CRAVE: A Small Town Menage Romance (Reckless Falls Book 4) Page 3

  Of course I did.

  This day could definitely go fuck itself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Finn

  In my sleep-deprived delirium, I almost wondered if I had teleported her out of my thoughts and into our back alley. Or maybe I was sleepwalking and this was all a dream?

  How else could I explain why Beatrix was suddenly standing there in front of me after weeks of only seeing her from afar?

  If this was a dream, though, it was quickly turning into a nightmare, because one glance at her and I could see that she was red-faced and pissed off about something. And Jackson, fucking Jackson, was grinning like this was all the funniest shit he'd ever seen.

  Even though we'd talked this out only a few hours ago, I couldn't help but seethe with anger that he'd managed to talk to her first. When he said we'd see what happened, I didn't think it'd be happening so soon.

  He was clearly making the first move.

  But that didn't mean I had to make it easy on him.

  "Hey!" I called out. "Jacky-boy! Quit giving the poor girl shit and get back in here!"

  Jackson started to protest. "We were just talking..."

  "Thanks," Beatrix piped up, interrupting him. Her eyes flashed something that looked like gratitude to me, and I took that moment to treat myself to a nice long look at her up close.

  Her hair was blonde. That was a surprise since from the tinted window I'd always assumed it was a lightish brown. It was cropped to her shoulders, and I could tell she tried to straighten it, because the early morning humidity was already starting to make her curls break free. They surrounded her face like a halo, and I saw bright pink cheeks, and even brighter pink lips. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose and a few more across the tops of her absolutely stunning breasts.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, and pinched my thighs to keep the blood from flowing to my dick. The desire was sudden and overpowering, but it was welcome too. Here I'd thought I was dead from overwork, but apparently, things down there still worked after all.

  "You're from next door, right?" I heard myself say. I was already walking towards her, taking note of the way her eyes were bouncing back and forth warily between me and Jackson. "It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Finn."

  "I—" she seemed to catch herself. "Beatrix. I'm Beatrix. But…" She licked her lips for a second so they showed wet and inviting. "Could you please call me Bee?"

  "Of course," I said. Then I gestured towards Jackson who was shooting me the dirtiest of dirty looks. "I see you've already met this guy..."

  "Your friend," Jackson piped up, making sure I couldn't disavow him if I tried.

  "Right. Jacky was it?" Bee said, extending her hand.

  I hid my smirk behind my hand as Jackson shot me a look that should have killed me dead on the spot. "Jackson," he corrected, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. His eyes flicked briefly — smugly — over to me before he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

  My fists balled at my side. "Bee, was there something you needed help with?" I asked, stepping closer and maybe giving Jackson just the slightest shoulder check. "You can throw that garbage in our dumpster if you need to." I stepped smoothly around Jackson. "I got this, Jacky. You can head back inside."

  Bee looked between me and Jackson. "You've got a nice boss," she observed.

  Jackson gave a short grunting laugh. "I don't have a boss," he said.

  Bee blinked and looked between us. I tried to hold out, but Jackson's eyeballs were burning a hole in the back of my skull. "We're business partners," I finally explained. "I'm the business manager. He's the executive chef."

  "Oh!" Bee's pretty pink lips formed a little 'o' of astonishment. "Wow, a chef huh?"

  "It means chief," Jackson added. "As in, the one in charge."

  "I'm sure she knows what a chef is."

  "I'm not telling her. I'm telling you."

  "That you're in charge?"

  He smirked. "Sometimes you forget."

  "Ha!" I scoffed. "Sure, you're in charge. In charge of the kitchen, that is."

  "Which is the whole reason people come to restaurants in the first place."

  "But there'd be no restaurant without customers," I reminded him.

  Bee was staring at us both like we'd grown horns on our heads. This first impression was going downhill faster than the last time I tried skiing.

  I glared at Jackson for a beat before turning back to Bee with a smile. "Here," I said, moving to her bag. "Let me throw this in for you. It looks heavy.

