Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kylie
His handwriting always made her smile.
Each stroke was bold and complete, confident and artistic, the perfect blend of someone who knew what they were doing but didn’t spend more time than needed in communicating a message. Luke’s notes were works of art, so memorable, she could picture the words in her mind as if she were eidetic.
But she wasn’t.
She had a photographic memory for only one thing: Luke Luview.
Disappointment filled Kylie as she entered the house the day after her encounter with Luke, finding it empty.
Of course Luke wasn’t here. Her job was to take care of his child so he could work.
Luke had put Harriet on the bus that morning, and he’d likely been gone for hours.
The bus would drop her off in fifteen minutes.
Jester jumped up and gave her a respectful side hug; he was quickly learning to heed her commands.
“You’ll always be here for me, won’t you, Jester?”
The dog’s eyebrows lifted, mouth opening in a toothy grin, tongue lolling as she hit the right spot on the top of his head. If only human beings were as easy to please.
Keeping an eye out for the bus, Kylie took a few minutes to make a pot of coffee and quickly load dishes into the dishwasher.
Because she came five days a week now, housekeeping was easier and easier.
Almost too easy, in some ways. Luke seemed to be good at keeping the place clean once he had a system to follow, and Kylie imposed a system.
They were turning into a well-oiled machine.
An image of a well-oiled, shirtless Luke hit her mind.
And suddenly, her heart.
Among other places on her body.
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself, the memory of their kiss yesterday pouring through her, heating her skin. The house smelled like spiced beef and fresh soap, the scent stronger as she picked up a few stray clothes and wandered down the hall to the hamper next to the washing machine.
A deep breath didn’t help matters. Her nose was searching for his scent.
Searching for him.
“Number 14, Part A,” she said in a mocking voice, making fun of herself, the contract, and the way they both knew it was farce. And yet–something had to hold them back, right?
Being together would be a mistake.
A mistake they couldn’t walk back.
Harriet’s heart mattered. It was too risky to give in to a hormone-induced need to blow off some steam and relive a nostalgic teen moment as two consenting adults. That wasn’t a good enough reason to sleep with Luke.
Not that she needed any reasons to sleep with the man. Those were in abundant supply.
What she didn’t possess, though, was an ounce of common sense.
An unfamiliar basket was on the dining table, a cheery red collection with green and white ribbon sat on the dining table. Christmas was coming, and Kylie had been wracking her brain to choose the perfect gift for Harriet.
Looked like someone was already in the holiday gift-giving spirit.
Inside the basket, a series of opened bakery boxes made Kylie’s mouth water. Donut holes. Macaron cookies. Rugelach. Someone had assembled a lovely assortment of tasty pastries, all of them heart-shaped, of course.
A card lay on the table, staring up at her, begging for a quick snoop.
Loopy, feminine handwriting in red ink on the pink card stock was barely visible from the side. A wave of jealousy hit her, hard and fast, her fingers snatching the bi-fold stationery before she could stop herself.
“My offer stands, any time. I have plenty more sweetness whenever you want it, Luke. XOXO Annabeth.”
Annabeth?
It was an unusual name. Kylie remembered Annabeth Khouri, who was older than Luke, closer to Colleen in age. She had to be thirty-five or so now. If Kylie’s memory was right, her mom was the police department secretary and her dad was the butcher at Kendrill’s Market.
When they were teenagers, Annabeth had long, perfectly coiffed, curly brown hair, big eyes, elegant brows, and flawless skin.
Then there were the claws. Annabeth’s were sharp.
Were Annabeth and Luke an item?
“No,” she gasped, more upset than she had any right to be. “Luke wouldn’t do that.”
Do what?
Kiss her if he were sleeping with someone else.
Deep in her bones, she knew that much was true. Whatever Annabeth was up to, Luke wasn’t part of it.
Examining the pastries, she instantly knew.
“Hah! Amateur. Didn’t even bake your own ‘sweets,’” she said triumphantly to no one except Jester, who quirked his head and studied her.
On impulse, she grabbed a rugelach, snapped a piece off, and tossed it as an offering to the dog, popping the rest in her mouth.
Yum. Greta’s never disappointed.
“But my lemon bars are even better.”
Right when she was leaving this morning, she’d grabbed the container of lemon bars from her kitchen on a whim.
The memory of Luke’s lemon-flavored kiss made her knees weak and her head a bit floaty, but as she stared at Annabeth’s basket of predatory pastry, she realized she could kill two birds with one stone.
Give Harriet a fun outing to visit Daddy at work, and deliver some yummy lemon bars to the station.
Homemade lemon bars.
Ones she could still taste in his kiss.
