All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes

by Betsy St. Amant

  She exhaled slowly, opened her eyes, and then skimmed the previous lines again. But the lead weight in her stomach only grew heavier as the realization sank in deep. The truth was right there before her, in black and white. Lucas had asked out Stella.

  She shut her computer with a snap, took a deep breath, carefully closed the bag of cookies, plumped her pillow.

  And burst into tears.

  nineteen

  The treadmill couldn’t contain him. The weights didn’t hinder him. And the water in the pool just slowed him down.

  They had to talk. Lucas had to fix this, somehow. The woman he loved thought he was a notch lower than an ogre, and until he smoothed things over, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Or eat.

  His stomach growled. Well, maybe eat. But not enjoy it.

  He rubbed his hair with the towel he’d snagged from the hotel gym and paced the carpeted floor in front of Kat’s room. Maybe he was an ogre. How could he have ever debated something like that? No wonder she’d been ticked.

  Their conversation from earlier replayed through his head, in vivid Technicolor, and he wished he had handled the entire ordeal better. But she’d taken him off guard—the whole thing had, really. How had those dang cupcakes burned?

  Surely he’d have realized he had those kinds of superpowers before now.

  No, it’d probably been an accident—a glitch of the oven timer. Though ironic didn’t even begin to cover it.

  And Thad—man, that guy bugged him. The judge’s hearty congratulations after the show had seemed too familiar, too . . . exuberant. He didn’t give more than an obligatory handshake to the other finalists. What made Kat different?

  Well, Lucas knew what made her different. What made her shine. What made her unique.

  But Thad had no business knowing.

  He paused in front of her door and raised his hand to knock, then lowered it, then raised it again. He ran his fingers through his damp hair. Man, this was stupid. He should just knock on the door. It wasn’t like he was scared of her.

  Kat was more hurt than angry, despite the front she’d put on outside the studio. He’d only seen Angry Kat a few times, and she would have him locked inside his own room, deadbolt on and chair under the knob.

  But he could handle Hurt Kat.

  He just couldn’t stand the fact that he’d hurt her in the first place.

  He finally tapped on the door with his knuckles, slung the towel around his neck, and held on to both ends as he waited.

  And waited.

  “Kat?” He knocked again. Had she gone to find something to eat? Surely not without him—though, no, he couldn’t exactly blame her if she had. He wouldn’t want to eat with him either, if the roles were reversed and he only had the same puzzle pieces she did. Maybe she was downstairs in the hotel restaurant or had run to one of the nearby cafés they’d discussed trying.

  He started to turn away, wondering if he could actually stomach dinner without her, when a telltale sob sounded through the door.

  No.

  His heart plummeted onto the patterned carpet.

  “Let me in.” He knocked harder, jiggling the metal handle. Those tears would do him in if she didn’t quit. A protective surge welled inside, and he shoved harder against the door. “Kat! What’s wrong?”

  A pointed cough sounded behind him. He turned and saw Tonya in his peripheral, ambling slowly down the hall with a giant purse tucked over her shoulder. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he groaned. They’d made it this far without running into any other contestants in the hotel, and Tonya chose this moment to make a debut?

  At least it wasn’t Piper.

  He acknowledged her with a dip of his head, willing her to keep going.

  But no, she stopped, tucked her thumb through the strap of that giant purse, and stared at him like she could burn a hole in his soul if he so much as blinked.

  He didn’t dare.

  “Trouble?” Her tone suggested there better not be, and he was suddenly torn between rolling his eyes and begging for help. Something about the woman on the set rang true, and right now, he could probably stand some truth.

  Tonya took a step closer, waiting for his response. Then she must have heard Kat’s cries, because her suspicious expression morphed into compassionate. “Oh, sugar.” She frowned at him and shook her head. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  He swallowed the knot welling in his throat and looked between the door and Tonya and back again. No kidding. He just wanted the tears to stop. Now. At any cost.

