The Baker's Beauty (The River Hill Series Book 3)

by Rebecca Norinne

  Please let me know if you’d be interested; I’m very excited to meet you. Let me know how I can help in any way to make this happen. Our fans are eager to see Mr. Grissom’s story told, and I know you’re one of the best people to tell it. We have agreements already in place from several other members of his former team, as well as family members, but you’re the key piece of the puzzle! Looking forward to speaking with you.

  Sean slammed his laptop shut, breathing hard. They were filming? Had others agreed to be interviewed? They wanted him to tell his story? What story? That he’d failed Cal, failed Jess, failed his mom? Failed every person who’d ever really mattered to him?

  He buried his head in his hands.

  He wished he could call Jess and let the comfort of her existence wash over him. But she was done letting him use her. He’d been a jerk, and he’d been thinking only of himself and how she made him feel better. The second she’d invited him into her life, he’d leaped away like a startled deer. No wonder she’d hung up on him.

  He opened the laptop again, minimizing the open window as quickly as he could so he wouldn’t have to see the email. He opened a new browser window and pulled up YouTube. With shaking fingers, he typed ‘Cal Grissom’ into the search bar and hit enter. When the page loaded, he clicked the video at the top of the list—the one that had first gotten the kid his recording contract. Cal had had millions of followers, kids who’d adored him for his smooth voice and infectious smile. The floppy-haired good looks hadn’t hurt him, either.

  Sean clicked play and let the music wash over him. When the video ended, he moved on to the next one, then the next, watching every video available, from the first one Cal had released as an awkward fourteen-year-old to the last, the song Sean had produced. It had gotten him a framed platinum record. He’d tossed it into a box after Cal had died and hadn’t looked at it since. The memories were harder to hide, though.

  He set the videos to replay and left the music playing in the background as he opened a new tab and googled ‘Died Too Soon.’

  He read through the search results, huffing with annoyed laughter at fan sites devoted to conspiracy theories about murder cults, and raising an eyebrow at the thinkpiece that said that the show treated celebrities like science experiments. A large number of comments contained enthusiastic praise for the show. It had been conceived by a former news journalist and a documentary producer who both had wives who loved celebrity gossip. They’d started with Heath Ledger, moved on to Prince, and worked their way through the entire ‘27 Club’—musicians like Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, and Jim Morrison who’d died at twenty-seven years old. The show had a rabid following who enjoyed its thorough and sensitive approach to beloved celebrities and the sometimes unfortunate circumstances of their deaths.

  He noted with no small amount of surprise that several episodes featured interviews with friends and family members of dead celebs who hadn’t been willing to appear or be quoted elsewhere. One of them had even given a quote to an industry magazine that said appearing on the show had been “like therapy.”

  He snorted. That was coming on a little strong. Not that he had much room to talk. He was a mess. Would sitting on a stool with cameras in his face talking about the worst day of his life really help? He couldn’t imagine it.

  Maybe it would help to journal, though. That was the sort of thing therapists told you to do, right? He opened the deep drawer on his right, hunting for pen and paper. He pulled out a pair of boxers (why, drunk Sean?) and one of his mom’s prized Amory recipe books and kept digging until his hand closed around something glass.

  He froze.

  The familiar shape of a bottle slid along his fingertips, and he breathed in low and slow as he drew it out. Whitman’s Special Blend. Iain and Maeve had given him a bottle of their whiskey when the distillery first opened. He must have missed it when he’d cleaned out the rest of the alcohol in the apartment.

  He stared at the bottle, the amber liquid glinting in the warm light from his desk lamp. The old itch began to grow under his tongue, accompanied by an ache of longing for oblivion. What if he just had a quick drink before he looked at the email again? It would be so much less painful to take the edge off. Just an edge. It wasn’t like he was going down to The Hut to get blitzed.

  He set the bottle down on the desk next to his computer and stared at it until the liquid settled, the vibrations from being moved around fading into stillness. He was still, too. His eyes couldn’t seem to look away. His hand rose toward it but brushed against something else on the desk on its way up. The cookbook. An Amory oldie. He looked at it, a memory niggling at the corners of his mind. He’d been searching for something in it, he remembered. A whiskey glaze, for the apple fritters. To make changes to the bakery. If he stayed. His eyes strayed to the bottle again, and he sat back in his chair, staring at the two objects, his hooded gaze flickering back and forth. Bottle and cookbook. Cookbook and bottle.

  Cookbook or bottle.

  Finally, he made a decision. And acted on it.

  Chapter 18

  “Wait a minute. You’re doing what?” Marisol leaned forward, slapping her palms down onto their grandparents’ kitchen table.

  “I’m auditioning for a TV show on Friday.” Jess lifted her chin. She refused to be cowed by her sister’s patent incredulity.

  “I heard you the first time,” Marisol shot back. “I just didn’t believe you. You can’t act.”

  Jess wanted to argue, but Marisol wasn’t wrong. She’d once attended an improv class with a group of friends and had been so bad the instructor had asked her not to come back. “It’s not for a role. I’d be hosting a show focused on beauty and wellness.”

