Suddenly Single (A Lake Haven Novel Book 4) Page 12

  “Does Sandra know you are here, then?” he asked, confused.

  Jenny laughed. “Of course she does. She invited me to use her kitchen. You don’t want to hear it—it’s a long story. Okay, I’ll tell you. I had lunch in the restaurant yesterday, and I was dying for something sweet, but all Rosalyn had were these prepackaged cookies. And they were awful, Edan. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but ick. And you know how it is when you have your heart set on something sweet and find out it’s no good? Anyway,” she said, pausing to touch the back of her arm to her nose, “Sandra was there, and I said, ‘You know what they say, sweets and porn are better when they’re homemade,’ and Sandra said she agreed about the sweets but didn’t know about the porn, and neither do I, really, but you know, it’s a joke, and we were talking, and one thing led to another, and I mentioned these delicious nut balls my mom used to make with butter and bourbon and pecans, and Sandra had all those things, and before you know it, she’d invited me over to make them for dinner tonight.”

  “But where—”

  “She had to run up to the inn for something. Here, will you help me and put some of that wax paper down on the counter?” She smiled sweetly.

  Edan cautiously stepped forward and did as she asked. As he stood there, Jenny scooped from the concoction in the bowl, balled it up in her hands, and placed them on the wax paper. “Hey, I was thinking,” she said, and gave him a pert little smile. “Don’t look so alarmed. I was thinking that you should have one of those little shops here so people can buy things from the inn. Like the chutney. You could put it in little mason jars and tie ribbons around it and sell it. Same for these nut balls. Really, if you think about it, you could make all kinds of stuff. Soap, pottery. Maybe even embroider some things. Sandra said she likes to embroider.”

  “You mean put in a tourist shop.”

  “A farm shop. They aren’t the same thing. People really like the idea of getting organic food made right there, from ingredients found here.”

  “Aye, and who would manage this farm shop?” he asked as he slid onto a stool.

  “Oh, you’d have to hire someone for sure. But the shop would pay for itself.”

  If only it were as simple as that.

  “I really love homemade jellies and jams, and Sandra’s jam is fabulous. And Rosalyn’s pancake mix. Those two things alone could be a huge hit for you.”

  “We donna have the space for mass production—”

  “Sandra said she and your aunt talked about it once before.” Jenny glanced up and gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry about your aunt, by the way. Sandra said you two were very close.”

  “Aye, thank you. We were.” Jenny and Sandra apparently had quite a long conversation.

  “Well, anyway,” Jenny said, resuming her work, “she said they talked about it, but they weren’t talking about a farm shop, exactly. They just wanted to make items for sale and put them in reception, but you were all like, nooo, we’re a refined establishment.” She arched a brow that challenged him to disagree as she walked to the fridge. She opened it, bent over, and began to rummage around in one of the lower drawers.

  It hadn’t exactly been like that, but any thought of correcting the record was dismissed as Edan admired her bum. He imagined it bare to him, smooth and soft and—

  She popped up, closed the drawer with her foot and returned to the island with butter. “Do you remember?”

  “Pardon?”

  “That Sandra and your aunt talked to you about selling a few things.”

  Edan had to look away from her sparkling eyes in order to think. “Aye,” he said. The reason he’d said no was because of Audra. She hadn’t wanted to be bothered with it, and in order for the plan to work, they would have needed her help. “I’m not a shop girl, Edan,” she’d said with disdain.

  “Would you mind—while I melt this butter, will you make some balls?”

  The question sounded so ludicrous that one corner of Edan’s mouth tipped up. “How can I refuse?” He walked around to her side of the island. She picked up some dough and put it in the palm of his hand, then closed his fingers over it. She glanced up through her lashes, and her eyes, bloody hell, they were shining with desire, prompting an unwelcome surge of lust through him. “Just make a little ball,” she said, squeezing his fingers a bit. “Then roll it in this bowl.” She pointed to one that was filled with a powdery substance. “And put it here,” she ended, pointing to the wax paper.

