Sweetest Risk Read online

  He takes a few steps to me on the sidewalk before I hit the bakery and then we both pause awkwardly unsure about our greeting. At first, I wish he’d pull me in for a hug, but he hesitates momentarily. Rather than meet me with outstretched arms, a smile graces his lips as I stop in front of him.

  “Sorry you had to walk. My meeting ran long, and I figured this is the first place I’d take you, anyway.”

  “You had a meeting at the bakery?”

  His cheeks pinken but I can’t decide if it’s embarrassment at my question or from the cold evening. “Sometimes if we’re running late and it’s short.”

  He holds the bakery door open and two ladies stand behind the counter, each wearing a bright pink full-length apron covering their upper halves. Their heads pop up in a smile at Graham, their eyes quickly falling to me.

  The worker with long brown hair watches the two of us walk in side by side, her smile growing with each of our steps. “Graham, you came back. And who is this?”

  Graham tugs me into his side, wrapping his arm through mine, and I’m not sure if it’s protection or claiming, maybe a little of both.

  He hesitates for a second “Tabitha, Anessa. This is Tara. Play nice.”

  My eyes search his, looking for an explanation of the two women continuing to smile overwhelmingly at him and us as if they’re waiting for him to make some big declaration, but he’s not planning to. Graham is hot. Is it possible these two have a thing for the man who brought me to their bakery on a date?

  Why do they know his name? Why did he pick here? Why are they so smiley? My eyes ask the questions, but he only shakes his head and leans down whispering in my ear.

  “It’s not what it looks like. I’ll tell you later.”

  He orders two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of donut holes, allowing me to pick out my favorite kind — cherry glazed. Then rather than take a seat at one of the small brightly colored tables and chairs, he basically pushes me right back out the bakery door, the two women behind the counter with smiles even larger. They both wave as we walk by the large window. It’s a little Stepford Wives if you ask me.

  “What was that about?”

  Graham holds his truck door open as I climb inside and take the two cups of hot chocolate, putting one in each holder. He sighs after getting in on his side and starting the truck.

  “Tabitha is Ridge’s fiancé. I may have mentioned I couldn’t stay any longer because I had a date coming to the bakery and they went perky from there.”

  For a moment my face pales. Once a week a group of older ladies get together and have lunch at the bed-and-breakfast. They share the wildest gossip for at least two hours every meeting. Crazy stories. Things you should not hear about your neighbors. Not just who doesn’t clean up their dog poop or who is sleeping with whom, but bigger things like the fact that one of the neighbors named Andres has a son who was arrested for DUI three towns over.

  “Is it true there’s a phone tree?” I’ve heard it mentioned more than once or twice and Cammie herself has alluded at its existence. We live in an age of digital communication, but the traditional landline seems to be the preferred method of communication for people in Pelican Bay. Seven p.m. every night the phone tree starts up, and whatever gossip is too juicy to share over a public table of the bed-and-breakfast is relayed all across town. It’s weird.

  I hope my life is never exciting enough to make the phone tree. Cammie says she did it once her senior year of high school when her and three classmates put shaving cream over the principal’s car in the parking lot. It washed away in an afternoon rain, but was a big enough prank to make the tree. She talks about it like it’s a badge of honor.

  Graham shrugs, answering the phone tree question and bringing me out of my tirade. “I’m not sure, but stay away from Tabitha and her gang. They have a codename on the police radio.”

  I laugh as we drive out of town. “There’s no way that’s true.” What would they have to do to have a call name on a police radio? Certainly, they wouldn’t be out walking around town and working in the bakery of all places. How would this small town allow it?

  The truck turns on the main road down by the beach headed toward the Pelican Bay forest. Salty sea water and pine scents fill the air as if someone cut down a tree within the last five minutes.

  Cammie’s warning about being left in a field chooses that moment to pop back into my head as we drive past the little white church at the edge of Pelican Bay Woods.

