The House on Hancock Hill (19 page)

W
ITH
ONLY
one week to go till Easter, chocolate eggs, hares, bells, and baby animals were flying over the counter faster than I could keep up with. Behind me, Alice closed the shop to clean the counters and floors—a routine as familiar to her as it was to me by now—while I carefully painted the inside of the molds that would make a fifteen-inch Easter bunny. Dark chocolate for the body, milk chocolate where the ears, eyes, and paws would be, white chocolate for the two front teeth and the fluffy tail. Clipping the mold together, I poured in the tempered dark chocolate, emptied it out, waited for it to set, and repeated this four times.

The bunny I’d made three days ago had sold this morning. I’d put a price on it for form, not expecting anyone to actually buy the huge beast. I’d designed it as a seasonal decoration for the front window, nothing more. Since I’d stocked up on small Easter eggs with praline filling, hollow eggs with small balls of colored sugar inside, half-black, half-white eggs, and the ever popular mini-bunnies the day before, I had time to do this now. I was glad Alice left around nine without saying good-bye. It was draining work with no room for mistakes, the most nerve-wracking part being removing the chocolate from the mold. While I waited for the chocolate to set one final time, I quickly made some marzipan balls and nearly tipped over the can of cacao when someone knocked on the door.

Since the bakery had closed two hours ago, I considered not going inside the shop to check who it was, but the knock came again. I couldn’t remember any other time anyone had tried to get in at this hour, so I stuck my head through the kitchen door. A man was pressing a hand to the window and peering in. I didn’t need to turn on the light to see who it was. That build—those strong shoulders and narrow waist, sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. An exquisitely tailored three-piece suit.

It was Tom.

If he hadn’t spotted me then, I’d have hidden in the kitchen and waited for him to leave. Swallowing hard, I wiped my hands on a clean towel, snatched off my chef’s hat, and quickly looked down. There was chocolate on my apron, a smear of marzipan on my sleeve. I had butter under my nails.

Well, he’d arrived unannounced, he’d have to take it or leave it. I unlocked the door and stepped back, pulling it open. On the threshold, Tom smiled at me in a way that used to make my heart swell.

“My God, Jason.” Tom said nothing else, and I couldn’t help it: it thrilled me to see him look at me like that.

“Tom.” I faltered. What could I say? Good to see you? I wasn’t sure it was. He grinned at me, and it was so familiar, it ached somewhere inside me even after all these years.

“I sent you an e-mail a couple of days ago to say I was in town, but I gather from the look on your face you didn’t get it.”

“It’s been really busy.” With an apologetic little wave, I indicated the yellow and green Easter decorations, the chocolate ducklings arranged in a row according to size, the huge halved chocolate eggs filled with smaller sugar eggs.

“Well that’s great,” he said, smiling a warm, white-toothed smile. “I’m pleased. Is this a really bad time? I’d love to take a look around your bakery.”

“I—yeah, sure.” I stepped aside and let him in, locking the door again so no one else could wander in. At the back of the shop, I flicked the lights on and then watched Tom look around.

To see him here was surreal. He was part of a life that had been over for so long, I didn’t know if I was comfortable with him in my bakery.

Who was I kidding? Of course I wasn’t comfortable. Tom looked like he’d walked off the front cover of Forbes magazine, and I probably had flour in my hair. To be fair, he peered around with real interest. When he spotted the marzipan animals in every color imaginable, I thought he was going to press his face to the display window like a kid. Tom didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but I remember marzipan being his Achilles’ heel.

“Those look amazing,” he said on cue, and I laughed. “Did you make all this yourself?”

“I do the confections and Alice does the bread.” Tom beamed at me, and I rolled my eyes. “Yes, you can try one.” I stepped behind the counter and plucked a little pink piglet off the tray, handing it over with a smirk.

“Thanks, Jason. I’ll pay you.”

“No need. Go on, try it.”

Tom bit off the nose. For some reason I knew he’d do that. “Mmmm,” he went, closing his eyes and making a dramatic blissful face. “Oh my God.” He ate the rest of the piglet and licked his fingers. “That article wasn’t lying.”

