Written in the Stars Page 17

  Frowning, Becca looked over at the digital clock on the microwave and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh no!” she squeaked, knowing that it must be Jimmy knocking on her door. She glanced down at her ancient Abbey Road T-­shirt, slouchy boyfriend jeans, and bare feet and put her hand to her chest. Her hair, which had the nerve to get rather curly after menopause for some defiant reason, was escaping the messy bun piled on top of her head. At least she had on some basic makeup, but only because she’d had to run out to the grocery store earlier for the ingredients for dinner. “Bollocks!” she grumbled, but there wasn’t time to rush into the bedroom and change into the much sexier slacks and silk blouse that after intense deliberation she had laid out to wear. “Dammit!”

  Another knock, impatient this time, had her trying to smooth her hair, without any luck. Inhaling deeply, she reached into her purse and did manage to find her tube of lipstick and apply a hasty swipe to her lips before heading through the great room to the front door. She swung it open and was rewarded with a look of surprise on Jimmy Topmiller’s face, making her embarrassment about her casual attire almost worth it.

  “Did...did I get the day wrong?” Jimmy asked, and had the nerve to look handsome in pressed navy slacks and a light blue button-­down oxford shirt that made his Paul Newman eyes appear even bluer. His salt-­and-­pepper hair looked freshly trimmed, and he sported just a hint of sexy stubble that had Becca wondering what it would feel like to run her hand over his cheek. He had something in a white bakery box balanced in one hand and a bottle of wine clutched in the other.

  “Yes, but I, um, do believe you’re early,” she fibbed, but with a lift of her chin, she stepped back for him to enter.

  “I thought you said six thirty in your text message.”

  “Sevenish, if I remember correctly.” She did remember correctly and she’d said six thirty.

  “Do you want me to come back later?”

  Becca waved a hand as if being disheveled while he looked so amazing didn’t bother her in the least. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, and took the wine from him.

  “I’m never silly,” he said, and followed her through the great room and into the kitchen. “Dear God, it looks like a bomb went off in here.”

  “The sign of a good cook,” Becca boasted, while searching for the corkscrew.

  “If you say so,” he said, with a touch of humor in his tone. He moved a mound of potato peelings out of the way and placed the bakery box on the kitchen counter. “So, what’s on the menu?”

  “Shepherd’s pie. Do you like it?”

  “I’ve never had it, but I have to admit that it smells good.”

  “You sound surprised.” Becca gave him an arch of her eyebrow as she uncorked the wine.

  “Maybe because I am surprised.”

  “And why is that?” she asked, even though she already suspected the answer.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a woman who cooked her own meals.”

  Becca turned around and leaned against the counter. “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t prepared dinner in a long time. I thought about cheating and getting takeaway from Wine and Diner.”

  “Takeaway? Oh, you mean carryout.” He grinned as if he found her choice of words funny. “So why didn’t you?”

  Becca shrugged. “Cheating isn’t in my nature.” She nibbled on the inside of her lip, and then added, “And I wanted to throw you off balance. Impress you, maybe? Try to figure out why you dislike me so much.”

  His face registered surprise. “I don’t dislike you.”

  “But you want to.” When Jimmy didn’t answer, but looked at her with those baby blues, Becca felt a pull of attraction that she wanted to shake but couldn’t. “So how’s that working out for you?”

  “Not all that well.” He gave her a crooked grin, and damn if she wasn’t the one feeling off balance. “Let’s just say you’re full of surprises.”

  “And do you like surprises?”

  “Not usually,” Jimmy said, and his gaze seemed to linger on her mouth. “For a former fashion model, you seem to be either overdressed or underdressed. But I have to say that finding you dressed in jeans and a T-­shirt is a surprise that I like.”

  “So you can poke fun? You have to know that this wasn’t what I intended to wear.”

  “No, and I find what you’re wearing sexy as hell.” He looked down at her bare feet with painted red toes. “Better than those impossible high heels.”

