Sweet Kiss Read Free

mufflers loud enough to wake the dead.
    Just to be sure, she put a scrap of paper between the pages to hold her place where she had found a recipe for strawberry chiffon pie. Book in hand, she hurried down the steps and entered the kitchen to find half a torso wearing tan cargo shorts and a gray sweatshirt sticking out from under the sink. His sockless feet sported old, scuffed boat shoes. A string of unsavory expletives followed the clanking sound of a wrench against metal. Kate squatted down near the opening. “Oh, I’m so glad Jim sent someone. If I lose that ring, I’ll never forgive myself.”
    “If I bust my knuckles using this good-for-nothing pipe wrench on this stubborn trap, I’ll never forgive you either.”
    “Tappe?” Kate stared at the half torso in front of her.
    “Kate?” He slid out, wrench still in his hand. Disheveled and slightly aggravated, he lay semi-prone squinting up at her.
    Kate dropped to her knees, discarded the cookbook, and grabbed him in a huge bear hug, wrench and all. She pulled away, rocked back on her heels, and surveyed him with a bewildered look. “Tappe! I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”
    “Taking. Apart. Your drain.” Their gazes met, and a sizzling spark raced though her.
    Kate laughed. His logical, curt answer reminded her of times long ago when, as children, she would ask a question he thought too ridiculous and illogical to answer and would only stare at her. But the intimate look he was giving her now was far from a childhood stare.
    “Here.” He cleared his throat and shoved a flashlight into her hands. “Hold the light for me. Be careful. If we get this trap loosened, there’s probably decades of slime just waiting to make an escape. Have the bucket ready.”
    She nodded and waited until he slid back under the sink, then shone the light on the drain and peered in. He was the same old Tappe she remembered. Older now, but still not inclined to get overly excited or zealous. Sometimes, he could be downright exasperating with his logical calm approach to life and his cool, collected demeanor. But my, oh my, he was as handsome as Eva May described him. Well-muscled, he still had curly light brown hair falling over his forehead, giving him the innocent little boy look which often worked to his benefit when he was trying to talk himself out of trouble. And he smelled heavenly, his aftershave a mixture of fresh air, ocean breeze, and pine.
    “I heard you were back in town,” Kate said.
    “I heard you have a coffee shop.”
    “I thought you were in the Netherlands.”
    “As does everyone else in town.” He snorted.
    “What are you doing back here in Little Heron Shores?”
    “Same as you. Starting a business.”
    Kate was used to his ability to frustrate people with his spontaneous, short responses. You had to pull details from him. And he seldom offered additional information.
    “Here, give me the bucket.” His hand fell on hers, and she yanked it back quickly, feeling the power of his touch even after all these years. If he noticed her skittish gesture, he didn’t react. “Dad and I bought the marina.”
    “What happened to your internet security business?”
    “I sold it.” He slid further out and handed her the wrench. “You better back away, ’cause when I set this trap in the bucket, things could get messy.” He smiled, the same old smile she remembered, with eyes as compelling as ever, his magnetism as potent as ever. They stared at each other for another lingering moment.
    And then it happened. The trap he was holding slipped from his grip, dropped into the bucket, splattering black slime up his arm and over his gray sweat shirt. Gobs of inky-looking goo splashed onto the front of Kate’s pink T-shirt and out onto the green and white linoleum floor.
    “Oh, hell,” he sputtered, “hand me the other bucket to catch the drips when I pull this miserable thing out.” He swapped out the buckets and removed the first one from