Just One Kiss

Inside, he wheeled his bike through their front hallway into his bedroom and leaned it against the wall, which was already marred with scuff marks from previous handlebar encounters. He dug out the cupcake box from his bag, and yanked his empty water bottle from its cage on the bike, feeling restless, grimy and stuck in a cage himself, from which the ride had liberated him only temporarily. The small apartment with gray carpet and his room with bare, white walls—his own fault for not hanging pictures—didn’t help.

A shower got rid of the grime, but didn’t help his mood. Pounding on Jake’s door quieted the music, but underscored the painful fact: some days he just had to get through. Luckily Jake understood. The two men had met at Slatewood International, where they designed software to stay ahead of increasingly sophisticated hackers, and had formed a fast friendship. After Kate’s accident, Jake had been solid, taking Daniel in, and developing an uncanny sense of when to kid him out of a scowl and when to back off, when to prod him into talking and when to leave him alone.

Sometimes Daniel felt he owed Jake his sanity—however much of it he still had left. Kate would approve. Sort of. She and Jake got along like fire and ice. She thought Jake was a shallow butthead; he thought Kate was an uptight bitch. Daniel had sat in the middle, rolling his eyes at both of them.

In the kitchen, he pulled the steak out of the refrigerator to warm up, and put the brown-and-wild rice mixture on the stove to cook. Daniel was a bread man, always preferred it to rice or potatoes, preferably fresh the way it had looked at Angela’s bakery, thick slices spread with softened butter.

Did she get up early every morning and make it herself? He pictured her, drawn-back hair emphasizing her heart-shaped face, flour dusting her high cheekbones, room warm with the fresh, yeasty smell of dough.

But tonight, for Kate, he’d eat rice.

With leaden movements, he pulled down the bottle of her favorite Washington State cabernet from Donedei vineyards, got out the fancy corkscrew she’d bought him and hesitated. Before he met Kate, he’d been a beer guy, and reverted to being one after her death, since he associated wine so strongly with their relationship.

The bottle went back up on the shelf for another, easier day. Too many triggers. Fine line between honoring her memory and needlessly torturing himself. Kate of all people would understand. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed out a Mack & Jack’s Serengeti Wheat beer and felt himself relax a little.

“Hey.” Jake ambled into the kitchen and gestured at the steak. “Nice piece of meat. What’s the occasion?”

“Kate’s birthday.” He answered automatically, robotically. “Her favorite meal.”

“Oh. Yeah, um. Okay.” Frowning, he grabbed a beer, popped off the top and took a long swig. “So. How are you doing on all that?”

Daniel took a long swig himself, wanting to laugh at the perfect sitcom moment. Two guys drinking beer, trying to talk about emotions. “Okay.”

“You’re celebrating her birthday tonight.” His tone made it clear he thought the idea was beyond moronic. Jake was not exactly the sentimental type. “You gonna eat that all yourself?”

Daniel shrugged. “Unlikely.”

“Excellent.” Jake pulled up a chair to the table in their bland kitchen, gray on white on black. “You have yourself a dinner date.”

“I guess I do.” Not exactly his plan, but now that Jake was here, the idea of sitting alone miserably thinking about Kate felt like a direct route to unnecessary pain, pain he was tired of having to battle.

“I met this girl last night.”

“Yeah?” Daniel got up and grabbed a bag of pretzel twists from the counter, brought it back to the table. Jake had a genius for interacting with the opposite sex. Women found his puppy-dog dark eyes brimming with humor and short stocky body unthreatening. Before they knew it, he’d literally charmed the pants off of them. Few relationships lasted longer than a month or two, but Jake kept trying, claiming he’d eventually stumble over the great love his parents had. “How come you slept here last night, you strike out?”

“She’s not for me.” Jake tipped his beer bottle toward Daniel. “Your type. Brainy, petite, high-energy.”

Daniel’s grin faded abruptly. “You know I can’t—”

“Yes, I know.” He rolled his eyes and made his fingers “talk” like a sock puppet. “You promised Kate you wouldn’t date until your wedding date, which, after a year and a half of celibacy is still six months away.”

“Jake …” Daniel warned.

Jake put down his hand. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Punishment.” Daniel chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. He and Kate had been looking toward their wedding day for so long, planning, dreaming, fantasizing. How could Daniel even think about another woman before that date had passed?

