Bake Sale Queen (Greenbridge Academy Book 6)

by Abby Knox

  Bake Sale Queen

  A Greenbridge Academy Romance

  Abby Knox

  Copyright © 2020 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Proofread by Kasi Alexander

  Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Dedicated to all of the yummy, gooey, soft cinnamon rolls.

  Bake Sale Queen

  Book Six in a collection of stories from Greenbridge Academy

  By Abby Knox

  The PTA is a tough scene for single mom Mal. Spending most of her time devoted to building her baking business doesn’t earn her much respect from the super rich parents at her daughter’s elite prep school. However, a tasty new teacher, Quinn, provides the perfect, sweet distraction.

  When English teacher Quinn needs a favor for his class, the intriguing bake sale maven steps in to help. Once he has a taste of her delicious treats, he can’t get enough.

  This sugary little confection is a quick, hot stand-alone story from the Greenbridge Academy series. It can be read alone, even if you haven’t had a taste of the other five books. If you haven’t, you’ve got lots of goodies waiting for you!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Abby Knox

  An excerpt from Shacking Up

  Chapter One

  Mal

  The gilded chocolate stars balanced on these glittering anniversary cupcakes might look a bit over the top.

  The clients had specifically requested my signature cream cheese frosting topped with edible gold leaf. And that may be enough to impress their guests tonight. But, to my mind, nothing is too much for a 50th wedding anniversary celebration and vow renewal. And the 70-year-old bride did tell me not to hold back if I felt like taking it up a notch.

  I sigh wistfully as I wipe my hands on my apron and look at my sparkling achievements laid out on my kitchen counter.

  When I met with this wonderful couple last month to plan out the event, I noticed how the man held the door open and pulled out his wife’s chair for her.

  Even if I don’t need a man to do those things for me, I still hope one day I’ll find someone who looks at me the way he looks at her.

  I let my mind wander while I wash my hands in the sink and look at the note of the day that my daughter Shelby has taped to the window in front of me.

  “Don’t forget to rest and drink some water, Mumsy. I love you.” I laugh at her silly nickname for me. It’s hard on me, sometimes, knowing how much of her sporting events I have had to miss because I’ve been building this business. This afternoon, she’s off to field hockey practice, and will catch a ride home with one of the players who has a driver’s license. I’ve raised a pretty independent kid, and now at 15, she looks after me even better than I look after her sometimes.

  It would be nice to get sweet notes like this from a man one day. Or dirty notes. I wouldn’t mind that at all.

  The knocking on the back door snaps me out of my daydream. I look at the screen door and see it’s my neighbor Meredith, a fellow Greenbridge Academy mom.

  I smile and invite her in.

  “Just finishing up the works for a party tonight.” I chatter as I box up all my creations and stack the boxes by the back door to await delivery. “Make yourself at home; there’s fresh coffee.”

  Meredith looks uncharacteristically nervous as she pours herself a mug. She needs something but is hesitating.

  “What’s happening with you?”

  I load the dishwasher while she talks, smirking to myself. You’d think someone who likes to drop in would offer to help me around the kitchen. But that’s Meredith.

  “Got any good PTA gossip for me?” I ask while I rinse the icing bowls.

  “Actually I do. Have you seen the new English teacher?”

  I shake my head as I carry on with my work. I barely keep up with what goes on at that school. Parents are supposed to be super involved, but as a single mom trying to build a business, it’s impossible.

  “Well, he is a stone cold fox,” she remarks.

  I turn to examine Meredith’s face. She’s wagging her eyebrows suggestively at me.

  I laugh her off. “I’m too busy for a boyfriend,” I say.

  She scoffs. “I wasn’t thinking of you going out with him. I was thinking a little snack for me.” I start the dishwasher and turn back to her, confused. “But you’re married,” I say. I should not be surprised. She is a huge flirt and isn’t subtle about it.

  She cocks her head at me as if to remind me that I should know better than to bring up her marriage to her much older husband.

  I put up my hands. “Look, if you’re gonna mess around on Dr. Brown, I don’t want to know about it.”

  Dr. Brown been really good for business since I bought the little house next door. He’s kind and too old to still be practicing medicine. And whenever he finishes his rounds at the hospital late at night, I sneak him cookies through the kitchen window when Meredith is asleep, because she forbids him to eat sugar. And his word of mouth about my business is priceless.

  “Anyway, the real reason I’m here is because Poppy’s birthday is tomorrow and I need Minion cupcakes.”

  I know better than to a commit to a job right away, even if it is a neighbor.

  “How many cupcakes?”

  She looks up at the ceiling and does math in her head and on her fingers. My stomach drops while I watch the numbers in her head go higher than 24.

