2. Luke
2
LUKE
D aphne Bradshaw is looking at me like I’m a lunatic, and I can’t entirely blame her. I could have presented this idea more coherently if I hadn’t been so surprised—and distracted. I knew, of course, that she’d grown up, at least in theory, but I wasn’t expecting the reality.
She’s as brilliant as ever. Intimidatingly so. I’ll bet that she’s just as idealistic and principled.
But she’s also gorgeous.
And inscrutable. She’s watching me like I’m an alien specimen, one that defies all logic. Maybe I do.
I was ready for her to be smarter than me, but this new combination is throwing my game.
And that’s a novelty, too.
I love women. I love how they smell and how they feel, how they think and how they taste, and how so many of them make little sounds when they’re surprised. I love how different they are from me and from each other, and I could argue that I’ve had a plan to appreciate each and every one of them individually. I’m not intimidated by women and even the most beautiful of them never throws my game.
But then there’s Daph. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and that worries me.
It undermines any strategy I might have. It’s prompting me to tell her more than I should, because my thoughts have gone straight to the gutter. She’s one person I should never ever mess with, she’s always been off-limits, and yet…and yet, I think being with her would be awesome.
Even more incredible is that this side of me died along with Taylor. I haven’t been with a woman since that night. I don’t think I’ve looked at a woman since—well, not in that way, anyway. (Granted, I looked at Sylvia when she gave me a very cold bath, but there was nothing sexy about that exchange.)
Daph has jolted that back to life again. I could very easily become fascinated by her—which would be exactly the wrong tactic. She’s not the kind of person who responds to charm, who can be seduced or beguiled or persuaded by anything other than cold hard logic. I’m trying to get Spock to help me here and she has the advantage.
I remember that seriousness about her. I remember a girl with braces, a cloud of red hair and legs that went on for days. I remember a good girl with a little secretive smile, one that hinted she wasn’t always such an angel. I was intrigued by her, my sister’s best friend, but knew better than to get close. She was beyond my reach, and even if that was the very best way to get my attention back in the day—it still works pretty well now, evidently—I knew better than to mess with Richard Bradshaw’s daughter.
And here she is, sleek and professional like she’s corporate counsel for a Fortune 100 company. Her hair has darkened to auburn and is twisted up in a sleek updo. Her silver-gray suit is conservative, polished and expensive. Her legs still go on forever, and when she folds her arms across her chest to give me a look, the pose hints at some sweet curves hidden away.
Does she know that suit perfectly matches the gray of her eyes?
Does she ever wear purple or teal, or any other rich tone that would make her a knock-out?
Is her hair still long and wavy? What is it about that pale pink lipstick that makes me want to eat it off her? (Hint—it’s the lips beneath it.) I want to know all the details and more—what kind of lingerie does she wear, and will I ever get to see it?—but alienating the only possible ally I might have in this venture is every kind of stupid.
I’ve been a lot of things in my time, but I’ve never been stupid.
I push impulse aside and focus on the plan. I can smell her skepticism, but even if it’s at record levels for Daph, she’s got nothing on Patrick and my half-brothers.
“Let me backtrack a bit,” I say.
She looks at her watch pointedly and I start talking faster.
“So, Sylvia is still mad at me. Fair enough, if surprising. I called Una to find out more, maybe to learn how I could make amends.”
“Sylvia’s grandmother.”
I nod.
“Inspired by your friend’s ‘do better’ talk.”
Exactly. We’re on the same proverbial page, at least. “And Una, I’ve got to tell you, needs more people to talk to. I listened to her for an hour and she wasn’t nearly done.”
Daph bites back a smile. “When you live alone in the forest and never leave home, conversation can be hard to come by.”
“True enough. She told me two salient things.” I count them off on my fingers. “First, she has cancer.”
Daph straightens and I get a peek behind the mask. She’s concerned. I’m glad for any sign that she’s alive in there. “I didn’t know…”
“No, she’s not telling anyone, least of all Sylvia, because she doesn’t want Sylvia to feel compelled to come back to Empire for any reason.”
“Oh, but that must be so hard for her. I’ll stop by and talk to her tonight, see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“No, you can’t. I promised not to tell anyone and she’ll know then that I did.”
