standin’ in front of me.”

Her eyes widened, and he watched the pulse in her neck spring to life. Her lips parted in surprise, and she searched his face, pressing her palm to her chest.

“Me?”

You stakin’ a claim here?

He nodded. “Ain’t no one else here, princess.”

“Wait. Um.” She cocked her head to the side, her face set somewhere between shocked and confused. “I’m sorry, but Cain . . . are you askin’ me out on a
date
?”

“I don’t know much about datin’, Ginger. But yes,” he said, nodding his head, “you could call it that, I guess.”

“I’m more curious about what
you’d
call it,” she said, lowering her chin and raising her eyebrows.

Sassy.
His heart thundered. His balls tightened.
Damn.

He nailed her with his eyes, unable to keep his lips from twitching into a grin. He rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, staring at her—staring at her the way he would if she was naked on his bed and he had all night long.

“I’d call it a date,” he finally said, his voice gravel.

“Oh,” she murmured, blinking at him. “Huh. I wasn’t, um, I wasn’t . . .”

Shit.
Was she turning him down?
Oh, fuck.
He’d read this situation for shit, and then some.

“You know what? Just, uh, just forget it,” he said, taking a deep breath and trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of disappointment that threatened to flatten him where he stood.

“No, thanks.”

“Right.”

His neck bent forward until he stared at the floor, blinking, wondering where he’d gone so wrong. He’d thought . . . fuck, he’d sort of thought that maybe she was into him too. But he must have misunderstood. She wasn’t interested in him. She just wanted his friendship or comfort or—

“No, thanks. I don’t want to forget it,” she said softly. “I’d . . .”

He jerked his head up, his eyes locking with hers as he held his breath.

“I’d
like
to go out to dinner with you on Friday. I’d like to go on a date with you, Cain.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, exhaling in a rush and running his hand through his bristly hair. He felt his lips tilt up into a relieved smile. “You would?”

She nodded, answering his grin with a sweet one of her own. “I would.”

His chest tightened, aching a little because she looked so clean and soft and pretty standing there behind his desk . . . and because she’d said yes, when he truly thought she was saying no. He held her eyes, smiling at her, wondering if this was how Woodman had felt around Ginger, and understanding—
really
understanding—why Woodman had staked a claim so long ago and clung to it so fiercely.

She licked her lips and raked her teeth across her bottom lip, staring back at him, a goofy smile covering her face and making her eyes sparkle.

Oh, my heart, princess. I ain’t never given it to anyone before, but it’s yours now. It’s all yours.

“All right then.” He gulped. “I guess I’ll see you Friday.”

“It’s a date,” she said, giggling softly, like she couldn’t believe it. She picked up her purse and walked around the desk, stopping beside Cain to lean up on tiptoe and press her sweet lips to his cheek. “Good night, Cain.”

He froze in place, his breath held, his body taut and still. He listened as she passed by him and walked away, heard her car engine start and the sound of her wheels turning out of his driveway. The office still smelled lightly of lemons, his cheek burned like she’d branded him with a poker . . .

. . . and Friday was three long days away.

On Friday Ginger arrived at Cain’s place at noon in a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and sneakers, but out in her Jeep she’d left a black scoop-neck blouse and black boots. As she had on Tuesday, she spent most of the day alone, in the little office, answering the phone and making coffee for the folks waiting on Cain to service their motorcycles. She chatted with many of them as they sat in the guest chairs waiting for him to come and tell them the work was done or how much more time he’d need, and found she enjoyed the company and good-natured small talk. But what she loved the most was that whenever Cain came into the office, he’d cut his eyes to her first, right away, and she came to long for those intimate nanomoments, which quickly became the peak of her whole day.

She’d talked to Gran about Cain after work yesterday, sharing that they had a date set for after work on Friday, and Gran had seemed pleased as punch. Ginger would be just as excited as Gran if an idea stuck in the back of her head wasn’t bothering her so much.

Were she and Cain only bound by grief?

Like most relationships that started under pressure, she worried that it wouldn’t end well in the long run, and losing Cain again was not something her heart would be able to bear.

Three years ago Cain had hurt her, and in response, she’d shifted her attention, if not her romantic affections, to Woodman. After she chose Woodman so soon after declaring her affections to Cain, Cain had come to think of her as fickle, believing that Woodman deserved far better than her. When he’d sought her out at the fire department BBQ that fateful day, their reunion had been full of caustic, biting anger. A few hours later, Woodman had tragically died, and a month after that, Cain had started coming around. Now here they were, going out on a date. And if there had been any confusion about the purpose of the date when he asked, Cain had made it very clear, with a searing-hot expression, that he was interested in her.

