Beautifully Baked: A Sweet Romantic Comedy

by Holly Kerr

  “You had a one-night stand in Las Vegas of all places. That doesn’t mean you have to marry him. I don’t think you should even think about marriage for a very long time. Or ever. Remember what we promised each other? That we’d never get married?”

  “We were seventeen,” she reminds me.

  “We were very wise and mature seventeen.”

  “And I had just gotten my heart broken.” Flora pauses, and I glance at my screen. “It doesn’t feel like I’ve gotten my heart broken this time.”

  “Maybe it’s already healed.”

  “Maybe. Are you almost ready?”

  “You said we were meeting at seven thirty. I still have ten minutes before you pick me up. Are you ready?”

  “I’m picking you up?”

  I bite back my sigh. I love Flora dearly, but I don’t understand her lackadaisical organizational abilities. “Yes, I thought we agreed you were picking me up,” I say patiently.

  “I better go! Text you when I’m outside.” Flora hangs up before I can say another word. I carefully finish applying my mascara, trying to ignore the fact my hands are still shaking. I blink, the mascara accentuating my blue eyes and reach for my lipstick.

  Clay is just a guy. I shouldn’t be so nervous about meeting a guy.

  There haven’t been many other guys for a while.

  Not since Ben.

  I probably shouldn’t tell Clay that it’s been two years since I’ve been in a relationship. He might think I’m desperate. Am I? I met a man, talked to him for maybe an hour, and now I’ve built him up to the next best thing? He’s probably looking for a fast hookup and I’m looking for…?

  What exactly am I looking for?

  Clay

  I’m going to see M.K. again.

  I glance around the restaurant/bar where we’re meeting, the same place where the team had met last week for beers after the game.

  Dean stands and waves from the table across the floor, like he isn’t noticeable enough with his height and his hair.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling out the chair opposite him. “They’re not here yet?”

  “No,” he says shortly.

  I frown at his tone. “What’s up?”

  “I think this is a bad idea.”

  “Why? We’re just having a drink with a couple of girls we met when we were away for a weekend. That’s it. You need to chill.” Maybe calming him down helps with my own nerves. I’m nervous. I’m never nervous.

  The chime of my phone makes me jump and I grab it like a lifeline.

  It’s Heather. Again.

  What r u up to tonight? I’m lonely…

  I stuff my phone back in my pocket without answering. I don’t have time for Heather. For once I want to focus on one girl.

  “Call them women.” Dean stares across the bar. “Evelyn always hated being referred to as a girl.”

  My mouth tightens. “Evelyn would really hate what I call her now.”

  Dean turns and gives me a ghost of a smile. “It’s not her fault.”

  “Oh no?” I shake my head. “I’m not getting into that here or now because you’re freaked out. But she better not run into me anytime soon because I have some choice words for her.”

  “Thanks, man, but it’s not worth it. Seeing her today…” Dean trails off with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to do that again.”

  I look around for the waitress. “You’re going to have to see her again. You’ve got to figure out the house…stuff like that. You’ve been together for two years. You have things. A house.”

  Two years with the same person seems like a lifetime to me.

  “At least I’d want some advance notice. Seeing her hand in hand with this Thomas guy, with a ring on her finger.” He drops his gaze to the table.

  “That is messed up. Evelyn, with Flora’s ex.” I’d heard the story from M.K. earlier and again from Dean and still found it hard to believe. “You going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.” He draws in a shaky breath. “But this is why I can’t let anything happen with Flora again. If this is how I feel, imagine how messed up she is from it?”

  “Maybe she’s not,” I suggest. “Maybe it was for the best for her, and she’s ready to move on. And maybe it’s the shock of seeing her again that’s messing you up. Maybe tomorrow you’ll wake up and realize it was all for the best.” I frown, thinking of what Dean had said. “What do you mean—again?”

  “I didn’t tell you.” At least Dean has the grace to look guilty. “I hooked up with her in Las Vegas.”

