Baked with Love

by Peggy Jaeger

  His gaze took a slow stroll down to my mouth and lingered. Enough so those butterflies finally made a break for freedom. Without any will to prevent it, my mouth fell open and I dragged in about a quart of air, my shoulders lifting, then dropping with the effort. I lost the grip on the mug and when it slipped out of my hand, Lucas let go of my arms as we both reached for it at the same time.

  My reflexes are quick. Lucas’s are like lightning.

  Both our hands went around the cup at the same time, but in moving for it, Lucas had to bend from his substantial height. When he did, our heads connected and a resounding thwack echoed around us.

  “Ow.” I let the mug go free into his hand and palmed the spot of contact on my forehead. “Your skull’s made of cement.”

  Lucas placed the mug on the counter, then tugged my hand off my head.

  I swatted him away. It was like slicing air because it had no effect on halting him from touching me.

  “Let me see. Stop squirming.” He cupped my chin to hold me in place.

  In all honesty, I’d gone statue-still again the moment his hand curled around my jaw. I knew Lucas’s fingers were strong, an effect of being a life-long shooter. Thick-skinned, coarse, and powerful, his grip was surprising gentle though, as he held my face in one hand and pressed against the throbbing notch on my forehead with the other.

  “You’re gonna have a goose egg.”

  “And whose fault is that?” I mumbled.

  “Better get some ice on it, fast.”

  This time when I glanced up at him, he was attempting—and failing—to hide a grin.

  Through narrowed eyes, I said, “Thanks for the advice. Mind letting go of me so I can?”

  Lucas glanced at the hand wrapped around my chin, frowned, then drew his attention back up to meet my eyes.

  Calling them green hadn’t done them a bit of justice. There are so many variations of the simple color, and none of them applied to Lucas.

  They weren’t the bright green of a shamrock or the metallic sheen of jade. Neither were they pale like sage nor brilliant like winking emeralds. The purest and most accurate way to describe them was they mimicked the color of fresh moss at midnight: deep and dark with shards of yellow in the mix reflected in moonlight. Long lashed with a tiny tilt at the corners and subtle lines fanning out to his temples, Lucas’s eyes had always been captivating to me. Right now, with his hand holding my chin, and his body so close I could detect the brand of soap he’d used in the shower, they were mesmerizing.

  The air between us changed in a finger snap. Energized. Ignited.

  Something in Lucas changed, as well. His shoulders were drawn up almost to his ears, and his breathing went a little deeper, a little louder as we stood there. The groove between his eyebrows folded inward even more than it usually did. When his tongue flicked out and crossed over his bottom lip like mine had a few moments ago, I bit down on the need to press my own mouth to his.

  I may have moaned.

  The swift inhale Lucas took convinced me he’d heard the sound and recognized it for the naked desire it was. The hand at my chin tensed and drew me in closer. So close, I could count every hair of the afternoon stubble shading his etched cheeks and strong jaw.

  An insane urge to run my tongue along the length of that shadow hopscotched through me. I might have succumbed to the impulse if Robert’s voice hadn’t spilt into the room.

  “Dad?”

  We both blinked at the sound.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Maureen dropped a cup,” Lucas told him after a moment, his attention never wavering from me. His voice was thick and low. “We bumped heads when we went to get it. Grab some ice from the freezer, would ya, son?”

  “There’s a cold pack in there,” I said, stepping back when Lucas finally freed his hold on me.

  He stood, immobile and silent, in front of me while his son set about his task.

  I’d give anything to know what he was thinking, but his expression had gone back to its usual relaxed one. His body, though, remained stiff and tense.

  Robert handed me the cold pack and said, “Here.” When he glanced at my forehead, he added, “Ouch. Dad, you hurt her.”

  “It’s nothing,” I said, wrapping the pack in the dishtowel I still held in one hand. I placed it against the throbbing ache I now felt on my head and winced. “Okay, ouch is right. But it was an accident, Bobby-Boy.”

