Author: Jill Shalvis

“Yep. Ben’s off my list.” It wasn’t the right Ben, of course. The right Ben was seated next to her, but he didn’t need to know that.

Nor did he need to know how much it was killing her, how she was sleeping less and less at night, worried about exactly that.

His being on her list.

Not to mention his reaction when he found out. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him, not yet. He’d walk away, and even knowing that’s what she deserved, she wasn’t ready for it.

“Well, if you’re righting your wrongs,” he said—clearly fishing but coming so uncomfortably close to the truth that she held her breath—“then don’t forget Kristan. Remember how mean you were to her in high school when she took your spot in the school play?”

Kristan wasn’t on Aubrey’s list. Nor would she be. “She tripped me at rehearsal, and I sprained my ankle so that I couldn’t dance the lead. If I were making a list of wrongs to right, which I’m not”—she paused when he snorted, and she sent him a glare—“then I should be on her list.” She swiped her sweaty brow and sat back, arms still trembling from exertion.

He started the truck and took them back to the highway. “You want to talk about it?” he asked casually.

No. She didn’t want to talk about last night and the best sex she’d ever had. She was afraid she’d beg for more. “Talk about…?”

He glanced at her. “You were out there digging for something—or attempting to, anyway, since the ground was pretty frozen.”

Damn it, he’d sneaked a peek. “A pumpkin patch,” she admitted. She leaned back and sighed. “And if you were spying on me, the least you could have done was come help.”

He gave her a slow, lazy grin that did things to her girl parts. Each and every one. And thanks to him, there were more of those parts than she’d remembered. “You looked like you were doing all right,” he said.

Trying to ignore her annoying reaction to him, which she was helpless to prevent, she sighed. “Gee, thanks.”

“So why were you digging Mr. Asshole a pumpkin patch in the off-season?”

She looked at him. “It’s the off-season?”

He grinned. “Little bit, Sunshine.”

Damn. She’d not even thought of that, and she hadn’t looked at the seed packet when she’d bought it earlier at the grocery store. “How about I answer a question, and then you answer a question?” she suggested.

“Fine,” he said. “You first. What the hell was that back there?”

She slid on her sunglasses. “Mr. Wilford gave me an F in eighth-grade science because he didn’t like me.”

“He didn’t like anyone.”

“But I’m the only one he failed. He said I was cheating when in fact I wasn’t.” She paused. “Okay, so I was cheating, but only to help Lance.”

“The kid with cystic fibrosis? The one who runs the ice cream joint on the pier in the summer?”

“Yeah. He’d been going through a rough patch and had missed a week of school. He couldn’t catch up, so I was feeding him the answers to the test. Mr. Wilford caught me.” She’d never forget how he’d stood over her, those bushy brows—which were black then—bunched together. And how he’d said so harshly, You’re a selfish girl, Aubrey Wellington. No one likes a selfish girl.

She’d heard No one likes you, and she’d reacted with predictable bad behavior. “Lance tried to tell Mr. Wilford the truth,” she said, “but he wouldn’t listen. He thought I was a bad seed, and his mind was made up. So he failed me.”

She’d then been disqualified from two beauty contests that her mom had already paid for and bought gowns for, and it’d been a huge drama in the house. “I tried to talk to him about it after school,” she said. “I found him in the school garden, working on his pumpkin patch with the garden club.” She blew out a breath and a low laugh. “I can still see him standing there among his prize pupils and his equally prized pumpkins, pointing a dirty, bony finger in my direction. He said”—she adopted a low baritone—“You, Aubrey Wellington, will never amount to anything.”

“He thought we were all miscreants,” Ben said quietly. “But he shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Actually, in hindsight I probably deserved it,” she said. “I was a total shit. But there was something in his tone that got me. And then he just walked away, like I wasn’t worth his time.”

“He spoke like Darth Vader,” Ben said, “and walked like he had a stick up his ass.”

She laughed. “Yes,” she finally said. “But at the time I didn’t think about that. I was embarrassed and humiliated.” She paused and then admitted the rest. “I kicked one of his pumpkins and broke it loose from the stem. I didn’t find out until the next day that it’d been one of his award-winning pumpkins, the one he’d planned on taking to the annual pumpkin contest—which had a thousand-dollar prize.”

“Ouch,” Ben said.

Aubrey sighed. “He cried. Mr. Wilford cried.” She was still staring out the side window, so she was surprised when she felt his warm fingers close over hers.

“You were just a kid, Aubrey.”

“Yeah, but not really. And I cost the school garden club that grand. I’ve always felt so bad about that.”

“So you dug him a new pumpkin patch,” Ben said. “What’s your plan, to grow him another award-winning pumpkin?”

She bit her lower lip, and he laughed. “It is,” he said, and laughed again.

“Stop that.”

“It’s cute,” he said.

“Cute?” She almost choked on the word. No one had ever called her cute before, not ever. Her phone rang, and she pulled it out, frowning at the unknown number. “Hello?”

