Heated Sweets (A Taste of Love Book 3) Read online

  “Probably not,” I say and shrug my shoulders at him.

  “Then it’s safe to say I won’t be saying what I’m not doing.”

  “Fair enough, I guess,” I respond as I go ahead and put my camera back in my bag and get ready to stand. The longer I sit here, the more my chest hurts from the pain. This isn’t my Brody, and I shouldn’t be sitting under a tree with him alone. The last thing I want is to cause trouble for him and Mary Beth. I might not like her or think she’s the right one for him, but that doesn’t mean I want trouble. Currently, I have enough on my plate, and the less drama that comes my way the better off I am…

  I stand and wretch a little, causing Brody to jump to his feet to help me stand all the way. “You okay, is that what this is about?” I can see the concern all over his face, and this is when I become the best actress I can be.

  “I’m great. I just sat wrong, and my leg went to sleep. Nothing to worry about here,” I say with the best convincing voice I can muster up.

  “Okay, you sure?”

  “Positive, thanks for the tea, but I’ve got work that needs to get done. It was good seeing you, Brody,” I say, tossing a hand up in the air as I walk away from him, leaving another little piece of my heart behind. I really want to tell him what I’m doing. I really want his advice on the surgery and how it could and couldn’t affect me. See, that’s the problem with being friends with a guy and falling in love with them… When you screw up, there’s no going back from that.

  On the drive home, I feel lost even though I know where I’m going. My mind keeps drifting back to the way Brody and I used to be, how he still seems to want to rescue me from my inner self-destruction. Not to mention the fact that I want him to rescue me. I want him to be my knight… My everything…

  As I slide the gear shift to park, I take a moment to just sit in my car. No engine, no radio—nothing. It’s just me staring at the front of my cozy ranch-style home. I notice how plain my front entrance looks. How the gray siding against the stone seems to connect like it’s meant to be together. The way the angles of the cream trim mesh up against the corners and wrap around the house. Even the grass is manicured perfectly, not a blade out of place. When I look at this house, I see perfection, but behind the closed front door and drawn drapes life is anything but perfect. The need to make this house a home slams against my chest like the force of taking off in a jet.

  It was easy to not make my apartment in New York a home; it was never going to be forever. My apartment here in the city was home; it had traces of my past, and what I thought my future would be. Now, I have furniture, a few pictures, and a studio in the spare bedroom along with my office in the other.

  With my shoulders slumped, I gently open the car door and step out. Upon closing it behind me, I hear my name being called from the street. Just once I want to come home and drag myself to the door without interruptions. I plaster a fake smile on my face, turn and stare at the group of ladies headed my way. Meeting them halfway down the driveway, I stop and cross my arms over my chest. “Afternoon, ladies, what can I help you with this time.”

  Sheila, the ring leader, steps forward in her prim and proper pressed beige slacks, white button-up blouse with a boring blue cardigan buttoned at the top. Let’s not forget the pearls around her neck that I’m still trying to figure out if they’re real or fake. In her Southern drawl she starts in. “Frankie, we wanted to make sure that you were bringing those cookies you make to the party, and we also wanted to see if you’ve given any thought to the other thing we talked about,” she says, and here is where I get to play.

  “Yes, I’m still bringing them, and what thing would that be?” I question.

  “Oh, you know, those private shoots.”

  I take a moment to look at the ladies surrounding her, how each of them have their collar buttoned to the neck, a strand of pearls hangs as if I’ve painted them there. Not a strand of hair is out of place, nor is their mascara smeared the slightest from a long day of work. I quickly glance down at myself, taking in how I look like I’ve just ran a marathon. Capri leggings, a mid-thigh tunic, and my favorite Chucks cover me. My shoulder-length hair is wispy as I try to tame it from the humidity of the day. Not to mention the light makeup that I threw on this morning—a simple tinted moisturizer, a rose-colored blush, lip gloss and a thin layer of mascara.

  “Oh, the Boudoir shoots?”

  “Yes, that’s what we’re referring to,” Shelia responds like it’s a sin to say Boudoir.

