The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

motorcycle rally. How does this day get any better?”

A throat cleared, and the three of them turned to find Wolf, who aimed a mock scowl in their direction. “Excuse me. I am standing right here. Very much a man.”

“Oh yes, you are, sweetie. And with a beard and manly muscles to prove it,” Cecille cooed, reaching back to pat his cheek. “Now, go get Mama a beer so she can get this day started off right. Oh, jewelry!” With another squeal, she darted off in the direction of the vendor booths.

“Wow.” Wolf stared after the jubilant woman, eyes wide and lips parted in awe. “I’m gonna go get that beer. I want one, too, but mainly because I’m too scared not to.”

Leo cackled, and Sydney choked back a laugh at the sight of this big, bearded lumberjack of a man cringing in trepidation at one petite woman who ran an ice cream shop.

As Wolf strode off across The Glen’s freshly mowed grass, Sydney snatched a moment to survey the changes that had occurred since Cole had brought her here just a short week ago.

A huge, multicolored tent filled with several huge barrel grills and picnic benches hogged one corner. The delicious aroma of grilling meat and vegetables marinated the air, eliciting a rumble from her stomach. Children’s delighted screams peppered the air from the play area jam-packed with bouncy castles, slides, swings and jungle gym equipment. On the stage, a local band jammed to classic rock covers. The Glen burst with people of all ages, races, walks of life. They settled on blankets and towels, danced in front of the stage, shopped among the covered vendor stalls or hung out near the grills. And surrounding it all—whether in the sectioned off parking area, the street in front of The Glen or cruising Main Street—were motorcycles. It was a carnival-meets-rock-concert-meets-flea-market atmosphere.

And it was glorious.

Out of habit, she scanned the crowds for a six-feet-plus figure with wide shoulders. In seconds, her gaze found Cole. There’d never been any doubt she would. Maybe there was a magnet buried inside his chest that drew her focus, her being. Because he inexorably drew her to him, even though she knew the smart thing—the only thing—would be to keep her distance.

Apparently, her body didn’t agree.

She drank him in.

A cream-colored, short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants fit his leanly muscled body to perfection, emphasizing the strength and power in his chest, arms and thighs. His beautiful face with its stark lines and angles. The sensual, full mouth stretched into a smile for the benefit of the people who surrounded him.

She inhaled a shaky breath that had her thighs quivering. Echoing the taut pull deep inside her. Would she ever be able to look at that mouth again without remembering how close it’d been to owning hers? Without recalling how his breath had warmed her lips? Without craving the kiss she’d been denied?

Doubtful.

Because even now, she forced her arm to remain at her side instead of pressing trembling fingers to her flesh. Even now, she couldn’t evict him from her thoughts. She should be thankful for that knock on the office door. Without tasting him, without knowing how it would feel to be possessed by him, she battled the need that invaded her veins, her blood, her thoughts. If she had actually kissed him?

She might have become obsessed.

And humiliated.

Because Cole’s horror and guilt couldn’t have been any clearer. He’d been offering her comfort, and she’d ruined it by allowing her hunger for connection, for intimacy, for him to hijack what should’ve been a moment between friends. And now, other than a quick phone call to thank her for volunteering to write the community center grant, they were back to avoiding one another.

Longing stretched tight and snapped like a rubber band inside her. Not just for what she couldn’t—and shouldn’t—have, but for the friendship she’d come to count on.

As if he sensed her attention on him, Cole’s head lifted, and before she could turn away, their gazes locked. Held. And her heart sank toward her stomach as that smile ebbed then disappeared.

No, he hadn’t forgotten. And hadn’t forgiven.

Swallowing hard, she did turn away, her pulse jackhammering against her throat. Today was about having fun, enjoying friends, letting go of her worries for a little while. Tonight, when she lay in her bed, with nothing to distract her from her own self—that would be the time to dwell on Cole and the aching emptiness.

She hurried after Leo, who’d entered the area with the covered booths. In moments, her shopper’s heart soared in happiness. Over thirty vendors hawked their wares. They offered everything from clothes to motorcycle gear to art to jewelry. God, she could spend hours in here. Happily.

“Look at this, Sydney,” Leo said, waving her over to a stall loaded down with gorgeous silver jewelry. “What do you think?” Her friend held up a dangling set of earrings fashioned in the shape of butterflies. “I was thinking about buying these for Moe for her birthday next week.”

“They’re beautiful.” Sydney brushed a fingertip over the tiny, detailed figures. “Wow. She’ll love it.” Moe had a thing for butterflies, and as far back as Sydney could remember, figurines and paintings dotted the inn. Especially in the kitchen, Moe’s domain.

“I think so, too.” Leo grinned and turned to the person behind the booth. “I’ll take this pair, please.”

Sydney glanced up from the other pieces. “You have seriously gorgeous work—oh my God. Cherrie?”

She gaped at the statuesque woman before her. The ends of her dark, tight curls were dipped in red, and sexy curves filled out a leather patchwork vest and tight, dark denim. Tattoos covered an arm from wrist to shoulder. Though eight years had passed, Sydney easily recognized the friend she’d looked forward to visiting every summer since she was eleven.

“Hell no!” the other woman yelled, pushing open a side door in the stall and rushing through it. “Sydney! This can’t be you.”

“It’s me.” Sydney laughed as her childhood friend squeezed her