Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie (24 page)

“Well, I understand more now why Dylan is protective of you. He might want you to own your special skills, but after being up close and personal with what happens when you have them, it's natural he wants to make sure you're protected while you do. And the more we get to know you, the more we'll be able to take care of you, too, if it happens when he's not around.” Kit lifted a hand when Honey started to respond. “I know you don't want us to take care of you, but—”

“No, I wasn't going to say that. I mean, I don't want you to have to do anything. But . . . I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little freaked out wondering what will happen when I have one in public. It's just a matter of time. I do pretty well at maintaining my personal space and it's been truly wonderful that you all have respected that. But stuff happens, visions happen. I've had three since I've been here, and he's been there for all of them. So—”

“So, he wants to take care of you.” Kit smiled. “I say, let him. Men like to feel like they're taking care of their own, you know? And we want to take care of them right back. Nothing wrong with that.”

“You know, you make a lot of sense.”

Kit's smile grew wider. “I'm scary like that.”

Honey laughed. “It is a little scary, to be honest. I'm looking at things from such wildly new perspectives. Bea tried to tell me, I guess, but with my limited experiences, I couldn't begin to dream of how things could be. I have a good imagination when it comes to creating fanciful creatures, but not so good when it comes to imagining an equally fantastical world where people might actually accept me, weird crap and all.”

“Well, if you've been made to feel like an outsider your whole life, it's kind of understandable that you wouldn't be wildly enthusiastic about reaching out to anyone else. I think it's amazing you even tried. You just have to tell us what we can do to make it easier, and we will. Not that we won't screw up.” Kit leaned in closer. “And not that there won't be a few who totally won't get it. But they'll be easier to deal with when you have a posse of folks who do.”

“My own posse, huh?” Honey grinned. “I kind of like the sound of that.”

“I do apologize for grilling you,” Kit said. “When I first got here and started seeing Morgan—who was like the black sheep of the island because of his family—I got subjected to the same thing. I hadn't dated in like, forever, and he was part of the family who'd ruined my business, so . . . I had questions, too. It was complicated.”

Honey's eyes widened. “Wow. I didn't know that part.”

“Well, he wasn't personally part of it, but it took some sorting out. Have you met Lilly yet?”

“That's his little niece, right? So sad about his brother and Lilly's mom, but really amazing and wonderful that he's taken on raising her.”

“She's resilient and wonderful, and well—you'll love her, everyone does. Not that I'm biased or anything.” Kit's smile was bright.

Honey thought Lilly was a very fortunate little girl indeed, because she clearly had two people who loved her very much.

“I can't wait for her to see your work, by the way. Alva said something about how you may be teaching classes? If you're thinking of having any clay building type things for children, or maybe children-adult combo classes, sign the two of us up right now.”

Honey blinked. “I can see why Lani hired you to launch Babycakes. I'll keep that in mind, about the adult-child classes.”

“Perfect! Well, anyway, I'm just trying to warn you. Sugarberry and the people on it . . . we're like the Borg. We'll assimilate you. Lani says it's like living inside the best group hug ever, and I haven't heard it described better than that. And, well . . . who doesn't need that kind of support, right?”

“Right,” Honey said, slightly dazed and more than a little dazzled at the same time.

“Great! So, tomorrow night. Cupcake Club. Be there.” Kit pointed at Honey. “And you're baking this time.”

“I almost burned down the bookstore today just making breakfast. I really don't think you want me to—”

“Yes. We do.” Kit started to reach out, take Honey by the hands, then remembered and smiled as she lifted her hands, palms out. “We want you to, okay? Any of it, all of it.” She leaned in and lowered her voice slightly, even though they were the only two people in the shop. “And if you don't feel like talking about Dylan, that's fine. For now.” Her blue eyes sparkled. “Instead, you can just tell us all about how this vision thing works.”

“Oh, you really don't want to—”

“Yes, we do. Really.”

Kit had cut her off again, and Honey began to see how she'd run an entire family empire single-handedly.

“Like it or not, Honey, you're one of us now.” Kit grinned. “Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

Honey was still smiling as she left the shop and headed back across the alley to the bookstore. She should probably stop thinking about it as the bookstore, she realized, and that had her shaking her head.

“What's so funny, sugar?”

She looked up to find Dylan leaning against his pickup truck. She was surprised she didn't trip over her own feet . . . or drool all over them.

Wearing black jeans and a blue polo shirt, he was freshly shaven. His hair, still a little damp, curled over his ears and against his neck. His lips quirked in that way they did, right before that sexy-as-sin grin slid across his handsome face.

Even though she'd anticipated it, it still gave her knees a bit of a wobble, and made her heart skip a beat.

“I was just realizing that I should probably stop thinking about the bookstore as the bookstore, and that led me to thinking about Sugarberry and books. I can't decide if I'm Alice, and have fallen down the rabbit hole, or heading to Oz on the yellow brick road.”

“I'm afraid to ask what that would make me, in either scenario.”

She stopped walking just in front of him and let her satchel slide down her arm so she could set it by her feet. “You're the Tin Man.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You think I'm heartless?”

She smiled up at him. “No, silly. I think you're the one who thought he didn't have a heart, when it was right there, bigger than life, inside you all along.”

He did that thing where his gaze went from casual and flirty to intense and probing. Or maybe it was always probing, but the flirty part distracted her. She felt heat climb in her cheeks, thinking perhaps she'd said too much or hit a sore spot. “I'm sorry, that was out of line. I don't even know—”

“You know me, Honey.” He said it quietly, watching her from those steady gray eyes of his. “Better than you realize.”

She smiled briefly. “Yeah? Well . . . ditto.”

“You ready for dinner, Dorothy?”

