Misters of Love: A Small Town Romance Boxset

by Piper Sullivan

  The scent was butter and sugar and chocolate, and I had to compliment her on it.

  “Smells amazing in here.”

  “Thanks.”

  It went against everything in me to stand there and watch her struggle, but I knew she’d skin me alive if I tried to help without her asking for it. I watched this unguarded version of Maxine as she filled the shelves with eclairs and donuts and little cream-filled desserts, and a bunch of other things I’d never seen before. “All right. Welcome to Maxine’s… Dr. Cahill, what are you doing here?”

  “Dr. Cahill? We’ve known each other for thirty years, Maxine.”

  She smoothed her hands down the white apron with her logo splashed across the chest and raised her chin, just a notch, in defiance. “Yet you still insist on calling me Maxine, when everyone else calls me Max.” Having said her piece, she shook off her emotions and squared her shoulders, trying to look tough but failing, with wisps of red curls flying around her head. “What can I do for you today, Dr. Cahill?”

  All right, back to business, then. “Steven Locke roped me into planning the Fall Ball thing that Sabrina Worthington’s hands are all over. I need food, and you have the best food in town.”

  She snorted a laugh, but I could see the pride in her mossy green eyes. “I also happen to be the only caterer in town.”

  “True, but if your food sucked then I could’ve asked Big Mama to do it.” Her fried chicken was always a hit, no matter the occasion.

  Her lips twitched, but Maxine was stubborn as hell and she’d never give an inch, not to me. “Fine. Before we go any further, how soon is this fundraiser?” I gave her a date and her green eyes rounded, as big as marbles. “That’s in three weeks.”

  “I know.” My shoulders fell at her tone. Just as I suspected, this was a tight deadline. “I’m not asking you to donate anything, there’s a budget for the event, just please-oh-please tell me you’re free that weekend.” Maxine wavered and I clasped my hands together, giving her my best pathetic puppy look. “Please, Maxine.”

  She blinked slowly, as if for a moment she forgot how much she didn’t like me. For some damn reason. “Okay. Do you have an idea about what you want?”

  I shook my head and raked a hand through my hair. “Honestly, no. I feel lost as hell planning this. I attend these kinds of things because I have to, but I never pay attention to the details.” This wasn’t her problem. “Sorry. Do you have sample menus I can peek at?”

  Her glare was heavy, and I could feel her dislike like a living, breathing thing between us. “Sure.”

  She turned and I admit to staring at her ass in those tight jeans for a good long minute before I remembered something else. “Max?”

  She stopped and turned to look at me over her shoulder, and I was thankful my gaze had reached her face just in time to connect with hers. “Yes?”

  “What have I done to earn your dislike?” We were never friends of the traditional sort, but we’d hung around the same big crowd. But for the past few months, things had been more tense between us.

  “Who says I don’t like you, Derek?” She arched a brow at my surprise. “Okay, fine, I’m not your biggest fan.”

  “Why? Have I somehow offended you?”

  “No.”

  “Then, what is it?” I studied her, looking for some sign that I’d made an inappropriate move or said something I shouldn’t have. “Just tell me, Max.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and stared at me for a long time, at least a full minute, studying me until she was satisfied that she’d either catalogued my features or figured me out. “Honestly?”

  “That would be best, yes.”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe you remind me too much of my ex, I can’t say for sure.”

  “In what way?” No one in Tulip knew much about Callie’s father. Max never said anything about him and he never been to town, as far as anyone knew. She opened her mouth once and snapped it shut, and I stood a little taller, ready to be offended.

  “He couldn’t keep it in his pants, either.”

  Either? “You know something about my life I don’t, Maxine?” I used her full name to get under her skin—for no other reason.

  “Only what I hear and what I see, Dr. Cahill.”

  I smiled at her unwillingness to back down. If someone would’ve told me before this moment that I liked a stubborn woman, I would’ve called them crazy, but I was finely tuned to Max in this moment. And I liked it. “And what is that?”

