by Jillian Hart
She reloaded her spatula with frosting. “You’re not gone yet.”
He sighed, resigned as he backed through the kitchen doorway. “I guess I’ll see you at the wedding, huh?”
“Not if I can help it.” Really, what gave this guy the idea that she was interested? “I’d better follow you to the door to make sure you really leave. Then I’m going to lock it, so no more riffraff can get in.”
“At least I’m not the backdoor burglar, or you would have really been in trouble. That spatula loaded with frosting wouldn’t be much of a weapon against a revolver.” He paused in the front door, framed by the brilliant June sunshine. His grin went cosmic. “By the way, you have frosting on your nose. It’s cute. Real cute.”
“You’re not so attractive, Mr. Yuck.”
“Ava, listen. I’m not the groom. When you deliver the cake, stick around for the wedding. You’ll see I’m the best man. So, how about it?”
She grabbed his arm and gave him a shove. It was impossible not to notice he felt like solid steel. Once he’d rocked backwards a step, she was able to slam the door. Not that he was harmful, she thought as she threw the deadbolt, but she’d had enough of not-so-stellar men.
So why did she gravitate to the front windows that gave her a perfect view of the parking lot?
Because she wanted to make sure he left, the horrible man, trying to pick up a woman on the night before his wedding. Despicable.
It was hard to believe a human being was capable of behaving so badly, but she’d been propositioned like that before. Three wedding cakes ago. Darrin Fullerton had thought that when she delivered the two-tier caramel coconut cake that she was ready to serve up something else, too. It still shocked her. Too many men needed to spend more time reading their Bibles. Filling their minds with uplifting and spiritual subjects. Learning to recite the Psalms. List the seven deadly sins. That kind of thing.
The groom climbed into a bright red luxury sports car—not surprising—and zipped away. As he passed by the shop’s glassed front, his driver’s side window whipped down and he lifted his designer aviator sunglasses to give her a wink.
Horrible. Anger turned her vision to pure crimson. Seconds passed until she could see normally again. The parking lot was empty, the red sports car long gone.
Her cell phone chimed. The cheerful jingle came from very near. She looked down and found it in her apron pocket. The display said it was her twin sister, Aubrey. “Howdy.”
“I’m just pulling up into the lot. I can see your frowny face from here.”
“I have more than a frowny face on. It’s my down-on-men face.”
“Wow. What happened?”
“Oh, another groom trying to get one last party in before he commits.” Ava spotted her bright yellow SUV cautiously creeping across the empty lot. Her sister had borrowed it and was coming closer. “What is it with men and commitment? I don’t get why it’s so terrifying. It’s not any more frightening than a lot of things. Like premature baldness.”
“Crow’s feet.”
“New car payments. Now that’s scary. Which is why I’m glad I’ve given up on dating. Who cares if I ever get married?”
“You do.”
“Too true.” Ava sighed. “I’ve got a few more minutes to finish up, and then I’m good to go.”
Aubrey brought the vehicle to a slow stop at the curb outside the window. She leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. “You brought a change of clothes, right? Or are you going to the movies like that?”
“I knew I forgot something.” Ava snapped the phone shut. Who needed a man when she had enough disaster in her life?
Too bad the kind of man she needed—perfect in every way, no selfishness, no flaws or questionable morals—didn’t exist.
So what was a nice girl to do? Settle for Mr. So-So or Marginally Moral? As if!
Ava unlocked the door for Aubrey and went back to work. There was the wedding cake in all its loveliness, fresh and beautiful like the new promise a wedding should be. But would she ever know what that new promising love felt like? No.
Disappointed, she grabbed a clean spatula from the drawer by the sink and went back to work, making sugar roses. Trying not to dwell on the sadness that was buried so deep inside she could almost pretend it didn’t exist. She didn’t want to live her life without knowing true love.
But with the men she kept running into, she had no other choice.