  I wanted to alleviate the troubled expression on his face, so I added, lifting my lips in what I hoped was a comical smirk, “Your father’s got a head like a rock. No surprise, there.”

  My quip hit its intended mark as both of the men in my kitchen grinned. Lucas’s shoulders finally relaxed, and the ghost of a sigh slid from him.

  They left shortly thereafter with Lucas promising to have his son to work on time in the morning.

  Chapter 3

  “Do you think I could learn to do that?” Robert asked with a chin thrust to the layered cake I was putting the final touches on for the weekend’s wedding.

  He’d made it to Friday without any mishaps, problems, or one single complaint. I don’t know who was more impressed: his father, me, or Robert himself. He’d been upbeat every day when Lucas dropped him off, worked at whatever job I assigned him, which was mostly bussing tables from breakfast, serving and then bussing at lunch, and cleaning and sweeping up after both meals, and not much more. The days had gone swiftly by, and before I could take a few minutes to give him some cooking instructions, his father showed back up to bring him home.

  The awkward moment in the kitchen wasn’t mentioned by either Lucas or me, although I would have given anything to know what he’d been thinking that day.

  “Of course you can.” I piped the final flourish on the third and top tier and said, “Help me get this into the walk-in fridge. I’ve got some free time until I need to start cooking for the rehearsal dinner, so I can show you a few things.”

  “Cool.”

  Back in my kitchen, I pulled out a tray of cupcakes I’d made the night before when I couldn’t sleep. Baking always helped me wind down, and somewhere after the third batch was cooling on a wire rack, I’d been able to put my head back down on the pillow and catch a few hours of rest.

  My piping bags were still full, so I figured we could use them.

  “I need you to do something for me, first, though,” I told him while he washed his hands.

  “ ’Kay.”

  “Since this kitchen is used for commercial food prep, there’s a laundry list of rules I need to abide by from the state to keep my license to serve valid. One of them concerns hair.”

  Robert cocked his head at me, swishing his fringe out of the way when he did.

  “You probably noticed Sarah, all the girls who work here, and I keep our hair pulled back in ponytails, or if it’s short, like Jill’s, back from their faces with a headband.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  I reached into one of my counter drawers and pulled out a hairnet and an elastic band. I showed them to him and said, “You’ve got three options, one of which we can’t deal with today. You’ll either need to cut your hair short enough so it doesn’t keep falling in your face, wear a hairnet over it when we’re dealing with food, or pull it up in a bun. Up to you, but the easiest option is to cut it.”

  He stared at me for a few beats. In all truth, from the way his mouth fell open and then slammed shut, to the way he started blinking like he was delivering some kind of Morse code, I figured he was going to tell me to forget the whole thing. Teenaged boys are as vain about their hair as girls are. I knew he wasn’t about to cut it, the thought of wearing a hairnet to keep it contained probably made him nauseous, and let’s be honest, not every guy can rock a man-bun.

  It was hard to hide my surprise when he tilted his head, then said, “Okay. I’ll get Dad to take me to get it cut. For now”—he reached out a hand and took the elastic band I held—“I’ll pull it all back. Okay?”

  “Fine.”
I turned away so he couldn’t see how he’d shocked me.

  I washed my hands as he’d done and then pulled out a baking sheet and put a piece of parchment paper on it.

  Handing him one of the bags, I said, “I’ll teach you some simple basics first, on this. When you feel comfortable with the maneuvers, you can try them on a cupcake.”

  “Don’t you need those for an event or something?”

  I grinned at him. “Nope. These are totally for my own pleasure.”

  His eyes widened when they drifted over the three dozen I’d pulled from the fridge.

  For the next hour, I taught him the basics: how to hold the pastry bag and the right amount of pressure to exert to get the piping perfect. He graduated from straight lines to curlicues in less than ten minutes.

  “This is cool,” he said at one point when he was practicing making stars. “But it’s nowhere as easy as you make it look.”

  “She makes everything look easy,” Lucas said from the doorway before I could respond.

