Chapter 15

Ella

Once I got home from my ice cream binge session with Camille, I took a long, hot bubble bath, and tried to sort out my feelings about the situation with King. In between scoops of ice cream, Camille had spent the evening trying to reason with me and had finally accused me of running scared and using the incidents with Star, the strip club, and King's radio-silence as an excuse not to see him again.

"After what I went through with Clayton, can you blame me?" I'd asked in exasperation. "Jesus, Camille, I've already had one man who cheated and kept secrets. I sure as hell don't need another."

"I get that, but are you sure that's what this is? From what you said, he had some kind of club business that kept him busy. There are a lot of jobs that people can't share the details of. Hell, I can't tell you some things about my work due to patient privacy laws, and that doesn't bother you. Maybe this shouldn't either. And as far as that Star bitch, he told you he wasn't interested in her and why she lied to you. Do you think he was lying about any of that?"

"No, but they have a stripper pole in the corner of their clubhouse, for God's sake and that Star woman wasn't even wearing enough material to make a handkerchief out of. Plus, who in the hell has business meetings in a strip club?"

"Well, people whose business owns a strip club, for one." I had dropped my head and groaned at her, not appreciating the fact that her answer actually made sense.

"You know I have a valid point there, so put that particular objection aside and tell me what's really holding you back?" she'd interrupted, getting to the truth in the way that only a best friend could.

"I don't think I can just be another hook-up for him, and it will be awkward as hell when he's done with me."

"Did he say he only wanted a hook-up, and why they hell do you think he'd be the one to end it? Maybe you'll find out he gets gassy at night or trims his pubes and leaves them on the bathroom floor. Maybe you'll be the one to kick him to the curb."

When I hadn't answered, she'd pushed the issue.

"Just because Dr. Douchebag was too stupid to appreciate what an incredible woman you are doesn't mean that King will be the same way. Stop selling yourself short, EL, and stop settling for men who are safe. The insurance guy, and the one before that – the professor – and the guy before that who I can't even remember. They were all perfectly nice, perfectly bland, and perfectly safe. You weren't in danger of losing your heart or your head with any of them. That's why you chose them, and that's why you're running scared now. King has you feeling more after just a few days than the insurance guy did in three months of dating."

Now, as I lazily ran my hand through the bubbles floating on the water's surface, I admitted to myself that she might be on to something. I tilted my head back to rest it against the edge of the tub and stared at the ceiling, trying to separate my thoughts from my emotions.

Once I looked at things rationally, I was able to admit that Camille was right. I was pushing King away because I was running scared. However, I was also right. It was better to end things now, before things ended badly and became awkward. King and I were two very different people, looking for two very different things.

I wasn't necessarily looking for Mr. Right, but I wasn't willing to settle for Mr. Right Now either. Despite what he had said, King Morgan had Mr. Right Now written all over his handsome face. Given my friendship – not to mention rental agreement – with his father, that spelled nothing but trouble.

After reluctantly getting out of the tub and drying off, I slipped into my favorite over-sized sleep shirt and slid into bed. I slept fitfully and woke up resolved to forget about Dante "King" Morgan once and for all.

Hours later, I was valiantly trying to remind myself that he wasn't good for me. The problem was, I was having trouble remembering exactly why, thanks to the flowers that had just been delivered, with a handwritten card that read, "The amaryllis symbolizes worth beyond beauty. I see both with you. Have a good day, sugar."

They were beautiful; a vibrant red color that was my absolute favorite. After a few minutes of indecision, I sent him a text thanking him.

Me: Thank you for the flowers. They are lovely, but not necessary.

King: I disagree. They are very necessary. I understand that you're leery, but I'm going to prove to you that you should give me a chance. I'm not afraid of fighting for what I want, and make no mistake, sugar, I want you.

Me: I'm sorry, but I'm not going to change my mind.

King: I dare you to let me try.

I put my phone down and resolved to not look at it the rest of the night. Later that night as I was getting ready for bed, I glanced at it, seeing a text from about an hour ago.

King: I was playing poker with some of the brothers earlier, and it occurred to me that I haven't told you how I got my road name. My half-brother and I prospected for the club at the same time and played poker one night with the other prospects. Despite the fact that we caught him cheating with an ace that he had literally hidden up his sleeve, I beat him with three kings. So, when we were patched in, Sinner named us King and Ace. I've rarely used my real name since then, but I like hearing it from you. Goodnight, sugar.

