Sweet Sunshine Read online

  “Here you go,” I told them as I sat their pastries down on the table.

  “Thanks, Miss Chloe.” Eliza smiled. “Strawberry’s my favorite.”

  And once again, I let my mouth get the best of me.

  “I know.” I smiled back. “Your daddy told me.”

  Eliza’s eyes darted to her father in surprise. I wasn’t sure if it was surprise that he’d do something so nice after how she’d just acted, or surprise that he’d remember his own daughter’s favorite cake, but either way, it broke my heart.

  I made sure my voice and expression were both gentle as I spoke to her. “You know, you’re really lucky. You have a dad that really cares about you and wants to spend time with you. That’s a really special thing, sweetheart. And I know you love him just as much, and would never want to cause him pain, but when you tell your parent that you hate them, it hurts. I know, because I did the same thing when I was your age. I didn’t mean it when I told my mom I hated her, and I’m sure you didn’t mean it when you said it to your dad, right?”

  She stared up at me with wide eyes, the same hazel as her father’s, and shook her head. “No ma’am.”

  “I didn’t think so,” I whispered on a grin as I reached down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “A girl as sweet as you would never want to hurt someone on purpose. Your heart’s too kind for that.”

  I let myself glimpse in Derrick’s direction just long enough to see him looking back at me, something I couldn’t quite recognize in his eyes, but I wouldn’t allow my gaze to linger.

  “You guys enjoy the treats, they’re on the house.”

  “Chloe,” Derrick started, but I cut him off once again.

  “I’ve got something in the oven back there, but if you need anything else, Ellie behind the counter will be more than happy to help you guys out.”

  I spun on my heels and disappeared into the sanctuary of my industrial kitchen. Wondering for probably the millionth time why I couldn’t just be normal around Derrick Anderson.

  Derrick

  I SAT OUT on the deck that ran along the back of my house as the sun began its descent, looking out on the Tetons. The way Chloe had looked at me earlier when she told me her name kept replaying in my head. I wasn’t sure why the conversation was bothering me so much, but, for some reason, it sat like a brick in my stomach, leaving me feeling unsettled.

  “Daddy?” Eliza called, her head full of long, dark brown hair just like mine, sticking out the back door.

  “Yeah, baby girl?”

  Taking a hesitant step onto the back deck, she wrung her hands in front of her. “I, um… I just… wanted to say sorry,” she murmured in soft embarrassment, her eyes downcast. “You know, for what I said today. I don’t hate you.”

  “I know, angel,” I told her softly, my heart stuttering in my chest at her apology. An apology I wouldn’t have gotten had it not been for a certain little baker. A sense of appreciation washed over me when I thought about what Chloe had done. The sweet, gentle, yet unmistakable way she set my little girl straight. That had definitely been something I wasn’t used to seeing. The only woman in my life who’d ever really interacted with Eliza was her mom, Layla. And the cold, manipulative way she acted was a juxtaposition to Chloe’s caring demeanor. I had to admit, it threw me off a bit.

  What Chloe couldn’t have realized was that she’d managed to save me from an entire miserable weekend of silent treatment, only broken up by the occasional tantrum. Shit, I though. Maybe I should send her a fruit basket or something.

  Women liked fruit baskets, didn’t they? It was a perfect way to hopefully kill two birds with one stone. I could say thanks for helping out with Eliza, and maybe ease whatever was causing her somewhat prickly demeanor, and get myself back on her good side.

  It was a win-win.

  If there was one thing I was good at, it was getting on women’s good sides. I figured I’d have Chloe acting her typically bright-as-the-sun self in no time.

  Chloe

  “A FRUIT BASKET?”

  I looked from the chocolate-dipped fruit pieces, all cut to reflect different flowers shoved into a vase, to Harlow and shrugged.

  Her face was scrunched in confusion as she looked at the arrangement sitting on the counter between us. “Why’d Derrick send you a fruit basket?”

