“Sorry, Jan.”
Sorry, Jan. It was the same words he’d tossed over his shoulder at her when he’d run out the door with Marisol leaving Jan to face their family and friends.
“No worries,” said Jan. “You saved the pie. If that’s all, I’ll be on my way—”
“You’re not leaving,” said Marisol. It was a question, but it sounded more to Jan like a threat.
“You can’t miss my parents fiftieth anniversary,” said Chris.
And that’s how Jan found herself sandwiched in between her ex-fiancé and his wife heading into an anniversary party to the people who would’ve been her in-laws. Where was the ground when you needed it to swallow you whole?
Jan was only there to deliver the pie that Chris had ordered. She was obligated since she and Chris still shared ownership of the pie shop. She’d only wanted to drop the dessert off. She hadn’t truly wanted to be seen, definitely not invited inside. The dress, shoes, and hair were only precautionary in case she was seen. But her armor had been dented, or rather, dirtied.
Jan had planned to go into the back of the house, into the kitchens. Not the front door. Not where everyone would see her.
She tried to backpedal, but that was twice as hard in heels. She teetered on the stem of her shoe, but Chris and Marisol propelled her forward through the screen door. All conversation stopped when she crossed the threshold.
Wine glasses paused on the way to mouths. Forks hesitated in lifting potato salad. Butter knives ceased their carving of bread.
Most mouths gaped. A few lips quirked. All eyes were on her.
It was like standing at the end of the aisle again while the groom walked away with another woman. Chris and Marisol walked into the party presenting Jan’s pie. Jan hung back, inches from the door. Before she could make her escape, her arm was grabbed.
“Jan, what a nice surprise.” Chris’s mom enveloped her in a warm mom hug. Then she pulled back, and Jan braced herself for it. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”
“I’m great.” Jan may have put a little too much emphasis on the great. Her lips may have stretched too wide in their attempt at a healthy and adjusted smile.
“Good.” Mrs. Hayes patted her hand as she squinted at Jan. The older woman dabbed at the smudge on Jan’s cheek like she would’ve done were Jan still in grade school. “That’s so good to hear. I worry about you, you know?”
A tick began in Jan’s right eye as she tried to extract herself from her former, future mother-in-law. Mrs. Hayes’s grip loosened. She turned away from Jan. All it would take would be one step back, a flick of her wrist, and she’d be out the door.
“Look, darling,” said Mrs. Hayes. “It’s Jan.”
“Oh, Jan.” Mr. Hayes swooped Jan up in a big bear hug.
The Hayeses were huggers. Something she had enjoyed as their future daughter-in-law. Something she cringed at now that she was the ex. The ex-neighbor. The ex-fiancée. The woman with the scarlet X on her dress.
No. Scratch that. The muddy X.
Mr. Hayes pulled away. Once again, Jan braced herself for it. “How are you, dear?”
“I’m ...” She’d already used great. What was another adjective to say that a woman wasn’t pining over her ex, which Jan wasn’t. Dating was the furthest thing from her mind. What was on her mind was tomorrow’s menu. “I’m doing just fine, Mr. Hayes.”
“Excellent to hear. I worry about you. I’m glad you’re doing fine.”
He said fine like it was code for something else.
“Your parents are just over here.”
Of course, they were. Mr. Hayes steered Jan farther into the room. People looked away as she passed, but she could feel their eyes on her back. Her ears didn’t have to strain hard to hear the whispers.
That’s her.
Poor girl.
So desperate.
Jan was desperate. She was desperate to get out of here, to return to her shop where she was the mistress of her domain. Where she could pair things that at first glance shouldn’t belong together, but under her expert hand, they blended into the perfect flavors.
“Jan? Bill, what is she doing here?” her mother asked her father.
“I don’t know, Carol,” said her father. “Let me ask the girl. Jan, is something wrong?”
Her left eye joined the twitch fest as she stood before her parents. “No, Mom, Dad. I’m fine.”