But why?

Or rather . . . how?

They’d been archenemies at the BBQ.

Then Woodman died.

All vitriol was suddenly gone.

It was a strange equation, and deep down inside it didn’t add up for Ginger, which worried her. Was the fury they’d both felt truly gone for good? Or was it temporarily gone, to make way for grief? Had they made quick amends only because they’d both lost someone they loved? Because didn’t that mean that when their grief mellowed, the baggage of anger and hurt feelings would resurface? Didn’t they have to deal with the baggage between them at one point or other? If not, how could they possibly move forward?

She didn’t know. But all of it worried her.

At seven o’clock she went to her car and grabbed her bag with her blouse and boots, then headed back into the office, locking the bathroom door and changing. She put on some mascara and lipstick, took her hair from its ponytail and brushed it out until it lay wavy and shiny on her shoulders. When she was ready, she opened the door to find Cain waiting.

“Princess,” he murmured, his eyes scorching a path from her eyes to her lips to her throat to her breasts to her boots and back up again. “You look . . .
beautiful
.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him. Tucked under his arm she saw a rolled-up pair of jeans. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

“Give me a minute or two to change?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ll shut down the computers and forward the phones to voice mail. Meet you in the showroom?”

“Sounds good,” he said, unmoving, his dimples deep and sweet.

Her heart fluttered wildly as he approached the bathroom, closer and closer, until his hip nudged hers. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You look beautiful, princess, but you also look fuckin’
hot
.”

She didn’t know how, but she kept herself from whimpering aloud as he edged past her and closed the bathroom door. Her skin tingled and her heart hammered, and she knew that, if she looked in a mirror, her eyes would be as wide and black as a midnight sky.

“Gin,” he called from the bathroom. “You still frozen in place?”

Her lips parted in surprise, and as quietly as possible, she tiptoed to the desk.
Cocky so-and-so.

“Did you say somethin’?” she called.

She heard him chuckle, a low rumble that made her cheeks flush as she programmed the phone to go to voice mail and shut down the two laptops.

“You’re a bad liar,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and sticking her tongue out at the bathroom door.

He laughed again, and this time she couldn’t help herself—she laughed right along with him. The sound of Cain happy was too infectious to ignore.

He spoke through the bathroom door again. “So I thought I’d drive your car back up to Apple Valley tonight and we’ll get some dinner, and when I take you home, I can stay over at my pop’s.”

Huh. He’d put some thought into this. And she found herself strangely touched that Cain had come up with a plan. She knew he was telling the truth when he said that dating was new for him. He’d screwed around plenty in high school, but she never remembered him having a steady girlfriend. And Woodman had never mentioned him having a girlfriend while he was in the Navy. She wouldn’t lay bets on him
never
having gone out on a proper date in the whole of his life, but she knew it wasn’t commonplace for Cain, which made his efforts for Ginger all the sweeter.

That said, she was absolutely, positively not ready to go out on a date in Apple Valley with Cain Wolfram.

“Umm,” she said. “How about maybe we stay down here in Versailles?”

Silence. Water running for a good thirty seconds. More silence.

“Cain?”

“Why don’t you want to go to Apple Valley?”

She winced. “Woodman and I lived there, Cain. It was, you know, our home. How would it look if—”

The bathroom door swung open, and Cain appeared in the doorway, his eyes black, his gaze hard. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“What?”
she gasped. “What are you—no! No, not at all!”

He grabbed a towel from beside the sink and wiped away the remaining white foam on his freshly shaved jaw. He’d changed from his coveralls to jeans and a white button-down shirt, and he looked so handsome, she wasn’t able to totally squelch her little moan of pleasure this time. But maybe that was a good thing because Cain noticed, and it softened his thunderous expression.

His voice was warmer when he said, “Gin, talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on in your head, baby.”

“I don’t want to be the source of gossip,” she said, leaning back against the desk and crossing her arms over her chest. “No. It’s more than that. I don’t want to . . .” She gulped. “I don’t want to dishonor Woodman’s memory by steppin’ out with his cousin just three months after his passin’.”

Cain’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath, still staring at her, measuring her words. Finally he nodded slowly. “Okay. But if you don’t want to go out with me, why’d you say yes to the date?”

She took a deep breath, hearing the words in her head and gathering the courage to say them aloud.

“I
do
want to go out with you. It doesn’t feel
wrong
to spend time with you,” she said softly, holding his eyes.

He flinched slightly, then softened, throwing the towel back into the bathroom and taking a step toward her.

