All I Ever Wanted Read online

  I burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? Oliver would’ve had to notice her for that to happen! No, Mom, it’s not like that. Not at all.”

  A little bit of color began to return to her face. “It’s not that I have any objection about Maya. You know that,” my mom said. “I’m just—I’m really not ready to be a grandmother.”

  This made me smile. “Don’t worry. I can tell you for sure that Oliver and Maya aren’t to that point yet.” Not that I’d be telling Mom about Maya’s attempts to open my brother’s eyes to her feminine side.

  “But he’s not the only one I’m worried about. Your dad told me he ran into you at Giovanni’s last night with some grunge guy who was hanging all over you. Alex or Alexander or somebody?”

  “Mom! Alex was not hanging—” I exhaled, long and slow. “We were just going out for pizza when Dad decided to horn in and join us. It was really embarrassing. And for the record, grunge went out with the nineties.”

  She shrugged. “Well then, whatever your generation calls it now. But your father thought he was a bit, hmm, how did he put it? ‘An informal dresser.’ And he mentioned something about weird hair and multiple earrings.”

  “Did he also mention he’s an incredible musician? Or that he’s one semester away from graduating with a history degree? Or perhaps that he’s seen The Breakfast Club more often than you have?”

  Her expression brightened. “He liked The Breakfast Club? Good taste.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I wish you guys wouldn’t always be so judgmental about people just because of their hair or their clothes. Alex is…” How to describe Alex? “He’s a good guy, Mom. He’s smart. Really creative. And I like him. But that doesn’t matter because I don’t think he feels the same way. So you and Dad don’t have to worry about me either. I’ll probably always be single.” My voice kind of broke as I said that, but it was true. No reason for my mom to be all upset about a guy she’d never even met when there was no hope of our relationship continuing.

  And even if Alex did care about me a tiny bit, he and I lived too far away from each other. He probably had band groupies in every city in Ohio, not to mention girls who adored him at his college in Cleveland. I wasn’t anyone unusual or mysterious in his eyes, especially now that he knew what I was really like. Wasn’t the way he’d backed away from me after dinner last night proof enough of that?

  Mom didn’t say anything at all for a minute, but then she walked over and put her arms around me and let me rest my head on her shoulder, like I used to when I was in junior high and even high school and I’d had a terrible day. And she let me cry about it without asking any more questions. Until I’d spent all of my tears for the afternoon.

  “Now, go wipe your eyes, honey,” Mom said, her voice very gentle. “It’ll be all right. And don’t keep second-guessing yourself because of what some guy thinks. Even a good, smart, creative guy, you hear me? You just be yourself. I think he’d be foolish not to like you, but if he doesn’t…that’s okay. You only want to have people in your life who’ll love you for you.”

  I nodded and went to get a tissue. I really appreciated how sweet my mom was being about this, but I knew she was wrong about something. I had every reason to keep second-guessing myself.

  Yes, my parents loved me, but they loved me for the me they saw. And I’d probably been too careful to make sure that person was someone they approved of, even if I couldn’t bake. So maybe the first step to “just being myself” was to try to make sure the me they saw was closer to the me I really was. The me I was becoming when I was away at school.

  I probably also needed to stop trying to blend into my environment so well that I couldn’t tell anymore what Samantha Abbott liked or what she was good at or how she truly felt about something. That way, maybe the college me and the hometown me could actually be the same person someday.

  Not that this would make a difference with Alex. Apparently, the more he learned about the Abbott Springs version of me, the more determined he was to keep his distance. He’d been gentlemanly during and after dinner yesterday, of course, but after the concert tonight, I doubted I’d ever see him again.

  But I was determined not to make my mom worry about me any more than she already had. So when she asked me if I was okay, I said, “Yes.” And I smiled like I meant it. And I told her she needed to leave to make it onto the float for the parade. And that I’d handle things at the bakery the rest of the afternoon, no problem.

