by Nicola Marsh
Lashing out for a decade? Mighty long time to hold a grudge. Jane settled for a shrug. ‘Maybe, but the one time I tried to set things right she pretended nothing was wrong and ignored me for a month. In the end, I gave up.’
‘That’s tough. My mum’s been a godsend, helping me with the kids because Ed’s a useless arsehole.’ Louise gave a little shake of her head. ‘Anyway, tell me about the work you’re doing here.’
Grateful to her friend for changing the subject, Jane said, ‘I’m loving it. Over the last few days I’ve confirmed colour schemes, sourced materials and contacted suppliers for furniture. It’s going to be amazing.’
Mason had been pleased and signed off on her plans yesterday, giving her a sizeable budget to complete the redecoration. They’d agreed to meet here today to finalise preparations. She was relieved when he suggested they consult at the bakery, a perfectly safe environment where she couldn’t spring him practically naked. That towel fiasco had stayed with her, the image of all that bronzed, bare skin popping into her mind when she least expected it. Very distracting if not unwelcome. Tall, blond guys weren’t her type but there was something about Mason that rattled her on a level beyond the physical. And she knew what the attraction was: he expected the worst from her, but still had the capacity to tease her. He disarmed and terrified her, because she thought she could really like this guy given half a chance.
‘You practically glow when you talk about interior designing,’ Louise said. ‘I remember your folders being perfectly colour coordinated in high school, depending on the subject.’
‘Pity I spent more time decorating my folders than opening them to actually study.’
‘You and me both, babe.’
They laughed like they had many times in the past. At least Jane could appreciate this change in her life. Reconnecting with her bestie was the smartest thing she’d done in a long time.
Louise’s mobile buzzed and she glanced at the screen. Her face fell. ‘That’s the school. I dropped my three off this morning but looks like my eldest is wagging again. The school sends a text if they’re not there for roll call.’
‘Go,’ Jane said. ‘We’ll catch up another time.’
Louise stood and grabbed her bag. ‘Sorry about this.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Jane stood and hugged Louise, and for the first time since they’d started talking again, Louise hugged her back properly. ‘I know your life is way more hectic than mine, so text me when you’re free again, okay?’
‘Thanks, and I’ll make sure to drag Bec along too.’
As Jane watched Louise hurry out the door, she didn’t envy her friend the stress of dealing with three kids and an inept, cheating husband. But she had enjoyed catching up, however briefly, and valued the distraction. Because now she’d have too many hours to mull her upcoming meeting with Mason.
When Jane arrived home, she spied a box on her doorstep. She was expecting colour samples for the bakery walls and Tom from the local hardware shop had said he’d deliver some swatches to her today. However, when she got out of the car and strode up the path to her door, she noticed the package was wrapped in Betty’s Bakery’s distinctive paper. Intrigued, she lifted the box to her nose and inhaled, savouring the sugary vanilla aroma.
She took her mystery delivery into the kitchen and laid it on the table. The box weighed a tonne and when she tore off the paper she saw why: a large vanilla sponge topped with pale pink icing took pride of place in the centre of the box, the ornate turquoise lettering making her smile.
I DECORATE CAKES, YOU DECORATE ROOMS.
Mason. An unexpectedly sweet, corny gesture, but she couldn’t figure out why. They’d been nothing but professional with one another since she last saw him and this cake reeked of sentimentality. It reminded her of her dad, who’d regularly bestowed flowers and chocolates on Gladys, trying to show how much he cared.
And it had been a lie, all of it.
She swiped a finger through some of the frosting and popped it into her mouth. Creamy and smooth, with a hint of rosewater. Delicious. As tempted as she was to cut herself a giant piece and eat the lot, she had to finish the last of her presentation and head back to the bakery. She had a job to do and impressing Mason had become incredibly important. Not because she wanted to make up for her shoddy behaviour towards him in the past, but because, for the first time in forever, she valued what a man thought of her.
