Courtship of the Cake (35 page)

TIME TRAVEL

The smell of cedar was everywhere.

I pushed my face into the crook of my arm, eyes streaming, as I threw my essentials into my backpack. Avoiding the glass shards from the bottle as I moved as swiftly as I could.

“You're running. Again.”

Mick filled the doorway. Trapping me between the lie that had brought me here, and the truth that was spurring me to move on. The look on his face told me he had gleaned much more insight into the reasons why Nash came home from having stuck around out there by the trailer. Sometimes actions spoke louder than words. And I knew Quinn and Nash had broken through the barrier of their gentle sins; the healing had begun.

Like the essential oil, my own sins had been stowed in the dark, in their own fragile vessel. I had assumed if I stored them properly, they—like the cedar oil—could've stayed indefinitely, preserved untouched. Forgotten.

But my feelings for Mick had shattered me.

He had permeated my entire being.

“I can't let you go.” Within seconds, he met me in the center of the room. Just like he had in the ballroom of Posy's reception. No masks to hide behind this time. “I don't want to lose you again. Dani . . .” He reached for me, pressing me into his strong arms. Like dancing with him under the whisper dome, even the quietest of words carried. “I love you.”

I inhaled what I could of him, that comforting sweetness. I needed it to linger; I needed it to last with me.

There was something I had been skirting around that I needed to go through.

“Then you need to trust that I will come back.” I stroked my promises into his hair, down his back, and kissed his temple as he bowed to me. “I love you, Mick. Oh, God. I love you. But I've got my own denial, my own darkroom to deal with.”

Those eyes of his were still powerful truth serum. I knew—I hoped—I'd be able to tell him everything, someday. But first I had to be honest with myself.

He squeezed them tight, and gave the smallest nod before releasing me.

I didn't turn to see if he had opened them, I couldn't.

I just had to have faith and go.

•   •   •

“China Doll.”

Nash stepped out from behind my van. Reaching it had been my prize; I had promised I wouldn't break down until I reached it. But hearing Nash call me by that nickname he had given me just shattered me.

“I'm sorry,” I said, shaking my head and trembling in his arms. “I can't help you anymore, Nash. Not until I help myself.” I pulled his ring from my pocket and pushed it into his hand.

“Shhh.” He touched my hair gently, and leaned down until I looked
him in the eye. “It's okay. You have helped tremendously. I just told Quinn everything. About my illness. About why I needed Logan's birth certificate. She's agreed to the genetic testing for this marker. She . . .” He smiled the most humble smile I had ever seen him crack. “She wants the Tin Man after all.”

He kissed my forehead.

“You and Spencer, huh?” He gestured back to the darkroom trailer. “I saw Quinn's photographic evidence. I don't know how I missed the chemistry myself. I guess I was too busy, and too afraid to admit it. Funny, China Doll. I thought you were the only thing in my life that I didn't have to beg, borrow, or steal.” He brought my hands to his lips. “But really, you were only mine to keep for a short time. I've got Logan now. I've got . . . real family. I'm not afraid to let you go now.”

And with that, he set me free.

GOING WITHOUT

Dani was gone. But not forgotten.

My time spent with her was a powerful memory that kept pushing me forward.

Quinn came into the bakery with a bombshell redhead. I hadn't been over to the Half Acre in a while, but I knew this must be Laney. In town for three days to get her marriage license. I had promised to save her a wedge o' wedding cake.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “It is the Night Kitchen. Just like the book! And you. You're Mick.” Her eyes channeled warmth and sympathy. I couldn't find my voice just yet. I couldn't bring myself to ask.

“I remember that book,” Quinn blurted. “My God, Mick. I don't know why I never made that connection. The nanny used to read it to me.”

“No,” I told her. “That was my mom. She was a maid there and she would read it to both of us. It's okay to remember, Quinn.”

