16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Phoebe
Hailey had been working at Sugar Rush for a couple weeks now, and she fit in like she’d always been there. She showed up on time, did her work well, and had gotten comfortable enough to show her personality, albeit slowly. I’d learned we shared the same taste in music, she’d lived with her foster family for five years, and she wanted to be a nurse—though that was subject to change.
We had a lull in customers, so I decided to show her how to make a cappuccino. Usually, she just ran the register, but knowing how to make coffee would help.
“By the way, is the guy who picked you up yesterday your boyfriend?”
Why had that question made wild butterflies take flight? “No, he’s not.”
Her nose crinkled as she examined me. “Do you want him to be your boyfriend?”
I laughed. “That was our first date, so we’ll see. I’m not in any rush to find a boyfriend.”
She worried her lip with her fingers as I explained the parts of the machine and the different types of coffee drinks we offered.
“Is he nice?”
I turned from the machine to look at her. “Who?”
“The guy you like. What’s he like?”
“Well…” I poured the coffee we’d made into a cup, adding cream and sugar, then slid it to Hailey. “He’s very nice. I knew him in high school and always had a thing for him, but nothing ever happened. Now he’s my neighbor, so we’re getting to know each other.”
“That’s cute. So, I guess…you’re dating him?”
“It’s really new, but yes. I think so.”
“I bet he really likes you. You’re so pretty and sweet. Plus, you make great desserts.”
I snorted. If that was all it took to win over a man I liked, I guessed I was a shoo-in. “Thank you, sweetheart. I really like him, so I hope he really likes me too.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
She sipped the coffee I’d made, and her lips puckered, making me laugh.
“That’s a strong one.”
She pushed it back toward me. “I don’t think I’m a coffee drinker.”
“That’s okay.” I brought the straw to my lips and winked. “I drink enough for us both.”
A customer came in, ending our chat. Hailey rang him up, and I made his coffee. That was the beginning of our late afternoon rush. The two of us moved around behind the counter like we’d been choreographed, grabbing drinks and pastries in a smooth dance.
Hailey stayed until we flipped the “closed” sign, and her foster mom pulled up in a minivan to drive her home, like she did at the end of every shift.
Her foster family included six children—some biological, some not. When I’d first hired her, I’d worried she might have a troubled home life, but that didn’t seem to be the case. She was shy and lived in a crowded house, but as far as I could tell, she wasn’t being mistreated. I’d never asked why she preferred to be paid in cash, but I hoped if I was wrong—if something was happening at home—she’d eventually trust me enough to tell me.
My heart kicked up when I spotted the silver truck idling in a parking spot out front and the tattooed arm hanging out the window. I walked straight up to the door, fighting to keep a silly grin off my face.
“Waiting for someone?”
“I was.” Deacon opened his door and climbed out to stand on the sidewalk in front of me. Still in his work clothes, he looked good as ever. Maybe better. There was something about a man in a canvas jacket, dirty jeans, and scuffed-up steel-toed boots. He’d worked hard all day, yet here he was, giving me his time. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“I’d love one.”
He walked with me to the passenger side and opened the door. There, sitting on the seat, was a bouquet of wildflowers. I spun around to face him, eyes wide and a wild heart.
“To make up for yesterday,” he murmured.
“You had nothing to make up for.” I picked them up and held them to my nose. “They’re beautiful, Deacon. You really didn’t have to, but thank you.”
“Glad you like ’em.” He patted the seat. “Hop in, sugar.”
My heart pinged. “Sugar, huh?”
He pitched forward, bringing his nose close to my hair, and inhaled. “You always smell sweet, but when you leave work, you smell like pure sugar. Didn’t mean to call you that, though. Slipped out.”
“That’s okay.” I turned my head, my cheek brushing his. “It was sweet. I liked it.”
All he did was grunt and give a little push to guide me into the truck. That was a good thing since I needed a second to collect myself. I’d been called plenty of nicknames, but I liked being called “sugar” by Deacon Slater the very best.
The drive down Main Street was slow going. Between the two stop lights, people returning home from their jobs, and pedestrians crossing the road, we were moving at a snail’s pace. So slow, I had to laugh.
“I could have walked faster.”
Deacon’s mouth quirked. “Thought I was doing you a favor, giving you a ride. I slowed you down.”
“I’m sitting next to you, so I’m not complaining.”
He glanced at me. “You want, I could pick you up every day.”
“The thing is, I sample a lot of the sweets I bake.”
His eyebrow shot up. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah. So, every morning, unless the weather is treacherous, I walk the half mile to Sugar Rush. And every evening, unless one of my family members waylays me, I walk the half mile home. That’s how I make up for the sampling. I also just like the walk.”
“Lucky I work with asphalt. No danger of wanting to sample it.”
I laughed. “No, I guess not.”
I’d hoped he would ask if he could join me on my walk home sometimes, but he’d made me laugh instead. Grey’s Diner was coming up on our right, and suddenly, I didn’t want this encounter to end. “What do you think about stopping for dinner?”
Deacon looked from me to the diner and back to the road. His grip on the wheel tightened to the point of his knuckles blanching.
“I’m not feeling like going out. It’s been a long day,” he replied flatly.
“That’s understandable.” At least, it would have been had he not reacted the way he had.
“Phoebe…” he sighed, “I’m just getting used to being in town. Going out in public is still a real challenge for me. I see the way folks whisper and react when they recognize me. Doesn’t feel great, and Grey’s is full of a whole lot of people bound to look and whisper. I can handle it, but I don’t want to put you in a position to deal with that. Not yet.”