I frowned at him and took off my stained apron, draping it over the cash register. “What article?”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Tom explored the rest of the display. “Just something I read awhile back. I can’t remember where, but it’s how I found out you owned your own bakery. Oh.” He straightened. “It was about opening a second one in Detroit and how it was quickly becoming a household name or something.” I hadn’t read the article, but I couldn’t say it didn’t please me to hear it. “Who was it that opened the other one? Denny Sherwood or something?”

“Sheridan. Denny Sheridan. Sherwood is the name of the bakery.”

“Right, of course.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Got to be tough to have a long distance thing going.”

Laughing at the badly hidden snooping, I said, “He’s married with two kids.”

Tom headed back my way and grinned at me with an open affection I wasn’t used to from him. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t give you a hug. Can I hug you, or are you still allergic to affection?”

A sudden lump rammed its way into my throat when I thought about how I’d kissed Henry in front of his clinic, visible to all and sundry. I shoved the image away. “I guess not.” It was still awkward to hug him. Maybe because it’d been so long since I’d seen Tom, and he’d just appeared out of nowhere. Or maybe I was forever going to be unable to adjust to holding someone shorter.

“You look good,” Tom said, and I let him go.

“You too.”

After a silence that had me look away first, Tom said, “Is there anywhere we can get dinner at this hour, or does everything close at eight?” He laughed, but for some reason his attitude grated on me. Traverse City wasn’t
that
small.

“I’m actually in the middle of making a chocolate Easter bunny. I can’t leave it overnight.”

“Can I watch?”

That was the last thing I wanted, but I didn’t know how to say it without being rude, and I doubted very much the request would’ve bothered me if it had come from Henry. “Okay. Yeah, sure.”

The Easter bunny broke in two when I took it out of the mold. Tom was perched on the clean worktable behind me, and he laughed. It took me a good minute before I could turn around without showing moisture in my eyes. Tom slid off the counter and put his hands on my arms, rubbing them up and down, so I probably hadn’t hidden my dismay very well.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me take you to dinner.”

“I’ll go grab my coat.” I went into the small office. It had a little mirror behind the door, and I quickly checked my hair. It did have flour in it. Ah well, at least the scar on my chin was slowly beginning to fade.

A
N
I
TALIAN
restaurant was still serving by the marina even though the menu was severely reduced because of the late hour. Tom’s small scoff had set my teeth on edge. It would only enforce his opinion on how small Traverse City was compared to Boston. We both ordered spaghetti, which was delicious, while I struggled for things to say.
What are you doing here
seemed like an impolite way to put it, so I asked, “What brings you to Traverse City?”

“Big case.” He waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “Large company discriminating. I’m here to look into the financials of one of their branches.”

“So, you’re still living in Boston?”

Tom nodded. “I never left.” He put his fork down and regarded me with his lovely eyes. They were like two large jewels, shifting from jet black to dark indigo depending on how the light struck them. Thick, dark eyelashes curled lushly away from them, casting shadows on his high cheekbones. Almost girlish, his eyes were, but the strong, aquiline nose immediately rectified that impression, as did his angular chin.

“I never expected you to move back here, you know. When we broke up, I never thought I’d….” Tom looked down, straightened his napkin, and all of a sudden I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to hear it. Completely unaware of my discomfort, he continued. “I never thought I’d lose you so completely.”

The silence rang hollow around us. There were no other patrons apart from a woman and a man by the bar. The waiters were winding down for the night.

To fill the abyss widening between us, I made myself say, “It was a long time ago.”

“It was,” Tom agreed, and he gave me a watery smile. “I don’t think I ever told you how sorry I was. Am. About what happened.”

I disliked the way he’d said
happened
, as if he’d had no control over it. “It hardly matters anymore now, Tom.” Why was he doing this?

“Still.” He reached across the table and put his hand over mine. “I knew immediately I’d made a terrible mistake. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“Fuck,
don’t
.” The outburst surprised both of us, and while I really wanted to apologize for it, I couldn’t stop the words that came out. “You never seemed to regret it during the entire year you were sleeping with someone else.” I slid my hand from under his.