  Finally, Mom left. Most of the customers left also, except for old Mrs. Anders, who was eating one of Oliver’s famous croissant sandwiches, drinking green tea, and doing a crossword puzzle at the back corner table. Eventually, even she left, and I was alone.

  Mom had put a batch of orange-cranberry scones in the oven just before she’d headed to the parade, so I pulled them out (on time!) and set them on the racks to cool. I washed all the remaining dirty trays and bowls and spatulas. I swept the backroom and took out the garbage and even made a light glaze for the scones. I was in the middle of drizzling the icing on the last row of them when the bells on the front door jingle-jangled. I glanced up, expecting to see a local person I’d known forever, probably an older community member who needed a warming beverage and a break from the parade crowd.

  I expected wrong.

  “Alex?”

  “Hey. Heard through the grapevine you were here.” He grinned briefly at me, and my heart became a puddle of melted icing.

  “Eavesdropping on the townspeople again?” I said lightly. “Collecting Abbott Springs gossip or maybe just inferring it?”

  He shrugged. “Somethin’ like that.”

  He was dressed pretty much like he had been yesterday—black leather jacket, different jeans (these weren’t ripped, just faded), old sneakers—but he didn’t look quite the same. It wasn’t anything obvious, like his hairstyle or his piercings. It was more like an intensity in his expression. Like he was searching for something.

  “So, were you out experiencing more of the Winterfest today? Ice sculpting or visiting the craft fair?” I asked.

  “Nope. I slept late. Really late, actually. I was working on a song last night. But—” He shot me another one of those intense looks. “I’d heard something about an Abbott Cupcake Float, so I’d been planning to get a look at this parade. And I saw the float, but I didn’t see you anywhere.” He raised his dark eyebrows, as if an explanation for my being MIA from this one goofy town event was somehow necessary. Did everyone expect me to ride on that damn thing?

  I wrinkled my nose. “I took this shift for a friend of mine because she, um, really wanted to be at the parade today. On the float, actually. It’s kind of a long story, but that’s the condensed version.”

  “Ah.” He took several strides toward me. We had the serving counter between us, but it didn’t seem like much of a barrier at all. Why was he staring at me like that? What was he looking for?

  I saw him swallow and glance at my hands. I was holding the icing bag off to the side of the scones, twisting it so my fingers had something to do. Little dribbles of sweet white icing had leaked out and begun to run down my hand, but I’d barely noticed.

  He pointed. “You’re, uh, dripping.”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking down. Time to finish putting the drizzles on the remaining scones. He watched me do this with interest but in complete and total silence. When I was done, I saw him lick his lips.

  Must be hungry.

  I set down the icing bag, wiped my fingers clean and slid a fresh scone onto a plate. “Would you like one? They’re good. Just out of the oven.”

  He nodded but didn’t take the plate from me. “Can I come back there?”

  I glanced at the front door. Usually, we didn’t let people who weren’t working come into the kitchen area, but there were no customers anywhere in the bakery, and well, I was the daughter of the owners. Mom and Dad weren’t going to fire me over something like this.

  “Sure.”

  Alex slipped through the s
winging door off to the side of the counter and joined me. I was still holding the plate out for him. He took it from me this time…and immediately set it on the counter.

  “Oh, sorry! Did you want a fork?” I asked, reaching toward the drawer with the silverware.

  But he put his hand on mine, stopping me. “No, Samantha,” he whispered. “That isn’t what I want.”

  He swallowed again and nudged me toward the kitchen wall nearest us until my shoulders were touching it. Until the zipper of his leather jacket pressed against the red Abbott’s Sweet Confections apron I was wearing. Until I could feel his breath on my forehead.

  Then he looked into my eyes and waited. Waited until I’d tilted my head up toward him and licked my lips and leaned a little closer. Then he smiled and brought his mouth down on mine.

  Everything about our kiss said hunger to me. We were in a place filled with heaping platters of food, but Alex was the only thing in the whole building I wanted to devour. It was like my dream from this morning, only better because it wasn’t a simple dream. Because I could really feel the roughness of his stubble on my cheek, smell the crisp January air when he exhaled, taste the warmth of his tongue as it mingled with mine and left me wanting more. More of him. All of him.

