Chapter Twelve
“I was just wondering…does really size matter?” Connor’s mom asked Marissa the next day.
Marissa almost spit out the rhubarb lemonade she was sipping. The Rhubarb Festival was in full swing here at Hopeful’s lovely Centennial Park. Marissa had done her morning shift at the library booth without any hint of trouble, so she was completely unprepared for a question like the one that Wanda had just posed to her.
“In the contest for the best rhubarb leaf contest,” the older woman clarified. “I was just wondering.”
“Um, yes, I believe size matters as well as condition,” Marissa said in her best librarian voice.
“That’s good to know,” Connor said, appearing out of nowhere as he so often did. “How about stamina? Is that a requirement as well?”
Marissa refused to blush. Since glaring at him hadn’t worked in the past, she tried something new. She decided to confront him. It didn’t matter that he was in uniform and wearing those sexy cop sunglasses of his. It didn’t matter that their kiss had been as incredible as she remembered. He wasn’t going to intimate her. “Are you still talking about rhubarb?” she said.
He adjusted the sunglasses so he could eye her over the rim. “Of course.”
“Then stamina doesn’t matter. Not for rhubarb.”
His grin told her he got what she meant. Now that she considered what she’d just said, she realized it could be misconstrued as flirting with him. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d flirted.
It felt surprisingly good.
What was wrong with her? She was standing here surrounded by Connor’s mom and grandmother, who were both eyeing her as if sizing her up for birthing offspring. Connor’s offspring.
“I’ve been collecting recipes. I had no idea that you could do so much with a fruit like rhubarb,” Wanda said.
“Botanically speaking, rhubarb is a vegetable not a fruit,” Marissa automatically said. “It’s a relative of buckwheat.”
“And Ohio is the buckwheat state,” Wanda said.
“Actually we’re the buckeye state,” Connor said.
Wanda patted his cheek.
Connor had his sunglasses firmly back in place but Marissa was sure that behind them he was rolling his eyes.
Since she didn’t know what to say next, she fell back on her standard patter for the event. “In seventeenth-century England, rhubarb sold for more than twice the price of opium.”
“You mean it’s a drug?” Wanda looked horrified at this possibility and glanced around at the surrounding booths as if she’d just walked into a huge pot party or a meth lab.
“No, it’s not a drug,” Marissa said. “It was just highly prized. You shouldn’t eat the rhubarb leaves, though. They’re toxic.”
“Come on.” Grandma Sophie tugged on Wanda’s arm. “I don’t want to miss the Rhubarb Rockers dancing in the band shell.”
Their departure left Marissa alone with Connor. Yes, they were surrounded by hundreds of people in the park but in that moment if felt as if the two of them were the only ones in the world. She recognized that this was a dangerous feeling, so she quietly blurted out, “I do not want to talk about what happened between us.”
“Neither do I. Wait, what do you mean by what happened between us?”
“That kiss the other night.”
“Right. Well, I don’t want to talk about it either.”
“You never want to talk about anything,” she muttered.
“And you do?”
“No.”
“We’re on the same page then.” He leaned closer.
He wouldn’t kiss her here in front of the entire town…would he? She certainly didn’t want him to…did she?
“What are you two talking about so intently?” her mother asked as she joined them.
“Nothing,” Marissa and Connor said in unison, leaning back so there was more space between them.
“I just wanted to let you know, Marissa, that the Rhubarb Queen pageant will be beginning soon. I was hoping you’d come watch. Your sister is already in the audience.” Her mom looked at her expectantly.
“I have to work at the library booth.”
Her mom was not pleased with this news. “I thought you already did that this morning?”
“I did, but now I’m helping my group of teens,” Marissa said.
“Our group of teens,” Connor corrected her.
“You sound like a pair of proud parents,” her mom said.
“No way. Not that I’m not proud of them, because I am. Jose designed the signs.” Marissa pointed to the small corner of the booth that had been allotted for their use.
“I was counting on you coming to support me in my work as one of the judges. Especially given the fact that your father chose not to attend.”
Her mother deliberately referred to him as Marissa’s father and not her husband when she was aggravated with him, which seemed to be most of the time these days.
“Instead he’s dressed like Indiana Jones next to some mummy at the college’s booth,” her mom said. “What does that have to do with rhubarb?”
“I’m not sure,” Marissa admitted.
“He’s never before acted with such disregard for my feelings. He knows how important this is, so he’s always been in the audience in previous years. But now, when I need him most he abandons me for some mummy!”
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Marissa heard herself asking.
Her mother grabbed her hand in gratitude. “Would you? That would be great. I’ve got to get back.” She rushed off as quickly as she’d arrived.