  “Are you flirting with me, Jimmy?” Becca asked lightly, but her heart beat a little faster.

  “Just speaking the truth. Of course, I’m sure you know that you would look good wearing a paper sack.”

  “Why does your flattery sound more like an insult?”

  “Surely you know how beautiful you are, Becca. You were a model and had a poster that sold millions of copies.”

  Becca shrugged. “My looks have opened some doors and closed others. The poster was a blessing at the time when I needed the money, but somewhat of a curse too.”

  “I guess I can understand why.”

  “Yes, no one takes a pinup model seriously.”

  “That’s not fair,” he said hotly, surprising her.

  “Really? You have your own assumptions about me, though, don’t you?” A look crossed his face that she couldn’t quite read, but she knew she was right. “Dumb blonde? Spoiled? Vain? Shall I go on?”

  “No.”

  But she did carry on, like a steamroller out of control. “I came from humble beginnings, I’ll have you know. Working-­class London. And my success was hard-­earned. So whatever you think you know about me, you probably don’t,” she said tightly. “If you think I’m some rich, spoiled bitch living a pampered life, you are all kinds of wrong.” She lifted her chin. “Now, can I offer you a glass of merlot, or would you prefer something else?” God, she was blazing with anger and wanted to give him a hard shove. She wasn’t one to lose her cool, but Jimmy seemed to be able to rile her up in no time. Oddly, she kind of liked it. “Well?”

  “Something else.” Without warning, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And it wasn’t some tame peck on the mouth. Oh no, Jimmy Topmiller meant business. This was a kiss full of pent-­up passion and chock-­full of heat. And as much as Becca wished she could push at his chest and give him a good slap, instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers in his hair, and kissed him right back.

  Becca’s anger dissolved like sugar in hot tea, and she melted against him. It had been such a long time since she’d been held in a man’s arms, kissed so deeply. The pilot light that had been extinguished came back to life, and damn, it felt bloody good...so good that she wanted to shove the place settings from the table and make wild and crazy love to him right then and there.

  Thankfully, an alarm buzzed in the back of her brain, bringing her to her befuddled senses, and she unwrapped herself from around Jimmy.

  Oh wait, the alarm was actually the oven timer. Saved by the bell went through her brain, and she laughed.

  “So you find my kiss amusing? Am I that out of practice?”

  “No, I find your kisses to be quite delicious. I thought the interruption from the buzzer was quite funny, because in another moment I was going to have my way with you on the dining room table.” She walked over and turned the timer off and then opened the oven door and checked on the shepherd’s pie. “Not quite ready,” she said, and gave it a bit more time on the clock.

  “So you think I’m that easy, do you?” He tilted his head at her as if trying to decide whether she was serious or not.

  Good. Let him wonder, Becca thought. “Would you like that glass of wine now?”

  “What, I don’t get another choice this time?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she said with a slight smile.

  “Then, yes, I’ll have a glass of wine, unless y
ou have some bourbon. After what you just said, I need something strong sliding down my throat.”

  “I believe I saw a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet.” She brushed by him closely, hoping he might pull her against him again, but he didn’t. “Knob Creek.” She turned around held up the bottle. “Will this do?”

  “Perfectly. Two fingers over ice, please.”

  “Coming right up.” She poured the drink and pressed it into his outstretched hand. “Would you like to have our cocktails out on the back deck? It’s a lovely evening. We could dine alfresco if you like.”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but I’m hoping for naked.”

  Becca tossed her head back and laughed. “No, so sorry.” She picked up her wineglass and raised it in salute. “But rather tempting.”

  Jimmy took a sip of his bourbon and then glanced over at the dining room table. “It’s going to be a long time before I get that image out of my brain.” He gave her a look that melted her panties. “In fact, it might remain there permanently.”

  “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”

  “And you’re making it really hard to dislike you.”

