Spiced Read online

  “Prep for the Battle of the Boyfriends,” she replied without hesitation.

  At the mention of the insane annual band competition that Bliss had turned into a sappy love show, his boner deflated.

  He’d sung his heart out for Tabitha and proposed to her at the Battle of the Boyfriends four years ago. Growing up in Willow Glen, he’d heard about the competition, but he’d never thought he’d enter himself.

  Until he’d caught Tabitha sighing over a poster advertising it.

  “You have fun with that. I’ll drop some pizzas by on Sunday.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Need to be up early myself,” he interrupted. “Thanks for a fun night. Tell Gran I’m looking forward to a rematch.”

  He hung up in a hurry, his chest an empty chasm of broken hopes and dreams.

  She was fixing his manhood, but he was still too much in his own way for anyone to fix the rest of him.

  6

  When the lights dimmed in the Bliss Civic Center theater to start the show Saturday night, Pepper’s volunteer duties for the Battle of the Boyfriends were more or less done. Tickets were collected, contestants were wrangled, judges were happy and in place, and best of all, Gran had been made an honorary judge and was seated safely in the spotlight between Will and Lindsey Truitt—last year’s winner, an honor she still refused to talk about—and the Harts from the chocolate shop.

  Pepper could’ve stayed to watch the show, but honestly, she wanted to go home, prop her feet up, and read a book. She lingered at the back entrance behind the audience to check her phone.

  No messages from Tony.

  Or anyone else, for that matter. She wasn’t checking to see if just Tony wanted to text her. One of her siblings might’ve come to town early for the Blueper Bowl and forgotten she was busy tonight and needed to know how to get into her house.

  Someone paused beside her with a heavy grunt.

  “Checking on Tony?” Kimmie whispered. “Poor guy.”

  She slid a glance at her curly-haired friend. “Poor guy?”

  Kimmie pointed down at the stage, where Max’s sister-in-law, Rachel, had just come out to kick off her duties as emcee for the evening. Max’s brother, Dan, followed his wife, but no one would’ve mistaken him for having any real role tonight. Not when Rachel had the mic.

  “He proposed to his girlfriend here a few years ago,” Kimmie said. “I don’t know much about their divorce, but it’s never pretty, you know?”

  Good thing it was dark, because Pepper was caught—again—with too little information about her fake boyfriend. She made a noncommittal noise.

  “Right. Sorry. None of my business. I just—he was such a nice guy, and they came all the way over from Willow Glen to participate. I hate seeing bad things happen to nice guys. But, hey, he has you now.”

  Right.

  He had her now.

  “You’ve never dated a divorced guy, have you?” Kimmie’s sweet face lit up with a smile. “He could break your streak.”

  “Are you and Josh coming to the Blueper Bowl party?” Pepper whispered.

  Kimmie clapped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry. I forgot. Not talking about the streak. Yes! Yes, we’re coming to the party. We stopped by Suckers the other night for coconut cream pie, and Cinna told us all about the tight end pool. And I really want to see the Blueper Bowl halftime show. Josh says it sounds like something from one of my dreams. We’re both very interested. Hey, will Nat be there with the baby? I haven’t had a chance to stop in and see her yet. Plus, I figured she’s probably still recovering from all of your sisters coming to visit.”

  “You’ll still have to fight the sisters tomorrow, but Saffron’s coming with her baby too, so you might have a chance.”

  “I really just want to see Nat.” Kimmie rubbed her belly. “It’s a little scary, you know?”

  “Gonna do great, sugar.” Josh stopped behind his wife and kissed the back of her head. Inside, a screechy violin stirred to life. “And babies need their rest,” he added quickly.

  “Chicken,” Pepper murmured.

  He flashed his old playboy grin. “Damn right. Here. Help me get Kimmie to the car.”

  “I can walk myself,” Kimmie objected.

  “Not when your friends are trying to escape horrible music.”

