Riptides (Lengths) (2 page)

THREE

“I still say you should’ve gone with camo print.” I hold a fine example of understated forest camo up in my left hand and some bolder urban camo in my right. “Camo vests
at least
. Something like that not only says you’re ready to hunt and provide for your bride, but also, that you’re classy as shit.”

Cohen shakes his head and laughs. “Maren would have my ass if I showed up in anything like that.”

“Maren already
owns
your ass,” his best friend, Deo, says, clapping him on the back. “And now she’s about to make it legal. Say goodbye to freedom in all forms, my friend.”

“You’re one to talk.” I finish buttoning my shirt, cuff my sleeves, and glance up at the wall that’s covered with a mirror. The four of us—— me, Cohen, Deo and my brother-in-law Adam——all look ridiculous. “No woman would ever have me wearing paisley, bro.”

“Whatever you say, dude.” Cohen grabs me by both shoulders and shakes me back and forth. “Maybe you just haven’t met any women worth wearing paisley for.”

I keep my smirk out of his sight line and think about Jess, the way she moves, the way she laughs, the way she’s like this secret I haven’t been able to unlock. Yet. “Hey, bro, you think Maren will mind if I bring a plus-one after all?”

Cohen slowly glances up from the pocket square he is trying——and failing——to fold like the one the mannequin sports. “Who?”

“Does it matter?” I ask, suddenly defensive though I have no clue why. “I’d like to bring a date.”

Cohen gives me this look like he wants to shoot me down, then he closes his eyes and sighs. “She better not be a stripper, dude. That’s all I’m going to say. This is my wedding.”

“She’s not a stripper,” I say. Cohen gives a laugh, but it’s a cautious one. Fine——it’s well-earned caution. I throw my hands up. “That was
one
time, and I didn’t know she stripped.”

Deo throws his head back in a laugh that echoes through the whole store. Asshole. “Man, she said she danced for a living, did she not? What’d you think that meant? That she taught ballet?”

“This one…this girl is different,” I try to explain without really giving anything up. I don’t mean to come off like a sap. That’s so not my bag, but dammit I can’t help it where Jess is concerned. I’ve only known her a little over a month, but she’s different than anyone I’ve ever been with.

I’ve been looking for every damn excuse I can come up with to see this girl every chance I get. And inviting her to my brother’s wedding seems like a perfect idea.

“Someone from school?” Adam asks likes he’s trying to solve an equation. Always the scientist. “I thought I saw you talking to a girl on campus the other day.”

I shake my head.

“As long as it’s not my sister, I don’t care who it is.” Deo’s voice has a lethal edge to it, but he’s been around since before I can remember, and his bark doesn’t scare me one bit.

“Hold up. Is Hattie in town?” I joke, raising an eyebrow that gets me punched in the arm. “Nah, man. Her name is Jess.”

“Short for Jessica?” Deo asks.

“Yep,” I say with a small nod, liking the way her full name feels even more intimate than her nickname when it flows off my lips.

“I’ve got a soft spot for girls with abbreviated names,” Deo says, looking at my conservative-as-shit brother and vouching for me the way he always does, no matter how many times I’ve left him listening to Cohen’s “I told you so” speeches. “I say this girl is legit.”

“Great, the Deo stamp of approval,” Cohen says, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But no Beckett tradition at my reception. This is a classy joint, and I had to put up a ton of dough on the security deposit.  I’m not losing that money because you had to christen every room, E.”

“Promise,” I lie. I’ve seen what happens to relationships after taking part in a little wedding reception nookie. Deo and Whit, Cohen and Maren. They couldn’t be happier.

I want that. Even though it’s new between Jess and I, dammit I want that with her so badly. 

FOUR

I stand outside the small bakery kicking my shoe into the dirt like a little kid nervous on his first day of school. It’s not much of a place from the outside, just a tiny structure with an exterior that begs for a fresh coat of paint and a roof that could use some work. But based on those salted caramels Jess fed me last week, I’d say nothing short of magic goes on inside. The woman is a goddess, no doubt about it.

And even if she didn’t have killer legs and a smile that has me literally eating out of the palm of her hand, I’d still come around just for a taste of that sweet, sweet candy.

The bad news is that Jess had asked me not to come by her bakery the week we met. The good news it, I suck at following directions, so here I am, standing outside about to push through that door anyway. I may be going against what she asked——something about mixing pleasure and creative energy: which, if you ask me, sounds like a perfect combination——but Jess said no-go. She wanted me and her place of business on different wavelengths.

I can respect that idea. Sort of. But I know better than anyone that what sounds good isn’t always what feels right, and I think that’s a lesson Jess might love to learn with me.

I brought flowers, hoping that will help keep her from kicking me out on sight. Daylilies. She mentioned they were her favorite, and lucky for me, Marigold was in Baja yesterday and picked up some amazing orange and red ones that remind me of fire.

Besides, Jess gave me the “different wavelengths” lecture a few weeks ago. We were supposed to meet up earlier and she didn’t show and now she’s not answering her phone, so what the hell did she want me to do? Of course I’m going to show up here.

