Page 10 of Take Me Tender

“Speaking of feeding, how about an organic bran muffin? I picked up a couple at the bakery before work.”

Gabe shook his head. “I should have known. This is about my breakfast choices.”

“Okay, I’ll admit it. Peanut brittle before noon offends me.”

“That was once. One time.”

Cassandra rocked back on her heels. “Twice that I caught you. So then when you disappeared into your bat cave for several days, I felt it was my compassionate duty to make sure you weren’t lying on your back somewhere in a sugar-induced stupor.”

He ran a hand through his short dark hair. “Did it occur to you I might be lying on my back somewhere perfectly content not to be disturbed by you?”

“I hope you’re not trying to suggest you were with a woman.”

His half-step back was hasty. “I wasn’t with a woman.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Cassandra replied, her tone smug. “Because if you’d said ‘yes,’ I’d be forced to call Dr. Hastings and have you put away for delusions. There’s not a female in town who’d have you. Out of town for that matter, either.”

Since Gabe Kincaid was good-looking in a lean, angry sort of way, Nikki couldn’t quite believe this was true. She wasn’t sure what Gabe believed, but he stepped up, going toe-to-toe with the woman. He took a fistful of her rippling hair and yanked, forcing up her chin so she had to meet his eyes. “Is that so?”

She didn’t flinch. “That’s so.”

“Next time I want an opinion on my sexual prospects with a celibate, meddling Froot Loop, I’ll give you a call. And maybe you’ll do me a favor and hold your breath until that happens.” He let go and turned away.

“You don’t think I’m going to let you have the last word, do you?”

He paused, his back to her. “I don’t suppose I do.”

“The celibate, meddling Froot Loop’s bathroom shower is dripping. My house, seven o’clock. I’ll have a nutritious, organic meal waiting. You bring the beer.”

The man didn’t bother answering, probably because he was too smart to invite Cassandra’s next last word. Without a glance back, he passed Nikki and strode out of the shop. The bells on the door rattled like a bad mood as he shut it behind him.

With the show over, Nikki remembered she needed to check on Fern so that she could get back to her regularly scheduled—and non-nosy—life.

She stepped onto the deck.

Cassandra started, then recovered and pasted on a gracious smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Her eyes cut to the front door and then back to Nikki’s face, and her smile turned apologetic. “Please excuse our little drama. We’ve been playing it out a couple of times a month since Gabe bought both the building that houses my business as well as the home that I rent.”

“Ah.” Nikki nodded, struck by a sudden feeling that she knew her. But as familiar as Cassandra seemed, Nikki had never met anyone with such beautiful waves of long brown hair that nearly reached her waist. “If you ask me, I think ‘meddling Froot Loop’ is pretty harsh.” She wasn’t touching “celibate” with a ten-foot pole.

Cassandra grinned. “And doesn’t it just prove he’s nutritionally challenged? I haven’t tasted a Froot Loop in my entire life. Meddling granola girl would make more sense.”

“Raw food rah-rah.”

“Fresh food foodie.”

They smiled at each other and Nikki was struck once again by that odd sense of familiarity. Which didn’t make any kind of sense at all.

Cassandra tucked her hair behind her ears. “So, can I help you with something?”

Nikki remembered why she’d entered the place. “I’m, uh, just curious, I guess.” Though she couldn’t exactly admit she was curious about her employer’s teenage cousin. Edging toward the railing, she glanced down, looking for Fern on the beach below. Though she still wore her sunglasses, she had to squint a little against the glare of the sun on the ocean. In moments, she spotted the girl sitting on the sand, the boy’s head in her lap. “I’ve never knitted anything.”

“It’s probably a lot like cooking,” Cassandra said. “You take ingredients—like yarn—and use them to create something beautiful and useful. When I make a sweater or a purse or a scarf I’ll bet it’s the same kind of process you use to create a meal.”

Nikki glanced at Cassandra, surprised. “You know I’m a chef?”

“My Froot Loop ESP is working well today.” Then she laughed. “What you’re wearing gave you away.”