  “Who—Evelyn?”

  “No, Flora. I didn’t say anything to you, because well…”

  “When was this?” I demand.

  “That night. You were sleeping but I couldn’t, and I was walking around and bumped into her on the street. We had pancakes and she was crying, and we ended up back in her hotel room. She didn’t see the note I left.”

  “Why did you leave her a note?”

  “Because I got your text in the morning, about Evelyn stopping by. I went to find her.”

  “You left the cute girl you hooked up with in her hotel room to go find the woman who just dumped you?” I ask with disbelief. “Bro, get your priorities straight!”

  “I know. It’s messed up.”

  “And now your ex and her ex are married?”

  “Yeah,” he says in a heavy voice. I don’t ask how he feels about that because I’m not sure he’d tell me. Plus I can imagine how he’s feeling.

  “So what’s going on with you and Flora?” I ask instead.

  “Nothing. I can’t—not right now. I told her we could be friends. Just friends.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. I remember the way Dean looked at Flora in the bar that night and that was before they hooked up. “Good luck with that.” I check my watch. “They’re late. Let’s get a beer. God knows you need one.”

  Even with a cold beer in front of me, waiting for M.K. to walk through the door is the longest ten minutes of my life.

  I tap my fingers on the table. This is like I’m on a blind date. I really have no idea what M.K. is like.

  But I have an image of her in my mind and I really think it fits. She may outwardly look tiny and delicate, but I saw a few expressions and heard a few comments and think she’s tougher than she lets on. And she loves her friend. She and Flora had some sort of mental telepathy going on that night.

  But this was three weeks ago, and I could be imagining all of it. She may have agreed to this out of obligation.

  And then I think of her blue eyes and the way she smiled at me when they left the bar that last time I saw her. There had been promise in those eyes.

  I’m not sure what kind of promise, but there was something.

  Even as I talk with Dean while we wait, I keep my eyes on the door.

  My heart jumps into my throat when they walk in.

  “Look, they’re here.” I jump to my feet, fighting the urge to run across the floor—M.K., smiling and pretty with her dark hair crisply cut and brushing against her jaw. She’s shorter than I remembered. Cute, so cute, with a tiny waist and a great smile.

  There’s something about this girl that makes me lose my cool. M.K.’s smile widens as she catches sight of me, and my chest puffs out like a proud rooster. I elbow Dean as he stands beside me. “I’ll tell you one thing, Deano, I’m looking for more than friendship with that one.”

  Dean frowns. “Clay, maybe…you know, take it easy on her? Lay off the full-court press? She seems nice. They both do.”

  “Are you kidding? A week ago, I thought I’d never see this girl again, and I still can’t get her off my mind. She better take it easy on me.”

  I watch with bated breath as they cross the floor.

  “Hi!” Flora stops before the table. “Sorry we’re late. Actually, M.K. was on time—for your information, she’s always on time, but I don’t always have the same punctual prowess, so this is my bad. And then we couldn’t decide whose car to take because we live clos
e but in the opposite direction from each other.”

  Flora may be talking but my gaze hasn’t left M.K.

  “Hi, Flora,” Dean says when she pauses for breath.

  “Hi.” I wrench my gaze away from M.K. Flora is cute, looking like the girl next door with the blonde hair and big green eyes but—

  M.K. smiles, and I barely acknowledge Flora’s greeting.

  Dean doesn’t try to hide he’s checking Flora out. “How many pairs of those shoes do you have?” he asks gesturing to her feet.

  “I’ve actually lost count,” Flora says with a mischievous smile

  M.K. finally speaks. “You notice shoes? Impressive.”

  “Your shoes are lovely,” I say quickly with a wave at her basic black flats. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  M.K.’s laugh breaks any awkwardness and we sit down.

  I like her smile. I like her smile even more than I did in Las Vegas.

  Chapter Eight

  M.K.

  “M.K. Earth to M.K.”