Marissa turned to Connor. “I don’t suppose you could order my dad to step away from the mummy and head over to the pageant area, could you?”
“I’m afraid not. Looks like you’ve got some mummy issues to deal with.”
She patted his cheek. “Hey, you’ve got mummy issues of your own.”
His grin weakened her knees and left her feeling like she’d been hit by…well, hit by a sarcophagus. Her dad might be pleased by the analogy but Marissa wasn’t. She wasn’t supposed to feel this fluttering in her stomach.
She was too old for the sweaty-palms-dry-mouth sensations of a first crush. She shouldn’t even be considering jumping Connor and having her way with him, not when she was standing here in front of the Hopeful Memorial Library booth surrounded by crowds of people.
She wanted to rip off those sunglasses of his, look into his gray-green-blue eyes and see if she could read his thoughts. Thoughts of ripping had her eyeing the very official-looking shirt of his uniform. There was a reason male strippers often wore cop uniforms.
Okay, she had to stop this. She should not be thinking of Connor as a male stripper. That was not a good thing. Well, yeah, it kind of was a good fantasy. A damn fine fantasy, in fact. But that’s all it could be. A fantasy.
The reality was that she needed to step away from Connor and his sensual influence on her and head over to the booth where her father was hanging out with a mummy.
Marissa sighed.
“If you really need my help…” Connor began before she interrupted him.
“No, I can do this on my own,” she said and meant it. She couldn’t afford to lean on him, not when doing so could end up with her flat on her face. No, she had to stand on her own two feet. And those feet needed to move her out of Connor’s gravitational pull.
As it turned out, Connor was the one who left first, which aggravated her. She wished she could be the first one to walk away for a change.
* * *
“Nice hat, Dad,” Marissa said. She’d finally found the booth where he was holding ancient Egyptian court.
“Thanks.” He touched the brim. “I got it online.”
“At IndianaJones.com?”
“Something like that.”
“Mom’s not happy that you’re not going to see the pageant,” Marissa said.
“Are you going?”
Marissa shook her head.
“Then she’s not happy with you either,” her dad said.
“I guess that’s something you and I have in common,” she said.
He just shrugged.
“It would mean a lot to her if you’d go,” Marissa said.
“I’ve gone to that silly pageant for a quarter of a century. Just once, I want to do what I want to do.”
Marissa pointed to the pyramid-shaped banner on the booth. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a ‘Pharaoh’s Pals’ group.”
“This is our first year at the festival. I’m not real fond of the name of our group. It needs some tweaking yet.”
“How are you tying the pharaohs in with rhubarb?”
“They’re as old as rhubarb,” he said. “The culinary use of rhubarb is relatively new, as you no doubt know. That dates back to the eighteen hundreds. But the earliest medicinal use was about five thousand years ago in China. The pharaohs go back five thousand yeas as well. Granted, they didn’t use rhubarb, but both rhubarb and the pharaohs share five thousand years of history. I know it’s not the same history, but five thousand years is nothing to sneeze at.”
“What about the history that you and Mom share?”
“The quarter century of going to that pageant with her? I’ve earned a year off. Why don’t you go?”
“I’m working at the library booth,” Marissa said.
“And I’m working here.”
Marissa could tell that no amount of arguing was going to change her father’s mind. And to think the day had started out so serenely. Earlier this morning, she’d walked to Centennial Park, cutting through Hopeful’s Historic District with its Victorian homes and lush gardens. In May, the phlox had been out but currently the old-fashioned roses—the kind that smelled divine—were in full bloom. She’d actually paused to smell the roses.
And now here she was, at an impasse with both her parents.
She ran into Connor on her way back to the library’s booth.
“No luck with your dad?” he said.
She shook her head. “He’s very stubborn,”
“Parents are like that sometimes.”
“Yes, but at least yours don’t live here.”
“True. And don’t think I’m not thankful for that fact.”
Marissa sighed. “After being gone all those years, I’m not used to being drawn into all their arguments and having them know everything I’m doing.”
“At least your parents aren’t trying to act as matchmakers.”
“My mom is. My dad doesn’t care.”
“Count your blessings,” Connor said. “When there are two of them, they double-team you.”
“I guess.”
“Here, this will cheer you up.”
For the first time she noticed the small cardboard box in his hands. “What is it?”
“Rhubarb.” He held up a bite-sized piece of stalk and dipped it into the tiny container in the corner of the box. “With honey. Hurry up and open wide.”
She opened her mouth to say no but he’d already put the rhubarb in her mouth.
The combination of tart and sweet was unexpectedly good. She hadn’t had this snack since she’d left Hopeful.
“Good, huh?” He leaned closer. “You’ve got some honey on your mouth.”
He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and then lifted it to his own mouth to suck the stickiness off.
