A Recipe for Romance

by Lara Van Hulzen

  Glenna floated in and out from time to time, itching to be involved Noelle could see, but she kept her distance.

  The dough was supposed to chill in the refrigerator for three hours, but in the competition, he wouldn’t have that kind of time, so they were letting it sit in the freezer for thirty minutes and would work with it from there.

  Wes had brewed them some coffee. Something he did know how to do in the kitchen. They sat on barstools at the island counter.

  “Thank you for doing this.”

  “Of course. Your niece is pretty hard to say no to.”

  “That is true.” He smiled, but it faded as he took a sip of coffee.

  “Is she okay?” She didn’t want to pry, but she adored Annalise and hated the idea of her hurting in any way.

  He took a deep breath in and let it out. “She has her good days and her bad. Overall, she’s happy. I think the move here has made a huge difference for her. And for Mike.”

  “I can only imagine what they’ve been through.”

  “Yeah. He’s a great dad though. In the midst of his own pain, he’s focused on getting Annalise through it as best he can.”

  Nodding her agreement, Noelle wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, warming her hands.

  “Your dance class is her favorite thing in life.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. She talks about it all the time.”

  “That’s so sweet. I love hearing things like that. I’m just hoping I can keep things going.” Why she said anything, she had no clue. She and Franchesca had talked more about the potential new owner of the building, but without specifics, all they could do was speculate.

  “What do you mean?” He leaned toward her, his barstool turned sideways to face hers.

  With so little information, she was unsure of how much to say. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Is it financial trouble?”

  “No. Nothing like that. I have plenty of students and things are running smoothly. It’s just that Franchesca has caught wind of a potential deal where we would have a new landlord.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “No. But we aren’t sure if the new landlord would let us stay or not. And the one we have now is great. The uncertainty of it is unsettling, that’s all.”

  He nodded, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bore you with this. It’s my issue, and it may not even be an issue at all.” She slid down off the barstool. “I’m going to go check the dough, see how it’s coming.”

  Wes watched as Noelle poked her head into the freezer. Her entire body, really. It looked as if it could swallow her whole. She’d tried to play off that the potential new landlord wasn’t a big deal, but he could see in her eyes that it was.

  As she talked, a knot formed in Wes’s gut. Distracted by all the stuff his dad had him doing, including a Bachelor Bake-Off, he hadn’t had time to really dive into the deal his father had asked him to look at. But he sensed it might have something to do with what Noelle was talking about. And when it came to business deals, Wes’s gut feelings were rarely wrong.

  He made a mental note to look more closely at the paperwork his father had given him as soon as possible. He could check on it for Noelle’s sake without her having to know details. Once everything was worked out and she had nothing to worry about, he would tell her. For now, he had baking to do.

  “I think we can work with this.” She pulled the dough from the freezer and placed it on the island. “Now we get to do the fun part.”

  Her smile lit up the kitchen. It also was doing funny things to his insides. Something he’d have to address at some point. Having feelings for Noelle was not a good idea and certainly not in his plan. Getting close to her would only cause heartache once he went back to New York.

  “Come here.”

  He slid from the barstool and joined her at the counter. “Do I need my apron again?”

  She laughed. “Only if you want to.”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “Spoilsport. You’ll have to wear one in the competition. You might as well get used to it now.”

  Yet another reason to not be happy with his father.

  “You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ve been asked to do worse in your lifetime.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  She laughed again.

  She taught him how to mix cinnamon and sugar together in a bowl. Then she had him roll the dough into little balls. They rolled each one in the cinnamon and sugar mixture, which somehow managed to get all over his shirt.

  Noelle looked at his chest then into his eyes. “Told ya. Aprons are a good idea.”

  His toes tingled at how she’d eyed his chest then looked at him with a flirty grin. Man, he was in trouble. “Never. I stand my ground.”

  She rolled a ball of dough between her hands, the movement much more graceful than when he did it. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Hmmmm, now what does that mean?”

  One of her shoulders lifted then fell. “Nothing. You just seem like a man who stands his ground. A lot.”

  He rolled the dough in his hands then in the sugary mixture before placing it on the cookie sheet in front of them as she’d taught him. They’d gotten into a rhythm of rolling dough, then rolling each ball of dough in the sugar bowl, then placing it on the cookie sheet. He liked the flow of it, the feel of her beside him, creating something.

  “You make standing my ground sound like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Nope. Not at all. I’m guessing you’re extremely successful because of it.”

  “There are some who think that’s a negative as well.”

  “What? Your success?” She stopped rolling to look at him, her eyes filled with genuine surprise. “That’s just jealousy,” she said as she went back to rolling.

  “Maybe. But many see it as cutthroat. Heartless.”

  “Are you?”

  Her question threw him off guard. Whenever anyone had accused him of being coldhearted, he blew it off. He had a heart. It was just business. And sometimes, many times, business required he stand his ground.

  “I don’t think so. No.”

  “I don’t either.” She smiled up at him.

  How could she see that already? She hardly knew him. She knew nothing of his business deals or what he was like on a daily basis. What his world was like in New York.

  “Oh really?”