  “Sorry, ladies, but I haven’t had a chance to process, nor come up with a plan for those yet. As soon as I do, I’ll let you guys know.”

  “Well, just so you know, we all want to book them with you. Just let us know when you’re ready, and we can even help you schedule us all.”

  “I’ll be sure to call you, Sheila, and let you know when I’m ready. Maybe after I finish wrapping up the stuff I have on deadline, okay?”

  “Sounds perfect. Thanks, Frankie, and we’ll see you soon,” she says, and just like they arrived they all disappear.

  I shake my head as I move back up the driveway to my house. Just before I turn to follow the path, my eyes travel toward Zara’s. Somehow, I missed the fact that Brody was over visiting Hatcher, but then again, I was lost in my thoughts. Ignoring it, I head inside not stopping when I enter except to grab a water and drop my purse on the counter before I head to my office. I need to focus on these shots from today and turn them in so I can get paid.

  I slide the memory card into the docking station and wait for all of them to upload. I spin in my chair taking in my work that I’ve hung in here. I stuck with simple black and white shots from a few places I’ve visited over the years. The subway of New York, the splashing waves of Myrtle Beach, a storm brewing over the shore of Miami, and of course, the falling amber leaves of Atlanta in the fall.

  When I look back at the computer, I smile at the picture that sits on my desk. It was taken about three years ago at my birthday party. We’d celebrated at The Sun Dial, all crammed into a circle booth. Brody flagged down our server and requested a picture of all of us. Brody and I are in the middle with his arm wrapped around my shoulder, Zara and Hatcher are to my right, while Morgan and Natasha are to Brody’s left. Just as the waitress captured the shot, I’d turned my head up toward Brody as he said something to cause me to laugh. It’s one of those moments that if it wasn’t sitting here framed, I’d have forgotten what it was like to have him look at me that way. Now, it’s different. It’s not the same glistening look that he once held for me.

  Satisfied with my little memory lane trip, I smile at the computer and glance over to the clock. I have a few hours before I’m expected to report to Zara’s house for dinner. I open Photoshop and Kromo before I start to drag over the best shots of the day. The lighting was perfect for a few of them, but I’m also torn with some of the other ones. I decide to work on the ones that don’t require many touchups, and then set my heart on one that I think will be different and perfect. The editor at Urban Living Magazine might not enjoy it as much as I do, but it won’t hurt to submit it. I took this picture while laying under the tree this afternoon. Since the article is about our city and how it makes the best place to raise a family, what better way than to showcase the different sides of nature’s beauty. The shot looks like a spiral staircase leading up the top. The branches swirl, connecting the leaves like a connect the dot game until it lands at the top where you see specs of the sun-rays coming through the darkness. It’s different, and if nothing else, I can see this one being blown up and landing itself a home in my office.

  Hours pass by, and the sound of my phone ringing from the other room brings me out of my concentration. I take off down the hallway in search of my phone. Right as I grab the phone, I hear the doorbell chime. I notice that I’ve had five missed calls from Zara, and immediately my heart pumps faster against my chest. The fear that something is wrong, or she might be in labor pains me. I swing the door open and notice Hatcher befor
e me with a smile on his face.

  “She sent you to drag me over, huh?”

  “She was worried, and of course, you know she didn’t want to walk,” he explains as I gesture for him to enter.

  “Sorry, I was in the office and left my phone in the kitchen. You know how I get when I’m working. You can either come back while I save the file, or head back home to prego and let her know I’ll be there soon.”

  “I’ll wait, plus this gives me an excuse to see what you’ve been working on,” Hatcher says, and I motion for him to follow me. I sit down and open the edited files from today before I scoot over and let Hatcher see them.

  “Frankie, these are great. What are they for?”

  “I’ve been contracted for Urban Living Magazine, and they want shots of what makes our city so great to live in. They said they wanted more outside, natural things. You know parks, buildings, etc. I went with these and just hope they like them. This will be my first opportunity, which I hope to have more.”