Before going to sleep, I went into my phone's contact list, and changed his name from King to Dante.

By Sunday afternoon, I was dozing off while watching TV, exhausted after yet another night of tossing and turning. I awoke when the doorbell rang and was stunned to see the floral delivery man again, holding a huge vase of daffodils this time . "Daffodils represent new beginnings. That's all I'm asking for. Have a good day, sugar.

My heart turned to mush, and I started to give in. I reached for the phone to call him, then reminded myself that I was a mature, independent forty-fucking-year-old woman, not a starry-eyed teenager in the throes of a crush on the school's bad boy. I gave myself a mental kick in the ass for good measure, then texted him.

Me: The daffodils are beautiful, but a new beginning isn't a good idea. For either of us.

Dante: I'm glad you liked them.

Dante: Oh, and you're wrong. It's an excellent idea.

He'd sent a selfie a few hours later. He'd clearly been at the gym, judging by the weight equipment in the background and the glistening sheen of sweat covering every inch of visible skin, which had been a lot considering he was wearing a skintight black tank top and equally tight bike shorts.

Dante: I had to add an extra workout thanks to those delicious cookies of yours that Sinner dropped off at the clubhouse the other day. Totally fucking worth it, sugar.

And later that night, just before I went to bed, came another text.

Dante: I made pancakes for dinner tonight, and it made me think of my mom. When I was a little kid, Saturday mornings were special, because my mom made us blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Luckily, she taught me how to make them for my boys when they were little, so I can still have them even now that she's gone. I'd love to make them for you sometime, for breakfast or for dinner. Your choice. Goodnight, sugar.

I wiped away a tear and typed back a single word… goodnight .

Monday morning brought a vase overflowing with asters in a riotous bloom of color. "Asters represent patience, which I'm clearly going to need to win you over. Have a good day, sugar."

Mia had opened the door to the delivery driver and had gushed over the pretty flowers. Hunter had just smirked when I'd tucked the card into my back pocket and lied that King had sent them as a thank you for looking out for Pop. I was pretty sure neither of them believed me, especially given the other bouquets in the house, but they didn't push the issue.

I had a meeting with a client late in the day, and noticed his bike parked in Pop's driveway as I pulled back into my garage. When I walked into the kitchen, Dante was sitting at the kitchen table with Hunter, discussing football. My son jumped up to greet me, then tried and failed to hide his smile as he said goodbye to Dante and hurried from the room. Yeah, he wasn't being obvious at all.

"I just wanted to return those containers to you," Dante said as he stood and motioned to the two cookie tins on the counter. "How was your day?"

"It was fine," I replied warily. "I…uh…got your flowers. Again. Thank you, but there's really no point in wasting your money –"

"It's not a waste of money if you liked them. Now, Hunter told me that you guys are taking Mia over to the high school tonight so she can practice driving in the empty parking lot, so I won't keep you. Have fun, sugar. Be safe."

I'd been left confused by his casual nonchalance and had wondered what game he was playing now.

My nerves had been shot by the time I got ready for bed later that night, partly from the stress of Mia's first driving attempt and partly from dealing with Dante. When his final text came through, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Dante: I hope the driving lesson went better than the first one I had with Jag and Rome years ago. Jag almost took out Sinner's mailbox, and Rome ran over my mom's favorite rose bush. I'm pretty sure that's when I got my first gray hairs. Goodnight, sugar .

I worked from home again on Tuesday and had to laugh as my doorbell rang just after lunch. Lenny, the delivery driver, greeted me with a grin. He and I were now on a first-name basis.

"Looks like you've got some gladioluses today, Ella." I didn't bother offering a tip as he handed them over, since he'd made it clear that Dante had already taken care of that on each of his three previous deliveries.

I read the card as soon as he'd left. "Gladiolus represent honor, faithfulness, and strength of character. I believe in the very same things. Give me a chance, and I'll prove it to you. Have a good day, sugar."

I smiled as I read the card for a second time, desperately wanting to believe the words that he had written. I finally forced myself to set the card aside and turned my attention to my laptop, determined to get some actual work done instead of mooning over a man who was turning out to be nothing like I'd expected.

I'd invited Pop to join us for dinner that night. His best friend, Viking, was over at Pop's watching some kind of race on TV, so I extended the invitation to include him as well. I hoped that their presence would help keep my mind off Dante and the whole sexy, silver fox vibe that made my knees weak and my panties wet.