  “That’s all?” he asked her.

  Her lips curved. “That’s all...for now,” she said, her voice sounding almost like a purr to him. And then she moved away.

  Edan began to make the balls while she tended the melting butter. “You’re a cook, then,” he said.

  “Sort of. When I was fifteen, I took a cooking class because I was worried Dad wouldn’t eat properly. I liked baking the best. I learned to make pies and cakes and flans, and brownies and muffins…well, you get the picture.”

  “Your father must have been greatly appreciative,” Edan said.

  “Maybe, but it didn’t last long,” she said with a shrug. “Our kitchen wouldn’t have passed anyone’s health inspection and the baking pans I bought were buried under some other stuff.”

  Edan tried to imagine the kitchen of a hoarder. He tried to imagine how Jenny had survived in that environment.

  Jenny shifted away from the stove to check his progress, her caramel head bending over the bowl. “And I don’t bake much now, because if I baked for a party of one, I’d blow up like that blowfish Hootie.”

  “Hootie and the Blowfish is a band,” Edan said. “No’ a fish.”

  “Hmmm?” She looked up, her gaze meeting his. “I’m pretty sure it’s a blowfish.”

  “Nope. No’ a fish,” he said, his gaze moving over her pretty face.

  “You seem pretty firm about it,” she said, and her lips curved into a smile.

  “Some things a man canna let slide,” he muttered. There was an invitation in her eyes, an invitation that sizzled between them, a palpable current as smooth and as hot as the butter melted in the pan. Edan didn’t know what possessed him, but this time, he was the one who was doing the kissing. She was in his arms, and he was tracing the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her into his body. He caught her jaw and tilted her head so that he could draw her bottom lip between his teeth before slipping his tongue into her mouth.

  Jenny’s hands slipped up his chest, to his neck and his hair, and her leg came up, sliding along his thigh. He caressed the bare skin above the bodice of her dress and could feel her heart beating against his palm, could feel the warmth of her skin. He moved his hand to her breast, kneading it, then followed the path of his hand with his mouth, sliding his mouth down her chin, to the hollow of her throat, then the swell of her breast. He closed his eyes to the storm brewing in him and allowed himself to feel. No thinking, just feeling. Her skin, her breath, the curve of her body—everything.

  The sound of voices outside reached them at the same time. Edan lifted his head and glanced at the door. He sighed, calmly helped her arrange her dress and apron. Jenny was a little more frantic about it, but surprisingly quiet for once. He cupped her chin, and she sighed, her eyes half closed, as he nipped at her lips once more. He then walked out of the kitchen, grabbing up a nutball as he went, and left via the front door.

  When Edan stepped outside, he paused to look at the sky overhead and breathe in a deep drink of fresh air. It felt like the first bit of fresh air he’d felt in his lungs in an age—he could almost feel the cobwebs lifting away. His body was thrumming—every nerve, every muscle alive and ready. He hadn’t wanted sex like this since—

  “Eddy, my friend!”

  Edan jumped and jerked around at the sound of Lorenzo’s voice.

  “A beautiful day! We will play today some golf, yes?” Lorenzo waved as he carried on to the mudroom door and disappeared inside the farmhouse
.

  Edan’s blood went from simmering to pure boil.

  Thirteen

  Jenny was still rooted to the very spot where Edan had kissed her when Lorenzo peeked in the back door. He stepped in and looked at her with alarm. Maybe because she wasn’t breathing. She was absolutely, completely breathless.

  “What is wrong?” he exclaimed.

  “He kissed me,” she said, her voice still fluttery with excitement. “I don’t even know how it happened—”

  “Brava, brava!” Lorenzo said, clapping as he walked to the kitchen island, pausing momentarily to help himself to a nutball. “You see? My plan, it is very smart. You are in love?”

  “No!” Jenny said, and then laughed nervously. She sounded like a hyena.

  “But of course you are—this is amore at its best, no?”

  She swatted his hand away from the nutballs. That’s when she noticed several of them had been smashed. She probably had nutball all over her ass. “You’re way ahead of yourself, buddy,” she said, and poured the melted butter into the batter and stirred.