  Becca laughed. “Well, I suppose it’s a start.” She waved her hand toward the sliding glass doors. “Shall we?”

  “After you.”

  Becca felt his eyes upon her and hoped that her butt looked cute in the jeans. She almost laughed at her silliness, but she liked the giddy feeling of being attracted to a man. And even though she wanted to box his ears, she couldn’t deny that she found Jimmy incredibly sexy. They sat down in side-­by-­side cushioned patio chairs facing the view of the lake. “It’s gorgeous out tonight.”

  “I have to agree.”

  “Another step in the right direction, I’d say.”

  He turned his attention from the lake to her. “What’s that?”

  “Agreeing with me. I do believe it’s a first.”

  Jimmy shook his glass, making the ice clink, and then took a sip. “You might find this hard to believe, but I’m actually pretty easygoing, Becca.”

  “Then why have you given me such a hard time?” She tilted her head and waited for his answer.

  Jimmy looked down at his bourbon for a moment, and then gazed back out over the lake. “I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted, but you didn’t answer my question.” She reached over and touched his hand, just a light touch, but she felt an instant reaction.

  “I think that’s a story left for another time,” he said quietly. “Let’s just enjoy the evening.”

  Becca squeezed his hand. She wanted to know what he meant, but didn’t press. “When you’re ready, then. Assuming you will want to see me again after you taste my attempt at preparing dinner.”

  “Oh, trust me—­I want to see you again, and it will have nothing to do with your cooking skills.”

  “You’re getting better in the compliments category.”

  “Again, just being honest.” He looked at her for a lingering moment.

  “Honesty is a good thing, I’d say.”

  “I’d say you’re right.” He smiled. “Here we go agreeing again. How long do you think it will last?”

  “As long as you keep looking at me like that.”

  “Then a pretty long time.”

  Becca wasn’t sure how to respond, and so she looked out over the water. She’d had dates here and there over the last couple of years, but mostly for events, mainly to have someone with her. She hadn’t had a casual yet almost intimate evening entertaining a man in her home in a very long time. And she had to admit that she was enjoying herself immensely.

  Their fingers were nearly touching where they rested on the arms of the chairs. She wanted him to reach over and hold her hand. The thought caused an ache to settle in her chest. Until that moment she hadn’t realized how much she missed having a man in her life.

  “You’ve gone quiet, Becca. Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” She shook her head, but didn’t risk looking at him. “That’s the problem. You’re saying all the right things. Making me long for something I’ve not experienced in a while.” Maybe never, she thought with a sigh.

  “There’s always the dining room table,” he said, and she had to laugh.

  “That was the wine talking,” she joked, but there was some truth to the statement.

  “Then remind me to always bring wine.”

  Becca leaned her head against the cushion and chuckled. Something warm and comfortable settled between them, and just like that he reached over and held her hand. Neither of them said anything, just sat there and enjoyed the view, each lost in thought.

  Although a feeling of peace washed over her, Becca knew there were complications to getting involved with Jimmy. She’d already made up her mind that her stay in Cricket Creek was going to be an extended visit—­maybe even semipermanent—­but she still had obligations in London. She planned to go back there with Garret and Mattie when he filmed Sing for Me. And like Gracie, Becca loved to travel and explore the world. And there was something that Jimmy wasn’t telling her just yet, the reason that he’d fought his attraction from day one. ­Before—­or if—­they took this thing between them to the next level, she wanted to know what haunted him.

  As if reading some of her thoughts, he squeezed her hand. Unlike young love, romance at this age had its own set of complications; the biggest was dealing with the past. But for now Becca was going to enjoy her hand being held on a warm summer evening by a handsome man who suddenly oozed Southern charm. Everything else would just have to wait.

