Chapter 24

24

Grady

Usually, showing off Shipwreck is one of my favorite things.

Talking about my great-to-the-nth-degree grandfather Thorny Rock who founded the town and supposedly buried all his Spanish doubloons somewhere between the gazebo in the park at one end of town and Thorny Rock Mountain just west of town proper. The pirate festival. The people who come with metal detectors and sonar equipment to try to find Thorny Rock's treasure. Growing the town and adding a water park and miniature golf and the retreat center and outdoor adventure businesses.

The destination pirate weddings.

The hiking and rafting in the mountains just up the road.

Our part-time neighbors up on the mountainside who bring their own kind of excitement.

My family's place in the history of keeping Shipwreck fun and fresh, with my aunt and uncle helping get Davy Jones's Locker running, and the Deep Blue Retreat Center built.

My bakery.

But after an early morning tour for Bridget the Reporter and her trusty sidekick, Clicky Mick, and walking that line of being honest but not quite in answer to her questions about how the rivalry between our bakeries started, I'm ready to call it quits for the day before the morning's half over.

I don't, though, because the whole damn town has shown up at Crow's Nest at one point or another today to talk about having a reporter in town to finally show the world what assholes all those people in Sarcasm are.

It's gossip central, even when people have to wait thirty minutes for us to whip up fresh cookies and cupcakes long after we've sold out of donuts, muffins, and scones.

Georgia's rocking the kitchen like a beast, the cash register is overheating, and I'm refilling coffees and getting fresh tea, agreeing whole-heartedly that there's no way anyone in Sarcasm could fry up crème br?lée macaron donuts like the beauties I served this morning.

Yeah.

Those were perfection.

And a pain in the ass, but well worth the trouble.

And nobody blinked at paying double price for them.

We're so far in the black today I just recouped all my savings from sending Annika that soft serve machine.

This rivalry is solid gold for business.

Clicky Mick spent thirty minutes shooting the macaron donuts from every angle before they packed up and headed to Sarcasm to get Annika's side of the story.

And I'm a fucking hero today.

Here, anyway.

Pop is holding court at the corner booth with Long Beak Silver, who squawks, " Walk the plank, asshole ," anytime anyone says Sarcasm . I tell the parrot to swab the deck, and he tells me to eat shit and die.

Our relationship is solid like that.

Pop's also entertaining some women I don't recognize but who are all roughly my age and keep accidentally spilling their sweet tea or need me to talk dirty to them.

I mean explain my favorite donut fillings and cupcake flavors.

Same thing.

And I don't enjoy it.

Not like I enjoyed talking dirty to the knots in Annika's neck last week.

Talking to her on the phone at odd hours when we're both alone hasn't been the same.

I miss her.

Some of the out-of-towners in for conferences or just to get away to the mountains for the week report they've been to Sarcasm, and their bakery is just as busy. One or two whisper reverently about the dragon donuts, and I have to remind myself not to smile.

I call it a day when I've sold out of everything and Georgia declares herself over-poached just after three.

My phone's been burning a hole in my pocket, buzzing off and on all afternoon, but I haven't had two seconds free to check it.

I pull it out as I start the short walk home, but before I can register much more than that Annika has sent me approximately four thousand messages, Tillie Jean appears at my side.

I shove my phone back in my pocket before she can glimpse the screen. "Hey, sis."

"You're a genius, you know that?"

"Some days," I agree modestly. "Like every day that ends in a Y."

She snorts and chucks me in the shoulder. She's in her standard uniform of black pants and a white blouse with Crusty Nut embroidered on the breast pocket, and her hair's different.

Maybe she cut it or something.

"You're hilarious. Do you think Sarcasm put on as good of a show today?"

I hope so. "Not a chance. Even if they did, it'll all get lost in translation."

"She asked me all about Annika in high school."

"Yep."

"I'm really pissed at her. And I'm pissed that I'm pissed, and then pissed that I have reason to be pissed."

"Eat a duh-nut. It helps."

She freezes.

Oh, fuck .

I just said that.

"Damn Sarcasm assholes are fucking with my words," I say a beat too late.

And I keep walking.

Head down.

I'm a block from home.

I just want to get home and check my messages.

Tillie Jean's shoes slap the pavement as she rushes to catch up to me. I keep my stride loose like I didn't just tell her to have a duh-nut.

"Grady," she says in that I'm going to kill you tone, which shouldn't be terrifying, because she's six inches shorter than me, at least forty pounds lighter, and I know she can't kill me, except she knows I'm afraid of hamsters and that I'm ticklish on my neck and where I keep my spare house key.

Note to self: move the spare house key.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" she demands.

"I stole your signed Lawson Perry baseball bat when we were teenagers."

She gasps.

I stop. "No, wait…sorry. That was Cooper. He was balancing it on his chin while paddle boarding on the lake. Somehow it got mixed up in his gear bag. He thought he was balancing the bat with a crack in it, so it didn't matter that it fell in the lake. We lied when you asked if we knew where it was. Probably still there, if you want to go diving."