  “Why do you wound me, Jenny Turner? I am an expert in the heart’s affairs.”

  “Oh sure. That’s why things are going so well between you and Elizabetta.”

  “But I loved her the moment my eyes saw her.”

  “Then why did you kiss someone else?” Jenny asked as she began to make more nutballs.

  “I am a man of many appetites, little peach. That was an indiscretion,” he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Elizabetta is my one and only love.”

  Jenny laughed at him. She was as giddy as a damn schoolgirl. “I think your eye wouldn’t wander quite so much if that were true.”

  “I am a man,” he said grandly. “When my eye no longer wanders, I am dead. I knew I was certain Elizabetta would be mine the moment she desired to have a leather handbag that to me looked like every other handbag,” he said, making a sweeping gesture. “But no—this handbag was the only handbag she would have. No other would do.” He leaned forward and locked his gaze on Jenny’s. “It was a priceless handbag. I could give her a house for this price. But I gave her this handbag that looked like all the others, for it is the one that made her happy. That, Jenny Turner, is when I knew.”

  Jenny smiled. “That’s actually so romantic, Lorenzo.”

  He touched the tip of her nose. “Sometimes, the heart knows and keeps the secret from the brain,” he said, touching her forehead.

  She slapped his hand away. “Will you stop? It’s like walking around in a romance novel with you. Have you heard from Elizabetta today?”

  Lorenzo’s demeanor instantly changed. “No,” he said, and sat on a stool, propped up his head with his fist. “She does not love me as I love her. She does not wish me to be happy.”

  They had sent a new email just last night, entreating Elizabetta a second time to come to Lake Haven.

  “But now, we think not of me, but of you, Jenny Turner. Now is the time to catch the fish. Now is the time we—”

  “Hold it right there,” she said, holding up a spatula. “I think we’ve taken the jealousy thing far enough. I’ll take it from here.”

  “You?” He laughed roundly. “You know nothing of this. You are bambino when it comes to the heart. I have a plan—”

  “No plans!” Jenny said firmly. “Whatever happens, happens. It’s bad karma to interfere with fate. Sometimes, you have to go with the flow.”

  Lorenzo sighed. “All my hard work, and you will toss it away like a bothersome feather.” He swiped another nutball and munched it sorrowfully. “Remember, Jenny Turner, if Eddy thinks you pursue him, he will run like the fox.”

  “I’m not pursuing him,” she insisted. She didn’t know what exactly she was doing, but she didn’t want Lorenzo orchestrating anything. She would work it out herself. Except that she had no plan for how to proceed with Edan. None whatsoever. But she had a plan! It was a different plan, and where Edan fit into it, who knew? She had to let the chips fall where they may.

  She’d talked to her dad last night. He’d enthusiastically encouraged her to pursue her idea, to bring him some information. So she’d casually spoken to a Realtor this morning in a fact-finding mode. Jenny was determined to go for it, to buy this inn. The desire was growing in her every moment.

  She was still mulling it over later that evening after the dining room had closed and Lorenzo had gone off in search of a pub, and she’d decided to take advantage of a perfectly lovely summer’s evening to walk off the generous portion of Scottish salmon and potatoes she’d had. And a few too many nutballs, if she was being honest.

  She’d made it to the top of the hill when her phone began to jingle in her pocket. “Hi Vanessa,” she said when she answered.

  “Hello, Jennerator,” Vanessa said cheerfully. “Still feeling the magic out there in the hinterlands?”

  Jenny smiled thinly. “If you called to lecture me—”

  “I didn’t! I am calling to talk to you about a job!”

  She announced it as if Jenny had just won the Reader’s Digest sweepstakes.

  “I have these clients with a chain of coffee shops. Morning Joes, they’re called. They just opened one in Santa Monica, and they are looking for management staff. So I told them about you and guess what. They’re interested.”

  “Wow,” Jenny said.