  “Why you?” Manny sailed into the room and toward the fridge, where he pulled out a can of beer and chugged down half of it in one long swallow.

  Jess rolled her eyes. “You may not have noticed, but those are my areas of expertise.”

  “Because you’re a former beauty queen? I used to play football, but no one is calling me to coach the 49ers.”

  “That’s because you rode the bench.” Robert dropped into the seat next to Marisol and popped a guacamole-topped chip into his mouth. “At least Jess has trophies, sashes, and crowns.”

  “At least I made the team,” Manny replied, joining his siblings at the table. “You were a nerd.”

  For the next ten minutes, her siblings traded insults about their perceived shortcomings while Jess sat there silently wondering why she even bothered. She didn’t ask for much from her family; just that they support her when good things happened. Or maybe that they at least remembered that she had a career. It wasn’t being a beauty queen that had paid her bills or bought her house; the income from her writing and TV segments had. TV segments that had landed her this current opportunity.

  And despite Sean’s reaction when she’d invited him to tag along with her to L.A., this audition was a very good thing. Especially now that their relationship had crashed and burned. Getting out of River Hill was looking more and more like her best option. She didn’t want to count her chickens before they hatched, but if the audition went well, she’d talk with Jai about getting a small place near the studio. Given the fires last year, she’d have no trouble finding someone to rent her house in River Hill. Housing in Sonoma was at a premium.

  “Tell me more about this audition, mija.” Her grandma sat down in the empty chair next to her, their knees angled toward one another.

  Jess leaned closer, so they could better hear one another over the noise of her squabbling siblings. “You know Angelica Travis?”

  “The actress with that hotel show?”

  Jess nodded. “I met her through a mutual friend, and the next thing I knew, her agent called to discuss a new show that he thinks I’m perfect for.”

  “That’s fantastic. Who’s going with you to Los Angeles?”

  “You’re going to L.A.?”

  Jess turned to face Manny. All three siblings were staring at her expec
tantly. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Robert crossed his arms and glared at her. “I don’t like it.”

  Jess’s temper flared. “It’s a good thing I didn’t ask you, then, isn’t it?”

  As if she hadn’t said a word, Manny set down his drink and turned to their sister. “You need to go with her.”

  Marisol huffed. “I can’t just drop everything to go traipsing off to Hollywood with this one.”

  “Well, someone needs to go with her.”

  She looked to her grandmother for support, but the older woman simply shrugged as though she agreed that Jess needed supervision. Wordlessly, Jess stood and exited the room, the sound of her siblings’ bickering fading as the door swung shut behind her. It took them a few minutes to realize that she’d left, and when they did, they stormed into the den to accuse her of not taking them seriously.

  “You think?” Jess glared at Robert. “I can’t imagine why not.”

  “Be reasonable, Jess.”

  She pointed angrily at her sister. “No, you be reasonable, Marisol. I own my own home, and I run a successful business. I don’t need a fucking chaperone!”

  Manny took a step back and raised his hands. “Whoa. What’s your problem?”

  “You’re my problem,” Jess shot back, looking pointedly at each of them. “You treat me like a baby.”

  “You are the baby,” Robert said, and Jess turned on him.

  “No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I am the youngest. That doesn’t make me a baby.”

  “Okay, fine. You’re not a baby. Happy?”

  Jess shook her head. “Nothing about this makes me happy.”

  “If you had a boyfriend, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Jess’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

  “If you had a boyfriend who could look out for you—someone who would make sure you aren’t being taken advantage of—we wouldn’t be worried so much.”

  “I do have a—” Jess realized what she was about to reveal and shut her mouth. She hadn’t told her family about Sean because she hadn’t wanted to endure their version of the Spanish Inquisition. Now, there was nothing to tell after all. “I don’t need a man to take care of me. This isn’t the fifties.”

  “Go back to the first part,” Marisol said, crossing her arms. “Spill the beans.”

  Jess shook her head, and her eyes darted to the door. They were all waiting for Vincent Casillas to get home from the vineyard before they sat down to dinner, but Jess wasn’t sure she wanted to stick it out. If she pushed it, she could reach the door in four quick strides and be to her car before anyone could catch her. There were some benefits to being the smallest and fastest Casillas grandchild. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” She shifted a few feet to the left, preparing to execute her getaway plan.

  Robert’s eyes narrowed as he watched her, and he settled lower into something that looked alarmingly like a catcher’s stance before looking over at Marisol. “You going to do something about this?”

  Marisol lifted her shoulder and huffed—again. It seemed all she did these days was huff about things Jess said or did. Frankly, Jess was tired of it. She was tired of all of her siblings. She loved them dearly, but she wasn’t sure she liked them all that much. She was sick of the way they treated her—like she was some sort of estupido who couldn’t function in the world. Well, screw that. This ended today.

  They were still bickering about what to do with her. She brought her fingers to her lips and let loose a whistle that immediately put a stop to the conversation. All at once, three heads turned her way.

  “Damn, Jess. What was that for?”