I get a look for that. “Then you shouldn’t have told me.”
I shrug. It’s for the greater good. And I trust Daph to keep the secret, even if she’s looking daggers at me now. “Two. Because of the cost of her treatment, which is something not covered, she had to sell her cottage.”
“But that’s her home.”
“And she sold it to Patrick.”
Daph’s eyes flash with fury and I’m glad I’m sitting down for that sight. She’s electrified and smoking hot. “He should have loaned her the money instead!”
“That’s not how he rolls and you know it.”
She frowns. “Why would she even go to him?”
“Lack of options, I’ll guess. The bank wasn’t in a hurry to give her a loan and she was friends with Dianne.”
Dianne was Patrick’s first wife, the one he cheated on with my mom, and mother of his three golden sons and one daughter. I wasn’t easy on her back in the day, but she was a nice woman. She must have picked up some truly awful karma in a past life to have ended up married to Patrick.
Daph looks at the list I’ve given her. “This is Una’s house?” she asks, pointing to the first address on the list, and I nod. “I never knew it had a street address. I still don’t understand the diner.”
“That restaurant in Toronto is going under, despite the amazing food. I went back and talked to the chef when Sylvia wasn’t there. She wants to open her own place but doesn’t have the capital. I could have loaned it to her, or even given it to her, but Meredith MacRae isn’t having any of my charity.”
“Her words?”
“Pretty much. And though there was a time I could have created a line outside her door just for posting the place on my socials, those days are gone. I’m essentially no one now.”
Daph gives me a look that is way too perceptive. “Doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“It was never about the money.”
“It was about the women,” she guesses.
I wince. “It was about the music and the concerts and the band. We had such a good time, every time, and there’s a kind of magic in making your living at something that feels more like play than work.”
Daph looks away and I know she doesn’t feel that way about her own job.
What’s her one regret? I’m dying to know, but continue with my presentation, such as it is. “So, I thought, what about offering opportunity instead?”
Daph, no slouch, glances toward the empty diner across the street.
I lean forward in the hope that my enthusiasm might be contagious. It’s a long shot, with her eyeing me like a new species of beetle—one that might be such a threat to humanity that the world would be better off without me—but there’s no backing out now.
“I’d sell it to her at a bargain price, easy terms. A hundred bucks a month over ten years, but she has to pay the utilities. I’ll even pay the property taxes to sweeten the deal and toss in some cash for renovations.”
“You’ll lose a bunch.”
“It’s penance. It’s supposed to cost you.”
Her eyes narrow just a little and she looks like an exotic cat. “But the real price here is that you have to ask Patrick for something.”
She’s too smart by half.
“And he will say no. He did already, without even hearing me out. Just because it was me asking for something.” I open my hands to her. “And that’s where you come in, Daph. You’ll be presenting a purchase offer from an interested party who prefers to remain anonymous. It’s not a conflict of interest, because the divesting of the properties would improve the financial position of Cavendish Enterprises.”
“How could you know that?”
“I asked Jake.”
It is satisfying to see her astonishment that I spoke to my oldest half-brother at all. I dig into my portfolio again. “The structure of Cavendish Enterprises requires the entire board to agree upon the selling or disbursement of any property held by the corporation, so I went and asked the board.” I place a document on her desk and she leans forward to read it. “Here’s Jake’s signature on the proposal.”
Daph picks it up, reading it through. “Is it real?”
Of course, she remembers. “Once, Daph. Only once.”
“Seems like you have a lot of only onces.”
“Some deeds don’t bear repeating.”
“One and done,” she says under her breath, naming my mantra with an accuracy that shakes me a bit. She gives me an expectant look.
I produce the next document. “Austin. On board.”
She reads this one, too, her gaze lingering on the signature of Cavendish son number three. “He never cared about any of it.”
That’s so true that there’s no good reply. I move on. “Abbie.”
“Not a board member,” Daph notes, her voice as hard as Patrick’s heart.
“She should be.”
“But she isn’t.”
“But she still likes the plan.” I wait while Daph shrugs, then hand her another document. “Mike. On board.”
She’s really surprised this time. “But Mike runs the greenhouses. He has the most time and energy invested in Cavendish Enterprises.”
