by Melody Grace
“That’s her.” Riley tried to hide his triumph. “You know her?”
“Not really.” Mac stripped off her clay-splattered apron. “I’ve seen her at the bakery a couple of times. She works at a hotel up the coast, I think.”
“Which one?” Riley asked.
Mac looked amused. “Sand something? Sandcastle. Sandy road . . .”
“Sandy Lane.” Riley remembered the name. It was right on the water, a classy boutique place, which suited Brooke down to her tiny pearl earrings. “Thanks. I might just drop by and say hello.”
“Good luck,” Mac said. “Something tells me she’s out of your league.”
“No way. I’m in a league of my own,” Riley drawled. Mac paused, then gave him a mischievous look.
“You know, you should invite her to Summer’s party tonight. You said you wanted her to feel at home, right?”
“Right.” Riley narrowed his eyes. Mac was up to something, he could tell.
“So I’d love to meet her.” She gave him an innocent smile. “It’ll be a fun event. A great way for a newcomer to make friends.”
“Hmmm.” Riley studied her, but he couldn’t figure out what she was doing. Besides, it was actually a good idea. It would be a totally innocent invitation, asking Brooke to join a big, friendly event. Not romantic at all. “Maybe I will.”
“Great, see you there tonight.” Mac rolled up her sleeves. “Now, time for some drowned sailors!”
RILEY LEFT Mac to her pottery and drove up the coast to the hotel. He’d been there for some event last year, and it was just as elegant as he remembered, set on perfect manicured lawns with sweeping views of the ocean. He strolled inside and looked around the polished lobby. “Hey, do you know where I can find Brooke?” he asked the guy on the front desk.
“She’s in the salon, I think.”
Riley followed his directions to a bright, sunny room in the back of the hotel. Brooke was talking to some staff members, and he paused in the doorway, watching her at work. She seemed focused and animated, explaining something with gestures and a smile. She was still as buttoned up as the first night he’d seen her, but she was definitely more at ease here than in the crowded bar.
At least she was, until she glanced over and saw him.
She froze.
“Hey.” Riley lifted his hand. “Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt.”
“No.” Brooke blinked. “I . . . uh, we’re all done here. Thanks, everyone.” She dismissed the other staff members and turned back to Riley, looking cautious. “What are you doing here? I told you—”
“That you’ve sworn off men and you’re joining a convent, I know.” Riley gave her a reassuring grin. He’d have liked a warmer welcome, but hey, one step at a time. “Don’t worry, I won’t try and change your mind. A friend of mine is having a party tonight, and I thought you might like to come.”
“On a date?” Brooke was still looking at him suspiciously.
“The opposite of a date,” Riley said. “No flowers, no dinner, no fooling around in the backseat of my car, I promise.”
Brooke cracked a grin. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
“I do, but I won’t be showing it to you. Scout’s honor.” Riley crossed his heart. “What do you say? It’s my friend Summer’s birthday, I think you’d hit it off. She makes a mean chocolate cake.”
Brooke’s expression changed. “Summer Bloom, the baker? I know her! She made the most incredible cake for a wedding here. It had a peach frosting; I still dream about that cake.” Brooke looked longing for a moment, and Riley was struck with jealousy.
He wanted to be the one to put a smile like that on her face.
And the one to lick it off.
“Well, drop by tonight, and you might get another taste,” he said, pulling himself together. “Eight o’clock.” He took a pad of hotel paper from the table and found a stub of pencil in his pocket, scribbling Summer’s address on the letterhead page.
Brooke took the paper, looking torn. “I don’t know, I’m so busy here . . .”
Riley wanted to stay and convince her, ask about her job and what brought her out to the Cape, and a million other questions that had crossed his mind since the other night, but he knew to tread gently. He was playing it cool, remember? Platonic.
“No problem, just thought I’d give you the invite. I better get going, but see you tonight. Maybe.”
