Spiced Read online

  He was filing receipts and double-checking inventory statements while the crew prepared for the lunch rush when his manager popped into the brick-walled office. “Your brother’s here.”

  Tony pushed back from the built-in desk. He didn’t talk much to his brothers on either side of the family, and they didn’t bother with him either, which had always worked fine for them. Since he’d told his sisters he was dating someone, they’d left him alone too. Because his sisters were the ones who kept insisting they could find him someone better than Tabitha.

  His sisters were the ones who were always meddling.

  So why was one of his brothers here? And what did he want? “Which one?” he asked.

  “Louie.”

  Tony hid a wince. “He order anything?”

  “The Vanna special, extra jalapeños. Said to put it on his tab.”

  Louie’s appetite was a thing of legend, as was his ability to run up tabs all over town that never seemed to get paid. Ten years ago, it had annoyed the shit out of Tony. He paid his debts. He didn’t take advantage of family.

  He wasn’t his father.

  A problem not shared by his older half-brother. Tony’s loss in the father department had been Louie’s gain.

  He snagged a cup of water and sauntered out to the dining room.

  “Tony, my boy.” Louie grabbed him in a big hug that smelled like Lysol and ended with Louie clapping his upper arms. “Looking good. Nice to see the pizza business treating you right. You need these rugs cleaned, you know where to find me.” He winked at a table of women in skirts and slid a card on their table while Tony pushed him toward a quieter booth in the back room. The red-wine paint over the wood paneling was showing wear, as were the industrial black rugs, and several lightbulbs were out back here.

  He needed to pay better attention to this place.

  Later.

  He slid into the booth across from Louie, who grunted on his way in.

  “Nancy didn’t pack your lunch?” Tony asked.

  “Just wanted to check on my little brother.”

  “Doing great.”

  “You tell Francie you’ll be there for Bella’s wedding yet?”

  “Been busy.”

  “Getting busy, I hear.” Louie nudged his knee. “It true you’re going with one of them Aisle chicks? You looking for a way in for business? Better location? Primo spot in those crazy Knot Fest events? I got me an idea. You, me, pizza and dry cleaning. Yeah? Just need us a spot down there by that wedding cake monstrosity they got ruining the view.”

  That was about as likely as Tony sawing off all his own toes. “You know much about dry cleaning?”

  “I know everything there is to know about every kind of cleaning. Got some money saved up. You toss in a little, I toss in a little, and we’re in business.”

  “Appreciate the thought, but—”

  “But you’re too good for your family.” Louie thrust a hand through his greasy hair. “Ain’t told me you’re coming to the bachelor party either.”

  The last bachelor party Tony had been to had been his own, and he wasn’t excited at the prospect of hanging out with his niece’s also too-young groom, watching a bunch of barely dressed women spin on poles. Bella already had enough odds stacked against her that her marriage would make it. The thought of her going through what he’d been through made him sick to his gut.

  Which he couldn’t say to his brother. “You got a plan for this dry-cleaning thing? Business model? Location?”

  “Cleaning dresses on The Aisle, man. How much easier does it get?”

  “Destination wedding town. Brides are gone before they even realize their dresses are dirty.”

  “Tux places need a cleaner.”

  “And they have a cleaner they’ve used for years.” Tony spread his hands. “But maybe you know something I don’t. Somebody going out of business down there?”

  “Maybe I just want to do something nice with my baby brother.”

  “Joey’s your baby brother.”

  “You’re my baby brother from another mother. And Joey ain’t into business. You know that.”

  Joey lived in Willow Glen as a banker by day, cover band rocker by night. He also made it to fewer family functions than Tony did, and was the one Tony was most likely to commiserate with over a beer at family events. “Joey turned you down.” Probably didn’t want to participate in the bachelor party any more than Tony did either.

  “Like I said, he ain’t into business. Likes working for someone else.”

  “You in trouble?”