It wasn't the first time Viking had joined us for dinner with Pop, and I always got a kick out of watching the two old men squabbling back and forth. They reminded me of Camille and Kim when they got together; each saying something just to rile the other one up. Before they left to head back over to Pop's house, Viking commented on the various bouquets of flowers setting on just about every table.

"Pretty flowers you've got there, honey. It looks like you've got yourself quite an admirer."

Pop grinned slyly and elbowed his old friend. "Those are from King, if I'm not mistaken." He looked at me with a teasing twinkle in his eye. "I think you've made quite an impression on my son, darlin'."

"He sent them as an apology for…a little misunderstanding. I'm not sure why there are so many," I responded lamely, trying to skirt the truth without outright lying to them.

"Yeah, I heard about the knife incident," Viking said with a chuckle. "You can't blame him too much for being a jackass, Ella. He gets it from his dad."

Viking just cackled as Pop flipped him off, and they were still bickering with each other when I sent them on their way with a container of brownies to share.

Again, as I was getting ready for bed, my text notification chimed.

Dante: I heard that you had guests for dinner tonight, and that you make one hell of a pot roast. Thanks for looking after those old farts. You're a good woman, and it shows in everything you do. Goodnight, sugar.

Wednesday's delivery was a basket filled with gardenias. "Gardenias stand for sweetness, which reminds me of the way you taste. Have a good day, sugar." I blushed as I read the card, then tucked it into my pocket so the kids wouldn't see it.

Mia had offered to watch Ethan and Everly that afternoon, while Rome and Abby met with the wedding coordinator about last-minute wedding details. I was thrilled that they were getting married again, and I loved spending time with their kiddos.

Mia was playing on the floor in the living room with Everly, and I smiled every time I heard that sweet baby giggling at something my daughter was doing. Ethan was eagerly helping me chop a mountain of strawberries in preparation for making some jam when the sound of a vehicle pulling into my driveway drifted in through the open kitchen window. I glanced out to see Dante getting out of his truck and cursed under my breath. I wasn't mentally prepared to see him yet, especially since I'd been on edge from his text message an hour ago, wondering what he'd meant by the last line. I guess now I knew.

Dante: You know, I think I'm actually enjoying the chase. I'll enjoy it even more when you finally let me catch you. I promise I'll make damned sure you don't regret it. I'll see you later, sugar.

Mia let him in after he rang the doorbell, and I heard Dante's deep voice followed by Everly's ear-splitting squeal.

"Grandpa!" Ethan shouted as Dante strolled into my kitchen a moment later with the baby cradled against his broad chest. She was staring up at him with wide eyes and a big, drool-covered grin.

"Hey, E-man. What are you up to over there?" Dante smiled at the sight of his grandson, perched on a stool and wearing one of my aprons to keep the strawberries from staining his light blue T-shirt.

"I'm helpin' Miss Ella make strawberry jam."

"Wow, that sounds good, little man."

"It's even better than the stuff Mommy buys at the store. Miss Ella makes all kinds of ‘em, and she gave me some to take home, too."

Dante raised his eyebrows as he surveyed the collection of canning jars I'd put in a small box for Ethan to take with him. "Triple berry, spiced peach, apple butter…wait, carrot cake jam? I've never even heard of that."

"It sounds gross, Grandpa, but it's really good, even though it's got carrots in it," Ethan assured him. "Daddy even puts it on top of his vanilla ice cream."

"I love carrot cake, so maybe I need to try some of that myself."

I cleared my throat before offering, "It was my Gran's recipe. Actually, most of what I make comes from what she taught me."

"She must have been an amazing cook then, based on what I've tasted so far."

I smiled sadly and blinked back an unexpected tear at his words. "She was," I said huskily. I hesitated before asking, "What brings you by, Dante?"

He shot me a satisfied smile as my use of his real name registered. "I'm here for these two. I told Rome I would pick up the kids so he and Abby could go out to dinner. I figured they could use a little time alone without dealing with the stress of the wedding stuff," he told me quietly as Ethan washed the sticky strawberry juice from his hands. "They mentioned that you won't be able to come to the wedding on Saturday."

"No, I'm afraid not. My aunt and uncle are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary this weekend, so the kids and I will be driving down to their house in Evansville early Saturday morning and won't be home until late that night," I explained regretfully. "I hate to miss the wedding, but they're the only extended family I left, and I can't miss their anniversary party either."