  “Oh. Right.” Kimmie flailed her arms wide. “Oh, Pepper, please help me too. I’m horrifically low on my coconut and cupcake consumption today. Woe is me.”

  “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?” Josh said to her.

  “I always love hearing it again.”

  Kimmie didn’t stop at the love glow. She shimmered and glittered and outshone everything else in a three-state radius. Before Josh, she’d been mousy and beaten down by her overbearing mother. And much as Pepper was happy for her, hard as she tried to squash that green-eyed monster, her heart still ached in envy for what this unlikely couple had found.

  She accompanied them out to Kimmie’s car. She’d heard rumors Josh had traded his Porsche for a minivan, but she hadn’t seen it yet herself. When she should’ve gone home and taken some doctor-prescribed rest, instead, she hit the grocery store.

  She popped into her own house long enough to let the dogs out and love on Sadie, then she carried the grocery bag to the house next door.

  There were still gaps in her story with Tony that she needed to know to accurately pull off this farce for the next five or six days, she told herself.

  Not because she was using him to make herself feel less lonely while she waited for the pregnancy test at the doctor’s office Monday morning.

  Okay, maybe some to feel less lonely. And possibly because she didn’t dislike him as much as she thought she did. Or maybe because she wanted to know if he was thinking about the Battle of the Boyfriends going on just a hop, skip, and a throw from his house tonight.

  The front windows were dark, but his truck was in the driveway. His cat didn’t announce her presence the way George announced everything from squirrels to snowflakes to the mailman. She swayed heels to toes after she knocked at the door. A hint of wood smoke on the crisp air made her wonder if he had a fireplace.

  She didn’t. It was the one thing her house was lacking.

  That, and a huge master bathroom with a built-in whirlpool tub.

  The door swung open. Tony was in sweats and a Pepperoni Tony’s T-shirt. He hooked one hand around the edge of the door and swept a quick glance over her. “Is this a bribe or a threat to keep me from the Blueper Bowl?”

  She sucked in a big cold breath of spontaneity. “It’s a peace offering with a confession. There’s virtually nothing I can’t do. Except knit.”

  He lifted a brow.

  And find a man willing to marry you, that obnoxious dark brow said.

  His brow needed to shut up.

  “Gran tried to teach me once,” she said, “and I made this horrific uneven scarf of knots and frustrated tears.”

  “Your first problem might have been your teacher.”

  “She’s a very talented woman. Your turn.”

  “My turn…?”

  “Tell me something you’re not good at.”

  “Because…?”

  Because once again, she’d been caught having someone else tell her things she should’ve known about her fake boyfriend. She shifted her grocery sack to her other shoulder. “How much do you know about Bliss?”

  “Crazy town. Lots of weddings. Should be a good pizza market.”

  “Small town. Lots of events. Good people with excellent memories about past competitors in all the goofball love contests.”

  His hand wobbled on the door, and it wasn’t hard to visualize it shutting in her face. But when his shoulders sagged and his gaze dropped, she took the liberty of opening the screen door and letting herself in.

  “You get married here too?” she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “Boat on Lake Michigan.”

  “I planned a wedding on a boat once,” s
he said. “I was thirteen, and I had this huge crush on my sister Ginger’s boyfriend’s brother. He was on the swim team, so I asked him if he wanted to get married on a boat.”

  He shut the door. “Tell me he didn’t marry his next girlfriend.”

  “I didn’t actually date him,” she said with an exaggerated sniff.

  “How many weddings have you planned?”

  “You first. Tell me a secret.”

  “I’m having fantasies about getting a Knitting Pepper action figure.”

  “A secret about you.”

  “That was about me.”

  She had a lot of work to do. She lifted the reusable cloth grocery bag. “I need your kitchen.”

  A spark of interest lit his dark eyes, and he hooked a finger into the bag. She pressed it shut before he could peek in.

  “What’s wrong with your kitchen?” he asked.

  “I can’t interrogate you properly there if you’re here.”

  “You bake?”

  “First place every year in my high school’s bake-off.”

