Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (16 page)

Regan tapped a finger against her lips, the polish picked away. “Think he’d do it?”

“Ran into him at the grocery and he said he wasn’t teaching until fall. He’s working on some research paper.”

Regan pushed off the wall. Energy replaced her moment of vulnerability, but she seemed injected with a “fake it until you make it” vigor. “I’ll text you later.”

“All right,” Monroe said to Regan’s back, worrying over her in more ways than one.

Another peek at Cade wouldn’t hurt. She poked her head around the corner and startled two ladies. All three of them let out gasps.

“Goodness me, you scared me, Monroe.” Ms. Leora’s voice wavered. A tremor had affected her hands and voice in recent years, making simple tasks more difficult for her. Her health was one thing that had drawn her nephew Nash home. Although she seemed as sweet as a can of pie filling, the woman cut an intimidating swath through Cottonbloom, Mississippi, society.

The lady with her, Ms. Effie, was Louisiana born and Ms. Leora’s opposite. Ms. Effie’s twinkling eyes, red hair, and penchant for Jane Fonda–era leg warmers and white high-tops were in direct contrast to Ms. Leora’s sensible shoes and the Sunday dresses she wore every day of the week.

What they had in common was the Quilting Bee. Ms. Leora was the unofficial leader of a quilting circle. They were the old guard, the protectors of all things genteel and ladylike. Although their power was fading, those ladies held sway over the town, and Monroe always wondered what sort of gossip and seditious talk the old ladies got up to while stitching quilts for the needy.

“How’re you ladies doing?” Monroe asked.

“I talked Leora into trying an iced coffee. So the world might be ending in a few minutes if you want to hang around.” Ms. Effie’s voice was full of teasing laughter.

“Coffee should be hot and tea iced. You’re as bad as Nash, wanting to drink hot tea.” The harrumphing quality of Ms. Leora’s voice was tempered by a small hovering smile. She looked over Monroe’s shoulder. “Did I see Delmar Fournette loitering in our streets?”

“He headed out for a spot of fishing, I believe.”

“Sounds about right,” Ms. Leora said tartly. “I hope Regan plans to finish the gazebo soon. It’s an eyesore at the moment.”

“She’s looking for someone to finish it up.” No need to mention Ms. Leora’s nephew Nash was on the very short list of contenders. The Quilting Bee ladies were a vocal group and, to Monroe’s surprise, hadn’t thrown their support behind or against the festival. “What do you ladies think about the tomato festival Regan’s planning?”

“It’s exciting. To think we might get in
Heart of Dixie
. That’s a big-time magazine right there. In all the doctors’ offices.” Ms. Effie’s enthusiasm was infectious. To everyone but Ms. Leora.

“Cottonbloom is fine the way it is. I don’t relish the crowds and noise and wild abandonment that the festival will bring.”

“Wild abandonment? Cottonbloom isn’t hosting an orgy.” Ms. Effie laughed and elbowed Ms. Leora’s arm. “Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. It’ll be fun.”

“Good gracious, Effie. Such coarse talk.” Ms. Leora rolled her eyes but linked her arm through Ms. Effie’s. “Well, come on; let’s get this over with. Afternoon, Monroe.”

Monroe murmured polite farewells as the ladies headed toward the coffee shop, their heads close. She stayed planted against the bricks like moss until the ladies were out of sight. Then, like the pathetic stalker she was, she peeked back around the corner, but Cade was gone, the wall half-painted and sad-looking.

Chapter Eleven

Cade pulled up to Tally’s gym and followed a clump of high-school-aged girls through the front door. They veered toward the ladies’ changing room like a school of fish. He propped his hip on the front desk and caught his sister’s twinkling eyes.

“When Monroe told me you had agreed to be her real-life practice dummy, I didn’t believe her.” Tally looked ready to dissolve into laughter. A rare sight these days, Cade realized with a flutter of unease.

“How about we substitute ‘volunteer’ for ‘dummy.’”

Her laughter bubbled out and the sound was so contagious, Cade smiled in spite of the reservations about his sudden altruism. The girls swarmed out of the changing room together, chattering. Kayla wasn’t part of their number.

“I almost called and canceled,” he said.

“Why didn’t you?”