Sindy bustled out from the back, wiping her hands. “Quinn's mother gave you that book when you were born, Mick. I remember
that, clear as day.” She smiled a faraway smile at the both of us. “Sofia would bring it to work and read it to the children. Laney darling, let me show you some of Mick's amazing cake samples.”

Quinn turned, looking at me as if it were the first time she laid eyes on me. “My dad fired her. But my mother didn't want her to leave. Do you think—?”

“I honestly don't know,” I admitted. “At one time I thought maybe your dad . . .” I shook my head. “Maybe it had been wishful thinking.” Just like those rare moments when Nash's dad would make us Scott's Special. Even a once-in-a-while dad was better than no dad at all.

Let's play a game, Mickey. Let's pretend we live in the Night Kitchen. Time to get to sleep so you can get baking.

My mother had turned my favorite book into my favorite game. But the game always ended too soon, when I would fall asleep. I remembered waking once, in the middle of the night. The moon was full and friendly, and I crept down to the kitchen in my footie pajamas. Maybe there was magic in the world, and maybe I really did live in the Night Kitchen. Wouldn't that be great?

An eerie light like no other had lured me into our tiny galley kitchen. There, standing in front of the open refrigerator door, was a man. Tall and dark-haired, naked except for a pair of boxers, he chugged from the jug of milk I used for my cereal in the morning. He must've caught sight of me from the corner of his eye, because it widened, but he didn't lower the jug until he took two or three more fluid swallows. I watched, in a trance, as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

“Sorry, kid. You caught me in the act.” The jug went back into the fridge, and the fantastical light disappeared as he let the fridge door shut. With a tousle to my hair, he padded back to my mother's bedroom without looking back.

They fought, and he left. I never got to ask him—or her—if he was my father. Or if he was just one in the long string of men my mother loved and made leave by the morning. Trying to shield me from
whatever loneliness she was trying to chase away. I hadn't understood any of it until much later, after she was gone.

I didn't understand myself, until after Dani came along—and after she left.

My own string of conquests—all the women, all the impossible situations—came from my fear and unwillingness to be hurt further. I had to love 'em and leave 'em . . . before they could leave—or tell me to leave—first.

Except for Dani. When she had asked me to stay the night, to be with her, I had refused. I had refused because I couldn't bear running the risk of being kicked out in the morning, as another regret. Being asked to take the back service stairs.

I don't know who you are, or where you came from, but you'd better know exactly what you want, and what it's worth to you, okay?

Dani's sister's words continued to echo through me, throughout the entire time. As did the memory of the girl who got away.

I knew who I was now, and where I came from. And Dani was all I wanted. And she was worth the wait.

•   •   •

Dani's friends fit right in at the Half Acre. Laney would go round for round with Bear and Nash in music trivia by the light of the fire pit, and she and Logan created strips of kooky comics over the breakfasts I continued to serve. Noah helped Quinn create new websites for both the inn and for her photography business, and he pimped the entire place to the gills with high-powered Wi-Fi.

When their three-day waiting period had passed, they shyly approached Quinn and me and asked us to be their witnesses. They wanted no fanfare, no guests. Just a quick union . . . and a wedge of wedding cake after.

Dani wasn't coming to be their witness after all.

DREDGING THE PAST

Jax was standing on the porch of his grandparents' Montauk estate, watching as I pulled up the steep drive. God only knows how long he'd been there, waiting under the weathered shingles. He'd traded in his car salesmen khakis for a pair of worn blue jeans, and a Central Bluff High School T-shirt that had clearly seen better years. I was out of the van in an instant and zigzagging up the maze of stairs, fingers barely skimming the white railings, on my way to him. The frayed collar of his shirt was soft against my lips as he hugged me to him and whispered his thanks.

“I'm so sorry, Jax. I should've been here sooner . . . I should've been here for you.”

“Shhh, you are now. You are.”

“Where is everyone?” The house had a sort of relieved silence to it, the beach-worn boards of its porch sagging slightly like an exhausted hostess who finally had a chance to sit down after all the party guests had gone home. There had been no other cars in the driveway, save for Mean Mistress Mustard.