  “No idea,” I answered honestly, seeing as the card that had been delivered with it just ten minutes ago only had two simple words written on it. “Thank you.” That was it. Thank you. Thank you for what? I’d barely talked to him in the last month, let alone done anything to warrant his thanks. For crying out loud, the last time I’d seen the man was four days ago. And we’d hardly done more than nod at each other… if you didn’t count that brief, yet humiliating conversation about my name.

  She snatched the card from my hand and stared down at the two words as I picked up my eleventy-billionth cup of coffee of the day and gulped.

  “That’s so weird,” she huffed, tossing the card back down and picking up her own decaf coffee. “Derrick never struck me as the fruit basket kind of guy. You should call him and find out what the hell you apparently did.”

  A sharp twinge radiated through my chest as I shook my head adamantly. “Derrick and I aren’t really like that, Low-Low. I don’t even have the guy’s number.”

  Her pretty face pinched together in a scowl as she focused on me. “What the hell happened between you two, anyway? Last I saw, you were gearing yourself up to ask him out on a date, the next thing I knew, I couldn’t find you anywhere and you weren’t answering my calls. I’ve left you alone about it so far, but now chocolate-covered strawberries are in the picture. I want answers.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” I shrugged casually even though, on the inside, I felt the sting of rejection all over again. “I just changed my mind.”

  Harlow actually had the nerve to give me the “bullshit” cough. What were we, eighth graders? I shot her a look that portrayed exactly what I was thinking of her adolescent behavior. “It’s true.”

  “Chlo, you’ve been mooning over the dude for… how long has he lived here?” she tapped her chin in thought, then snapped her fingers. “Right! You’ve been mooning over the guy for over a year and a half. That’s not something you just change your mind about. What really happened?”

  I huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I tried asking him out, okay? But he was too busy staring at Tammy Bradford’s tits to pay attention to me,” I finished with a bitter sneer.

  I clenched my teeth at her sympathetic expression. “Oh sweetie…”

  “Then the asshole called me Cathy.”

  The sympathy disappeared instantly. “Wait — what?”

  “Yep.” I popped the “p” to add emphasis. “Tammy batted her fake eyelashes and gave him that I’m-a-sure-thing look, and that was it. He excused himself, called me by the wrong name, and more than likely ended up banging her in one of your bathrooms.”

  “Ew!” her face pinched in disgust. “What a prick! I can’t believe he called you ‘Cathy.’ I should punch him right in the nuts next time I see him.”

  Even though the visual of Harlow, lying in wait for Derrick to walk by so she could slug him right in the balls made me smile, I knew it was pointless. “Don’t do that,” I told her, knowing that if I didn’t, she wouldn’t hesitate to go through with it. “He’s Noah’s best friend, I’m not sure that friendship would survive if you were to rupture his testicles. Things would just get awkward.”

  She harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest, resting them on her protruding belly. “Don’t care,” she all but pouted, “still wanna punch him.”

  I took another sip of my coffee. “You could always try and make it look like an accident,” I suggested, causing her to brighten.

  “There’s an idea,” she smiled wickedly, and I began to worry for Noah’s safety whenever he crossed her. Although, he was a big boy; he could take care of himself.

  “So, what are you gonna do with
the fruit basket, then?” Harlow eyed the basket up and down, actually licking her lips in the process.

  I ripped off the cellophane and pushed it in her direction. “Have at it,” I offered, even though those chocolate dipped strawberries were calling my name. The only thing better than fruit was fruit dipped in chocolate.

  “You aren’t going to eat any?” She eyed me suspiciously. “Since when do you turn down chocolate?”

  Then I made the mistake of saying the one thing that would set her off. “I’m on a diet,” I announced casually, snatching up a dishcloth and scrubbing down the countertop as an excuse to keep from looking her in her eyes-

  “You’re what?”

  A few of the customers enjoying their midday pastries shot curious looks in Harlow’s direction. “Shh!” I hissed. “Will you keep your voice down? Hell, any louder and only bats will be able to hear you!”

  “Why the hell are you going on a diet?” she demanded to know.