Chapter Two
The next morning, Brice pulled into the country club’s parking lot and killed the engine. It was 8:53 a.m. Hadn’t Ava promised the cake would be delivered by nine?
He climbed out into the hot sunshine, made hotter by the monkey suit he had to wear. He hooked a finger beneath his tie and tugged until he had a little more breathing room. After remoting the door locks, he hadn’t gone five steps before his cell rang. He thumbed it from his pocket. Seeing his sister’s number on the call screen made his step lighter. “Having cold feet yet?”
“No way. I can’t wait to get married. I don’t have a single doubt. Where are you?”
“Where do you think?”
“Ha! You’re up to something. You’re not answering me.” She sounded happy, her voice light and easy.
Brice was glad for his little sister. He wouldn’t mind having that kind of happiness in his life. He checked his Rolex. Another minute had ticked by. He shouldered through the club’s main door. “Where I am is none of your business. Is Mom giving you problems?”
“When isn’t she giving me problems? She means well. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself so I don’t flip out. She’s made two of my bridesmaids cry. She’s decided the wedding planner isn’t capable and is trying to take over.”
“Do you need me to come run interference?”
“Do you know what I need you to do?” Chloe sounded as if she was very glad he’d asked. “I’d love it if you could swing by the club and check on the cake.”
I know what you’re up to little sister, he thought. But he didn’t mind. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Ava since he’d left her shop yesterday.
It ate at him that she thought he was the groom. She was right—from her mistaken perspective he did look like a Mr. Yuck. Now, that was a misperception he had to change, even if he had to show her two forms of ID to do it.
Because he didn’t want to encourage his sister, he tried to sound indifferent. Not at all interested. “Tell me what you know about this baker you went with.”
“Ha! You like her. I know you do.”
“I don’t know her.” Yet. But he intended to change that.
As he began looking around the room, he spotted her through the closed French doors into the ballroom and he froze in place. Ava. Seeing her was like the first light of dawn rising, and that was something he’d never felt before. Ever.
“I met Ava when we were volunteering at the community church’s shelter kitchen.” Chloe sounded very far away, although the cell connection was crystal clear. “She’s sweet and kind and hysterical. We had a great time, until they asked her to leave.”
What had she said? Brice’s mind was spinning. He couldn’t seem to focus. All he could think of was Ava. Her thick, shiny hair was tied up into a haphazard ponytail, bouncing in time with her movements. She was busily going over the cake, checking each colorful flower and sparkling golden accent.
She hadn’t noticed him yet and seemed lost in her own world. She had a set of ear buds in, probably listening to a pocket-sized digital music player. She wore jeans and a yellow T-shirt that said on the back “Every Kind of Heaven” in white script.
Was the saying true? It had to be. She did look like everything sweet and good in the world.
“Brice? Are you listening to me?”
He felt dazed, as if he’d been run over by a bus. He couldn’t orient himself in place and time. Any minute Ava would look up, and when she saw him, she’d leap to the same conclusion as before—that he was Mr. Yuck. If he didn’t act qui
ckly, would she start lobbing frosting at him?
He’d never quite had that affect on a woman before.
“Look, Chloe. I gotta go. Call if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure. You’ll make sure Ava doesn’t need any help, right? She’s just starting her business and she hasn’t hired anyone yet. She’ll need some assistance with all the favors we ordered. Remember, if you change your mind and decide to bring a date to my wedding, feel free.”
“Sure. Right,” he said vaguely.
Ava. He was having the toughest time concentrating on anything else. His thoughts kept drifting to the woman on the other side of the door.
When he opened it, he heard a lightly muttered, “Oops!”
Ava’s voice made his senses spin.
Think, Brice. He clicked off his phone and stepped into the ballroom.
Morning light spilled through the long row of closed French doors and onto her. She looked tinier than he remembered. Maybe it was that she had such a big personality that she gave the impression of stature. She was surprisingly petite with slender lines and almost skinny arms and legs. There was no one else helping. How she’d delivered that big cake by herself was a mystery. It had to be heavy.
