by Barbara Lohr
Jillian had taken Bo to the park. Thank goodness her sister was feeling better. A recovery cycle followed each treatment. That’s how they thought of it. Recovery.
The pans of chocolate batter sat waiting, and she pulled open the heavy oven door. A blast of heat singed her skin. Vanessa's back and arms strained as she slid the trays in and slammed the oven door shut. What she wouldn’t give for the updated models she’d seen in trade magazines. Stacked cake pans that easily rotated out. Some day.
Right now, she had to concentrate. Since the taping of Eye of the Tiger the week before, focusing had become almost impossible. The show would run this Sunday night. Twice she’d lost her train of thought and screwed up her cake ingredients.
The show wasn’t doing this to her. He was.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Alex’s dark hair, questioning eyes, and the voice that worked her like a loofah sponge. Memories came roaring back. No delete button for this guy. Hunky Hottie was like a persistent computer virus.
But now he was Alex, and he wasn’t to blame. Not really. After Ethan, her boyfriend of two years, told her he loved her but wasn’t in love with her anymore, well, she went crazy. That Internet Innovations conference was such bad timing. When she bungled her PowerPoint presentation in her breakout session, Alex had stepped up with those velvety brown eyes and that voice.
So helpful. So hot. So nameless.
Earlier, she’d seen him trolling the aisles in the convention center, hitting on all the cute girls. Couldn’t miss him with that blue and green bow tie and matching suspenders he made sure everyone saw. So confident when he came onto her, almost brash.
Just like now, she’d needed his help.
For one night, she became the woman she’d always wanted to be.
Daring. Memorable. A woman who couldn’t be kicked to the curb. Oh, yeah, she'd been memorable all right. Stupid, but embarrassment still curdled in her stomach when she thought about that night. Heck, she’d never even confided in her sister or her best friends, McKenna and Amy. Maybe some night they’d go out for Cosmos and she’d spill the story. Maybe then they could laugh about it.
“We’re home!” Jillian called out, maneuvering the stroller through the back door. A wave of scorching heat followed her.
“Hey, how’s my boy?” Stripping off the apron, Vanessa scooped up her three-year-old. Bodin smelled like sunshine and the outdoors. “Did you have fun?”
“I went on the dinosaur slide.” Bo’s face lit up.
“And what did you have for a treat?” Jillian coached him.
“Pop-ple,” he breathed with awe and wonder.
“Banana popsicle?” Vanessa asked. Banana was his favorite flavor.
Licking his lips, he nodded.
“Lucky boy.” Lucky Mom. Tucking his dark curls under her chin, Vanessa rocked him. How she loved his restless warmth. Then she tapped his nose with one finger. “And now it’s time for a nap.”
He wasn’t buying it. “Cookie?”
Vanessa laughed. “After your nap, okay? You just had a popsicle, mister.”
“No.” The lower lip came out.
“Oh, yes.”
“Please, Mommy?” Cuddling against her, he batted his thick lashes. Three-year-olds could be so cute.
“Con artist.”
As if on cue, Grandpa Joe ambled through the door that led to the storefront, a smiley cookie in his hand. With a shriek, Bo lunged for his great grandfather. Grandpa Joe beamed. “How's my boy? We missed you, buddy.”
“Oh, Grandpa,” she said with a sigh. “With all that sugar, he'll never go to sleep.”
Grandpa Joe's eyes darted to the back windows. “Not bedtime yet, is it?”
“Not yet.” They were two of a kind. She handed Bo the cookie. “What do you say?”
“Thank you.” It sounded more like “Tu-tu.”
Grandpa Joe was their lifesaver. After Mom died, their father promptly married the first in a string of younger wives. Didn’t matter which wife he was on, none of them had time for stepchildren. The girls’ grandparents gladly took them in. The year Grandma Lottie passed on had been tough, but they’d managed. Grandpa saw to that.
Now macular degeneration was stealing Grandpa’s sight, but he knew how to measure and mix recipes by touch. Ambling over to the sink, he began washing the bowls and pans, whistling under his breath.
“Jillian, can you put Bo down for his nap? I just put today’s chocolate cakes in the oven.” It was a lot cooler upstairs.