  "Oh," she gasped, jumping out of my way. "You don't have to," she protested, but I was already tying it back up again. "It's just, you know, my garbage service, they stood me up again. Second time this month." She gave a short little laugh that was both regretful and amused, and all together charming. "I was hoping you guys might have room. Just this once."

  I found myself nodding. "Of course," I said as I tossed it into our dumpster, then brushed my hands across my pants. "There," I told her. My mind was already spinning out several steps ahead. "I can put you in contact with our garbage service," I told her.

  "You don't need to help me, it's okay," Bee said. Her voice was strangely tight.

  I waved my hand. "It's nothing. No trouble at all."

  "Really. I've got it."

  "Finn," Jackson called out. It sounded like a warning, but I was already too far gone. Here it was. A problem I could actually fix. Something I could control. "I'll call them myself," I promised. "Obviously they do a better job, and they probably wouldn't mind doing a pickup, you know, since we're right next door to each other."

  She looked at me wide-eyed. "Hey," she finally said, sucking in a deep breath and holding it. I waited, eager to hear her say it. "Thanks," she finally said.

  A rush of triumph washed through me. "My pleasure," I told her. And I meant it.

  She pulled her bottom lip up under her teeth, dragging it across. I found myself licking my own lips in response. Her lips were so full. Almost like pillows. So plump and pink.

  "Is your store named for you?" Jackson called out, far too loudly.

  I'd almost forgotten he was there.

  "Ah, what now?" Bee asked, turning back to him.

  "Your store. Honey Bee's? Are you the honey or the bee?"

  "Ah, well." Bee looked down, avoiding Jackson's gaze. I allowed myself a little flush of victory. But when she looked back up again, her eyes were shining. A little grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "It's what my grandmother used to call me," she said, a chastened wistfulness in her voice. "Her little honeybee. Because of my name, of course. But also 'cause I love sweets so much." She gestured to her lush curves. "Obviously."

  "Honey Bee," Jackson echoed, musing. "That's really cute."

  "Perfect for a store like that," I added.

  A beautiful, gratifying blush spread across her cheeks. Her eyes darted between from me to Jackson and then back to me again. I didn't like how often she was glancing at him. I wanted her to look at me and me only.

  I bent forward, just a little. Just a test. Bee. I wonder if she'd taste as sweet as her shop smelled?

  She licked her lips. I leaned in closer.

  I was about to find out.

  Then all at once there was a sudden buzzing sound. She stiffened in alarm. "Oh shit! My buns!" she gasped. And turned and grabbed ahold of the fence.

  "Hey, you can use our door!" I called her, but she had already scaled the fence and leaped to the other side, scrambling up the back stairs and into the kitchen in the back of her store. Leaving me standing there with a dumbstruck look on my face, and the lingering scent of honey in the air.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jackson

  "Well, she hates us," Finn announced as he walked back in the door. "So much for seeing where things go."

  I shrugged. "She hates you, maybe."

  "You think so?" He arched a skeptical eyebrow. "I wasn't the one she was shouting at."

  "Nah, she was just blowing o
ff steam. She had a crappy night." I glanced at him and saw his face flicker when he realized she'd told me more about herself than she'd told him. "But you..."

  "What the hell did I do?"

  I turned away from my knife sharpening a little too quickly and had to reach out a steadying hand on the counter. I'd been awake for twenty hours straight at this point and everything had taken on some kind of underwater unreality. "Didn't you hear her when she said she could take care of the trash herself?"

  Finn narrowed his eyes. "She needed help."

  "But she didn't want help."

  "Sure she did. You're just not used to actually, you know, being anything other than a self-absorbed dick." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment. "Sorry," he exhaled. "I'm fucking fried."

  "Me too," I agreed. "We're not going to get anything done like this. Why don't we lock up?”

  Finn's face twitched for a moment. I waited, keeping my mouth shut as he wrestled with the need to sleep versus the need to keep plowing on with our work. He still needed to find a front-end staff.