  His warm smile made his eyes crinkle in the corners, and her belly dipped. “And since high school?” he asked.

  “Since high school, I’ve become a workaholic, forgot how to sleep in past seven in the morning, and can no longer stuff my face with mountains of cookies without feeling sluggish and needing to buy larger pants.”

  His smile turned wry. “Being a grown-up blows, doesn’t it?”

  “Depends on the day.”

  He trailed her into the kitchen and flipped the light switches for her. Clean countertops, empty sink and dish rack. The old refrigerator banged and chugged beside the radiator, which was incredibly poor planning on someone’s part. She deposited her bag on the island and pointed him to a stool.

  He leaned a hip against the island instead, just inside her personal space bubble, making her pulse do things her pulse wasn’t supposed to do for men right now.

  “Keeping me up past my bedtime, Miss Blue.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m a terribly bossy, inconsiderate person. You can take a nap tomorrow.” She put a hand to his arm and pushed.

  Bad move.

  Because his bicep was hot, hard steel beneath her chilled fingers. Also, he didn’t budge, and now she was in his personal space bubble. And she wanted to be closer. Closer to the heat radiating off his entire body. Closer to his delicious scent of earthy male and marinara sauce.

  Closer to his wickedly talented mouth and his overgrown five o’clock shadow.

  Her knees wobbled. She jerked back and dug into the bag.

  “Do you ever take naps?” His words were a caress and an invitation. Goose bumps popped up along her arms.

  “Naps are for the weak. Cookies, cake, or brownies?”

  “What kind of cookies? And I didn’t say the nap was for sleeping.”

  She plopped bags of flour, sugar, and chocolate chips onto the island. “Secret family recipe.”

  “Toll House, hm?”

  “Mock my cookies and I’ll go home, pizza man.”

  He stepped around her and reached into a cabinet. “Feeling feisty tonight?”

  Was she?

  Or was she feeling the weight of what that test would mean Monday morning? It would be positive. It had to be.

  Who would she be if it wasn’t? What would she be if it wasn’t?

  She’d done an impressive job of distracting herself this week, but tonight, it was proving harder.

  She dropped a container of baking soda on the counter and turned to face him. “You own a successful business.”

  He didn’t answer, simply eyed her as he set a blue flowered Pyrex nesting bowl behind her. If he was as much like she was as she was beginning to suspect, he definitely wouldn’t call himself successful yet. Because Pepperoni Tony’s might be a staple thirty minutes away in Willow Glen, but it hadn’t yet taken off in Bliss.

  “So you know the drive and determination it takes to be successful,” she continued.

  His nod came slowly.

  “Do you ever turn it off? Because I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know how. Failing—it sucks. We’re supposed to learn from it. Not call it failure. But that’s exactly what it is when fifteen men go on to marry the next woman they date after you. When you’re thirty-five and alone and too feisty. Too high maintenance. Too stubborn. Too set in your ways. Too successful. Except you’re just you, and you don’t know why you can’t find someone who’ll take you just as you.”

  He was either going to run for the hills because she was crazy, or she could laugh and say psych.

  Except that was her truth. She worked hard, she expected the best, and every time she’d gone through a breakup, at least one of her sisters had said some variation of the same thing.

  Men are intimidated by you because you’re just too awesome.

  They didn’t get it. They didn’t get how failure affected her. How personal and terrifying all of her dating failures were. And she didn’t know if Tony would get it or not, but he had guts, he had will, and he had his own relationship failure on a level her sisters had never known.

  He leaned his elbows on the counter, his gaze on a point on the wall behind her. “My parents got divorced when I was six. Mom found out my father had another family on the side. Not even ten miles away. Both my older half-brothers are divorced. Sisters and half-sisters are decently happy, but they all bitch about their husbands. Tolerating shit is what Cross women do, and getting divorced is what Cross men do. Yay me. I lived up to family expectations.”

  A thick mess of something she didn’t want to label sympathy welled up in her chest. He didn’t have to tell her he’d wanted to succeed at his marriage. Because who didn’t?