“But it doesn’t feel totally right either?” he said. “I mean, you’ll only go out with me as long as no one knows? I don’t like that. It feels like a dirty secret or somethin’.”

She lowered her hands and took a step forward, closing the distance between them. As she stood before him, she reached up to palm his smooth cheek with her hand.

“It’s not a dirty secret. It feels right,” she assured him softly. “When it’s just you and me, I promise it feels right, Cain.”

“Then . . .?”

“. . . but it’s also complicated.”

Cain rotated his face so that his lips kissed her hand, then he reached for it, fisted her fingers gently around the kiss, and let go. “I tell you what . . . I’ll take you somewhere that isn’t Apple Valley tonight if we talk about what makes this so complicated. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, following him out of the office but wondering where in the world to begin.

***

She gave him her keys so he could drive, and because he wanted a chance to really talk to her, he decided to take her to his townhouse. For one thing, it was halfway between Versailles and Apple Valley, but for another, he wanted her all to himself, and what better way to ensure that they had privacy and quiet to talk than going to his place?

However, now that they were in the car, Ginger had clammed up. She wasn’t saying much of anything.

“Gin?” he said as they drove away from Wolfram’s Motorcycles. “Tell me why it’s complicated.”

“Where do I even start?”

He shrugged. “Wherever you want.”

“You’re Woodman’s cousin.”

“Yes, I am.”

“It looks bad for me to be datin’ you a few months after he died.” She sighed, turning away from him. “He only died in October. It’s January. And if you and I start datin’, it’ll look like I didn’t really love Woodman.”

“Of course you loved him.”

When five seconds of silence had passed, Cain looked over at Ginger.

She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed, as she stared down at her lap.

“Of course you loved him,” he repeated slowly, staring at her profile.

Her jaw was granite, but she blinked several times.

He pulled over, cutting the engine and turning to look at her.

“Tell me you loved him, Gin,” he murmured.

“Not like I was supposed to,” she finally whispered.

“What does that mean?”

She turned to face him, her eyes swimming, her lips tilted down. “I loved Woodman. He was my best friend, but I . . . I was never . . .” She took a deep breath and held it as she finished, “I was never
in love
with Woodman.”

I was never
in love
with Woodman.

Cain stared at her, letting the words sink in, letting their full meaning unravel. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

She swallowed, looking away from him, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I loved him like a friend. I wasn’t in love with him. Ever.”

“You were goin’ to
marry
him.”

She nodded, a small jerking movement. “I tried to love him like he wanted me to. God, I swear I tried. I wanted to. I wanted to love him just as much as he loved me.” Her voice was hushed and low as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. “But I couldn’t.”

His eyes, unfocused as he stared straight ahead, closed slowly.

“Why not?”

He knew. He knew why. He knew because the same feelings that had survived in her broken heart had also survived in his.

“There was always s-someone else in my heart,” she said, her voice breaking.

He clenched his eyes shut tighter as the implications of her words took root in his head.
My God, is it possible she’s still in love with me? Please.

“And I couldn’t let that someone go,” she sobbed softly. “I wanted to hate him. Christ, I wanted to hate him so badly, and part of me did for a long while. But I couldn’t get him out of my heart no matter how hard I tried.”

“Princess . . .,” Cain whispered into the darkness, opening his eyes and facing her. “Ginger.”

“I know you didn’t want me, Cain. I know you didn’t love me like I loved you, but I—”

“I did, Ginger,” he said. “I
did
want you. I
did
love you. I just—”

“What?”
she gasped, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping open. “What are you
talkin’
about? You called me a bitch. You told me to go. You
left
that night. You—”

“I didn’t leave. I mean,” he gulped. “I did eventually, but not at first—”

“What are you—”

“First I came to tell you that I was wrong.” He winced, his own eyes burning from the terrible and still-vivid memory. “I went to your place to tell you that I didn’t mean what I’d said at the old barn. That I loved you just as much as you loved me. That I had for years. That I was only pushin’ you away because Woodman loved you so much and I didn’t want to hurt him after everythin’ he’d been through. But I loved you, Gin. I did. I swear to God, it’s true. I came after you later that evenin’.” He paused, staring at her stricken face. “Your door was unlocked. When I knocked, it opened. I walked into your house, I climbed up the stairs, down the hall, and—”

“No!” she screamed, putting her hands over her ears. “No! No, no, no!” She stared at him, her eyes wild, tears coursing down her face as her breath came and went in jagged spurts punctuated by broken whimpers. “Stop it! Stop talkin’! Please, stop . . .”