"I understand completely, sugar, and I'm glad you'll get to spend some time with your family."

Mia handed him a jar of the carrot cake jam, which he looked over with interest, as Ethan hurried to put his shoes on. He gave me a sweet hug, and Everly gave me a soggy kiss before they left a few minutes later. Dante stole a hug, too, which I admitted to myself felt nicer than it should, especially when he added a kiss to the top of my head in a gesture that was as sweet as it was unexpected.

I had to make an effort to concentrate on the task at hand once he and the kids left. Luckily, Mia had time to help me finish the strawberry jam before she and Hunter left for dinner with Clayton and Sabrina. I ended up canning eleven pints of it, which I hoped would last for the rest of the summer.

His text later that night brought tears to my eyes.

Dante: I'm so sorry if I dredged up sad memories for you. I ate a spoonful of that jam a little while ago, and it's incredible. Your Gran must have been one hell of a cook, and you were clearly a very talented student. Goodnight, sugar.

I realized I was looking forward to his latest offering when my doorbell rang late Thursday morning. Lenny's smiling face greeted me.

"Forget-me-nots," he announced as he handed me a large pot filled with pretty blue flowers.

"They're beautiful, but don't you ever get a day off?"

The older man just smiled. "I only work a few hours a day. It keeps me busy, and Dorothy appreciates the help." I'd learned during the course of our brief interactions that Dorothy was the owner of the flower shop, as well as being Lenny's "long-time lady love", he'd told me with a wink.

"Dorothy would smack me for telling you this but despite what she says, there's no such thing as ‘florist-customer confidentiality'," he snorted. "That King fella has spent a lot of time talking with her about flowers and their different meanings and such, not to mention all the money he's been spending. If you don't mind a bit of advice from an old man, you've got him on the hook, so now is the time to either reel him in or throw him back. From what I've seen, the man is a keeper."

He left after dispensing his words of wisdom and I heaved a sigh as I closed the door inspected the latest delivery. I was somewhat surprised that they were in a pot with soil, rather than the usual vases of flowers he'd been sending. The reason for the change became clear when I read the card.

"I thought you could plant these forget-me-nots in honor of those who live on in your heart. Have a good day, sugar."

After a moment's hesitation, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text before I could change my mind.

Me: The forget-me-nots are perfect. Thank you.

A moment later, his reply popped up on my screen.

Dante: You are very welcome. I'm glad you liked them.

Ten minutes later he sent another text, this one with a selfie of him holding an almost-empty jar of carrot cake jam. The pitiful expression on his face looked remarkably like Ethan's on the one and only occasion I'd seen the little boy pouting about something.

Dante: These bastards don't just steal my cookies. I overslept and didn't have time for breakfast at home, so I brought this to the clubhouse this morning so I could have it on some toast as soon as my officers' meeting was over with. Viking spotted it and helped himself, then it apparently became a fucking free-for-all. By the time I got ready to make my toast, the damned jar was almost empty. You now have 3 bikers who want to buy some from you. You also received a marriage proposal from Bull, and an offer from Skid to give you his non-existent (as far as I know) first-born child. I took the liberty of declining both of them for you.

Once I stopped laughing, I texted him back.

Me: I'm sorry that your friends were mean to you. I have plenty of jam left, so I'll be happy to sell them some. I'll give you another jar, too, that you won't have to share with anyone else. Now, I don't need any more kids, but tell me about Bull. Is he handsome?

His response was immediate.

Dante: No, and the fucker will be even uglier if he tries to propose to you again.

Well, OK then. Our lighthearted conversation took an unexpected turn.

Deciding I needed to get some actual work done, I set my phone aside, then dug into the business of creating the logo for a new boutique opening on the northside. I loved this part of the process, when I could let me imagination flow. Before I knew it, two hours had passed, and I was interrupted by my cell phone ringing.

I picked it up and answered without even looking at the screen to see who was calling, my mind still engrossed in selecting just the right shade of blue for the graphic I was working on.

"This is Ella Chadwick," I greeted automatically.

"It's good to hear your voice, sugar. Do you have time to go to lunch?"

I suppressed the urge to say yes. "No."

"No problem. I'll just have it delivered to you."

He hung up before I could say another word. I was debating whether to call back or just send a text when my doorbell rang.