  “What? No. Where do you come up with this shit? You gonna tell me about this date with the chick on The Aisle, or do I have to ask Nancy when I get home?”

  “You’re gonna have to ask Nancy.”

  The server—an old friend who knew Louie too well—slid up to the table with the pizza. She added a bowl of strawberry gelato with rainbow sprinkles for Tony, because she was pretty damn awesome. “If you need anything else, get it yourself,” she said cheerfully.

  Louie dug into the pizza and pointed at her retreating back. “Shouldn’t let her talk to customers like that, bro.”

  “Have to pay to be a customer.”

  “What? I’ll pay.”

  Tony waved off the offer with a plastic spoon. “Any fun calls this week?”

  Louie launched into a tale about a sewage problem at the courthouse while he plowed through the pizza.

  And since Tony had heard it all before, he knew when to nod, when to grunt, and when to pause in eating his own ice cream.

  But Louie still wouldn’t take no for an answer on the bachelor party.

  Maybe Pepper could help him out. Give him an excuse not to go.

  If nothing else, out of pity. After his disastrous performance last night, pity was the best he could hope for.

  * * *

  Nothing said Sorry I can’t keep it up like flowers. Or so Tony hoped. He’d called it a day and left Pepperoni Tony’s in his assistant manager’s hands two hours ago, stopped for a bouquet of lilies, pink roses, and some other frippery he couldn’t identify, and now he was doing his best not to pace around the island in the kitchen, checking his watch again and again while he waited for Pepper to arrive.

  Homemade mac ’n’ cheese was bubbling in the oven. A fresh salad with candied pecans and feta was chilling in the fridge. And there were two steaks ready for pan-searing as soon as she arrived.

  Which should’ve been fifteen minutes ago.

  Running a little late, she’d texted. Be there ASAP.

  They hadn’t talked since Monday night. He’d played basketball over lunch with Max and the crew the last two days—good people, he liked them—but she hadn’t shown up again to watch.

  Neither had her grandmother.

  The other women watching the basketball game had all seemed to think it was normal—her sister’s wedding being on Saturday and all. Which they assumed he knew, since he was going with her, wasn’t he?

  Hadn’t been the original plan, but since they’d pointed it out… He probably was.

  He hated weddings. The first one he remembered going to was his father’s. And even though he’d known with all of his heart that marrying Tabitha was what he wanted to do, he hadn’t enjoyed his own wedding either.

  A wedding had slammed the door on his lingering hope of his parents getting back together, and no amount of logic that his mother was better off without his father could shake that taste.

  Lucky slunk into the kitchen, hugging the baseboards beneath the cabinets, a green toy mouse dangling from her jaw. She deposited it in her water bowl and slunk back out.

  Third toy mouse she’d drowned in the last two days.

  He’d wonder if she had issues, but she’d picked him. Of course she did.

  A knock sounded. He sprang toward the front of the house, then had to go back for the flowers. When he got back to the door and flung it open, she looked as frazzled as he felt.

  “Sorry,” she said as s
he breezed inside. “Tarra was in for her final fitting, and we were having a moment. Poor thing is so stressed. Weddings are supposed to be fun, but some days…”

  She had another reusable shopping bag slung over her shoulder, this one black, emblazoned in pink with—he tilted his head and squinted—Don’t make me bless your heart twice.

  Huh. Didn’t sound so positive.

  “You like wine?” she added as she swept through his spacious living room and into the kitchen. “It’s been a while since I had any, so I grabbed three bottles.”

  He was up for liquid courage. Might need it. Still—“Three?”

  “I can’t remember what I like.”

  “Should’ve brought a few more.”

  “Three’s plenty. “ She put the bag on the island with a clink.

  He helped her out of her coat, then turned to the steak while she pulled the bottles out.

  “Week get better?” he asked. Judging by the wine, probably not.

  “I always forget how traumatic family weddings are when you’re in the bridal business. I do this every day. You’d think it would get easier.”