“You bet. Come here, you little munchkin.” Prying Bo from Vanessa’s arms, Jillian turned to take him upstairs.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
“No! No nap!” Bo squirmed, cookie crumbs flying.
Grandpa Joe dropped a bowl, and it clattered to the floor.
In all the commotion, Vanessa didn’t notice the back door opening.
“Am I interrupting?”
The air was sucked right out of the room. Even Bo fell quiet, cookie crumbs dusting his open lips. The whirring of the overhead fan sounded like frightened birds flushed from bushes.
In a fitted gray pinstriped suit and mauve bow tie, Alex Compton looked like he’d dropped from the planet of Armani and beautiful people. He didn’t need padding to emphasize those broad shoulders.
“You’re not interrupting. Come on in.” Vanessa forced a smile.
Hands on his hips, Grandpa squinted at Alex. “How'd you get in here, young man?”
Alex hesitated in the doorway. “The door was unlocked, sir.”
“My fault, Grandpa,” Jillian murmured.
“Not a problem. Just checking.” Grandpa walked closer, the family protector. Kind of cute. “We don’t let just anyone into the inner sanctum. Might steal our trade secrets.”
“Guilty as charged.” Alex flung up his hands in mock surrender. Must have seen the twinkle in Grandpa’s eyes. She got a glimpse of hot pink suspenders. “Smells great in here.”
“Chocolate cake.” Vanessa’s quickened pulse surprised her.
“Sorry I didn’t call, but I was in the neighborhood.”
“Not a problem.” Grandpa was still sizing him up. “You a friend of Nessie’s or Jillian?”
Alex’s mouth worked, those full lips that had been oh, so talented. Whoa.
“Both,” Vanessa answered. “Alex is one of our backers. You’ll see him when the show airs. Alex, this is my grandfather.”
“Sir.” He stepped up to shake Grandpa's hand.
That night with Alex, she’d picked up on his elegant manners. Grandpa had taught them that a gentleman always opens the door for a lady, that he walks on the outside of the sidewalk. Quaint, maybe, but she was a sucker for good manners.
“You remember Jillian.” Pivoting slightly, Vanessa nodded to her sister, cocking her head toward the door that led upstairs.
Her sister’s eyes rounded. “Right. Good to see you again, Alex. We’re out of here.”
Bo wasn’t having any part of it. “No!” Struggling to get down, he craned his head around Jillian’s shoulder.
Alex stepped neatly around Vanessa. “So this is your little boy?” He looked at Jillian.
The only sound was the creaking of the overhead fans.
“Bo is my son,” Vanessa said, almost laughing at the cautious look on Alex’s face, like Bo was a grenade that could explode any minute. “Time for a nap.”
“Got a ton of curls there.” Alex smiled as he slipped off his jacket. Bo couldn’t take his eyes off the suspenders.
“Right, but now it’s bedtime. Up you go.” With both hands, Vanessa shooed Jillian and Bo toward the steps, wincing at Bo’s outraged screams. “He can be a little headstrong.”
Alex shook his head. “Yeah, boys can be like that, I guess. I don’t know much about kids.”
Gray hair a frizzy halo around her head, Christine appeared in the doorway that led to the front bakery. With a pleasant nod in their direction, she crooked a finger at Grandpa. “Joe, can you help me with the cases? They'r
e full of smudges.” An old family friend, Christine started coming around after Grandma’s death. She was sweet on Joe, and the feeling seemed mutual.
“Sure thing, Christine.” Grandpa followed her out the door. “Nice meeting you, Alex.”
“You too, sir.”
And then they were alone. Her breath came in tight spurts.
“How old is your little boy?”
Nerves pin-wheeling down her spine, she did some quick math. “Two.”
Alex caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded. Heat swirled through her body. For a moment, they were back in that Vegas hotel room. Stiff-arming the memory, she inhaled deeply. The smell of cakes and yeasty breads anchored her. She grabbed hold of the rough work table.
“Yummy,” Alex muttered with a dazed look. “The cakes, I mean. Smells great in here.” He plucked at his suspenders.