Mr. Hayes deposited Jan in front of her parents and turned back to his other guests. Jan stood before her parents. Each wore twin expressions of worry as they looked down at her. The Peppers were not huggers.
“How’s business?” her dad asked.
“It’s going well.” Jan placed her muddied knee behind her clean one and rubbed, hoping to get the spot out. Belatedly, she was sure she now had a smudge on the back of her left knee.
“Chris showed me the books,” said her dad. “You two have a good steady income. That’s the way to do it. Slow and steady. You’ll have a nice little nest egg when you’re ready to start a family.”
“I’m so glad she and Chris decided to work things out,” said her mother. “He’s such a good boy.”
Both her parents looked over Jan’s shoulder at Chris who was in a corner with his wife gazing into each other’s eyes. Jan’s parents had adored Chris, thought he literally hung the moon. They were devastated when Chris walked away with another woman. But somehow managed to keep their seats when Chris returned to the church, just an hour after ditching their daughter, to marry his current wife.
On their dime.
“I gotta get back to work,” Jan said, turning to head toward the back door of the Hayes’s house.
She walked past downcast eyes, curious gazes, and a bit of finger pointing. She didn’t bother to hold her head high. At her rate, she was likely to bump her crown on the chandelier.
She was nearly home free, being free of this particular home when someone else grabbed at her elbow.
“Jan,” said Chris. “Let me walk you out. I wanted to talk to you about the business.”
Jan held her sigh in as they walked to the back door. She and Chris had purchased the pie shop together. After his wedding, he’d agreed to be a silent partner. Yet here he was yapping away.
“I’ve been looking at the books,” said Chris. “We’re doing really well with shepherd’s pie and apple pies and the mainstays. But you’re spending too much on exotic spices. It’s eating into our profits. Do you really need saffron?”
Yes, she needed saffron. She needed it for her lemon buttermilk pies. It was an essential ingredient. “Chris, I thought we agreed that I’ll handle the menus, and you’ll handle the books.”
“True, but the books are telling me that we’re wasting money on some things that are on the menu. You’re a great chef, but sometimes you go a little out there with some of your pies. Like for United Nations Day. Who even celebrates that?”
For United Nations Day last month, Jan had made an assortment of national pies from around the world. There were one hundred and ninety-three countries in the UN, and many observed UN Day. Just not many Americans. So many of the pies hadn’t made it out the fridge.
“We lost a lot of money that week because of those exotic pies,” Chris continued. “I want us to succeed. The more profit you make, the sooner you’ll be able to buy me out. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
It absolutely was. Then she could buy whatever kind of spices she wanted. Then she could make more fusion dishes and answer to no one about the cost of saffron or what she decided to put on her menu.
“I just want you to be happy, Jan.”
Sure he did. Jan turned from her ex and headed back to her car. Once inside, she got a look at herself in the rear mirror and cringed. She’d been in front of all of them; Chris, his perfect wife, their parents, her old friends, all with a smudge of dirt on her face and mud on her skirt. Perfect.
She’d lied about getting back to work. She’d started closing up the shop early on Sunda
ys to save a bit on money. The sun was setting by the time she got back to her little slice of the world. She’d moved into the apartment over the shop after the wedding that had excluded her. She hadn’t wanted to be around any of the people from her past. She wanted to fixate solely on the future.
The problem was, the shop was having financial problems. She couldn’t keep buying saffron to use in pies that no one but a few wanted to buy. At this rate, she’d be reduced to making pot pies in a food truck if she couldn’t turn things around.
Jan pulled up behind the shop and put the car in park. She was ready to call it a day, but she wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. Slamming the car door behind her, she fiddled with the keyring for the key to the shop’s door. But once the jangling of the keys stopped, she heard movement in the gravel surrounding the back of the shop.