He gave her a wink and then strolled away like he had someplace better to be, even though it felt wrong to be walking away from her. This is what happened when a woman turned him down for once, he thought ruefully. It scrambled his whole damn system. Still, the party tonight should be fun. Either Brooke showed and he’d get to know her a little better, or he’d take on that cake table alone.
Now that sounded like a win-win situation. His favorite kind.
BROOKE WATCHED RILEY WALK AWAY, still feeling thrown. She’d thought she was imagining him at first, strolling into the spotless formal sitting room in worn-out jeans and an old band T-shirt, but he’d been all too real.
And so was Brooke’s temptation.
She tucked the paper away and quickly straightened up some stray cushions. She didn’t have time to drool over off-limits men, she was due to meet a potential client right now. And as for his casual invitation . . . ?
It was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Never mind the promise of making friends and sampling cake; Brooke knew a guy like that didn’t make an offer like that without an agenda, and she’d already had a preview up against the wall of that alleyway.
The memory hit her in a rush. His mouth easing her lips wider, his tongue teasing her with wicked heat. And his body, God, his body, crushing her to him with hard muscle and coiled, devastating power . . .
“Brooke Delancey?”
A voice cut through her X-rated visions. Brooke startled.
“Yes!” she yelped, spinning around. A polished-looking woman was standing there, sizing up the room. She was clutching a thick binder, with her phone in one hand.
“Meredith Porter?” Brooke extended her hand quickly, still feeling flushed. “It’s great to meet you. Thank you so much for considering us for your wedding.”
“My . . . ?” Meredith repeated, then smirked. “Oh, no, I’m sorry I was so cryptic in my email. It’s all pretty hush-hush, you understand.”
Brooke didn’t just yet, but she gestured to the couch. “Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me all about it?”
Meredith took a seat, perching on the very edge of the couch. “Before we get started, I’m going to need you to sign this.” She produced a sheaf of papers from her file and handed it to Brooke. “Standard non-disclosure contract, guaranteeing confidentiality for everything we discuss.”
Brooke blinked. “Umm . . .” She scanned the page, and the dense legal writing. “I can assure you, I treat all our events with discretion—”
“I’m sure you do.” Meredith produced a pen. “But I’m under orders.”
Brooke paused another moment. What was this about? She was too curious to resist. She scribbled her name, and passed the pages back.
Meredith seemed to relax. “Now we can get down to business. I work for a client out in Los Angeles,” she explained. “We’re scouting for the perfect Cape Cod location to use for her upcoming wedding.”
“Great.” Brooke flipped open her planner. “When were you thinking?”
“We’re looking at the weekend after Labor Day.”
“Next year?”
“No. This summer.”
Brooke burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?” she spluttered.
Meredith stared back, totally serious.
“But . . . that’s four weeks away!” Brooke tried to stop her giggles. Was she serious? “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to collect herself. “But that’s impossible. Summer weddings on the Cape are booked years in advance. I could do my best to try to squeeze you in around . . .” She flipped through her calendar. “Febru
ary, at the earliest, but even then, that’s just the venue rental here. We’d still need to find the decorations, catering staff, flowers . . .” Brooke trailed off. “I hate to break it to you, but four weeks to arrange a wedding from scratch is a tall ask at the best of times, let alone during summer season here.”
“Very well.” Meredith snapped her folder shut. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I’ll move on to my next appointment.”
She got to her feet, and Brooke followed, but something was still pricking at her. “Just out of curiosity, who’s the client?” she asked. “Since I’ve signed the forms already.”
Meredith glanced around, checking the room. They were alone. She leaned in, and dropped her voice. “Lila Moore.”
Brooke froze. “Lila Moore, the actress?”
The it-girl, famous reformed partier, style icon, heading-for-her-first-Oscar-nomination actress. She had broken out in a big trilogy, adapted from a bestselling young adult series, and gone on to deliver star-making performances in big-budget blockbusters and small indie movies alike.