“Did your mother bake?” The ridges of the table bit into her palms. “Baking usually brings back memories.”
The intensity in Alex’s eyes cooled. “My parents are both college professors. Definitely not into baking.”
“Oh, sorry.” What would it be like to grow up without warm cinnamon rolls or sugar cookies? “Why don’t you have a seat?” She nudged one of the stools toward him. Up since four, she couldn’t stand another minute. Or was it Alex and not exhaustion making her knees buckle?
“Sure.” Alex folded his suit coat neatly on one of the other stools and sat down. She’d forgotten how broad his shoulders were, how the collar hugged his corded neck.
She looked a mess. “Could I just check on Bo?”
“No problem. Take your time.”
Her Crocs slapped against her bare her feet as she dashed upstairs, where all was quiet and cool. Apparently Jillian had taken Bo into her bed for the nap. When Vanessa peeked in her sister’s door, they were both out.
On to the bathroom. Lordy, she looked like she just ran a mile. Her face was flushed, and her pigtails were a mess. Brushing her hair out, she tried to stay calm, but her mind spun like the beaters in her mixing bowls.
After finger combing her hair, she leaned against the cool sink. Suck it up. Get on with it. Taking a deep breath, she slowly coiled a knot at the base of her neck and pinned it tight. The timing was so bad. Just when she had her life locked down tight, Hunky Hottie had to come along.
The one night she’d buried deep.
The one night she wanted to forget.
~.~
While he waited for Vanessa, Alex checked around. The place look dated, like bakeries when he was a kid. Why was he here? Great day and he got tired of looking at the sunshine through the plate glass window of an office. He’d cut his meeting short and headed to Oak Park.
The Eisenhower Expressway hadn’t been too bad. A couple of blocks on Harlem Avenue and then he turned onto a leafy side street. His GPS took him to the bakery. The huge trees reminded him of Massachusetts where he’d grown up, so different from his high-rise condo on the lakefront.
Positioning himself under one of the fans, he drummed his fingers on the work table. The visit had been a reality check. Wanted to see if his heartbeat still revved up at the sight of her.
It did. Now what?
When he’d stopped in the breakout session at the Vegas convention, his mind was still fried after another call from his father. When would he give up “this computer craziness” and go into a “meaningful career” like engineering?
As if he’d ever graduated from college.
As if he’d even consider engineering.
Professor Nathan Compton was just ticked that his son wouldn’t listen to him. Never had and never would.
Feeling restless, Alex had ducked into a crowded presentation, figuring the topic must be hot. Turned out, the presenter was hot. The topic, who cared? After he sat down, he forgot all about his father. The girl’s amazing blue eyes got his full attention. When her audiovisuals went haywire, he jumped up. About ten other guys were on their feet. Using old basketball moves, he shouldered his way to the front.
“Thank you so much,” she’d whispered after he got her PowerPoint working again. He could smell her morning coffee. Wanted to taste it on his tongue.
Later, he didn’t know who’d made the first move and he didn’t care. A few drinks later in the lounge, a little baring of their souls, and they were in the game. The night had been beyond torrid. For God’s sake, she’d ripped his shirt off. It all happened so fast.
Somehow, she didn't seem like that kind of woman. Kind of like she was practicing moves she’d seen in a movie. Not that he was complaining. He’d flirted with tons of women at that convention. But the others all seemed hard compared to “Vivien.” Smiles too wide and eyes too bright, with way too much makeup.
Vanessa had this troubling softness in her smile.
When he finally fell asleep, he was already planning where he’d take her for breakfast, but in the morning she was gone. The next week, he got a call from a guy who wanted the app he’d developed. Wanted it bad. The numbers blew his mind. He forgot all about Vivien Leigh.
Now he’d found her, and she was treating him like that night had never happened. Of course, looked like she might be married, even though she didn’t wear a ring. And then there was her kid. Go figure. Looking around at the bakery, he tried to sync wild, blue-eyed Vivien with Vanessa, family woman.
If he were perfectly honest, he’d been steamed when she turned up on Eye of the Tiger. He took this deal with some cock-eyed idea of getting even. Then he met Grandpa Joe, for God’s sake. He wasn’t in his twenties anymore.
