Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,36

doubted Dylan Ross ever made idle conversation. Of course, her little event back there in the garage had been specifically about things that had happened to him. It was natural for him to want to understand how she knew things. Quite possibly things that no one else knew.

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?” she asked as she realized at least a part of it. “About your back. About being burned.”

“What happened eight years, ten months and two weeks ago?” he asked in lieu of a response.

She had no plan to tell him anything, but something about his stance, about the way he was looking at her, like he was going to be the one to figure this out . . . provoked her. Maybe if she revealed something personal, he’d consider them even, given she knew things about him no one else did. And then he’d stop digging. “I went to art school. I thought maybe mass exposure to the human element would shock it out of me. Either kill me or cure me. At that point, either might have been a blessing.”

“But?”

“I was wrong. Apparently my capacity to withstand a constant bombardment of . . . knowledge, is boundless.”

“Did you drop out?”

“Eventually.”

“But not until whatever happened eight years—”

“Yes,” she said, hating that she’d snapped the word out. She didn’t want to let him get to her. God knows, hadn’t he already gotten to her enough? First with his hormone stirring looks, and then with his surly attitude, topped off with an aura onslaught she hadn’t been remotely ready to handle. And yet, it just came spilling out, rapid fire, more like an accusation than a confession. “I was a virgin, okay? And I knew when I left school and went back to Juniper Hollow, I’d stay that way. So . . . I made sure I wasn’t.”

To her utter shock, his lips curved. “Bad idea, I take it?”

She should be pissed off that he found any part of her confession amusing, so no one was more surprised than Honey when she had to fight to keep her own lips from twitching. Damn him for making it seem like some private joke that only the two of them understood. He understood exactly nothing about her. “You might say that,” she said, trying for a grudging, flippant tone, but his knowing smile told her she’d failed miserably.

“So, what then? Back home, hiding out all this time?”

“I started my own business,” she said, trying not to sound defiant. “I’ve stayed focused on that.” Before he could ask the obvious, she added, “Mail order. I’m surprised with Bea’s stories about me, that everyone didn’t already know all of this.”

“I’m not much for island gossip.”

“And yet . . .”

He frowned, and she had to stifle the urge to smirk.

“All right, I might have heard that your aunt talked about your talent as an artist, and how much she admired you. That she loved you was clear; she was proud, too. She was . . . sketchier . . . about the rest.”

“If you knew my Aunt Bea, then you knew that she—it seems like it was common knowledge that she also could . . .” Honey trailed off, not wanting to put words to it. There were no words to explain the curse.

“Either your aunt had a great deal more control over this . . . thing . . . you two have, or yours is out-of-this-world more intense.”

“Bea thought of it as a gift. I . . . don’t.”

“There’s more to it than that.” He didn’t make it a question.

Honey wanted to tell him he didn’t have the first clue what he thought he knew, but then he was talking again about Bea. The way he did caught at her heart and made her throat tight all over again.

“She was like the kindly old grandma who had a way of knowing things. Everyone went to her, asked her about things, trusted her if she told them they needed to take care on this matter or that . . . but it was never—”

“Threatening? Scary? Intense?”

He didn’t answer that, just . . . studied her in that way she was coming to know. All focused and intent like she didn’t scare him, and he knew if he looked long enough, like looking at a broken engine, he’d figure her out, too.

“Why did you expect me to get angry?” he asked.

“People aren’t generally open to what they don’t understand. Less so when you tell them