I push open the front door and a little bell jingles above me.

“Jess?” I call.

No answer.

The place is neat as hell, all stainless steel countertops and light grey walls with pictures of pink iced cakes and purple flowered cupcakes in thick black frames. The couple of chairs set around don’t match in form, but they’ve all been painted the same high gloss black, and the wood floors are pickled a pale gray, like the walls. A few funky glass chandeliers hang here and there, adding to the light from the big picture windows out front. Not only can she cook: the girl clearly has a good eye. I have no doubt she’ll be leaving this tiny bakery behind and moving on up in no time.

“Jess?” I call again, aware of how vivid the bouquet is next to all the muted colors in the bakery. The petals look almost violent. Blood-red.

My heart starts to pound. I walk past the counter, calling her name, trying to beat back my panic and actually look around. It doesn’t seem like anything went down here. The old fashioned cash box is still in place on the counter. The displays are untouched, the glass case intact. There are no footprints in the flour that dusts the floor. I head back to the baking section, filled with industrial ovens and huge marble worktops.

I scan the floors, yank open the deep freezer and even the oven doors looking for…I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just know what I don’t want to find: Jess hurt, Jess upset…

“Jess!” I yell and she rushes in through a back door, cigarette in her hand, scowl on her face.

“Enzo Rodriguez, did you open that goddamn oven door?” Her dark eyes are bright with fury like I’ve never seen, and I’m half scared she’s going to blaze up and do some serious harm.

“Where the hell were you?” I demand, tossing the bouquet on the cool white marble. I walk a few steps closer, but she’s shaking her head. She flicks the cigarette outside and marches past me to the oven, which she opens gently. She peeks inside, puts her hand to her chest, and sighs.

“Thank God.” She pushes her dark bangs back off her forehead, leaving a stripe of flour over her eyebrow and blows out a long breath.

I approach her again, but she flips on me, her spine rigid, her teeth bared. “What the hell, Enzo?” she snaps. “That’s a soufflé. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make one? Do you have any clue how screwed I’d be if that one didn’t take? I
told you
to stay the hell away from here!”

“Why’d you stand me up?” I growl back, trying to reach for her. She spins out of my grasp and yanks the bouquet off the counter. For a second her hand is poised over the garbage can, but she hesitates,
and then brings the flowers up to her nose. She inhales deeply. “Lilies.”

“They don’t smell that good,” I warn. “But the color made me think of you.”

“The color?” She runs a fingertip over the open petals. “Why?”

I want to tug her in my arms and say the words close to her ear, but I hang back. “Because it’s like fire. Vibrant. Gorgeous. Hot. Like you.”

She closes her eyes, and I love the way her lashes cast these long shadows on her cheeks. “They smell like my grandmother’s house. I stayed with her every summer, and we planted lilies under my bedroom window. I smelled them first thing every morning.” She pulls the bouquet to her chest, lost in thought. “I loved them until the summer I was fifteen. I snuck out, and Grandma caught me because of all the trampled lilies under my window.”

“I thought you were a good girl,” I say with a grin, walking toward her.

Her face looks stricken, like I slapped her. She rushes to the other side of the kitchen and sets the flowers in a glass pitcher.

“The flowers are beautiful, Enzo, but you really can’t be here. I have so much work to do. I’m sorry about this morning. I should have called you. I meant to. I had two last minute orders and time just got away from me.”

She points to an elaborate three-tiered cake with what looks like gold ferns painted on the delicate white frosting. Next to it are three large plates of cookies that are shaped like princesses from the Disney movies my sisters watched as kids and more I don’t know, all with little pearls and bows on their dresses and individual eyelashes——details I doubt any kid will truly appreciate.

“You did all this this morning?” I walk over and inspect her work, and it’s even more amazing close up. The details I thought were impressive from a few feet away are way more intricate, more incredibly done than I imagined possible considering she’s working with food. I look at her hands, at those fingers that are so delicate, and I feel an attraction so overpowering, I can’t keep it bottled up.

“The cake is for a bride who’s getting married tomorrow and her baker broke her arm in three places this morning. The cookies are for a little girl whose mother was in tears after trying to get them right for hours.” She walks over, grabs me by the wrist, and brings me to a garbage can. When she opens the lid, a whole pile of monstrous looking zombie princesses leer up at me with oozy icing eyes and bleeding candy mouths.

I shudder and jump back. “Holy shit! Now I know how the Disney princesses would look after the zombie apocalypse.”

“Now you know why I couldn’t call you. When the mother showed me the Pinterest picture her daughter pointed out and then showed me a picture of her little girl…I had zero time to pick up the phone. I had to fix things for that kid.” Jess’s smile is lopsided, like she can’t decide if she should commit to it.

I turn her and force her to walk back until she’s pressed against the stainless steel door of an industrial fridge. I cage my arms around her and lean close, breathing in the smell of vanilla and sugar.

“You smell like a cookie.” I lean close to her neck and breathe deep at the spot where her soft, dark hair is pulled up in a bandana. “You smell like a cookie and green apples.”