“Aubrey Wellington,” said Darth Vader’s voice. “What did you do to my backyard?”

“Mr. Wilford?” she asked, glancing over at Ben in shock.

“Well, how many other people’s yards did you decimate today?” he asked testily. “What the hell did you do?”

“I…dug you a pumpkin patch,” she said. “I planted pumpkin seeds.”

Ben smiled.

“You what?” Mr. Wilford asked.

“I ruined your prize pumpkin all those years ago, remember? And how did you get my number?”

“Of course I remember what you did. You cost me a thousand bucks and ruined the best pumpkin I ever grew. And this is Lucky Harbor. It was easy to get your number; I called Lucille.”

“I’m going to grow you new pumpkins,” she said.

“Off-season?”

She sighed. “Okay, so I didn’t plan that part so well. But maybe one of them will be a prize pumpkin,” she said. “It’s my way of apologizing.”

“Fat lot of good that’s going to do me now,” he said. “I’m too old to be worried about the watering.”

Well, crap. She hadn’t thought of that, either. “I’ll do it,” she said.

Ben laughed and then choked it off when she glared at him.

“You’re going to water the pumpkins?” Mr. Wilford asked in disbelief. “You, Miss Fancy Pants?”

“Yes,” she said through her teeth. “I am.”

“Pumpkins like to be watered regularly,” he warned.

“Fine. Um, how often is regular—” But he’d hung up. She slid her phone away.

Ben was still grinning.

“Not a word,” she said, Googling “pumpkin patches.” “Unless you know how often to water pumpkins.”

That night, Aubrey closed up the bookstore after a decent business day and smiled as she walked across the scarred hardwood floors. They’d been a surprising find beneath the carpet. The wood was nice and light, and it seemed to open up the store.

Happy, she headed up to her loft. There, she pulled out her notebook and eyed the crossed-off items, including BEN.

She’d improvised there, and she thought maybe she’d actually pulled it off. But now, without Ben’s prying eyes watching her, she added one more item to the bottom of her list.

THE HARD ONE.

Chapter 15

The next morning, Ben went to work on the countertop for the serving area of the Book & Bean.

Aubrey was two weeks away from her grand-opening party.

Though it would be close, the renovations would be done on time. Ben thought of the coil wire in his pocket. He’d hoped to get at least one more day of driving Aubrey around, even though he was pretty sure he knew exactly what she was up to now.

And it wasn’t trouble. In fact, it was the opposite of trouble. She was working at righting her wrongs, and it was tugging at a part of him that didn’t want to be tugged.

He hadn’t planned on feeling anything for her and was now trying to resign himself to the fact that they had more than just some seriously explosive chemistry. He’d told himself that they could get past that by spending some quality naked time together, but they’d already tried that, and it’d backfired because he’d gotten past exactly nothing. In fact, now all he wanted was more. A lot more.

It was 7:00 a.m. before he heard signs of life from above, and thirty minutes more before the telltale click, click, click of her boots alerted him that she was coming down. And, like Pavlov’s dog, he started to go hard.

He was ridiculous.

“Ben?”

And just like that, the sound of her husky voice finished the job. He wondered what she’d say to a second round of wild monkey sex, right here, right now. If he just stripped her out of her clothes and sat her on the stack of wood he still had to measure and cut, he could then step between her legs. He’d slide his hands beneath her sexy ass, of course, to prevent splinters. Or they could use her couch. Better yet, he could bend her over the stack of boxes of new stock that’d come in, shove up her dress, and take her from behind.

Yeah. That was the ticket.

She came around the corner, and he unbuckled his tool belt, letting it fall to the floor. They were going to do this, and it was going to be good—

“I’ve got company,” Aubrey said. She went to the front door of the store and opened it.

And then one, two, three…eight women came in behind her, one of them his own aunt Dee.

Lucky Harbor’s resident hell-raisers.

Dee smiled and waved at him, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek as she passed him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Croaked.

“Aubrey’s invited my book club to meet at her store,” Dee said. She frowned at him. “You sick, honey?”

“No.” Dee’s book club was a weekly event—“club” being a loose word for a bunch of women who got together, drank too much wine, laughed so loud they could break windows, and talked about everything but books. The “club” had been kicked out of the diner, the bar and grill, and the senior center. They’d been talking about having to disband.

He glanced at Aubrey.

“I wanted them to have a place to go,” she said.

“You’re going to need a ‘crazy’ permit,” he said.

Dee smacked him upside the head. “We’re trying something new,” she said. “Meeting in the early mornings. You know, before people get…feisty.”

Ben sent Aubrey a good luck look that she ignored. Instead, she walked her guests through the bookstore and sat them in the chairs and on the couch that he’d just made nefarious plans for.

“So,” she said, looking to the seniors’ ringleader—Lucille, of course. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” Lucille said. “We’re so honored that you’d have us, honey.”