“Nice ride. Dani James behind the wheel. Watch out!” Just the feeble attempt at a joke seemed to exhaust Jax. His fingers clutched at the back of my shirt as he used my embrace as a buoy to keep himself upright. “They're reading the will today, in the city. I didn't want to be there.”

He broke away from me and went to lean on the railing, focusing on the ocean. I understood why he had stayed behind. No matter what verdict those papers contained, this was the real view his grandmother had, the beauty of and love for the ocean—and her family—that had surrounded her, all these years. Worst-case scenario, at least he would have this serene and unspoiled moment, and memory. A calm before whatever storms threatened to come this way.

“She'll always love you, Jax.”

“I know,” he replied quietly. His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh that he sent out to sea. Turning to me, he gave a slight smile. “Come inside with me?”

It was a question, but one I couldn't bring myself to say yes or no to. Actions had to speak louder than the words.

I had been avoiding it my entire adult life. It was time to go through it, not around it.

•   •   •

Cedar was known to reduce stress and anxiety for some people, but the sharp smell hit my nose and placed my system on high alert before it even hit my memory triggers. There was no escaping it again as I led Jax through the hidden door behind the bookcase.

“Right there”—I gestured, where the ceiling slanted to its lowest point in the windowless room. I shivered, noting the cashmere blankets perfectly folded on the cedar shelves above. I remembered slowly shucking off my dress and waiting. He'd kicked off his pants but had left his tie and dress shirt on, buttons scraping my bare belly as he pushed me to the floor and climbed on top of me. “He'd laid a bunch
of blankets down. I was . . . I was buzzing on the rum and Coke and smitten by the boy with the rosy cheeks and the blue tie.” I laid my hand on Jax's chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart and conjuring up the vision of him that day for the both of us.

“But . . .” His strong, dark brow wrinkled. “. . . but I had already taken off my tie. Earlier.”

“I know,” I said quietly. Realization had dawned on me when my young lover had gazed down with cold, heavy-lidded eyes as he brought me to my gasping peak. But my raging teenage hormones continued to rule and betray me; I had been powerless to respond with anything but a quivering moan, bucking under his touch before my oversight and orgasm flooded me with guilt and regret.

“You didn't choose the wrong brother! You were tricked.”

I'd let my mind float up to the tiny point where the walls met the ceiling, had let Dex finish, rough and quick. No sound but his panting. His breath and hatred for me searing hot against my turned cheek.

“He raped you, Dani.”

I had taken the memory and the emotions, squeezed them up as small as I could, and pushed them through that pinhole in the wood where the walls met. And I had run away, and hadn't stopped running from them since. Refusing to let any lover get too close, lest he sand down the surface and allow those memories to permeate and repel him . . . just like pungent cedar itself.

But as I stood there, being held in the comforting arms of my friend, I realized that time had mellowed the rigid wood and its scent had diminished. The planks above us had shrunk with age and separated from each other; their cracks were now too wide to contain what I had hidden all these years.

And I knew I no longer wanted those secrets hanging over my head.

I pulled a cashmere blanket down off the shelf and contemplated it.

“Dani, we don't—”

“Yes. I want to.”

Jax took the blanket from me with shaking hands, smoothed it across the floor and we settled in, talking our way out of the haze of that day. Finishing each other's sentences, filling in the blanks when the other fell short on courage and memory. Holding nothing back.

“Dex had been sneaking alcohol for years, while I had been the pious holdout. His tolerance level must've been much higher than mine by that day. Although God only knows what the ratio of rum to Coke had been in the glass he mixed for me, and maybe for you. But he knew exactly what he was doing. He'd told me to down it, ‘for courage,' he'd said, before leaving me alone with you. And I did, remember?”

I nodded, recalling the loopy, tingling feeling in my stomach when Jax had set down the empty glass and took my hand, rubbing his thumb across my palm. “I remember you looked like you were going to kiss me, but then you mumbled something and stumbled out of the room.”