Not that she was under any illusions. She didn’t expect them to have a relationship beyond professional. And if she were foolish enough to succumb to his obvious charms, it would end like all the other ‘relationships’ she’d ever had: short-term gain, long-term pain. She was tired of flings. She deserved better.
After a solid ninety minutes of work, she slid her laptop into its case, gathered her portfolio and headed for the door, pausing briefly in front of the hall mirror to check her appearance. She hadn’t dyed her hair in months and darker strands wound through the blonde, giving the appearance of artfully applied highlights. She wore it in a ponytail most days but had blow dried it into a sleek, glossy curtain today—for professional reasons, of course. Yeah, she had to keep telling herself that and forget seeing him in that damn towel.
Today would get them back on track. Work focussed. Businesslike. Minimal flirting. She repeated that mantra for the ten minutes it took to reach the bakery, park her car and strut in like a woman on a mission. The vanilla and cinnamon aromas in the air always comforted her. But today, not even the familiarity of those sweet smells could quell her nerves as Betty caught sight of her from behind the counter and pointed at the shop next door.
Of course Mason would be waiting there for her, prompt and professional. She could handle that. What she couldn’t handle was imagining things that weren’t there, like the desire in his eyes when she’d asked if he still wanted her for the job and he’d replied ‘absolutely’. She’d pondered that response for days, mentally chastising herself for being foolish and reading too much into it. Heck, the guy had lived in France for five years, stood to reason he’d be a flirting expert. For the next hour or so, she would have to remind herself of that and not try to interpret every glance or comment.
She entered the empty shop with a giant red ‘sold’ sticker on the window and spotted Mason standing behind the counter. Jane could barely remember what this place had been used for—possibly a dry cleaners? It had been closed since her early teens. Had Mason harboured a dream of expanding his mum’s bakery since then? Driven to fulfil his potential while she’d been strutting around high school pretending she owned the world? It irritated, knowing so little about him. The one person she could ask, Betty, would get the wrong idea if Jane started delving into what made Mason tick.
‘I see you’ve come prepared,’ Mason said by way of greeting, gesturing at her portfolio and laptop.
‘I’m keen to get started.’ She placed her stuff on the counter and stood beside him. ‘Thanks for the cake, by the way.’
‘I was experimenting and Mum said you loved vanilla so I thought you might like to be a guinea pig.’ He grinned. ‘I tried to come up with a better message but “I decorate cakes, you decorate rooms” seemed fitting.’
‘Yeah, poetry isn’t your strong suit, so keep your day job.’
He laughed and leaned against the shelf behind the counter, making his biceps bulge nicely. ‘If you decorate as well as I bake, this place will be spectacular.’
‘Confident, much?’
‘I know when I’m good at things,’ he said, his gaze challenging her, daring her to imagine all sorts of scenarios where he’d be better than good.
Damn it. Time to get back on track.
‘Now that you’ve approved the budget, I’ll get onto the tradesmen who specialise in the fancy cornices we want. Some may be between jobs, others may be working, so I might have to outsource to Echuca and that may involve higher costs. Are you okay with that?’
‘Absolutely. I want this place up and running ASAP.’
Her heart skipped a beat. He wanted to get out of town sooner rather than later. Considering the cosmopolitan lifestyle he must lead in Paris, she didn’t blame him. She shouldn’t care but a small part of her did, the part that had developed a wee crush on the sexy pastry chef.
‘Any particular reason?’ She tried to sound blasé but, going by his knowing smirk, had failed miserably.
‘Go on, admit it. You’ll miss me when I leave.’
Her brain latched onto one word: when. Of course he was leaving.
‘You’ve done nothing but misjudge me since you’ve come back to town, so yeah, I’m going to miss that a whole lot.’ She rolled her eyes and he laughed.
‘Butting heads can be fun,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Nothing like a bit of strenuous discussion as foreplay.’