Okay, maybe he could think about other women. Once in a while. Like now, when Angela’s luminous face had come into his head again. “You don’t understand.”

“Why wouldn’t she leave it to you to decide when you were ready to move on? Wouldn’t you know better than she would?”

Daniel narrowed his eyes, tamping down the instant flash of temper. “Lay off Kate.”

“Someone needs to say this shit, Daniel. She had you by the testicles while she was alive, now you’re moping around like you buried your balls with her.” He leaned forward, eyes earnest, dark hair falling forward, in spite of the gel he tried to keep it combed back with. “Dig ‘em up, dude! Start living again! Go out with a woman, or two, or three. You’re not being unfaithful, Kate is gone.”

“I know she’s gone.” Daniel spoke through his teeth. “I feel it every day.”

“Because you haven’t tried to get past it.”

Anger rose so fiercely Daniel had to white-knuckle his beer to keep from punching Jake in the mouth. “What the hell do you know about it?”

“Everything.”

His answer shocked some of Daniel’s anger out of him. “How?”

“My high school girlfriend. We dated three years. Aneurism. She was there—” he snapped his fingers “—then she wasn’t. But you know what? That was her life ending. Mine went on.”

“So you climbed on top of the next babe who came along and that fixed everything?”

“Yes, I did and no, it didn’t. But dating after her death didn’t mean I never loved her or that I didn’t miss her. I still do sometimes. But I sure as hell didn’t serve some bullshit two-year sentence crying over my dick in my own hand.”

“Shut the f—”

“I’m telling you, you bury yourself in that shit, your life might as well be over, too.”

“Stop.” Daniel stood abruptly, chair scraping over the hardwood floor.

“Okay.” Jake held up both hands. “Okay. Calm down.”

“Don’t ever say that crap about Kate again.”

“Okay. I was out of line. I was right, but I was out of line.”

Daniel stayed where he was, trying to get his breathing under control. Most of the time he believed strongly that people could think and say what they wanted, it was no skin off his ass. But Jake’s words had cut deep. “You want this steak or not?”

“Sure, man.” Jake nodded. “Sure. You need any help?”

“No.” He turned to the stove and started a pan heating. By the time the steak was ready to be turned, he’d calmed down some. After they’d finished it—Daniel had more appetite than he expected, and the steak was damn good—he was tired of Jake’s apologetically cheerful conversation, and just wanted to retreat to his room and reconnect with Kate over the cupcakes.

“I’m going out with Mark tonight. You want to come?”

“No, thanks.” Daniel took his plate to the dishwasher.

“Do you good. Take your mind off the bad stuff.”

“I’m staying in.”

Jake shrugged. “Okay. Your choice.”

“Yeah, how about that.”

Jake chuckled. “I won’t say another word.”

“I doubt that.”

“Not tonight anyway.” He put his own plate in the dishwasher and slapped Daniel on the back. “It gets better.”

“So I hear.”

“And it will get better a lot faster if you—” He saw the look on Daniel’s face and backed up, hands lifted again. “Right. I’m going. I’m gone.”

A few minutes later the kitchen was clean, the front door closed behind Jake. Daniel went into his room with the cupcakes and put on Kate’s favorite CD, Little Earthquakes by Tori Amos.

The music filled the room, poignant and throaty, gut-wrenchingly evocative. Daniel drifted back toward the desk, throat thickening, remembering Kate singing along, horribly out of tune, which had grated on his nerves. The memory seemed so endearing now. In a trance, he carefully untied the burgundy and gold ribbons he hadn’t wanted on the box and lifted the lid.

What the—

Chocolate. There was a chocolate cupcake nestled in red paper in the center of the white ones he’d asked for, devil amidst the angels. Angela. Her face rose in his mind again, pretty mouth curved in a smile, eyes brimming with mischief as she handed him the box after her mysterious disappearance into the back room.

The tiniest burst of light skittered through his chest. He found himself half smiling. Angela had guessed he was a chocolate guy, and made sure he got what she was so sure he’d like. The gesture was a little weird. But also … oddly sweet.

The light in his chest burst again. She’d been tall, as he remembered. Maybe five-seven or five-eight. Kate had been tiny, five-three to his six feet two inches, but with wiry strength that continually astounded him. Any and all obstacles buckled from the sheer force of Kate’s determination.

