An occasion like this called for only one thing, Callee thought, and apparently Quint agreed.
“I want some of Mama’s sweet cherry pie,” Quint roared. “To go along with this champagne.”
“And I know where we can get some.” Callee laughed as tears of joy filled her eyes again. She thought her tears were spent, but the relief and delight felt boundless.
The moment Dr. Flynn had said Molly’s surgery was textbook, that he was cautiously optimistic of a full recovery, Callee had collapsed against Quint, unable to stop her tears.
Quint didn’t cry. He laughed and laughed, and hugging her, spun her around in celebration…until the waterworks subsided. This had gone on for less than a minute, yet it felt as though they’d clung to each other for an eon. Even afterward, as the doctor cautioned that the next couple of days were critical, Callee had stayed spinning on an emotional cloud.
She said, “The pie I have in mind wasn’t made by your mother, but Jane’s pie looked like it could be of the same caliber.”
“Big Sky Pie, it is,” Quint said, steering the SUV toward Center Street.
It had been hours since they’d grabbed something to eat in the hospital cafeteria, hours more until they could see Molly, hours spent in the waiting area quietly leaning on each other, words unnecessary in their bubble of gratitude and hope. Finally Molly arrived back in the ICU. Tubes and wires and IVs had been reattached by the time they were allowed to peek in on her. She slept, unaware of their visit, but Callee noted her coloring was already better.
It was after eleven p.m. when they left the hospital, both too wired to call it a night. They’d secured a bottle of Cold Duck, not exactly expensive bubbly—more like the dregs—but the one sparkling wine Quint actually liked.
When he pulled the SUV into the parking space, Callee saw the pie shop had the proper night lights on inside, as well as the outside lights. If this was any indication, Jane had not only locked up, she’d done a stellar job of it. She found her key in the mailbox. Her faith in the woman boosted her already high spirits. She was certain that when Quint tasted Jane’s pie, the job would be a lock for Ms. Wilson.
They went inside, switched on lights, and locked the door behind them. The scent of sweet cherry pie hung in the air, making her mouth water in anticipation.
Quint surveyed the café. “Looks just as we left it.”
The kitchen, however, was not as they’d left it. “Wow,” Callee said, impressed. “Jane not only stayed until her pie was done baking, she put the supplies away, did the dishes, and cleaned off the counters. Pretty responsible for someone without a lot of experience under her chef cap.”
But Quint was frowning as he dug through cupboards, then looked into ovens and the Sub-Zero. “Only one thing wrong.”
“Oh?” Callee removed her jacket, trying to figure out what he referred to, but not finding anything amiss. She couldn’t have done a better job herself of cleaning up.
Quint placed two clean coffee cups on the island beside the wine. “What did she do with her pie?”
Callee’s eyebrows lifted. “It isn’t here?”
“Nope.” He levered the plastic cork from the Cold Duck bottle with both thumbs. The ensuing “pop” underscored his words. “Not on the counter or in the refrigerator. And not in any of the ovens.”
“Hmm.” Reasons why the pie wouldn’t be there raced through Callee’s mind. Maybe it hadn’t turned out as well as it looked like it was going to. Maybe Jane dropped it when removing it from the oven. Maybe she tossed it out. Callee did a quick check of the garbage and the disposal for signs of the pie. Nothing. She shrugged, perplexed. “I guess she took it with her.”
“Why would she do that, knowing the pie was the final test as to whether or not she gets the job?”
Callee had no answer. “I can’t explain it. It’s not like she doesn’t know how to bake a pie. We both watched her. She did everything you did with the crust, and everything I did with the filling. That pie was perfection before it was baked.”
Quint poured wine into the mugs and handed one to Callee. “Maybe she was so busy cleaning up, she forgot to take it out in time, and it burned.”
“I saw her set the timer.” Callee shook her head. “Besides, do you smell burned pie in here? No. Just delicious pie.”
“Well, it’s irresponsible of her and just exactly what I worried about given her lack of work experience. But given my good mood, I’m willing to hear her explanation before I make a final decision. She is, so far, the best applicant we’ve interviewed.”
“Yes, but now we have no celebration pie.”
