Chapter 22
I Don't Want Your Fudge
Tessa
By the time I stepped into the ninth shop – yes, I was counting – my palms were damp and my nerves were frayed.
My eyes went straight to the shelves. Scanning fast, I saw mugs, sunglasses, and finally, specialty soaps.
I perked up. Please, please, please…
I moved closer, and…no dice.
Or more accurately, no bubble bath.
My shoulders sagged. Shit.
Clutching the plastic bottle tighter to my chest, I moved deeper into the store, passing a display of postcards already curling at the edges. I tried to stay calm, but my chest felt tight, and the longer I searched, the more anxious I felt.
I'd assumed this would be easy. Maisie's brand of bubble bath looked like the kind you'd find at any local boutique. Clearly, I was wrong.
In my pocket, I had eleven crumpled dollar bills, all tips from the morning rush. I exhaled slowly and kept scanning the shelves. Even if I found the right bottle, would eleven dollars be enough? Or would I need to come back this afternoon with a few dollars more?
Yeah, right.
I should be so lucky. If I hadn't found the bubble bath by now, odds were slim I'd find it later.
But I refused to give up yet.
Squaring my shoulders, I approached the sales counter, where a young woman in a lilac apron was reorganizing a display of travel-sized lotions.
With my most hopeful smile, I said, "Uh…hi. Sorry to bother you, but do you carry this?" I thrust the bottle outward, close enough to make her flinch. "Oops. Sorry about that." With an embarrassed laugh, I pulled it halfway back. "So…uh, do you?"
She barely looked before shaking her head. "Afraid not." But then she brightened. "We've got lots of soap though. Those marbled bars are really popular."
Crap.
Unless I could liquify those bars into Maisie's bottle – and make the concoction smell exactly the same – those bars of soap were totally useless.
Still, I thanked her with a smile. It wasn't her fault that I'd tipped that bottle into the tub.
I turned away – and froze.
The bottle hit the floor as I let out a squeak because guess who I was suddenly facing – and up close and personal, too.
Yeah. Him.
Ryder Freaking Vaughn.
Again.
His sun-streaked hair looked effortlessly tousled, like wind and trouble had followed him in. But what really got me were his eyes – sky blue with a glint of mischief.
I swallowed hard as those eyes locked on mine like he saw way more than he should. Time stood still, and I almost forgot to breathe.
But then, he smoothly crouched down and picked up the fallen bottle. He gave it a quick once-over before standing and holding it out my way.
My pulse raced as I snatched it from his hand. "Thanks."
His mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh. "You're welcome."
He had a nice mouth, with a hint of laugh lines around the corners. It was distracting in the worst possible way, so naturally my mouth got ahead of my brain. "What are you doing here?"
Yeah, that was me. Subtle as usual.
He grinned. "Fudge."
I shook my head. "Sorry, what?"
"Peanut butter."
I squinted up at him. "Wait…you're here for peanut butter?
Or fudge?" The question had barely left my lips when I belatedly noticed that he was holding a brick of fudge wrapped in clear plastic.
The fudge was dark with pumpkin-colored swirls, peanut butter, obviously.
"Oh. Right." I cleared my throat. "Never mind. "
He held out the fudge between us. "You want some?"
"You mean now? In the store?" I was nearly too rattled to think. "Not if you haven't paid for it."
He laughed. "Trust me, if I'm going down, it won't be for fudge."
"I didn't say you'd steal it." My composure was clearly on a coffee break. "I just mean…I wouldn't want to eat it before you paid."
He didn't miss a beat. "But you're okay with after?"
Was I? And just like that, I pictured us strolling together along Main Street – sharing secrets, fudge, and God knows what else. What the heck was wrong with me?
Thoroughly scrambled, I blurted out, "I don't want your fudge."
He cocked an eyebrow. "So, what do you want?"
Boy, if that wasn't a dangerous question. If he weren't connected to Chicago, I had a million ways I might've answered. Some of them were borderline indecent.
But it wasn't my fault. He was flirting with me.
Wasn't he?
As the silence held, I suddenly realized that I hadn't answered his question. What did I want?
If he and I were truly flirting, I might've said something sassy, like, Wouldn't you like to know?
But this was Ryder Vaughn.
He was all kinds of trouble, especially for me.
And besides, I was on a larger mission – one that involved someone who could really use a break.
Last night, Maisie and I had stayed up obscenely late. One thing had led to another, and I'd ended up getting her drunk by sharing a bunch of that booze I'd brought from Chicago.
Little bottles of trouble – that's what they were. And yet, last night, for the very first time, I'd been able to look at them without wanting to scream.
Sharing them had been surprisingly fun – even if Maisie's problems were no laughing matter.
She was in trouble. Sure, it wasn't my kind of trouble, involving a certain Chicago bigwig who wasn't Ryder Vaughn.
No, Maisie's trouble was all financial. She was overwhelmed at her shop and drowning in debt. Last night, even before learning how bad things truly were, I'd given her that hundred-dollar tip, hoping it would help.
Now, the giver of that tip was staring down at me like I'd just left him hanging by checking out mid-stream.
Heat flooded my face. Of course.
I had left him hanging.
Stupidly, I said, "Um…what do I want?" Good grief. On the sassy scale, that didn't even register.
But he nodded anyway. "Yeah. And I mean other than fudge."
"I don't want your fudge," I said again, because apparently that was my new catchphrase.
He looked ready to laugh. "So you said."
Cripes, at this rate, he was lucky I hadn't said it three times. "Uh…right."
"But you didn't say why. You allergic?"
Huh? "To fudge?"
"No. To peanut butter." He shrugged. "But hey, if fudge is gonna kill you, you might as well go out smiling." He grinned. "Am I right?"
At his grin, my heart gave a funny little flip before I recalled that he was the enemy.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
Suddenly, I was so very tired – not just of hiding out, but of looking over my shoulder. And besides, who was I kidding? If he was here on Evan's behalf, the cat was already out of the bag. By now, it was probably running down the street, handing out flyers with my name and picture.
I gave a resigned sigh. "Just tell me something."
"What?"
"Are you following me?"
"Me?" He laughed. "I was here first. So if anything, you're following me."
I made a sound of protest. "But that's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Totally. And besides…" My eyes narrowed. "Do you have any actual proof that you were here first?"
In reply, he called out to someone behind me. "Hey, you saw me here, right?"
When I turned to look, I spotted that same clerk in the lavender apron. She was eyeing Ryder Vaughn like he was more delicious than fudge. She gave a vigorous nod. "Oh, yeah, you were here way before her."
Traitor.
When I looked back to Ryder, he was grinning.
I wasn't. Had she been listening the whole time?
But of course, she was.
Ryder Vaughn was the kind of guy who got loads of attention, even here, where the clerk probably had no idea that he was richer than sin and twice as dangerous.
Okay, so maybe he was only dangerous to me. And even that was uncertain. Still, I couldn't help but notice how many times he'd been crossing my path.
Three times in barely two days?
Sure, the island was small. But it wasn't that small.
Plus, yesterday he'd claimed he was heading for the airport. What a liar. Probably, I should've recalled this sooner, but in my own defense, Ryder Vaughn was beyond distracting, and not only because he was undeniably hot.
He was funny. And sharp. And just a little maddening, like a riddle wrapped in a dare.
And me? I was circling the flame like a reckless moth – because there was a part of me, an incredibly stupid part of me, that wanted to share a lot more than fudge.