  He broke away for a second, pulling back and breathing hard—then he kissed me again, this time deeper and wilder.

  The jingle-jangle of the door caught my ear and had us both springing apart.

  “Yoo-hoo!” someone called out. “Anyone here?”

  It was another older lady, this time a stranger. I had to admit that I was glad she wasn’t someone who knew me. I couldn’t possibly seem like regular old “Sami Abbott” after that kiss.

  I stepped back to the front of the counter, plastered a smile on my face, and said, “Yes. What can I get for you, ma’am?”

  “Well, let me take a good long look.”

  True to her word, she did look. For a very long time. And she also talked. I discovered she (Myrtle) was from nearby Bartlett Falls. That she and her late husband (Bruce) used to come to the Winterfest some two decades ago, but then he hurt his back (something about a tractor mishap) and driving anywhere unnecessarily was out of the question. Thankfully, her sister (Edna), who’d moved back to the area from Pennsylvania, was kind enough to pick her up this morning and they got to spend all day enjoying the festivities together. Now, though, Edna was “peckish” and in need of something that would taste great but would not overly spike her blood sugar.

  Sometime in the middle of Myrtle’s monologue about the benefits of antioxidants in cranberries (her reasoning why the orange-cranberry scones might be the best choice for her sister), Alex—grinning like a ten-year-old on Halloween night—had left his hiding spot at the side wall, taken off his leather jacket, and slipped on one of the red aprons hanging near the backroom.

  Myrtle seemed quite content to have another pair of ears to listen to her, which Alex did with remarkable kindness, even asking her questions about what life in rural Ohio had been like seven or more decades ago, what type of farming she and her husband had done in their younger years, and how many grandchildren they had.

  He caught my eye and winked at me before he washed his hands and picked up my icing bag—spontaneously deciding a small tray of Oliver’s cinnamon bread slices could use a little embellishment.

  I couldn’t help but grin when I saw the inexpert blobs of glaze that decorated each slice when he was done.

  “I think it still needs something though,” he said to Myrtle and me in a conspiratorial tone. “Pecans, maybe?”

  “Oh, yes!” Myrtle agreed.

  So I pushed the glass jar of chopped pecans his way and he sprinkled a generous helping of nuts on top of every piece.

  “I’ll take two of those!” the old woman declared.

  “Coming right up,” Alex told her, helping me to carefully bag the slices and then sending Myrtle off on her merry little way. Finally.

  “Now,” he said, stepping closer to me again. “Where were we?”

  I smiled and licked my lips, but the jingle-jangling interrupted us a second time. I swiveled toward the front door, expecting a new and soon-to-be-happy customer.

  My expectations, though, were way off the mark today.

  “You again,” my brother said coldly, staring at Alex with a look that was equal parts surprise and irritation.

  “Oliver Abbott,” Alex said on a sigh. “We meet once more.” He removed the apron, hung it back where he’d found it, snatched his leather jacket, and turned to me. “I have to get some things together so I can help the band set up tonight,” he said. “See you at the concert later?”

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  He smiled at me, ignoring my brother’s glares, and kissed me gently on the top of my head. “Good,” he murmured. Then, with a slight and somewhat dismissive wave at Oliver, Alex slipped out of the bakery.

  My big brother huffed out half a lungful of hot air, but he didn’t say anything to me until he’d wandered into the kitchen. I decided this would be an excellent time to hustle out of it.

  “Sami!” I heard him call as I took several long strides toward the backroom. “What the hell did he do to my cinnamon bread?”

  Alex

  I got to the Old Abbott Barn at a few minutes to seven, time enough to check out the locale and get my head together before an evening of music. And I needed that mental space.

  Seeing Samantha. Kissing her. It’d thrown me. I hadn’t meant to do it. Just thought I was stopping by her family’s bakery to make sure she was okay after last night. That was what I’d told myself. But I could be such a damn liar in my head sometimes.