He knew the moment she sensed his presence. The line of her slender shoulders stiffened. Every muscle went completely rigid. She pulled the ear buds out of her ears, turning toward him in one swift movement.
“You.” If looks could kill, he’d at least be bleeding. “What are you doing here? You’re just like Darrin Fullerton. He showed up when I was delivering the cake to beg me not to say anything to his bride. He’d been drunk, he’d said, and didn’t know what he was doing when he propositioned me. As if that’s any excuse!”
Quick, Brice, look innocent. He held up both hands in surrender. “Wait. I’m nothing like that Fullerton guy. I’m a completely innocent best man. Really.”
“Innocent? I don’t think so.”
Ava gave him her best squinty-eyed look. He was bigger than she remembered, a good six feet tall. When she’d shoved him out the door of her bakery, it had been like trying to move a bulldozer.
She went up on tiptoe so she could glare at him directly, not exactly eye to eye, but it was the best she could manage, being so short. “Are you ashamed of yourself? At all?”
He didn’t look unashamed. “Chloe’s going to love that cake. You did an amazing job.”
“Now if only I can control the urge to lob the top tier at you.”
“Do you think you can restrain that urge for a few seconds? I’ve got something to show you.” He reached into his back pocket.
Men were much more trouble than they were worth, she concluded. But why did he have to have such an amazing grin? That’s probably what Chloe saw in him; it obviously blinded her to all his multitude of faults. Poor Chloe. “You should be getting ready for your wedding, but what are you doing? Trying to get me not to tell—”
He flashed a card at her. “This ought to clear up the confusion.”
“I’m not the one who’s confused. You owe me an apology and your bride an enormous apology and—”
He waved the card in front of her. “Look closer.”
She squinted to bring the card into focus. Not a card. It was a driver’s license. Some of her fury sagged as she realized the picture, which was, of course, perfect, matched the man standing before her. The name to the left of the photo was Brice Donovan.
What? Her mind screeched to a sudden halt. She sank back onto her heels, staring, feeling her jaw drop. Brice Donovan. Chloe Donovan’s brother. Not the groom.
“I’m the best man,” he said, wagging the card. “Do you finally believe me?”
His eyes darkened with amusement, but they weren’t unkind. No, not at all. A strong warmth radiated from him as he leaned close, and then closer.
That thought spun around in her brain for a moment, like a car’s engine stuck in neutral. Then it hit her. She’d insulted, yelled at and accused a perfectly innocent man.
It was hard to know just what to say. Talk about being embarrassed. Had she really said all those things to him? She felt faint. Wasn’t he on the city’s most eligible bachelor’s list? It was just in last weekend’s paper. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him.
Why did these things always happen to her? She clipped her case closed. He was probably waiting for an apology. An apology for the accusations. The fact that she’d been beyond rude to him, one of the wealthiest men from one of the most prominent families in Montana.
Lovely. Her face heated from the humiliation starting to seep into her soul. “Oops. My bad.”
“You think?” He crooked one brow, amusement softening the impressive impact of all iron-solid six feet of him.
The effect was scrambling her brain cells, and that wasn’t helping her to think.
“Chloe’s going to really love what you’ve done with this cake.” He jammed his hands into his pockets, looking like a cover model come to life. “It’s going to make her so happy. Thank you.”
Now what did she say? She’d been awful to him and he was complimenting the cake she’d worked so hard on. It made her feel even worse. “I’m trying to figure out how to apologize, but sorry seems like too small a word.”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
“Thanks,” she said shyly.
Brice Donovan’s smile made her even more muddled. Before he’d walked into the ballroom she’d been so happy, thinking how pleased Chloe was going to be. But now? Her heart twisted with agony. Her face was so hot and red from embarrassment, she could feel her skin glow. What she could see of her nose was as bright as a strawberry.
This was no way for a professional baker to behave. Feeling two inches tall, she looked up to Brice’s kind eyes. He wasn’t laughing at her. No. That was one saving grace, right?
