Shaking his head, Gage slipped behind the red curtain that separated the industrial kitchen and office space from the main display area. Up front the store was all quaint ambience. Iron scrollwork chairs and polished tea tables. Hand-carved wood-and-glass display cases. She’d even gone so far as to distress the pieces to make them look antique and give the place an artificial air of history. Behind the curtain was the land of efficient stainless steel.
She’d been open for about six years, and according to his parents was doing very well. A few years ago she started selling some of the more exotic concoctions on the internet. He was glad.
The low rumble of a male voice and the lilting sound of his sister’s laughter drifted back to him. One minute stretched into five. And then ten. Gage wandered the kitchen, tempted to open the doors to the double oven to determine what smelled so damn good. But he didn’t. He’d been chased away with a wooden spoon often enough to know better.
Instead, he grabbed a spoon and dipped it into a large bowl of melted chocolate. Closing his eyes, he breathed, “Heaven.” It had been a very long time since he’d tasted something so good. Gourmet chocolate wasn’t exactly normal fare in the mess hall.
Finally, Lexi slid through the curtain. She shot forward, smacking his spoon away just as he was going in for another taste. “That’s a food safety violation, you idiot. I’ll have to throw the whole batch away if you put that spoon back in.”
“No one will know. I won’t tell if you don’t.” Lexi glared at him, but there was no heat behind the empty gesture.
“Who was that guy?” Gage asked, using the spoon he’d licked clean to point up front.
Lexi shrugged, but he didn’t miss the faint pink that stained her cheeks. “Tourist in for the week.”
Oh, no. He knew that look on his sister’s face. From twelve to twenty-six it hadn’t changed. She was terrible at hiding her thoughts—or her interest in the opposite sex. “Men don’t usually come to Sweetheart for Valentine’s week alone, Lex.” He tapped the end of her nose with the edge of his spoon. “Don’t let this week go to your head.”
Her eyes, as dark as the chocolate he’d just tasted, dulled and she frowned. “Like I could.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gage asked.
“Nothing.” Lexi waved her comment away, the short spurt of sadness disappearing almost as quickly as it had come up. “So Mama’s seen the shiner … has Daddy?”
She crossed over to the long line of work counters, pulling out a tray of the biggest strawberries he’d ever seen, and began dipping them into the vat of melted chocolate. She placed them on a waxed paper–covered tray and then drizzled white chocolate and a thin strand of caramel across the surface. Gage’s mouth began to water.
“Uh … no,” he said, scooting closer to better position himself for a sneak attack.
She eyed him and without even breaking the routine of dip-and-drizzle repositioned her body as a barrier between him and those strawberries. “You gonna tell me what happened?” she asked, picking up the first berry and handing it to him. “Be careful, it’s still wet. Consider that a bribe to leave the rest of my inventory alone. I’m worried I’ll be short this week as it is.”
Gage took a huge bite of the strawberry, the perfect combination of tart and sweet. It was also the perfect excuse not to answer her question. Telling her what he’d been doing would lead to why he’d been doing it, and he just didn’t want to go there. Especially with his baby sister.
Instead, he chose to distract her with a less revealing confession. “I’ve been home two days and I’m already bored out of my mind. I’m not used to an entire day with no purpose. I need to … do something.”
“And you thought going to Baxter to fight in some underground ring would help?”
Gage nearly choked. “How do you know about that?”
“Hope is one of my best friends.” It was Lexi’s turn to pop him with the back of a spoon. “You don’t think she’d mention seeing you at a place like that?”
He hadn’t realized Hope had become that close with his sister. Growing up, it had been he and Hope who’d been inseparable. And although they hadn’t talked in years, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Hope being so chummy with Lexi.
Lexi dropped the last berry onto the tray. “What the hell were you thinkin’? You shouldn’t have walked off and left her there, Gage. She could have gotten into some serious trouble.”
She wasn’t saying anything Gage hadn’t already thought. He’d been halfway home on his dad’s vintage Harley before his temper had cooled enough that his brain kicked in. When would he learn to stop and think before erupting?
He’d turned around and gone back to look for her, but she’d already left.
It was nice to know she’d gotten home okay, though. One weight out of many he could let drop from his shoulders.
“She never should have been there, Lex.”
The punch of anger and disappointment he’d felt last night when he’d realized why Hope had followed him resurfaced.
He called himself ten different kinds of fool for the brief spurt of excitement and anticipation when he’d seen her. You’d think being told you were an idiot with a death wish and having your declaration of feelings thrown back in your face would have killed any desire to have her.
Apparently not.
Even now he could remember that last night, twelve years ago. They’d been at the gazebo. It had been late, close to midnight, the town long past quiet and asleep. But he was wired from enlisting, excited about the possibilities of the life he was about to start, and hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d called her and asked her to meet him.
Watching her walk down the aisle surrounded by the ghost of empty chairs had galvanized something inside him. Suddenly he wanted—needed—her with him on the adventure he was about to start. Hope had always been there for him, with an eye roll, rebuke or encouragement depending on what the situation needed. When he’d screwed up and lost his scholarship to Clemson, and couldn’t escape his dad’s wrath, she’d been there to tell him everything would be fine. She had faith in him when no one else, including himself, did.
But when he’d needed her the most she’d completely flaked on him. He could still see her wild-eyed reaction to his confession that he loved her. He hadn’t meant to tell her, it had just slipped out.
Part of him had always known she’d reject him. He must have asked her out a hundred times, but the answer was always the same. The first time they’d probably been eight or nine and it had quickly become a running joke between them. He’d ask her out in the most ridiculous, cheesy ways possible. And she’d always say no.
Even he wasn’t exactly sure when it stopped being funny and started being real. But Hope hadn’t noticed the difference and he’d been too much of a coward to make her see.
Even back then everyone thought he was so strong. Her rejection had been the one thing that scared the hell out of him.
She’d been so angry with him that night. Upset that he’d enlisted. Angry that he’d done it without talking to her about the decision. And when he’d wrapped his arms around her and told her he loved her she’d pushed him away.
Exactly what he’d always feared. But he’d survived her rejection and a heck of a lot worse since then. His thumbs throbbed dully as if he needed the reminder.
Why was he reliving the memory? Probably because seeing her last night, being in this place especially around Valentine’s Day, brought everything rushing back.
It