Sweet on You Page 3

  Last month, I’d been caught so off guard when she asked me out. I had ruined it between us. I desperately wanted to say yes, but it simply wouldn’t have been fair to her. God-willing, I wasn’t going to be available soon. Not if Lana did her job well. And it seemed like we were closing in on that answer soon.

  But more than anything, I wanted to get to know Ronnie. “Maybe I could make it up to you,” I said, my voice cracking like a teenager. My brain screamed inside my skull—Don’t do it! It’s a bad idea! But my heart egged me on, hammering against my ribs as the words left my mouth. “We could grab a drink before I drop you off?”

  What was I doing? It’s not a date, I told myself. It’s an apology.

  “I have dinner plans,” Ronnie said, her voice clipped in a way it hadn’t been since I’d first arrived at the gym.

  “Right, I remember,” I said, referencing earlier when she mentioned dinner with Yvonne. “But maybe I could buy you a drink before that? I assume you have at least thirty minutes until you’re meeting her? We can be quick—”

  “I can’t. I need to go home first to, uh, walk my dog.”

  My heart sank, the rapid-fire beating slowing and dropping to my stomach. I’d heard a lot of excuses to not go out before. But this? It was a terrible lie. Did she forget what a tiny town this was? How everyone talked and how everyone knew everything about each other? “You don’t have dog, Ronnie.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Really? Because I’ve never seen you with one. Ever. You don’t even seem to like your family’s dogs all that much.”

  “I love dogs. I just don’t love drool. And fur.”

  “Well, that tends to come with the territory.”

  “Not with my dog. He doesn’t drool and he’s, um, hypo-allergenic.”

  I studied her carefully. The way she bounced her knee nervously, shaking the car with the movement. The nervous way she nibbled on her bottom lip and picked at her cuticles. “What’s his name?”

  She looked down at her hands. “Penny.”

  “A boy dog named Penny?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yep. It’s sort of a nod to A Boy Named Sue.”

  I exhaled a breath. “Ronnie,” I said quietly, “it’s okay if you don’t want to grab a drink. You don’t have to make up a dog—”

  “I’m not making him up!”

  I didn’t want to fight her on this or back her into a corner. But it felt like we had a lot to hash out. So, gathering all the bravery I could, I inhaled slowly through my nose, ready to be honest with her. Two years was long enough to bury these secrets I’d been living with. You could only become so close with your friends if you were hiding things like I was. “Last month, when you asked me out, I didn’t say no because I didn’t want to go out with you—”

  “Lex, we don’t have to talk about this,” she said quickly and looked out the window, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll take a raincheck on that drink. But I really do need to take my dog out before dinner with Yvonne.”

  I swallowed and nodded as I pulled up to the gym, deciding it was best to let it drop. She didn’t seem like she was open to chatting, regardless. “Okay. Raincheck, then.” I gave her a weak smile as I stopped the car. “Give me a couple of days and I’ll get you the money for your windshield. I promise.”

  Her face softened at that. “Lex, that’s a lot of money. I bet insurance will cover it—”

  I shook my head. “Let me try to get the money first. I can afford it.”

  That was a bit of a stretch, but Ronnie didn’t need to know that. “Have fun with Yvonne tonight.”

  “Good night, Lex.”

  4

  Lex

  As I turned the key and entered my one-and-a-half-bedroom apartment, I was met face on with how dull my life appeared to be. At least from a day to day perspective. Even if drama simmered below the surface, like an active volcano. From the outside, I looked like a boring ol’ mountain.

  Inside, I was hot, steaming, percolating, and dangerous. And at any moment, my life could explode.

  I rubbed my eyes as I shut the door behind me. This was exactly why I’d said no to Ronnie a month ago when she asked me out. This was exactly why I shouldn’t have asked her out today. But no matter what, I found myself inexplicably drawn to her, despite my best efforts to keep my distance. In a town where I had no family, the Tripps welcomed me with open arms.