“Wipe that let-down look off your face, Callee.” He pulled a pie box from the refrigerator and produced half a sweet cherry pie. Their pie. Quint heated the pie in the microwave just long enough to make the filling warm and gooey, then carried it to the island. Callee laughed as he lifted his mug to hers. “To Mama’s full recovery.”
They clinked and drank.
“To Big Sky Pie,” Callee said.
They clinked and drank, and offered up a few more toasts, the bubbly wine easing away the stresses of this long day. Quint turned on the CD player, and the soft sounds of Latin music floated through the room, a delicious accompaniment to her celebratory spirit, seductive even. They stood side by side at the island, digging in to the pie straight from the dish. He cut into the pie with his fork, fed a bite-sized piece to Callee, and wiped sweet sticky filling from the edge of her mouth with his thumb. The intimate contact sent delicious slivers of desire to her toes.
The reaction jarred her as she realized she and Quint were back at the scene of the crime, letting their guards down, and enjoying time together in the kitchen, something she’d found sexy as hell the other night. But the chain reaction that followed had ended badly. She warned herself not to let things escalate again. Just store this moment in your memory banks. It was likely to be the last sweet one she would have with Quint.
Her new future loomed large now that Molly was on the road to recovery, and the pie shop had likely found a pastry chef. In the next day or so, she could head to Seattle and never look back. A week ago, this would have been so easy for her. But now…like in the song, “Regrets, she had a few,” but in her case, not too few to mention.
Even the sugary heaven attacking her taste buds couldn’t erase the bitter taste of her regrets, but before she could voice even one, Quint asked, “Do you like to fish?”
“What?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Was he thinking of going fishing again? Right now, maybe? She continued to frown at him.
“Do you like to fish?” he asked, waiting for her answer as though it were of monumental importance, and she realized that he was being serious.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’ve never been fishing.”
“I should have taken you.” A look of pure regret crossed his face. “Or, at least, asked if you wanted to go. I should have taught you how to fish.”
The remorse in his words touched a chord inside Callee, surprising her. “I’m not sure I’d like putting a worm on a hook…”
He grinned, his voice low and husky. “I’d do that for you.”
“You would?”
He nodded, reaching as if to touch her hair, but not touching it. “I’m so sorry, Callee. For everything I didn’t do and for everything I put you through.”
She hadn’t expected this admission, and it stole her breath and made her nerves twitch. Things were getting a little too serious. Entirely too serious. She gulped some wine.
“Losing Dad…” Quint choked, looking as though the impact of all that had happened that afternoon had finally caught up to him. He seemed unable to swallow, his eyes gleaming wet, his expression one of unbearable pain.
Callee felt her own throat constricting as tears sprang to her eyes and began rolling down her cheeks. She cupped his cheek in her hand and sputtered, “I—I lost him, too.”
Misery and grief welled up from deep inside, releasing the anger and sorrow and fear she’d held at bay. Words began to tumble out. “Jimmy treated me like his natural-born daughter almost from the first day we met. Did you know he used to phone me every few days to ask how I was doing, to see if there was anything he could do for me? Or that he sent me a bouquet of flowers every now and again? Just because. Or that on my days off, he would often call and ask me to lunch or to take a walk so we could catch up?”
Quint shook his head in wonder, his eyes awash with regret and guilt. “He was such a great guy.”
“He was the sweetest, most thoughtful man I’ve ever known.” She choked, the tears falling faster now.
“He was,” Quint said, his voice gravelly.
Callee gazed up at him through scalding tears. “He wasn’t just your dad, Quint; he was my dad, too, the only one I ever knew.”
“I know…”
“We—” Callee said, her voice breaking as badly as her heart was at the memories that assailed her, at the loss of Jimmy McCoy, but she couldn’t stop the flow of words. “We shared a special bond that I can only assume is what little girls are born having with their fathers.” She’d relied on that fatherly affection, even taken it for granted, but it had been snatched from her way too soon, reminding her that nothing and no one stays for long. “Losing Jimmy was like losing my mother all over again.”
Her knees wobbled as she began sobbing.