She had no weapon. What she did have was a kitchen full of blunt objects and sharp points. Jan turned the key in the lock. She reached inside the door and grabbed the first thing she could make out. A rolling pin.
She raised the pin. With all her might, she crashed the wood down on the intruder, hearing a satisfying crack like an egg’s shell breaking. Her would-be assailant went down with a groan. Jan turned on the outside light and gasped.
“Alex?”
Chapter Five
Pain radiated from the crown of Alex’s head. It was much like the pressure and pinch from wearing the crown jewels on his head. But, surprisingly, not worse.
Wearing the crown put pressure on his entire head. That particular misery went down his back as the type of ache that made legs restless. It weighed his arms causing him to want to free himself of the extra load and fly free. The crown had the added effect of blinding anyone in sight of it rendering them speechless. Or if they could speak, they’d blubber and stutter and spew abject nonsense to remain in its glaring light.
“Alex, are you crazy? What are you doing here?”
Alex blinked up at the blonde assailant that hovered over him. Jan smelled of warm bread and honey. Her hair was pulled back into its haphazard bun which she kept it in while she was cooking. But he noted a few artful braids and twists she’d never done before. There was a smudge at her cheek, but it was dark brown instead of the white of flour.
His gaze traveled farther down and noted the bodice of the dress she wore. It lifted her breasts and cinched her waist. Alex had only ever seen the pie maker in jeans and a T-shirt covered by an apron. He had no idea that beneath that fabric was a sweet, bountiful treat that would make a man’s mouth water.
“What am I doing here?” He wet his lips. “Late night pie craving.”
“That’s not funny.” Jan held up her weapon. “I could’ve seriously hurt you.”
Alex winced at the sight of the rolling pin which had felled him. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you did.”
“Probably gave you back a few brain cells.”
She bent down and made a come hither motion with her hands. Her chest was right level with his gaze. That luscious bounty was only an inch from his mouth. Alex’s stomach grumbled as though she’d presented him with a perfectly cooked, perfectly seasoned steak.
When her deft fingers ran through his hair, he yelped.
She frowned at him like a mother would a child with an owie. She made the come hither motion again. He knew now that he was meant to give her his head. The problem was he didn’t want to bow his head and give her the back of it where the injury was. He wanted to tilt his head up and give her …
He shook himself. This was Jan. She was not some actress or model only interested in a photo opportunity. Since the day they’d met, Jan Peppers hadn’t been blinded by the glare of his royal status. She’d squinted at the bright light his title afforded him. But in suspicion, not in awe.
“Why aren’t you in your palace?” she said as she carefully ran her fingers over the bruise on his head. “Or on a paradise island sipping cocktails? Or lounging on a yacht eating canapés with sorority girls.”
Alex jerked his head up and out of her grasp. His frown was filled with indignation. “Really, Chef Peppers? Sorority girls would never eat canapés. They’d be too worried about their bikini lines.”
Jan crossed her arms and huffed at him. She was entirely immune to his charms. It was what he liked second best about her.
He saw a hint of a smile crack her serious expression. It had to be the canapés bikini joke. It was a rather good one, and only she would appreciate it.
She only ever smiled when he suggested they combine two spices together or mix herbs with edible flowers. Her eyes would light up when he showed her dishes he’d encountered from around the world. The few days they’d spent together a month ago, Alex had lived for those small glimpses into the real Jan. The Jan who was as fascinated and obsessed with foods as he was.
The other Jan, the business Jan, she kept herself closely guarded. Except when she was in the kitchen. Over mixing bowls and cutting boards, Alex saw the real Jan Peppers. And he liked her immensely.
“I swear you’re a menace,” Jan said as she straightened, but her bark held no bite. “That still doesn’t tell me what you’re doing here, sneaking up behind me.”
She stepped over him, and Alex realized she was wearing heels. He couldn’t look away from her long, lean legs. He’d never seen Jan in heels. Just sensible, flat shoes. He’d never seen her calves either. Those, too, were on display. Along with a spot of dirt at her knees.