Her earlier stripper fantasy about Connor returned with a vengeance. Him, naked, pouring honey over her nude body and then sucking it off. She felt her nipples tightening beneath her pale blue top.
Thank goodness the ruffles hid that fact from him. She looked down to make sure that was the case then nervously tucked a strand of her hair behind her hair, which set her moonstone dangle earrings moving.
“I like these.” He reached out and gently set the piece of jewelry in motion again. “What is this?”
“Moonstone. Legend is that it brings emotional balance.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that working for you?”
“Not as well as I’d hoped,” she muttered. Her hormones were running wild and screaming like banshees. Sex. I want SEX. NOW.
“I’ve got to get back to the library booth.” She really meant she had to get away from him before she did something stupid.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, don’t.”
“Okay.” Again he was the one who turned and walked away, dammit. She was supposed to do that, not stand here with a container full of rhubarb and honey and a body zooming with unfulfilled sexual needs.
“I’m in trouble,” Marissa told Deb a few hours later. The two of them had found a spot away from the crowd with some privacy to go with their slices of strawberry-rhubarb pie. Marissa was on break from her library booth duties.
“What’s wrong?” Deb said with a concerned look on her face.
“Swear you won’t tell a soul.”
“I swear. What’s going on? Is it your ex?”
“No.”
“Does it have something to do with that matchmaking situation you talked about the last time we were together?”
“Yes. Connor kissed me,” Marissa awkwardly blurted out.
“The sheriff?”
Marissa nodded.
“Wow,” Deb said.
“Yeah. Double wow.”
“By which I take it that you enjoyed the kiss?”
“He’s a great kisser.” Marissa almost added that he’d always been a great kisser but stopped herself. She wasn’t ready yet to confess her earlier relationship with Connor as her first lover.
“So what’s the problem?” Deb asked.
“I shouldn’t be having these feelings.”
“What feelings?”
“The more time I spend with him, the more he tempts me,” Marissa said, nervously fingering her dangle earrings.
“I see you’re wearing moonstones. I like reading about gem lore. Legend has it that its supposed powers include reuniting lovers who have quarreled.”
“I don’t want to be reunited with my ex,” Marissa said.
“Are you sure about that?”
Marissa nodded. “Moonstone is also supposed to bring emotional balance.” She gently flicked her earrings. “It’s not working.”
“Wait, let’s get back to Connor kissing you. When did this happen?”
“The other night. And no, it didn’t get more serious than that.” Well, it kind of had, given the fact that he’d undone her robe and cupped her naked breasts, but Marissa figured there was no need to go into details like that. They just got her all hot and bothered again.
“Are you falling for him?” Deb sounded concerned but not half as concerned as Marissa was.
“No. Absolutely not. It’s just lust, not an emotional thing. Listen, to say that I’m gun-shy after my sham of a marriage is an understatement.”
“Yet you and Connor shared a kiss.”
“It was just lust,” Marissa insisted.
“Do you want to kiss him again?”
“Yes, and that’s a problem.”
“If it’s only lust, then maybe you should…you know…get it out of your system by sleeping with him.”
Marissa already knew that having sex with Connor was not the cure for getting him out of her system. In fact, it just made her want him even more. That had been true a decade ago and she had the feeling it was just as true today.
* * *
“How’s it going?” Connor asked the teens gathered at the library’s booth.
Nadine looked up from her smartphone. “No one said I couldn’t tweet from the booth,” Nadine said, clearly still miffed about the tweet issue.
“That’s not why I’m here,” Connor said.
“If you’re looking for Marissa, she’s not here,” Jose said.
“I’m not looking for her.” Hell. He was but he wasn’t admitting that.
Jose just looked at him as if he knew Connor was lying but he didn’t confront him about it.
Too bad. Connor was itching for a fight. He got one from an unexpected source—the library board president.
“We need to talk,” Chester Flint said, pulling him aside.
Connor shoved his sunglasses up onto his head in order to glare at the older man. He didn’t appreciate being hauled around like a hogtied farm animal, and his look informed Chester of that fact.
“There’s a problem,” the older man said.
Connor’s look said that the problem was Chester.
“This is turning into a big mess.”
Connor nodded his agreement.
“I should have held my ground. A poetry jam was a stupid idea. But I didn’t protest. I could have. I’m also president of the Rhubarb Festival planning committee as well as the library board. I should have said no. But I went along with it. And now we’ve got a problem,” Chester said.
“What problem?”
“Those delinquents in the library booth. It’s totally inappropriate to have them there.”
“And why’s that?” Connor’s voice was laid-back but his expression was anything but.
“Because the one with the tattoo entered the poetry
jam.”
“You mean Jose?”
