Yours to Hold: Ribbon Ridge Book Two (6 page)

He liked happy, but he’d take willing. “That’s great. When?”
How about right now? As it turns out, my day got blown to hell.

“Tonight? I’ll meet you somewhere. Not Ribbon Ridge, though.”

She’d closed her practice here and was avoiding the town. Why? “Okay. How about Hazel?” It was the best restaurant in Newberg—great menu, but casual—and was owned by a friend of his from culinary school. They could camp out at a table in the corner and hang as long as they wanted.

“Sounds good,” she said. “Six?”

“Great. Hey, I’ve been wondering if you found your keys. I still feel really bad about that.”

“My keys . . . yeah, they were in the juniper bushes.”

“I’m glad you found them. Spider-free, I hope.”

She laughed softly. “Someone from maintenance fished them out for me, but yeah, no spiders.” There was a beat of silence. “I need to run. See you tonight.”

Suddenly his day had a decidedly better outlook. He shrugged away the irritation of Dad and Derek’s ambush and thought of spending the evening getting to know Maggie Trent. He hoped she’d maybe spill some information about Alex. Yeah, it might be unethical, but something told him she wanted to share. Perhaps he could ply her with wine. Hazel had a killer cellar.

At the very least, he’d get a second pair of eyes on Alex’s contacts. Hopefully together they’d find something.

Kyle smacked the steering wheel. Hell, he’d have to go back and get Alex’s laptop from his office. No way was he doing that now—he’d stop by later, on his way to the restaurant. Everyone would be gone by five.

Unless Dad and Derek were leaving now, trying to head him off before he did something stupid at the racetrack or the casino. Kyle shook his head, irritated with himself for baiting them. He
was
a gambling addict, and their concerns were valid. Why, then, did they piss him off so much?

M
AGGIE DECIDED TO
walk the four blocks to Hazel. It was located on the main highway through town, and parking would be dicey on a Friday night since it was so popular. The walk also gave her a chance to meditate—or at least practice her version of inner soul-seeking.

Tonight that meant thinking over her last appointment of the day. Doris was a sixty-year-old woman trying to work through her fear of flying so that she could take a trip to Europe. Maggie had only seen her a handful of times, and they’d made great progress. She imagined Doris might be ready to “graduate” after a couple more sessions. The issue, however, lay in Maggie’s engagement. Twice during their fifty minutes, she’d lost track of what Doris had been saying. First, she’d contemplated how to lay out her mother’s flowerbed tomorrow. Then later, she’d thought about tonight’s meeting—it wasn’t a date—with Kyle Archer.

Doris hadn’t picked up on Maggie’s lapses, but that didn’t make it acceptable. Maggie was horrified and had spent the last couple of hours mentally berating herself. What kind of therapist was she?

The shittiest one in the world, according to her dinner date.

No, he was
not
a date.

Her phone rang in her purse, blasting the latest Maroon 5 song. She dug it out of the front pocket, sighed upon seeing her mother’s number, and answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, my little flower bud. Are you still coming tomorrow?”

“Yes, ten, right?”

“Sure, whenever.” Mom prided herself on flexibility. She might show up early, she might be late. She was, however, universally unapologetic. “I think you need to look at my roses, too.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“That black spot thing.”

Maggie frowned. “You’re not using the spray I gave you, are you?”

“Oh, honey, you know I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

Yes, routine is almost impossible for you.
Maggie exhaled. “Should I show Dad how to do it?”

“I don’t know if he has time, but you can ask. Why don’t you text him?”

“I’ll do that. Listen, Mom, I need to go. I’m meeting someone for dinner.” As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back. How stupid was she, opening herself up to twenty questions?

“Do you have a date?” Mom sounded hopeful.

“No. Just meeting a . . . friend.”

“Does this friend have a penis?”

“Mom!”

Mom laughed. She always enjoyed provoking a response, which meant choosing shock-value words, regardless of her audience. After twenty-eight years, Maggie ought to be somewhat immune, but Mom knew exactly which buttons to push to get a rise out of her. “Don’t be a prude.”

“I’m not a prude.”

“Bullshit. You’ve always been a prude.”