"He—stop trying to distract me. What the hell are you up to? Tell me you're not talking to Annika. Tell me you're not talking to Annika ."

I turn up my walkway and see Sue standing in the front window of my white-sided ranch, hooves on the windowsill, nose pressed to the glass.

Probably wagging his tail too.

"Aw, fuck, I forgot to let my goat out."

" Grady ."

"Last time I did that, he left the fridge opened all day long after he helped himself to a can of beer, and I had to replace all my food and my couch because he pissed all over it while he was sleeping off being drunk."

Tillie Jean hits that spot on my neck, and I yelp and leap away.

She's a deadly opponent in tickle wars, and I'm too old for this shit.

"Don't you have a shift to work?" I ask.

"You think anybody's going to care when I show up and tell them you've been talking to Annika Williams?"

I keep a close watch on her while I shove my key in the lock and push into my house. "Even if I was—and I'm not saying I am, I'm saying if —what's it to you?"

" She stole my banana pudding recipe ."

"Cooper said they put almond extract in it. That's not your recipe."

Sue charges me, and after a quick pat on his head, I step aside to let him ram into Tillie Jean, who's so worked up that her nostrils are widening and I wouldn't be surprised if she shot flaming boogers at me.

And while she wrangles with the goat, who's shoving his snout into her crotch, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

It's a flash of color diving into the little nook off the living room that leads to my bedroom.

Huh.

And there's a red Ford parked in the alley behind my house.

At least, I assume it's a Ford. All I can see is the angle of the roof, but the angle looks like a Ford.

Interesting.

The man downstairs is already peeking his head up, because now I can smell her too.

Coconut.

Like the sunscreen she used to slather herself with when we'd go to the lake. Just because I'm naturally bronze doesn't mean I can't get sunburned , she'd say.

"Get off , you mangy goat," Tillie Jean says.

"He likes you. He wants you to take him for a walk."

"Quit distracting me. Grady . She broke your heart, she tried to break your testicles, and she's giving you a big middle finger wrapped in a donut. She's probably the one running that Facebook page keeping score in the bakery wars. Move on ."

"Is that a cake donut or a yeast donut?"

" Ugh . I can't help you if you don't let me."

I suppress a smile. "And what's you helping me gonna look like? Me on a leash going out with Pop's mailman's cousin's sister-in-law's best friend's grandma's next-door neighbor? Because you know he's moving on to you next. I'm doing you a favor in playing the heartbroken fool. Quit nagging me, and I'll milk it for at least another two months. Maybe three. Who knows? Maybe you'll find your own true love in the process so Pop turns his talents on Cooper."

She snorts and heads to the kitchen. "I'm so mad at you right now."

"And yet you're still here."

"I need cookie dough."

"I don't have any—oh. Huh. Look at that. Right on top in the freezer."

She slams the bottom freezer drawer shut and rips into the zipper top bag of chocolate chip cookie dough balls.

"There something you need to talk about, TJ?" I ask. "Because now I'm thinking you're acting like you're having troubles in love."

She snorts around a mouthful of frozen dough, and saliva dribbles down her chin.

"Tillie Jean. You keep secrets too?"

"Oo aab oat oo owa oor."

She points, and shit .

Yep, I've got goat poop on my kitchen floor.

Better than on the carpet in the living room.

"What's his name?" I ask.

I get the eyeball of I'm going to shave your testicles and rub them down with Icy Hot and then she stomps back to the front door. "I 'afta go to work."

"Hey! That's my dough," I call after her.

"You can have it back when you tell me you're not talking to Annika Williams."

"I'm not talking to Annika Williams." Right now. This exact minute. Not directly.

If she's hiding in my bedroom and listening in, that's not actually my fault.

Tillie Jean's eyes narrow.

I hold out a hand and twitch my fingers, a silent order for her to give me the bag of dough.

She rolls her eyes and marches it out the front door after distracting Sue by tossing his favorite stuffed teddy bear across the room, sending him galloping after it.

And I suppress a grin while I watch her stalk down the street back toward downtown.

She's so easy to play.

But I don't like the idea that she's having issues with a guy. I need to look into this.

I whistle softly while I lock the front door, then send Sue out back to have some outside time.

I didn't leave him in the house today.

Which means my damn goat helped someone break into my house.

With my sister and the goat taken care of, I turn the corner into my bedroom.

Empty.

Just the rumpled blue sheets on my king-size bed and the dust bunnies peeking out from under the massive oak furniture my parents insisted I take when they downsized a few years ago.

That red Ford Focus is still in the alley behind my house. Window's closed.

So I turn into the bathroom.

Seems empty too, but there it is.

Coconut.

And I don't think it's drifting in on the breeze from the open bathroom window.

I tug on the Jolly Roger shower curtain, and Annika screams and yanks on the faucet, holding out the shower head on a hose like a gun, and I take a blast of cold water straight to the face.

Instinct sends me ducking for cover. " Aah! "

"Oh my god!" she shrieks. The water sprays in an arc, splattering across my mirror.