  She planted her hands on her hips and glared at Manny, Robert, and Marisol in succession. “Who I date is none of your business. Besides, Sean and I aren’t together anymore.”

  “Is this the guy you started to tell me about at the coffee shop?” Marisol asked.

  Honestly, Jess could barely remember that conversation. She’d been so distracted remembering her and Sean’s first kiss that most of what Marisol had said had flown in one ear and right out the other. Dimly, she recalled blurting out that she was seeing someone when her sister had tried to set her up with some random guy she knew through the boys’ school. “Yes.”

  “What’s his name?” Manny interjected.

  All the fight suddenly went out of Jess. “It doesn’t matter. We’re done.”

  “He hurt you,” her other brother observed.

  “No,” Jess said. “I mean, yes. But like I said, it doesn’t matter. I’m moving on.”

  “What’s. His. Name?” Manny’s voice was less curious now and much more menacing.

  Jess blew out a long sigh. She didn’t want to discuss her relationship with Sean with her brothers and sister, but she knew if she didn’t give them something, they’d never let up. “Sean. It’s Sean, okay? Are we done here?”

  “Sean who?”

  Jess turned to Robert. “I doubt you know him. He lives in town. His family’s some kind of big deal. Founding family, or something. You’re not going to be running into him.”

  Manny’s head fell back, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “give me strength” in Spanish. “Amory. She was dating Sean Amory,” he said, turning to Robert.

  “You were dating Sean Amory?” Marisol screeched. Her brothers whispered darkly between themselves.

  Jess scowled at her siblings’ reaction. So they couldn’t believe someone like her would be able to land someone like Sean? Yes, he was handsome as sin, and she assumed his family was rich, but why wouldn’t they think she was good enough for him? She was beautiful too, and she wasn’t overly flattering herself to think so. She had the sashes and trophies to back it up. She’d been a damn beauty queen, after all. And she was sweet, caring, and loyal. She was a catch! It stung that her family didn’t think the same.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys, but if that’s everything you’ve got, I think I’m going to head home. I wasn’t really in a great mood when I got here, and you all have only made it worse.”

  She tried to push past her brothers, but Manny stopped her. “Not so fast, little sis.” With his hand wrapped around her bicep, he dragged her to the old, worn sofa and pushed her down into it. “Start talking.”

  Jess flicked her eyes between her brothers who stood sentry in front of her, their arms crossed over their chests and identical scowls marring their handsome faces. On the other side of the room, Marisol blocked the door, preventing Jess from exiting even if she were able to get past these two. Apparently, this was a team effort. With a resigned sigh, she leaned back against the sofa cushion. She was clearly going to be there a while, so she might as well get comfortable. “We were only dating for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t anything serious.”

  Lie! her inner voice spat. You are a lying liar who lies.

  Except she wasn’t lying. While Jess might have thought things were moving in that direction, it was clear now that Sean hadn’t felt the same. It took two to tango, and Jess had been dancing alone.

  “How could you go out with someone like that?” Manny flung out his hands. “I mean, come on, Jess. And you wonder why we don’t trust you to make good decisions for yourself.”

  Marisol shook her head solemnly. “So naive.”

  Jess’s head bounced between her siblings, and she frowned in confusion. There was being overprotective, and then there was this—whatever it was. Their response didn’t make any sense. Sure, Sean had admitted to having had a drinking problem, but from the way Manny, Robert, and Marisol were behaving, you would think he’d killed someone.

  “How could you go out with someone like him?” Manny repeated.

  Jess rolled her eyes. “You mean someone handsome, kind, and caring?” While she might be hurt at the way Sean had so callously brushed her aside, she couldn’t deny that when he wasn’t a confusing asshole, he’d been one of the nicest men Jess had ever met. Deep down,
she believed that was who he really was. The asshole part was temporary. Hopefully.

  Robert snorted. “He’s not kind, Jess. That’s how guys are when they want to get in your pants.”

  “You don’t know him,” she fired back reflexively, trying desperately to ignore the small part of her brain that silently agreed with him. If the seed of doubt was planted, she knew it could sprout into a thick, ugly weed if she let it.

  Manny shook his head. “We do know him. We went to school together. He was every bad cliché you’ve ever heard about: captain of the football team, dated the head cheerleader, was named prom king.”

  Jess raised her chin defiantly. “So what? That’s a crime now? Sounds to me like you’re just jealous.”

  He muttered something under his breath, and Robert took up the reins of the conversation. “We’re not jealous. He’s a dick, Jess. Always has been, always will be. And he’s dangerous.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  Marisol threw up her hands and marched over to join them. “Try as you might, you’re not like him, Jess. We’re not like him. He’s one of them, and we’re one of us. Why is that so hard to understand?”

  Jess shot to her feet. “Probably because you’re talking in riddles. Them. Us. This isn’t some girl-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks romance novel, and he’s not some evil villain in one of the boys’ superhero movies.”

  Marisol sighed and shook her head while Manny took hold of Jess’s hand. “Are you sure about that?” he asked quietly. “How much do you actually know about him, Jess?”