“And he wants change.”
“Did you tell him about Sylvia?”
“No! That’s for them to work out. Otherwise, I’d be meddling.”
She has to fight a smile and I’m glad to see it. She can’t keep her eyes from twinkling. “Even though you’re scheming to get Sylvia back to Empire with this whole complicated meddle . You have inherited some tendencies from Patrick, whether you want to hear it or not.”
I really don’t like the sound of that comparison, but it just spurs me to try harder and do better. “What do you think?”
“There are three other properties.” She taps the list. “This is Margaret’s house. It’s close to my dad’s place. Pretty house.”
That’s not half of it. The house Patrick grew up in, and his mom before him, is a Regency cottage made of cut stone. It might be the oldest house in Empire, and even I remember it surrounded by perennial flowers instead of weeds. It’s a disgrace to keep it empty and let it rot, instead of having someone live there and love it.
I know who would be perfect.
“Patrick’s mother’s house, where he grew up. Sitting empty and neglected.” I can’t hide my disgust.
Daph is philosophical. “The lawn gets mowed, at least.”
“That’s not loving a house. Abbie adores that place. You know she would come back if she had a place of her own.”
Daph stares at me for a long moment. “That house would suit her,” she says finally and I have no clue what she’s concluded. Her fingertip is moving down the list and I notice that the pale pink polish matches her lipstick. Does she paint her toenails? I’m such a sucker for painted toenails. (On women.) “This is a legal description for a piece of property. Where is it?”
“It’s a small parcel between the Cavendish greenhouses and Rhodes Vineyards. Adding it to my list was Mike’s price for signing off. I started with just four properties, but am rolling with it.”
“Not the land that Augustine Rhodes and Patrick are arguing about?”
“The very same. What do you know about it?”
“More than I want to,” she says with heat. I watch her eyes as she gets up from her desk. If Daph had any idea how clear her thoughts are when she’s agitated, how the truth is in her eyes, she’d shut that down in a hurry. For the moment, I feel like I have an unofficial window into her soul, and I love it.
She paces back and forth, and I get to watch.
“Both men claim they own it, and the titles are a mess. Nobody wanted it until a year ago, because it’s sloped and has bad drainage. It’s an irregular shape, too. Cavendish Enterprises can’t build a greenhouse on it or even use it for a pond. But it’s south-facing and last year, Mackenzie Rhodes discovered that the soil is exactly the right acidity for her to plant more grapes for ice wine.”
She raises a hand. “We won’t talk about the argument over her taking a soil sample for that test. Then the battle royale began. It’s been Hatfields and McCoys up there, both Patrick and Augustine calling the cops all the time, not to mention lawyers. I suggested a survey, but the stakes keep moving in the night, though no one knows anything about it. And we still can’t prove which ancient title includes that chunk of land that no one cared about until now.” She sits down hard, her lips tight. “It’s a hot mess.”
“And Mike wants it solved. The plan is that I buy the parcel from Patrick and give it to Augustine.”
“Good luck with that. Augustine thinks he already owns it and your father will never sell it.”
“I was hoping you’d be more persuasive than that, as my representative.”
She gives me a simmering look that makes my mouth go dry and taps a finger on the last property listed. “This is the little place at the other end of Queen Street, the one that used to have Albert Foreman’s accounting business downstairs and an apartment upstairs.”
“Maybe I want a place in town of my own.”
She purses her lips. “You should know that no one rents apartments in downtown Empire, at least not anyone who pays their rent.”
“I kind of assumed that.”
“Are you staying then?”
“No. Not unless hell freezes over while this is getting done.”
Our gazes lock for a hot moment and I know she’s not going to give it up easily.
“I added it in so he’d have something to edit out,” I say, which is plausible if not all of the truth. I do have a plan for the place, but Daph isn’t ready to hear it yet.
I need her to take the job before I can talk about her compensation.
She has to want to hang out her own shingle. There’s a pile of folders on her desk, stuffed with paperwork. Having her do all the forms and filing for agricultural workers at Cavendish Enterprises is a serious waste of her abilities, and I don’t think she believed the party line any more than I did. Truth be told, it annoys me that someone as clever as Daph is pushing forms around her desk. She must want more. She must have had more in Toronto.
