Page 39 of Whisking It All

“If you ever want to know what really happened, you come talk to me,” Dot said with a smile and a wink.

“Excuse me? Are we not just as capable of telling Tessa Jayne about her parents’ courtship?” Ruth asked, and Tessa wasn’t sure if she was actually offended or just teasing her friend.

“Dottie’s memory does keep the most faithful record of events,” Judy said.

“How would you know? You’d forget your own hat if it wasn’t on your head,” Ruth said.

“It’s true!” Judy laughed. “But you go see Ruth if you want to hear how things should have been. Talk to Helen if you want to know what everyone said about it after the fact. But if you want to know what they actually did, that’s when you talk to Dottie.”

“So I suppose talking to all of you is the only way to get the full story,” Tessa said, grinning despite herself.

“Precisely,” Helen said.

“Evening, ladies,” Jamie said as he appeared beside their table.

His dark hair was mussed in that sexy just-rolled-out-of-bed way. He wore dark fitted jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with Lemon and Thyme’s logo screen printed over his left pec, sleeves rolled up to reveal his sculpted forearms, the front in a French tuck that drew attention to the shiny silver of his belt buckle.

Jesus Christ, Tessa, don’t look at his belt buckle.

He turned his dimpled smile on each of the older women in turn, the curve of his lips only faltering slightly when his gaze landed on Tessa.

It was her own fault. They’d had a perfectly good time at the farmer’s market until they’d run into Lindsay. After that, Tessa just hadn’t been able to shake the urge to run, to put Aster Bay and these people who wanted to dredge up memories of her mother she didn’t share and the man who wouldn’t stop circling her thoughts—who kept touching her like she somehow belonged to him—far behind her. Once Lindsay and Jamie had gotten to chatting about the ideal mimosa pairings, Tessa had excused herself, waiting in the car until Jamie had finally returned and driven her home in tense silence. None of it had felt right for the man who ate fish tacos with her on a grassy hill overlooking the highway and then growled his way through the hottest sex of her life.

Jamie thanked them for coming, assuring Dot that he had in fact sent the chicken dinner over to Cheryl and Ricky as promised, and then, guaranteeing that their food would be out shortly, he disappeared. He hadn’t looked at Tessa once after that initial glance and something twisted in her stomach as she watched him walk away, the tense muscles of his back shifting beneath his shirt.

Halfway through their entrées, as Judy and Helen debated whether her mother had been the one to throw the dodgeball that gave her father a bloody nose in the second grade, Tessa caught sight of Jamie slipping from the kitchen and down a dark hallway at the back of the restaurant. She excused herself from the table—not that the women really noticed, they were so deep in their argument—and followed. It would have been easier to text him, a simple sentence or two to apologize for being grumbly and aloof when he had been doing a nice thing by showing her around, but that didn’t feel right. Not when the last time she’d hurt him she had left without saying goodbye. He deserved a face to face conversation.

There were two doors off the hallway, one that led to an empty office, neat stacks of folders on the edge of the perfectly clear desktop, and another that led to a set of stairs. At the top of the stairwell, the door opened out onto a rooftop terrace. She gasped as she took in the stunning view of the harbor, lights shining on the opposite shore in the darkening sky and the black shadows of boats bobbing in the water.

“What are you doing up here?”

Tessa turned to meet Jamie’s cold stare. He sat on the floor of the rooftop terrace, facing out over the water, his elbows resting on his bent knees, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

“I wanted to apologize. For this morning,” she said, taking a tentative step onto the roof and letting the door slam shut behind her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. Her gaze snagged on the bottle. It was the same brand that DDB drank.

“You were so nice, and I ruined it,” she said, coming to stand beside him. He grunted in agreement and took another sip. “It just messes with my head when you’re like that.”

“Like what?”

“Nice to me.”

“I shouldn’t be nice to you?”

“You should hate me.”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because of who I am.”

“Don’t see a reason to hate you for that.”

“Because of the other night. Because I left.”

He nodded, focusing his attention on his beer. “Well, joke’s on you. We’re stuck with each other now.”

“Right.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat, determined not to let the jaded edge in his voice hurt her. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

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