  “Really. A heartless man would never treat his niece or his family the way you do. And a heartless man would certainly never agree to a Bake-Off to appease his father’s wishes.”

  Wes groaned. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s because I care or because my dad is not a man to say ‘no’ to often, if ever.”

  “It’s probably some of both, but I think it’s more so because you care.”

  Her face was turned up toward his, their bodies close. A sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar sat on her nose and cheek, begging to be kissed away. Their eyes held for a moment, then she turned her face away, her cheeks flushed. Wes couldn’t decide if he was grateful she’d had the courage to turn away or whether to regret he hadn’t taken the opportunity to kiss her.

  No. She made the right decision. Although he ached to know what her kisses tasted like, keeping things friendly was the best way to go.

  The last thing he’d ever want to do was hurt Noelle. He may not have a future with her, but they had the present. And that was full of warmth and dough and cookies. Something he’d never thought he’d like, but was enjoying more and more by the minute.

  Chapter Nine

  Wes stood in the cafeteria kitchen at Marietta High School, his palms sweaty and his heart pounding in his chest. He’d faced billionaires in boardrooms, given keynote addresses at global business conferences, met with government officials, and yet none of that compared to the anxiety that was the Bachelor Bake-Off.

  Not unfamiliar with nights that lacked
sleep, he’d often paced his penthouse in the middle of the night going over details of the next day’s meetings, planning every contingency. But this morning he woke in a panic over a nightmare where he’d showed up to bake but had forgotten to get dressed so he faced the crowd wearing only an apron.

  For reasons he still couldn’t identify, he’d told Noelle about it when he’d arrived. She’d tried to hide her laughter behind a hand placed over her mouth, but the blush in her cheeks made him think she wouldn’t mind him in just an apron. Maybe owning an apron wasn’t such a bad idea. And maybe she was as attracted to him as he was to her?

  Yet another thing he had to push to the back of his mind for now. Whether or not Noelle had feelings for him, and how he was feeling about her, was something he couldn’t unpack right then. He had cookies to bake. And in front of what looked like the entire town of Marietta.

  Each judge had a scorecard where they looked at area and personal appearance, presentation, appearance of entry, texture of entry, flavor of entry, and overall impression. Hell, he didn’t know what half of that meant, let alone doing it while baking. Noelle being beside him would have helped, but he had to do the damn thing alone.

  She appeared by his side as if his thoughts had wished her there. “Hey. You okay? It’s about to start and I wanted to check in on you.”

  He nodded. Having her near calmed him. If only they’d let her help him, have it be like it was in the kitchen at his family’s home.

  “You sure? You look a little...pale.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You’re gonna do great. It’s just cookies. And for charity. No lives are at stake here or anything.”

  “Right.” He looked down at her, wanting to say more. Wanting her hand to remain on his arm, but it fell to her side again.

  “Go ahead. It’s time. You got this.” She encouraged him forward with a hand on his back. As he made his way to the area where the other bachelors were standing, she added, “Don’t forget your apron.”

  Visions of his dream came to mind, but floated away with the sound of her laughter. He couldn’t resist laughing himself. She was right. This was for fun. For charity. Hell, he’d done plenty of charity events. He could do this. He peptalked himself through the introductions and when it was time to start, he focused on the recipe, taking things one step at a time like Noelle had taught him.

  Thinking of her, of their time together, made his anxiety fade. It had been fun baking with her. Talking. He found himself a bit sad to admit he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fun. Sure, he had friends in New York. People to go to dinner with, go to the theater with. But he missed the times with friends. True friends. Sitting around with people who really knew you and wanted nothing from you, throwing back a beer and talking sports or whatever the hell came to mind. He’d done some of that in college, but not much since.

  Noelle stood in the crowd talking with her friend Franchesca, the one he’d met at the dance studio when Annalise basically suckered them into the whole mess. A mess he still hadn’t forgiven his father for getting him involved in, but one that allowed him time with Noelle, something he was more and more grateful for each day.

  Noelle wore a long tan sweater that hit mid-thigh, her legs encased in tight black pants. Tall black boots completed the ensemble. The loose ponytail her hair was pulled into bobbed as she nodded at whatever Franchesca was saying. They were deep in conversation, but Noelle kept one eye on him the whole time, giving him a thumbs-up and a big smile to encourage him. It was distracting him more than anything, but he wasn’t about to admit that or have her stop. Having her attention, having her near, was becoming his new favorite pastime.

  Mike and Annalise were talking to Jeff and Holly in another part of the cafeteria. His father leaned against a side wall in deep conversation with a friend Wes recognized from the Crawford County Group. Mike had held in his teasing for the most part, aware of how nervous Wes was that morning, but he was sure to pick things up again as the day wore on. That was fine. Wes had a good deal of mocking to throw Mike’s way if his father kept up the “getting more involved in the community” kick he was on. Wes had a feeling he wouldn’t be the only St. Claire thrown to the wolves.

  The smell of smoke drew him from his thoughts. One bachelor had turned an oven on too high. His cookies were burning. Wes shook his head and focused on his. The last thing he wanted was to set the sprinklers off in the cafeteria. The entire situation was nerve-racking enough. He didn’t want to burn down the high school as well.