  “You’d be perfect for it, Jenny,” Vanessa said enthusiastically. “You’re so good with people. And you have such a creative mind. I know you could think of ways to bring in business.”

  “What, like classes on existentialism in the evenings or something like that?” Jenny tossed out there.

  “Well, maybe not that class exactly, but yes, creative,” Vanessa said.

  Jenny was only half joking. That actually sounded like a great idea. She could do something like that here, on the first tee. “Thanks, Vanessa. I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course, they’ll have to vet you. I told them you’re on sabbatical and I made it sound fancy, because that’s what I do for my friends. And they said sure, of course. But I don’t think you can hang out there forever if you’re interested. When should I tell them you’ll be back?”

  “About that,” Jenny said, and squeezed her eyes shut a moment. “I’m not sure I’ll be back.”

  That was met with silence. And then, “Why?”

  “Because I am thinking of buying this inn,” Jenny said, plunging right in. “It’s going on the market soon.”

  “What?” Vanessa cried. “Are you crazy?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jenny answered honestly.

  “Jenny!” Vanessa said sternly, and proceeded with the harangue Jenny knew she’d get from all her friends. Vanessa pointed out how ill-equipped Jenny was to take on an inn, that she knew nothing about running a business, how flighty she could be in most things, and how she could not simply quit an inn she’d bought if she didn’t like it.

  When she’d finished, or had paused to take a breath, Jenny didn’t know, as she’d stopped listening, Jenny said with a calmness she didn’t feel, “Thanks for you concern, V. Seriously. I know you mean well, but this time, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh, Jenny,” Vanessa said wearily, as if Jenny were the child who continued to disappoint her.

  Jenny felt teary all of a sudden. She had the best friends in the world—but they were wrong about her. She bit back her tears and said, “Love you, man.”

  Vanessa sighed. “Love you, man,” she returned softly.

  Jenny slid the phone into her pocket and began a slow walk back to the inn. Her head was full of the conflict of doubts and the steady drum of confidence that this was right. It was a huge thing for her to do, and it was true she had no track record of doing huge things. But there was always a first time, wasn’t there? Something had brought her to this inn. Something had drawn her to Edan Mackenzie, something deeper than a surface infatuation. This place, and that man beckoned her soul.

  It sounded insane, e
ven to her. But Jenny believed, and while it very well might be insane, it didn’t mean she didn’t feel it any less.

  What Edan felt about her, she couldn’t say. And she couldn’t concern herself with it—whatever happened, the most important thing was that she was true to herself.

  At the moment she had that thought, the sun divided the clouds and Edan emerged from the wooded path that she now knew led up to his aunt’s grave. Jenny stopped walking. This was true serendipity.

  He looked up and paused on the path just ahead of her. “Jenny?”

  “Hi,” she said, and waved a little. She took a cautious step forward. “Nice evening.”

  “Aye.” His expression was soft. Slightly affectionate.

  “So umm…” She could suddenly hear Lorenzo in her head, warning her not to pursue him. So she said, “I was hoping I’d run into you.” Forget Lorenzo.

  “Were you?” He smiled warmly.

  “I want to ask you something.”

  “Aye, and what is that?”

  Good question, Outlander. Jenny took another step forward. “I wanted to ask about lodging. Not for me. For others. Like, how is it?”

  His brows dipped. “I donna understand.”

  She drew a breath. She’d never been good at beating around a bush. “I guess I should come right out and say it. I’m thinking of buying the inn.”

  He looked stunned. “You’re what?”

  “I’m thinking of buying your inn.” She smiled hopefully.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets as she took another step toward him. “This inn,” he said, as if there were dozens to choose from.

  “This one.”

  One of his dark brows slowly arched above the other. She was struck by the amazing shine of his eyes in the waning light of day. So deep, so sexy, so full of want. Granted, that might be a bit of projecting on her part, but still.

  “It’s no’ easy, managing an inn,” he said.

  “I know. Well, I assumed. But I will learn. I really want to learn.”

  He nodded. His eyes moved over her. “We should talk about it, aye?”