  “Where are we?” I ask, reaching for a donut hole out of the bag and shoving it in my mouth. If I go down, I want sugar on my tongue.

  The truck jerks to the left, pulled away by a fork in the road. “Not far.”

  Well that’s not reassuring.

  Think of all the check marks in the not-serial-killer column, Tara.

  Graham’s truck stops at a dirt clearing right before a line of trees breaks in front of us creating a spectacular forest. There are hiking trails all over these woods. People talk about them all the time at the bed-and-breakfast and I’ve passed out hundreds of maps. Half of our guests this summer came to walk the trails, but I myself haven’t spent any significant time in them. Bugs and snakes and bears live in trees and woods.

  The truck shuts off, and he opens his door, coming to my side before I can look at the window or lock the door. Graham leans across me, his arm skimming across the tops of my legs as he plucks both cups of hot chocolate from the middle console of his truck.

  “Come on. It’s a short walk. I promise.”

  I grab the bag of donut holes, rolling it at the top and holding it into my side as I jump out of the truck. I swap the bag for a cup of hot chocolate.

  “Why are we going to the woods in the dark?”

  He laughs, sensing my unease. “I promise it’s not far.”

  “Are there any fields nearby?” It’s a joke. I should be worried about Cammie’s comment, but I can’t muster concern. Something about the man just brings my soul to ease.

  We walk through the woods, our feet trudging against the soft layer of snow while the thick top layer of leaves crunching follows us into the woods.

  Then from what seems like nowhere, the trees break and in front of us opens a wide clearing stretching further than I can see with the naked eye in the darkness. Tall grasses grow on the edges, but the middle looks to be flatter. Then one side to our left is a bench the same brown color as the ones on Main Street. A soft snow trickles from the sky but I’m unable to tell if it picked up snowing or if the wind is causing the flakes to fall from the tops of the trees. Either way the small flakes trickling down from the sky is magical.

  “It’s beautiful.” I step further into the clearing, headed for the bench and the white snow-covered seat.

  “Isn’t it? I wanted to share this with someone special.” His eyes twinkle in the moonlight as he places the bag of donut holes between us.

  “Thank you.” I wouldn’t have traveled to this part of the woods on my own and I’d miss out on the spectacular view. The snow circles in the air around us, falling on the branches lower on the tree some and dusting Graham’s hair with a few tickling my nose. A bird calls overhead and as I’m distracted by the sound, my dark-haired not spy — but who could definitely be my Prince Charming — leans closer and settles into our first kiss. Slow and sweet.

  His lips are larger than mine and firmer, but his kiss is soft. It’s slow yet perfect and I scoot closer. Graham’s lips open, asking for permission, and I grant it. I’m no longer able to resist his charm, not that I want to. It’s a first kiss and then nothing more — there’s not a lot you can do on a cold park bench in the middle of the forest — but it’s enough. I don’t need check marks and columns to worry about anymore. He’s everything I’ve looked for in a person. Funny, smart, with a good sense of humor and looks to match. Our connection is cemented right then, frozen together by the weather.

  The kiss seems to last forever yet finishes way too fast, and the two of us pull apart. He smile
s, brushing a piece of hair away from my forehead, and places a kiss on the corner my lips before turning forward and wrapping his arm around my shoulder to pull me tight. Then together we watch the snow fall noiselessly against the small clearing in Pelican Bay.

  6

  My nose crinkles at the odor floating up from the room vents and floor. It’s a cross between a cigarette and a dead skunk, as if somebody found a piece of roadkill, rolled it up and decide to smoke it. The thought alone makes me gag.

  I’m not a person to smoke recreational weed myself, even though it is legal, but even I know what it smells like. Although this stuff is expired. Can weed expire?

  But where would it be coming from? Even though the drug may be legal in Maine for personal use, it doesn’t mean they can smoke in the bed-and-breakfast even in the privacy of rooms. We’re a no smoking facility. This building has been around for over one hundred years. It’s kindling.