I dodge the spray. "Turn it off!"

She doesn't. Oh, no. She waves that shower nozzle all over. "I thought you were Tillie Jean!"

"She left! You heard her leave!"

"You still scared me!"

"This is my house ! And you were going to shoot my sister !"

"She hates me!"

" It's my house! "

"Your goat let me in!"

" Turn it off! "

She wrenches the water off and points a finger at my chest.

" And you damn well better fucking appreciate everything I did for you today, you—you—you—ICE CREAM MACHINE SENDER ."

Oh.

So that's what this is about.

I slip on the wet tile, grab the towel bar for support, and it gives an ominous creak and pops off the wall.

But even though my heart is still operating in there's a saber-toothed tiger chasing us mode and my brain is demanding to know how the fuck Sue let her in my house, I huff out a chuckle and I grin.

Oh, yeah.

She's mad.

Because I did something nice for her.

Took most of my savings, but it was worth it. Especially knowing how far ahead it'll put Duh-Nuts in our bakery war.

After how well Crow's Nest did today, I'd feel guilty if I hadn't sent her that ice cream maker.

Our fight is seriously solid for business.

I get my footing back and pull off my soaking wet shirt. "Huh. Got there early."

"You shouldn't have sent it at—what are you doing? Are you— What are you doing? Put your shirt back on. Put it back on! "

"It's wet."

She fans her face, and huh.

Annika's cheeks are adorable when they flame up.

She broke into my house.

And I'm completely good with this.

I nod to her tight gray Rolling Stones shirt, which is also soaked, and therefore happily showing me the outline of a bra that can't quite contain her chilled nipples.

Lace.

That has to be lace.

And I want to know what color it is.

"Yours is wet too," I point out. "You take it off, I'll get you a dry one."

She's panting. We both are. Shower wars are no joke.

"I'm fine," she says.

Her eyes are telling a different story though.

They're wide.

Sweeping over my chest.

While she gnaws on her bottom lip and clenches her fingers tighter around the shower head and the handle.

I lean against the sink and spread my shoulders while I grip the porcelain behind me.

Let her have a good look at my bare chest. "You sure? All my T-shirts smell like me."

Her gaze snaps back to my face. "I wasn't thinking about how you smell."

The lie makes blood surge to my cock. "No?"

Her tongue darts out and makes a quick swipe over her ripe lips. " Dammit , Grady. You made me start lying, and now I can't stop."

"If it helps, I was wondering what color bra you're wearing."

She flicks her wrist, and I get another spray of ice-cold water in the chest.

But her eyes—those eyes are dancing.

Intrigued.

Angry.

And still drinking me in while I shove off the sink and close the small gap between us to wrench the shower head out of her hand and step into the tub with her.

Backing her against the tile wall, my chilled skin soaking up the heat radiating off her body.

"You need to stop doing that," I murmur.

Her hands skim my chest and come to rest over my thundering heart while I anchor my hands on either side of her. I haven't seen her in over a week, and that's too long.

Entirely too long.

"I'm very angry with you," she breathes, her focus shifting to my mouth again.

"Why?"

"You want a list?"

"Yes." The longer, the better. She won't leave while she's ticking off my sins.

Her lashes lift, and those big brown eyes study me like she knows it.

But she doesn't call me on playing games.

Not Annika.

No, she tilts her hips against my thigh and strokes her palms down my chest. "I can't afford an ice cream machine."

"You didn't buy one. Next problem."

" Grady ."

"Did Bailey like it?"

"Did— what? "

"She's making bubble waffle plans, isn't she?"

" You hacked her Pinterest account! "

"Annika. I'm a master baker. Not a master hacker." I angle my jaw closer to her, and whisper, "Plus, she mentioned it that first day I saw you in Duh-Nuts, and her Pinterest boards are public."

" You —"

"What else?"

She doesn't push me away when my cheek brushes hers.

Her fingers dig into my skin though, and her breath goes shallow. "You made me lie to defend your honor."

"You had to lie to defend my honor?"

"I had to lie to make me look bad since you're the idiot who started a war with a blind woman and a teenager! I told them I led you on all through high school and made you let me copy your homework assignments so I could get into the Army. I told them I was a stark raving mad bitch . For you."

"Annika—"

"And then I came over here to chew you out for it, and your goat was all I'm so lonely, I just need to go inside for a drink of water, look, here's the spare key, you can leave your note inside the house , and then you walked in the front door , with your sister , and I heard her leave, but I was so mad at you that I decided no matter what, I was going to hose you down, and then I lied about that too because I didn't want—I couldn't—I can't— ugh . I am SO PISSED at you! "

She yanks me behind the neck and presses her lips to mine, and she's not just kissing me.

She's devouring me. Stroking my back. Wrapping a leg around my hips and grinding against my hard-on while she thrusts her tongue into my mouth and owns me.

Just owns me.

If this is Annika being pissed at me, then she can be pissed at me every minute for the rest of my life.