  The next morning, I shake my head to clear the fog when Adam’s singsong voice breaks into my thoughts. “What do you need?” We’re ten minutes from opening, and I slide the last tray under the glass. Croissants, the slick pastry gleaming in the light. I smooth my apron over my hips. I’ve already changed into my dress, makeup is in place—everything is ready to go.

  “I need to know what’s gotten into you this morning.” Adam has a grin on his face as he points at my feet. I realize with horror that I’m still wearing my kitchen shoes.

  I race back to my office, leaving Adam laughing behind me.

  Last night went so much better than I expected. Not only cute, Clay is smart and funny and nice. I like nice guys. I’ve never been into bad boys or brooders. Ben was—

  “Nothing has gotten into me,” I say as I return, proper shoes in place. With a glance at the clock, I head to the door as Rhoda swings open the door from the kitchen. I’m in such a good mood that Rhoda’s lateness this morning didn’t even faze me.

  “How was last night?” Adam asks pointedly. “Was it a good date?”

  Rhoda perks her head up. “You had a date last night? I didn’t know you dated.”

  I blink with surprise. “I date. Of course I date.”

  “When’s the last time you’ve been on a date?” she asks with a younger woman’s confidence.

  “It wasn’t that long ago.”

  Adam coughs. “Two thousand and nine,” he says amid the coughing.

  “It hasn’t been that long,” I protest, my hand hovering over the Open sign.

  “Are you going to tell your mother about him?” he asks eagerly.

  “Why would she tell her mother?” Rhoda demands in horror.

  “Haven’t you heard her and Flora talking about the reincarnated Mrs. Bennett?”

  I had no idea I’d been so outspoken about my mother. I vow to keep more of my thoughts to myself, or at least when Flora and I are alone. I flip the sign, unlock the door, and head back to the cash.

  “She’s not that bad.” Even from me it sounds like a lame protest. “The date was fine.”

  “Just fine?” Adam wears a mask of sympathy as he ties his white apron around his waist.

  “Fine’s not good. Neither is okay,” Rhoda says, taking her place at the coffee machine.

  “You want to go for at least good,” Adam adds, smiling at the first customer.

  “It wasn’t a date!” I hiss.

  “You just said the date was fine,” Rhoda corrects.

  “It wasn’t a date, per se. It was four people who are slightly acquainted getting together for a drink to get to know each other better.”

  “And did any of the four hook up?” He whispers the word as Mr. Cullen rolls up to the cash. “Because that’s a great way to get to know each other.” Adam makes a clucking noise when he sees my expression. “Okay, that’s too much to ask. Did any of these four make another date?”

  “I’m, ah, actually going out with Clay tonight.”

  Adam jumps on my words. “I knew it! You’re all hot and bothered by this guy, and you can’t keep your mind on anything but how cute he looks in his jeans, right?”

  “The only thing hot and bothered are those Danish if they don’t come out of the oven.” I glance pointedly at the kitchen door, and Adam takes the hint and disappears through the swinging door. “And he didn’t wear jeans,” I whisper.

  It’s not until the early morning rush is over that I can run over to Flora’s. I’ve wanted to talk to her all day to see if she thinks I should be as excited as I am.

  Regardless of what I told Adam, things went great last night.

  I bring Flora her favourite coffee and an apple juice for Imogene. “Morning!” Imogene greets me with a wide smile. “Are you here to tell me about last night because Flora won’t tell me anything. ‘We’re friends.’” She mocks Flora’s cheerful voice. “Friends aren’t going to keep her warm at night.”

  “I think she’s got enough blankets for that.”

  “She needs someone to help her get over Thomas,” Imogene insists.

  “I agree with that, but I think she’s doing okay on her own.” I lower my voice. “Is she here?”

  “She’s in the back playing with her flowers.” She leans as close to the counter as her belly will allow. “What did she say?”

  “It’s what she didn’t say.” Even though I don’t appreciate the fact that Adam and Rhoda most likely began gossiping about me the moment the door closed, I have no qualms discussing Flora with Imogene because I know Imogene loves her almost as much as I do. “She hasn’t said much about Thomas these last few weeks.”