And she’d been determined he not date until their wedding day had passed. Her last wish, whispered as her young, promising life left her. Daniel had been so devastated he would have promised her anything.

He pulled up his desk chair and sat, rubbing his hands on his jean-clad thighs. He could smell the chocolate, wafting up like temptation from the innocent vanilla surrounding it.

His finger swiped through rich, dark frosting, lifted it to his mouth.

Ohh, man. Real chocolate, killer chocolate. Bitter and sweet, with a tang of some kind—sour cream?

He tried the white frosting.

Mmm. Cleanly sweet with an appealing vanilla-marshmallow flavor. Fresh, real ingredients there, too.

His hand went back down on his thigh. He pictured Kate in the hospital, head raised painfully toward him, her pretty features bruised, contorting with the effort to speak. No other women until after our wedding day. Please. Do that for me. And for you. For us …

Throat on fire with the impossible task of trying to choke back tears, he’d answered in a voice that barely sounded. Yes. I promise.

In his lonely room now, the first song ended. The next one came on.

He saw himself suddenly through Jake’s eyes, spending the evening alone in his room, listening to music he wouldn’t have chosen, about to eat food he didn’t much care for.

Daniel shook his head. It was Kate’s birthday. He was honoring her. Tomorrow he’d think about what Jake had said. But tonight …

If you bury yourself in that shit, your life might as well be over, too.

I would definitely have pegged you for a chocolate guy.

His hand hesitated over the box.

Kate …

He dug out a cupcake, peeled off the paper and took a huge bite, with more enthusiasm than he’d had for any food in a long, long time.

The cupcake was as amazing as the frosting, light but moist, and incredibly flavorful. The best he’d ever had. Or maybe it was the release and relief of letting himself enjoy it.

The beautiful fresh-faced Angela had been right. Tonight he’d been ready for chocolate.

3

“SHE’LL LOVE THEM.” Bonnie handed over a bouquet of mixed blue, purple and yellow to the grinning teenage boy who’d come in and dubiously asked for roses, but was leaving much happier. Bonnie had listened to his tale with sympathy: he’d been peer-pressured into asking The Wrong Girl to the homecoming dance, then realized he really cared for The Right Girl all along, and wanted a gesture of combined apology and affection that wasn’t too intense or expensive…?.

Sometimes Bonnie thought she was more of a psychologist than a saleswoman. People might tell hairdressers more of their troubles, but they’d be surprised how many emotions went along with flowers. Not just wedding, funeral, birthday and anniversary. Also apology, seduction, guilt, renewal …

Bonnie was a firm believer in the healing powers of floral arrangements. Maybe that sounded crazy, but she’d seen it over and over again, customers coming back in to thank her, telling her how much the plants or bouquets or blossoms had been appreciated, how they’d helped cheer or heal, intensify or diffuse.

She wiped water drops off her counter and leaned on it, surveying the riot of fresh color around her proudly and a little wistfully. Proud, because she hadn’t wanted her stock isolated away from the customer, refrigerated behind glass; her flowers bloomed all over the store in buckets carefully arranged on multiple levels as to color and size. The effect, she hoped, was like walking into an English garden in full bloom. Wistful, because not enough people had been walking in, to the point where she was having to consider drastic measures. Not selling the store, not yet, but … yes, drastic. Like giving up her apartment upstairs and dragging essentials and a cot into the shop’s back office.

After a year of lukewarm sales, she was getting to where she needed to be realistic and face the possibility of failure. In the meantime, she was looking around for marketing tips, tricks and gimmicks wherever she could get them, hoping to find ways of luring in more buyers. And constantly fighting off panic and a heavy sense of doom … and of shame.

Just another super fun year in the game of life.

Through her window onto the building’s foyer she noticed a guy dressed in biking gear, and holding a helmet walk in and stop, as if he weren’t sure where to go. Bonnie frowned. He looked familiar. Where had she seen him?

Aha. Déjà vu. She’d seen him pause in the same spot the previous day. Hard to miss a hard-body hottie like that. But when she’d glimpsed his face, she’d wanted less to seduce him than to offer hugs and mugs of coffee, maybe give him an air fern from her shop, so he wouldn’t have to take care of anything but himself.