If she only knew the kinky stuff Mark had demanded she try . . . Maggie’s flesh started to crawl. Not from those particular memories, but from who Mark really was and how she’d totally missed the warning signs that he was a controlling bastard.

“Mom, I really do need to go.”

“Oh fine, run off with your tail between your legs like you always do.” Mom exhaled in frustration. “Sometimes I’m amazed you actually sprang from my loins.”

“Why, because I speak appropriately in polite company? Or because I think open sexual relationships are a bad idea?” Her parents had a completely open marriage, and by the time Maggie had started middle school, they’d moved into a duplex so that each could inhabit their own private dwelling. It suited them just fine, but for two teenage kids, it had been a nightmare. They’d been careful not to expose Maggie and Rowan to their activities or partners, but Maggie and her brother weren’t stupid. They were also eternally mortified.

“See, you
are
a prude. It’s okay, honey. I love you just the way you are. And some man will, too.” There she went—like Maggie was some charity case.

“I gotta go. See you tomorrow.” Maggie hung up before Mom could say anything else and further batter her self-worth. She stopped on the sidewalk and slipped the phone back into the front of her purse, then dove her fingers into a small inner pocket for her pillbox.

The oval tin was old and had an image of a lily on the top—her grandmother’s favorite flower. It had been a gift when Maggie had started high school. For when she might need to take something for “those inconvenient times of the month.” How she missed Gran, the only sane voice in her upbringing. She’d also possessed a green thumb, which she’d passed on to Maggie. Summers in Gran’s garden were her favorite childhood memories.

Thinking of her paternal grandmother relaxed her whirling nerves. She opened the lid and stared at the Xanax inside. She had been taking it less and less since losing Alex and closing her practice, but talking to her mom was one of the few times that still drove her to pop one. She closed her eyes and inhaled the summer air, catching scents of roses, honeysuckle, and fresh-cut grass.

Did she really want to go over there tomorrow and listen to Mom badger her about her choices?

Why are you a therapist? You’re so much happier in the garden getting your hands dirty
.

If you’d dumped Mark when I told you to, you’d be in a much better place now emotionally. You’re so closed off.

Maggie picked up one of the pills, ready to swallow it down to calm the tumult inside. The worst part of it was that Mom had been right about Mark and maybe was even right about Maggie’s career choice.

Damn it all to hell.

Just then a car pulled onto the street and parked right next to her. Belatedly, she recognized Kyle’s black SUV. She dropped the pill back into the box and stowed it in her purse.

He opened the door and stepped out, his long, tan legs exposed beneath the hem of his khaki shorts. He wore brown leather flip-flops and a white V-neck tee that only accentuated his tan. He looked like he’d stepped out of an ad for Bacardi Rum or maybe a Caribbean cruise. Or out of the pages of
GQ
or
People
. He flashed a smile, which only served to intensify his celebrity good looks. “Hey there.”

Her chest actually constricted because he was so damn attractive. She should’ve taken the stupid Xanax. “Hey yourself.”

“Walking to the restaurant?”

“It isn’t far.” She gestured a block ahead at the highway. Hazel was just to the right.

“And it’s a great summer night.” He pulled a laptop case from the car and tucked it under his arm. “Ready?” He locked the car and turned toward the highway. “I’d offer you my arm, but that’s a little old school, right?”

She couldn’t resist smiling. “Another recommendation from your mom?”

“Yep. Parents are funny, right?” She half choked, half laughed. He looked sideways at her. “You all right?”

“Yes. I was just talking to my mom, in fact.
Funny
isn’t the word I’d use to describe her.”

“What would you use?”

The word came out before she could censor herself: “Strange.”

He laughed, the sound deep and delicious, sliding over her skin like the softest T-shirt after a relaxing hot bath. “That’s a new one. Why is she strange?”

“Oh geez, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” And she didn’t want to tell him. There was a reason Mom had only met Mark five times in three years. As a general rule, Maggie kept Mom sequestered from the rest of her life. It was why she lived over an hour away.

He stopped at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to turn. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

“Okay. Have you ever seen the show
Portlandia
?”