She stilled. He was thinking about sex? With her? As tempted as she was to clamber all over him, she knew sleeping with him before the job was done would be misconstrued. People in this town would say she’d slept her way to the decorating job. They’d say she’d reverted to type. And they’d make sure her mother heard about it. That’s the last thing Jane wanted, to give Gladys any ammunition to say, ‘I was right.’
So she ignored his innuendo when every cell in her body wanted to spar with him a little longer.
‘Want to see the final plans?’
He hesitated and she silently willed him not to push her; there was only so much willpower a girl had to hold out against his charms. When he gave a little shake of his head, as if telling himself to snap out of it, she breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Sure.’ He patted the counter in front of him so she slid the portfolio and laptop out and opened her presentation.
For the next fifteen minutes he scrutinised and questioned and argued a few points but she held her own and by the end they’d agreed on everything. This would be a good job for her and would go a long way to highlighting her skills. Her website needed a revamp so updating it with this job front and centre would be excellent promotion. Though what sold anything in this town was word of mouth and once happy patrons flocked to the new patisserie, she had little doubt her own interior design dreams would flourish. With a little luck, more people would trust her to decorate their places and she could start up a business. She was tired of not working. Donating anonymously to charities hadn’t won her any favour with the locals, and while she’d given money without expecting kudos, she now wanted to be recognised in this town rather than ridiculed.
After she wound down her presentation, Mason said, ‘Good job. Now that’s out of the way, I want to mention something to you, but I don’t want you thinking I’m prying, okay?’
‘Okay.’
He looked positively uncomfortable and she wondered what on earth he had to say.
‘While the deal went through the real estate agent, once I’d signed the papers I got a call from the owner.’
Jane’s heart sank. ‘My mother.’
He nodded. ‘She warned me against working with you.’
‘What did you say?’
‘That your work is flawless and I’m looking forward to seeing your talents showcased in the new patisserie.’
To her mortification, tears stung her eyes. She didn’t need anyone defending her, least of all some guy who probably thought gallantry was part of his assumed French persona, but the fact he had made her want to hug him all the same.
‘Thanks.’
‘That’s it?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘A little insight into why your mother has a vendetta against her only child might be nice.’
‘Why?’ She gestured at the empty space around them. ‘Her opinion has nothing to do with my work here, as you so kindly reiterated to her.’
An awkward silence stretched between them, before he finally said, ‘Because I can’t fathom why a mother would go to such lengths to badmouth her daughter.’
‘Betty is an amazing mum, sweet and non-judgemental. In fact, I’ve offloaded to her at the bakery more times than I can count and she’s been more supportive than Gladys. So you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to grow up with a mother who doesn’t care about anybody but herself, who only values appearances, who thrives on the adulation of those around her and if she doesn’t get it … let’s just say it’s not pretty.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, taking a few steps towards her to bridge the distance between them. ‘It’s none of my business, but I didn’t want her sabotaging your work here.’
‘Because it’s all about the patisserie, right?’ she snapped, immediately embarrassed, because he didn’t deserve her bitter retort.
‘You’re wrong,’ he said, reaching up to cup her face with his hand.
Her breath hitched as his thumb swept along her jaw, then her cheek, before coming to rest at the corner of her mouth.
‘This is about you,’ he whispered, a moment before his mouth covered hers in a searing kiss that scorched any lingering sadness and made her reach for him, clinging onto his polo shirt for purchase so she didn’t slither to the floor in a swooning heap. She may have fantasised about the way he’d kiss after seeing him in that towel but her imagination didn’t do justice to the reality.
He kissed like a dream. Strong and commanding, sensual yet tender. Alternating the pressure, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, challenging her to meet him halfway. And she did. For a blissful few moments she gave herself over to the pleasure of having a guy she lusted after fancy her right back.
But this was wrong. She couldn’t fall into old habits. She wouldn’t. Rebuilding her self-esteem depended on it.
So she broke the kiss with reluctance, opening her eyes to find him staring at her with a startling mix of desire and pity.
That’s when it hit her.
He hadn’t kissed her out of any grand passion—he’d felt sorry for her.
