CHAPTER 7
Ean leaned closer. Too close. His movement wrenched Megan from her trance.
She staggered backward—away from the sycamore tree, away from Ean. Away from temptation. “Excuse me.”
She stumbled up her walkway, tripped up the five redbrick front steps and fumbled into her home. With shaking hands, she relocked her door before collapsing against it. Her legs felt like water balloons. Her heart galloped like a startled horse. What had just happened?
Gripping the doorknob, Megan leaned toward the smoked side window on her right and spied on Ean. Her breath caught in her throat. He was still beside the tree. His long, lean body stood in profile as he stared at the sidewalk. Unobserved, she could allow her gaze to touch every inch of his hard, muscled form. Loose-fitting black running pants covered long, strong legs and lovingly cupped his tight glutes. His sweat-stained gray jersey molded his flat abs and chiseled pecs. Her fist clenched the doorknob. She wanted the courage to go back down her walkway and ease the ache building inside. She needed the sense to keep this locked door between them and protect her heart. What should she do, give in to desire or hold on to common sense? Before she could decide, Ean turned and jogged back toward the park.
Damn it!
Megan leaned against her front door. What had she been thinking? Ean Fever wasn’t for her. Her roots were planted deep within Trinity Falls, Ohio. Almost from birth, Ean had been searching for other soil. She was too old to be weaving fantasies about the town’s most popular boy falling in love with her and living happily ever after. Fairy tales were for books.
She pushed away from the door and plodded to her upstairs bathroom. Even if Ean had returned to Trinity Falls to stay, he’d come back for Ramona. She’d been rejected in favor of her cousin before. She wouldn’t allow history to repeat itself.
Ean stood in Quincy’s office doorway hours later, watching the former running back review papers. His childhood friend had become a university professor. Very cool.
He knocked twice on Quincy’s open door. “How does it feel to be the one giving the grades instead of getting them?”
Too late, Quincy masked his surprise. “‘It is better to give than to receive.’”
“Good one.” Ean grinned at the glimpse of the old Quincy. “You have a minute?”
“I have to teach a class.” That quickly, the window into their shared past closed.
Ignoring Quincy’s attempt at a brush-off, Ean pulled the door closed behind him and settled into one of the two cushioned chairs in front of the pale modular desk. “We have plenty of time. It’s nine o’clock. Darius said you only have afternoon classes on Wednesdays.”
Quincy scowled. “I have to prepare for those classes.”
Ean leaned into the chair and propped his right ankle onto his left knee. “I only need ten minutes.”
Quincy’s air of resignation was even more puzzling. “What can I do for you, Ean?”
So formal. “You can start by telling me why you’re pissed off that I’ve come home.”
“Why would I be upset?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
Quincy’s eyes hardened. “I’m sorry if I’m not showing you the right amount of deference, but I don’t have to play follow the leader—follow you—anymore. I walk my own path now.”
Ean’s brows launched up his forehead. “‘Follow the leader’? What the hell are you talking about?”
Quincy remained silent.
Maybe this confrontation hadn’t been a good idea. Ean was more confused today than he’d been Tuesday morning. He dragged both hands over his head as he rose to pace. Unfortunately, Quincy’s office was comfortable but small.
The framed Professor of the Year Award hanging on the off-white wall to his left distracted him. The recognition wasn’t surprising. Quincy was determined to be the best at whatever he chose to do.
A small coffeepot stood on a black metal cabinet in a corner behind Quincy’s chair. Two wall-to-wall bookcases faced each other from opposite sides of the office and were stuffed with books on African and African-American history. On the shelf above his computer, writing references, a dictionary and a thesaurus shared space with framed photos of family and friends.
Ean spotted a photo of him, Quincy and Darius in their grass-and-dirt–stained high school football uniforms. He remembered mugging for that photo. Quincy’s father had taken it shortly after their championship game. Ean had kept a copy of that same picture on his desk at the law firm. The school had nicknamed the friends “the Terrible Trio”: quarterback, running back and tight end. An unstoppable offense.
That picture hardened Ean’s resolve to repair one of the most important relationships in his life. “When I was in New York, we e-mailed or called each other a couple of times a month. Everything seemed fine. Now that I’m back, you’re acting as though I’ve stolen from you. What’s changed?”
Quincy crossed his arms over his chest. “Things can’t go back to the way they were.”
That was a familiar theme in Trinity Falls. “Why not?”
“We aren’t the people we used to be. We’ve grown up. We’ve changed.”
Ean assessed his friend like any witness on the stand. Whatever was eating at him, Quincy wouldn’t give up the information easily. “What are you afraid of going after?”
“What are you talking about?” Quincy’s words snapped with impatience.
“At the bookstore Tuesday, Darius said I’m not afraid to go after what I want. What does he think you’re afraid of?” Ean caught the shift in Quincy’s gaze. A moment of uncertainty that revealed Ean was on the right track.