Meredith nodded. “She’s marrying Justin Cartwright. You know, the Cartwright heir,” she said, naming a political dynasty that rivaled the Kennedys for their ambition and style.
“I didn’t even know they were dating!” Brooke gasped. She hadn’t kept up with her guilty-pleasure gossip magazines since her move, but even she wouldn’t have missed that.
“It’s all highly confidential.” Meredith fixed her with a warning look. “That’s why we’re on such a tight schedule. We want to have the whole event planned and executed before anything leaks.”
“Good luck with that. If I were them, I’d just elope,” Brooke said wryly. Hollywood royalty plus political prestige? “It’ll be a circus once the press gets hold of it.”
“I agree.” For the first time, Meredith looked tired. “But the Cartwrights are insisting on a traditional ceremony, here in Massachusetts. So, we’re going to need something small and intimate, but without cutting corners on style.”
Brooke felt torn. Lila Moore? This was the opportunity of a lifetime. Sure, the happy couple was keeping things under wraps for now, but once the news was out, then there would be magazine spreads and photos everywhere. Front page news around the world. A single social media post from Lila would get a million likes—and hundreds of copy-cat brides wanting exactly the same royal treatment.
It would be foolish to turn this down.
She opened her calendar again, looking over the schedule. Luckily things were a little quieter after Labor Day, when the bulk of the summer tourists started dropping off. “I guess I could move some things around . . .” she said, already thinking of the champagne and discounts she’d have to send everyone as an apology.
“Perfect. You can pitch next week.”
“Pitch?” Brooke repeated, confused.
Meredith looked at her. “This is just the first round,” she explained. “You and the other venues will all present your plans, and then Lila and Justin will pick. The winner gets the contract.”
“And three weeks to host the biggest wedding of the season,” Brooke finished slowly.
Meredith smiled. “It’ll be worth your while, believe me. There’s an unlimited budget for the event, and me and my team will use our contacts to help get whatever you need.” She pulled a card from her folder and offered it to Brooke. “Here are my details, I’ll be in touch to confirm the pitch. We can’t wait to see what you come up with!”
Brooke studied the card as Meredith whisked away. Hollywood plus Washington plus an impossible deadline? Something told her she was signing up for a world of trouble—but Brooke didn’t mind. She loved a challenge, and this was about as big as they came. If she could win the pitch and actually pull this off . . .
She looked around, just imagining the event. It was her chance to put the hotel on the map—and prove to everyone back in Chicago that she hadn’t just fled in shame.
She tucked the card away into her organizer and a slip of loose paper fell to the ground. She reached to pick it up. It was the party details that Riley had left, an address scribbled in confident cursive.
Brooke paused. She needed to give Summer a call anyway now, and line up some cake samples for the pitch to Lila. After all, what better way to entice them to pick the hotel than with a plate of delicious treats? She could drop by tonight to talk about it in person, and meet some of the other locals in Sweetbriar Cove.
It was only polite, as a new neighbor. And good business sense too. Nothing to do with Riley and that tempting smile of his, or the memories of his mouth pressed hungrily against hers.
Nothing at all.
6
Brooke drove over to the party that night with butterflies dancing in her stomach. She’d left work on time for once, and she’d agonized over half a dozen outfits, standing in front of the thrift-store mirror she’d found in a little store outside town. Would a dress be too dressy? Would Riley think she was trying too hard—for him? Brooke tore through her newly unpacked closet of clothing and despaired. It was easy for someone like Riley; he probably rolled out of bed and threw on a pair of jeans whether he was heading to the beach or a five-star restaurant, but Brooke didn’t have it so easy.
What outfit said, I can’t kiss you again, but I want you to want me anyway?
Eventually, she settled on a pair of blue linen shorts, with her favorite red off-the-shoulder top, and pulled her hair back in a simple French braid. She was being ridiculous, she knew—she was a grown woman, not a high schooler trying to impress her crush—but as she followed her GPS’s directions off the main coastal highway, Brooke felt sixteen all over again.