  I scoffed and gave her my best, are-you-kidding-me-with-that-question look. “I can spare a few pounds, Low-Low. Believe me.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Says the woman with a model’s body,” I mocked.

  “It’s because I’m tall!” she insisted. “You’re petite, Chloe. And you’ve got curves most women would kill for! I know I would. You don’t need to lose any weight. You’re built like a woman.”

  “No, I’m built like a potbelly pig.” I pinched the roll on my stomach as evidence. For a woman nearing the end of her pregnancy, Harlow was a lot quicker than I’d expected. The next thing I knew, she was standing on the top rung of her barstool, leaning across the counter, and smacking the shit out of my hand. “Ow! What the hell!”

  “Stop talking about yourself like that or the next one’ll be worse,” she warned, sitting back down and resting a hand on her stomach as she scowled at me. I rolled my eyes and lifted my coffee cup back to my lips. “Don’t you give me that resting-bitch-face either,” she scolded, pointing her finger at me in a way only a mother could pull off. She’d gotten good at it in the months she’d been back in Pembrooke, what with Ethan turning into an adolescent bag of raging hormones and all. The kid had definitely given her some practice.

  I was just about to reply when the bell over the door chimed, alerting me to a new customer — or two, I noticed once I looked over. “Hey, Ms. Harlow!” Eliza practically shouted as she came skipping over to the counter, her father in tow just feet behind her.

  “Well, hey there, honey. This is a pleasant surprise.” Harlow grinned widely, leaning down to give her a hug.

  “Mommy said she had a headache so she asked Daddy to get me from school. Now I get to spend an extra night with him!”

  “That’s great!” Harlow smiled tightly, careful to not let Eliza see the look she shot Derrick over the little girl’s head. He simply raised his hands in defeat.

  Since she and Noah reconciled, and Noah and Derrick were such good friends, I knew that Harlow had gotten to know Eliza pretty well. She also filled me in on all the drama that took place between Derrick and his ex-wife. Apparently Layla wasn’t the hands-on type of mother, more interested in shopping or finding the next wealthy, eligible bachelor to hook her star to instead of spending time with her own daughter. I’d never met the woman, but I didn’t need to in order to know I’d despise her on sight.

  What mother willingly tossed their child aside like that?

  “Hi, Miss Chloe,” she smiled shyly.

  I leaned my forearms on the counter, smiling widely at the beautiful little girl who looked so much like her father. “Hi, sweetheart. Did you have a good day at school?”

  Her face seemed to light up under my and Harlow’s attention, which just made the sour feeling in my gut in regards to her mother that much worse. “Yes, ma’am!” she beamed. “I got a hundred on my spelling test, so Daddy said I could have a strawberry cupcake as a reward.”

  “That’s amazing!” I cried, her little girl enthusiasm rubbing off on me.

  “Yep, I even spelled all the hard words right! Mechanical, chemical, behavioral, and combination.”

  My head jerked back. “Those are fourth grade words?!”

  It wasn’t until I heard the sound of Derrick deep laughter that I even remembered he was standing there. I’d been so engrossed in this adorable little girl that everything else around me seemed to fall way. “Tell me about it,” he murmured with a prideful grin. Just the sight of that beautiful smile was enough to make my stomach dip. I had to look away.

  “I see you got the basket.” His velvety smooth voice rolled over me and I had to suppress a shiver.

  My mouth hung open with an embarrassing, “Uh…”

  “Come on, Eliza. Let’s take a look at the pastry cases? Maybe you can talk your dad into letting you have two treats.” My traitorous, ex-friend Harlow hopped off the stool and took the girl’s hand, shooting me a shit-eating grin and Derrick a glare over her shoulder.

  I scowled at her as she walked away.

  “Man,” Derrick chuckled under his breath, “gotta hand it to Noah. The man must be a saint.”

  My head tipped to the side. “Why’s that?”