“My shampoo,” she says, the word shaky on her deep pink lips. She turns her head to the side, and I don’t know if it’s to give me better access to her soft skin or to keep me from going further. “Enzo. No.”

I push back off the wall, letting my hand catch hers before she can pull back. “What is it, Jess? Some days it’s like you and I can’t get enough of each other. I love when my phone buzzes in the middle of the night, and I know I get to hear you before I fall back to sleep. I know you think about me. Us. This. But then you pull back. It’s been this way for weeks, and it’s giving me whiplash, doll.”

She starts to tug her hand away, and I’m willing to let her go if that’s what she needs, but her thumb works over my wrist and she closes her hand around mine so tight, her fingernails pinch at my skin.

“Enzo…it’s so damn complicated.” She runs her fingers up to her temples and squeezes her eyes shut.

I
chuckle. "Baby, you’re overthinking this. You and me? We just make sense. Who knows why, and who cares? It’s been like that from that first night. I get going slow. If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do. But I feel like you want more. And I want to give you that.”

Her dark eyes are still shut, and I see a tear squeeze out one corner. She swipes at it blindly with the back of her wrist, then throws her hand out and winds up grabbing the end of my belt, tugging me closer by the leather. She wraps her arms around me and nuzzles her face into my chest. “Enzo, I feel like I could tell you anything, like you understand me better than anyone else ever has.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” I run my hand over her silky hair, dusted with flour and sweaty at the scalp from this overheated kitchen. “You gotta know this has nothing to do with me wanting to get into your pants. I mean, I do. But not just for some thrill. Not just for some stupid conquest. I want…you.”

She chokes back a sob that I hope is from pent up emotion, but something about this feels sad. I can’t put my finger on why, but the shape of her, the press of her body against mine has this desperate feel, like she’s caught in a riptide and trying to decide if she should cling to me and go where I go or swim like mad back to shore.

I want her to cling to me. I want it badly.

I lean down to kiss her lips, wet from the tears that streak down her face, but a loud buzz shocks us both.

“The soufflé,” she murmurs, ducking out of my arms and running across the kitchen. She opens the oven door slowly. She slides the soufflé out and sets it gently on the counter, then picks up her phone and sends a text. When she looks at me, her dark eyes are serious. “Enzo, I have a customer coming in ten minutes. You need to stay back here. Don’t make a sound. Don’t come out front. Just stay here. Do you understand?”

I salute. “Yes ma’am.”

Her face goes paper white and she pinches her lips together. She rubs a hand over her face, smearing some of her mascara and rubbing more mascara around her eyes. “Enzo,” she whimpers, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Hey.” I walk over to her, reach a hand up and wipe a stray tear away. When my cuff is damp, I use it to blot the mascara from under her eyes. “Hey, listen to me, okay? I won’t come here if you don’t want me to. I thought I’d surprise you. I thought it would be good. If it’s not, it’s not.”

The breath she drags in is so deep, it makes her shoulders bob up and down. “It’s not that…it’s not about what I want. I can’t think like that. I can’t…”

The chime above the door sounds. Jess’s eyes fly open and she presses her fingers over my lips, hard. Her mouth comes right next to my ear and the feel of her breath against my neck makes my blood go hot and spicy. “Shh.”

She calls out, “I’ll be out in one second, Destiny!” Without looking my way, she eases the soufflé into a large box, closes the lid carefully, and makes her way to the front counter.

I keep my promise not to go out there, but when I hear the sharp sound of the other woman’s voice, I can’t help eavesdropping.

“Some fancy dessert?” the other woman——Destiny——asks in a voice that clearly shows her disdain.

“It’s the least I could do. I mean…I hope everyone enjoys. It’s a chocolate
soufflé. I was afraid it wouldn’t set in time, but——”

Jess’s shaky voice is interrupted by Destiny’s snort. “Please. Stop it. You know damn well sending in some
cake
isn’t enough. We need
you.
I know it’s uncomfortable right now, but grow up and do what you need to do, Jess. Did you know Deidre’s husband is at the VA hospital recovering? It was an IED, and, luckily, he’s going to heal and be just fine. Well, physically. He watched that young guy from South Dakota, the one we all called the Cowboy? He watched him bleed out the neck. Has night terrors so bad, Deidre had to lock herself in the baby’s room while he wrecked their bedroom in some kind of sleep rage.”

I hear Jess’s strangled moan, and she murmurs something too low for me to hear.

“Deidre thought Taylor was seasoned, and look at how he’s dealing. It’s just…you’re one of us, no matter what happens. You should be there. Deidre needs every single friend she has. Taylor talked about signing up for another tour already. Deidre is a mess.” Destiny’s voice, so hard and clipped, melts into something softer. “You know I support you, no matter what. You’ve been like a sister to me, Jess. But you can’t hide. Do what you need to do, no one will judge you for it. We understand better than anyone could. But you still have to do it the right way and face your responsibilities.”

Whatever else they say is mumbled, and then the chime over the door rings and I wait. I wait as the minutes tick by, fighting between my promise to stay back here like Jess asked and the urge to go out there and comfort her. I’m just about to say ‘fuck it’ and head out front when she comes back.