reached for a round yellow pot. “Hot cocoa. Would you like a cup?”
“Sure.”
She poured some into one of the bright yellow mugs on the bamboo tray and handed it to him.
“Smells great.” But she smelled even better. The scent of her floated around him. He guessed it was shampoo. Every time she moved, her long red curls danced and shifted, sending the aroma of something light and floral swirling around him. All his hormones cheered. He’d absolutely made the right decision.
“It’s from scratch.”
“From scratch?”
“I made it myself. I boil cocoa, butter, sugar and vanilla until it makes syrup, then I add whole milk.”
He took a sip. “That’s really good.”
“I don’t make it often because it’s fattening and probably full of cholesterol.”
But tonight was a special night. Damn it. She didn’t even have to say the words. He got the message. Because he felt it too, the strange sense of being in the right place at the right time enveloped him. No matter how he tried to keep things purely sexual, something else hummed between them. And that “something else” wasn’t what he wanted out of life. He knew that “something else” let people down. He didn’t want to be let down the way his parents had been. He didn’t want to let Wendy down the way her husband had.
He leaped up off the sofa. “You know what? It’s getting late. Harry’ll probably be fine.” He headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She rose from the sofa, gave him a confused smile. “Okay.”
Cullen didn’t say another word to her. He grabbed his jacket and ran from her house. Wendy dropped her head to her hands. She was such a klutz. A ditz. And the worst of it was, this time she had absolutely no idea what she’d done wrong.
She ambled to bed, miserable.
Friday morning, he barely spoke to her and he left for Miami before noon. Emma and Patty took an early lunch, and Wendy missed them, but she wasn’t ready to share anyway. She was growing a tad tired of looking like an idiot. Not just to Cullen, but to her friends.
Saturday morning, Emma and Patty surprised Wendy with an early-morning visit.
Motioning for them to enter her kitchen, she said, “What are you two doing here?”
Emma held up a box of doughnuts. “We’ve brought food.”
“So you’ll spill the beans,” Patty added as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the peg by the door.
Still not quite sure she was ready to talk, Wendy took the box of doughnuts to her kitchen table. “Spill what?”
Patty glanced around. “First of all, where’s Harry?”
“Watching cartoons.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, because now we can get into the juicy stuff.” Patty walked to the table. “I saw his car here Thursday night.”
Wendy frowned. “What were you doing out in this part of town?”
“Forgot my inhaler at work,” Patty said. “Had to call Wendell to let me in.”
“Oh.”
“So,” Emma prodded, sidling up to Wendy as she poured three mugs of coffee. “What happened?”
Wendy glanced over at Emma. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on.” Patty sat on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table.
Handing Emma one of the mugs of coffee, Wendy said, “It’s true. He came to check on Harry, read him a story, took one sip of the hot cocoa I had made while he was reading and bolted.”
“Bolted?” Emma sat beside Patty. “Interesting choice of words.”
“Because it’s true. He ran as if his feet were on fire.”
Patty grinned at Emma. “Very interesting.”
“Very embarrassing. I’m guessing the cocoa sucked.”
Emma leaned closer to Wendy. “I’m guessing he hadn’t come over for cocoa.”
Patty leaned in, too. “And you confused him.” She shook her head in dismay. “Who offers a man like Cullen Barrington cocoa? It’s like saying you’re homespun—which means you want a home—which he probably interprets as meaning you want marriage.”
Wendy gasped. “I didn’t mean that!”
“Of course you didn’t.” Emma sighed. “You hardly know the man. You shouldn’t want to marry him.”
Patty shook her head. “You are really rusty.”
“Rusty?”
“On dating. Which is why we’re here. Monday morning you’re not going to look like Suzy Snowflake.”
“Or Sandy Secretary,” Emma agreed. “He’s interested, but you keep confusing him.”
“So we’re going to help you pick your outfits for next week, so you stop sending mixed signals.”
Wendy bit her bottom lip. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
Both friends put their folded arms on the table. “Why?”
“Because he…he’s…”
“Different,” Emma supplied. “We get it.”
“He’s not going to settle down with you.” Patty snagged a doughnut. “But you need to get back into the real world.”
Emma also took a doughnut. “Consider him practice.”
“And if you’re lucky, you’ll get lots and lots of practice.”
Wendy hid a shudder of pleasure. She told herself nothing could come of this, but just as quickly reminded herself that Emma was right. Even if nothing happened between her and Cullen, she needed to practice even simple things like how to make small talk, what drinks to serve and even how to dress. She wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. She knew the truth. Cullen wasn’t the kind to settle down.
But a little voice in her heart reminded her that plenty of flings had turned into the real thing. Practice or not, she liked him. There were so many things to like about him. And maybe…just maybe…
She shoved those thoughts away, telling herself she shouldn’t wish for things that couldn’t be. But try as she might to think of spending time with Cullen as only a trial run, she liked him. And she could very well end up hurt.
But playing it safe had gotten her hurt, too.
There was no easy answer.
She pulled in a breath. “All right, I’m in. Just don’t make me look like somebody I’m not.”
Cullen spent the weekend on his boat, soaking in the tropical sun, reminding himself that this was where he belonged.
When he returned to Barrington Candies late Monday afternoon, he kept his head down. He plowed through Wendy’s office and only grunted hello as he strode by. He even closed the door.
He didn’t get involved with women like Wendy. Normally, he didn’t even want to. Not because they were somehow wrong, but because he was fair. They were looking for something he couldn’t give, so he unselfishly let them alone.
So why the devil couldn’t he just do that with Wendy?
He had absolutely no idea, but he did know that his innate sense of fairness would keep him in line. A bit of sexual desire would not be his undoing. He could control the crazy urges he had to touch her and taste her and kiss her. And by God, he would!
After