  “A man of a certain age with no serious girlfriend in sight. Men like you don’t settle down for one reason, Derek. You like to keep your options open.”

  Options. I barked out a laugh at her assumption. “What the hell are options? I spend most of every damn day in the hospital, and when I’m not there, I’m at home or with my friends.” Hell, I can’t remember the last time I was on a date.

  “You don’t have to justify your lifestyle to me, Derek. You asked, I answered. End of story.”

  “But you still don’t like me, right?” She didn’t need to answer—everything about her body language told me nothing had changed.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know you, do I?”

  And I didn’t know much about her anymore, either. “Then I guess we’ll have to rectify that, won’t we?”

  “You don’t have to pretend you want to get to know me to get my help, Derek. You’re a paying customer.” She flashed the blandest smile I had ever witnessed, and I laughed. “What’s so funny?”

  “I just realized something.” And it was something important.

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “You’re trying too hard not to like me.” Which meant she liked me, and she didn’t want to. Probably. Maybe.

  “Whatever massages your ego, Doc. Now, do you want me to get those menus or continue your campaign for Homecoming King?”

  “Careful, Maxine, I’m starting to grow fond of that sharp tongue of yours.”

  She stared for so long I thought she might scale the counter and tear me apart, but then something happened. Her cheeks turned a dangerous shade of pink and her mouth fluttered, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. And then, I figured it out.

  I’d left Maxine Nash speechless.

  Max

  Two weeks ago, when I accepted the order to do a croquembouche for Missy La Roux’s eighty-third birthday, I’d dreaded this day. The woman had been born and raised in Texas, but she’d married a French-Canadian cowboy and was a bit of a Francophile and her friends at the senior center insisted no other dessert would make her happier. Now that it was here, I sent up a silent birthday wish to Missy because it was the perfect task to keep my mind from racing. I needed to focus on every step, from making the profiteroles uniform to whipping the cream and getting the caramel threads to the perfect consistency.

  It meant I didn’t have time to think—or obsess—over anything else. Anything, not anyone. Definitely not Derek and his enjoyment of my sharp tongue, and not the way his blue eyes gleamed when he said I liked him. It was impossible not to like him—a handsome doctor who was good with kids and flirted with old ladies? The exact problem was that I didn’t dislike Derek, and I should. I should have learned my lesson the first time around and, dammit, I should be able to dislike him.

  And since we would kind of be working together, I needed to be nice—and if not nice, then civil. He was a paying customer, after all.

  A knock on the back door pulled me from my thoughts and my caramel threads and I glanced at the clock. It was too early for any deliveries, and I wasn’t expecting any. “Who’s there?” It was better to be safe than sorry, even if there was almost no crime in Tulip.

  “Derek. Cahill,” he added a moment later, and I smiled.

  “It’s open,” I called back, happy I didn’t have to abandon my work when I’d made so much progress. When Derek walked in, I had to grip the sides of the table and squeeze my thighs together. Whenever I ran in to him around
town or over at Bo’s frequent barbecues, I mostly ignored Derek. Today, it was impossible, from the sight of him in dark denim, worn in the thighs and knees, and a light blue t-shirt that somehow added depth to his already-deep blue eyes. And the sneakers just made him, I don’t know, down-to-earth, I guess. It was too damn appealing, is what it was. “What can I do for you, Derek?”

  He sighed and I didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes, which only made me feel like a jerk. I hated feeling like a jerk. “I was looking over the sample menus you gave me, and they all have cutesy names. Is that normal?”

  For some reason, his question teased a laugh out of me, surprising us both. I shook my head, still laughing. “You never look at the menus at all those black-tie events you attend? They spend time and money on those details, you know?” It was something I’d learned early on in my catering career, and doing business in a small town meant tasks like that often fell to the caterer. Me.

  Derek shook his head, looking completely bewildered by this information. He raised his left arm, showing off a well-muscled forearm and bicep before raking a hand through thick black curls. “No, I never noticed. I’m not a big fan of those things; I go because it helps with fundraising.”