  He was leaning against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder settled against the woodwork.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I asked.

  “Long enough for my mouth to water.”

  I had the wild hope he meant it as a compliment to me and not my cupcakes.

  “Please tell me this is one of those times the kid gets to bring home something to work on?” he asked, coming next to us. “And by work on, I mean eat.”

  I couldn’t have pulled back the laugh if I’d tried. Like a five-year-old standing in front of a sweets counter who’d just been told he could have one piece of everything in the candy store, his face broke out into huge, expectant grin.

  “God, Dad. Lame, much?”

  Lucas faced his son. His facial muscles went slack, and he tilted his head a bit to the side. “Is that a—” He circled a hand in the air. “—whatchamacallit? Ponytail?”

  Robert’s cheeks went ruby red in a heartbeat. He dropped his chin to his chest, and his shoulders folded in on themselves. I’m fairly astute at reading body language, a left-over side effect of being the quiet, observant one living with a gregarious, headstrong twin. Right now, I’d have bet a million dollars Robert was trying to make himself smaller, maybe even invisible, by the way he was folding in on himself.

  Lucas hadn’t meant to sound so judgmental, but unfortunately that’s how his teenage son had taken his words and the tone slicing through them.

  “The technical term is man-bun, and I think Robert’s rocking it,” I said in a voice which left no doubt of it. The boy’s head shot back up to face me, his father doing the same. “Not many guys can pull their longish hair back like he has”—I pointed to Robert—“and still manage to look masculine.”

  I explained the need for Robert’s hair to be contained while in my kitchen doing food prep work. “Since he couldn’t get a haircut before we started, it was the best option. He knows if he wants to keep working in the kitchen, though, he’s either gonna have to get it cut or wear it tied back like this every day.”

  “You wanna get it cut?” Lucas asked his son, who told him he did.

  “We’ll go right now.”

  I put the cupcakes Robert had been practicing on in a sample box.

  “Please tell me we’re taking those home,” Lucas said.

  The sound of his stomach rumbling pulled a laugh from his son and a frown from me.

  “Did you have lunch?”

  “Nope. Got called to a traffic accident out on Glory Road. I just finished up about ten minutes ago and figured it was easier to pick Robert up now. I’ll grab something while he’s at the barber’s.”

  “Sit down.” I pointed to a chair. “Robert, you go get washed up. We can continue with this next week.”

  “You don’t have to make anything, Maureen,” Lucas said after his son left the room. “I can scarf down a couple of the cupcakes on the way home.”

  Before I could say I had plenty of food left over from lunch, Sarah came in to the kitchen, escorting a visitor.

  “Mr. Boyd is here to see you, Maureen.”

  Crap. I’d forgotten I’d scheduled a meeting today.

  Donovan Boyd stuck out his hand. When I slipped my own into it, his cornflower blue eyes widened and his broad smile beamed.

  “Well, it’s lovely to finally put a face to a voice.” Ireland wrapped around his words, and it was impossible not to smile back at him. His lilting tone mimicked my grandmother’s.

  “Mr. Boyd, thank you so much for coming out here today. It’s difficult for me to get away during the workday for meetings. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. I like gettin’ outta the office when I can. And call me Van, darlin’. Mr. Boyd’s me father.”

  I laughed. “And I’m Maureen.”

  “Maureen O’Dowd.” He shook his head, his handsome smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve a name and beautiful face telling me there’s Irish blood running in your veins. Are ya sure you’re not a transplant, like me?”

  “Sorry. Born and bred right here in Heaven.”

  “Ah, well.”

  I glanced down to discover he still held my hand.

  When a not-too-subtle throat clearing sprang from next to me, I pulled my hand back and turned. Lucas’s face was filled with curiosity. Eyes pulled a little tighter in the corners, chin dropped a notch, head tilted a few degrees to one side. It was an expression I’d seen him toss my grandmother any number of times when he’d arrested her for some bit of public malfeasance.