  Even his cost. Maybe especially his.

  What had he done?

  “Three words, sugar.”

  Now, it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at Tonya, knowing she really did care even if she was technically the enemy. Knowing she probably had a lot of wisdom she was preparing to tick off on those brightly painted long fingernails she held up.

  Knowing he should probably listen.

  “Say. You’re. Sorry.” The nails popped up one by one in emphasis. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”

  Before he could answer, she kept on toward the elevator, pushed the button, and disappeared.

  Hadn’t he tried apologizing already?

  He knocked again, louder.

  Had to keep trying. He had no other game plan.

  He lowered his voice and his hand, heart pounding so hard it might escape his chest. “Kat, open the door. We have to talk.” He knew she’d been upset over his confession, but to be crying this hard, this many hours later? That wasn’t like Kat.

  Then again, he’d never admitted to anything so awful before.

  The urge to protect transformed into the urge to grovel. Anything to stop the tears. Hurt Kat was one thing, Angry Kat quite another, but Crying Kat . . . He shuddered. “I said I was sorry.”

  Tonya was right. But it wasn’t enough, apparently. Desperation surged.

  “Kat—”

  The door swung open under his hand, propelling him forward. He stumbled and caught himself against the frame, his gym towel slipping off his neck and landing at their feet in a flash of white.

  Kat’s mascara-streaked cheeks rang the first alarm in his head.

  The pillow she hurled rang the second.

  He ducked, and it sailed into the hall.

  “Kat?” The tears didn’t go with the violence. Now he was just confused—and to be honest, a little nervous. He didn’t know whether to laugh, run, or join her in crying. “You’ve got to help me out here.”

  He grabbed for the pillow on the floor, but by the time he straightened and turned, she lobbed his chest with a second one. “Help you out?” Her laugh of disbelief rang hollow, completely devoid of humor. She hit him a third time in the shoulder. Whack. “I don’t think so.”

  Good grief. He grabbed the pillow she wielded, used it to push her forward, and secured the door shut behind them. At least whatever this was could be handled privately. He released the pillow and put his hands on his hips. “Now, what the—”

  Whack. Right across the cheek. It didn’t hurt, but the disrespect element of being slapped across the face—even with a feather pillow—caught him off guard. He stilled, and the pillow dropped from Kat’s fingers and hit the floor. The fight fled her stance, and she crumpled down beside the pillow. “I can’t believe you.”

  She couldn’t believe him? He was the one who had just walked into a sneak attack.

  He shoved aside his pride—whatever trembling mess was left of it—and sank onto the floor beside her, cross-legged between the bed and the wall. She lay facedown on the pillow, head buried into the soft case. “I’m sorry.”

  He drew a deep breath. “For what?”

  Her muffled words were almost unintelligible, but he caught most of them. “For . . . face . . . pillow.”

  He felt like he was calming a child. Or maybe a wild animal. He brushed her hair off the pillowcase and nudged her shoulder. “Look at me.”

  She shook her head, staying hidden. Hiding. From him. And i
t made his stomach hurt. He nudged again. “Kat.” He let out his breath in a slow exhale. “Listen, I said I was sorry about the cupcakes. I promise I didn’t burn them on purpose. The only reason I even thought of it was because I’m just—I’m ready to go home.” With you. But he couldn’t force the words out, couldn’t make himself take the plunge when she was clearly not even on the same ledge he was on.

  And if she was, if that kiss proved they were indeed standing on the same cliff—she wouldn’t jump. And he couldn’t make her. Not while her heart was focused on her dreams.

  Dreams he’d actually considered sabotaging.

  He really was an ogre.

  His chest tightened, and his fingers absently played with the dark strands of hair splayed across the floor. “I’m sorry. For whatever that’s worth. But I didn’t do it. That dang timer—”

  “This isn’t about the cupcakes.” She lifted her head then, revealing two black smudges on the white case.