Tom sat up a little straighter, like I’d surprised him by bringing it up.

“You were gone for four months of that year,” he said, which was true. I’d been in Europe all that time, but I couldn’t help remembering my only misstep had been one kiss with a French guy that I’d confessed to Tom in a waterfall of guilt, while he’d told me nothing about the relationship he was having—and had kept having—behind my back.

“I know,” I conceded, because it
had
been a long time ago, and I wasn’t going to fight about it eight years later. “We should get going; they probably want to close.”

T
HE
MARINA
was beautifully lit, and since it was a rare warm evening for the end of March, we strolled alongside the water. “Are you seeing anyone?” Tom asked out of the blue, and I stopped walking. A step ahead of me, he stopped too and turned.

“Tom, I—”

Hurrying back, he put a hand on my arm and squeezed it through my coat. “I know,” he said quickly. “It’s been a long time, and it’s a bad idea. I know everything you’re going to say, because I’ve been thinking it all through dinner. But the truth is, seeing you again….” Tom ducked his head. “I can’t explain it. But I know I want you. And I think you want me back.”

He was right. I did feel attracted to him still. For the years it had lasted, we’d been good together. And he was undeniably handsome. To have him standing there under the soft yellow lighting with the water lapping at the shore to our right, telling me he wanted me, was stroking my ego if nothing else.

As the night folded around us, traffic quieting in the distance, I felt my resolve weaken. “I can’t start a relationship right now.”

“I’d be lying if I told you I wouldn’t hope for more, but I appreciate that. I do. You’re here with a successful business, and I’d never ask you to give it up.”

Seriously? After a few hours? I managed not to laugh, but only just. “Not that I would.”

“And I wouldn’t give up my job either,” Tom hurried on. So what was he asking? Uncharitably, I thought he was using his lawyer-ingrained reverse psychology tricks to make sure I wouldn’t expect him to marry me in the morning. I was being unkind, and I tuned back into what he was saying. “… know it’s not feasible right now, but you never know where life will take you.”

It was like he’d slapped me in the face, and I had to blink against the sting in my eyes. “This is a bad idea,” I said and turned. Tom tugged me back, fisted his hands in my coat, and stood on his toes to kiss me. I could’ve compared it to kissing Henry, but that way only lay heartache, so I closed my eyes, thought of nothing but the lips on mine, and let him in.

T
WO
HOURS
later, I opened my eyes to a nondescript ceiling turned gray by the moonlight spilling through the open curtains. I’d followed Tom in my car to his hotel because I needed to be able to leave whenever I wanted to. And I didn’t think I could deal with Tom in my apartment. I didn’t think I could deal with anyone in my apartment right now.

“What’s this from?” I startled as he rubbed his thumb over the scar on my chin. It tickled, so I turned my face away.

“I was in a car accident.”

Tom jolted upright. “What?” I could see the horror on his face as he leaned up on one elbow to look at me. “When was this? Are you all right?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He made a dismissive noise, and there was that character trait I’d never liked. Tom could be impatient and a little malicious if he didn’t immediately get what he wanted. Good attributes for a lawyer, I was sure.

“You know what I mean. What happened?”

“I had to go to the Upper Peninsula,” I explained, and told him all about the Ford Focus in the blizzard.

“My God, you should’ve sued the rental car company. Why didn’t you call me?”

I snorted. Calling Tom couldn’t have been further from my mind back then when I’d first laid eyes on Henry, but I wasn’t cruel enough to tell him that. “You’re not even that kind of lawyer.”

He ignored that. “Why did you have to go up there?”

“The farm burned down.” Tom made the contemptuous face I was expecting. And just like that, it was time for me to leave. I didn’t want to feel the ghost of his touch on my skin. I didn’t want to ache from how I’d breached his body and fucked him long and hard from behind. And I certainly didn’t want to think about how good it had been, how familiar. “Anyway, I had to go up there and sort things out but ended up driving through a blizzard. I skidded off the road. It wasn’t a big deal.” It had been at the time, but I didn’t feel like sharing anything else with him. I sat up. “I should get going.”