Snap out of it, she told herself, driving past open fields and woodland until she saw the turn. He’d said it himself, this wasn’t a date. No dinner, no flirting, and no kissing in the shadows at the end of the night. She had no reason to feel that lurch of anticipation in her stomach, or to check her makeup in the rearview mirror as she parked alongside the other cars and trucks strewn haphazardly down the long driveway.
She got out of her car and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. It was a warm summer night, still bright out with the last of twilight, and she could hear birdsong chirping and the distant sound of music coming from further up the track.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she started the walk. It was a message from Eliza.
Want to come to a party tonight? 52 Willow Drive.
Brooke laughed. It was the same address Riley had scribbled for her, but in a small town like this, she shouldn’t be surprised.
I just got here.
She rounded the corner and found a sprawling old farmhouse, lit up with Chinese lanterns hanging in the trees. People and laughter spilled out onto the porch, and music came, louder, echoing out across the fields. Brooke climbed the front steps and stepped inside. To her relief, everyone looked as casual as her, drinking beer and wine and eating some delicious-looking pastries.
“How do you know Summer?” Eliza appeared from the crowd to hug her hello.
“Cake,” Brooke explained, and Eliza laughed.
“Same goes for the rest of us. Come on, let me introduce you to some people.” She led Brooke into the house, stopping every few paces to introduce Brooke until her head was spinning trying to keep up with the names.
“And here’s the birthday girl!” Eliza announced, as Summer emerged from the kitchen with a tray of cupcakes. “What are you doing baking at your own party?” she scolded her playfully. “Relax, you should be having a good time.”
“Baking is a good time,” Summer grinned. She had her dark hair tumbling in natural curls, wearing a cute print sundress and bare feet. “Brooke, hey!” she sounded surprised. “Great to see you again.”
“Riley invited me,” Brooke explained quickly. “I hope that’s OK.”
“The more the merrier.” Summer beamed. “How are things at the hotel?”
“Good. Hectic,” Brooke added. “But I like
it that way.”
“You’re probably the only person who moved out here to work more,” Summer said with a rueful look. “The rest of us are all chasing a break.”
“You work around the clock at the bakery,” Eliza pointed out.
“True, but it doesn’t feel like work,” Summer replied. “I mean, I would bake all day long even if it wasn’t my job.”
“Lucky you,” Eliza groaned. “I was up until midnight finishing my latest article. And let me tell you, a thousand words on redistricting regulations isn’t my passion.”
Summer patted her shoulder sympathetically. “Have some cake, you’ll feel better.”
Eliza brightened. “You’re right. Thanks.” She took two of the mini-cupcakes and devoured them in five seconds flat.
“What was that you said about a detox?” Brooke teased her.
“Frosting doesn’t count,” Eliza protested. She waved at somebody across the room. “Be right back.” Eliza ducked away, and Brooke took a cupcake.
“These are delicious,” she exclaimed, tasting the tart frosting.
“Thanks.” Summer smiled. “I’m going crazy with the summer harvest right now, all these fresh blackberries around.”
“Do you have some time this week?” Brooke asked, seeing her opening. “I’d love to chat to you about some more wedding opportunities.”
“Sure, just swing by the bakery anytime,” Summer offered. “I’d love to pick up any extra gigs you have going.”
“Perfect.” Brooke smiled, relieved. Finding a master baker worthy of a Hollywood wedding was no short order, and having Summer as her secret weapon for the pitch might push her over the top.
The crowd shifted, and Brooke caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Her stomach turned a slow pirouette. Riley was making his way towards them, wearing a crisp button-down shirt, white against his tanned skin, and was that . . . ?
“You shaved?” she said as he reached them.
Riley rubbed his smooth jaw. “Don’t get used to it. What do you think, I scrub up good?”
Try amazing.