  I follow the putrid smell out into the hallway, my nose taking in all the scents around me like I’ve turned into a bloodhound drug-sniffing dog. Thinking of that, what happened to all those canines now that weed is legal? Did they ship them to other states? Or do they use them to sniff out large quantities of pot? I would hate to think of all those little pups out of a job.

  Focus, Tara.

  My small studio apartment is at the back of the bed-and-breakfast, and my nose takes me down the long hallway closer to the basement doors.

  Definitely no one should be in the basement smoking weed. I’ve done my best to avoid these lower rooms that comprise the basement of the Pelican Bay bed-and-breakfast during my time here, but the stink wafts so hard from the doorway I can’t ignore it. The smart choice would be to go back upstairs and find Dwight since this is his domain in the middle of the night, but I don’t want whoever is doing it to get away. I hold on to the hastily constructed railing, making my way down the stone steps to the musky basement below.

  The walls are formed from large rocks they found and stacked on top of one another, their own archaic cement mixture plastered between them to keep it all together in a jumbled mess. When it rains water seeps through to the floor and I can’t imagine the building would pass any kind of code inspection if they built it today. The fact the walls are still standing this much later is a testament in itself. The basement has been redone over the years, but it’s only used as storage now. I work my way through the towering boxes trying not to think of spiders.

  It’s a maze with inner dispersed lights, allowing just enough area to skip from one ball of light to the next. The smell of weed dissipates the further I go and I stop, ready to turn back when a noise catches my attention.

  My ears perk up and a bead of fear drips off my forehead even though the basement is ice cold on this chilly winter night. One of the lights overhead flickers and then turns off, and I scurry back four steps, putting myself in the light of the one right behind me. I back up with little slow steps, retracing my way to get me to the staircase. If someone is down here smoking the wacky tobacco, they can keep doing it because my courage has run out.

  I don’t know where the courage came from the first place. I’ve never been one to haphazardly jump off into the night. The sudden burst of strength that hit me when I left my room has expired. Maybe the fake bravado is from hanging out with the spy.

  My steps quicken as I search the area in front of me to make sure no one, man or beast, finds me down here. As a kid with a wild imagination, I could’ve made this place look like a labyrinth with its twisting maze-like appearance and crusty walls.

  My back hits something solid and I turn ready to scream when a hand covers my mouth. I wiggle to get away, ready to run in the other direction even if it puts me further in the basement, when a pair of tempest blue eyes meet mine in the darkness as he holds my body still against his.

  I push off the strong chest breathing heavily. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

  My perpetrator smiles but doesn’t let go of my arm. “I thought I smelled something, and I didn’t want the building to go up in flames.”

  My eyes narrow at Graham. “You came down here to inspect yourself rather than call the fire department?”

  He shrugs. “No point alerting the authorities of it wasn’t a big deal. Why are you down here?”

  I’m not willing to tell him I’m here make sure there wasn’t a fire before alerting the city authorities if it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Well looks like whoever was making the smell is gone now.”

  I lean closer to see if any of the weed comes from the dark thermal shirt Graham has on, but I come up empty. Only the sweet yet musky cologne he’s worn every day since I met him tickles my senses. It’s much more pleasant than the skunky weed.

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever get to sleep now,” I say, my heart beating away in my chest. The burst of adrenaline will probably leave me on my ass once it’s done, but right now I’m wide awake and alert.

  He smiles, taking my hand and leading us out of the small basement hallway. “Who says we have to sleep.”

  My face heats and I’m glad he doesn’t turn around to see it, not that it would be possible in the dim basement lights.

  I choke on my words. “Well.”

  Graham stops and I almost run into his back. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was just getting ready to watch a movie. One of the stations is playing the original Jurassic Park and I can’t resist watching the movie when it comes on.”