That slight imperfection broke his trance and made him smile. Jan was a tornado in the kitchen. By the time the dish came out of the oven, she was a ragged mess. The first bite of food whether sweet and savory, or salt and honey, or sage and hibiscus hit the tongue, the chaos in her wake was well worth it.
Alex rose and joined Jan in the shop, closing the door behind him. But not before peering into the shadows outside and shutting the blinds. “I snuck in because I was avoiding paparazzi. They’re annoying in Cordoba. They’re a hazard here in the US.”
“So are single female bakers with a stock of dangerous utensils in their cupboards.” Jan put the rolling pin on the counter.
“Duly noted.” Alex rubbed at the back of his head. The lump was large enough that he’d notice it when he laid his head on his pillow tonight.
Jan’s features softened. “I may have caused some real damage.”
“It’s not the first time a woman has tried to knock some sense into me.”
“It’s obviously worked all those dozens of other times.”
Alex’s mouth fell open in indignation. “Dozens? It’s been hundreds, I’ll have you know.”
That elicited a laugh. Not a giggle. Jan Peppers did not giggle. She was far too serious. She did shove him in the shoulder. “Be serious. Let me have a look now that we’re in the light.”
Alex did. He took a seat on one of the bar stools and leaned his head forward. Jan ran her fingers through his hair again, and Alex closed his eyes.
The pain had subsided into a dull ache. With her fingers probing the sore spot a different pulse awakened inside him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of the throb. He was too busy concentrating on not looking down Jan’s top.
Alex wasn’t used to denying temptation. But he did allow his senses to open and take in her scent. He’d missed the scent of her, savory, spicy, and sweet all at the same time. Hopefully, he’d have Jan’s aromatic bouquet around him on a more regular basis. He just needed to figure out how to make the right pitch to get her to join his business venture.
Alex opened his eyes and gazed up at her. More tendrils of her hair had escaped the clips. Her intelligent blue eyes were fixated on his head. Her fingers brushed at the sensitized skin at the crown of his head.
He was determined to have this woman.
In his kitchen.
Nowhere else.
She was the only one who could complete his vision.
“There’s no blood,” she said, taking a step back from him. “But you’ll have a bump in the morning.�
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“Only one thing to do,” he said, missing the smell of her when she stepped back. “You know the old adage; feed a bump. Starve a bruise.”
Jan laughed again. It was a higher pitch, almost approaching a giggle. But not quite. “I’m pretty sure it’s feed a fever, starve a cold.”
“Starvation? That sounds like cruel and unusual punishment for the infirm.”
“Fine, I’ll feed you. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of an international incident over your big head.”
“My dear pie maker, so long as you put food in my belly, peace will reign through the ages.”
Chapter Six
“Ohhhhh, Jan,” Alex groaned, his eyes heavily lidded. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
Jan hoped the neighbors couldn’t hear the moans of pleasure coming out of Alex’s mouth. Or the sound of him pounding his fists on the kitchen counter in her small apartment over the pie shop. Or the tapping of his foot to a rhythm that punctuated each moan and pound.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Alex accented each exclamation with a jab of his fork.
He reached for the last piece of Tourte Milanese pie and slid it onto his plate. He was prepared for round three so soon after catching his breath from his second go. The man was an eating machine.
“Slow down there, tiger,” said Jan. “And keep it down.”
“Or what? I’ll ruin your reputation as the best pie maker in all the state.” He took another bite and moaned. “Make that states, plural. Woman, you have a gift.”
Jan couldn’t hide the pride at his words. She felt a warmth spread through her, both culinary and feminine, at the sounds of his compliments.
Alex downed the last piece of pie, pulling the fork tines slowly from his mouth. Jan had to avert her gaze. But the sight was emblazoned in her mind. She knew what those lips felt like against hers. Alex had kissed her once before.
The Prince and the Pie Maker Page 3