Chester shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to their names.”
“You should.”
“You’re right. I should pay attention so I can tell you all the things he’s done wrong. And not just him. They’re in it together. They are all a pack of trouble.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Can’t you see?” Chester’s face was becoming increasingly flushed with anger. “They deliberately came up with this plan to discredit the entire festival.”
“What plan?”
“To enter the poetry jam.”
“There’s no law against that.”
“That kid with the tattoos…Jose. He won.” Chester’s voice reflected his outrage.
“There’s no law against that either.”
“There should be. You should have heard him.”
“I wish I had,” Connor said.
“I wish you had, too. Then you’d know why I’m so upset.”
“You could just get to the point and tell me why you’re so upset.”
“His poem didn’t even rhyme. Not only did he take the Lord’s name in vain, but he was also disrespectful about the American flag and our country. Plus, he actually compared a rhubarb’s stem to a part of the male anatomy.”
“I’m not the poetry police,” Connor said.
“But you are involved with this teen program. By having him in the library booth, you’re sending the wrong kind of message to our community.”
“And what message would that be?”
“That bad behavior is rewarded,” Chester said.
“They haven’t done anything bad.”
“They have in my book. Maybe not yours. Not yet. But they will, you just wait and see.” Chester made the dire prediction with utter certainty and then marched away.
Connor returned to the library booth to find Jose looking ready to do battle, as he often was. The arms-crossed-feet-planted-apart-tough-guy look was familiar to Connor, who’d used the same body language himself as had dozens of kids he’d dealt with back in Chicago.
“I guess the old guy wasn’t happy about me winning that poetry jam instead of his granddaughter,” the teen said.
“Jose deserved to win,” Red Fred said.
“And you deserved to come in second and not third,” Jose told his friend.
“That’s right.” Nadine turned her smartphone for them to see the screen. “I just tweeted that you were robbed.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Flo, who grabbed Connor’s arm. “I just heard there was a robbery at the festival. I saw it on Twitter.” She looked around nervously. “You don’t think it was the Rhubarb Flasher, do you? You’re sure he hasn’t broken out of prison?”
“Why would a flasher want to steal an award?” Red Fred said.
“An award was stolen?” The news didn’t calm Flo down too much. “Was it for biggest rhubarb leaf? Longest stem? Fattest stem?”
Before Connor could answer, Connor’s landlady, Sally, joined Flo. “Did you hear about the kid who used the p word in the poetry jam?” She paused the moment she saw Jose. “Oh. You’re the one.”
Jose nodded.
“The p word?” Flo was confused. “You mean pie?”
“She means penis,” Jose said proudly.
“Wait.” Flo was confused. “We don’t have a penis contest at this festival.”
“He compared a rhubarb’s stem to uh…” Sally tilted her head.
“Well, he’s hardly the first one to do that,” Flo said.
“Maybe not, but he’s the first one to do it onstage.”
“Do what onstage? You didn’t drop your pants, did you?” Flo fixed Jose with the same icy glare of disapproval that Connor had seen her give anyone at the post office who tried to jump the line of waiting customers.
“No way,” Jose said.
“I know your grandma,” Flo reminded him.
He looked down. “I know,” he muttered.
“His grandma will be proud,” Nadine said. “Jose won first prize in the poetry jam.”
“And then someone stole your award?” Clearly outraged, Flo turned to Connor. “Sheriff, what are you going to do about this?”
Connor didn’t have a clue. He wished Marissa would show up so she could take over this circus and he could walk away. He knew she’d say he was good at walking away, and that might be true.
“Jose’s award wasn’t stolen,” Connor said.
Flo frowned. “But I saw it on Twitter.”
“Not everything you see on the Internet is true,” Connor said,
“I know that. But Twitter is different.”
“I’m the one who posted the tweet,” Nadine said. “And I was referring to the fact that Red Fred should have won second place in the poetry jam instead of third.”
“That’s okay,” Red Fred said. “Before he took off, my dad used to tell me that second place is another word for loser.”
“No offense, but your daddy was full of horse manure,” Flo said, her Appalachian heritage evident for the first time in her accent.
They all fell silent for a moment, as if collectively agreeing to her comment. The momentary lull was interrupted by Marissa’s return.
“Did I miss anything?” Marissa said.
“Nah,” Jose said. “It’s all good.”
But Connor wasn’t sure his powerful attraction to Marissa was a good thing. Not a good thing at all. It had him feeling all messed up and out of control which raised a major red flag because as a cop he prided himself on being in control.
He’d lost it once back in Chicago and he wasn’t about to let history repeat itself here in Hopeful even if this was a different scenario. So Connor did what he did best in emotional situations like this. He simply walked away.