She craned her neck to get a better view. He was still hesitating. Maybe she should ask if he needed help? Yesterday he’d gone into Angela’s. Bonnie meant to ask her about him, but A Taste for All Pleasures had been crazy busy and then Angela had gone out with friends last night.

A group of students, on a weekend break from classes, came out of the bakery, clutching paper bags of treats and cups of coffee. Hard-body Hottie stood aside to let them pass, then walked, without hesitation this time, into the bakery.

Ooh, interesting. Waiting to go in until Angela was alone? Bonnie hoisted herself onto her counter and leaned over shamelessly to catch Angela’s reaction. A nice, wide smile, her usual greeting. But maybe this smile was wider? Nicer? Bonnie leaned farther, but couldn’t see the guy’s face. Was he after the buns or the baker? And would Angela let him taste the latter along with the former? Bonnie would love to see Angela happy again after that jerk ex of hers. Though they’d all fallen for Tom. He was impossible not to love, until you sensed the dry rot in his soul.

“Spy alert.”

Bonnie nearly fell off her counter. “Damn it, Seth, you scared me to death.”

“What did I miss?” Seth Blackstone sauntered up to her, grinning, making her shop look all the more colorful and feminine next to his tall, black-clad, self-assured masculinity. “Hot times at Angela’s?”

“She’s got a cute guy in there.”

“Yeah?” He peered toward the bakery. “What’s she doing with him?”

“Talking.” Bonnie told her heartbeat to calm down. It was Seth, not the Pope.

“You know this guy?”

“No. But he was in yesterday, and she seemed glad to see him.”

“Angela’s glad to see everyone.” He leaned against Bonnie’s counter, poked at her neat pile of brochures until they fanned to one side. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“True.” Bonnie sighed and jumped down behind her counter again. “I’d love to see her dating.”

“Why would you wish something like that on a friend?”

“Ha. Ha.” She turned a withering glare on him, which threatened to melt into a giggle at the smiling mischief in his hazel eyes. Oh, those eyes. Narrow and fiercely masculine, as was the strong square set of his jaw. But she couldn’t start thinking that way again. She’d keep up the prickly banter—it seemed the only way they could get along was by constantly disagreeing. So she glanced at her watch, maintaining the frown of disapproval. “Well, look at that. Nearly time for lunch. You just out of bed?”

“Ha. I’ll have you know I’ve been up for hours.” He took her wrist and turned it so he could see the time. “Okay, hour.”

Bonnie snatched back her arm as if his touch annoyed her, when five years after this man broke off their junior-year romance and smashed her heart, he could still make her shiver. Somewhere along the way she’d managed to make uneasy peace with the fact that she’d most likely always feel something for Seth, even having dated other men since then. The trick was keeping those emotions under control so they didn’t ruin her friendship with him or her sanity. Or, God forbid, screw up the perfectly balanced friend-dynamics of the owners of Come to Your Senses.

“What’s new?” She straightened a group of pencils, picked up the brochures and tapped them on the counter, aware the busy work would look as ridiculous as it was.

“Got a possible job with an independent director who needs a film scored.”

“Really!” Bonnie grinned at his look of utter indifference, seeing straight through to the celebration going on inside him. Seth might hold secrets for most people, but he held few for her and she still treasured that.

She was happy for him. His piano studio seemed to be thriving, and he’d been getting good commercial work, too. Not that he needed the income—the Blackstones had made a fortune many times over, starting with great-great-grandfather Blackstone’s shipping company right there in Seattle. But to Seth’s credit, he didn’t sit back and spend family money. He’d been actively pursuing his passion, striving for a career in the music business—songwriting, scoring commercials and/or films, and teaching piano.

“So what’s going on with you?” He squinted at her. “You look like hell.”

“Oh, you are so sweet!” She shoved at him, then immediately wished she hadn’t. That place in the center of his chest, the flat plane between the hard swells of his pectoral muscles, where dark hair curled—she missed that place, as if it were a whole person. Missed pillowing her head there, missed stroking, kissing, biting, the scent of his skin.

Yikes. She was being extra sappy and nostalgic today, what was with that? Reigniting those particular embers of passion was about as smart as playing tag on the highway. She had more important things to think about than the sternum of a guy who dumped her.

Most likely the new-old feelings were a result of extra vulnerability over her business, and missing the steady support of a romantic partner. Perfectly understandable when times got rough.