  I sighed and looked around at my boring apartment above the bakery. It had generic furniture. A sofa, tv, small dining area and decent sized kitchen. I never bothered hanging anything on the wall, because even though I had signed a two-year lease, it wasn’t meant to be my home forever. And in my closet? There were no leather jackets and cool sunglasses like Ronnie’s friend James had worn today. It was filled with v-neck sweaters, polo shirts, jeans, and dress pants. And if I was being honest? Most of my stuff was still in boxes up in the unfinished loft of the apartment. Just in case I found myself needing to pack up and move elsewhere at a moment’s notice.

  I tossed my keys onto the small shelf by the door as Frost, my fluffy white cat weaved between my feet, purring. I sighed and scooped her into my arms. She immediately took her spot on my shoulders—which was no easy feat as a fifteen-pound cat. But my shoulder was her favorite perch. I smiled and scratched beneath her chin as she nuzzled against my stubble. “Hello, old girl. I hope your day was better than mine.”

  Meow.

  “What do you say we bake some apology muffins, hmm?”

  Silence.

  “No? Maybe an I’m sorry cake?”

  Silence.

  “Humble pie, maybe?”

  Meow.

  “You’re completely right. Humble pie, it is. Paleo, just how she likes it. I won’t even tease her about it.” Even though teasing had become some sort of g-rated foreplay between Ronnie and me. We had each grown to anticipate it—expect it. And in some ways, it excited me more than watching her on her morning runs. Admittedly, she didn’t know I saw her nearly every day. There was a small window bump out in my apartment—almost like an attic overlay up a small spiral staircase. It wasn’t a finished room—yet. But it could be. It was my favorite place to sip coffee in the early morning before the rest of the world was awake. Four in the morning—my favorite moment of the day, was that slice of silence I got before I began baking for the morning rush. And every morning at that time, Ronnie ran right by my apartment, paused by the water fountain for a quick sip and a hamstring stretch… then continued on her run.

  I’d seen her on that morning run weeks before we ever met in person and something about her had captivated me. It wasn’t her beauty—which, yes, she was beautiful. It was her determination. Her tenacity. I’d never met anyone with that sort of discipline to wake up before the sun so consistently. No one other than myself. As a baker, the alarm going off at three-thirty in the morning was a regular thing. But it was also the number one reason relationships didn’t tend to work out for me. Most women didn’t enjoy a boyfriend who needed to be in bed by 9:00 p.m. in order to be well rested for a 3:30 a.m. wake up call.

  For a month, I watched her run every morning. Not on purpose—and not in a creepy way. Simply, I woke up before work, had my coffee… and there she’d be. Whether it was rainy, snowy, or sunny out, she ran. I sat there that first month, sipping my coffee, wondering who she was. Until one Father’s Day morning, I rang the doorbell of the Tripp family home to deliver a blueberry crumble pie—and there she was again. The runner. My runner.

  I moved into the kitchen, grabbed the almond flour, eggs, honey, and coconut cream as Frost continued to purr in my ear. I turned my head to the side, dropping a quick kiss behind her ear. “If you get fur in this pie, you’ll never be allowed to perch on me again while baking. You hear?”

  Meow.

  I washed my hands like a surgeon, up to the elbow, and just as I started mixing the dough, my phone rang. My landlord’s name lit up the screen.

  With my elbow, I managed to hit the ‘answer’ button.
“Hey, Nate,” I said. “Guess who I met today?”

  “Uh… hi Lex,” he said. “I have no idea, who?”

  “James,” I grinned, glancing at Frost, still perched on my shoulder.

  There was a pause on the other line. “My… husband James? Where’d you two meet?”

  “Through Ronnie Tripp. He was passing by on his way somewhere. Anyway, how’s it going?” I asked.

  “Good, good,” he answered politely before getting to the point of his call. “I was wondering if you’ve given any thought to buying your building?”