“Of course. I’m from here. It’s the perfect lampooning of Portland’s hipster subculture. I tried to explain to people in Florida that while it’s satire, it isn’t really that far off the mark. They thought I was full of it.” He chuckled.

She nodded in agreement. “Totally. And my mother is living proof that it
is
true. She actually pickles things, shops at a feminist bookstore, and, yes, has even ‘put a bird on it.’ ”

He laughed harder and then stopped when he saw her face. “Oh my God, you’re serious.”

“Serious as hipsters insisting on locally sourced produce.”

He grinned. “That’s sort of awesome. I bet she’s a hoot.”

Maggie couldn’t resist smiling. “Ha, not quite.”

“Maybe I’ll meet her sometime and judge for myself.”

Not even if this actually
was
a date. But it wasn’t, she reminded herself.

The light turned, and his hand grazed her lower back as they stepped into the crosswalk. For just a moment, she imagined what a date with him might be like. They passed a woman who looked him up and down then shot Maggie an envious glance. Oh yes, going on a date with Kyle Archer would be ridiculously fantastic.

He was a complete gentleman. When he wasn’t leaping out of the shadows and scaring her half to death.

He was thoughtful. Even when he was offering to break into her rental house.

He was also dedicated. As evidenced by his commitment to finding out who’d sold his brother drugs.

Yes, Kyle Archer was far too attractive for his own good. Perhaps she ought to focus on the negative things Alex had told her—that he was a bit self-centered, rash, and stubborn as all hell. She supposed the stubborn and the dedicated probably went hand in hand.

They reached the other side of the street, and he guided her to the path that led to the stairs up to the restaurant. When they stepped into the entryway of the old, renovated house, the hostess met them. “Good evening.”

“Hi, Kyle Archer for two.”

She glanced at the iPad mini in her hand. “Welcome. This way.” She led them to a table in the back corner next to a window. “You requested this table, right?”

“Yep, thank you.” He held out one of the chairs and looked at Maggie.
Total gentleman
.

She sat, and he pushed her gently in before taking his chair across the table. He placed his laptop next to his setting.

The hostess set the menus before them. “All the specials are there—we print the menus every day. Can I have your server bring you a cocktail? A glass of wine?”

“How about a bottle of the two thousand eight WillaKenzie Triple Black Slopes?” He looked at Maggie, his brow raised in question. She nodded.

“Excellent choice,” the hostess said. She left them alone, and Maggie perused the menu.

“What’s good?” She looked up at him. “You’re the chef.”

“You’re asking my professional opinion?”

“Of course.”

He looked over the menu. “I haven’t actually eaten here yet, but since I know the chef from culinary school, I have a good idea of what he’ll make. I’m sure the beet salad is amazing, but maybe you don’t like pickled things given your disdain for
Portlandia
.”

She laughed. “I actually love that show, but it’s sometimes a little too close to home for my comfort.”

“The hand-cut potato chips are also fantastic, and the onion dip that comes with it is about as close to a sex-free orgasm as you can get.”

His words heated her in places she didn’t want to think about when she was on a not-date with him. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had one of those.”

He winked at her. “Then we’ll definitely need the onion dip.”

Their server arrived with the wine. “Hi, I’m Whitney. Andy said this bottle’s on the house.” She cut the foil and pierced the cork with the corkscrew.

Maggie looked at Kyle as Whitney opened the wine. “Is Andy your friend?”

Kyle nodded. “This is his restaurant.”

Maggie glanced around at the rustic décor and the cabinet stocked with what was probably only a portion of the wine collection. “It’s great.” She’d eaten here a few times but only for lunch.

Whitney splashed a few swallows of pinot noir into a balloon glass in front of Kyle. He picked it up and swirled it, inspecting it as it moved around the glass. Then he inhaled the scent, and finally, he took a sip. “Perfect.”

Whitney smiled, then filled Maggie’s glass and added to Kyle’s. “Can I get anything started for you?”

“The onion dip, please,” Kyle said.

“Great choice.” The server left again.

Maggie looked down at her menu. “What about dinner? I can’t decide. It all looks good.”

“I’d go with the scallops. Or the duck.” He looked over at her. “Or maybe the risotto if you’re vegetarian.”