Monroe swept through the door full of apologies for being late. “Had to work in too many clients this afternoon. Seems like half of Cottonbloom has had some joint or other replaced this week. So sorry. I’m ready, though. Are you excited, Cade?”

Seeing the way her smile lit up her face was the reason he hadn’t canceled. No way was he admitting that to Tally. “Extremely excited.”

Monroe dropped her duffel behind the counter and bounded up to the girls waiting on the mat, clapping her hands and doling out hugs. Add the way her short shorts and tight workout tank hugged her curves while emphasizing her strength to the list of reasons why he hadn’t canceled. And the way her ponytail brushed across her shoulder blades, wispy pieces of hair framing her face.

But it was mostly her smile. It seemed to produce its own gravitational pull. He slipped around the desk.

Tally punched his arm on the way by. “You sly dog. I knew you were going to mark your territory sooner or later.”

“Shut it, Tally. You want to help me get the pads on?”

Tally strapped pads on his arms and legs and over his chest. Feeling a couple of miles beyond ridiculous, he walked up to the cluster of girls and tried his best to sound jovial and non-threatening. “I hope y’all are going to go easy on me.”

Although they differed in height and hair color and weight, they seemed one entity, laughing nervously, none of them making eye contact with him. He smoothed a hand down his beard. To them, he was a creepy old man trying to lure them into his carpeted van down by the river.

Monroe clapped her hands twice. The girls’ giggling faded into silence as they each took a seat on the mat. “Girls, this is Cade, Miss Tallulah’s brother. He’s going to make our sessions a little more realistic. Amelia, why don’t you get us started.”

A girl around the same height as Monroe but with frizzy red hair and a dozen constellations of freckles shuffled in front of Monroe. Amelia was spindly in the way young girls were, still a couple of years away from filling out.

Monroe stood behind her and whispered in her ear before stepping away. “All right, Cade.”

He side-eyed Monroe with a hint of exasperation. “What should I do?”

“Grab her wrist. Try to pull her toward you like you’re forcing her somewhere.”

Great. Exactly like the creepy man by the river.
Knowing this was important to her, he grabbed Amelia’s arm and tugged her. The girl’s eyes widened and she didn’t fight his backward pull, bumping into his padded chest.

Monroe got close. “Think, Amelia. This is basic stuff. What have you learned about breaking an attacker’s grip?”

The girl came to life. Before he could react, she had twisted her arm out of his hand and punched him in the chest with enough force to knock him back a step. Amelia walked back into the fold of girls as they cheered.

“Yes.” Monroe paced in front of them and fist-pumped. “That was awesome. Who’s next?”

Throughout the lesson, Monroe kept up a constant stream of encouragement as well as checking on his knee and hand. The session was surprisingly vigorous but not painful, and the hour passed quickly.

The girls headed to the changing room as a group of kickboxers took over the mat. Tally strolled over, fitting a microphone over her ear and tucking the sound pack into the waistband of her shorts.

“Great job, Cade.”

“Thanks, Sis.” He threw a padded arm around her and hauled her in for a half hug. She pushed him off the mat with a small laugh.

He stripped the padding off and took the water Monroe offered him. “I didn’t see Kayla.”

“Nope.” A frown replaced her smile. “She hasn’t returned my texts. I think she’s mad at me.”

“Mad? After what you did? My guess is she’s embarrassed.”

“You think?”

“Put yourself in her place. I remember Tally at seventeen. Forget sugar and spice and everything nice; she was tears and angst and melodrama.”

“Maybe I’ll ride out to her house later. I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you dinner for helping out?”

He hesitated. Their kisses had unleashed a muddy, confusing flood of emotions in him. She’d wanted him. But why? Women usually pursued him because he was rich. The excitement of his lifestyle drew others. Monroe didn’t seem to care about either. None of the others had ever really known him—he didn’t allow that sort of intimacy.

Monroe had been a good girl ’Sip, and he’d been the troublemaking swamp rat. Was she satisfying her own curiosity about him? Acting out a fantasy, maybe? She knew he wasn’t sticking around.

Her kiss had been a plea to be claimed. He could have gotten her naked. He could have satisfied his pent-up sexual frustration. But it would have broken some unspoken bond of trust between them. It would have hurt her. That he couldn’t do, and that’s what scared him. Monroe was different. Special.