  “Maybe she thinks you’re sick of hearing about him.”

  I shake my head. “She listened to me go on and on about Ben for over a year, so she’d say that I owe her to listen to every single thing about Thomas that goes through her head, even the stuff I really don’t want to hear about.”

  “He was a nice guy, wasn’t he?” Imogene frowns. “I hate thinking about her with a not-nice guy.”

  “They weren’t well suited,” is all I say about the subject.

  But thanks to Dean and his ex, Thomas is out of Flora’s life. Ancient history. It’s my opinion exes should remain in the past.

  “What’s this Dean guy like?” Imogene asks, rubbing a hand absent-mindedly along her burgeoning stomach. “Is he nice? He’s definitely cute…and tall. Big…and cute.”

  “You said that.” I smile. “He seems great.”

  “Good. And his friend? Oh—!” Imogene clutches her stomach with an expression of surprise.

  “Are you okay?” I cry.

  “Just a kick,” she says. “A big one. Want to feel?”

  “I’m not in the habit of—” Imogene waddles out from behind the counter to where I stand and grabs my hand, placing it on her belly. “Okay, then.”

  “Push down. Can you feel it? Harder.” It feels as if Imogene is shoving my hand into her stomach, and I want to pull back.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t. Say hi.” We stare down at her belly until a movement inside makes her top flutter. “There! Feel it?”

  It feels like something is pushing at my hand, and my mind has a hard time comprehending that it’s a little hand or foot. “I feel it.”

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Imogene looks surprised at the reluctance in my voice. “I don’t think I’m the maternal type. I’ve never had a thing for babies.”

  “Have you had much to do with them?”

  “I have three nieces,” I admit. I pull my hand away.

  “So you’ve had a bit to do with babies. That’s okay. Not everyone has to be a mother.”

  “Tell that to my mother. My worth would definitely go up if I gave her a grandchild.”

  “Don’t we always want to make our mothers proud?” Imogene asks. “And mothers-in-law are even worse. I gave Scott’s mother
her first grandson but she still makes me nervous.”

  “You like being a mother?” I ask awkwardly.

  “It’s the best thing in the world,” Imogene says over her shoulder as she heads to the back room. “I’m going to tell Flora her coffee is here.”

  I stare at my hand that touched a baby appendage. Thinking of it like that makes it easier than imagining a tiny creature curled up inside Imogene waiting to be pushed out into the world.

  The bell over the door chimes as a woman with reddish brown hair steps into the store. “They’ll be right out,” I say as she looks around with a curious expression.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need anything. I’m here for an interview,” she said.

  “Then you want to see Flora. She’s owns the place.”

  “Actually, it was an Imogene who set up the interview. I think that’s what she said.”

  “She works here, too.” I smile inwardly at how Imogene must have taken it on herself to find her replacement for when she went on maternity leave.

  The door to the back opens, and Imogene waddles out, followed by Flora, still with one of her AirBuds in. I smile and point to her ear. She pulls it out with a grin. “Hey, thanks for the coffee. I’ll come over when I’m finished, for a debriefing.”

  “Don’t bother,” I groan, heading for the door. “Adam has big ears today. We can save it for tomorrow.”

  Flora laughs and turns her attention to the woman. “Hi, and welcome to Fleur. Oh, M.K.,” she calls as I pull open the door. “Have fun with Clay tonight if I don’t see you before.”

  “Thanks. You, too. Not with Clay,” I add, flustered at the thought. “Have fun with Dean.”

  “Clay?” the woman says with confusion. “Clay McFadden?”

  Flora turns to me with her own confusion in her gaze. “I don’t know. Is that his last name?”

  “Why?” I ask more sharply than I intended.

  “Clay and Dean…” she says. “They’re kind of uncommon names. You’re dating Clay?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say dating,” I say hesitantly with a nervous glance at Flora.