  I swallowed hard and sighed, my eyes shifting to the mortgage application that sat on the counter beside me. Taunting me. It was time to make a choice. Plant roots in Maple Grove or risk having to set up shop elsewhere.

  “I… I’m not sure yet.” I answered, intentionally ambiguous. There was a lot to consider. I did have the money for the down payment… but it was my entire savings. And then there was the question of whether or not I could even get a loan to pay for the rest. Banks didn’t look too highly on small business owners. Not when it came to doling out money, at least. “I’m going to be honest, Nate. I don’t know that I can get the loan,” I admitted. “It’s not that I can’t afford a mortgage on the place, because I can. But I’m still new to this country. And as a small business owner with a fairly young business, I’m not a prime candidate for a loan…”

  “I can actually help you there,” Nate gently interrupted. “I’ve got a buddy in banking who specializes in your type of riskier commercial mortgages. Let me connect you guys—you may have to pay a higher interest rate, but you can always refinance later, after the bakery is more established.”

  I was speechless. Up until this moment, I didn’t quite believe this could truly happen. I didn’t think it was realistic that I could own this building. I gulped. The pressure was now truly on to make a choice to stay in Maple Grove. Though I still wasn’t sure, it didn’t hurt to get more information on this loan. But I liked Nate. He was a good guy and I didn’t want to string him along if he needed to sell sooner than later. “That’s really kind of you, Nate. I’d love to talk to him, but I’m going to be honest, I have a lot of personal things going on right now and even if I got the loan, I’m not sure it’s a good time for me to buy.”

  “Just think about it. I can give you about a month. Otherwise, I’ll need to list it officially with a broker and then, let’s face it, they’ll take five to ten percent. If you buy the place, we can share the savings in commissions, and I’ll know my building is going to a good guy. And you wouldn’t have to worry about a new owner kicking you out when your lease is up in a couple of months. It’s a win-win.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate that. I’ll… I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “Good. And we should all go out for drinks sometime. You, me, James and Ronnie.”

  I gulped. I’d love that… and yet, something told me Ronnie wasn’t going to be jumping at the chance to hang out with me anytime soon. “Sure,” I said. “You just say where and when.” I was placating him… knowing that night out would never happen. But it was nice to dream.

  I hung up with him and got back to my batter, my mind racing a mile a minute.

  I had thirty days to make a decision. That meant Lana needed to find London… and fast. Before we hit thirty days. Because this all depended on where she was hiding. Never in a million years did I think it would take this long to find her. Two years and nothing. There’d been a few close calls. Someone had mentioned her on social media, or I’d thought I found her picture, but unfortunately, she had one of the most common last names in history. Murphy.

  The first year, I thought I could find her myself and set about scouring Facebook for any whisper of where in the Northeast she may be hiding. After months of that, I gave up and hired Lana… my private investigator. It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth every penny if it meant I found London. The trick was… if I found her, there was a chance I’d need to move.

  I sighed, drying my hands and shoving the application out of the way—but still in view. I needed to be confronted with that deadline daily. Needed the reminder to motivate me, keep me aware and on my toes.

  I cracked the eggs, pushing my swimming thoughts to the side, and began beating them with the honey and cream of coconut. Baking. It was my therapy. The thing I could always rely on to calm my nerves.

  Grabbing my pie plate, I created the paleo crust out of shredded coconut, coconut oil, and honey and put it in the oven to crisp up before pouring the filling in to bake as well. While that baked, I pulled out the croissant dough I had made that morning and added more cold butter, folding it carefully a few more times before putting it back into the fridge for tomorrow.

  Just as I was about to sit down and relax, my phone rang again, causing Frost to tighten her claws against the flesh of my shoulder.

  I winced and bent, allowing Frost to hop safely off my shoulders and run to her second favorite perch up on the windowsill. Tail flicking, she chirped at a bird that flew by as I grabbed the phone and saw Lana’s name blinking on the screen. I swiped right, my heart lurching into my throat as I answered. “Lana, hi.”