  I saw a familiar face. A guy walking out of the barn. Dax. The drummer for the band.

  So I got out of my car and wandered over to him. “Hey, how are ya doin’, man?”

  He shook my hand. Flashed me a grin. “Doin’ all right.” He glanced behind him and pointed toward Justin and Everly, who were talking to a group of townies. “Cohen’s gotta run Everly home to get her some new shoes. She broke a heel and twisted her ankle. Wanna just get started setting up?”

  “Sure.”

  I nodded at Justin as we walked by him, and he grinned back at me. I didn’t want to interrupt his conversation with the locals though and, besides, there was really only one Abbott Springs townie I was interested in chitchatting with, and she wasn’t here yet.

  Dax and I got to work lugging in the rest of sound equipment. He’d stashed a bunch of amps and cords near one of the barn doors, alongside the instruments, and the two of us took turns grabbing what we needed from there and carefully placing the items on the stage. We’d just barely gotten started on piecing together the drum kit when Dax, who’d had one of the barn doors wedged open, glanced outside and swore under his breath.

  “What?” I asked, jogging over to him. “Are you missing a cord or something?”

  He shook his head and just kept staring into the parking lot.

  There was a lot of commotion going on out there. People swarming around Justin and Everly. I recognized one of the guys heading toward them. The mayor’s son. Drunk as a vodka-guzzling porpoise and listing dangerously. The three of them were talking, but I noticed the other townies nearby had given them a wide berth. And did Justin ever look pissed. What the hell?

  I glanced over at Dax, who was squinting at the scene with an expression I couldn’t read. Unlike Justin and Everly, Dax wasn’t from Abbott Springs, but he seemed to have a better sense of the community dynamics than I did. I saw him push up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and take a few strides forward just as the mayor’s son yelled something incoherent. Justin responded with a right hook to the other guy’s jaw, and before I could blink twice, the two of them were on the ground, swinging punches like they were auditioning for freakin’ Rocky 17 or something.

  Dax muttered, “Oh, Jesus. Let me handle this.” He yelled, “Cohen!” and went running over to them to break up the fight. A
few of the locals stepped in to help too. Soon, the guys were separated, but not before they each got more bruises than I wanted to count.

  Strange happenings were afoot in this tiny corner of Ohio. It was packed with all the small-town drama I’d expected, but it felt odd to know some of the players and not know the story. Odder still to sense that, if I asked, I likely wouldn’t get the whole truth.

  Soon enough, Dax returned and told me that Justin was taking Everly home to help her fix up her injured ankle, but they’d be back before the show. “We can finish setting up without them,” he said. “That okay?”

  I nodded. “Fine, but you think they’ll be back? I mean, seriously. What’s the story with Justin and the mayor’s kid?”

  Dax scowled. “Don’t know, but from the sound of the cussing I heard when I was out there, it had to do with Everly.”

  I raised my eyebrows at this. “So, what then? Justin was defending her honor? Are he and Everly an item?” I’d gotten some weird vibes from them before, but it was hard to know. To me, they’d acted more like friends. At least, I didn’t get the sense she was hot for him. And maybe I’d caught Justin checking her out a few times when he thought she wasn’t looking, but guys did that. Didn’t always mean anything real.

  Dax leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “Dude, they should be an item. It’s killin’ me that they don’t just fuck and get it over with. Only shitty part is that it’ll probably break up the band if they do.”

  “Huh,” I murmured. “Sorry.” Didn’t know what else to say. He was right. Romantic relationships made it hard to keep a group together. Too many potential issues. Too much baggage carried between home life and band gigs. It sucked.

  The drummer shrugged. “C’mon. Let’s get the rest of this stuff set up.”

  We hauled the guitar amps to the stage, plugged those in. Pulled over the soundboard and got that situated too. I didn’t usually handle sound, but it’d be a welcome change of pace. Much as I loved performing, there was something rejuvenating about watching a show. Letting someone else’s music wash over me in waves of melody, harmony, and silence.