Well, guess what? Seth’s support might have been steady at first, but as Bonnie had started feeling more comfortable mentioning the future, Seth had started drawing back, further and further until he bumped into a surgically enhanced bimbo and stuck there.

“You still with me? I asked why you look so terrible.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, eyes that showed real concern. Worse, when she shoved against his chest again, he took her hand and held onto it. “Seriously, Bon-bon, what is it? Something’s really bugging you. Has been for a while.”

She shrugged, hating his sympathy and the way it still made her want to melt. “What makes you think that?”

“You’ve lost weight. You’re holding your body tense. You have dark shadows under your eyes and that worry-groove going full-force.” He traced a line from the center of her forehead between her brows. “Right here.”

Bonnie held her breath, telling herself his touch meant nothing, that Seth practiced charm on women the same way most people used oxygen: involuntarily and 24/7.

“I’m fine.” She held his gaze defiantly. “Great, in fact.”

“Good.” His face turned stony and he pushed away from the counter. “Glad to hear it.”

And there they stood on opposite sides of their post-relationship chasm. He kept pushing and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of intimacy without … intimacy. Though damn it, he hadn’t spoken to her with that much tenderness since before they broke up. Hadn’t used her “Bon-bon” nickname in quite a while, either.

So! She should call Greg, the last guy she dated, whom she’d broken up with amicably, to see if he wanted to hang out. Maybe in bed. She needed to shake both this silly renewed vulnerability to Seth and her dark mood over Bonnie Blooms.

“Ah, here she is.” Seth turned abruptly and strode out into the wide corridor outside her entranceway.

Bonnie followed him with her eyes, which had the enjoyable task of watching him greet a woman with obvious affection. Not just any woman. Not a woman Bonnie could look at and think, “Oh, how nice, Seth is meeting a good friend.” No. This was one of those women men dream about having their whole lives. And thank God Bonnie knew Seth well enough not to have unbent just now, not to have leaned on him, not to have let him back under her skin even the tiniest fraction of an inch, or she’d be feeling humiliated and rejected. Again.

Seth caught the goddess’s hand and pulled her into the shop after him. “Hey, Bonnie, this is my friend Alexandra.”

Of course it was Alexandra, which he pronounced Alex-ahn-drah. Names like Matilda or Priscilla were entirely out of the question. She was tall, exotically dark, Selma Hayekish, wearing a dress—black cap sleeves, red lace-up corset and a black tutu skirt—over stiletto boots, and not looking at all stupid. Looking, in fact, like the Goddess of Fashion Elegance. If Bonnie put on an outfit like that people would fall over laughing in the street.

Goddess looked eagerly around and parted her beautiful mouth to exclaim, “Oh, what a great shop!”

Bonnie suppressed a chortle of satisfaction. Alex-ahn-drah’s voice brought to mind angry chipmunks. See? No one could have everything. Though this woman did have an unfair number of the characteristics particularly dear to Seth. Namely big boobs and long legs.

“Ooh!” Alexa glided—yes, glided—on heels that would make Bonnie walk as if she were drunk, over to the bucket of cut jasmine sprays, where she bent down to sniff. “These are sooo pretty! And they smell sooo nice.”

“They’re one of my favorites.” In a faintly bitchy gesture, she made her voice as smooth and throatily sexual as possible, and got a satisfying double take from Seth.

“How much are they?” Alexandra bit her lower lip anxiously.

“Allow me.” Seth plucked out several stems and handed them to Bonnie, not taking his eyes off of Alexandra’s assets.

“Oh, wow. Thank you, Seth,” the Goddess squeaked. “Those are so beautiful.”

“How about roses, too? Red?”

“You are just too nice. Those would be perfect.”

Seth turned to Bonnie, chest puffed like a knight who’d just rescued his lady. “We’ll take these and a couple of—”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” She was already heading for the red roses, rolling her eyes. She’d been standing three feet away. Did they think she couldn’t hear?

Still gritting her teeth, she arranged the jasmine and roses with greenery and wrapped the bouquet while Seth led Alexandra around the shop and got to hear her chipmunking over everything. Bonnie wanted to charge him triple. He and Bambi were probably on their way to his studio to make beautiful music together. Nice of him to flaunt that in front of her.