“Oh, God, Callee.” Quint pulled her into his arms, holding onto her as she’d wanted him to do when Jimmy died, and she clung to him as he muttered, “I should have realized. I should have…I’m so sorry…”
Callee wept uncontrollably, her face buried against Quint’s chest, her tears wetting his shirt. As her tears began to subside, she realized that he was trembling, too. She felt his heart thudding beneath her cheek, heard his tender words of commiseration, and her sense of loneliness decreased. When she lifted her head and gazed at Quint through wet lashes, she saw a watery sheen in his eyes. Her heart ached for him, for both of them, and for Jimmy McCoy.
“I’m so sorry,” Quint repeated, the sincerity in his voice setting off a primal urge in Callee. She reached her hand to his face, then slid her fingers into his hair, and pulled him to her, wanting to curl inside him, wanting him inside of her, wanting to feel alive.
Needing it so much she thought she’d die if it didn’t happen.
She lifted her mouth to meet his kiss. At his hesitation, she whispered, “Please.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, and although his lips met hers, he still held back, his kiss as soft as a butterfly wing, a wispy breeze. She started touching him and with a groan, Quint claimed her mouth and deepened the kiss, bringing his arms around her possessively, imbuing her senses with the rich scent that belonged to him alone.
“Oh, Callee…” He caressed her back, her waist, her bottom, pulling her impossibly closer, his erection solid against her thigh, their tongues twining in a joyous dance that tasted of Cold Duck and cherries and desire.
And then his hands were under her sweater, grazing her belly, singeing her naked flesh everywhere he touched, until he stroked her sensitive, budded nipples and she gasped, her pulse exploding as though shocked with a live wire.
With her breath coming in short, sweet gasps, she tore at his shirt and helped him remove her top. Clothes hit the floor, his shirt, her sweater, his jeans, her bra, and soon Quint was nibbling a sensuous trail from her earlobe down the most sensitive areas of her neck, finding her eager breasts, and sucking. Erotic tingles surged through her body, trying her patience to its limits.
Quint unzipped her jeans and shoved her panties to the floor, his eyes heating from warm to smoldering blue flames at the sight of her totally undressed. He said in a low, husky voice, “Damn, woman, you’re the most beautiful thing on this earth.”
Callee savored the bliss sweeping through her as he pulled her into another kiss, caressing, stroking, his finger slipping between her thighs to fondle her most sensitive spot until he elicited a jarring climax. She cried his name, and he moaned loudly as if her pleasure were also his pleasure.
The need to feel him inside of her grew more urgent with every passing second, and she tugged at his boxers, taking his arousal into her hand, and then into her mouth. He moaned her name, conveying to her in the language of lovers that his control was slipping dangerously, quickly. She met his kiss as he scooped her up in both hands, lifting her to wrap her legs around his hips, and then finally, he entered her, the joining a shock of joyous rapture, too long denied.
Electric impulses zigzagged through her senses, her body seeming to be liquid and fire and music. Need spiraled tighter and deeper and then began lifting up and up and up with each thrust until it exploded into starbursts of pleasure. Until she screamed his name, and he screamed hers.
She collapsed against him, spent, yet not done, fulfilled for the moment only, breathless, panting, her head on his shoulder, their bodies still joined. She didn’t care that they were divorcing or that she might later regret this; all that mattered was this moment and how healing it felt.
Her gaze fell to the dregs of Cold Duck and the abandoned pie, and an awful thought struck Callee. “Oh my God, Quint, we missed the pre-event.”
He leaned back and looked at her, a lazy smile on his sexy mouth. “Seriously? That’s where your mind went after our lovemaking? I must be slipping.”
She laughed and kissed him again. “As if you need to worry about that.”
“Good to know.” He grinned wider. “I suppose I’ll need to call the mayor and Sharla tomorrow and explain. Nothing we could’ve done about it, and frankly, right now, this is all I care about.”
He began nibbling her neck, and Callee sighed with desire, but pushed him away. “Not here.”
Catching her meaning, he released her. Without even speaking, they dressed, locked the pie shop, and within minutes were naked again in her hotel room shower. She spread peach-scented bath gel through the black hair on his chest, over his strong shoulders, down his muscled arms, his solid back, over his tight butt, and his erect penis. She savored every stroke, sighing as he returned the favor, her body coming alive beneath his hands.
