“Vibrator hype,” Alison said. “I would rather have the real thing.” She shook her head. “Of course, I’m much more likely to get a vibrator than an actual man.”
Lane sighed heavily. It had been a long time since she had dated anybody. Which translated to it being even longer since she’d had sex. More than a year. Way more.
“I think that’s my problem,” she said finally.
“You have a problem?” Alison asked.
“Not a big one.”
But for some reason, those words forced every incident that had gotten under her skin in the past few days into the forefront of her mind. From getting a glimpse of Cord on the news to every touch, every flash of strangeness and every lingering look that had occurred between herself and Finn.
Suddenly, they felt insurmountable. Like pebbles that had been stacked on top of each other and turned into a giant mountain.
“Just enough of one?” Alison asked, wrapping her arm around Lane’s shoulders and drawing her into a quick hug.
“Yes. Just enough of one.”
“If you ever want to talk about it... I’m kind of the master of the unpleasant topic that everyone would rather ignore.”
“Is that what you feel like? Like you have something big to deal with that nobody wants to talk about?”
Alison lifted a shoulder, then went and picked up the tray of pastries. “It’s complicated. Because sometimes I feel like I can’t escape it. Like everyone looks at me and sees someone weak or damaged. Even someone that deserves contempt. Because I stayed for so long. Sometimes I want to pretend it happened to somebody else. I want to pretend that my life started when Pie in the Sky opened. That nothing else happened before then. Other times...”
Her words reached inside Lane and grabbed hold of her stomach, squeezing her tight. She related to that more deeply than Alison could possibly realize. That desire to talk about the horrible thing that defined who you were, and the desire to make it go away, fade into the distance, vanish into nothing.
That big thing that defined everything you were, that was necessary, because you wouldn’t be standing on your own two feet without it, but that you despised more than anything else.
“If you ever want to talk,” Lane offered, “you can always talk to me. Don’t feel like you can’t. I know that I don’t...that nobody wants to make you talk about something that could be painful. But if you want to you can tell me. You can tell me whatever you need to tell me about him. I don’t judge you for staying.”
Alison set the tray back down on one of the tables with a clatter, and then, she wrapped both of her arms around Lane and hugged her close in earnest. “Thank you,” she whispered finally.
Lane wrapped her arm around Alison, then set her tray down with one arm, freeing up the other. And while she hugged her friend, she felt like a fraud.
Because Alison was being raw, was being vulnerable, and Lane had nothing but mountains of secrets that she didn’t share with anybody. Her past had happened outside of this little town, and here she was insulated from her downfall, with Copper Ridge acting as salvation.
For Alison, it was both. The source of her pain and the source of her relief. Everyone had witnessed both.
For Lane, there was escape.
And even though part of her wanted to tell Alison everything, there was another small, selfish part of her that couldn’t bear to bring the past any further into Copper Ridge than it had already come in the form of Cord McCaffrey on a TV in Ace’s bar.
So, she just let Alison be vulnerable. And when she was done, the two of them picked up their trays and walked back to The Grind with smiles pasted on their faces and not an outward sign to be seen of what had just passed between them.
CHAPTER NINE
FINN HAD A strong suspicion he was hallucinating. The sun wasn’t up yet and he could hear voices and the sounds of clattering dishes coming out of the kitchen. That meant there was a strong likelihood his brothers had woken up before him. That was unacceptable.
He looked at the clock and saw that it was after five. Then he swore, grabbing his hat off the top of his dresser and heading down the stairs.
Partway down he met Cain, who had clearly also just woken up.
“What the hell is going on?” Finn muttered.
“I thought this was all normal for you,” Cain grumbled.
“Not the noise.”
Then he heard feminine laughter. And he was left in absolutely no doubt as to who it belonged to. He frowned.
When he got into the kitchen, he saw Lane standing there at the stove scrambling eggs. She was also talking cheerily to Alex and Liam, who were sitting on bar stools at the big marble-topped island eating pastries.