  More proof that he was more than a pretty face, more than a playboy doctor. I didn’t want or need that proof, but I always needed the business. “The names tend to match up to a theme. Nautical. Shakespearean. Cowboy. Lost at sea.” I motioned to each of the sample menus in his hands before turning to the final task in front of me: the edible flowers. “See?”

  Realization dawned as a slow smile swept across his face, and a beat later, those blue eyes were on me. Smiling at me. “Makes sense. Does that mean there has to be a theme?”

  “Ideally, yes. You want to keep reminding people why they’re at the event and, more importantly, who the money is meant to support.”

  “You like themes,” he said, amused.

  “I do. It’s what makes my job interesting. Chicken can be boring, right?”

  “I didn’t mean your chicken,” he rushed to add, looking worried.

  I laughed. “I know. The fact is, you can’t be too adventurous when you cook for a crowd, but themes allow you to do that a little more. People will forgive a lot when it comes to keeping with a theme.”

  Derek nodded, deep in thought as he walked closer and closer to the table. “What’s this for?” He nodded to the two towers of profiteroles with an intrigued frown.

  “Missy La Roux’s birthday.”

  “Ah,” he said knowingly. “French.”

  “Croquembouche,” I told him with my best French accent. “The fancy name makes it sound better, right?”

  He nodded, gaze intense on the dessert and one finger headed straight for the top profiterole. “Hey,” he cried out, shocked when I smacked his hand away.

  “You want some, go give Missy a birthday kiss and enjoy one with her. Actually, she’d love that.”

  He glared at me and my smile widened, unapologetically. “What kind of theme would you recommend that would blend Hometown Heroes and Tulip’s Tribute? I mean, what would you recommend if you liked me and wanted to help me out?”

  “Smartass.”

  His lips twitched in amusement and I knew what he was thinking about. The fact that he, Derek Cahill, had made me blush. Something about the way he’d said “sharp tongue” had gotten to me. Had me thinking of all the other things my sharp tongue could do to him. Then I’d dreamt about those things and now, with him standing in front of me, I couldn’t help but think about those dreams. Those things I’d done to him in my mind.

  “What’s the point of this thing again?” I asked him, trying to push those thoughts aside.

  Derek’s grin widened but, thankfully, he didn’t mention the blush staining my cheeks again. “Sabrina Worthington’s underhanded way of contributing to the repair, except the hospital is getting some brand-new equipment out of the deal.”

  Dammit, he really was a nice guy. “I’d go with an overall ‘heroes’ theme. Firehouse chili shooters for the firefighters. Savory donuts for the police. Adult s’mores for Search & Rescue. Then we could do gavel cookies and other little things to account for the unsung heroes in town, too,” I suggested. Derek stared at me for so long, I wondered if I had flour on my cheek or forehead. Again. “Okay, what? If you don’t like any of those ideas, just say so.” Don’t just stare like a weirdo.

  “That’s fantastic. Can we do that?”

  I blinked, surprised by his easy and enthusiastic acceptance. If only every client was so easily satisfied. “Sure. We’ll have to sit down and talk about it all, but it won’t be a problem.”

  “Okay, great. That’s really good,” he said absently and began to pace back and forth on the other side of the table. “Good.”

  He was happy but distracted and I hated to burst his bubble, but coming up with the theme was the easy part. For me, anyway. “There’s still the matter of everything else, Derek.”

  He froze. “Flowers and stuff?”

  I nodded.

  “Dammit,” he groaned. “Why does every event require flowers? They belong in the ground, soaking up sun and being part of the whole cycle of life, not dying in some air-conditioned ballroom.”

  “I agree, but this isn’t up to us, Derek. Well, technically, it is up to you, so do what you want,” I conceded. He blew out a long breath, his blue eyes wide and filled with panic. “No offense, but how did you end up in charge of this?”