  “Well of course not. You can’t not watch a man get eaten off the toilet.”

  The two of us laugh as he climbs the basement steps.

  Graham doesn’t release my hands and pulls me toward the residents’ bedrooms. I don’t stop to ask how he knows his way around the hotel so well. From what I’ve seen of him, he never does anything more than come and go to his room with a brief stop in the dining room, but the way he goes through the maze of hallways to the guest rooms upfront, you would think he’s walked these halls more than once.

  We pass the kitchen and I pull, stopping him in his tracks. “I want to grab something.”

  The bed-and-breakfast kitchen has closed down for the evening, but the machine I’m looking for is never shut off. It would cause a mess. On the side of the big metal ice cream cart hangs a stack of cones and I grab one from the side, hurrying to make a small twist of chocolate and vanilla cone for myself.

  “Ice cream? In December?” Graham asks, an eyebrow raised in my direction.

  I lick the top of the twist off, the ice cold against my lips. “You want one? Employees can eat as much as we want.”

  I’ll never admit that it might have been the final perk in their job offer that got me to Pelican Bay. Who can resist all-you-can-eat ice cream in a cone?

  “I’ll pass,” he says but at the same time leans down and skirts his tongue along the edge of my cone stealing some vanilla. “I can just share yours.”

  He laughs and I scowl, pulling back the cone. “Hey, no man should ever steal a woman’s ice cream.”

  With me still scowling at my cone — I definitely didn’t make it tall enough for both of us — Graham and I walk to his room. This time there are no warnings about serial killers or spies or any of the other things Cammie would have me running for the hills over. It’s just the two of us.

  Just as he said, the TV is on and the movie Jurassic Park is starting on the screen. The main two doctors ride to the island in a helicopter, staring out at the tall trees when Graham takes a seat on his bed on top of the covers and pats the space beside him.

  “You don’t care if I eat in bed?”

  He shakes his head. “I have it on good authority the housekeeping has swept my room.”

  My cheeks heat and this time he notices as I take a seat next to him. “About that.” But I don’t know how to finish the sentence.

  He laughs, stealing the cone right from my hands and taking a bite from the top before handing it back. “If I was going to report you, I would have by now
. You can thank me in dates.”

  We lie together for a few moments, me stiff as a board but trying my best to finish off my ice cream and watch the television without making a mess or declaring my undying love. I make it to the light brown cone part, popping the end in my mouth. When I finish swallowing, I turn in my eyes and meet Graham’s. His pretty blues twinkle.

  “I like you,” he says straight out. Not beating around the bush at all.

  I straighten my pajama pants with big pizza slices on them, wishing I could be wearing anything else in the world right now. Like a little backless teddy and twenty fewer pounds of fat.

  “I think you like me too," he continues.

  “I may,” I reply with a smile, hoping he can’t read all the things my words don’t say. That I definitely very much like him. I spend a large portion of my day thinking about him each and every day. That if there’s one person I’d want to run into in the scary basement underneath the bed-and-breakfast it would be him.

  “I would like to explore this more.”

  “Me too.” I smile as he slips slightly closer to me on the bed.

  “Right now.”

  “Now?” I ask, licking the slight taste of ice cream from my lips.

  Together, on top of the covers in the middle of his bedroom that not so many days ago I was caught searching, Graham and I connect. Our eyes battle against the moment. Both of us saying so much yet nothing at all. His hand skirts out and fumbles with a piece of my hair, tucking it behind an ear and pulling on it lightly. I close my eyes waiting for what happens next.

  7

  Graham tugs my leg to him twisting our appendages together. Less than a breath separates us and my heart hammers, begging for him to kiss me.

  He does, and it’s nothing like when we sat together on the bench in the middle of a clearing. This kiss is demanding and firm. His lips lock onto mine and the room gets twenty degrees hotter. His hand cups my chin, his thumb rubbing against my skin. My lips open, granting him access, and our tongues duel against one another.