  “Well,” he waved in the direction of Harlow and his daughter. “Pregnancy hormones. One minute Harlow’s sweet as sugar, the next she’s looking at me like she’s plotting to kill me in my sleep.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, knowing damn good and well it wasn’t pregnancy hormones behind the daggers she’d just shot.

  “Mmm,” I mummed noncommittally, going back to wiping the countertop in even circles, anything to keep my hands busy and my eyes off the perfection standing before me.

  “So, did you like it?”

  My head shot up. “Like what?” I asked.

  His grin grew to an almost devastating level — at least it was devastating to me. “The fruit basket.”

  “Oh!” Damn it! It had happened again. Why the hell couldn’t my brain work whenever he was around? It was seriously beginning to piss me off. “Yes, thank you. It’s very nice. But… I’m not sure what I did to deserve it.” I shrugged.

  His biceps bunched, the corded muscles drawing my attention as he bent his elbows and propped them on the counter. Stupid gorgeous arms, I thought, trying not to picture myself sinking my teeth into them.

  Damn it! And there it is.

  “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciated what you said to Eliza. You know, about saying hurtful things. It saved me an entire weekend of pre-teen girl drama.”

  “Oh…” I started, somewhat stunned that a few simple words to his daughter packed enough of a punch to warrant a chocolate dipped fruit basket. “Well… you’re welcome, I guess. Glad it worked out.”

  His eyes narrowed, his head cocked to the side, and I got the distinct impression he was watching my face very closely. I was suddenly self-conscious that I’d somehow gotten food on my face at some point during the day.

  “What?” I asked as I discreetly brushed at my nose.

  “You okay?” he asked and my stomach flipped again.

  “Sure,” I shrugged.

  He looked like he wanted to argue but before he had a chance to get anything out, Eliza and Harlow came sauntering back. “Dad! Ms. Harlow said I should get a strawberry cupcake and a puff—pruf—po—”

  Harlow took pity on her and offered the correct pronunciation, “Profiterole.”

  Eliza clapped and shouted, “Yeah! That one!” and Harlow cast a smirk in Derrick’s direction.

  “Fine,” he relented with a sigh, and I went about boxing up Eliza’s sweets. As Derrick paid and I handed them over, I offered her one last smile and leaned in. “Congratulations on your spelling test. Just goes to show you’ve got beauty and brains.”

  She positively glowed and my heart expanded in my chest.

  She skipped to the door, and I took the opportunity to turn around and lower my head, giving my back to Derrick and using my hair to block my face,
in the hopes of cutting off anything else he could potentially say. I thought my luck had failed when his velvety voice said my name, but then Eliza chirped from the door, “Come on, Dad! I can’t wait to eat these. I’m starving,” she finished with a dramatic flair.

  Just to be on the safe side, I didn’t turn around until I heard the bell over the door.

  “Pretty sure hiding behind a curtain of your hair won’t work forever,” Harlow chided.

  Picking up my forgotten coffee, I dumped it and went for a refill, muttering, “Shut up,” in my friend’s direction.

  Because I was so mature like that.

  Derrick

  FUCK.

  I stifled the groan that wanted to work its way from my chest as I pulled my cell from my pocket before I collapsed into the worn, cracked faux leather chair at my desk. The piece of shit was uncomfortable as hell, but with the department dealing with budget cuts, we had to take what we could get. At least I had a chair.

  “What do you want, Layla?” I said by way of greeting.

  I could hear her indignant huff through the line, not that I gave two shits what upset her or not. I stopped having to give a damn once the ink on the divorce papers was dry, a process that I never wanted to go through again. Getting married once was the biggest mistake of my life. Staying married for eight miserable years was the second worst. At least I got Eliza out of it. That made all the bullshit I had to stomach for damned near a decade worth it. She was the only thing I had in my life that mattered for anything.

  If the last several years of hell had taught me anything it was that I was never, ever taking those goddamned vows again. Marriage just meant a woman got to sink her claws into you and tear your ass apart. No, thank you. Once bitten, twice shy. It might be for some, like Noah, the sorry son of a bitch, but I was bowing out.