“I’m not afraid of anything.” Quincy’s mouth tightened as though he didn’t want to divulge more than he already may have.
“We’re all afraid of something.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Ean clenched his teeth. Why had he opened this door? “Right now, I’m afraid I waited too long to come home.”
“Maybe New York is your home now.”
Those words coming from his friend hurt. “What do you want? Maybe I can help.”
Quincy’s expression grew mulish. “I don’t need your help.”
They were at an impasse. Ean stood. “Let me know if you change your mind. Your friendship means a lot to me, Q. It’s one of the reasons I came home.”
Surprise relaxed Quincy’s tight features. Ean turned to leave the office. But he wasn’t calling the game. This was only a time-out. He’d come home to return to the people and the things that mattered most to him. But had he waited too long?
“Dracula is drunk.” Megan chewed the words like rocks in her mouth.
“Stan? Are you sure?” Ramona tapped Megan’s shoulder with the wand she used as part of her witch costume. “Perhaps you should check again.”
“I’m. Positive.” Megan could barely breathe through her anger. She imagined breaking Ramona’s wand into bits.
Ramona waved the wand dismissively. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Megan’s eyes stretched wide. “You hired Stan Crockett—the town drunk—to read Halloween-themed children’s books to our customers’ kids.”
It was the third Saturday of October, the day Books & Bakery hosted its annual Halloween costume party and children’s story time. Megan heard the virtual flushing of her afternoon event as it plunged down the figurative toilet. Ramona either couldn’t hear it or didn’t care.
“Nice costume party, Megan.” Quincy’s comment was barely audible above the angry buzzing in Megan’s ears and the laughter of children enjoying the Halloween games arranged around the store.
Megan turned to find Quincy standing in a semicircle with Darius and Ean. The Terrible Trio reunited and standing in her grandparents’ bookstore. She’d stepped back in time. However, each man had donned the bare minimum to be considered in costume. Quincy had pulled on a football jersey and a pair of faded blue jeans. Darius wore a gray stitch fedora. The name tag on his teal sweater read: MEMBER OF THE PRESS.
Megan stared at Ean’s blue jeans, black jersey and the white bandanna tied around his head. “What are you supposed to be? A pirate?”
Ean adjusted the bandanna. “Not what, who. Deion Sanders.”
Did he truly believe the bandanna alone pegged him as the Hall of Fame former football player? Megan feared her eyes would burst from her head. “Is this the best the three of you could do? Seriously?”
“What are you supposed to be? An Egyptian princess?” Ean’s warm gaze slid over her.
Megan laid her damp palms on the skirt of her white lamé dress. “The goddess Isis.”
She reached behind her to spread the gold theatrical cape or “wings.” The heavy black eyeliner had been a pain to apply, even harder than wielding the hot comb to straighten the curl from her hair.
“I like it.” The intensity in Ean’s olive eyes made her stomach muscles quiver.
“Thanks.” Megan nervously checked the gold band wrapped around the top of her head. She felt the others staring between her and Ean, and fought the urge to fidget.
Quincy turned to Ramona. “Where’s your costume?”
Ramona’s eyes narrowed. “I wish this were a real wand. I’d turn you into a toad. Oh! Too late.”
“Ouch.” Darius chuckled.
“Afternoon, everyone.”
Megan turned at the newcomer’s greeting. “Sheriff, is that your costume?” She clenched her teeth to keep from snarling.
Sheriff Alonzo Lopez glanced at his tan shirt, black tie and spruce green gabardine pants. His cocoa eyes looked confused. “It’s my uniform. I’m on duty.”
Megan cut Darius a look for his inappropriate laughter. “I’m sorry, Sheriff.”
“No need to be.” His calm acceptance soothed Megan. “I took the afternoon shift so my deputies with families could take their children to your party. It’s a fun event for the kids.”
“That was nice of you.” Ramona gave him a sweet smile.
The older man’s shrug was uncomfortable. “Doreen looks very nice in her movie star outfit.”
“Doreen’s spoken for.” Darius’ smile teased the older man.
“Can’t a man appreciate a pretty woman without having any designs on her.” Alonzo turned to Ean. “No disrespect intended.”
“None taken.” Ean’s tense tone belied his words.
Alonzo nodded. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
“Thanks for stopping by, Sheriff.” Megan laid her hand on his shoulder. “It’s always good to see you.”
Alonzo nodded before strolling away.
Ean caught Megan’s attention. “Dracula was singing inappropriate bar songs to your customers.”
Megan threw up her hands. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
Ean caught her arm as she started past him. “My mother brought him into the kitchen. She’s giving him coffee.”
The warmth of his touch through the sleeve of her costume made her shiver. Megan exhaled before addressing Ramona. “What were you thinking to hire Stan Crockett to read to a bunch of kids in our store?”
Quincy gaped at Ramona. “You hired him?”
Ramona’s ebony eyes were innocent. “He needed money.”
“To buy alcohol.” Megan wanted to throw back her head and scream. Why wouldn’t Ramona understand?