I reached across the console to rest my hand on his leg. “I hear you, Deke. I wish I could assure you that wouldn’t happen, but we both know that isn’t true. It’ll take time, but they’ll get used to seeing you around.”
“You’ve lived in this town your whole life. You know how slow things are to change.”
“The best and worst part of Sugar Brush—love it because it’s always the same, hate it for the same reason.” I squeezed his leg. Feeling how rigid he was had me wishing I hadn’t asked him to go to dinner with me. The mood had started to nosedive, though I wasn’t quite ready to admit it as ruined. “I’ve had enough people for the day anyway. I’ll make us dinner.”
“You don’t need to do that. Not after working all day.”
“Then you can help so I don’t have to cook all by myself.”
His hand came down on top of mine, warm and rough. “I don't know what I’m doing, but I’ll try the best I can.”
“That’s all I ask,” I whispered.
Later, after dinner, Deke was washing up while I quizzed him about his favorite things—chocolate cake, dogs, blue, football, Sundays, the sunrise. It wasn’t like my questions were deeply personal, but he gave the answers easily like he had nothing to hide, and I liked that. After dating one too many men who’d lied as naturally as breathing, honesty was critical to me.
“Do you like to dance?”
Finished with the dishes, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel to dry his hands. “I can’t say I’ve done much thinking about it. Don’t know if I like doing it or not.”
“I take that to mean you’ve never been out dancing.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. It’s never come up. Chris and Tilly like to go to some country joint near Laramie. They’ve asked me to join, but being their third wheel is the last thing I want to do.”
“Boots Up Bar? I’ve run into those two there at least twice. Cam and I like to go when it gets warm and let guys spin us around the dance floor. We should go. Maybe with Chris and Till.”
Tilly stopped into Sugar Rush fairly often, and Chris swung by on weekends to pick up a coffee and muffin for his wife. I didn’t know either of them well, but they were both friendly as could be. Getting to know them better wouldn’t be a hardship—especially since they were Deacon’s good friends.
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about spinning.” The muscles in his jaw jerked. “And I don’t think I’d like sitting there while other men spun you around the dance floor.”
“Didn’t I make it clear? If I'm on a date with you, I’m not going to entertain other men.”
“Yeah, you did.” He tossed the towel onto the counter and slowly reached out, setting his hand on my hip. “Still wrapping my head around that, Phoebe.”
I stepped into him, laid my hands on his chest. “Instead, how about you wrap your arms around me and take me for a spin in my kitchen?”
He slid his hand from my hip to the base of my back. “There’s no music.”
I called out to my home entertainment system, asking it to start my dancing playlist. “Problem solved.”
His brow furrowed. His entire body was rigid. “I’m going to step on your toes.”
I puffed a frustrated breath. “If you don’t want to dance with me, you can say it.”
His hold on me tightened, and he pulled me against him. “You like it, I want to do it. I just don’t want to let you down or demolish your feet.”
I smiled, wiggling my toes on top of his. “We’re both in our socks. I think we’ll be okay. I’m not expecting fancy moves. Let’s just sway and take it from there.”
“I think I can do that.”
I hooked my arms around his neck, and he held me around the waist. So close I felt him breathing. We moved in slow circles in the center of my kitchen floor. Too slow for the music, but it didn’t matter, not with Deacon holding me close.
“Why do you like dancing when it’s warm?” he asked.
“So I can wear my sundresses.”
His head cocked. “You can’t wear them in winter?”
“No, they’re for sunny days and hot nights.” I grinned at his perplexed expression. “I promise it makes sense. If I wore a sundress and had to put a coat on top of it to go outside, I’d fall into a deep depression.”
His fingers splayed on my back. “We can’t have that.”
“No, we can’t.”
“I guess I’ll have to wait a couple more months to see these sundresses.”
“You’ll need to stick around.”
“There’s no danger of me not sticking.”
My heart leaped. It was too early for those promises, but from Deacon, it sounded more like a statement of fact. I liked to think of myself as pragmatic in most ways, but my whimsical side seemed to always emerge around him. That he was holding me so sweetly and trying his hardest not to step on my toes as we danced didn’t hurt.
Leaning in, I touched my lips to his. Just a graze, letting him know I liked him very much. He responded by palming the back of my head and molding his lips to mine. Not a graze but a collision. His mouth moved over mine, his tongue sweeping along my lips. They parted, letting him in, and he went deep, tasting me, lapping at my tongue like it was covered in nectar.
I clung to his shirt, and his fingers tangled in my hair as he kissed me and kissed me. Through it all, we kept dancing our uneven circles, swaying to the beat, matching our hearts instead of our movements.
The hand he’d braced on my back slid upward along my spine then trailed down again, lower, stopping right at the top of my ass. He could’ve kept going, and I wouldn’t have objected, but he stilled, flattening his palm at the cusp.
“Deke,” I murmured into his mouth.
“Sugar,” he murmured back, the tip of his tongue tracing the line of my lips. “Just like sugar.”
My eyelids fluttered. “I’m spinning.”
His forehead rolled on mine. “No, you’re not.” Then he let go of my hair to take my hands in his. Before I knew what he was going to do, he pushed me away from him then pulled me back. “Now you’re spinning.”
I laughed, pushing off his chest. “Again. Until I’m dizzy.”
Holding my hand above our heads, he spun me like a top. Each flash I caught of him, his grin widened, until he was laughing with me. When he finally took hold of me and wrapped me in his arms, I was dizzy, so dizzy.
My smiling face fit in the crook of his arm and neck. “Dancing isn’t so bad, is it?”
He dragged his nose back and forth in my hair. “With you? No, not bad at all.”