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream when I opened the door to find Lincoln on my doorstep holding up a bag of food.

"I'm sorry you went to so much trouble, but I can't accept this," I said, shaking my head.

"He told me you might say that. I'm supposed to tell you that it would be a shame to let good food go to waste. Also, you shouldn't skip meals." He thrust the bag at me with a grin, then turned and hurried down the steps of my front porch. Before I could gather my wits about me and offer an objection, he was jumping into the passenger seat of Dante's truck, which was idling at the curb. Dante leaned out the window, smiled, and waved as he pulled away.

I closed the door in a daze, then noticed the Shapiro's Delicatessen logo printed on the side of the bag. I started drooling when I peeked inside to find a Reuben sandwich with a side of macaroni and cheese, along with a thick slice of carrot cake. There was also a folded piece of paper.

"I heard these are your favorites. I'm partial to pastrami on rye, myself, with Swiss cheese and a little spicy brown mustard. Their carrot cake is delicious, but your jam is even better. Enjoy your lunch, sugar."

That night, I sent a text to the group chat with Camille and Kim. The barrage of daily flower deliveries, sweet texts, and surprise visits were getting to me, and I needed reinforcements. Their responses were less than helpful.

Me: Help! I'm getting too weak to resist him much longer.

Camille: Mayday…S.O.S…Emergency Alert…Getting weak…Must have dick to revive her.

Kim: We should call King to the rescue!

Me: No.

Camille: Come on, do it just like the song says, Save a Horse, Ride a Biker.

Me: That's not how the song goes. It's Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

Kim: I've ridden both. Trust me, go with the biker unless you want a man who actually smells like a horse.

Camille: She just wants a man who's hung like a horse.

Me: Wait…when did you have sex with a biker? Or a cowboy???

Camille: And why are we just now hearing about it???

Kim: First of all, a lady never fucks and tells. Second of all, I've rarely been accused of being a lady, so I'll tell you. I once spent a lost weekend in Sturgis, South Dakota. There was a rodeo in town the same weekend as the big biker rally. Oh, and it wasn't a cowboy OR a biker. It was a cowboy AND a biker. Spike and I met Billy Wayne Dupree in a rundown honky-tonk on the edge of town, and the three of us had a wild night at the Bluebird Motel out on Route 9. Spike really revved my engine, and Billy Wayne taught me why they're called cowpokes. It was a lot of fun until the manager kicked us out after we broke the bed and the guests in the room downstairs complained about the noise.

Camille: You lie like a rug, Kim. That didn't happen.

Kim: You don't know everything I've done. I had a misspent youth, thank you very much.

Me: Misspent youth, my ass. Uncle Neil would have used imaginary Billy Wayne's equally imaginary lasso and hogtied you if you even tried to leave the state, let alone going a thousand miles across the country to the Sturgis bike rally. You went to an all-girls school, spent your summers learning to bake with Grandma and me, and wore braces until you were twenty…and I have the pictures to prove it.

Kim: It still could have happened.

Me: But it didn't.

Kim: I oversold it, didn't I? What gave it away?

Camille: I think it was the honky-tonk. Nightclub, yes. Cozy jazz bar, sure. Wine bar, definitely. Rundown honky-tonk? Over your dead body.

Me: Camille's right, although I thought the Bluebird Motel out on Route 9 was a nice touch. On a side note, I actually know a biker named Cowboy. He's Pop's son-in-law.

Camille: Is he a silver fox, too?

Me: He's a tall, lanky blond, with a slight Texas twang. He's also taken.

Camille: Bummer. Can you ask him where the word cowpoke originated? Kim's story made me curious.

Me: Ladies, can we focus on the real problem here? What the hell do I do about Dante?

Camille: Wait…who the hell is Dante, and what the hell happened to King?

Kim: That's my girl! Two men on the hook…hot damn!

Me: Dante is King's real name. Now, focus! What. Do. I. Do?

Kim: El, you know that I love you more than my new Louboutin pumps, so I'm going to tell you this in the nicest way I know how. Pull your goddamned head out of that thick ass of yours and ride that man until the bed breaks.

Camille: Yeah, what Kim said.

Camille: Seriously, hon, give him a chance. Stop watching life from the sidelines. Get in there and play the game.

Camille: Especially if the game is Hide-the-Salami.

Kim: The winners get an orgasm!

I sent them a selfie of me flipping them off. Yeah, they were definitely less than helpful.