The clock struck half past noon and she jolted, the bus coming any minute. Shrugging into her coat, she pulled on her boots, grabbed the plastic container, and hurried out the door before Jester could beg for the leash.
Mid-December in northern New England had two settings: Booger-Freezing Cold and Shiver.
Just… shiver.
She was born and raised here, and Indiana wasn’t exactly tropical, but her body was still adjusting to the sheer crispness of the cold. Razor sharp, it scraped against any patch of bare skin like it wanted you to bleed.
Walking briskly, she willed her blood to warm her up, mentally calculating whether Harriet could handle the walk into town in weather this cold.
Probably. When Kylie was six, it was never too cold for an adventure. She assumed Harriet was the same.
As she approached the bus stop, she saw a new woman there, dressed in skinny jeans and a perfectly coordinated red ski jacket, boots, scarf, and hat. Instagram perfect.
The woman was a walking color palette of perfection.
Izzy Chassi was there, and Kylie’s tension dropped at her friendly wave. But the mommy in mirrored sunglasses was there, too, head huddled with the new mom.
Uh oh.
“Hi!” Kylie said brightly, going out of her way to make eye contact.
“Hi, Kylie!” Izzy said, looking at the other women. “Mindy, you remember Kylie, right?” she said to the mirrored sunglass woman, giving Kylie a name.
“Oh, yes.”
“Annabeth? Remember Kylie? Kylie Hood? She’s moved back and watches Harriet now.”
Kylie’s heart stopped.
Something slithered in the space between them, Annabeth’s eyes narrowing under the rim of her slouching toque, the fold of fabric in sync with the curl of her coat collar.
How could someone be so aligned?
“I–I guess?” Annabeth’s careful, snotty answer would have made Kylie’s stomach drop ten years ago, but years of living in New York City had taught her something about people:
The meaner they are, the less secure they are, too.
“I remember you!” Kylie said, holding her gaze, chin up and shoulders straight. “Cheerleader, right? Good to see you. Love the hat.”
Annabeth’s hand moved up instinctively, touching it with a studied flourish. “Thank you. I got it in Boston.”
“Good for you!”
It was clear that Annabeth didn’t know what to do with Kylie’s reaction.
“What’s in the container?” Izzy asked Kylie, eyebrows up, Mindy giving Annabeth laser-eyed nonverbal signals that Kylie interpreted as Help me put the new girl in her place.
“Lemon bars.” Kylie peeled the lid off and held the container out. “Want one?”
Izzy plucked a small one. Mindy abandoned her locked look with Annabeth and went for it.
Never underestimate the power of sweet lemon to diffuse a social mess.
Annabeth sneered. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Mmmmm,” Mindy and Izzy groaned in unison. “These are amazing.”
“Thanks!” Kylie looked around. The morning kindergarteners were the only kids on the bus at noon, and normally it was her, Izzy, Mindy, and a grandmother, Sally Bentini. “Where’s Sally?”
“Robbie’s got the flu.”
“Aww. Poor kid.”
“You have to give me the recipe for those,” Mindy said, eyeing Kylie’s container like she wanted another one. “If you cook like that, I’ll bet Luke loves having you around.” Her eyes cut nervously to Annabeth, as if she’d made a mistake.
A scowl greeted her.
“I’m the one who loves being around. Watching Harriet is a blast.”
Annabeth made a decidedly unladylike noise. “It’s great that being a nanny completes you. I’m just here picking up Carla’s kid to help out, and that’s more than enough kid time for me.”
Kylie smiled, buying herself a few seconds, struggling to find the right reply. She opened the container and offered more to Mindy, but held Annabeth’s sharp look as Mindy smiled and took another.
Ready.
“It is, isn’t it?” she replied to Annabeth, whose sneer remained intact.
Aim.
“Hmmm,” Annabeth murmured, giving Mindy a knowing smile.
Fire.
“Harriet’s amazing, and I love reconnecting with Luke, you know? Such a nice guy.”
Annabeth’s face turned a furious red as Izzy tried to suppress a snicker.
Just then, the bus pulled up, the pneumatic wheeze of the doors shutting out other sounds.
Then squeals from Harriet.
“KYLIE!” she squealed. “Where’s Jester?”
“I left him home, honey. We need to walk into town and visit your daddy!”
“YAY! Are those lemon bars? You brought Daddy’s favorite!”
Mindy and Izzy looked at Kylie with strange expressions, but Annabeth’s was crystal clear:
Total contempt.
“Yes. You think he’ll like them?”
“He told me this morning that you gave him some when he visited you last night at your apartment.”
Oh, no.
No no no.
Gossip in small towns starts with a whisper and ends with a bang.
And speaking of banging, the rumor mill was about to conclude that Kylie and Luke were doing plenty of it.