I can’t figure out why she’s even back in Empire.
It’s got to have something to do with that regret.
In the meantime, she’s going through the signed proposals while she decides. I know better than to make another appeal, because I don’t want to seem pushy or desperate—even though I’m pretty much both.
That leaves me with nothing to do but wait and study here, which does zero for any resolutions I might have at this time.
Who would have believed Daph would have become this woman in sixteen years? She could be a robot for all the emotion she shows, though—which just makes me want to unpin her hair, peel her out of that suit and give her an orgasm that makes her scream loud enough to wake the neighbours.
Get someone to call the police. Ha.
I love a challenge, and she might be the toughest one ever.
The fact is that I’m wired to want the one thing I can’t have, whatever it is. Right now, that’s Daphne Bradshaw, wrapped around me, digging her nails into my back and begging for more. I want her teeth marks on my shoulder, I want the slick heat of her on my fingers and my tongue. I want to lose myself in everything she is. I want her incoherent with pleasure, quivering around me.
Oh yes .
It’s a distracting vision, as well as a very good one.
I’m both shaken and stirred.
And Daph couldn’t care less.
That has to be the sound of Taylor laughing. (Too bad I’m the only one who can hear him.) He always said that one day, I’d meet a woman who would turn me inside out and enjoy doing it, one who would walk away and leave me with dreams that couldn’t be fulfilled. I never believed it would happen. I never expected it to happen in Empire.
I never thought that woman might be Daph Bradshaw.
The worst thing is that I suspect she’s going to turn me down. She’s going to toss me out on my ass before I can regroup and make a better argument.
And still, I have nothing.
“You have to know that this plan might not come to fruition,” Daph says finally. “Sylvia might not want to come back to Empire, even if you are trying to create a job for her to make it financially feasible. This chef?—”
“Meredith MacRae.”
“—might not want a place badly enough to take on Leon and Dotty’s diner, such as it is.” She fixes me with a glare that would have made Medusa proud. “If you have a solution that you’re determined to inflict upon the participants, it’s not that different from the way your dad plays.”
Ouch. It’s an observation worthy of Taylor.
And it’s true.
“Can’t I facilitate a possibility and let people choose?”
She smiles and it’s like the sun rising over the tundra. “Of course,” she says and there’s a warmth in her tone that hasn’t been there so far. “I just think you should be prepared for the possibility of being turned down.”
“I am.” I’m in Empire, after all.
“I’ll have to do some due diligence,” Daph says then, meeting my gaze steadily. Alas, the ice queen is back. “I want to be sure these signatures are genuine before I take on a job like this. If and when I do, we’ll talk more specifically about compensation.” She names her hourly billing rate, which doesn’t surprise me at all—if anything, it’s low—and gives me a round estimate to cover her efforts, if there are no surprises along the way.
The wave of relief nearly flattens me. The signatures are real, so I’m almost sure it’s a go. “I suppose we should shake on it,” I say and she glances up.
There’s that little smile again, the one that is half-wicked, the one that always intrigued me. What is she thinking? Her gaze lingers on my mouth for the barest moment as she smiles and she’s the hottest thing I’ve seen in half of forever. Before I can think of what to say, the smile is gone and Daph’s composed again—as if I imagined that look.
Maybe I did.
She offers her hand. “Thank you for stopping in, Mr. Jones,” she says, a big fat hint that it’s time for me to make myself scarce.
I do. I don’t want to mess this up now, even though it’s only a partial victory. I shake her hand, liking the cool strength of her fingers, pick up my helmet and my portfolio and leave. I’m well aware of how the receptionist watches me go, and I wonder how many people she’s already told about my arrival in town.
I put my sunglasses on, then stand beside my bike looking around.
It’s a bright sunny morning in Empire and I have absolutely nothing to do, nowhere to go and no place to stay. My mission, such as it was, has been accomplished as much as it can be. I could visit my mom in Havelock, but I’m not ready for that just yet.
The bike starts right away, a sign of its recent visit to the shop, and I hope that Daph is watching me through the glass. I can’t see into her office, as much as I’d like to have one last look. I walk the bike back to the road, noting that I don’t have to yield to a single vehicle, then open the throttle as I ride out of town one more time.