  As for me back here, of the full staff I needed, I had exactly two sous chefs. There was Kyle, the new general manager who came in twice a week to work on food development with me. We'd met with the local vineyards almost first thing, and our wine list was fleshed out almost to completion, which was at least one thing we could tick off the list. It was a bit harder than what I was used to, but I was determined to use the local stuff. I mean after all, since we were surrounded by vineyards - or so I'd heard anyway - it seemed stupid as hell to stock the French and Italian shit.

  But that was just one piece of a very large, very intricate puzzle and sometimes I wondered if it would end up looking like the picture on the box.

  "Yeah," Finn finally said, holding back a yawn. "We come back fresh at noon. How's that?"

  "Four hours of sleep?" I scoffed. "Man, you are lazy."

  He snorted and started heading towards the front. "Where'd you park?" he called back to me.

  "On the street across the way." I hit the lights and started following him out the door.

  Outside, the light of day seemed almost blinding. So I didn't see that Finn had stopped short until I almost plowed into him.

  "What the fuck?" I said, stumbling over to the side. "You can't just stop in the middle of the sidewalk like that."

  "Do you see that?" Finn asked.

  I looked where he was pointing. "See wha—?"

  And then I noticed it. It was faint and almost unreadable, and she'd clearly tried scrubbing it away. But the words were still legible across the front of Bee's store.

  "Go home?" Finn read. "What the fuck?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Who would do that?" he demanded.

  "Again, I have no idea."

  "That's fucked, look at that, they ruined her window decal!" I could hear the anger in his voice, making it catch in the back of his throat.

  "Now I know why she said it'd been a crappy night," I observed. My own anger was a low hum in the back of my brain. Quickly I turned in a circle. "No one else on the block got hit."

  "Just her?"

  "Seems like it."

  "What the hell?" Finn asked.

  I shook my head. "Somebody's got it out for our neighbor girl?"

  "Who?"

  "Finn, we just met her like an hour ago. We know nothing about her."

  "I know, but..." He was starting to pace.

  "Finn, you can't solve this problem for her," I said, as gently as I could.

  "Yeah but..." He stopped. I could practically see smoke coming out of his ears. "You have to think, if this person is targeting the only shop that's open on the block, maybe," he paused. "Maybe we're going to get targeted when we open? So, don't you think..."

  My lip twitched. I couldn't help it. He was hell bent on making this his problem.

  And me?

  Maybe I didn't mind making it mine too. "We should ask her about it," I said, then went up to her window. "Shit," I said as I peered into the store. "She's not in there."

  "Yeah she had a delivery truck in the back," Finn noted, glancing around the corner. "It's gone now."

  "She does her own deliveries too?" I was liking this girl more than I expected.

  Finn nodded, a dumbstruck sort of grin on his face. "Seems that way." I couldn't help but notice how he wasn't moving towards his car.

  Then again, neither was I.

  "Are you going to—?"

  "You don't have to stay," he said quickly.

  "Bullshit," I declared. "You're not being the only hero here."

  He glared at me. I crossed my arms and smiled back at him. "We haven't slept in nearly a day," he reminded me.

  "Won't take long," I said.

  He blinked. "Fine," he finally sighed. "I'll go get the bucket and soap."

  I nodded and rolled up my sleeves.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bee

  The very first time I was awoken by the sound of a bugle, I nearly fell out of bed.

  But now, it'd become so commonplace, that I just opened my eyes and sighed, staring at the ceiling.

  Blackout curtains weren't enough to filter out the blazing afternoon light. It was warm for May, and the sun was strong. And the sound of Mitzie Jenkins playing Taps out in the middle of my road pierced my ears even as a shaft of sunlight pierced my eyeballs.

  "Fuck," I said aloud, feeling that little giddy thrill that I still got from being allowed to swear. But it wasn't enough to keep my temper from flaring.

  It felt like I'd finished my morning baking and run out to do the delivery yesterday, after Nick, my stoner driver called out sick. Hell, it felt like a week ago with how deeply I'd finally slept once I decided to keep the Closed sign up and come home and pass out.