She couldn’t get enough of him. She went down on her knees, warm water raining over her, as she took him into her mouth again and again until he groaned in ecstasy, lifting her off her knees and spinning her around to face the shower wall. He entered her, his arm around her waist, his hands on her breasts. She met his thrusts with equal passion and felt the world giving way. They seemed to climax together, their cries of euphoria a melodious duet.
They finished showering, toweled each other dry, and once again, desire overtook them. Afterward, she snuggled with him in her bed, dreamy, dreaming, lost in an afterglow of pure satisfaction. As though the past months hadn’t happened, they curled together and slept the night through, wrapped in each other’s arms.
In the morning, they made love again.
Afterward, Quint caught a strand of her hair between his fingers, sniffed it, and smiled. “God, woman, I missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered. “If this is the ‘go-backs,’ no wonder couples do it.”
“What are you talking about?” Quint propped himself on one elbow and stared into her eyes, wearing nothing but a sated smile.
Callee reached up to brush aside a lock of his ebony hair, then traced her fingertip down the side of his face. “It’s something Roxy told me about.” She explained it to him.
Quint listened, his expression disconcerted. “You think this is the ‘go-backs’?”
She’d been too busy enjoying the ride to consider where things went from here. “I don’t know. Can we go back? Do you want to go back?”
“No. I want to go forward. From here.”
“And just pretend the past months didn’t happen?”
“No. That would be a mistake. But what’s not a mistake is us.” His expression grew pensive. “I know now that I let my grief isolate me, that I shut you out when what we both needed was to deal with Dad’s loss together. If I could go back and change that, I would, but I can’t. All I can do is beg your forgiveness and promise that I will never again turn away when you need me. I love you, Callee, with all my heart and soul. I want to spend the rest of my life making up for these past months, if you can forgive me, and if it’s what you want, too.”
She hadn’t thought she could be any happier than she was when she woke up wrapped in Quint’s arms, but his words filled her with such gladness. “I love you so much, Quint.”
Quint let out a cowboy whoop and kissed her again, then pulled back, grinning, already breathing faster. “Whoa, I think we better save that for later. I have business decisions and phone calls to make about the pie shop.”
“Then get dressed and go.” Callee snuggled into the sheet. She needed to shower and dress, too, but for a while longer, she wanted to nestle beneath the covers, still warm from his body heat.
“Meet me at the pie shop in a little while, okay? And then we’ll go visit Mama.” Quint pulled on his shirt and jeans and began stuffing his feet into his boots. “She’s going to be thrilled that we’re calling off the divorce. Oh, call your lawyer and do that, okay?”
“Okay.” Callee laughed, shooing him toward the door. “And make sure you phone Sharla Tucker about the pre-event.”
“Will do.” He kissed her once more, a sweet kiss on the lips, and left.
Callee hugged herself, savoring the warm wonder of the past forty-eight hours and all the sweet possibilities that loomed on her horizon. Life was a constant surprise. She reached for her phone to call her lawyer, but before she could find his number in contacts, a call came in. “Roxy, I’m so glad you called.”
Callee brought Roxy up to date on her relationship with Quint. The announcement was met with silence. A shiver went through Callee, something her grandmother would have called a shadow passing over her grave. “What’s the matter, Roxy?”
“Oh my God, you do have the go-backs.”
“No, it’s not that.” Callee felt defensive, grabbing at everything she could to make her best friend understand how much she and Quint had worked out, the promises he’d made, their grieving over Jimmy. “We made love all night long and again this morning. I’m deliriously happy.”
Silence again.
Callee was getting annoyed. “Roxy, whatever you have to say, just say it, okay?”
“You’re in the honeymoon phase of the go-backs. Remember when Ty and I reconciled? He made all those promises? I think he even meant to keep them, and I admit, it was pure bliss for about two weeks. But the man is who he is…and I am who I am. Can’t fix what’s broken. I’m sure Quint means all those promises he’s made you, too, but give him a few days and he’ll revert to his old workaholic self. You can’t change the stripes on a tiger, girlfriend.”
As she showered, Callee thought long and hard about her best friend’s warning. She knew Roxy might be right, but that wasn’t really what kept gnawing at Callee. She’d told Quint that losing his father was like losing her mother. And it was. But if she loved Quint like she thought she did, shouldn’t losing him have been the most devastating loss of all?