He hid his inner turmoil behind a bland expression he’d perfected during negotiations. “Sure. What were you thinking?”

“How about the pizza place over on my side? It’s laid-back. You don’t need to change.” She pulled a T-shirt over her workout clothes.

He followed her across the river in his truck, found parking down the street, and marveled at the revitalization taking place in downtown Cottonbloom, Mississippi. He reached the front of the pizza place a few seconds before Monroe and opened the door, gesturing her through. She grabbed a free booth and he slid in across from her. For a weeknight, the restaurant was doing steady business. The tables were half-filled and several people walked in to collect to-go orders.

“I’m impressed with the changes. Things were looking worn and run-down when I left.”

“Things got worse before they got better. Regan has done a bang-up job encouraging new businesses to take root. I know the festival is a sore point, but she really cares about this town.”

“I figured she ran for mayor for the attention and prestige. Kind of like a pageant for grown-ups.”

Monroe’s laugh made his insides feel warm. “Prestige? The only perk she receives is free coffee down at Glenda’s and a seat in the lead convertible for the Christmas parade. Otherwise, it’s mostly fielding complaints.”

The waitress plopped two waters with lemon wedges on the table and pulled out an order pad. A frisson of something had him wiping his hands down his shorts. Surely it wasn’t nerves? He hadn’t been nervous for years. Hanging from a cliff face and leaping into the unknown were adrenaline rushes. Negotiating a million-dollar deal? Exciting. How could something as mundane as eating pizza with Monroe incite nerves?

They’d never eaten together. Never been on a date. Their meetings had been illicit. Cade remembered something. Something simple, yet the knowledge calmed the rush.

“You still like pizza with everything on it except onions?”

Her smile turned his insides from warm into gooey. “I sure do. I can’t believe you remember that.”

The waitress jotted down their order and disappeared. Cade propped his elbows on the table and poked his lemon wedge into his water. “Sawyer looks like crap. Being commissioner must be just as stressful as mayor.”

“Probably even more so. Sawyer has the entire parish to handle, and there are different issues on that side. Harder issues in most ways. He and Regan had done a good job ignoring each other until they both entered the festival competition.”

“I have the feeling me being home has only added to his troubles.” He ran a hand down his beard and scratched at the stubble on his neck.

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe ’cause he threw a hissy fit worthy of a
Housewives of Cottonbloom
reality show when I moved Daddy’s truck to the garage to fix it up.”

He glanced out the window. The truck was nothing special. Not old enough to be considered a collector’s item, it looked downright decrepit next to the vehicles from the last decade parked around it.

A couple of springs were poking through the upholstery, the headliner was hanging down in one corner, and the AC still wasn’t working. Cade didn’t care. Seeing it slowly disintegrate had driven a spike through his heart. He hadn’t been able to save his parents, but he could damn well save his daddy’s truck. Sitting behind the wheel brought him a comfort he hadn’t felt in forever.

“Isn’t it technically Sawyer’s truck? Did you ask if he wanted to help you fix it up?” She cut her clear blue eyes back to him and leaned onto her elbows.

“I’m the one that drove that truck, kept it running, so I could work. So he could finish high school, play baseball, go to college. He never offered to help me back then.” The bitterness that ran from his heart to his mouth shocked him. Disgusted him. He had made sure Sawyer hadn’t had to deal with the hardship he faced on a daily basis. He swallowed and looked out the window. “I didn’t mean that.”

The warmth of her hand came over his, their fingers weaving naturally. Her touch provided a solace he didn’t realize he needed until she offered it. “It’s okay to be mad at the cards you were dealt, but you made something of yourself. Made it out of here.”

Made it out.
Forced out. Driven out. She didn’t need to know that.

He had never felt normal. Like Monroe, he’d questioned whether he was capable of real love. The kind that made a man want to sacrifice everything to protect his woman. He was afraid he’d used it all up on his brother and sister. His heart bounced around his chest, trying to communicate in Morse code.

A familiar figure came down the sidewalk, the setting sun glinting off the highlights in his hair. Andrew Tarwater pushed the front door open and stepped straight to their booth. The look on his face would sour milk.

“Monroe?” Her name was accusatory. She snatched her hand away, her oversize T-shirt falling off one shoulder.