  “I think I’ve got her, Lex.”

  My eyes fell closed briefly and I willed away the swell of tears that took over me. “I’ve heard you say that before.”

  “I know, I know. You need to hear me out this time. Can we meet?”

  I glanced at the clock. The pie needed fifteen more minutes. Then I glanced down at myself, still in the same clothes from working out, dried sweat still clinging to my body. The pie might need fifteen minutes, but I needed at least thirty. “Give me an hour and I’ll meet you at Greico’s.”

  I hung up and ran to the shower, shedding my body of my t-shirt as I went, trying desperately to ignore the pang of excitement in my chest. I’d let Lana get me excited like this before and it always turned out to be a false high. Which only made the crash that much worse.

  “Harden your heart, Lex,” I instructed myself quietly.

  But it didn’t matter how many times I said that. My heart wasn’t hard. It never would be.

  I arrived at the quaint Italian eatery an hour later. Walking up to the hostess, I looked around for Lana. It was rare that I arrived first. Not because I was typically late—but because Lana was meticulously punctual. Almost to an annoying degree. Then again, I was paying her good money to be meticulous, so I guess I couldn’t complain all that much.

  Just as I was about to relish in triumph over finally arriving somewhere before her, I found her sitting at the furthest corner of the bar, nearly obstructed by the large wall of wine bottles.

  I slid into the seat next to her and she leaned over giving me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “Lex,” she said. “Sorry this is so last minute. But I really thought we needed to talk in person.”

  My brows drew in tight between my eyes. “So… what’s different this time?”

  Lana swallowed and even though we had grown to be good friends, she still had an air of professionalism about her. She always did when we talked business. It was like she was two different people—PI Lana and my friend Lana. And I knew I was dealing with PI Lana by the tension set in her jaw.

  She drew in a breath and took a sip of her drink before talking. “I’ve been putting searches out for your ex-girlfriend—London Murphy. I have friends in the police department who I’ve asked to contact me if anyone is ever brought in—or if any bodies are found—with that name.” I sucked in a sharp breath. Was that what this was about? Had she found London’s body?

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered, covering my mouth. “Is London… is she dead?”

  She held out her hand and shook her head when she saw my face. “No. I was just trying to cover all bases in my search. But despite trying for a year, nothing had come of those searches and contacts.”

  My heart sank even though I didn’t know why. Didn’t she say she had good news tonight? This. This feeling here. It was
why I shouldn’t get my hopes up time and time again.

  “Until now,” Lana said quietly and with a slender pink manicured finger, she slid a picture across the bar to me. “Is this London?”

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered and lifted the picture in my trembling fingers. The paper literally shook as I stared at it, blurring the image. But not so much that I didn’t recognize London immediately. “It’s her,” I whispered. It was a mug shot. She had aged ten years in the two since I’d seen her. Her blond hair was stringier. Her face gaunt. I swallowed hard, ignoring the pang of guilt. “She’s still an addict,” I said. It wasn’t a question. It was written all over her face.

  Guilt panged in my chest. There’d been a time that we’d gotten high together. But when I hit rock bottom, I managed to climb out from that abyss and stay out. She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to ever get out in front of it. It was a constant struggle for me, too, of course. Far from easy. Even sitting here, at this bar, was a challenge. Alcohol was never my drug of choice back then, but it didn’t matter. It all created dependency issues and I’d rather just order the Diet Coke than wrestle with the fear and itch that even a small taste of alcohol would give me.

  Lana nodded. “She lives about an hour north of here in New Hampshire in a town on the border of Maine. Authorities arrested her after she was caught stealing a Mercedes from a parking lot. According to my friend up there, they’re not letting her off easy, but the judge probably won’t throw the book at her either. She will probably serve a year in State prison. County, if she gets lucky.”

  I swallowed hard, dropping the photo on the table. “Why did it take so long to find her?”

  “London isn’t her real name. It’s Sarah. Sarah Murphy.”