And the realisation made her knees wobble more than his damned kiss.
‘I need to go,’ she said, gathering up her things. ‘I’ll be in touch about the contractors.’
He tried to grab her arm. ‘Jane, wait—’
‘No.’ She spun out of his grip and strode to the door, determined not to cry in front of him. ‘We’ve got work to do, so let’s forget that damn pity kiss and move on.’
He stared at her, open-mouthed, before she barged out and slammed the door.
CHAPTER
29
‘I’m really glad you girls talked me into a bridal shower.’ Alisha held up a champagne flute filled to the brim. ‘Here’s to me being pampered like a maharani.’
‘To you,’ Tash and Ruby echoed, clinking glasses with the bride to be. ‘Though technically this isn’t a shower, with only three of us,’ Tash added.
Alisha waved away her concern. ‘I don’t want a bunch of hangers-on who don’t really know me celebrating my upcoming nuptials. It’s better with just us.’
‘I agree.’ Ruby tipped half the champagne down her throat in one go. ‘Though I can’t believe you wouldn’t let us organise a stripper, especially after Brenda couldn’t make it because she’s unwell.’
‘And a penis cake,’ Tash said, tut-tutting. ‘What’s a bridal shower without some crass weenie paraphernalia?’
Ruby laughed and Alisha rolled her eyes. ‘I’m getting married at forty-three. That corny stuff’s for innocent young things with hearts in their eyes, blinded by unrealistic expectations and dreams of happily ever after.’
‘Cynical, much?’ Tash slugged Alisha on the arm, spilling her champagne in the process. ‘We see the way you look at Harry and there are definitely hearts in your eyes.’
‘Maybe.’ Alisha’s goofy grin belied her tough words. ‘Doesn’t mean I want to see any fake dicks.’
The three of them laughed until tears streamed from their eyes. Tash needed this, some bonding time with her friends, far from rock gods and the memory of a kiss she couldn’t forget no matter how hard she tried.
Ruby held her
stomach. ‘I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.’
‘Same here,’ Tash said, reaching for the salt and vinegar chips to pass around. ‘Are you sure this is enough, Lish? Don’t you want to go out dancing or something?’
Alisha shook her head. ‘Having a spa day, relaxing with my best buds, is perfect.’ She raised her glass in another toast. ‘To a bridal shower filled with laughter, champagne and gossip.’
Ruby clinked her glass. ‘And to a phallic-free zone.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Tash said, clinking her glass with the others before downing her champagne in a few gulps.
When she reached for the bottle to top up, Alisha covered her glass with her hand. ‘Hey, slow down, missy. I want you conscious for our rom-com marathon.’
‘I’m fine,’ Tash said, accentuating her false declaration with an ill-timed hiccup.
Ruby giggled as Alisha pinned her with an astute stare. ‘What’s going on? You rarely drink and certainly not that fast.’
‘Can’t a girl enjoy her bestie’s bridal shower without getting the third degree?’ To her chagrin, however, she blushed and her friends pounced.
‘Ooooh, what’s going on?’ Ruby asked at the same time as Alisha said, ‘Something’s up with you.’
Knowing they wouldn’t let up, Tash gave a small nod. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you, if I can top up my glass.’
‘Done.’ Alisha removed her hand and Tash filled her glass to the brim. She’d have a mighty headache tomorrow but how long had it been since she’d done this, let loose with friends, secure in the knowledge that Isla was with someone who loved her as much as she did? Though she couldn’t think about that, because the speed with which Kody had bonded with their daughter terrified her, especially when he seemed determined to sort out their custody arrangement sooner rather than later.
She wanted him to recover from his accident, and to heal from the trauma of witnessing those deaths in Wellington, but she knew every day that passed brought her a step closer to losing Isla. Not permanently, but the thought of rattling around her house on her own whenever Isla spent time away with Kody made her stomach clench with dread. Stupid, because she’d known it would come to this when Kody first arrived next door. That didn’t make it any easier to accept.