  “It’s not?” News to him. What else had he done? He racked his brain, but came up with nothing. “You’ve lost me.”

  She pushed herself into a sitting position, facing him, and leaned against the side of the bed, their bent knees touching. She pulled the pillow into her lap and hugged it. “That’s the problem.”

  His confusion was the problem? Great, feminine mind games at their finest. Darren used to warn him about these, but Kat had never been that way, had never been the type to be “I’m mad at you but want you to guess why.” Maybe he screwed up and should know, but he didn’t, so here they were. And here they’d stay if she didn’t give him at least a strong clue.

  “Kat, I’m exhausted. I’ve felt like crap ever since we left the studio, and I’m sorry, but I have no idea what else happened or what I did.” He ran his hands down the length of his face, his growling stomach frustrating him further. He just wanted to scoop her up, dry her tears, and go eat. Put everything back to normal.

  But normal wasn’t enough anymore.

  Maybe that was the problem they both felt.

  He held out his hand, a peace offering. “I’m confused.” And she was hurt. Neither of which was fair.

  She stared at his outstretched palm, tentatively reaching, then suddenly pulled her hand back. The fire in her eyes reignited, and she held her drawn-up legs tightly to her chest. Distancing from him. Protecting her heart. Removing contact between them.

  “I didn’t say I expected you to know.” The ice in her voice was a chilly contrast to the spark in her gaze.

  He had nothing to say to that. So he waited, ignoring the ache in his gut that started the minute she pulled away from him and probably would continue to grow until she agreed to marry him.

  Unless she killed him first.

  He shifted under her intense gaze, his frustration mounting—mostly at his inability to defuse the situation. “Kat, I’m not up for games. What the heck are you talking about here?”

  She raised an eyebrow, a mask shading what was really going on in her eyes, making her appear a stranger. “I’m surprised you forgot. Most people don’t.”

  “Forgot what? What did I forget?”

  “Who.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Forget who, not what.”

  He let out a huff. “Kat, I swear . . .”

  “You asked out my sister!”

  And there it was.

  But it wasn’t over.

  She launched forward onto her knees, pushing against him with all the strength she could muster, pounding him with doubled fists. The surprise of it all kept him motionless, leaving him open for her attack. The blows landed on his shoulders, his chest, his biceps. He took the hits, letting her finish, his mind racing to catch up. Stella. He had asked out Stella? Why didn’t he remember that? And why did it make Kat so crazy?

  Well, no, he knew why it would make her crazy, if she actually believed it to be true.

  Once again, he wished he could beat up Chase. That idiot left more residual damage than anyone he’d ever met. But he couldn’t beat up Chase, because at the moment, he was busy being beat up himself.

  The brunt of Kat’s attack finally slowed, tears now pouring down her cheeks. He caught her fists in one hand and pushed, gently, holding her away from him but close enough to see her face.

  She struggled limply in his grasp and then gave up. “You asked out my sister.” The repeated accusation floated from her lips like the last gasp of air from a woman on death’s door. She sagged against him, shaking, and he released her wrists to wrap his arm around her.

  He started to speak, then stopped, terrified of saying the wrong thing, of somehow making it worse instead of better. But he had no idea what Kat was talking about. When did he ask out Stella? He had never been interested in Kat’s younger sister—she wasn’t his type. Sure, she was beautiful, but in a model thin, try-too-hard kind of way that worked for some guys. He, however, preferred his women like he preferred his cupcakes—sweet, unique, and round in all the right places.

  “I’ve never dated your sister. You know better than that.” He smoothed her hair away from her forehead.

  She shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t date her. She didn’t say anything specific. But you still asked her out.” She shifted, burying her face in his shoulder. “Same difference.”

  Same diff—how was asking someone out and dating them the same?

  Girl World was such a scary place.

  He tightened his arms around Kat and racked his brain again, knowing his window of time to fix this was rapidly sliding shut. He had to figure this out, had to make this right, or it would be forever before they got past it. This, on the heels of the cupcake burning incident, would be too much for the tension already throbbing between them on this trip.

