“Crisp Apples” – Autumn
Connecticut, Present Day. Kate is recovering from a painful divorce and creating a new life for herself when a hated blast from her high school past re-enters her life. At first she is bent on revenge, but her encounters with former bad boy, Alex leave her shaking with lust as much as fury. Perhaps fall is the time to let the past die and blow away like dry leaves.

Excerpt:

Kate knew precisely what moment her life changed. It was 10:42 on a Wednesday morning when he walked in the door of her shop. Although she hadn’t seen him for almost fifteen years, he looked exactly the same; still the same glossy, raven-black hair, the sharp-boned, angular face and tall, rangy body. And, when he looked across the counter at her and ordered his coffee, the same intense, almost-black eyes, which still sent an involuntary shiver through her.

God, she hated him. He had ruined her life, or if not ruined it then certainly changed the course of it.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “What can I get for you?”

“Just coffee.” He glanced at the apple pies cooling on the rack over the display case. “And a piece of pie. To go.”

She turned to fill his order, heart pounding. He didn’t even know who she was. Alex Bowden, bane of her existence throughout high school, had looked through her without a shred of recognition.

She cut into the still steaming pie and an aroma of cinnamon and cloves wafted up. “So, you new in town?” she asked, putting the slice in a cardboard container.

“Yeah. Guess I’m going to be your neighbor. I’m opening a business across the street.”

Kate’s stomach flipped. “Really? That new gallery is yours?”

“Yep … well, with a partner, but I’ll be running it.”

“Huh. That’s nice.” She would have to see him every day. He would probably stop here for coffee and she would have to serve him. Maybe it would be better to reveal who she was, put the whole thing out in the open right now and clear the air.

She could picture the conversation. ‘Remember back in high school how you stashed that bag of pot in my backpack, got me expelled and ruined my chance to go to an Ivy League school? How’s your life gone since then? … Mine? It’s been a train wreck. Thanks for asking.’

“That’ll be $5.49,” she said, pushing the cup of coffee and the box with the pie across the counter toward him.

He fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and his shirt rode up in front just enough to show a flash of skin above the waistband of his jeans.

Kate swallowed hard and took the money. The hair at the nape of her neck rose when his fingers brushed against her palm.

He gave a brief crooked smile that only lifted one corner of his mouth. “Smells great. Do you do all the baking yourself?”

“Yes, there’s just me.” She made change and counted it back into his hand. “Well, good luck with your new business … neighbor.” She forced a smile that lasted only until his back was turned.

He sauntered out the door with that same lazy, loose-limbed gait that had set her teeth on edge back in 1990.

When the door closed behind him, she drew a deep, shaky breath and leaned against the counter. “Asshole!”

Kate was so wound up that she couldn’t stay still. She moved around the shop straightening the baked goods in the glass display case, cleaning up spills at the cream and sugar station, wiping down all the tables with furious vigor. Damn the bastard for coming back into her life just when she was slowly getting herself together, and damn him even more for not showing the slightest recognition of her.

But then, as far as she knew, he had never known her name. They moved in different circles back in high school. She was a drama club geek. He and his friends were burners. If you needed weed, everyone knew you went to Alex Bowden. That’s why it was so ridiculous that the school hadn’t listened to her protestations of innocence about the pot in her possession. She had been immediately suspended and although the charges had later been dropped, the black mark on her record had excluded her from the Ivy League education she had always coveted.

Kate looked out the window at the building across the street, her view framed by the yellow leaves of the elm tree outside the store. Wind blew through the tree and sent a shower of gold fluttering down between her and the enemy fortress. A gallery. Was the delinquent an artist now?

She folded her arms and stared at the half-finished lettering across the big picture window: Little Owl Gallery. The sign-painter was perched precariously on his ladder. She wished he’d fall through the window and break it to pieces.

Bowden came out of the building and spoke with the painter. She imagined his deep voice making all of his words sound like lewd suggestions and remembered how that voice always used to make her feel squirmy inside. Not that it was ever directed at her, but his locker was right next to hers and he and all of his druggie friends would lounge around the area. She couldn’t help but hear him speak … often … usually with his arm slung around one girl or another. So, yes, she knew Alex’s voice well and the years hadn’t changed it. Just hearing him order coffee had been enough to make her legs weak.

That was something else that hadn’t changed. Her ridiculous crush on Bad Boy Bowden, which she had thought she had left behind with her pimples and baby fat, appeared to be alive and kicking in her treacherous loins. Back in high school she had never looked at him dead-on, only peeked from the corners of her eyes—quiet, mousy Kate, who only exhibited a personality when she was onstage acting like someone else. Then the magic came over her and she blossomed and shone.

“Damn!” She forced herself away from the window and back into the kitchen to start a new batch of pies. Peeling and slicing the tart MacIntosh apples calmed her some. The familiar motions of baking had been her salvation during the dark time after her divorce and it had proved to be her financial salvation as well. Her coffee shop was already in the black and she had only been open a year. Moving back to her hometown, which had initially felt like an admission of failure, ended up being one of the best choices she’d made in a long time.

But now, just as she was finally happy, or at least content … maybe marginally at peace at least, here came trouble in the shape of a six-foot-two, hot, sexy male whom she hated with a fiery passion and who would now be stopping by her coffee shop every morning wanting to buy coffee and doughnuts. Why, God, why?

She chopped the apple into slices with sharp, precise thwaks on the cutting board. She imagined she was cutting a man’s penis, her ex-husband’s to be precise, the penis that had cheated on her with Cyndi and probably countless others. On some level, Kate had known he was a cheater for years, but had hidden it from herself like a child believing in Santa long after guessing the truth. Men! They all hurt you in one way or another. If they weren’t putting their shit in your backpack, they were sticking it in some bimbo on the side.

She slammed her knife down on the table and went to pour herself a cup of coffee. The rich aroma of amaretto rose with the steam from her mug. She breathed in deeply then, despite her intention to sit down at one of the tables, walked back over to the window to peer out at her new neighbor.
The wind had died down and only a sprinkling of leaves drifted from the tree. The sign-painter was as far as the second ‘l’ on Gallery and Alex Bowden was back inside. Kate sipped her coffee and thought. She wanted Bowden out. Out of her sight and out of her life. And, childish as it may be, she wanted payback for what had happened so long ago. Sabotage—it was the only way. She would drive the erstwhile gallery owner out of business and out of Roseville.

She smiled and took another sip of coffee. So far so good. Now all she needed was a plan.