I guess all the satisfaction comes with the first time you do something. Today, leaving Empire feels a bit flat.
As soon as I see the sign for The Maple Leaf Motel, though, I know where I’m going. Once again, the universe is steering me right, because that can’t be anyone other than Bruno DeLuca crouched down beside a Harley in the parking lot of the motel his folks owned when we were kids.
It can’t be the same bike, can it?
Speculation has me slowing for the turn. Contrary to local lore, I did not ride out of Empire on my motorcycle and never look back. I sold my Harley to Bruno so I could buy a plane ticket to the States. He gave me my last ride on it when he took me to Havelock to get the bus to Toronto.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t got it running yet?” I ask as I pull to a stop alongside him. There are engine parts lined up on a sheet of newspaper spread on the pavement, just the way he’s always worked, and his hands are black with grease.
“Luke!” he shouts loud enough for the whole town to hear. I get off the bike, enduring a hug while he keeps his hands away from my clothes. And then, it’s all about the bike as we turn to survey it together. It is the same bike. I recognize a couple of scratches and the dent in one fender that was entirely my fault. “I’ve never been able to keep it running the way you did. Maybe you have the touch.”
“Maybe I didn’t teach you all its secrets.” It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my hands dirty and I’m looking forward to it.
“What brings you back?” he demands, then continues before I can reply. “Can you stay for a beer?”
“I’ll stay longer than that if you’ve got an available room.”
“Of course! Special offer for a friend.”
“No, Bruno, you’ve got to charge me. I’ll pay the full price.” He starts to argue and I raise a hand. “Seriously. Let me.”
“Okay, then you take the best room, the one we renovated last year, and you have to come for dinner tonight.”
I’m surprised to feel all warm inside. “Deal. Now, what about this bike?”
“Let me get you a beer first.”
“I’m up for that.”
“Nothing fancy, now. I’ve got a two-four of Blue, just like always. You’re probably used to some European boutique beer.”
I grin. “Blue sounds great.” I check out his progress on the bike as he gets the beer. He brings back two bottles, glistening with sweat.
“Are you in town for long?” he asks, after we’ve toasted each other and taken a swig
It tastes like tradition.
“Maybe a week,” I say and he nods. “I’m not sure. I have some things to get sorted.”
“Fair enough. We don’t have many bookings before July, so take your time. Now, what’s the deal with this engine?”
“It’s always been the timing.” I chuck off my jacket and crouch down beside him to get to work. I know this bike like the back of my hand. I feel like I worked on it just yesterday, that I was here, in this parking lot, taking apart bikes with Bruno just last week. The dates on the newspapers were different but not much else. He’s losing a bit of hair on top and has put on some weight around the middle, but he’s the same amiable, kind, generous guy I remember from high school. “Your folks still here?” I ask as we get to work.
“Nah, they retired to BC and gave us the motel. It’s not making us rich, but we like it. Marissa will be excited to see you. She works in Havelock now.”
“Marissa Talbot.”
“Nuh uh. Marissa DeLuca,” he corrects me with a grin.
“Prettiest girl in high school.”
“You just say that because she’s the one who turned you down.”
“You beat me to it.”
He laughs. “Good thing, too.”
“You look like a happy man, Bruno.”
“How could I not be?”
“I’ll guess there are kids,” I say because he’s bursting to tell me.
“Three,” he says with pride, handing me a wrench. He tells me about the kids and their activities in excruciating detail—which is actually quite sweet—and the kids themselves start to appear when we’re on our second beer. By the time Marissa arrives, I’ve been pulled into the warm hug of their family like I never left at all.
There’s lasagna and five conversations happening at once, a crowded table with mismatched cutlery, a red wine that’s not half bad, and the coziness of their kitchen in the end unit, which I remember so well. The pictures of his folks are on the wall, smiling as it they’re at the table with us, too. Marissa makes her lasagna half with meat and half without, so I have the middle daughter to thank for being able to stick to my dietary choices without any bother at all.
The conversation ebbs and flows, and I just sit, eat and enjoy, appreciating them both so much my heart hurts.
Maybe there is something I’ve missed about Empire, after all.