  “No. I don’t turn it off,” he said finally. “Food’s what I’m good at. I don’t fail at food.” He gestured to her. “Hence the reason you’re here. So I don’t fail.”

  She ignored the reminder of their deal. “I thought I failed right out of college. I have a math degree, and I had a job lined up with a huge consulting firm in St. Louis, but they went belly-up two weeks before I was supposed to start. I took a job with this bridal chain instead, busted my butt being indispensable in the corporate offices for six months, got promoted into a job in marketing, and I can’t even do derivatives anymore.”

  The left side of his mouth hitched up. “I studied history.”

  “Slacker.”

  “Until I dropped out.”

  He eyed her, probably looking for a reaction.

  She eyed him right back, because it wasn’t a degree that defined a person. It was how hard they worked with what they had.

  He nodded. “When I was about nine, I told my mom I was going to save my money to buy a car when I turned sixteen so I could deliver pizza. Told her I’d work really hard, and then when the right major pizza holiday came around, and I had a car full of pizzas, I was going to make a break for the Wisconsin border and eat every last one myself, and never come back.”

  Laughter rolled out of her. “You must’ve been adorable.”

  “My two older sisters used to dress me up like princesses and parade me around downtown on a leash. Life at my dad’s place was worse. I just wanted to get away.”

  “And eat pizza.”

  “And eat pizza.” His lips lifted in a smile. “And for the record, I’ve never turned down cookies either.”

  “Why history?”

  “That involves an old family story with grandpa pants, four stuffed teddy bears, and a completely inaccurate recitation of Civil War history that I refuse to bore you with.”

  “That’s enough. I’ll fill in my own blanks from there.”

  He pulled out a drawer and handed over a stack of worn metal measuring cups. “You do that, and I’ll have to find that scarf you knitted.”

  She laughed again. “Good luck with that.”

  “Never doubt the man with the pizza. It gets me everything from oil changes to invitations to basketball games to dirt on prospectiv
e employees.”

  She selected a measuring cup and measured out the right amount of flour. “These cookies are going to earn me all of those deep, dark secrets that you’re still hiding that a fake girlfriend needs to know.”

  “Do your best, Miss Blue.”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “I always do, Mr. Cross.”

  An honest smile lit his eyes. “Good.”

  For fifteen years, she’d been looking for a man who wasn’t intimidated by her. Now, when she’d finally removed the need for a man from her life, life had handed her an obnoxious neighbor who just might fit the bill.

  Life was evil like that.

  * * *

  Pepper was right. She didn’t fail.

  The proof was in her magic cookies. If he wasn’t careful, he really would spill all of his secrets. “Don’t know,” he said around a mouthful of his second bite of rich, caramel-chocolate goodness. “Missing something. Not enough vanilla. Why aren’t you eating any?”

  “I’m waiting to see if they kill you. Being in mourning over the death of a fake boyfriend will buy me way more time than you leaving Tarra’s wedding with one of my cousins.”

  She swept crumbs off the edge of the island and turned to toss them into the sink. His kitchen smelled like chocolate and melted vanilla sugar, his cat was trying to squeeze into an empty butter box, and having a woman using his mom’s old bowl and spoons gave his house a cozy feel that put him on edge.

  She was allowed in the outer circle of his life, but she was flirting with those private caves he’d sealed off from the world. Knocking with her chilled hands, whispering a seductive I’ll be gentle if you open the door.

  But he wasn’t letting his gullible heart out to fuck up again. “You want me to come to your sister’s wedding?”

  “No, no. Just a joke. We’ll stick with the original plan.”

  Good. Much better. Neither of them wanted to do the awkward wedding-date thing. The awkward Cards Against Humanity with grandparents date, fine. But not the awkward wedding date.

  She scrubbed at the cookie tray in the sink, and as he relaxed again, an ugly thought occurred to him. That maybe she wasn’t joking. “One of your exes hooked up with one of your cousins at a wedding?”