  As he rolled dough into balls then through cinnamon and sugar, he laughed to himself. What a difference a few weeks in his life had made. He for damn sure didn’t see himself baking cookies in a high school kitchen. Ever. And wearing an apron to boot. Although, the apron was growing on him; he’d admit that to himself but no one else.

  After leaving Wes to his task, Noelle had moved around the room saying hello to people. She stopped to chat with Lacey Hathaway, a local documentary filmmaker who managed the local radio station, and who’d recently interviewed Noelle about her dance studio.

  She now stood listening to Franchesca. She was listening. Okay, well, trying to at least. Wes looked so handsome in a dark gray button-down with a black belt and jeans. Talking or texting since they’d baked together at his house, she’d encouraged him to wear something comfortable, not too dressy. The cafeteria kitchen wasn’t enormous; it was hardly the size of his family’s home kitchen, and it would get toasty in a hurry, especially with him being so nervous.

  When she’d arrived at the Bake-Off and found him standing alone, staring at where things were set up for each bachelor, she could see and almost feel the level of his anxiety. It was much higher than she’d imagined it would be. Of course, being Wes St. Claire, he didn’t have sweat on his brow or rumpled clothing. No. He was put together once again as if dressed by GQ magazine, his fear clear only to the ones who knew him well. Franchesca even commented on how cool and collected he was, unable to see the terror hiding right below the surface of the confident air about him.

  “Are you hearing a word I’m saying?”

  Noelle had been watching Wes roll the dough in cinnamon and sugar. So far, he’d done everything perfectly. “Huh? What?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought. You’re too distracted by that hot bachelor boy of yours.”

  That snapped Noelle’s attention away from Wes and toward her friend. “Okay. He is not MY bachelor boy, thank you very much. And I was listening to you. We are doing the performance with the kids the day before the second Bake-Off, right?”

  “Right. I think that way the people all excited about the Bake-Off will be in the mood to buy tickets and see the kids perform as well. Wrap it up into the atmosphere of helping out Harry’s House.”

  “That sounds great. But that’s a week away. We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Tell me about it. But my kids have been practicing for a month or so and yours close to the same. I think we can pull it off. I’ve got the theater blocked off for that day and three days ahead so we can do dress rehearsals. I’ve got parents of my students already working on costumes and we can use a lot of the backdrop that already exists at the theater. We can do it.”

  Noelle agreed. Her kids had been working in class on pieces they could do in the performance, but she’d also taught them what she intended to teach them in her regular lessons as well, whether that learning was used outside the classroom or not. But a lot went into planning that kind of event. Franchesca had already done a lot in preparation. They had only to finalize the date, which Franchesca had done. However, there was still much to be done.

  “What can you pull off?” Holly walked up and asked. She’d been talking with Jeff and Mike, Noelle saw when she’d come into the cafeteria.

  “We’re going to put on a play that I wrote,” Franchesca said. “And Noelle’s kids are going to perform in it as well. It will be an event to promote the arts in Marietta as well as raise funds for Harry’s House.”

&nbs
p; “Fun! Count me in. I can help you guys. And I’ll put together something to hand out in town, flyers and such.”

  Noelle smiled at her sister, grateful for her help. “So, are you bidding on any of these hot bachelors’ baked goods?” She looked at the men now in the final stages of baking, some faring much better than others. Noelle was glad Wes looked as if all had gone smoothly for him.

  “That poor guy’s cookies are fried. I’m guessing he’s going home without anyone bidding on his goods,” Franchesca said.

  Noelle knocked her friend with her elbow. “You are so bad.”

  “What? I call it like I see it.”

  Mike walked up to Noelle and placed a friendly kiss on her cheek. “Hey, beautiful. How’s our boy doing?”

  As Noelle anticipated, Franchesca’s chin dropped at the sight of Mike St. Claire. Holly’s would have as well, but she’d done her chin-dropping time already having seen Mike at Grey’s and meeting him officially while out one evening with Jeff. Jeff placed his arm around Holly as he joined the group as well.

  Noelle introduced them. “Franchesca, this is Mike St. Claire, Wes’s brother. And his friend Jeff.”

  The men shook hands with Franchesca who had composed herself in a hurry to flash them both her best smile. “Nice to meet you both.”

  “Where’s Annalise?” Noelle asked.

  “She’s with my dad.” Mike pointed to the other side of the cafeteria where his daughter held her grandfather’s hand and twirled beneath it. A bright pink tutu was wrapped around her waist over purple jeans and she wore a matching top.

  “I can’t get her to wear much else,” Mike said. His attempt at sounding irritated fell flat as he smiled at his daughter.

  “She looks great,” Noelle reassured him.

  “I think those colors go well together. I might have to find that outfit for myself,” Franchesca said.

  Mike laughed out loud. The deep vibrato of the sound was not lost on Franchesca, Noelle could see.

  “I appreciate the support. She absolutely loves your class, Noelle. It’s like pulling teeth to get her to go to school, but if I had a dime for every time she asked if it was time for dance class yet, I’d be a wealthy man.”