“Good morning,” Lane said, turning around toward him, a bright smile on her face.
“What are you doing in my house?”
She furrowed her brow. “I brought you chocolate croissants, Donnelly. I’m not going to take your guff.” She turned back to the pan, stirring vigorously before shutting the burner off. “And now there’s protein to go with your pastries. Coffee is ready. Have a seat.”
Cain, clearly not caring about the fact that Finn didn’t find this scene to be normal at all, took a seat beside Liam. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she returned, bringing a plate and the pan over to where Finn’s brothers sat. She set the plate in front of Cain then scooped him a helping of eggs. Then she added eggs to Liam’s and Alex’s plates.
Finn scowled. “I take it you had a relaxing evening at home with the pumice stone?”
She cleared her throat, shooting him a deadly glare. “I am descaled, as a matter of fact.”
“Right,” he returned, moving across the kitchen, not bothering to lighten his footsteps as he stomped over to the coffeepot.
“I do greatly appreciate this, Lane,” Alex said, his voice so smooth it sounded like it was coated with honey. “We have a long day ahead of us, and I can’t say that Finn is much of a cook.”
“If you have a problem with store-bought doughnuts you can cook your own damn food,” Finn said, grabbing the carafe and pouring himself a generous helping of black coffee.
“My friend and his brothers should never stoop to eating store-bought doughnuts,” Lane objected. “Not when I can easily get day-old treats from Alison. Or scones from Cassie.”
“I don’t need your friends’ butter-laden castoffs, Lane.” He took a sip of coffee, one that was too big, and scalded his mouth and his throat. It burned all the way down. He was being an ass, and he wasn’t even really sure why.
Except then images from the day before swirled through his mind, and he had a much better idea. Lane in her bikini, looking like too big a temptation for any man, let alone one who had been doing his best to keep his lust tamped down for a long ass time.
Lane, who had clearly been affected by him in some way and had run the opposite direction. And then had stood there, staring at him like she wasn’t sure if she was afraid he was going to bite her, or afraid she was going to bite him.
And now she was in his kitchen. In his kitchen puttering around like she had every right to be here. While his younger brother—who possessed about nine times the charm he did—flirted with her.
“Some people appreciate the gift of carbs,” she said, her tone brittle. “Sit, Donnelly.” She gestured to the stool next to Cain with her spatula.
“I don’t want eggs,” he said, knowing that he sounded slightly petulant. He took a step toward the tray that contained the croissants and lifted one up. “This will do.”
“You need protein,” she said.
“I do the hell not. If I want to carbo-load that’s nobody’s business but mine.”
She sniffed. “Fine.”
“I’ll take some more eggs,” Alex said, smiling easily as he looked over at Lane, and looked her over a little too thoroughly. Lane filled his plate. “Thank you,” he said, charm dripping from every syllable. The bastard.
Finn’s house felt too full. Too full and too different. When he and his grandfather lived here by themselves there was no noise in the morning. They drank their coffee, they went to work. That was it. None of this conversation crap.
And Lane had certainly never let herself in to make breakfast.
Everything was turned on its side, and he didn’t like it.
His home, this place that he’d made for himself, had helped his grandfather keep alive after the rest of his family had left him by his damn self, was out of his control now. And this need for Lane, the one he’d ruthlessly tamped down for the better part of a decade, was being tested. God help him, he didn’t feel like he was in a space where he could pass those tests.
Not when she looked at him like she had yesterday. With wonder and curiosity, and like she wanted to touch him as much as he wanted to touch her.
It was one thing to push it down, to steer clear, when he thought of her as vulnerable. As someone who needed protecting from his particular brand of passion and possession.
A whole lot harder when she looked at him like a woman looked at a man.
And harder still when she looked at him like a woman looked at a man and was presenting him with croissants.
“I have to say, this is about the grumpiest I have ever seen anybody who was being gifted with pastries,” Lane remarked.