“Oh. Duh me,” Nikki responded, glancing down at her pants and tunic. She returned her gaze to the beach. The kids were horsing around, laughing as one of the boys bounced a volleyball off his friend’s head over and over. Fern wasn’t smiling, though, and Nikki’s stomach gave a queasy roll as that plastic bottle was passed to her once again.

“Would you like to give it a go?”

Nikki looked over at the other woman. “What?”

“I have some needles with stitches casted on, ready for a quick lesson. You could sit out here,” she motioned to the line of deck chairs on the right, “and see if knitting interests you.”

As far as Nikki knew, knitting didn’t interest her. But neither did getting involved in other people’s lives, including becoming a man’s lesbian girlfriend or the reluctant watchdog of his young cousin. “Sure,” she said. At the very least she’d have a good cover if Fern looked up and caught her spying.

I was just indulging in my new hobby. Not that I didn’t notice you weren’t all that thrilled with the possessive way that boy is touching you.

She was settled into the nearest deck chair when Cassandra came back with a pair of needles and a ball of yarn the buttery color of the middle of a good crème brûlée. “You’ve never knitted at all?” she asked.

Nikki shook her head as the other woman crouched close and then showed her how to make the first couple of stitches. “Now you try it,” Cassandra said.

Nikki tried copying the nimble movements, but she seemed to have grown four extra fingers. Making a little grunt of frustration, she shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head and frowned at the woman beside her. “I can take a radish and make a rose, for goodness sake. You’d think I could do this.”

Cassandra stared at her. “I…” Her voice died and she grabbed the arm of Nikki’s chair as she seemed to wobble on her feet. Pushing to a stand, she cleared her throat. “It…it takes some practice.”

“Or some talent that it looks like I don’t have.” Nikki tried handing off the items as Cassandra sank into the seat beside her.

The other woman pushed them back into her grasp. “Time,” she said, her voice husky. “It takes time, too.”

Nikki frowned. “Are you all right?” Cassandra seemed to have paled, and she was now rubbing her arms with her palms.

“I’m good. Fine. Try it again,” she encouraged with a little scoop of her delicate chin in the direction of the yarn. “It’s really not that hard.”

Movement on the beach distracted Nikki for a moment. Fern was trying to get to her feet, but the boy kept dragging her back down to the sand. When the girl glanced about, Nikki ducked her head and tried another stitch. “Maybe it’s like skiing. You need to learn when you’re little or you’ll never get the hang of it.”

Cassandra responded with an abrupt, off-topic question. “What are you doing in Malibu?” she said.

Nikki flicked her a glance. “I’m a private chef. For Jay Buchanan.”

“Ah. Jay.” Cassandra leaned into the back cushions of her deck chair as if forcing herself to relax. “Malibu’s own über bachelor. Known to all as Hef Junior.”

“No kidding.” Nikki wasn’t surprised. “You’re acquainted?”

“We have a population of 13,000, which feels a lot more like 300. Our regularly occurring natural disasters band us together. For example, when I and some others couldn’t get home last month due to the latest fire, four of us stayed at Jay’s for a couple of nights.”

Nikki took another long look at Cassandra. Knowing Jay’s reputation—and hadn’t it just been confirmed that he was an out-and-out player?—surely he would have made the moves on this beautiful woman.

She raised both hands as if she heard the unspoken question. “I spent those nights in the guest bedroom. We’re just friends.”

Nikki cleared her throat and didn’t plan the next words that free-fell from it. “Well, um. So you know, we’re not. Just friends that is.” Why the heck was she saying this? It couldn’t be that she was staking a claim. “We’re dating. Um, exclusively.”

“You and Hef J—I mean, Jay?”

It wasn’t as if she could deny it now, though she felt miserable, and like a traitor to the IQ of her sex with the admission. No smart woman would think professional bachelor Jay Buchanan would become exclusive with anyone. “Yes.”

The other woman’s arched brows rose. “Well, well, well. You’ll have to tell Jay that Cassandra Riley expects a sooner-than-later invite to dinner, then. We should get to know each other better, Nikki.”

---