  “I think they’ll be blown away,” he says, leaning up and looking around the office. The air shifts, and I have a feeling Hatcher has something he wants to say—he just doesn’t know how to yet. He’ll say it when he’s ready, this I’ve come to realize over the years.

  “Let’s do this. I’ll grab my purse, and we can head back to your house. I know she’s starving, isn’t she?” With a low laugh, Hatcher agrees with me and waits by the front door.

  As we head over, I notice there’s another car in the driveway, just as Hatcher speaks up. “Brody’s joining us tonight. He was a little down today, and when Zara got home she asked him to eat dinner with us. Hope that’s okay.”

  I offer a gentle smile and confirm that this is fine with me. Just because we aren’t an item doesn’t mean Hatcher can’t be there for his best friend. I do wonder, though, what has him down. Is it him and Mary Beth? Was it from our somewhat of a conversation today? Time to once again pull up my big girl panties and take the rest of the night by its horns.

  Chapter 4

  When I step inside Zara and Hatcher’s home, the aroma of garlic and tomatoes attack my senses. It literally causes me to stop in the foyer to inhale a deep breath of it. I smile over at Hatcher as I know exactly what he cooked this evening. His famous chicken and bacon pasta with spinach and tomatoes covered in a garlic cream sauce. Not to mention, this means French bread to soak up the garlic sauce. It’s like heaven on a plate.

  “Hatcher, is she alive,” I hear Zara scream from the other room. I pop my head into the living room and give her a big smile. As soon as my eyes land on Brody, my smile fades away. His face is scrunched with pain, and I notice immediately that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he looks at me. A moment of guilt floods over me as I fear I might be the cause of his pain once again. I run my fingers through my messy hair as I cross the room to sit next to Zara. I plop down and turn sideways, placing my hand on her swollen stomach. I love to feel their daughter kick and move around. I might also find a tiny bit of excitement from the discomfort it causes Zara. She pushes my hand from her, glaring at me. “I called and called, where were you?”

  “I noticed your calls when Hatcher knocked. Sorry, I was in the office, and my phone was on the counter in the kitchen.”

  “You need to keep your phone near you at all times. What would’ve happened if my water broke? You know it could be go time at any moment.”

  “You were fine. Plus, I needed to focus, and my phone would distract me.”

  “Not good enough, but I’ll say I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I don’t respond. I just laugh her antics off as I look over at Brody. He catches me spying on him, offering me a half ass smile before he stands. “I’m just going to go help Hatcher,” he says, excusing himself from the living room.

  I lean closer to Zara, placing my head on her shoulder and my hand on her tummy. Softly I ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

  “That evil women… That’s what’s wrong with him. I swear, I don’t like her, and she messes with the whole aura of our group. She’s not like us and needs to go.”

  “Wow, that was a mouthful. What happened?”

  “She saw you guys at the park today, got pissed, and thinks y’all are hooking up again.”

  “Wow, really? I thought she was out of town,” I respond with confusion lacing my voice. I might still love Brody, but I wouldn’t come between them—especially like that.

  “Yes, but she got back today, and from what I heard or overheard, he’s calling things off with her. Told Hatcher he can’t deal with her outburst, nor the high maintenance she brings.”

  “Oh,” is the only thing I can respond with. I don’t know if I should approach this with Brody, or maybe seek out Mary Beth and explain our relationship a little better. I push it to the back burner for the time being and focus on my friend. Before I can ask her how the rest of her day was, Hatcher yells that dinner’s ready. I stand and turn to help Zara from the couch. Even if I’ve never been here before, I wouldn’t need to be told where to go—I can follow the smell of dinner and find my way perfectly.

  Their table seats six, but they never use the two ends, which means this has me sitting next to Brody, and Zara and Hatcher sit across from us. I’ve asked in the past why they sit this way, and the simple response was, ‘We aren’t kings and queens. We’re a couple, and I might want to hold his hand while I eat.’ Currently I wish they thought otherwise, because there’s no hand holding with Brody and me.