“My head was spinning and all the events of the day were catching up with me. And I had this, this . . . God, this gorgeous creature.” He pushed a wayward curl from falling against my tear-stained cheek. “As if sent to me from above, you'd wound your way in between the gravestones to be with me and . . . and then suddenly I had you all to myself. And I was too drunk. I was going to blow it. I remember, I made it to the bathroom just in time and threw up.”

“While Dex must've gone into the room you shared, swapped his red tie for your blue one, and made his way back to me.” I recalled how he'd dimmed the lights on the way back into the attic rec room. He'd told me to follow him, there was a secret room where we could keep drinking and not get busted by the adults.

“I woke up with groove marks on my face from where I had passed out cold on the ceramic tile. And you were gone.”

I'd hitched a ride to the train, made the concert, and hadn't breathed a word about what had happened. I had no more reason to revisit the event than summer folks had reason to visit our deserted
beach town come fall. The Davenport boys had been an anomaly. Until they became townies themselves, enrolling at our high school after their parents' exodus from the city.

“You never told anyone? Not even Laney, or Posy? What about your parents?”

I shook my head. “And become one of their textbook case studies? Hell, no.” I snorted. “I was so ashamed, Jax. We were so well-adjusted, we bordered on dysfunctional.”

Shame for what had happened led to secrets, which led to more shame, and my feelings of unworthiness. And so I had used reason and rationalization to rob myself of any hope of romantic feelings for Jax. I wove my way into his life as an indispensible, platonic friend instead, because I couldn't bear—or dare—to consider any alternative. He had a steady string of dates at the ready, anyway, from the first day of school onward. I wasn't his type. He was too good for me. And I made sure I was too wild for him.

But I wasn't wild. Latching myself onto a wild spirit like Nash—trying to make myself indispensible once again—had shown me my real properties. Grounded. Steady. And allowing myself to fall for Mick had let me take that a step further—I was worthy. I was capable of loving, and of being loved. Of committing myself to the very possibility.

Not such an insane coincidence after all.

And I had dreamed of it—of him—the night he placed that silly slice of cake under my pillow. It had scared the hell out of me, but I was no longer scared anymore.

“This house was built by Stanford White; do you know about him?” Jax asked. I shook my head. “He was a genius architect. Famous for building homes for the area's most elite clients. But most of his professional accomplishments were overshadowed by his sensational murder. Shot in the face by a jealous husband. White had apparently ravaged the man's showgirl wife years back, when she was just sixteen.” His fist balled, his face a changing tempest of fury and anguish. “I could kill Dex for what he did to you.”

I felt faint. “No. It's over, Jax. Forget it.”

“It's never over, Dani. You will always be the tear that hangs inside me. On my soul. Forever.” Jax was a wordsmith, but I knew the words were not original to him; they came from the soundtrack of that day, from the album we'd been listening to as he had been on the cusp of kissing me.

I leaned in now and placed my mouth ever so sweetly on his waiting lips. A sob rose deep within me but tamped itself down into a relieved sigh as his tongue found mine in a gentle stroke. I felt him shudder under my touch, my fingertips playing lightly down his temple and wiping away the tears mingling on both of our cheeks. He broke the kiss with a nip at my bottom lip, reluctantly pulling away as the shake of his head mirrored my own.

Maybe there had been a moment in time when and where we could've been right for each other. But the moment was gone.

“I wouldn't trade our friendship, or your happiness, for anything,” he breathed.

He walked me to my van. “I told you this old girl would get you to where you needed to go.”

He had been right, of course. It had brought me to Nash.

Who had brought me home to Mick.

Home. I was ready to go back.

“Are you sure? What about the will? I don't want you to be alone.”

He smiled and squeezed my hand. “I'm not. I've got a blank doc on my computer waiting. And when I write ‘the end' to this one, I'm going to finally cash in my rain check on that massage from you.”

“You'd better.”