  “Thirty-seven,” she says.

  Immediately I decide I’m going to charge her for two batches—48—because no way am I doing that math.

  I tell her the amount it will cost, and then tell her what I charge for a rush job.

  “Excuse me? You’re going to tack on an extra charge for little ol’ me?”

  Uh oh. I’ve seen this happen before. People trying to take advantage because they know me. Not expecting me to charge them full price.

  I don’t budge. “I’m sorry but it’s business.”

  “How much did the Washingtons pay you for all of this? Surely you’re not hurting for money this week.” She gestures at the countertop laden with golden goodies.

  Ouch. “No, I’m not hurting for money this week. But something could come up next week, or next month. And someday Shelby will go to college and I will still need to eat food.”

  Meredith gives me a hurt look. “It just seems harsh to charge so much for a friend.”

  I can’t believe how hard she’s pushing. “It seems ugly to count my money for me, but here we are.”

  We stare at each other for a few moments. Finally, she sighs heavily as if resigning herself to the idea of choosing between the electric chair and lethal injection.

  “Fine. I hav
e nowhere else to go, the professional bakeries won’t take my order this late so I guess I accept your terms.”

  I should hold my tongue but I’m tired and I’m over it. “I am a professional, Meredith. Or did you forget the part where I renovated my whole kitchen, and your husband got his friend on the planning and zoning board to expedite my health inspection?”

  Oops. I shouldn’t have brought it up.

  Her eyes brighten. “That was so sweet of him, wasn’t it? Just so, so sweet of him to do you that favor. And it was so sweet of our computer genius son Corbin to set up your computer system and install all of your business software, wasn’t it?”

  What is she doing? Trying to leverage a favor from five years ago? Her son did help me, that’s true. And he is quite the phenom with computers, even back then in middle school. But he didn’t do a very good job on the security end of things; someone kept hacking in and there was all kinds of suspicious activity around my computer microphones and cameras. I didn’t tell Corbin because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I have since put in all new software and installed a firewall which took care of the problem.

  “Let me put it in perspective for you. If your daughter wants Minions, I’ll have to go shopping for googly eyes because I don’t have any. I would be justified in charging you for my time spent shopping as well.”

  Meredith stands. “Do whatever you need to do.”

  “Fine. I’ll bring the final product to you first thing in the morning,” I say.

  She gives me her always perfunctory-feeling hug and leaves me with a strange, cold feeling in my gut. I shake it off and head to the supermarket to gather supplies.

  All the way to the store I replay the scene in my head.

  Why do people think they can take advantage of friends and acquaintances and get special treatment just because I run a baking business?

  I have a child attending the most elite prep school in the state, and I have bills to pay just like everyone else. Sure, Shelby attends on scholarship, but come on.

  I pull my catering van into the supermarket parking lot but leave the motor running to keep all the desserts cold while I’m in the store.

  The supermarket is about as busy as I would expect on a Friday night, and I get jostled in the snack cake aisle by a random shopping cart while I’m reaching for the Twinkies.

  “Oof!” I cry, nearly losing my footing at the impact.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, are you all right?” The deep voice from behind me is accompanied by the touch of a strong hand on my side, steadying me.

  I regain my footing and pivot around, nearly gasping at the sight of a wide, beflanneled chest.

  “I’m fine,” I tell the chest, adding a “whoa” silently with my mouth.

  My eyes travel upward, landing on a pair of kind, gray-blue eyes with crow’s feet that could put this man squarely in the category of silver fox, except that his hair isn’t silver at all, but warm brown and wavy. The shaggy mop hangs just above his ears.

  He holds out the box to me. “You were reaching for these?”

  I snatch the box away. “Yes, for a client, not for me!”

  “That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?”

  I laugh a little too hard and reply, “I mean, I’m not eating these. I would never.”

  His lovely eyebrows rise in mild surprise. “Oh. Too bad. I kind of like those. Would be nice to have a new friend to eat them with.”

  I’m taken aback at his forwardness. But not turned off.

  “Oh, are you new in town?”

  “Yeah. Really new. So new that I haven’t found a place to live yet and I’m eating highly processed foods because I don’t have a kitchen at the hotel.”

  I chuckle and enjoy the view of his shoulders and the way his forearms look with his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed in front of him.

  “Oh, good luck on the home search,” I say. “What brought you to town?”

  “Work. Well, I’m teaching fiction writing at the local prep school.”

  My conversation with Meredith comes crashing down on me.

  It’s him! And Meredith was not wrong about this dude being a snack and a half.

  I put out my hand. “I’m Mallory. Mal. My daughter attends Greenbridge.”