“It’ll be OK, Megan.” Ean released his hold on Megan’s arm.
She bit her lip to keep from protesting his withdrawal.
“Ean’s right, Meggie.”
“Don’t call me that.” Her cousin added insult to injury with that obnoxious nickname.
Ramona continued, unfazed. “Doreen’s giving him coffee. He’ll sober right up.”
“Have you seen him?” Megan’s throat ached under the strain of keeping her voice level.
Darius snorted. “There isn’t enough coffee in the store to sober up old Stan.”
Ramona frowned. “He promised me he wouldn’t drink before the reading.”
“He lied.” Quincy stated the obvious.
Ramona’s dark eyes snapped at him. “He said he needed work to rebuild his self-esteem and get off the alcohol.”
Megan took a deep breath. She counted to ten, then exhaled. “How are you going to fix this, Ramona?”
“Me?” Ramona pressed her index finger against her chest. “Why do I have to fix it?”
“Because . . .” Megan pressed her lips together, hating herself for not being able to stand up to her older cousin.
Quincy crossed his arms. “You hired him. You should be the one to fire him, Mona.”
“Don’t call me that.” Ramona gave the group a stubborn look. “Let’s wait and see. Once Stan’s sober, he’ll read to the children. It’ll boost his self-esteem, and your party’ll be a howling success, just as it always is.”
Megan’s skull started to ache. She was sympathetic to Stan. She really was. But Ramona had taken empathy to the edge of reason.
“The parents who brought their children here are on a schedule. So is the store.” Megan checked her red Timex. “The reading is supposed to start in seven minutes.”
“You and your schedules.” Ramona rolled her eyes. “What’ll happen if story time starts late? Will the kids turn into pumpkins?”
Darius bent over, laughing.
Megan thought her head would explode. “How long will it take for Stan to get sober?”
Quincy scratched his chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sober.”
Darius shrugged. “There was that one time we saw him walking into the bar off Vine Street.”
“Oh, yeah.” Quincy nodded.
Megan closed her eyes briefly. “Fine. I’ll take care of it.”
Just as she’d dealt with other messes Ramona had made of her plans. She turned to stomp away, but a firm grasp held her in place.
Her cousin’s sigh was suffering yet irritated. “I’ll handle Stan.” Ramona released her. She adjusted her pointed hat and smoothed her dress.
It really was a great costume. She’d gotten into the spirit of the event, as she always did. The long-sleeved black dress had a neckline that was just short of daring, a figure-hugging bodice and a pencil-thin, ankle-length skirt. The pointed black hat balanced at a cocky angle on her head. Spiders danced at the end of her dangling silver earrings. Skeleton-shaped charms hung from her necklace.
Megan wasn’t the only one who watched her cousin. Quincy’s mesmerized gaze followed Ramona’s every move.
Megan allowed herself to hope. “You’ll take Stan home?”
“Later.” Ramona shook her head. “Keep him in the kitchen, drinking coffee. I’ll take him home after I read to the kids.”
“You’ll read to them?” Quincy’s voice rose with surprise.
Ramona’s dark gaze should have turned the university professor to ashes. “Contrary to your opinion, I can read.”
Megan’s headache disappeared. Her facial muscles relaxed into a smile. “Thanks, Ramona. Let’s get started.”
Before Ramona could have second thoughts, Megan grabbed her cousin’s arm and dragged her to the front of the store. She delivered Ramona to the Halloween reading area, which she, Doreen and their student helpers had created.
After announcing story time, Megan gingerly made her way through the sea of children sprawled on the floor around Ramona. They listened, enraptured, as she started the first Halloween story. Megan had seated her cousin in an ornate red velvet throne that doubled as Santa’s chair during the Christmas season. Today, two large human skulls were staked to the seat’s high back, and two smaller ones were driven onto the chair’s arms—all fake, of course.
“What a relief.” Megan sighed as she joined Ean, Darius and Quincy at the perimeter of the entertainment.
“I told you it would work out.” Ean tossed her a smile.
“I wasn’t sure.” Megan felt his eyes on her. His attention made her self-conscious. She also felt powerful, sexy and aroused.
The children jumped after Ramona’s dramatic pause in the story. It was a talent her cousin had perfected by tormenting a much younger Megan. Ramona adopted different voices for each character in the creepy tale.
“The witch saved Halloween.” Quincy’s voice was thoughtful.
“Now there’s a headline.” Darius unwrapped the piece of chocolate he’d taken from a candy bowl. The crystal bowl was in the shape of a fake, decaying hand. Megan’s staff had placed several of them around the store.
Ean came to Ramona’s defense. “Sometimes Ramona can surprise you with a generous act. She’s not as aloof as she sometimes seems.”
Ean spoke with affection. The bubble of feminine power in which Megan had been basking popped. She fought the urge to withdraw into herself.
How could she have entertained even for one second the smallest kernel of hope that Ean Fever could ever give her a second look—especially with Ramona around?