  There was something off about her delivery, but when he glanced back at her, she was casually folding her bag. “Your cat just put a pencil in her water bowl.”

  “Probably trying to stab the mouse she put in there an hour ago. She’s bloodthirsty.”

  Pepper laughed, and he decided his paranoia was acting up again. Two weeks ago, their biggest issue was that she hated his cat, and now, she was laughing at Lucky’s antics. This was good. Definite progress.

  He had two older sisters and a handful of half- and stepsisters, along with an ex-wife. He knew enough women to know hormonal mood swings happened. Probably all that was wrong on Monday.

  She dug into his cabinets along the back wall. “Glasses in here?”

  “Next to the sink.”

  “Bingo. Thanks.” She flashed an overly bright smile. “Did I mention it smells amazing in here? Is that pizza?”

  “Macaroni and cheese.”

  “Hope you made enough for six. I’m starving.”

  There was an edge to her voice again, something not quite right. He set the first filet in the cast-iron skillet on the stove. Usually, the sizzle of searing steak was enough to make him smile.

  Not tonight, though.

  Something was off. Again.

  “Is it homemade?” she asked. “I haven’t had real mac ’n’ cheese in… Oh, wow. I can’t even remember. Velveeta or cheddar?”

  He dropped the second steak in the corner of the pan. “Velveeta?”

  “You should see your face. Want me to tell you about my family’s recipe? We call it mac and Spameeta.”

  “Explains so much. Corkscrew’s in the drawer in the island.”

  While he cooked the steaks, she opened all three bottles. Two reds and a white. Should’ve brought some gelato home for dessert, but since she’d turned down her own cookies and refused to eat more than a single bite of the pasta the other night, he’d tried to stay on the healthier side—mac and cheese aside, which he’d made more for himself—and had a fruit bowl prepped instead.

  By the time he put two full dinner plates on the island and settled on a stool across from her, she’d been sampling from two glasses. Her smiles danced with carefree mischief, and she’d peppered him with more frequent questions about his house, his cat, and his hobbies when he wasn’t working the deeper she’d gotten into the wine.

  “I still want to hear this polka band,” she said while she cut into her steak.

  “That was a test. I needed to know how serious you were.”

  “What? No polka band? My poor heart will never recover.”

  “I could try to learn. Can’t be that hard to pick up the accordion.”

  “You better. I promised my family a performance at the wedding Saturday night.” She popped the steak into her mouth, and her eyes slid closed while she moaned.

  Four days ago, that moan would’ve prompted a party in his pants. But she’d said the w-word.

  She blinked those pretty green eyes back open. He ducked his head over his own plate—one from his mother’s mismatched Polish pottery set—but he could feel her watching.

  “I lied. I had a date hook up with one of my cousins at my sister Ginger’s wedding,” she said. “I already told them I’m not bringing you, and they can just suck it up. Even Gran won’t push a date on me when I’m dating someone else.”

  His grip tightened on his fork. “Your cousin actually stole your date at a wedding.”

  “And then…” She trailed off with a shrug.

  “And then married him?” he finished for her. Sounded like something his family would do.

  “We all get along just fine now.”

  “You went to their wedding.”

  “Without a date,” she quipped.

  He bent his fork.

  “Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” she said. “If I’d married him instead, I’d be stuck in St. Louis working a corporate job with four little—” Her eyes tightened, and she took a big gulp from her glass of red. “I wouldn’t have moved to Bliss, I wouldn’t be half-owner in a successful boutique, and I wouldn’t be enjoying this delicious meal,” she finished.

  She scooped a forkful of mac and cheese, lifted it to her lips with a smile, and did her moaning thing again. “Ohmigod, is this cheese or melted heaven?”

  “When’s the last time you took a date to a wedding?” Wedding dates were awkward. They were more awkward when relationships were new. Insane when relationships were staged. All the whispers. The bouquet and garter toss. The speculation.

  She didn’t answer.