  He thought, rocking Kat slightly in his arms, wishing he could make it go away. All of it. But no, he had to try. Stella. He would have never asked Stella out. Not for real.

  Wait.

  He abruptly stopped rocking. “I didn’t ask her out on a date. I asked her to meet me for coffee—about two months ago. But then I changed my mind and canceled.”

  Kat pulled away to look at him, her red-rimmed eyes even more suspicious than the hotel housekeeper’s had been in the hallway. “Why? Why did you ask her?”

  To talk about Kat. To talk about ten acres, and dreams, and the future, and his heart. He’d needed an ally, needed someone on his side as he pursued this. Pursued Kat. He’d realized after further discussion with Darren that Stella wasn’t the right confidante for the job. They’d never even gone to get that coffee.

  But could he admit all that? How would Kat take it? He hesitated, unwilling to play his whole hand without knowing what other cards Kat had up her own sleeve. “Secrets.”

  She sniffed, wary. “It’s not Christmas.”

  “Wasn’t Christmas secrets.”

  “Why did you want to tell my sister secrets at all?” The defense was back in her voice, scraping another layer of concrete between the bricks she kept building between them.

  He didn’t blame her for any of it. Betrayal was betrayal, and this one had Essence of Chase spilled all over it, in all its reeking glory. Man, he needed to punch that guy. But Chase wasn’t here. He was, and Kat’s laser beam of distrust was aimed right at his own heart.

  “Did it ever occur to you that you ask too many questions?” He teased, knowing it to be dangerous in her current mood, but he couldn’t tell the truth. Not the whole truth. Not yet.

  The fight edged back into her eyes, subtle, but nearly tangible. He’d rather see fight than tears any day. “Did it ever occur to you not to go behind my back with my sister?”

  “Go behind your—I didn’t go behind your back.” Why did she insist on making this harder? He was torn between wanting to pull his hair out and kiss her senseless.

  Probably both.

  She stiffened, defensive. “Maybe not exactly, but you still didn’t tell me.”

  “For good reason!”

  “
Well, I’m sure Chase thought the exact same thing!”

  She jumped up before he could respond, threw the pillow on the bed, and walked—more like stomped—toward the bathroom.

  Nope. Not happening. He might be guilty of some things, but he wasn’t about to start taking all the blame for a loser in her past.

  He reached behind him and grabbed Kat’s ankle as she passed. She shrieked, and he caught her in his lap as she tumbled down. “Lucas! Are you crazy?”

  He didn’t answer, just wrapped one arm tightly enough around her to discourage any ideas about leaving, and brought the other hand up to lightly cover her lips. “That’s the last time you compare anything I do to Chase. Got it?”

  Her eyes widened, and he pulled his hand away, allowing her the chance to talk. She didn’t take it. Smart girl. He loosened his grip, and as she stood, she whacked him with the pillow again. “And that’s the last time you manhandle me. Got it?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She just marched into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Lucas leaned back against the wall, breathless, unsure if he was chagrined or impressed.

  Probably both.

  twenty

  Maybe she’d overreacted. But so had Lucas, going all caveman on her. It wasn’t his typical style, yet then again, she wasn’t usually the crazy, jealous, pillow-throwing type, either.

  What had happened to them? This trip was driving them both insane. Once upon a time they’d both been functioning, mature adults.

  Or at least faked it well enough.

  Kat really didn’t want to come out of the bathroom. She’d stared at herself in the mirror for five minutes, hashing out her own internal debate, hoping Lucas would take the hint and leave.

  And hoping he would stay right there and not give up on her.

  She’d given some kind of ultimatum by hiding out in the bathroom, some sort of battle-of–the-wills, manipulation thing that Lucas was calling her bluff on by refusing to leave—and by refusing to come after her.

  Now she had to play it out. Or look even more foolish than she already did.