  14

  Afternoon Delight

  GRACE CLIMBED UP ON A BARSTOOL ARMED WITH A STICK of chalk to draw up the beer menu. With the first of their weekend soft openings happening tomorrow, she was full of nervous energy. The fully furnished taproom looked ready for action. Twenty tall stools stood around the large bar, which jutted out into the room in a big square, leaving a big area to move around for the bartenders. As in many taprooms, upscale smooth wooden picnic tables were positioned in the center of the room, with a few high-­tops hugging the walls. The actual brewery was visible through a big window taking up most of one wall, so patrons could see how the beer was being brewed. In the far corner, Grace had set up a gift shop filled with witch-­themed glasses, T-­shirts, key chains, and baseball caps. The logo, a silhouette of a witch on a broom, was painted on one wall with a bright yellow background. State-­of-­the-­art flat-­screen televisions hung suspended above the bar, and later they would add more along the walls. Grace thought everything looked clean and fresh, with the added whimsy of the witchcraft theme. Luckily, Mason had been so consumed with brewing the beer that he’d finally left the marketing to her.

  “Is the Belgian strong ale going to be ready for tomorrow night?” Grace looked over her shoulder for Mason.

  “Yes, it’s been aging for over two months, so it’s ready to tap,” Mason answered from where he was hanging a dartboard, and then looked over at her. “Gracie, just what the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

  “Writing the names of the ales on the chalkboard. We’re calling the Belgian strong ale Witches’ Brew, right? Holy cow, eleven percent ABV. That will cast some black magic on you in no time.”

  “You’re gonna fall and break something. Like your fool neck.”

  “I’m fine,” Grace said, but then wobbled. “Whoa!”

  Mason was at her side in an instant. He reached up and put steadying hands around her waist. “I have a stepstool that’s much safer.”

  “I like to live on the edge.”

  “Not on my watch.”

  “But then I wouldn’t have your hands around my waist, now, would I?”

  “Gracie Gordon, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

  “Just keeping you on your toes.” She l
eaned forward and started writing on the chalkboard. “And the American pale ale is called Under My Spell.”

  “Whatever.” Mason groaned.

  Grace gave him a look.

  “Okay, if you insist. You’ve got me under your spell or I’d never agree to this whole witches thing.”

  “A hint of key lime and a citrus-­hop blend,” Grace said as she wrote in neat script. She looked down at him again. “Oh, come on, it’s fun, and I can tell it’s growing on you. You even laughed at the bike rack out front with broomsticks resting in it.”

  “It was either laugh or cry.”

  “Hey, the Cricket Creek Courier gave us a great article and loved the name.”

  “It was written by Trish Marino. A woman. A guy would have concentrated on the quality of the ale and not gone on and on about the cute logo and gift shop items.”

  “That’s been my whole point all along. Blokes will come for darts and beer, but you needed a hook for women. With Halloween six weeks away, the grand opening is perfect timing. Don’t you think?”

  “What? Sorry. I was distracted by having your cute butt perched in front of my face.”

  Grace laughed as she finished writing. After she turned around, he lifted her down and then pressed her up against the counter. “What do you think you’re doing, brewmaster?”

  “Ah, well now, if I’m the master, does that mean you’re my slave?”

  “Yes,” she answered without a hint of hesitation.

  “Well, then come with me.”

  Powerless to say no, Grace took Mason’s hand, thinking that she was the one under his spell, not the other way around. He pulled her into his office and shut the door. “What if someone comes in?”

  “We’re all alone.”

  “With deliveries of glasses due.”

  “I thought you liked living on the edge.”

  “Good point.”

  “Okay, then.” Mason reached over and turned the lock. “Take off your clothes,” he said in a stern tone.

  “Yes, beermaster,” Grace said meekly, and then tugged her Broomstick Brewery T-­shirt over her head. “What now?” She loved the way his eyes lingered on her black demi-­bra, which pushed her breasts up over the lace edges. A little white pearl bow was in the center, demure and sexy at the same time. She’d recently taken a trip to a new lingerie boutique that just opened up in Wedding Row and had gone on a fun shopping spree. Grace leaned up against the wall and let him look his fill. “Do you like it?”