“I am sorry. Really. Tell Chloe best wishes. This cake is my gift to her.”
“But she hired you to bake it.”
“So she thinks. I’ve got to go, I have another project to work on, but this, the groom’s cake and the favors, it’s all from me to her. She was a good friend to me when I really needed one.” Her chest felt so tight, she felt ready to burst. Embarrassment had turned into a horrible, sharp pain right behind her sternum.
Doom. She’d just made a mess of this. Would there ever be one time—just once—when she didn’t make a mess of something? There was no way to fix this, and the cake was finished. There was nothing else to do but grab her case and her baseball cap.
Somehow she managed to speak without strangling on her embarrassment. “Goodbye, Mr. Donovan. And I am s-sorry again.”
“Wait, don’t go yet, I—”
“I have to.” She was already walking away. She had work waiting and she couldn’t face him a second longer. She’d humiliated herself enough for one day and it was only 9:15 a.m. She hadn’t even had breakfast yet. Way to go, Ava.
She wasn’t aware of crossing the room, only that she was suddenly at the kitchen. But she was aware of him. Of his presence behind her in the spill of light through the expansive windows. She didn’t have to look at him as she pushed through the kitchen door to know that he was watching her. She could feel the tangible weight of his touch between her shoulder blades. What was he thinking?
Lord, I don’t want to know. She kept going. She hit the back service doors and didn’t slow until she felt the soothing morning sun on her face.
She skidded to a stop in the gravel and breathed in the fresh morning air. The scents of warm earth and freshly mowed grass calmed her a little. She breathed hard, getting out all the negative feelings. There were a lot of them. And trying not to hear her mother’s voice saying, You wreck everything you touch. Can’t you stop making a mess for two seconds?
She’d been seven, and she could still hear the shrill impatience. She still felt like that little girl who just didn’t know how things went wrong no matter how hard she tried.
You’re just a big
dope, Ava, she told herself. What kind of grown adult had the problems she had? Wasn’t she going to turn over a new leaf? Start out right this time? Stop making so many dumb mistakes?
Well, no more. She wasn’t going to think about the way she’d embarrassed herself back there. She’d been hoping that by doing a good job with Chloe’s cake, she’d get some word-of-mouth interest and her business would naturally pick up.
But after this, what were the chances that anyone was going to remember what the cake looked like?
None. All Brice Donovan was going to do was to talk about the dingbat cake lady who mistook him—the city of Bozeman’s golden boy—for a philandering groom.
Her SUV blurred into one bright yellow blob. She blinked hard until her eyes cleared and reached into her pocket for her keys.
The only thing she could do was go on from here. Simply write off this morning as a lesson learned. What else could she do? She reached into her other pocket, but it was empty. No, it couldn’t be. Her heart jack hammered. Where were her keys?
She did another search of her pockets. Jeans front pockets. No key. Back pockets. No key. Those were the only pockets she had. Panic began to stutter in her chest. Where were her keys?
There. Sitting right in plain view on the rear passenger seat. Inside the locked vehicle. Right next to her cell phone and her sunglasses.
Super-duper. What did she do now?
“Looks like you need help,” said a rumbling baritone from behind her. A baritone she recognized. Brice Donovan.
Could the morning get any worse? How was she going to save her dignity now—or what was left of it? “H-help? Oh, no, I’m fine.”
“Fine, huh? Aren’t those your car keys inside the car?”
“I believe so.”
“I don’t know too many people who can actually lock their keys in the car with a remote. Don’t you need the remote to lock the door?”
“Yes.” She plopped her baseball cap on her head and pulled the bill low, trying to hide what she could of her face. Her nose was bright red again.
Brice studied her for a moment before realization dawned. Oh, he knew why she was acting this way, shuffling away from him, head down, avoiding his gaze. She was embarrassed. Well, she didn’t need to be. “Hey, it’s no big deal. This kind of thing happens, right?”