Four years later, he was four years wiser.
Business. This was just business.
Jumpy, he wandered around. A computer desk in the corner was stacked with stuff, including an envelope with “Pearls” scrolled in the corner. So, she still hadn’t had them repaired.
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he shoved the envelope in his pocket and returned to the stool.
“Sorry,” she said, swinging through the door. “Everything’s quiet upstairs.”
Still in shorts, she looked like a little girl in her pale pink tank top, but her hair had been twisted back.
“The pigtails weren’t a bad look, Nessie.”
Her hands flew to the damned knot. “Only Grandpa calls me that.”
“Okay. Vanessa.” But the word felt so formal after “Nessie.” Slipping onto the stool next to him, she crossed one long leg over the other.
“Why don’t we get down to business?” She folded both hands neatly in her lap, and his scalp tingled. Those fingers had combed through his hair. She’d teased him about needing a haircut.
So playful that night.
“Right. Business. Looks like your bakery handles other products besides your whipped cream cakes.”
“Sure, we're into strudels and donuts, birthday cakes and bread, but the whipped cream cakes are our focus. They have always been a differentiator.” Tiny beads of perspiration dotted Vanessa’s upper lip. “Right now, Grandpa handles the rest, along with the help out front.”
How could that older man handle this entire bakery? Alex decided not to grill her. They seemed like good people. Vanessa launched into a recap of their history and revenues. He should listen carefully, but questions kept flagging him, like a pit crew when an engine’s overheating. Why had she left that night?
Had she always lived in Chicago?
“Want to see the computer program that handles our orders?” she asked with a tentative smile.
“Sure.” Why not? He couldn't sit here and stare all morning. Springing from the stool, he followed her back to the work area. His footsteps rang on the warped floor boards. Man, it was hot in here. In the corner, a worn chair and small refrigerator were sandwiched next to a computer desk. He rolled up his sleeves. Pulling up the backside of their website, Vanessa began to explain how orders were processed. He hardly heard a word.
As Alex leaned over the gentle slope of her neck, the scent of flour
teased him. He should be thinking about these numbers instead of wondering how flour could smell so seductive. He should be planning how to update this facility instead of wanting to wind one of her wispy curls around his finger. Jamming both hands into his pockets, he tried to focus on the spreadsheets.
So many distractions—Vanessa's long lashes, the shadowy dip between her breasts, her tapered fingers on the keyboard. Body on overload, he jerked upright.
Felt like his lower spine had just been ripped from his body.
Vanessa glanced up. “You okay?”
“Dammit,” he groaned. The pain must have shown on his face.
Vanessa jumped up, nearly knocking over the chair. “What is it? Want to sit down?”
“Just an old basketball injury.” He gripped the back of the chair. She reached out. Their hands touched. The spark could have knocked out a city high-rise.
Just added to the pain. And the memories.
“So dry in here.” She snapped both hands back.
“Dry? Feels humid to me,” he murmured, pressing one hand into his lower back. “Too tall for my own good, I guess.”
“What can I do?” Concern traveled from her eyes to her soft lips.
“Nothing. Guess I’m too old to play basketball. My back can’t take it anymore.” But their eyes weren’t talking about his back. Alex wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless again.
Again. He wanted all that again.
As soon as the damn pain stopped.
Grabbing a stool, she shoved it toward him. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Perching on the edge, he dragged his gaze back to the screen. Time to start acting like a mentor. “Don’t suppose you have your business plan here somewhere?”
“I'm just firming up the details,” she finally said, mouth tight.
“Great. I'd like to see it when you're finished.” Wasn’t this what a mentor would say?
“I’ll work on it,” she murmured.
“Why don’t we brainstorm together?”
She froze.
“Jack's particular,” he continued. “Uses a certain format.” How would he know? Jack might write his business plans on toilet paper. Alex really didn’t give a crap what Jack did.
Vanessa played with the neckline of her tank top that dipped just low enough to make him crazy. Embarrassed, he looked away. Leering was not his style. “In the summer I work from my home office at the lake, not too far away in Michigan.”