  “Quinn.” He seems to reluctantly end the handshake, and frankly I’m enjoying the warmth against my always-cold hands.

  We stare stupidly at each other for a moment.

  “Well. I suppose I’ll see you around,” he says softly, nodding still. He looks like he’s waiting for me to say something else.

  But I don’t.

  “Yeah,” I finally say. His magical smile dares me to take the leap and give him my number.

  But ultimately I have to think of protecting Shelby. She’s had trouble making friends at school. A bit of a tomboy, with her field hockey skills and her tendency to choose the school uniform pants instead of the plaid skirt.

  The bake sale queen can’t give the student body any more ammunition to taunt her daughter.

  He turns to walk away and I finally see how stupid I am.

  He’s carrying an old paperback copy of On the Road in his back pocket, and I have questions.

  “Quinn, wait.”

  He spins around, leading with his face, which burns me with a bright, hopeful grin.

  “Yeah?”

  I grab an extra box of Twinkies and hold it aloft. “If you help me make a delivery tonight, I’ll have Twinkies with you.”

  Chapter Two

  Quinn

  These cookies are ridonkulous.

  Yeah, I’m the new guy they hired to teach English at this school, but that’s the only word I can come up with to describe what’s in my mouth.

  I mean, who in their right mind wastes top-notch chocolate chip homemade cookies on a PTA meeting?

  I grab two more as it looks like most of the people here are not paying any mind to the sweets; all these well-dressed parents seem to be gathered in small pods, discussing important matters. A few of them glance my way with flirtatious curiosity, watching me move across the room to take a seat among the rows of folding chairs, and I cannot contain my smile. My face is surely giving away every thought racing through my head about the amazing woman I met Friday night.

  And now, three days later, the memory of Mal is getting in the way of me mentally preparing for this meeting—a meeting of all the prominent parents at this school, from whom I’m about to ask a huge favor.

  If I want funds to take my students halfway across the country, I have to get serious.

  Still I can’t help but let my brain wander back to that oddly magical evening. One moment I let my cart run away while looking at the Little Debbie snack cakes, and the next minute I’m helping the most deliciously curvaceous woman I’ve ever seen haul box after box of homemade goodies into a splashy anniversary party full of complete strangers.

  I liked the way she had looked me up and down and asked me, “You got enough muscles under that flannel to help me unload some cupcakes?”

  The sparkle in her eye touched off something dark and needful in me. I was ready to respond by ripping off my shirt to let her see for herself.

  I’m not a totally muscular dude, and I might be a little soft in the middle. But I am big and pretty strong.

  The evening got even weirder when the golden anniversary couple invited us in to the party to eat dinner.

  Mal and I insisted on eating in the kitchen, away from the party guests. I was happy to have her all to myself, to be honest. She’s light, bubbly, and full of energy like nobody else I’ve ever met. I loved listening to her talk.

  “Well, this is better than Twinkies,” she’d said. “Speaking of which, I should really be getting home soon to start working on my neighbor’s kid’s birthday Minion cupcakes.”

  “Minion cupcakes?”

  She nodded. “That's what the Twinkies are for. You cut them up and pop them on top of the cupcakes, attach googly eyes and boom. Minion
s.”

  I remarked that it didn’t seem like all that much work, especially if she just used a box mix for the cupcakes themselves. She’d made me laugh when she pretended to stab herself in the chest.

  “Bite your tongue, sir! Nothing made in my kitchen comes from a box from the store.”

  “Except for the Twinkies, right?”

  Mal narrowed her eyes.

  “Why are you teasing me?”

  “I’m not making a very good impression for a first date, am I?”

  “This is a date?”

  I smiled and finally decided to be forward, covering her hand with mine where hers rested on the table top.

  “Definitely the best first date I’ve ever had,” I blurted out.

  Her eyes widened. But she didn’t pull her hand away. It stayed there, soft and warm under mine. I had a mind to pick it up and kiss the back of it.

  And that’s when everything fell apart. A text notification pinged. When she pulled her hand away from me to check her phone, a cloud crept across her face.

  “What’s up?” I asked her.

  She shook her head, sighed, and angrily chucked her phone into her handbag.

  “That was my neighbor. She doesn’t want the cupcakes anymore. Decided it was too expensive and claimed to have found another home baker to do it cheaper. ‘No rush order charge,’ apparently. I’m so done with her bullshit.”

  I went back and forth in my mind, trying to figure out how to respond to this.

  I made the wrong choice.

  “Well, more Twinkies for us then?”

  Mal's shoulders drooped when she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I need to go. I’m not really in the mood for Twinkies or an anniversary party now. You can have them if you want.”