  “Lucas,” I said, “This is Donovan Boyd. He’s an architect with Ascension Architects. Van, Heaven’s police chief, Lucas Alexander.”

  “Nice to meetcha, Chief.” Boyd extended his hand to Lucas, his open smile still in place.

  It took him a moment, but Lucas shook it. He didn’t return the smile. “I’d heard Kevin Anderson had someone new working for him.”

  “Aye, that’d be me. Arrived about a month ago. They’re keepin’ me busy, for sure.”

  Lucas nodded slowly, another sign he was evaluating the man in front of him.

  To be honest, Donovan Boyd was a bit of a surprise. I don’t know why, but when we’d spoken on the phone to set up the appointment, I’d gotten the impression he was older, maybe forties, or even early fifties. I was wrong. He was a few years older than me, but not by much. Tall and lean, he had wide shoulders that filled out the sports jacket he wore nicely. Those clear eyes occupied a pale, angular face, sharp with high cheekbones I was a little jealous of. A thick thatch of midnight hair sprinkled with thin threads of gray at the temples was a stark contrast to the light blue in his eyes.

  Nanny’s voice shot into my head. He’s Black Irish, Number Four. A striking combination and easy on the eyes, to be sure.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  “You all settled in, then?” Lucas asked.

  “Aye. Got a little place over on Rapture Road.” He chuckled. “Funny name for a street, eh? I keep expectin’ to see angels come ’round every corner.”

  “All the streets have some kind of biblical tag.” I grinned. “The town charter dictates it. All the businesses, too, have to abide by the rule. Hence”—I lifted a hand and swiped it around the room—“Inn Heaven and Ascension Architects.”

  “It’s charmin’ and quaint, to be sure.”

  “I’m curious,” Lucas said, interrupting us. “What brought you to our town? Ireland’s a ways from here. You have family in the area?”

  “Unfortunately, no. It’s just me.” His gaze slid back to me for a second. “For now.”

  Both men continued to stare at one another. I got the feeling there was some kind of hidden male telepathy-agenda going on between them, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Men were such a mystery. Growing up in an estrogen cloud with three sisters, Nanny, and my mother, I’d never learned the ins and outs of the male mind. My father tended to shut himself up in his o
ffice more times than not to avoid all the female drama occupying the daily lives of his girls.

  The looks passing between these two were…interesting, to say the least.

  “Kevin’s an old friend of my former employer,” Van told him. “They went to college together. When the position opened up, Liam—that’s me old boss—thought it might be something of interest to me, seeing as I’d been lookin’ for a change.” He focused on me again. “He wasn’t wrong.”

  “Still. You’re a long way from home.”

  “I am, it’s true. But this is a delightful town you have here. I’m finding it, and the people, most welcoming.”

  “Dad?” Robert came back into the kitchen, his hair back down. “I’m ready to go.

  Lucas glanced at his son, then back to Boyd. “My son, Robert,” he said.

  With a smile and a nod for the boy, Boyd turned to me and lifted a cylindrical tube. “I brought a few preliminary sketches with me for ya to go over, based on our brief conversation last week.”

  “Great. We can use my office.” I handed the box of cupcakes to Robert. “Don’t let your father eat all of these,” I told him. “You enjoy them, too, since you decorated them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sketches?” Lucas asked me. “Of what?”

  “Nosy, much?” I fisted my hands on my hips. “Don’t you have stuff to do? Barbers to visit? Criminals to apprehend?”

  His brows pulled into kissing distance. “I’ve got a minute.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head before I opened the refrigerator. While I pulled out leftovers from lunch service, I said, “If you have to know, I’m expanding the inn. With a full house almost every weekend, I’ve had to turn people away more than I’d like.”

  Now those brows rose almost to his hairline. “I didn’t know you were thinking of adding on.”

  “Why would you?”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ve been mulling around the idea for a while.” I took a shopping bag out from the pantry closet. “Eileen had a dream to build individual guest houses out in the back of the property for families when we first bought the inn. Unfortunately, the idea got pushed to the back burner when, well…when everything happened.”