  He needed to quit thinking. Quit talking. Quit asking. “You’ve never taken another date to a wedding.”

  “I spent three years nursing that particular embarrassment, and when I was finally mature enough to be a grown-up about it, I’d had seven more successful pre-bride relationships. Didn’t seem prudent to push my luck.”

  Nope, not touching her pre-bride comment. Couldn’t do it. He was man enough to know his limits.

  “Pre-bride?” he heard himself sputter, despite his best intentions.

  “Oh, come on. It’s funny.” She switched to the white and gulped.

  Not laughing at her own joke.

  Had she found out another ex was getting married? Was that what her mood Monday was about?

  “They were all idiots,” he heard himself growl.

  She blinked at him. “No, they weren’t. They were smart, intelligent, normal men who simply weren’t right for me.”

  “Like dinosaur man?”

  “Gran thought giving me a different kind of date might work.” She toasted him with her red. “And look. It got me you.”

  Him. The dysfunctional pizza man. “I’m going with you to the wedding.”

  She choked on the wine. “No—”

  “No girlfriend of mine is spending a reception dancing with every Tom, Dick, and Harry her grandmother can find. And no girlfriend of mine is going to spend a night with her family wondering where her boyfriend is. And no girlfriend of mine—”

  Her finger settled on his lips, igniting a spark that lit up his skin and burned down his neck, to his heart, through his gut and straight to his groin. “I’m not your girlfriend,” she whispered.

  She was the closest damn thing he had, and he was the closest damn thing to a boyfriend she had. That sharp ache slicing his chest suggested he’d be a smart man to remember she was right. “They don’t know that.”

  Her lips pursed.

  He could kiss her. Kiss her senseless until she forgot this wasn’t real. Until instinct took over and they were clawing at each other’s clothes, until he was holding her breasts again, exploring her creamy skin, tasting the wine on her tongue, thrusting into her, taking her—

  Proving to her—what?

  That she was valued? That she was deserving? That she was loved?

  He couldn’t love her. H
e couldn’t offer her commitment. He couldn’t be the kind of man she deserved, and frankly, he didn’t want to be. No matter what being around her did to his sex drive.

  But he couldn’t stand the idea of her going to this wedding alone.

  She held his gaze, her eyes wide and dark, roses blooming in her cheeks, her unsteady breathing the only sound in the room.

  “I’m going with you,” he repeated.

  She blinked quickly. “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Eat your dinner.”

  A lopsided smile made a ghost of an appearance. She glanced down and took another swig, this time from the white wine. “Bossy.”

  “Damn right.”

  He knew a thing or two about stubborn. And he knew a thing or two about being alone.

  He couldn’t offer any woman much, but on this, he’d be what Pepper Blue needed.

  * * *

  Pepper’s eyelids were heavy, her limbs like oversaturated pool noodles, and her head was swimming in a sea of wine-induced weirdness. Still darkness wrapped around her, a slow, steady drum beating beneath her ear.

  She jolted upright with a gasp, her head moving more slowly than the rest of her. Green LED lights from a clock—2:10 a.m.—lit enough of the room for her to make out a cat perched at the edge of the bed, rumpled covers, and Tony.

  Stubborn, reliable, sexy Tony.

  One leg was kicked out from beneath the covers, one arm tossed over his head, the other flopped across beneath where she’d been lying a moment before. His breath was rhythmic and deep, issuing a subconscious invitation for her to curl back up and go back to sleep. He was still fully dressed, as was she.

  How had she gotten here?

  And when?

  The last thing she remembered was dipping late winter strawberries in melted chocolate chips, laughing over—an elephant? Had he been telling her a story about an elephant? And a toothbrush?

  She should’ve known better than to drink so much wine. And her belly was still full from dinner.

  She’d forgotten how much she loved food.

  She’d also forgotten how much she loved the scent of a sleeping man. The simple joy of snuggling in winter. The more carnal pleasures to be found in a bed.