  But really, all that had happened only this morning. Working nights and sleeping days was playing havoc with my sense of time.

  PRRAAAT PUH PRAAAT PRAT... What Mrs. Jenkins lacked in bugle skills, she made up with in bugle enthusiasm. Burying my head in my pillow couldn't drown out the horrible sounds she was making. It sounded like she was murdering a sheep on my lawn.

  So much for sleep.

  I sighed, and yanked my t-shirt over my head, and shuffled downstairs. I grabbed my hoodie from the rack and wrapped it around myself as I walked out onto my front porch. "Mrs. Jenkins!" I called, waving.

  There in the middle of the street stood my imperious neighbor. She was dressed head to toe in purple, looking like some kind of fortuneteller with her long wavy gray hair caught underneath a wrapped purple turban. This afternoon's caftan of choice was swirled with deep purple and red, and sported long trailing sleeves that fell away from her wrists elegantly as she lifted the bugle back up to her lips.

  "Mrs. Jenkins?" I called again.

  She spotted me, and lifted one finger. Then, closing her eyes she played her mournful notes one more time. Taps was the only song she was good at, and the sorrowful strain echoed down the street. She paused and lifted her chin before closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh.

  I realized all at once that I was standing at attention without even really meaning to, keeping silent until she finally turned around and marched back into her house.

  Ever since I moved back here, to what the locals fondly, or rather not so fondly at all referred to as, "The Ass End," of town, I'd come to realize that not only had I purchased property in Reckless Falls, I'd also purchased free entertainment in the form of my neighbors. Mitzi Jenkins, with her weekly bugle performances in honor of the husband she was rumored to have had murdered, was only one of the daily sources of entertainment. You could be amused, or you could be annoyed, but you would never be bored back here in the strip that ran behind Main Street. This was where the good citizens of Reckless Falls hid away their crazy people, the ones who weren't so picturesque and tourist friendly.

  "Hey Bee!" Mrs. Callahan called out from her porch.

  I turned and waved, happy to know th
at someone knew me here. I'd only lived here a few months. The ink on my divorce papers was barely dry.

  She was sitting out in her nightgown as always, and today it was hiked up a little too high on her thighs. "Nice day, eh?" she said, squinting her face to the sun. "Too bad they ain't opened the beach yet. It's almost warm enough to swim."

  I shook my head. "Mrs. Callahan, it's sixty-five degrees."

  "Baby girl, I'm always hot." As if to illustrate this point, she fanned herself, shaking her nightgown alarmingly.

  I found myself grinning like crazy, imagining myself introducing her to my prim and proper mother. I'd never seen my mother without her lipstick and her pearls, not even when she was sick. Mrs. Callahan didn't give a shit.

  I was trying not to give a shit either.

  "When are you coming by my shop?" I called.

  "Oh baby, remember I told you? Doctor says I need to watch my sugar."

  My face must have fallen a bit, because she quickly added, "Don't worry though. That box you brought by? I brought it over to my church group. They went crazy for 'em." She leaned forward, beckoning me closer. "Your cupcakes are so much better than Carla Claymore's, but you didn't hear me say that, ya hear?" She looked around wildly, as if expecting to see eavesdropping ninjas sent by the owner of the Sweet Shoppe melting back into the trees. "Hers were always too..." she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Dry."

  I nodded, biting back a smile since she was so serious. "The secret is pudding," I declared. Then I grinned. "Now that I've told you though, I'll have to swear you to secrecy."

  She leaned back and dramatically pressed her hand to her ample bosom. "Hand to my heart and may the Lord Jesus strike me down," she declared. "Your secret's safe with me."

  "Good," I grinned, then bit back a yawn. Then I remembered that Zach wasn't around to tell me how much he hated "staring at my molars," and yawned hugely, not bothering to cover it with my hand. It was these little rebellions — the swearing, the yawning, the living in a house with a less than desirable view — that made me feel the most free

  And I liked it back here. It felt realer than anything in my life so far.