Like I did when Trace was fucking me.
Avery’s mind raced back to the night before. To Trace driving into her so hard the sound of her back hitting the wall over and over still echoed in her head. And the memory of him filling her, so passionately consuming her, made a sinful thrill explode at the center of her body and spread like fire. Her sex clenched, and the ache from their fierce quickie still burned between her legs.
She closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. The look on Trace’s face as he set her down appeared in Avery’s mind—unmistakable guilt—immediately followed by his words to her their first night toge
ther, “Don’t second-guess your body. It’s telling you what you need, however, whenever you need it. There is no right or wrong in sex.”
She hadn’t been thinking about the contradiction last night, but it had probably been floating in her subconscious, because she was still uneasy about the intensity of what was happening between them. She was relieved he’d agreed to a little distance to get their heads straight.
She closed the car door with a bump of her hip, trying to refocus on her mission, but she was already missing him when she approached the entrance to Dr. Morrison’s family practice.
Before she could position the tray to free up one of her hands, the door opened and she moved aside.
Betty Baxter, the school librarian when Avery’d been a kid, stepped out of the office with a hand to her chest. “Avery? I heard you were back in town. Look at you. You always were the prettiest little thing.”
“Hi, Mrs. Baxter. You look wonderful.”
“Thank you, honey.” Her smile instantly turned into a sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry to hear about you and David. Well, you know, we all do crazy things when we’re young. I was hoping it would work out with him being in the service and all, but, well . . .” Her smile returned in an instant, but this time it was a little more forced. “Look, we’ve got you back now, don’t we? Everyone’s talking about your café. When’s opening day? I’m sure someone’s told me, but, oh, this old brain. Remind me, sweetheart.”
“Saturday, November 20,” Avery said, her tone as forced as Betty’s smile but hopefully less transparent. She’d been home long enough for everyone to hear about her divorce but not long enough to have seen everyone and receive all the condolences. And every reminder felt like another failure.
“Oh, perfect. Just in time for holiday pies. You know you’re going to have some tough competition, what with Penny Stevenson out in Sundance. Her pies have been on everyone’s holiday tables for decades now.”
This was one of those days Avery didn’t need to hear about the walls ahead she still had to scale. So she kept the smile in place and offered a congenial, “I’m sure there are enough people in this county to keep both Penny and me up to our necks in pies this holiday.”
“You have the older Hutton boy working on your café, don’t you? The one who was in prison for drugs?”
She could remember that, but not Avery’s opening date?
“Trace Hutton,” Avery said with extra enthusiasm to combat Betty’s wary tone. “Wait until you see the place. He’s an amazing contractor and a real joy to have around.”
“Well, just keep your eye on him. You never know—”
“Can I offer you a treat before these get inhaled by Dr. Morrison’s staff?” Avery peeled back the corner of the plastic wrap, grateful for the never-fail distraction.
“Oh, my.” Her gaze jumped from Avery to the tray and back, and her smile returned. Her concern over Trace’s past vanished. “Well, maybe just one or two for Henry. He loves his sweets. What have you got here, darlin’?”
“A little bit of everything, really. Lemon meringue bars and lemon angel cakes, cherry tarts and cherry cheesecake, Nutella truffles . . .”
As Betty fussed over her choices, her husband’s name struck a familiar chord. “Didn’t Henry work on the school’s instruments? I think I remember him coming in to tune the piano when I was in high school.”
“He did.” Betty lifted a lemon bar from the tray. “He’s retired now.”
“Do you think he’d be up for a little side job? I just got a piano donated from Mr. Stein’s old barber shop.”
Betty’s gaze lifted to Avery’s, and she smiled. “Barry Stein bought that new from Henry when he worked for Piano Works in Napa.”
“If he could make a visit and take a look, I’d be willing to pay you in free sweets whenever you come into the café.”
“Oh, dear.” Her smile turned sassy. “I doubt he’ll be able to pass up that offer.”
Fifteen minutes, a piano-tuning date, and far more than one or two treats later, Avery headed into the office, forcing her mind to this marketing call and away from the stressors of the moment.
Belle Davis looked up from her computer at the front desk with a generic smile. “Good morning, how can I—?” Her gaze flicked from the plate to Avery’s smile and back to the pastries, and Belle stood from her chair so fast, it rolled back and hit a filing cabinet. “She’s here!” Belle slapped a hand over her mouth, then lifted it enough to say, “Dammit, I should have waited until I got my pick before I said that.”
By the time the words were out, a half-dozen members of the front office staff huddled around the window, trying to sneak peeks of the tray.
“What’d you bring us, Avery?” Carrie, one of the file clerks, called from the back. “I can’t see through all these tall people.”