  “Is it that obvious?” he asked, and I nodded. He shrugged. “Steven Locke. Hospital administrator and brother to the devil.”

  I laughed at the unusual display of anything but kindness and charm. The man was usually unflappable. “Not that you’re upset by it or anything.”

  He flashed a smile and dammit, it was a great smile. The kind that made your own smile brighter, that left you feeling a little bit warmer. “Of course not. I am all about charity and helping out the community. All of it.”

  “Blah, blah, blah?” I arched a brow and he laughed.

  “I don’t mind helping out, obviously, I spend every day of my life helping people out. It’s just that this isn’t my strong suit, Maxine. As you might have guessed.”

  This time, when he called me Maxine, I didn’t hate it so much. “If you don’t want flowers, what else would you use to decorate a room? To make it look welcoming for the people you want to ask for money?”

  “I give money because I believe in the cause, not the rubber chicken or the centerpieces.”

  Nice guy. Damn him. “Okay. What about plants? They can be repurposed for other events or even donated to the senior center.”

  “Perfect.” He whipped out his phone and stopped pacing as his fingers flew across the keyboard. “Maybe we can do something similar for linens or place settings?”

  I nodded, throwing out a few suggestions to help narrow his focus but I couldn’t deny that Derek’s enthusiasm was contagious. “Use the theme however you want, but you’ll have to make final decisions soon. Three weeks isn’t as long as it sounds.”

  He nodded and flashed another smile, this one filled with relief. And joy. “Thank you, Maxine. You made this easy. Fun, even.” He blinked, truly surprised that he hadn’t hated it and the worst part was that he seemed genuine.

  “No problem. Happy to help.” His ebony brows drew up at my words and I shrugged, glancing at the clock. “That can’t be the time.” A quick look at my phone revealed that Derek and I had been working in peace for ninety whole minutes. “Wow.”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun.” He laughed at the withering look I sent him, and the sound had the corners of my own mouth twitching.

  “Is this fun? It feels different than I remember.”

  “Doesn’t it?” He shrugged off whatever thought had darkened his features for a brief moment and covered it with a good-time grin. “Maxine, you have been a tremendous help to me. Thank you.”

  I waved off his gratitude.
“No problem.”

  “Good, because I’d like to say thank you with dinner.”

  I froze, wondering if this had all been some ploy to get in my pants—and if it was, was I offended? Flattered? “That isn’t necessary.” If I couldn’t figure out a guy’s motives, I didn’t engage.

  “It is,” he said easily, but I heard the steel in his voice. “How else will I change your mind about me?” He stood taller, confident that he could convince me. Probably because every female from infancy to the age of ninety found him charming and irresistible.

  “Who says you can change my mind?”

  He shrugged, drawing my gaze to his broad shoulders and the roundness of his chest muscles rising and falling against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “Maybe I can’t, but I can try. See you soon, Maxine. Tonight at seven.” He wore a smile as he shoved his phone into his back pocket—lucky phone—and backed away towards the door.

  “I have a kid,” I countered, annoyed at his presumption that I could just drop everything to have dinner with him. “I can’t go out at the last minute,” I added, sounding desperate even to my own ears.

  Derek pushed the door open so he was bathed—no, outlined—in sunlight as he turned to me wearing a wide, satisfied grin. “See you at seven.” Then he was gone, and I was left staring at the door.

  Angry that I’d, even for a moment, believed another meaningless promise from another man.

  Derek

  At exactly seven o’clock on the dot, I pressed my index finger against Maxine’s doorbell and waited. Nervously. I knew from the skeptical look on her face when I’d left her this morning that she didn’t believe me, or worse, thought the reminder of her daughter would scare me off. I was happy to prove her wrong and, even more, I couldn’t wait to see the look of shock on her face when she opened the door.

  The sound of running feet stopped abruptly on the other side of the door. “Who is it?”

  I smiled at the sound of Callie’s voice. “Pizza delivery.”