  I take my seat next to Brody and offer a smile up to Hatcher. He knows the start, the middle, and it’s anyone’s guess right now on the future of us. Hatcher motions his eyes over next to him, silently asking if I want to trade positions, but I shake my head no. This would only cause things to be weirder, and that’s not what I want.

  Dinner passes with small talk… Zara asks about my edits, and I explain to them what the project is for. Hatcher even pipes in on how they look, which makes me nervous as I’m still not use to people judging or talking about my work. This part of the job I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.

  Just as I go to reach for my water glass, my hand brushes against Brody’s. A burn runs through my body, a desire that I don’t think will ever go away when it comes to him. He’s always been the man that my soul desires; he’s the one that I see when I’m old and gray. The one that I want to lay next to me and hold me for eternity.

  A part of me wears my heart on my sleeve, while the other part hides it deep down where no one can find it. The only problem is, Brody found it, took it, and still hasn’t given it back to me. I often wonder how he still has it while he’s with Mary Beth. Then I wonder if he feels the same. Does he often ask how I could leave, and how it is that I could be with Josh in New York while my heart was still here? I usually respond to myself that my heart is a hard, black, and empty patch of something that beats my blood through my veins—that’s how. Josh wasn’t love, it was lust of a younger man who knew nothing about me. He didn’t want love or anything else—it was simple.

  I quietly eat as Hatcher and Brody talk about a few new clients they have. Zara and I share a look as we let out a low chuckle to how they both can geek out over numbers.

  Leaning back, I let out a content sigh as I’m fully satisfied from dinner. The last week it’s been sandwiches and takeout, as I hardly cook for just myself. Hence the reason why I’m here tonight. It’s not just for creating a plan at the dinner this week, it’s so that Zara can make sure I’m taking care of myself. Also, it’s to pick my thoughts apart from everything I shared today.

  “Brody, let’s go have a beer and let the girls chat,” Hatcher says as he stands, taking his plate and Zara’s to the kitchen.

  Brody reaches over for mine, and I stop him as I can do this on my own. “Just let me take it, I’m already going that way,” Brody snarls at me.

  “Fine,” I say with an eye roll.

  As soon as the guys are out of earshot, I glare at Zara before I speak. She’s ready
for me to lash out. Leaning back with her hands crossed over and resting on the top of her stomach, she smiles at me.

  “Are you getting a kick out of this?” I ask.

  “Actually, I am. It’s better than watching The Bachelor,” she says.

  “I hardly think that’s the case, but whatever, you freak,” I say, tossing my napkin down on top of the table.

  “You two are killing me, but you already know that. How about we chat about the party.”

  “Whatever… I’m bringing my cookies, and you need to bring cupcakes from the bakery. That’s what Sheila has down for us anyway. We can either walk or I’ll drive us,” I say before taking another sip of water; waiting for her response seems like it takes forever to come.

  “Fine, I’ll bring stuff from work, and we can walk; it’ll be good for me. Also, you promise that we will sit and pick on them, and you won’t make me stand in a circle with them all?”

  “That’s the plan, but we do have to mingle when we get there at first. After that, I promise we’ll sit, stare, and eat.”

  “Don’t forget talk about them,” she adds for good measure. As soon as Zara hears the guys walk outside, she looks around and then focuses back on me.

  “Now spill it, lady, tell me what’s going on with you and this surgery.”

  “Nothing to spill, I explained everything today at lunch. It’s pretty cut and dry, if you ask me. I just need to set a date.”

  “It has to be more than that… Frankie, this is HUGE, and I want you to open up with me.”

  “Zara, I’m processing and once I figure it all out, you’ll be the first person to know. My plan is to go to the therapist and that group before I decide anything. I can put it off, but ultimately it has to be done. I knew this before I left for New York, and even though I ran from it then, it’s still present now that I’m back.

  “I’m going to put one of those Fit Bit things on you… You run so much that thing would explode from it all. Dang you, Frankie, wake up and deal with this shit… I’m so tired of you sitting here and hiding from love, life, and your friends. Why can’t you just admit what you want for once in your life,” Zara yells at me, throwing me off guard as she’s never spoken this way to me before.