“Oh, I'm not Dorothy.” Her smile came back stronger. “I'm the Cowardly Lion, wishing for courage.”

“Then we're more alike than we realized.” He uncrossed his ankles and pushed away from the truck, so he stood right in her personal space. “Because I think you're one of the most courageous people I know.”

Her heart beat an unsteady tattoo inside her chest and butterflies danced in her stomach. Unsettling feelings . . . and rather thrilling at the same time . . . because no one had ever looked at her the way this man did. “Fool's courage, maybe. You're talking to someone who essentially hid in a barn for the past eight years.”

“You're not hiding now.”

“Only because my poor, deceased seventy-two year old aunt made it her dying request. A woman who had more courage in her pinky finger than I have in my whole body.”

“Whatever gets us taking that first step isn't the point. Taking the step is.”

“Was that how you felt when you took over the family business? Or did you always know that was your path?”

“I didn't know much of anything when I was younger, except not to count on anything. Or anyone. I knew I was really good at fixing things. And so was my grandfather, so there was comfort in knowing I'd inherited that trait, but with it came the fear of what else I might have inherited.”

Her heart clutched a little. “Dylan—”

“At first, the business was more refuge than path. Maybe something like your carving and sculpting. Your barn was my family repair shop. And, later, my sailboat.” He kept his gaze straight on hers.

“You don't have to tell me—”

“Yeah, sugar. I do. You need to know who it is you're involved with.”

Her heart pounded a vibrating thrum. “Are we? Getting involved?”

She thought he'd tease her with that sexy grin, but he remained more serious, more straightforward. “I think we already are.”

“Dylan—”

“If I'm wrong about that, sugar, now's the time to tell me. And don't make it about the bookstore, or your car, or—”

It was her turn to get serious. “We may be involved, but we're still getting to know each other, so I'm going to pretend you didn't just insinuate that I'd ever get involved with you—or anyone—as payment for services rendered.”

“No, that wasn't—” He broke off, swore under his breath. “I'm no good at this, Honey.”

“At what?”

“I'm good at fixing things, but figuring out relationships . . . they don't come with a user's manual.”

“No, they don't. And I'm hardly an expert, given my history.” She paused, let them both gather their thoughts for a moment, then said, “Maybe we can just figure one of them out. This one. Together.”

She thought she saw a little tension ease out of his stance, and only then did she realize . . . he was nervous! He was worried . . . about her? That she'd what? Turn him down? Say no thank-you to him?

She grinned, which made him scowl, which made her grin wider. “I think we understand each other maybe too well. But, like you said, we just have to make sure we don't get in our own way.”

“What do you mean?”

“We're cave dwellers, you and me. You by nature and me more from necessity, but still, we don't generally stick our heads out much. And here we are, sticking out a whole lot more than that. So, I think, if we want to be . . . involved, as you say . . . then maybe when we want to pull our heads in and hide we should realize that's when we're supposed to do the exact opposite. At least with each other. Talk through it, stumble through it, whatever. Just, make sure we say something, and say what we know is true, and not just what would make it easier.”

“Great advice, but I'm not sure I follow.”

“When you started to falter just now, you wanted to make sure I didn't say I was interested in you because you've all but given me an entire building on loan or because you're holding my only means of transportation hostage as a way of getting us to spend time together. If I go with what I know about you, I know you just wanted to give me room to feel I could be honest about what I wanted to happen with us. You didn't want me to worry about any of that if my answer wasn't the one you wanted to hear.”

“That's exactly what I meant.”

“But it was easier for me to take offense and assume you were questioning my moral character, because that helps me keep my guard up. I've had a lot of practice keeping that guard up, so I'm more comfortable there. So, when I feel like tucking in and taking the worst possible slant on something . . . that's when I need to take two seconds and remember who it is I'm talking to and who is talking to me. And remember that I can always talk to you. You're the first person, really, I've felt comfortable enough to say anything to.”

For the first time, his lips twitched. “A point you've made abundantly clear.”

“Okay, maybe I have given you a hard time,” she said dryly, “but I can also talk to you about stuff that I'd only ever felt comfortable talking to Bea about, and that was because she understood. She was family. You . . . I just met you.”

“You can trust me, Honey.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I mean, I really do know that. Do you know that? That you can trust me, too?”

“I wanted to talk to you about my past, my family . . . maybe some part of it was like you said, shoving it out there as a way to gauge things, make you duck and run if that's what you're going to do, but sooner rather than later. I don't generally need to tell anyone about that time. The past is just that, for me. It's no longer relevant—which is why I know we're involved. It might be relevant to you, so it matters to me that you know about it.”

“If you think I should know, then tell me. I do want to know you, Dylan, but not so I can cut and run. I want to know you because you matter. And your past is part of you.”

He smiled then, but it didn't quite reach his beautifully wise eyes. “At least you'll know who—what—you're dealing with. If it changes things, then it changes things.”

She understood how hard it was for him to lower those walls. He wanted to, and that was big for her, but he was still hedging his bets. “The first time I had a vision here, it was a whopper. If anything was going to put you off, that would have done it. Instead, you shocked me by asking about it, talking about it almost casually. You were more worried if I was okay, than whether or not my head was going to keep spinning around. No one ever did that. Ever. No one looked past the spinning head to the person who was being spun. Until you.

“And then, this last time, when I spontaneously jumped into your arms that first day in the bookstore—
my
store,” she corrected, smiling briefly. “And it triggered another episode, your first instinct was to hold on tight, to be there, to encourage me, calm me. You didn't let go. You knew what to do, or you followed your instincts, and that ended up being the same thing, because your instinct was to worry about me first, and what was happening to me second. That helped me. You have no idea how much.”